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seiwas · 8 months

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₊˚⊹。so this is what it means to be in love | gojo satoru

wc: 8.9k

summary: gojo finds out what it really means to be in love.

contains: f!reader in mind, friends to lovers (prev. slowburn), suggestive scenes, might be mature/mildly explicit? (i only mention ‘butt’ once though…), ‘being in love’ as a journey, almost like a falls in love first (you) vs. falls in love harder (gojo), they fight, they swear, character death/s mentioned, shibuya onwards spoilers, lots and lots and lots of love

a/n: this is better read after the other parts in the collection but can work as a stand alone too!, there’s a jump between this and tell me about love (show me how) so gojo would have developed a lot in the relationship since then!

collection masterlist: conversations on love +02 (extra). look my way, you're what i crave <- you are here + (extended scene) too good to be mine -> 3.5a. this feeling inside of me—

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!)

Gojo catches onto love slowly.

He takes the hand you leave open just for him, and closes the space between your palms, reducing infinity.

Maybe he’s felt it all this time without knowing; after all, love looks a lot less profound as friends in your early 20’s.

But being in it—being in love? That’s uncharted territory.

Gojo’s been to a lot of places, has travelled back and forth from point-to-point endlessly. He’s survived battles, a war, near-death, and cursed spirits reincarnate; he’s got eyes—two bright blue and an extra four hidden, ones that see beyond human comprehension. Unearthing this simple truth shouldn’t shake him, shouldn’t even faze him. If anything, he should have seen it coming—

Except, he doesn’t.

It sneaks up on him, bit by bit, until he finds that being in love means getting to experience you all over again, just differently.

It starts with the little things.

Gojo has known you for so long (a decade and a few years more), but has only recently begun to notice everything: how your baby hairs stick out in the humidity of summer, the way you purse your lips in thought before finally deciding on a drink to order. You play with your fingernails subconsciously, out of habit, the soft taps on your nail beds an accompaniment of anxious conversations you’ve had since you were 23.

He knows you always blink twice before focusing on him, and it’s a mystery whether this is a recent development or something he’s just never noticed, but if you’re trying to enchant him by the flutter of your eyelashes, he wants to let you know that it’s working—except, he knows that you aren’t, because you’re just like that: a daydream without even trying.

These aren’t new things; he’s sure he’s probably encountered them all before, but lately they’ve evolved into cute things, and there’s no hiding the slight curve of his lips every time he spots them.

The sun is beaming brighter this summer, the ocean a faraway blur from the beach towel you set up under the shade. Going to the beach is never your go-to when you think of an extremely hot afternoon, but Yuuji’s been eyeing a weekend getaway since sorcerer work’s lessened significantly.

‘It’s a good effort,’ Gojo convinces you, ‘to get everyone together again.’

And it is—you see it now: Yuuji and Megumi preparing to fling Yuuta into the water while Nobara and Maki race along the shoreline. Toge stays close to Panda but he watches fondly, eyes crinkling every now and then, happy.

When you blink, the image of them softens—a captured memory in the heat haze.

The only older ones here are you and Gojo; Shoko’s always disliked the stickiness of sunblock on her skin, and Ijichi’s new position has made him constantly busy. Somewhere in the distance, you can maybe envision Nanami. He wouldn’t come if you or Gojo asked, but if it were Yuuji—

You rub at your eye, resting your chin on your hand as you will your tear ducts to please, don’t cry.

Yuuji's been smiling a lot more lately, an observation you note from the way his ears are perked up every time you look his way. It’ll never be the same as it used to be but it’s relieving to know that he can exist living as himself now. Just Yuuji.

You hug your knees tighter to your chest, wrapping your arms around it. Your place under the coconut tree provides ample enough shade but your back still burns from Gojo haphazardly slathering sunscreen on it after hearing an ice cream stand from miles away.

The mind is a weird place to be at times like this—split into bittersweet reminiscing and telling yourself to just take this moment and breathe, to live in it. You think about Megumi, and how you hurt for him, always will, for all that he’s lost despite every attempt to avoid it.

You should have been there for Tsumiki, you could have been there for both of them.

Your guilt never leaves you even on days that shine as vividly as this, but perhaps that’s the silver lining—that they’re still with you, always. You can carry pieces of them to these places, and scatter them to the wind, to the sand, to the sea, and maybe to the ice cream stand Gojo’s waiting in line of, surrounded entirely by kids. They all rise to half his size, but if you squint, you think the bounce in his step makes him blend right in.

A chuckle escapes you.

You could sort through your memories and land on one where he looks just like this—freakishly large limbs towering over a tiny, excited Tsumiki. Back then, an ice cream stop after school consisted of your pseudo-family of four, with Megumi on your hand and Tsumiki on his leg, both gripping tightly to combat a chilly 10°C.

Things are different now, evidently. Megumi’s outgrown it, and Tsumiki is no longer here. But Gojo has stayed the same, and it’s comforting to know that he will continue to be this Satoru, your Satoru, even when some things are gone.

You don’t realize you’ve spaced out until he waves the ice cream cone while walking towards you.

Gojo is a sight in trunks the color of his eyes, with seahorses and starfishes in an alternating pattern of peachy-pink against cerulean blue.

You could have sworn you asked for your own cone, but he plops down beside you holding only one. For the both of you. The side-eye you give him is almost criminal, if not deadly, but your lips twitch from the smile you’re hiding (terribly).

He raises an eyebrow and you break character, shaking your head while laughing.

“Did you eat the other one on the way here?” you tease, craning your neck to lick at the bottom scoop (vanilla-strawberry-vanilla, Gojo’s signature order).

Your tongue lands dangerously close to his fingers, and he feels it, but his eyes only land on you—your lips, how they part for your tongue to glide smoothly on his–both of your–dessert. You look every bit of an angel in the soft, pale hues of your bikini, but Gojo’s thoughts are anything but saintly.

He blushes furiously, the tips of his ears and nose bright red as he turns away from you quickly.

“I’m fulfilling your dream of sharing an ice cream cone with me.” he tilts his chin up, proud, smirking slightly. He jokes about it knowing full well that this is his dream come true, just by the look of you.

You stay quiet, rolling your eyes but never meanly, no. You only ever do it fondly—he knows, being on the receiving end of it one too many times.

The beach towel scrunches when you scoot closer, looping your arm around his as you both rest your elbows on your knees. Gojo holds the cone between you two, tipping it towards you when it’s your turn to lick.

He shouldn’t stare, shouldn’t hyperfixate, but it’s so cute how you get the tiniest bit of ice cream on the tip of your nose—as if it belongs there, soft and sweet just like the rest of you.

You look up to find Gojo gazing at you, eyes glimmering like sunlight on the ocean, and a tiny smile that only widens when he realizes you’ve caught him red-handed. Your eyes narrow suspiciously, scrunching your nose in an effort to stop yourself from grinning.

When Gojo looks at you this way, as if you are his favorite place rediscovered, your heart thumps furiously against your ribcage.

“What…” you drawl, your smile impossible to hide in the lilt of your voice.

Gojo thinks he can count every eyelash, every speck of sand dotting your face, and stil not be bored of you. He can’t stop beaming.

Is this what it means to be in love with you?

“Nothing.” he replies, almost giggling, a little bashful but with every inch of sincerity. You know that smile, the only one that holds every ounce of Satoru. Gojo smiles big and wide to everyone else, but this small one you know, is reserved just for you.

He leans in, lips coming closer to brush against the tip of your nose. Your eyes fall shut, instinctively, and the pink dot is wiped clean, a hint of strawberry dancing on his palate. He’s done this more times than he can count, has gotten this near to know that close will never be close enough, but you still jolt a bit—PDA has never been your thing.

When he pulls away, you continue to stare at each other, locked in a gaze until the ice cream begins to drip down his fingers and onto the beach towel. It misses his trunks by a hair and you both laugh at how he belatedly tries to escape it even though it’s already there.

It’s indescribable, this moment, seeing you in slow motion, laughing as bright as the sun—the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. It takes every bit of him to look away so he can wipe his hands clean from the dripping dessert.

You hand him a packet of wipes and beckon him to sit in front of you after. Squeezed onto the palm of your hand is a copious amount of sunscreen you plan to slather all over him. A touch-up, if you will.

Gojo has sensitive skin, pale as bond paper and burns just as quickly. The high points of his face are already reddening, warm to the touch when you dab at them with sunscreen.

You’re so near, so close, sitting cross-legged in front of him with your knees touching his. The tip of your tongue sticks out just slightly as you focus on his skin.

Even though he knows, he still wonders what your lips would taste like, SPF chapstick and crumbly bits from the wafer cone. He wonders what your eyelashes would feel like, fluttering over his own.

The light casts a halo around you and he thinks it’s fitting for all that you do. You pamper him like this, slather love all over his chest and back, massage it in so it dissolves into him—and he feels it so deep that he tastes it.

How can your love be so sweet? He thinks, sighing as your fingers work sunscreen up his neck from his collarbone. You always apply his skincare like this: upwards, gently—‘no tugging, please!’—something about keeping his baby face even when he’s old.

“You should join them,” you mumble, rubbing more product onto the nape of his neck. You’re leaning over his shoulder, neck brushed against his cheek.

Gojo hums, watching everyone from a distance. It’s been a while since he’s had a day like this.

“But maybe after 30 minutes, so the sunblock doesn’t wash off. You’re already burning.” you note, coming back to sit.

Of course, he’s already burning. How can he not when the sun is right in front of him?

You join everyone for a game of beach volleyball in the sunset of the afternoon. You’re transported back to high school, the last time you did this—you and Satoru against Shoko and Suguru, with Haibara keeping score.

From the way Gojo’s eyes are glossed over, you can tell he’s thinking about it too, the memory having seared itself into your brains forever, it seems.

Being paired together should feel familiar—the same, but it doesn’t—isn’t, because Gojo can’t concentrate, sneaking glances to notice all the little things about you that he never used to. Your skin shines from the combination of sweat and sunscreen, and when you crash into him it’s both sticky and slippery. He should really ask for a time-out before you blind him completely.

You look unfairly good in your bikini, too good he can barely hear you calling for him; between the ocean and his blood rushing, any other sound is drowned out into nothing.

Maki and Yuuji absolutely demolish the both of you, reaching 15 first in the final set. Gojo blames the loss on you of course, even though he’s missed every pass you’ve sent his way and netted 60% of his spikes.

And maybe it technically is your fault—you and your (very distracting) little things. But it’s entirely on him that he’s fallen for it, fallen for you as much as this.

Gojo thinks of love differently when he sees a picture of himself and all it does is remind him of you.

There’s a photo tucked safely in his wallet (saved and set as his homescreen too). Shoko snorts when she walks in on him printing it, all six-foot-three of him hunched over the small inkjet printer in the faculty room.

“It’s all digital now, Satoru,” she scoffs, taking a puff on her cigarette.

Gojo doesn’t say anything even though he knows it’s true, too focused on watching the printer push out the two-by-three inch image he’s about to cut into.

Print photos aren’t as important anymore when cloud storage spaces are just as–if not more–accessible, but Gojo is admittedly sentimental despite every front he puts up to hide it.

He’s kept every single gift you’ve given him and camouflaged it as decoration in his office, and the family drawing 10-year-old Tsumiki made is still folded between the pages of a self-help book Yaga had given him when he first decided to teach.

When every moment is experienced so vividly, seen through a muddle of infinite energies, there are those he wishes could stay still—ones that take up space to remind him: ‘this is real, it happened, and here is proof that it did’.

He already has one of all of you, fresh-faced and barely pushing the peaks of youth at 16. A tangle of arms wrapped around each other—one of his gripping tightly on Suguru, and the other hanging loosely over you. Utahime is crouched in front, holding the hand you’ve placed on her shoulder while pulling Shoko into a semi-squish-semi-hug (because out of the four of you, Shoko is her favorite—completely valid; if given the choice, she’d be your favorite too). Nanami and Haibara stay close to Suguru, squatting low to balance the photo, and Haibara is smiling, the ever cheery grin Suguru loves to dote on, while Nanami is Nanami—sharp features and a serious gaze that you all know he’ll grow into someday, handsome with age.

For the longest time, Gojo has kept that photo hidden, locked away in the drawer of his bedside table as if keeping it there means the memory will stay guarded forever—untouched, unspoiled, unruined.

It would have stayed there if you didn’t stumble upon it while looking for his painkillers during another one of his skull-crushing migraines.

You approach him with the image hesitantly, eyes damp and glossy. Years have faded the colors ever so slightly, but the corners remain crisp from being stowed away neatly. You say sorry, that you shouldn’t have looked through his things, but you remember the moment it was taken so fondly: a visit to the Kyoto campus on a one-day break to train with other students.

Gojo has many theories about time and the multitude of spaces it takes—like how a person can exist at different points in time, disparate at each instance, and still take up the same big chunk of space. The opposite can be true too, that someone can live finitely (just once) and occupy spaces in every place you look: the face of a passerby down the road, a sign at the corner of the street, or even a photograph that immortalizes people you once knew.

He only shares when you ask, aware that he tends to be a bit of a nerd about it whenever it’s brought up, but you don't mind. You like listening to it all, no matter how insightful or confusing they are for you to make sense—a version of him not many get to witness. His explanations are comprehensible for the most part, except—

When Gojo tells you that he’s kept the image in his drawer, hidden, because exposing it to the space-time that exists now will erase every reminder that it ever happened, you hug him tightly.

Your sniffles are heard from the way his head is tucked into the crook of your neck, your fingers gripping strands of his hair in empathy.

He considers your near-tears as a sign that the memory is long gone, decayed into the brittling tragedy of reality. But you smile, the corners of your lips bittersweet as you express disbelief that he’s kept it all this time.

You tell him delicately that some precious things are meant to be celebrated, put out to be remembered—to be experienced.

And it becomes clearer to him then, by the look in your eyes and remembrance soft-spoken, that what good is a photo unseen?

What good is a love unwitnessed?

When you gift him a frame a year after finding the photo, he hangs it by the wall next to his office door. The image is painful to look at, always has been (even when it was hidden in his drawer)—during Suguru’s defection, and death anniversaries especially.

The recent one for Nanami was heavy; the first time he’s ever been able to process grief fully.

Gojo can argue that it grows more difficult every time he catches a glimpse of it from his desk, but you have a way of honoring pain that doesn’t make it sting as bad—that turns it into a reminder of a love that was once there, of feelings that hurt as evidence that someone cared.

Now, he wants another photo printed, one of just the two of you. Not because it hurts, but because he wants this precious thing to be remembered and seen—for this love to be witnessed too.

It’s self-timered, snapped under the shade of a cherry blossom tree in full bloom. The picture is far from perfect: your eyes bright and mouth open mid-fear of his phone falling off the bridge railing.

You may look a teensy bit funny, but Gojo will always find it cute. Anyone can see it, at how he looks at you in that moment—like you are every bit worthy of the distance travelled and seasons waited. He gazes at you fondly, eyes holding clear skies and pink lips curling into a small smile.

It’s cheesy, but if you ask him what he thinks about this year’s flowers, he’ll tell you none of them (not even any of them combined) could compare to you. The cherry blossoms could be gone and he’d still see them everywhere (in the softness of your lips, the fullness of your cheeks, the radiance you emit when you are truly, solely content and happy).

He remembers that afternoon well: the spring breeze that jolts his phone sideways, his hand resting on your lower back, unseen in the image. There’s no real reason for visiting the blossoms on this day of all days, but Gojo doesn’t believe in coincidences, and he’s counted down exactly to a year since you both had your first kiss.

It’s so silly, because he’s never thought of things like this before. He knows you probably don’t think much of it either considering that neither of you have made anything official yet since.

And he feels a little stupid for that, honestly.

You have a drawer of his clothes for the nights he stays over (more often than not), and even though you go on these little trips that are so obviously dates, you both still just tell everyone you’re ‘hanging out’.

He’s not fooling anyone here, not when he looks at you then with the feeling of his chest expanding, stretching to accommodate the overflows of his affection since learning the ways to love you—tenderness caught in little pixels of eternity.

When Gojo goes through all 179 photos from that afternoon, he filters out the ones to delete and picks this one out especially—favorites and resizes it to fit his home screen and his wallet too.

There’s something about the look on his face that reminds him of every time he’s caught the same one on you.

He slides the photo into the little sleeve behind his credit card, catching himself smiling—this must be because of you, he thinks, and the bits and pieces of yourself that have somehow become part of him slowly, sneaking into him unknowingly.

If this is what it means to be in love, with you, then he’s fucked.

Don’t you know that he’s insatiable? These traces of you will only make him want the whole of you.

You find the photo while he rushes to the restaurant restroom. On ‘hang out’s like this, you insist on splitting the bill, but Gojo has always been stubborn and you’ve learned that you can never argue.

He hands you his wallet to pay with his card, and when you slide it out, the photo falls. It’s face down on the floor when you pick it up, fully expecting it to be a photocard of some idol you know Gojo follows.

But it isn’t, and your smile widens.

When Gojo comes back, you’re looking up at him affectionately, biting your lips as if to stop yourself from speaking—the same way he always does.

It’s funny because, slotted between your two fingers is the photo he’s kind of flustered you found, but he has no time to be embarrassed when he sees a little bit of himself in the way you’re staring at him right now.

“So, Yuuji asked if we were together.”

You quirk an eyebrow, looking up at Gojo from the pile of laundry you’ve begun folding on your bed. He emerges from the bathroom, ruffling his hair with a towel.

Over the past year, Gojo has spent his weekends off with you, sleeping over and traipsing around your room in his pajama set as if he’s lived here just as long as you.

You snort as you fold, amused that this is even a question to begin with. Yuuji’s always been known for being exceptionally dense, but you didn’t think it was this bad. Gojo was especially touchy with you during that beach trip, and you’re sure Megumi and Nobara have caught up to let him know by now, somehow.

“What made him ask?”

“I think he wants to take you away.” Gojo teases, wiggling his eyebrows as he throws the towel on the chair across your vanity.

You roll your eyes, still sweetly, indulging him, “Sure.”

It’s now a running joke that Gojo’s threatened about Yuuji stealing you; you’ve always had a soft spot for bright eyes and even brighter souls and Yuuji is as close to that as anyone can get.

It’s not like that though, it could never be; Yuuji is just like your Megumi—the two boys you want to protect and care for in hopes of treating them better than their lives have ever.

Gojo feels the same, you know, otherwise he wouldn’t have guided them as much as he has (despite his... questionable ways). Still, your hands have always been gentler, kinder—and though shorter, have always outstretched much farther than his.

You have a way of inching yourself into people’s lives that just fits. He’s experienced it first-hand, can’t even dare to imagine what his life would be like if you didn’t.

He walks across the room to you, bed dipping as he steadies a knee before draping his entire body over your shoulders.

Now that you think about it, it makes sense that Yuuji’s confused, because Gojo has always been extremely touchy to everyone, just never when the feelings mattered, with you. Kiss him once, though, and it snowballs into an avalanche of firsts. And what he’s about to do right now, he thinks, might just trigger another one to form all together.

“As if I’d let him.” he mumbles right by your ear, chin tucked by the crook of your neck. It tickles when he speaks, his nose poking at your cheeks.

“Who put you in charge?” you scoff jokingly, unfazed.

He moves away from you in disbelief, mouth open as he stares at you mindlessly folding.

To be fair, he can’t fault you. You aren’t technically official even though you have kind-of-been for a little over a year. There’s no particular reason, just that you haven’t talked about it—part because you wanted him to approach it whenever he was ready, and also, because it just never seemed like a priority.

You laugh as he stares at you, stunned into silence, the pout on his face borrowed from all the versions of yours.

There’s no point of contention because you’ve only ever loved Gojo since you were 17.

“Kidding,” you kiss his cheek as an apology.

“Don’t even joke about that.” he huffs, you’re starting to take after him a little too much.

“You’re mine.” he murmurs after, arms wrapped around your waist and legs stretched out wide to encase you.

He says it as if it is the simplest truth.

Your heartbeat quickens, too loud and pounding; this is the first time you’ve ever heard this from him, and a part of you thinks this is just another one of those flirty side-comments he makes on a whim.

“You tell him that?” you hope he can’t hear your voice shake as he nuzzles your neck, your fingers trembling on the pair of socks you have yet to roll.

He hums, hugging you tighter. He waits for you to finish folding before letting you lean against him, offering his fingers for you to fiddle with. They’re cold, long and slender, veiny just by a bit, and he always gives them to you like they’re yours, you like to think.

There’s an inhale, a breath of hesitation, before he exhales.

“Something like it.”

You don’t say anything, only nod, and it’s nerve-wracking. He’s so nervous even though he knows he doesn’t have to be because it’s just you. And there’s no need to doubt what you’re feeling. But—

“You are though,” he pauses, “right?”

He has to be sure. This is a testament to you more than himself that he’s learned to ask instead of bulldozing you like he does with everyone else. Who else will he pick that up from but you?

There’s hesitation you hear that you think shouldn’t be there anymore; the fact that you’ve given so much of yourself to this man and he still thinks you’re unsure—

“‘Cause I’m yours.” he speaks, clearly, definitively, before you can even answer. And you know—you’ve known ever since that party years ago. A simple admittance: ‘I’m taken’.

You turn around to face him, eyes shimmering.

Can he see? You’re meant for him only.

All you’ve ever wanted was to love him; everything else he’s done up until this point is already more than you could ever imagine. The labels can only do so much to capture the gravity of what you are to one another: years of history unpacked into a mishmash of feelings overlapping—it’s a lot.

You sit cross legged in front of him, your knees touching his. He’s biting his lips again, an anxious habit you want to kiss away.

Gojo has proven far too much of himself already that he’s serious with you—your kind-of-confession, that confrontation, and the days after, all the ways you’ve both learned to love each other.

You cup his cheeks.

A single word cannot possibly define what he is to you.

“I mean, o-only if you want me to be.” he adds on, blue eyes darting back and forth.

Gojo runs his mouth almost all the time and you’ve never heard him stutter once in his life. Except now.

He’s endearing like this—a version of him you are slowly discovering.

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” you finally say, and it’s a relief.

He feels good, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His arms pull you closer, hugging you tighter as you both smile.

He kisses you once, twice, maybe a million times all over, travelling across your eyelids, the center of your forehead, down to the corners of your mouth before landing a real one right on your lips.

Gojo always looks pretty but he looks prettiest like this, worry-free, with love in his eyes and nothing but pure happiness in the way he holds you.

He won’t tell you that Yuuji asked about your anniversary, not if you were together.

At least now he has an answer.

Gojo stares at you like he wants to say something, a thank you maybe, but he bites his lips instead. No words will ever amount to this feeling, he thinks, of his chest expanding and heart hammering. So he kisses you with all of it, trailing soft smacks of his lips down your neck, tickling. The tips of his hair are still wet from his shower, leaving droplets on your skin as he nips.

You laugh—sprinkled in love.

“S-stop!” you push him away, “Satoru,” giggling, “tickles!”

“We have to consummate it now.” he whispers, grabbing you by the waist to place you on his lap, squeezing your sides while nibbling at your neck playfully.

You roll your eyes at his antics, “It’s not–” you laugh out loud when he pinches your hips, “–marriage, Satoru.”

Oh, if only you knew, he thinks.

The image you’ve planted in his head is dangerous when he’s this drunk on love right now.

More decades, more years spent with you? In another life, or maybe even in this one, if time permits, he wouldn’t mind making that come true.

It’s crazy how much things can change—for all his life, he’s ruled out the possibility of love ever taking root in his ribcage.

You’ve managed to make it feel so easy, so good, even when he was shit-terrified not knowing how to love you like he should.

Now, he thinks, how could he ever miss out on love this way? A love this good, with you?

For all of Gojo’s life, he’s never had to be anyone else—always the strongest, the only one. He’s never had to change anything about himself, because what’s there to improve when you’re already the best?

In a way, this is why it works with you. You’ve taken him as he is, all the good and ugly and never asked for anything more than what he can give.

But being this in love with you—it’s foreign. There are pieces within him shifting, all on their own without him knowing.

How he wants to be better, for you. To be good enough to deserve all of it, and give back more of it too.

Gojo doesn’t realize how much love has changed him until he feels it uprooting every insecurity he never even knew existed, pulling it all up to the surface.

When things are going great, it’s hard to imagine them ever going the other way.

“You don’t mean that.” you mumble, voice trembling.

Gojo stares at you, at your lips quivering and the fists clenched to your sides. There are tears collecting in pools by your eyes, and if there’s anything else he hates in this world, it’s seeing you cry.

So why?

Why couldn’t he just shut up?

“Please tell me you don’t mean that,” you take a step closer, gripping the edge of his jacket, “Satoru.” your voice cracks, begging.

It’s an out-of-body experience when Gojo registers that he’s fucked up, and he sees himself now, bird’s-eye-view, and thinks this is the worst thing he could do to you after all you’ve been through.

“I need some time to think,” he says, finally, the only words coming out of his mouth—but he can’t hear himself speaking.

He should have said sorry, taken it all back, he thinks, not make it worse by leaving.

He heads for the door, heart crunching under each footstep away from you.

Is this what being in love’s supposed to do? Break his heart while yours is bleeding?

You’re too good for Gojo, in every sense of the word—and he knows it.

You are far too kind, far too generous, far too patient with him. You give him more love than he deserves, definitely, and admittedly enough, with how he is, you have been settling for the bare minimum but that’s on him, not on you.

He had no right speaking to you the way he did, hurting you with accusations born from insecurities he’s never before had to deal with.

He knows it.

Who accuses you of ‘meddling’ as if everything out of you doesn’t come from the goodness of your heart? Of provoking you with ‘chasing the bare minimum’ as if he isn’t aware that that’s all he’s given you to work with?

Utahime was right in telling you to be careful with him, and he doesn’t blame her for it. He would have done the same.

He should have told you there was something brewing inside of him already—should have talked to you instead of bursting from all the things people have been saying lately.

Gojo hasn’t spoken to you in three days and the feeling this compares to is worse than anything else he’s ever had to face.

He knocks on your door at night, a little past dinner and too early for bedtime. They echo loudly within the walls of your apartment, and you drag yourself up despite your obvious look of heartbreak.

Gojo hears your footsteps and everything moves entirely too slowly; the lock, taking far too long to turn, the gap between the door and the door frame widening incrementally. Even your face comes into view as if in stop motion, frame-by-frame, gradually.

His hands are in his pockets, lips bitten to bleed. He’s pretty sure he isn’t breathing when he takes you in—puffy eyes and a sweater that belongs to him.

(Is it sick of him to say that he still finds you beautiful this way? Even when you look every bit the part of heartache?)

Gojo didn’t have a plan coming here, didn’t have a list of things to say, just the feeling that he needed to talk to you, see you, even just be around you today.

When your eyes meet, it’s quiet. You stare into him for one–two–three– (Can you tell that they’re watery? Can you see they’re puffed up too?) and then open the door wider to let him in. You head straight to the kitchen, never once looking back while dragging your feet.

He stands outside a few seconds more, waiting for you to take it back—but you don’t, so he walks in and closes the door.

He’s been in your apartment plenty of times before, has practically lived in it by how often he stays over. But this is the first time he’s felt wholly out of place, not knowing where to put himself, just standing in the space between your kitchen counter and the living room awkwardly.

You push a glass of water towards him and he can’t stop staring at it—at you, at your fingers that he wants nothing more now but to hold.

Even with all his faults, all his wrongs, you open your arms for him to walk into, allow him in as if he didn’t just hurt you.

And he wants to cry, at the fact that this place still feels like home, at how it’ll always feel that way wherever you go.

How are you still treating him so kindly? Still taking care of him? A glass of water is one too many for someone like him.

You turn away from him to pour yourself your own then he speaks—

“You should be angry with me.” Gojo says softly, but you hear it.

You pause, tilting the pitcher back upright.

“Why aren’t you angry at me?” he says, a little louder this time, more desperate, more pleading.

Why are you never angry at me? he wants to ask.

You turn around to face him, putting the pitcher down.

Under your kitchen lights, his eyes shine like sunlight on the ocean, waves lapping on the shore. You think it might be a trick of the light, but his lips tremble when he closes them, as if he can’t speak any more.

It’s just as you’ve said, there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it.

You always give Gojo the benefit of the doubt, and though he’s hurt you—though this might be the most painful thing he’s told you yet, you know that he’s been under immense pressure lately. Stressed beyond belief from negotiating with the government on policies for jujutsu society.

It’s not an excuse, you know, but Gojo always has his reasons. He'll tell you eventually, you believe that much.

You give him a sad smile, struggling to stop your tears from spilling. His fists are clenched too tightly, nails digging in hard enough to bleed. He hasn’t moved since coming in, so you push yourself off the kitchen sink towards him.

You take his hands first, unfurl each finger pressed upon his palm and rub gently. He cries quietly for a love so pure that only you would attempt to ease his hurt despite the pain he’s dealt you.

You tiptoe second, pulling the sleeves of your (his) sweater before reaching up to wipe his eyes—beautiful and blue just like you’ve always known, droplets of the ocean at your fingertips.

“Be mad,” he whispers, “please.” squeezing his eyes tightly.

It hurts more when you aren’t, he thinks.

His hand comes up to grip your wrist, bringing it down to cup his cheek. You stroke your thumb across his skin, soothing, loving, and that’s all it takes for him to pull you in. He hugs you tight, arms wrapped around you, clutching.

He wouldn’t deserve you. In any life.

Gojo’s never cried this much before, head pressed to your neck as you rub circles along his back, shushing him softly. You start sniffling too, small at first until it turns into soft hiccups when you finally cry.

Your grip on him tightens.

“‘M sorry.” he mumbles, lips moving against your neck.

“‘S–” you hiccup, “–okay.”

“Stop saying that when it’s not,” he presses against you, nuzzling your neck, “I hurt you.”

“Then don’t–” another hiccup, “–call yourself–” hic, “–bare minimum.” you cry harder.

Gojo knows your heart and the tears that leak out of your eyes; he knows they hold pain for more than just yourself but every single person in your life. You, crying now, is evidence of that truth—shedding tears for him not just because of him when he thinks he’s the bare minimum.

This must be what it means to be truly, deeply loved, he thinks, to have someone know what you mean without even having to speak it—to know your heart, and all the good and bad parts of it.

“I don’t think I’m good enough to you,” he admits, pulling himself away from you.

When he sees your face, wet, with your nose and eyes puffed up from crying, he decides that he hates it more than anything else. Makes it sick to his stomach, even.

He cradles your cheeks, thumbs wiping away your tears. A whole hand of his could cover your face entirely, but he always, without fail, holds you delicately.

“That’s not–” hic, “–true.” you gather your breathing, holding him by the wrists as he presses his forehead against yours. “Only I get to decide that. Not anyone, not you.”

You kiss his lips, a small peck before nudging his nose with yours. You soothe each other this way—in the quiet, swaying to your own tune.

“You’re good to me plenty, Satoru.” you whisper, once both of you have settled.

He opens his eyes to look at you, smiling sadly as he cradles your face, “I didn’t mean it.”

Whatever he told you that day, taking it all out on you.

“I know.” you mumble, nodding.

You always do.

Gojo has always loved you, in some type of way—as friends, colleagues, a-little-bit-more-but-less-than what you are today.

But how he feels right now? It’s kind of ridiculous, borderline out-of-hand, and it’s driving him insane.

It’s such a simple, ordinary thing for you to do: you rush up to him, phone in hand and scroll to some video you found online. You’re so excited, a bounce in your step as if he’s the first and only person you want to show this to. Your eyes shine bright with a megawatt smile to match, and you’re talking so, so fast, completely lit up like fireworks in the making.

He knows you think that he’s listening but, he couldn’t care less about it honestly. Sorry. Not when the words go in one ear and out the other, because all that registers is how adorable you are, giddy and everything.

He makes a joke—completely unrelated, but you find it so funny. Then you’re laughing, full on smacking his arm, doubled over, arms hugging your stomach, guffawing. Your feet are kicking the air as you sink deeper into your couch. Gojo’s standing in front of you, post-enactment of some impression he made, and he’s frozen in place but warm all over.

Seeing you laugh like this, smile like this, being so pretty when you’re happy, the pounding in his chest goes crazy.

This isn’t the first time he’s made you laugh; he does it all the time. You almost always roll your eyes and chuckle, sometimes giggle with your eyes squinting and laugh lines creasing. But it might be the first time it’s like this: with you so bright, more than the sun and every other star in the sky.

And he thinks, this is all he could ever want—to make you happy for the rest of his life.

There’s too much of this feeling inside of him, clawing at his throat, itching to get out. He’s filled with it, has been filled with it for so long that it’s starting to overflow and if he doesn’t say this now he might just—

“I’m so in love with you.”

Gojo breathes it out, as if finally releasing it after all this time. You don’t think he processes it because he just stands there, in the middle of your living room, staring at you.

Your laughter dies with maybe a little part of you too (in a good way).

He looks so sweet, so sincere, and you see his heart, so big, so honest and pure. You get flashbacks of every Satoru you have ever known, at 15, 17, 23, to now.

It’s not like either of you don’t know; it’s plain as day, how you feel about each other—and you would have been fine going on without ever having to hear him speak of love this way.

But hearing it now, it’s far better than anything you could have imagined.

You stare at him. He stares at you.

He’s shocked too.

You don’t want to embarrass him, especially if he didn’t mean to say it, so you chuckle, moving on to break the quiet.

“I can unhear it if you want,” you offer shyly, genuinely.

Gojo looks at you, confused, before a pout makes its way onto his face. You sit up on your couch, playing with your fingers as you look up at him.

Sure, he practically blurted it out, maybe in the heat of the moment, or something, but it doesn’t make it any less true. And he’s realizing that the only thing he really wants from this—

“Though…” you continue, biting your lips, “I think I’m pretty in love with you too.”

The little laugh you make has him, completely.

The grin that breaks on his face is infectious. Gojo, who is normally so pale, is now pink all over—red by his ears and down his neck. There’s a sparkle in his eyes that can be found in yours too.

This moment right here feels like first loves—teens first saying ‘I love you’.

“You think?” he asks incredulously, joking, “So you’re not sure?” he walks closer to you.

You laugh, candy for his cravings, and take his hand to kiss each knuckle before guiding it to your cheek. He runs a thumb across your skin, affection on his fingertips. His index finger hooks itself under your chin, tilting it to rest on his stomach as you look up at him.

A kiss to your forehead, tenderly, gently.

The best part about being in love?

He gets to be in it with you.

Gojo can’t sleep.

It’s not anything new—4 hours on average, maybe 6 on a good night. He doesn’t remember a time when sleep ever came easily.

Sleeping with you, beside you, has helped, but it’s never solved the problem. You’ve gotten him to a full 8 hours before, but never consecutively, and he’s starting to think that if you can’t do it, nothing ever will.

Your sleeping positions change every night, but they always come out as some variation of hugging. Gojo firmly believes that he might as well sleep alone if you aren’t touching.

Tonight, you’re spooning, arm slung over his waist and palm right on his chest, fingers interlaced with his. Your legs stay tangled together with soft puffs of air blowing at the back of his neck.

He opens his eyes and checks the clock by his bedside. 3:24 a.m.

He sighs deeply, carefully maneuvering his body to slip away from you. You used to wake up the first few times this happened, worried about an emergency or some kind of accident. Being a sorcerer trains you for things like that.

You’ve always known Gojo had bad sleep, just not the severity of it.

You don’t wake up to it as much as you used to, having grown accustomed to it after more nights together, but on the off-chance that you do, Gojo always kisses your forehead gently as if to tell you that it’s okay, you can go back to sleep.

You don’t wake up now, thankfully, so he grabs his phone and heads for the kitchen. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest tonight, far heavier than others he’s woken up from. He pours himself a glass of water before hopping on the kitchen counter, ready to sort through the bowl of candy sitting on the island.

The date today is October 31. Halloween. It’s been a few years since Shibuya but he still feels like he’s suffocating.

In the train station. In the box.

In front of Suguru—or Kenjaku, both, whatever.

He’s gone to therapy, just like you wanted, for the both of you, and grieving has been an interesting concept to wrap his head around since.

But no matter how much he trains his mind to deal with it, his body will always remember the feeling.

He snaps out of it when he hears your footsteps padding on the floorboards. Your figure emerges from the hallway, bed hair and eyes still sleepy, squinting.

“Satoru?” you rub at your eyes, his sleep shirt entirely too long as the sleeves extend past your fingertips. The extra fabric swings in the air. “You okay?” you whisper, approaching him.

Waking you up is the last thing he could ever want right now, but it’s hard when you’re also the only one he can talk about this with. When you know what it’s like to grieve everyone too.

He has every intention of brushing it off, of telling you to go to sleep, but one look at you—one look at him and it’s like you just know. He doesn’t even need to explain.

It isn’t hard to piece together, knowing what today is and seeing him choked up the way he is. You tell Gojo it’s your intuition, but he has a tell, and maybe you’re the only one who knows it.

His eyes—they’ve always given him away. There’s the Satoru you know, then a Satoru that’s far removed, gone away. You can spot it though, the moment it loses its sparkle, the moment it turns from blue to gray.

He feels a little selfish sharing this with you; he’s not the only one who’s lost people. You have too.

You stand in front of him and offer a sad smile, outstretching your arms as an invite, as if to tell him: you can stay here for as long as you’d like.

He moves into your space slowly, hopping off the kitchen island to slump against you.

He doesn’t hug you yet, not immediately, hands still shaky at the memory. You rub his back, hooking your chin on his shoulder as he bends down to rest his head by your cheek.

You take his hand delicately, bringing them to your lips so you can kiss every fingertip gently. When you finish, he wraps his arms around you, squeezing tightly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you whisper, like a hushed secret.

And he wants to, but also, there isn’t anything else to say that you don’t know already. You were there the first few times he had therapy, and when he felt comfortable enough to go alone, he told you all about it anyway right after.

If there’s a secret to fighting the Gojo Satoru with guaranteed victory, they’d only have to get to you—he’d be gone, entirely. You know too much of him, own too many parts of him already.

He chuckles dryly, vibrating by your neck. A step back and he’s leaning against the counter, bringing you closer by the hip, thumb stroking. He tucks away strands of your hair behind your ear, flattening down the bird’s nest that it is from your sleep.

“Nothing you haven’t heard before, pretty.”

Gojo’s been more tender lately, especially in the night when his piercing eyes turn soft, gazing.

You pout, the same one since you were 16. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to it, the way he calls you such sweet, honeyed things; you’ve only recently begun to call him ‘baby’ and that alone has been enough to make your head spin.

Still, he wouldn’t be your Satoru if he didn’t surprise you. With how he is now, it’s hard to imagine a time when this was all so difficult for him, when even the slightest bit of your hands touching was challenging.

It’s hard to imagine that both of you are here now, living in the same space, by the kitchen at night, with the contents of your hearts memorized—the sorrow, the pain, the joy, all the love, every single one.

He kisses your nose, and that’s comfort alone.

This is his reality now, with you, and it’s safe.

It’s good.

“Do you want to make waffles?” he hears you mumble, running your hands over his chest, soothing.

The clock reads 3:56 a.m. Early breakfast doesn’t sound so bad, could also be a midnight snack.

(But he knows what you’re doing).

You don’t tell him to try to go back to sleep, never forcing anything you know he can’t do. Instead, you offer yourself to stay up with him, keep him company. Whatever he needs.

(And he loves that about you).

Gojo will forever argue that you might have fallen first, but he’s definitely fallen harder.

He could map out every single location he’s laid his love on—your eyes, the flutter of your eyelashes, the curve of your nose, and your lips, the same ones he’s kissed and nipped, bitten until he gets his fill.

Your neck and chest—a canvas for his desires. He glides a finger across your collarbone before lightly tapping on it thrice.

There’s the little dip at the base of your spine, and your thighs—

Oh, he could get lost in them.

He knows.

He has. Many times.

There’s an animal inside of him that only answers to you.

When you kiss his neck and grip his back, soft moans by his ear—short and sweet. He’s a gone man, wholly devoted to you, and you only.

You breathe his name out, “Satoru,” raspily, and he sinks into you—everything, all that he has spilling in the depths of you.

How can he possibly contain all this love?

It’s scary how so much of him already belongs to you, all these years—how you’ve been carrying pieces of him, all versions of him throughout every birthday, every moment you’ve touched his life and have it irrevocably changed.

“Are you happy?” he mumbles by your ear, voice deep and lazy.

It’s the morning, sunlight barely peeking through your curtains. Gojo hugs you from behind, arms caging you as he traces little hearts on your sides.

“Right now?” you whisper back, chuckling, “That’s not fair.”

He nips at your ear, a small bite, before you turn to face him.

He supposes you’re right, it isn’t fair to ask that now; both your bodies are sore, well-exhausted, and littered with conversations on love.

Gojo is pretty in the mornings just like he is all the time, his hair lending well to sunlight as much as it does to the moonlight. And his eyes—they shine a different shade during the day compared to the night.

You though, you’re an entirely different creature of your own: a goddess in bedsheets and pillows, wrapped in immaculate white.

You giggle when you face him, nose-to-nose, and he pulls you in tighter, grips you by the butt to slot you in right where you belong.

Are you happy with me?

He wonders, and you can read it—his eyes his greatest tell. You kiss him tenderly, lips moving gently against his. Then you smile, sincerely, before whispering—

“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!) thank you notes: to @stellamancer for being there since the very start!! col wouldn’t even exist without you!! you’re every much part of the creation of this as i am :'), to @crysugu for being so ever supportive, cheering me on all the time!! and for loving col reader as much as i do!! and to you reading this and everyone else who has loved this collection so far!! of course!! a credit to all the writers whose works have inspired the way i view and write gojo: to @seravphs for teen dad!gojo and cruel summer influences, i draw so much of the way i understand these characters and their dynamics from you and your beautiful way of writing them and i hope my interpretation gives justice to that!!, to @augustinewrites for keeping up with the fushigojos, this series and the way you write them, with so much love, has always pushed for me to view gojo that way!! you’ve inspired so much of my understanding that gojo does believe in love and that when he falls in it, he falls in it hard!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #satoru #shotorus.writes #col #algorithm pls love me

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zarnzarn · 8 months

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i see all these comments talking about this after the new episode, but. i would like to state for the record that stolitz isn't. toxic.

first off, the concept of a toxic and a healthy relationship are such... vague terms. when you're online, drenched in language and tight moral boundaries, trying to put a nuanced story like helluva boss's into boxes is easy to attempt and impossible to do.

a toxic relationship is one where one or both parties is maliciously affecting the other. I'm talking fetid, nasty, rude interactions where there is more hurt than love. they're unhappy more often than not when they're with their partner, there's no respect or give from the other side.

stolitz is nothing like that.

Stolas actively cares about Blitz and actually has no fear or hesitation in ADMITTING IT OUT LOUD TO OZZIE. he has been calling, texting, commenting, laughing and finding ways to spend time with Blitz. he's throwing everything he has to the wind, finding the courage to move forward with the divorce, putting everything he has into trying to keep him. he's been alone in a palace since he was born, on medication, with such less people dear to him that he remembered the circus boy who spent a day with him DECADES ago- so when blitz comes into his life and brings back in laughter and color and sex, he's holding on with everything he's got.

and blitz does care!!! he cares a LOT, the whole series we see him falling in love with stolas through SHOW NOT TELL (his expressions, his choices, his fear, his lashing out) and utterly unable to process that stolas cares about him too when talking to fizz; almost a desperate kind of denial-

cause yknow. the first time he tried to confess something to someone he really liked, he accidentally killed half the people he knew and ruined the lives of the rest?

thats gonna leave just a teensy impact on the will to express your emotions in the future, methinks.

even before that, he clearly felt like on some level that he was unworthy and he's said twice that he despises himself for the accident even though it wasn't actually his fault. being self aware doesn't stop the emotions from emotioning.

he keeps insisting its only sex so urgently to anyone who doesn't ask because he can't even imagine it being anything else. he's both disappointed and relieved when he repeats that stolas sees him as a novelty, because what else can it be?

(there's a whole other spiel of how brave both Stolas and Blitz have to be to say it out loud even when asmodeus can't afford to, considering how publically and completely beaten down both were at the club.)

(there's also another whole spiel about how frustrating it has been for ME to see all these comments over time with such bad takes based on like,, 20 min worth of info of a show that takes months to release an ep. like godDAMN have some patience?? let the story UNFOLD MAYBE? IT WAS ALWAYS GOING TO HAVE AN EXPLANATION WHY WOULD YOU CRITICIZE THINGS THAT ARENT EVEN FINISHED ESPECIALLY AN INDIE ANIMATION- i digress)

mind you, this has NOTHING to do with abuse. an abusive relationship is one where one is actively harming the other with full awareness. Stella is an abuser and their marriage is abusive.

and stolitz isn't that; it isn't even unhealthy or toxic. it's a consensual, transactional fuckbuddy relationship that slid into something more for both of them.

but!!!!! one of the main reasons for the problems that everyone looks over is-

they're in a BDSM relationship.

I can't possibly delve into dynamics without making this a 10k research paper BUT even though we've gotten only hints and costumes and dialogue- they're very clearly and undeniably in a BDSM contract. Behind the scenes of this crazy show is a whole different story, of these two delving into the most hardcore kinks out there- knifeplay, painplay, bondage.

if you've gotten into the community, if you've read a couple dozen particularly good fics by authors who know what they're talking about, hell; even if your only experience is fifty shades or 365 or whatever- you gotta know that BDSM scenes are crazy fucking emotionally heavy. there's so much that has gone down between them during their full moons that helluva can't get into!!

but you know how in so many of these popular medias and fics, the dom in the relationship is also like,, the billionaire/mafia heir/prince, etc, the one with financial and physical power? this isnt that. it has been very clearly stated that stolas is subbing, blitz is domming.

now take a moment and think about how much that fucks up the dynamics.

in stolas' eyes, blitz is a confident, dangerous individual who's an old friend and cherished memory of his, who he's trusted wholly with his safety during sex and he's lucky to have; and he has been in an abusive arranged marriage for the past eighteen Years, he's probably not going to be pushing his luck with his dom that much in the first place. plus, blitz is never cowed by him during their conversations- think back to the first phone call right after he stole the book, completely unafraid.

and for blitz, it's someone trusting him again- but it's also a royal- a blue blood who's nearly untouchable and so much more powerful- who couldn't possibly like a piece of shit like him, apart from the sex he gets out of it. he only flirts once he gets some sort of cue from Stolas; he's desperately trying to view this as only a Goetia trying to get his rocks off, despite all the evidence to the contrary, because anything else is unfathomable to him, no matter how clearly Stolas shows it, because of the ptsd.

both of them thinks the other has the power. both of them aren't expecting the other to keep shut if something's bothering them.

and there's so much conflicting messages from the other too!

stolas calls him a plaything when trying to intimidate the humans; stolas cups his face gently and asks if he's alright

blitz asks him on a date and tells him to get better soon; blitz yells that it's only sex and doesn't reply to his messages

ya see?

bring it to fizzozzie for a second now; even though they do look all good on surface, you can still see fizz's trauma and doubt in all their interactions, they're still forced to keep the relationship secret. do you see his face when Ozzie says in hyperbole that he's never leaving the house again, or when someone accuses him of being a pampered house pet or when he got sexualized in the 7th ep? whatever happened in the interim between the accident with mammon, it fucked him UP. even though oz seems to be well aware of this when he tells him not to apologise and in their general interactions, fizz still visibly has trouble separating plaything/commodity from healthy relationship.

shout the fuck out to Ozzie btw, man knows whats UP. rooting for these two so much omg.

i forgot where I was going with this point, I'll edit it when i remember. but yeah! lovely fucking relationship, but damn what angst filled issues.

anyway, to sum up- stolitz is not a toxic relationship. the relationship is stuck sludging through misunderstandings and careless microaggressions and trauma responses, but it's not unhealthy or toxic because of the simple reason that most of the current hurt comes from... a misunderstanding. stolas didn't realise blitz would need reassurance about what they were and blitz didn't see stolas as someone who could get hurt.

unecessarily calling it toxic, even online, is more impactful than people think too. almost all spindlehorse ARE on all social medias; so MANY YouTube animators i know have found jobs there; they see your words, especially since a lot don't tag posts with "anti hb" correctly to keep them out of the main tag. there are Very few queer medias made BY queer people that haven't gone through heavy corporate revisions- helluva boss is practically a historical landmark in its success. it's very very very fucking easy to forget that not ten years ago some of the only queer videos on YouTube were butter lover (one kiss at the end post credits), dirty paws and welcome to hell (subtext).

the amount of "critical talk" helluva boss gets for what it is is very unprecedented. it's a beautiful show. can't wait for the next episode.

#helluva boss #stolas #blitz #stolitz #fizzarolli #helluva boss ozzie #okay im gonna make SO much content but i had to get this off my chest first #because so many people were like omg fizzozzie is so healthy stolitz take a lesson!!#and theres so much more nuance to it thats its so. frustrating to see a statement like that #meta #anyways #i love this fucjing show

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daisynik7 · 7 months

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imma hit you with a twofer: extra smooth by aaliyah with geto...and gimme more by brittany spears with kishibe

Extra Smooth

Pairing: Suguru Geto x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~3.0k

cw: next-door neighbor Geto who is kind of an asshole, shy reader, smut – PIV sex (doggy style), cunnilingus, sex without a condom, sex toy use

Summary: Your next-door neighbor is loud, inconsiderate, and unfortunately, very hot. No matter how many times you bang on his door with another new noise complaint, he’ll continue to repeat his offenses nearly every weekend. You’re too timid to submit a formal complaint to the landlord, so you shrug it off, hoping that one day, he’ll suddenly become nice. That day comes sooner than you think, when he unexpectedly makes a visit to your apartment, discovering the real reason you need your peace and quiet.

Author’s Note: @demonwoman Mephisto! I LOVE this song and Aaliyah, honestly this was so perfect for Geto. Thank you for requesting a two-fer for the y2k karaoke party! I’ll post the Kishibe one soon. Had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you have just as much fun reading it! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciating, thank you for reading! MDNI divider by @/cafekitsune.

part 1 of to all the boys who live next door anthology series

Even with your headphones in, music on high, you can still hear the loud bass reverberating through the shared wall of your apartment. You remove one of the buds in your ear to press it to the plaster, listening carefully to your neighbor having another party next door. Rolling your eyes, you save the document on your screen before shutting your laptop closed, quickly putting on a pair of mismatched sweatpants and sweater. This isn’t the first time you’ve had to go over to Suguru Geto’s apartment to ask him to lower the volume. You did it last weekend, and the one before that, even twice last month. It isn’t fun for you to be that person, but the intense bass that rattles your bedroom walls really is distracting. You thought that after the first two times you complained, he would be more conscious of it. Nope, still noisy and obnoxious as ever. The problem is you’re too chicken shit to make a formal complaint to your landlord. Of course he isn’t taking it seriously, not from his timid, home-body neighbor next door. Why should he when it’s only you that it’s bothering?

You slide into your fuzzy slippers and make your way out into the hallway, closing the door shut behind you. A few steps and you’re in front of Geto’s, knocking three times. You can hear people chatting and laughing from inside, not responding. You wait another couple of seconds before forcefully pounding on the door with your fist, finally getting a reaction. The chatter hushes and soon, he reveals himself, answering the door with a tight grin on his face, clearly annoyed. “What can I do for you, neighbor?” he grits through his teeth, still maintaining a forced smile.

You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly insecure in his presence. There’s no denying it; he’s an attractive man, tall and lean beneath tight-fitting clothes. Long, black hair drapes down his back, a portion of it wrapped in a loose bun, loose strands falling before his handsome face. And sure, maybe sometimes he crosses your mind while you’re in your bedroom, playing with the toys you have currently hidden away in your nightstand. But that’s as far as it goes: fantasy. In reality, your next-door neighbor is an asshole.

“Could you please lower the volume of your music? It’s really loud.” You decide not to bring up the other incidents from the past, not wanting to aggravate the situation any further.

He grins at you, disingenuous, definitely irritated, but trying not to show it. “Sure. I can do that. Anything else?”

You shake your head, muttering a quiet, “Thanks.” You glance at the people inside, who stare at you, snickering to each other.

“Nice slippers, by the way,” he taunts, before slamming the door shut. There’s an uproar of laughter from inside, and you retreat back into your home, irked by his attitude. It’s not that hard to be considerate of others, right? So why is he making this so much more difficult than it needs to, making you feel like the asshole? You shake it off, trying not to let it bother you. He actually does lower the volume, so you’re satisfied, despite the unnecessary insults you hear from the other side. God she’s so lame. She’s home alone on a Friday night, what do you expect?

With another roll of your eyes, you open your laptop, resuming where you left off. Your fingers type away at the keys fluidly, your concentration regained, hating yourself a little bit for what you’re about to type, especially after what just happened:

Yeah, you want this cock, don’t you?

Been hungry for it this entire time, huh?

[clothing rustling]

Well, go ahead. Come get it. Use me like you’ve always wanted to.

[spits into hand, starts stroking his cock]

I’ll be a good neighbor to you from now on. The very best.

~~~

You finish the script past midnight, falling asleep before you get a chance to proofread and edit it. There’s no title yet, though you have a vague idea of what you want it to be. Saturdays, you’re usually out with friends throughout the day, so you decide to finish the rest of it once you’re back home from dinner tonight. Before you leave, you type a quick title at the top of the page: [M4F] Your Hot Asshole Neighbor Finally Decides to Be Nice to You.

This isn’t the first script you’ve written. Last month, you tried your hand at it and it got picked by one of your favorite nsfw voice actors. The thrill of hearing their deep voice moaning the words you wrote motivated you enough to work on another. The commission payment is an added bonus. With your full-time job occupying your week, weekends are the only free time you have to write, especially Friday nights. That’s why you need your concentration; and that’s why Geto’s loud music bothers you so much. You can’t completely hate him, though. After all, he’s the inspiration behind this latest piece, though you will never admit that to him. Ever. In fact, this entire gig you’re doing is a secret only for you to harbor. Not even your closest friends are aware that you’re doing this as a hobby.

The document sits temporarily forgotten on your laptop while you galivant with your besties throughout the day. After a delicious dinner together, they drop you off to your apartment, where pour yourself a glass of white wine to sip on in your pajamas while you edit your naughty script at the dining table.

You’ve read it twice through, starting from the top for a third review when there’s a knock on your door. You check your phone, searching for a text from a friend who might be stopping by, but you see none. Confused, you tip toe in your fuzzy slippers to look through the peephole, surprised to see Geto standing on the other side.

You open the door, greeting him hesitantly. “Um, hi.”

He nods, hands in his pockets, giving you a quick scan before speaking. “Hey. I, uh, locked myself out. The landlord isn’t going to be back until an hour or so and I’m too cheap to call a locksmith right now. Is it cool if I just hang out in here while I wait?”

You consider this carefully, still in disbelief that this happening. You can’t just kick him to the curb and refuse, especially when it’ll only be for a short while. Deciding to let bygones be bygones, you agree to help him, opening the door wider to let him through.

“Thank you,” he mutters, stepping inside. “Do you want me to take my shoes off?”

“Yes. I think I have some slippers for you. I’ll be right back.” You rush to your bedroom, searching for a pair of slides that he can use in the meantime. It takes a while to find them, buried under a pile of junk in your closet. Before you head out to meet him, you quickly put a bra on, acutely aware that he might have caught sight of your nipples peeking through the thin layer of your shirt. It doesn’t matter, though; he doesn’t think of you in like that anyways. You’re just his lame, lonely neighbor next door, right?

You return, looking towards the couch, expecting to see him sitting there. To your horror, you catch him at the dining table, seated where you previously were before he arrived, staring at your laptop screen.

“Hey!” You hustle towards him, slamming it shut with enough force to rattle the table.

He glances at you, cheeks red, an odd expression on his face. “What was that?” he asks, pointing to the computer.

You snatch it away, storing it in one of the kitchen drawers, desperate to hide it as if the damage hasn’t already been done. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

He stands up, lips parted, trying to find the words to say. “That was…I’m pretty sure it said…Is that about me?”

Your skin is sweltering now, beyond freaked out and unsure how to fix this mess. Is it better to lie and try to chalk it up as one big joke? Or should you be honest and hope he’s understanding about it? Either way, there’s no turning the clock back. He’s already read something, and it’s not going to be leaving his mind anytime soon.

You decide to tell him the truth, as best as you can explain it. “Okay, I know it’s weird, but I write these types of scripts for voice actors to perform. It’s just a little part-time hobby I have, and I even get paid for it. Sure, it’s a little risqué, but it’s nothing illegal, okay?” He continues to stare at you, expression relaxing just the slightest bit.

“Also, it’s not about you. Maybe it’s a little bit inspired by you, but it’s definitely not about you. Not exactly,” you add, uncertainty laced in your voice. This is even more mortifying than you expected it to be. Is it too late to break the lease on your rent and move across town?

It’s quiet for what seems like forever. He doesn’t respond, contemplating your explanation silently to himself. Eventually, he takes a couple steps towards you, reaching behind to slide the drawer open, pulling your laptop out. You’re frozen, stunned by his close proximity, anticipating his next move. Finally, he says, “I want to read the rest of it.”

“What?”

He smirks, tension easing from his shoulders as he sits down, taking a swig from your wine glass. “I want to finish it. It was getting good before you stopped me.” He opens your laptop screen, the document appearing exactly where he left off.

You bury your face in your hands, taking the seat beside him, groaning. “I can’t believe this is happening right now.” You refill your glass almost to the brim with wine, taking a large gulp of it before passing it to him.

“Did you really think you could keep something like this a secret? This is pretty wild,” he chuckles, tipping it into his mouth, at the same spot where you did.

“I didn’t think you’d be the first person to find out, though.” You take a deep breath, preparing yourself for whatever is about to unravel from this.

“Fair enough.” He scans the words, reading each one meticulously. “So are these lines supposed to be, like, what the voice actor says? It’s just them talking?”

“Yup.”

He giggles, blushing. “Okay, so, we’re pretending that I’m the asshole neighbor. Got it. Are you sure this isn’t about me?”

“It’s inspired by you. Inspired,” you reiterate, swallowing a large gulp of alcohol.

He bites his lip, hiding his smile. “Okay. Um, so it says here in the bracket that there’s knocking.”

“That’s the cue for sound effects.”

“Got it. So,” Geto knocks thrice on the surface of the dining table, reading, “What can I do for you, neighbor? Oh, you want me to turn the volume down? Is it too loud for you again? This is totally about me!”

You can’t help but laugh, shrugging. “Maybe it’s a little bit about you.”

He hides his smile behind his hand, swearing under his breath. “Shit, okay.” He clears his throat before continuing. “I’m sorry for being so noisy these past few weeks. Do you think you could ever forgive me? Do people really get off on lines like this?”

“Just keep reading it!” you yell at him, playfully kicking him beneath the table.

“Okay, okay! Ahem. I think I know exactly what I can do to make it up to you. I know you like me, even though I’m such an asshole. Think you can forgive me for just one night?”

You clench your thighs together, concealing the arousal growing between your legs. You’ve always thought he had a sexy voice but paired with the script and knowing what’s about to come, it’s hard to control your desires.

His voice is hushed now, low and sultry. “Yeah? That’s what I thought. You want this cock, don’t you?” Geto swallows thickly, pausing to catch his breath. “Been hungry for it this entire time, huh?” There’s a blush in his cheeks again. He shifts in his seat, hands down at his lap. “Well, go ahead. Come get it. Use me like you’ve always wanted to. Whoa, okay, this is…this is getting a little crazy now,” he chuckles nervously, avoiding your gaze.

Unable to resist your curiosity, you glimpse at his crotch, an obvious bulge protruding from his sweatpants, stunned that he’s hard right now. Without thinking, you scoot closer to him, placing your hand on his knee. He meets your gaze, eyes wide, lips parted.

“If you want to, we can stop,” you whisper, fingers trailing his inner thigh delicately. You can’t deny it any longer. You want him. You’ve always wanted him. And if he didn’t feel the same, he would have already been gone by now, too weirded out by your strange hobby to stick around. Yet, here he is, playing along with it, playing along with you.

You wait for his answer, resting your hand dangerously near his erection strained in his pants. “I don’t want to stop,” he says, spreading his legs wider for you. “l want to be a good neighbor to you from now on. The very best.”

~~~

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he pants, stripping his clothes off hastily as you watch him, already naked on your bed. When he’s finished, he hovers over you, relishing the sight of you beneath him.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a passionate kiss, tongues swirling around each other’s sloppily. “You’re sure you want to keep going?” you ask between smooches.

He laughs, sucking on your bottom lip. “I’m not stopping this for anything. Are you sure you want to keep going?”

You nod at him, guiding his hands to your breasts. “Absolutely.”

He pinches your nipples until they’re perky and you’re whining in ecstasy, rutting your hips against him, desperate for friction. He slides down, leaving a trail of kisses along your body until he’s at your arousal, tongue lapping at your clit. You squeeze his head between your thighs, his mouth pressed firmly to your cunt, slurping at your juices. “Fuck, Geto. Feels so good.”

“Suguru,” he muffles, lips latched to your swelling bud. “Call me Suguru.”

You run your fingers through his hair as he eats you out, tugging at the strands when you reach your first orgasm, gushing all over his face. He licks you slowly as you come down from your high, flicking the tip of his tongue on your sensitive bud. He reaches down to stroke his cock, stiff in his fist and leaking with precum. “Fuck, you taste amazing. So fucking pretty when I eat out this sloppy cunt. Can I fuck you now, sweetheart? I want to make you come around my cock.”

You roll over in bed, spreading your ass cheeks for him. “Yeah, fuck me, Suguru. Fuck this wet cunt.”

He wipes the sweat beading on his forehead, jerking his cock feverishly in his other hand. “Fuck, I knew you were a slut, I just knew it,” he huffs, slapping his dick on your ass, rubbing it slowly between the soft flesh of your cheeks. He guides himself inside you, stretching you out little by little until you swallow him up completely. He starts thrusting, his motions extra smooth from your previous orgasm. “All those nights, I listened to you touch yourself with those vibrators. I’d stroke my cock with you, come whenever you did. Your little whimpers are so fucking sexy, especially when you try to hide them. You have no idea what you do to me.”

You’re too fucked out to process his confession, throwing your ass in tandem with his thrusts. His grip is tight on your waist, fucking you like you’ve never been fucked before. Suddenly, he pulls out, pussy fluttering around nothing, eager to be stuffed gain. You whine, craning your neck to glare at him while he gives you a naughty smirk, reaching for your nightstand. “Are they in here? Your toys?” He searches it blindly, retrieving one of your favorites, clicking the button to activate it, buzzing in his hold. “Use it while you use me.”

You obey his request without question, holding the vibrator against your sensitive clit as he pushes himself back inside you, pounding away at your cunt. You climax twice more around him, completely spent now, brain like mush, letting the toy fall off the bed, slippery with your cum. He laughs at your docile expression, pulling out to bury his face back into your pussy, licking off all the cum smeared over you, determined to make you come again. When you do, he crawls up the bed, a satisfied smile on his face, straddling you while he pumps his cock in his fist. After a couple strokes, he shoots onto your tits, covering them in his pearly cum, moaning your name.

He helps you clean it off, grabbing several tissues from the nightstand, wiping your chest dry. You scoot closer to the wall to make room for him, snuggling beside you with his mouth grazing your forehead, giving you a smooch.

Thinking logically again, you recall his confession from earlier. “Can you really hear me through these walls?”

He chuckles. “Yeah. But only if I’m listening really carefully.”

“And did you really…?”

“Yeah. I did,” he admits, blushing. “Sorry. I guess I’m kind of a pervert.”

You giggle, nuzzling into his chest. “Well, what does that make me then? Who’s the one who wrote filthy scenarios about you?”

“I thought you said it was only inspired by me?” he teases, cuddling you closer.

“It was totally about you, okay? I just never thought it’d actually happen.”

He massages your back lovingly. “Aren’t you glad it did?”

You peer up to smile at him. “Yeah. I am.”

~~~

The following weekend, there’s another noise complaint. This time, however, it’s you receiving it from your neighbor on the other side, complaining about how loud you and Geto are while having sex.

#geto suguru #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto x you #geto smut #geto x reader #geto x you #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #y2k karaoke party #milestone event

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jjklvr9 · 3 months

Text

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮

⇢ " 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨; 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴, 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘥 "

18+ minors dni !!

pairing: heeseung x older fem!reader (by a year)

genre: smut, slight romance

warnings: slight praising, mentions of blood, fingering, cursing, unprotected sex, do let me know if i missed anything!

wc: 5.3k

a/n: my first ever heeseung fic !! i have not been writing in a very long time so i'm kinda rusty and i'm trying a little different style of writing ;_; but! i still hope you all enjoy it <3

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

You often wondered if there was more out there for you. Something that would make your mind and nerves twist in excitement, something that’d make you yearn for more. Something that would never make you think twice about, something that wouldn’t obscure your thoughts with uncertainty and ‘what ifs’.

A deep sigh escapes your lips as you shake your head, aiming to clear your mind. It's time to focus on getting that pending work done so you can relish in the relief of passing in bed. It was a Friday night after all.

It’s been a year since you graduated from university and the momentary happiness of completing a goal you’ve set flushed away when you began your first new job. The pay wasn’t too bad and it was the only way you’ve been guided to headstart on a career. Head start your life more so. You were beyond glee when you read the acceptance email, calling around your family members and best friends to tell them the good news. Yay! You’re finally earning money and doing something. The excitement didn’t last long, for the first two weeks on the job already took a heavy toll on you. The countless meetings, paperwork, overtime. Not to mention the commute home on the bus was dreadful after a late night. It became a routine you despised, slowly killing you from the insides and sometimes it showed on your face.

Your life beyond the confines of work bore a striking resemblance. The majority of your friends were entangled in their own busy lives and careers, leaving little room for regular meetups. Furthermore, your family resided inconveniently in an entirely different city, making it impractical for you to freely come and go as you pleased. Not that you’d have the energy to do so anyway. On most of your days off, you found yourself indoors, indulging in the solace of leisurely idleness. There was nothing better than being able to sleep without the expectation of an alarm blaring to wake you up too early in the morning for your liking.

But it was also getting dull. You couldn’t deny that life was pretty dull. You were grateful most times, having the security of a job and home was everything that was enough. Though occasionally, you longed for more. More to feel what life and this world could present. Even for the tiniest second, you desired to feel something different.

9:30 pm. Finally, you turn your laptop off for the night and raise your arms to stretch the extremely tautened muscles straining your shoulders. You’ve been working non-stop since your lunch break ended, dinner didn’t even occur to you till small growls churned in your stomach. Packing up your things, you decided to head down to the convenience store in the building before leaving to catch your bus ride home. Maybe some onigiri or a bento box would suffice.

Treading into the well-lit store, the cashier welcomes you with a smile along with the rush of the cold draft from the air conditioner hitting your skin at once. That woke you up a bit, forgetting how cold it would be in actuality outside of this building. It was winter after all. Your eyes survey through the food section, set on that last tuna mayo-flavoured rice ball before extending your hand to pick it off the shelves; when another hand seemed to beat you to it. This interaction caused you to jolt a little on your feet, waking you up fully now as your eyes dilated slightly at the man standing beside you. His hand was still next to yours by the shelves, only his successfully holding onto the onigiri.

“Oh, sorry. Did you want this?” he asks softly, or rather he seemed, apologetic with his eyes staring back into yours. “It’s fine...I’ll just..” you trail on, glancing back at the array of rice balls before aimlessly picking another. “take this one.” The man blinks instantly in surprise, you can tell, but what about you weren’t sure. “Y/n?” with your name slipping out of his voice, your eyes widened once again and this time you were surprised. What?

“You are..?” Not wanting to confirm straight off the bat just in case it was a stalker danger situation or something, you crease your eyebrows in question. “It’s me, Heeseung. From the basketball team.” Heeseung…Heeseung? Oh. Right. Heeseung. Once his facial features registered in your fatigued brain, recollections of university life played in your mind like a movie trailer. Were you truly this depleted that you didn't recognize this earlier? Unbelievable.

You knew him briefly through your group of friends who were also part of the basketball team, glimpsing him in the socials and games you attended, merely ever acknowledging each other with “heys” and greeting smiles. Heeseung was a year younger than you but it was hard to tell with his domineering height and build. Despite his rapport with your closest friends, you two never seemed to escalate the acquaintanceship. Yet, there was always a subtle exchange of prolonged glances between you two. You often notice his gaze and you'd find yourself looking back at him. His captivating charm and attractive features were no secret to anyone, and you were well aware of the magnetic allure he possessed around people. Well, those glances held no deeper meaning; they were just moments, fleeting and devoid of any significance, or so you believed.

“Ah…Heeseung. I didn’t realise it was you with your hair all black now. Sorry, my brain is kind of fried..” you convey with a slight smile, mixed with comfort and apology. It had only been a full year and a half since you last saw him, at one of the parties the basketball team threw before a big game. It was apparent he changed; grew a few more inches and his shoulders looked larger too. Black strands covered some of his eyes now, which differed the most drastically from the blonde he used to have. He looked really good even sporting in just a hoodie and sweatpants, you couldn’t refute that. Heeseung lets out a chuckle, taking the onigiri from your hand and strides his way to the cashier without another word. “Oh?” was all you could say, flickering your eyes in surprise as you followed him. “You don’t have to! I should be the one buying.” He chuckles once again; never realised his voice sounded temperate either. As he thanks the cashier and hands you the plastic bag filled with the tuna-flavoured rice ball you wanted initially and an extra orange juice, a smile curves up his lips. You thanked him quietly and showed a smile back, both of you now walking out of the store into the cold air of the night.

The darkness encompassed your surroundings, yet the glow of the streetlights and moon shine compensated for the lack of clear sight. “Hey, you didn’t have to..you know. But thank you again Heeseung. I should pay you back though..” The man looks at you with the same smile still plastered on his face, his hand pushing back his hair slightly. “Instead of paying me back, why don’t we grab a bite sometime?” Did he just ask me out? No, he’s just being friendly.

You weren’t certain if you were more exhausted than you thought, but you sensed a slight leap in your heart. You weren't exactly unnerved by the inquiry, but it certainly deviated from the norm for you, especially now that you're fully engrossed in the corporate grind. Work accumulated on too much of your life and mind, as well as on people around you that nobody ever had any time to do such things. Sure, you’ve been asked out for lunch and coffee, sometimes even dinner with a colleague but this felt different.

“Oh, yeah, okay.” you weren’t sure on how to react, nodding your head along with your words. You were shy. Heeseung chortles once again, noting this obvious expression from you. “Tomorrow sound good? Here, give me your number.” He says, passing you his phone. Was he always this straightforward? He did seem the type to be but encountering it first-hand was heating your ears and cheeks. You hope he doesn’t realise this, assuming it was from the cold. Nodding slowly in agreement with his suggestion, you take the phone from his hand and fill in your contact information. For some reason, your phone number seemed scrambled up in your head, causing you to doubt if you're even keying in the right digits. Saving it and handing the phone back to him, you retained your eyes on his. The sound of the bus huffing to a stop nearby broke your gaze, realising it was your ride home for the night. “Okay well I um, I have to catch that.” you tried not to sound awkward, pointing at the bus a few steps away as you took some in that direction slowly. “Ah, alright, I’ll text you!” Heeseung graced you with yet another warm smile, this time radiating even more brightness than before. He watches as you get on the bus and settle on a seat in the back, waving slightly when your eyes look out the window to him. You wave back as the bus drives off, his silhouette gently fading away into the obscurity of the night. It had been quite a memorable evening for you, as the sight of an old familiar face reignited something within you, much like the gradual lustre of a dried-out candle; and indeed, the flames do begin to flicker and glow anew.

As sunlight sifts through the curtains and gently tickles your face, its warmth prompts a soft, contented whirr to escape your lips as you continue to slumber peacefully. If that wasn’t enough to wake you, the buzzing sound of your phone sure did. It was a quiet Saturday morning, or rather, afternoon, considering the clock struck 12 pm. At this hour, the stillness persisted, and you were expecting a respite from incoming messages. Everybody was either too occupied catching up on their sleep and lives, but you’d forgotten there was a new number soon to be added to your contacts. Seizing it from the side table, you open one eye to take a peek at the notification illustrated on the screen before opening both in surprise. Perhaps even excitement, reading the words out loud in your head.

“Good morning Y/N :) Heeseung here.”

A bashful smile began to play on the corners of your lips, and your cheeks blushed once more at the mere thought of the text. The fact that he probably just woken up too to text you ‘Good morning’ at this hour; the fact texting you was the first thing he did when he woke up. You swiftly replied, not forgetting to replicate the smiley face he added to his good morning text. Within a few minutes, your phone buzzed again, leaving you no space to bask in the joy of having received that initial message.

“I hope you rested well :) What are your plans for the day?”

There's that smiley face again. Why did he have to message you like that? Such simple words yet they made your smile grow bigger. You turned your body to the other side, back facing the window now with your legs wrapped around the bolster. It felt like reliving high-school days being a young girl in love, smiling and giggling as you read the exchanged messages between you and your crush. You weren't entirely certain if your feelings for this boy amounted to a crush just yet, but there was an undeniable sense of something growing within you.

Heeseung was sweet, and he was really funny. It’s around 5 pm now, having been texting each other the whole day with a dinner plan for the night, you found yourself giggling once again as you read the joke he made this time. All you managed to do today was eat lunch and take a shower, with half the other time spent typing your fingers away on your phone. Over the course of a few hours, the bond between you two clicked instantly and deepened, ease and comfort settling enough for Heeseung to have flirted a little bit here and there. You did appreciate his gestures, noting his flirtatious manner, which leaned more towards showering you with compliments and engaging in innocent teasing. Glancing at the time once more, you figured it was time to get ready for the dinner he had planned for the both of you.

Gazing at your reflection one final time in the mirror, a smile graces your lips as you adjust your flared-sleeve top and skirt to perfection. The sound of your phone ringing caught you off guard, stumbling a little as you hurriedly put on your jacket and picked it up. “Hey, I’m outside.” Heeseung sounded like he was smiling over the phone, the hint of excitement couldn’t be missed from his tone. An involuntary smile finds its way to your lips, peeking through the window to see him standing outside with his back resting against his car; dressed handsomely in a pair of loose black pants, matching it with a black collared shirt and jacket. God, even in simple clothing or dressed up, Heeseung always looked good. Despite hours of conversation, a flutter of nervousness still lingered within you. Heart beating louder and quicker with every step closer you took to him, the sight of his glinting eyes seemed to relax you.

Breathe. It’s just Heeseung.

“You’re so pretty.” He blurts out as you become clearer in his line of sight; and with the subtle reddening of his cheeks, you discern that he hadn't intended to express it so candidly. He blinks slowly as if he was coming back from a daze, clearing his throat. “Come on, let's go.” the boy says, opening the car door with one hand and the other leading you to get in. What a gentleman.

“Y-you look really good too.” Did you just stutter? Pursing your lips in embarrassment, you tried to save face by giving a small smile. Cute, he thought and as usual he chuckled in response. The ride to the restaurant turned out to be less awkward than anticipated, and as the night unfolded, you discovered yourself becoming more and more comfortable in his company, easing into the evening with each passing moment. Engaging in conversation, you delve into the recounting of shared experiences in university and reminisce about mutual friends, weaving a tapestry of memories and connections. Diving deeper, you navigate through a multitude of topics, slipping past the surface to explore more facets of each other's lives. Amidst soft laughter that punctuates the conversation, you discover that there's an inexhaustible well of things to talk about with each other.

In that fleeting time, everything felt perfect and your heart did the leap once more. Whenever there was a minute of silence between the two of you, Heeseung would look up to you with a smile, reaching his hand out across the table to hold onto yours. You found yourself pondering whether he might be experiencing the same nervousness as you, despite his outwardly composed and confident demeanor. Yet, every now and then, you caught a slight flush creeping up to the tips of his ears, offering a glimpse into his inner thoughts.

Nothing could’ve beat the night you had, if you had to compare it with all the others you spent rotting alone at home in your bed. With everything running smoothly, what could go wrong? It felt like you two grew closer not just emotionally but physically as well, being cosy enough to hold hands as you walk out of the restaurant together now.

“Oh shit, I think I left my phone on the table.” Heeseung says, patting down his jacket and pant pockets a few times, apologising to you as he hurriedly walks back in. You giggle a little at his clumsiness, standing at the side of the restaurant waiting for him to come back. It was getting later in the night now, the cold air tingling down your skin making goosebumps rise. No amount of clothing or jackets was enough for the temperature that drops at night.

Bits of the evening kept replaying in your head and you couldn’t help but smile a little to yourself. It was yet to end until Heeseung sent you home but you were already reminiscing the time you shared. He surprised you in a way; with how effortless it was to talk to him, to share with him the things you’ve always had in mind. He made you feel accommodated and heard; like he really wanted to know you. Like he really wanted you to know him. There undoubtedly was a paradoxical sense that you and he had an enduring connection as if your souls had been intertwined for eternity. What took you so long to finally talk to him? It made you excited, knowing there would potentially be more of him in your life after this.

“You alone?” a slurred-out voice pulls you out of your thoughts, surprising you, even more, was the tall man standing in front of you now. He didn’t look too old, nor did he look too young, but he did look wasted. You were seemingly scared and decided not to pay any mind to the stranger, hoping he’d just walk away and stop bothering you; but to no luck, the man remained there. Pestering and being persistent in having a conversation, he started to annoy you. Annoy more than how scared you felt before. Annoyed about what's taking Heeseung so goddamn long to come back. Before you could muster the words to dismiss the man, he unexpectedly takes hold of your wrist, as if intending to lead you away. “Come, let's go get some drinks!”

“Let her go.” Tone harsh and low, Heeseung was evidently angry at the stranger bothering you. He made sure to be delicate, grabbing your waist to pull you off from the man’s grip and fall back close to his chest. “Who the fuck are you?” The stranger retaliates, puffing up his chest as if he were trying to scare Heeseung off. It would take more than just a little show to get him to back down from guarding you, not even a mere attempt at a punch in the face could. Heeseung scoffs in spite, unfazed at the hit; his own fist curling up to show the man how it was actually done. You gasp softly, being pushed to the sidelines as Heeseung lands his hard knuckles on the man’s face. It clearly did the damage he meant to, seeing how the man was now wincing and scurrying off in pain and curses. You felt a wave of relief wash over you as the dispute came to an abrupt end. “Heeseung, are you okay? Y-you’re bleeding!” A small red hue illuminates from the corner of his lips, quickly being licked off by his swift tongue. Though the bleeding continued to slowly seep through. “I’m fine if you’re fine. Let’s get you home.”

You weren’t going to lie, besides the worry you felt for Heeseung getting into a physical altercation, the sight of him all strong and protective like that kind of made your insides turn. In a good way. Never mind that he was younger, the fact he was protective towards you and even took out a hit for you; ten folds attractive in your eyes. The whole ride home remained shrouded in silence, with a subtle tension lingering in the air. His hand held yours firmly as he drove, a silent reassurance amidst the quiet unease. Caressing your hand with his thumb, indicating he was worried for your well-being and this soothed you immensely. Pulling up to your driveway, Heeseung turns to face you, hand still firmly clasped with yours.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that. I just didn’t want you to get hurt.” He starts, hanging his head down low as if he was ashamed to meet your eyes.

You give his hand a little tug, signalling him to ease up. “It’s okay. You’re the one who got hurt though..” unconsciously (or not, you weren’t even sure yourself anymore) your lips form a small pout, eyes wide focused on Heeseung’s face with slight glances at his bleeding lips. He notices this, and instead of wiping them off, Heeseung slowly leans his face closer to yours till your noses brush against each other and he pauses there. His breath wandered around the air near you, the warmth emanating from his body exuding into your skin and creating a calming closeness. His scent was undeniably pleasing and so close, the black strands of his hair softly poking on your own cheeks. Electrifying, both heartbeats getting louder and louder you could almost feel it claw its way out. You held your breath at that moment, fearful that any wrong move might cause the enchantment to disperse. You’ve never felt like this before, and you’d do whatever it takes to keep feeling it.

Your thighs seemed to rub against each other, warmth burgeoning in your stomach and extending downward. In one brisk second, Heeseung plants his lips onto yours and immediately you reciprocate. It felt tender and pacifying, radiating sincerity and solace.

You could feel the speck of passion pouring into your heart, flowers blooming as the garden grows. It grows, wilder with a pinch of fire now, as Heeseung pushes for more with how deep and harsher his lips felt. Your sanity erupts into a chaotic symphony, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. His hands had seemed to find themselves on your bare thighs, gripping them like his life depended on it. Fingers tracing up your skin till it reaches the hem of your skirt, you feel it daringly push the fabric away and climb higher. With the soft touch of his finger on your now-soaked underwear, a soft moan escapes your lips. Your hands encircled his neck, drawing him nearer, the desire for more amplifying with each lingering touch of his piers. Heeseung pushes his tongue in at the brief parting of your lips, licking your cavern wet and continues to weave both of your tongues together, sucking on them ever so roughly.

Breaking the kiss, now messy and sloppy with saliva running down your jaw, you somehow felt your lips still parched. As if it were insufficient, leaving an unquenched longing for his flavour. Tracing your tongue on the edges of his crimson-covered lips, you sniffle a moan at the taste of him. Despite the tempting urge to nibble more onto them, you resisted, mindful of not wanting to inflict any more hurt upon him than he had already endured.

Inclining into him again, his finger resting on your underwear has started to make its movements; nice and slow. He rubs them in a circular motion; wanting to tease you a little bit more. You moan in between kisses, your own hands now gripping onto his shirt to tug and pull him closer, bodies pressing against each other. With that eagerness coming from you, Heeseung holds your underwear to the side with his thumb, pushing two fingers into your folds without breaking the kiss. You gasped at this, unconsciously biting onto his lower lip a little bit too hard than you intended. It created a little bloody mess, but nothing you couldn’t fix.

You tenderly murmur a soft apology, delicately licking away every trace of red left on his lips, seeking to soothe any discomfort.

“You’re such a good girl, cleaning up after your mess. My good girl.” the man coos under his breath, fingers pushing themselves further into you, accelerating the pace as the seconds go by. My good girl. There's that heart leap again. A fleeting moment of uncertainty crosses your mind as you ponder whether he expressed those words in the heat of the moment

or if he meant it, but the way he handled you and kissed you earlier seemed to pivot the pendulum towards it being honest. At least, that's what you wanted to believe.

The muffled sounds escaping you grow more pronounced, escalating in intensity with the hold on his shirt tightening within the grasp of your fingers shortly before they sneak downwards to the growing mound in his pants; gently but firmly grasping its contours. This prompted a hiss from him, his lips pressing even deeper into the yours than before.

You've never encountered such an exhilarating feeling like this, as Heeseung's firm fingers gradually heighten the vigour of euphoria seeping up your senses. "Ah, more..more."

The man smirks in response to your desperate plea, forcefully pushing his fingers deeper before withdrawing them completely. Dismayed at his retraction, your eyes fluttered as you leaned back from him, gasping for the breath you had momentarily lost.

"More what? What is it that you want, baby?"

With a raised eyebrow, he questions, attempting to suppress a grin that you catch in his expression. Ignoring the blush taking shape on the apples of your cheeks, you briefly scrutinise him; his shirt bore a charming dishevelment, his tousled hair adding a touch of allure, making him exceptionally more attractive in sight. The burgeoning bulge beneath your clammy palm subtly twitches, drawing your focus to its presence; making it known to you of his equal excitement at what you're about to say.

"I want you to fuck me, Heeseung. Please."

A groan escapes his lips in response to your words. Without uttering another sound, he withdraws from you and begins lowering his pants and boxers down to his thighs; springing out his ever-so-eager cock free. Damn, what a sight. Heeseung clearly overpacked on your anticipations in this department.

How much more pleasure could he bring you now, considering the sensations his fingers alone prompted? Your insides ignite further at this view, body flushing with heat and throat drying at the mere thought of how he would taste and feel inside of you.

"Like what you see?" With his grin no longer concealed, the man wastes no time in pushing his seat back to create space, pulling you up to straddle his lap, facing him. A loud grunt breaks free past his lips at the pressure, sending a thrill of giddiness through you. Each time his subtle noises reached your ears, it professed that you were doing something right, eliciting a sense of satisfaction for the pleasure you were giving him. "It's not even in yet." you giggle softly, pulling your own underwear down to your thighs. "Someone's impatient." Though he started with the tip of his erection gently brushing against your clitoris, he swiftly proceeded to thrust himself inside your entrance.

"Fuck."

Both of you utter the same word, yet in two distinct tones – yours emerging as a whine of pleasure, and his as a gratifying groan. The folds of your clit envelope him completely, with every quickening thrust he pushes in constricting yourself around his cock.

The strands of his hair, once framing his face, now clung damply to his forehead, hooded eyes barely peering through them yet intensely staring into your orbs. Countless thoughts inundated your mind under the weight of his intimate gaze, leaving you unable to focus on any single one. In this moment, concentration eluded you entirely; even the disbelief that Heeseung was pounding you out in his car right now. This is crazy. I'm crazy.

"Damn, you feel so fucking amazing." his hands wander underneath the back of your skirt, grabbing the flesh of your ass ever so roughly as it bounces up and down his stripped thighs. “Oh fuck me-faster please..!” you squirmed in painful ecstasy as the wetness of your gushing clit slides his erection in and out of your tightness with ease. Heeseung accelerates his pace even further, seemingly preempting your unspoken demands. With your hands wrapped around his neck, you pull his chest closer to brush the tip of your hardened nipples beneath your top, and that causes you to moan out his name. The heated boy buries his face in the crook of your neck now, leaving soft brushes of his tongue against your skin and sinks his teeth into them rough enough to leave distinct marks.

"You taste so fucking good too. You're just perfect." You hear his raspy voice mutter under his breath, face still grazing on the skin of your neck as if he was savouring your scent. Feeling the tip of his cock pushing itself exactly into your right spot, you whine out his name repeatedly. The back of your body arches, your toes curling at how hot the air stands; all sorts of emotions strike you at once as your sight goes blurry, mind growing hazier by the second.

"Mmhm..faster Heeseung. Your cock feels so good in me.” this time, you moan even louder, indicating that you were on the brink of reaching the climax of your high very soon. Heeseung took notice of this, quickening his thrusts as he was about to reach the same destination.

"Cum with me, baby. Together."

Hoarse, low groans escaped from his lips with each accelerated movement; the cry of pleasure lamented out both your breaths the moment he blew in one final deepened jab at your spot. A surge of warm fluid cascaded through you, blending seamlessly with your own essence, propelled by the sheer bliss you've just shared. The air was filled with the sounds of heavy, hurried breaths, your lungs working overtime. Your eyes remained fixed on Heeseung's face as you endeavoured to recover composure and catch your breath. Finally, a sense of clarity returned to you as your thoughts regained focus. Did that really just happen? Everything seemed surreal, as if plucked from a dream.

Somehow it appeared like he could read your mind when he laughed at your countenance, his hands now accommodating on your waist to pull himself out of you slowly. As you lean in, finding comfort by resting your head on his chest, the rhythmic thumping of his heart surrounds your ear. The sound was loud and hastened, almost palpably carrying the nervous anticipation in its rapid beat, reminiscent of your very first kiss together. Well, you've done so much more than that now. Freeing his hands from your waist, Heeseung tenderly cradles you with one arm while the other softly strokes your head, radiating care and affection in his touch. He showers your forehead with soft pecks, each one a tender expression of adoration, accompanied by whispered sweet confessions that linger in the air.

"You're really beautiful, I've always thought that."

You both stay like that for a while, reluctant to disrupt the intimacy you shared. However, the reality of your semi-nude state in the confines of a car eventually nudged you both to acknowledge that the moment couldn't last forever. Not right there. The unexpected series of events that unfolded tonight, stemming from your fateful meeting just the day before, had taken a turn you hadn't even considered viable with him. In retrospect, those exchanged glances at the parties and games back then seemed to carry a newfound meaning now. Life wasn't so dull anymore.

Gently disentangling yourself from his embrace, you meet his eyes once again before placing a tender kiss on his cheek. "Let's go inside." you chuckle, sliding off his lap and back to the passenger seat while fixing your clothes. In sync with your decision, Heeseung follows suit, concurring with the idea of heading back inside your house; as the rest of the night evolved with an abundance of conversation and lots and lots and lots of cuddles.

#enhypen #heeseung #lee heeseung #lee heesung x reader #heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #heeseung x reader

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ipseitydelrey · 6 months

Text

headcanons: dating spencer reid ♡

(i’m so totally normal about this man)

ship spencer reid x gn!reader

warnings mentions of schizophrenia & alzheimer’s

a/n thought this would be a good first post! interaction would be appreciated, but your readership would be enough! enjoy~

★ he regularly gives you books he has read, completed with small annotations.

★ to go with the previous headcanon, you would give him more modern books you enjoy as opposed to the classical/foreign ones he gifts.

★ expect for your first couple of dates to be more awkward (he has definitely asked derek for advice on more than one occasion).

★ he makes it a point to learn all that he can about whatever you like at the moment, even if he himself isn't into it/doesn't understand the appeal. it's mostly just so he can connect with you more and to share fun facts about your interests.

★ he's awful at cooking, but once or twice, he has definitely attempted to cook a homemade meal for you two as a romantic gesture. you both decided that what he made wasn't edible, but you appreciated the attempt and ordered takeout instead.

★ weekly bookstore visits! half of the time you would go to barnes & noble for your literary needs, but you two also enjoy supporting local bookstores (+ they tend to have rare books too).

★ when you two are cuddling, he loves it when you run your fingers through his hair and give him a head massage; it really helps with his migraines.

★ convention is in town? best believe that you two are wearing matching cosplays, especially if the characters you're dressing up as is canonically a couple.

★ spencer doesn't just ask derek; he also asks penelope and jj for advice too.

★ on the first couple of dates he generally avoided touching, but now? he can't get enough of you, how warm you are and how soft your hands are.

★ much like how he tends to go on a tangent, he loves it and listens intently whenever you infodump about a topic you're interested in.

★ antique stores! you both find the atmosphere lovely and you would get gifts for each other there.

★ his love language is praise, both giving and receiving. he wants to make sure you feel loved and wanted. even when it's something small, like getting him coffee for example, he'll go on and on about how wonderful you are, how good you are to him and how much he loves and adores you.

★ on the receiving end, he'll absolutely melt if you give him reassurance that you reciprocate his love. and if you hold him — cup his cheeks or wrap your arms around his waist — while whispering praises? as emily said, IQ of 187 slashed down to 60.

★ the first time he said "i love you" was sort of an accident. he had just come back from a case and he was so tired that he collapsed into your arms and you had to drag him to bed. you were making sure he was comfortable and in his delirious state he mumbled "love you" in the sleepiest voice imaginable.

★ movie nights! whenever it's his turn, he either picks some pretentious, foreign language, criterion collection, 3+ hour film...or he just puts on reruns of star trek or doctor who.

★ when you moved in with him, you both had to buy another bookshelf. both because of the books strewn around spencer's apartment that were unable to be shelved due to overcrowding, and to fit your books there too.

★ he's super worried about doing something wrong. this is probably his first actual serious relationship, so he's being extra cautious to not accidentally insult or hurt you. over time, he learns to relax around you but the worry is still there, just in small doses.

★ he doesn't really like PDA, but he makes up for the lack of it with tons of hugs, kisses, and close contact in private (specifically at home, but anywhere private will do).

★ whenever you two go out and you want to wear formal attire, he'll help you with putting it on! he'll zip up your dress, help tie your tie, fasten your necklace, maybe help with cuff links. he absolutely loves being able to assist you with anything, no matter how small.

★ he was definitely worried when he brought you to go meet his mom for the first time, so he made sure to pick a day where she would be in one of her good moods and also told you everything he knows about schizophrenia and alzheimer's. he was thankfully relieved when his mom liked you and vice versa.

★ a bit corny, but he loves reciting love poems to you. this can also extend to passages from books that discuss romantic love; he has an eidetic memory after all and he's going to put it to good use!

#★ sei’s headcanons #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds headcanons #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #x reader #x you #x y/n #headcanon #fanfic

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lullabestie14 · 2 months

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Found this comment on Reddit. Couldn’t explain it better than this.

“It’s clear from Mist and Fury that the original ships were: Feysand, Nessian, Elucien, and Mor/Azriel. Like it’s so obvious the way she wrote Mor and Azriel; Mor even seems vaguely interested/torn about Az. Looking at interviews, SJM even talks about Elucien as a couple (eg where would they like to travel together, etc).

Flash forward to ACOWAR. For whatever reason (lack of chemistry with Az, wanting more diversity) SJM has Mor say that she prefers women. This time the Az-pining-for-Mor is more desperate/feels like a zero chance of being requited. SJM also introduces Az as a potential love interest for Elain because she loves throwing a wrench. Just because Elucien are mates doesn’t mean they’ll have it easy; SJM’s whole thing is angst. She had to throw in a love triangle to make it uncertain. This is the first couple where mate status is confirmed upon meeting.

But there’s a problem now. If Az and Mor are no longer endgame, who will they end up with? is it not suspicious that the two new characters introduced in SF (Gwyn and Emerie) just HAPPEN to be potentially be good partners for Az and Mor? Like it’s not a coincidence that Emerie looks at Mor and blushes, remarking how pretty she is. It’s not a coincidence that Az and Gwyn have so many interactions in the text. It’s not a coincidence that a “random side character” shows up in a bonus chapter.

When SJM created Gwyn and Emerie, it wasn’t just to give Nesta friends. These characters clearly didn’t exist when she wrote MAF. SJM wanted new characters that would solve her retcon of ending Az/Mor. She wanted to solve the Mor/Az retcon so bad that she created a NEW RETCON of Az going to Sangravah. Like why bother to add that detail if it’s not important.

Also: poor Lucien. His endgame heroine was supposed to be Nesta until SJM realized they would be terrible together and that Nessian had better chemistry. So she gives Elucien the mating bond. Like is she really going to fuck Lucien over TWICE? She loves him as a character and has put him through the wringer. Yes, I agree that SJM can change her mind and maybe is open to mate rejection, but Lucien has already switched love interests from Nesta to Elain! Who else is he going to switch to, considering that Jurian and Vassa are “at each other’s throats?”

Finally, please think about the number of books left. Ignoring novellas (which are probably gonna be fluffy ones like ACOFAS where nothing happens), there are two main books left. Two couples.

Option A:

• ⁠Gwynriel (Valkyrie growth, Illyrian rebellion, exploring Ramiel, Gwyn’s autumn heritage and maybe lightsinger?? powers)

• ⁠Elucien (Helion secret baby, defeating Koschei, freeing Vassa, fixing spring court)

Option B

• ⁠Elriel (mate rejection storyline, potentially some stuff above)

• ⁠?????

Literally WHO is the second book in this equation? Lucien and Vassa?? We barely know Vassa and there’s barely any connection to Night Court. And Lucien’s book is going to be depressing as fuck dealing with mate rejection; does anyone want to read two heavy books of rejection? Jurian and Vassa: again, we barely know them! At least with Tower of Dawn, Chaol had been a main character for a long time with POV. SJM will not do a full-length Emerie/Mor book as much as I would love for one. She’s very cognizant of criticism re: Mor bi rep in the past; she doesn’t want to open a can of worms and be accused of writing bad sapphic rep. If anything, I can see a fluffy Emerie/Mor novella with little angst (or them getting together in the background of other books).

So from a meta structural level, I don’t understand who the second couple will be if Elriel is endgame. Lucien/Vassa is the most plausible answer, but 1) we barely know Vassa, 2) she’s human and Lucien is immortal. So are we going to toss her into the Cauldron to make her immortal? Serious question, and 3) I don’t want TWO books about mate rejection, it’s depressing as hell. I can see one but not two.

But with Gwynriel and Elucien, you have enormous fan and audience interest in ALL FOUR CHARACTERS. They’re directly tied to Night Court and SJM so far has no intention of staying away from the core group.”

#acotar #elucien #gwynriel #sarah j maas #lucien vanserra #azriel #elain archeron #gwyneth berdara

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livingemkayde · 8 months

Text

strange

din djarin x f!reader | 3.1k

↳ warnings: this is rated for 18+ only! minors, please do not interact. smut, unprotected pinv, fingering f!recieving, mentions of oral m!recieving, fluff, no use of y/n. let me know if i forgot anything.

↳ a /n: hey everyone. taking a small break from my joel miller fics and coming back to my roots with this one. just needed a break and this was a super fun one shot to write. gonna post the final chapter to chaser really soon. thanks for all the support!! i love you all smsm.

if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist!

“Say it.” You started breathing heavy. And you knew, when he tugged you around to look down at you, a hand coming to grasp your shoulder, the part where it meets your neck. You knew what he wanted, and you bit the bullet. “Teach me.”

It's honestly quite strange, if you really think about it—which oftentimes, you try not to.

You wait for him, and he always comes back. Always. Maybe this was the dreaded exception that will turn his perfect ten times out of ten he always comes back, to nine times out of ten he always comes back.

You sit there, in the hull, with the kid. Approaching the three week mark since your warrior left.

You remember seeing him out of the Crest, several feet from where you sit now.

“Be good,” he whispered to the little one, and placed him in your arms.

“And be safe,” he said to you, almost in a stern voice, his hands brushing yours when he passed the child to your arms.

“Be smart,” he emphasized, a little too serious for your liking.

Be smart, above all else. You knew what it meant. Don’t be a hero, use your better judgment. He always does that.

Be good… be safe…be smart.

Then he always pats your waist, feeling the blaster’s outline through the fabric of your dress. And he always gives you a curt nod, and rubs a leather thumb over your hip. A small touch, in passing. Maybe most people wouldn’t even think twice about it. But you do. It’s the only thing getting you through sleepless nights.

It is strange. You finally decide in your head.

The small agreement between you two.

The Crest is mostly quiet.

Besides when the fresher makes that gurgling sound, or the exhaust sends a violent huff of air through the hull, or when the small moans coming from your own mouth split through the silence.

You guys don’t, under any circumstances, speak about it.

You wouldn’t even know what to say, honestly.

You remember the first time, when you had gotten a little too brave with your words and he was getting a little too comfortable around you.

“Teach me how,” you said. The hull was dark but not pitch black and the kid was locked in his pram in the cockpit.

“You don’t know how to shoot a blaster?”

“No.” you reached over, grabbing his own from the crate between you. You held it up to the dim light and examined the markings. The rough edge of gunpowder. The shiny bits where his fingers lie.

“Teach me,” you said again, pointing the blaster at an imaginary person to the left of him.

“You’re drunk,” he remarked. His gruff tone made your thighs shift closer together.

“‘M not drunk,” you bit back. He shuffled in his crate until he was more comfortable.

“You don’t know how to hold your liquor,” he pointed out. Resting his elbows on his thighs. You looked at him in the dark light. The yellow of the small bulb turned his helmet golden.

You weren’t drunk. It was the truth. The spotchka only made your tongue loose, not your mind.

“And I don’t know how to shoot a blaster,” you said, “what if someone broke in, and I needed to—”

“Don’t,” he said. Not mad, only scared of the possibility. You only know that now.

You stayed quiet, and continued to feel the weight of his weapon in your hand. He contemplated for a little, weighing the options in his mind, tossing the idea around inside the helmet.

“What the hell,” he surrendered, standing and motioning towards the hull’s entrance, “C’mon.”

You had followed him quickly, finding your place next to him on desert sands.

“Hold it—” he said, pushing the blaster into your hands and raising your arms to the perfect distance, “—there.”

He stood behind you. You felt the cold bite of beskar brush against your back. Your breath hitched, so did his.

“Don’t put your index finger on the trigger unless you want to shoot,” he said, moving your finger from the small flexed piece of metal and to the side of the blaster.

“But I do want to shoot,” you said, tossing him a look over your shoulder. He grovels behind you.

“Until the very second you want to shoot,” he muttered. “Got it?”

“Yeah,” you said, looking at the weapon, almost transfixed by the way his hand holds yours.

He reached down your body, by your waist, and touched you there, ever so gently. Your tense muscles made him hesitate.

“‘S’okay,” you whispered, worried that if you said anything more it would scare him off forever.

He didn’t say anything, just adjusted the angle of your hips and shifted the weight of your body. To your backfoot.

“There,” he said, when he finally got you into the position he deemed fit.

“Are you sure this thing’s not going to kick back and rip my arm off?” you whispered into the night sky.

“It will—kick back. It was made for me, you’re too small. But I’ll—” he hesitated again. “I’ll hold you. If that’s okay.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, just nod. So he held you, wrapped his arm around your waist, and you tensed up all the same. And his breath picked up behind you.

You shot, and missed the scrap by a few feet, the plasma went down into the sandy ground and burned a hole there.

“Dammit,” you mumbled. He didn’t let go.

“Try again,” he said, touching you again, touching you more, and wringing your arms back up to firing position.

“Farming was easier,” you joked, thinking about your previous job.

“I’m sure it was,” he quips back, “Relax.”

You tried, you really did. But he could feel that you couldn’t relax. Your tense muscles were taut under the leather of his gloves.

“Sorry,” you whispered, maybe it was the spotchka talking this time, or maybe you really were sorry but you let it slip into the dark, humid air—

“No one’s ever…”

No one’s ever touched you. Not like that. You wanted to say.

He stayed quiet for a bit, not moving your body to the perfect position or teasing you. You remember feeling sick.

But then he surprised you, and it was like breathing in fresh air for the first time after months of hyperspace.

“Really?” he asked behind you, into your ear. Your eyebrows staggered and a line of elevens appeared between them.

“Yeah,” you said, in a breathless kind of way. “Guess I never really got around to learning that one,” you tried to tease but he remained so quiet, so still, you had to push out a forced laugh.

“Do you want to learn?” he said. Almost like he was not even really offering but just inquiring.

But that little part of his voice, maybe, under all the modulation, told you otherwise. And you knew this wasn’t the spotchka talking. You were fighting a losing battle because that was all you, and months of pining after a faceless man who smells like pinewood, and gets your favorite snacks from the market, and makes you caf in the mornings—

“Yes,” you breathed out.

A pregnant, tense, silence enveloped you. He was still behind you, and he still had his arm wrapped around you. Even when the arm holding the blaster dropped, he still had his arm there, holding your waist, and slowly dragging the heaviness of his hand down, down, downward.

“Say it.”

You started breathing heavy.

And you knew, when he tugged you around to look down at you, a hand coming to grasp your shoulder, the part where it meets your neck.

You knew what he wanted, and you bit the bullet.

“Teach me.”

So you guys don’t ever talk about it.

In fact, you don’t really talk at all. Your invitation meant he showed you—taught you—in silent actions. He doesn’t talk when you fuck. The only sounds filling the silence are your desperate moans and the occasional whimper when he’s being particularly withholding.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t really make a sound. You’d be lying if the quiet, if the mask of him paired with his warmth didn’t make you dizzy, didn’t make you unravel in his hands.

Because it did.

But sometimes you’d wish he would say something, anything. Break the silence. Break up your wanton moans and just give you anything to work with. But you presume he doesn’t really do this often, and having him like that is better than having nothing at all.

You shut the closure and push away the bassinet when you hear a clang! from outside the hull.

You find your blaster under the fabric of your dress. You’ve never had to do this before. And you’re honestly scared. That night you begged him to teach you how to shoot, it was a secret hidden plea, maybe even flirting. You never thought you’d be the only thing separating the kid from possible danger.

“C’mon, Mando,” you whisper to no one in particular. Maybe the maker.

And then, suddenly, the ramp to the hull lowers and you raise the blaster, just like he taught you.

The business end comes face to face with a shiny helmet and you let out a sigh of relief, dropping it to your side.

His head cocks to the side like he’s saying, really?

You just stand, breathless, and push the kid’s pram up into the cockpit so Mando can get the bounty in safely.

He’s dragging it behind him, deadweight and you gulp back an anxious breath.

When he’s done, he turns to you. Looking at the blaster in your hands.

His head tips again—really…?

“Yes, okay?” you say, throwing your hands up, shoving the blaster into his chest. It lands there with a small thunk!

“Three weeks, Mando. You were gone almost a month. I thought— I —,” you say, running your hands through your hair.

“He knew how to hide,” is all he says, and that makes you laugh. The possibility of it all, the what if, leaving your body with a tense laughter at his sorry excuse of a joke.

He grabs you then, suddenly, pulling you towards his chest. You know the routine. You both miss each other after longer hunts, even if you never say anything about it. Never say anything at all in fact.

Din’s grabbing at your shirt, moving it up. And grabbing at your pants, moving them down. You pull at his chestplate, and his pauldrons, anything you can find. But he’s desperate. Way too desperate. This time, things feel different.

You moan when his now ungloved fingers find wet cotton. He pulls them down too.

He holds you, forcing you to look up at him while his calloused fingers find your swollen clit. You jump, yelp, whimper. He stays stoic. Though, this time, you can hear his heavy breathing.

You both find the bunk, somehow. And instead of flipping you over, so you’re on your stomach, taking it like that and pushing your head down into the mattress, he leaves you on your back. You question him silently with your eyes but he doesn’t say anything—like always.

He just cups you again, feeling the growing wetness there, almost pushing a finger in, inching to the first knuckle but then he backs away and you whine.

But he reaches down, pulls himself out of his pants and spreads your slick all over the velvety softness of his own length. It makes you gasp.

You spread your legs for him, subconsciously. The red tip of his head looks at you menacingly. He’s big. He’s always been big, but you’re not afforded to look at his length often unless you go down on him, which is rare.

Din climbs over you, a warm hand comes to grasp your tit and you swallow breathless moans in the back of your throat. His helmet shines golden, like all those nights before. The first night. Where he taught you that a man surrounded by beskar can be so soft, maybe even loving.

When you start squirming, he notches his tip at your entrance, you freeze waiting for him to sink in, but he holds you there. You just whine in response.

You grab at him, desperate. Pulling him in. To your surprise, he obliges. He sinks in, almost all the way, until you clench around him so tight he freezes. Your gasp at air. It feels like your brain is foggy and all you can see behind your blinking vision is his black visor.

He sinks in more, you clench around him more. Three weeks is the longest you’ve gone without having him since the first night all those months ago.

He stays there, while you try to relax around him. Just breathing under the modulation. You can hear him more clearly now, face to face.

You have never fucked Din like this.

Not face to face. Not with him waiting for you, not with such a tight fit. Aside from that fateful first time.

You clench around him again. You moan again, into his space, into the small, tight, crampedness of the bunk.

“Shit.”

You freeze. You don’t look into his visor, not right away. You lay there, frozen, with his hard cock notched halfway inside you.

His hands tighten on your waist and you both wait there, with shallow panting breath.

When you look up at him, he’s motionless. You might be worried that he’s turned to stone. But you plead him with your eyes—whatever you want to do, talk more, fuck me harder, stop right now and never speak of it, just — do it.

And for a split second, it does cross your mind that he might pull out or maybe even kick you out. But that little part deep down inside you likes to think it might be different this time. That he really might utter another forbidden word or fuck you harder.

The thought makes you clench around him again.

To your surprise he moans a little. Something small, barely there. Almost like a — ngh from deep under modulation. But you hear it. And the sick part of you clenches around him again just to draw out something more.

“Relax,” he huffs. It almost sounds loud, despite his whispering. But you know that’s just because he’s never done this. Never spoken when so close to you. Never spoken while he’s inside you.

You don’t even register the content of his words, just the sound of him making you tense up again.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his helmet comes down to rest beside your head. He stays there, folded over your body. You’re still so tense it almost hurts.

“Sorry,” you whisper out. Your voice is hoarse from lack of use the past couple of weeks combined with your panting breath. You don’t really know what else to say.

He moves suddenly, bringing his hand down between your bodies and touches your inner thigh, inching up towards where his coarse hair almost meets your swollen clit.

“I said relax,” he mumbles, his thumb touching your clit ever so slightly. Your hips buck and he pushes them down again.

“Sorry,” you repeat. He just hums.

You don’t really know what to do. This is different. This is new. You wait for him to set the pace. Establish the rules.

He starts circling your clit, he rubs through your lips to find wetness there. You try to relax into the mattress and as you do, he inches further into you. Breaking you open, splitting you in two.

“C’mon,” he groans when you let him sink further, “Open up for me, baby,”

It eggs you on. He’s never done this, let alone call you anything besides your name. It sends a shooting pleasure to the point he keeps rubbing under his thumb and he can feel it. How you get impossibly wet and open around him until he finally sinks in to the hilt.

“Fuck, Din,” you moan out, when he starts thursting.

He’s groaning. You can hear it, under his breath. You feel lightheaded almost, though, it’s good to know being apart affects him in the same way. Makes him as desperate as you feel.

You’re close then, his sounds inching you towards that white light dancing across your vision. You clench around him and he moans again.

“You close?” he says, almost experimentally. You can barely get out your strangled yes.

“I —” you want to say, but he’s picking up the pace, chasing after his own release.

I missed you. You think to yourself. But maybe that’s too much, too soon.

“What? Pretty girl — what…” he cuts himself off with a groan. Like he doesn’t know how to control his speech, his breathing. Himself. Not like this. Not when everything is new and so fucking good.

“I mi—” you can’t say it with your staggered breathing. He’s brushing up against that spot that drives you crazy. You both know it.

You come, without saying it. Your vision goes white and dark at the same time. A sheen of sweat covers your body. You don’t know what to do with your arms, becoming slightly limp. It sounds like he can’t hold on much longer when you get tighter around him, it spurs him on and you know he’s not far behind.

He’s mumbling something in your ear. You really can’t hear it under the helmet. You turn your head,

“Hm?” you mumble, he groans again.

“Missed — ngh — missed you. Sweet girl,” he says, then he comes, hot and thick, notching himself into you, anchoring himself to you forever.

You moan through it, so does he.

He collapses down next to you, you can feel the remnants of him leaking out between your sticky thighs.

You try to unscramble your thoughts. Din hasn’t come back new. Just unlocking a part of him that you’ve never seen. Or, that he’s never let himself show.

He does something else new, something you’ve never seen him do, let alone do with anyone else. It makes your heart beat so fast you’re worried he might feel it through the armor.

You gasp, when you hear the quiet hiss of his helmet unlock but he cuts you off when he pushes the lip of the mask up just enough so he can kiss you.

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minniesmutt · 2 months

Text

♱ ━━━━━━ 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋: 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓

♱ ━━━ CONTENT: ORAL [F. REC] FINGERING, MULTIPLE ORGASMS, OVERSTIM, PET NAMES, UNPROTECTED SEX, NIPPLE PLAY, CUM SHOT, CUM EATING/SHARING, AFTERCARE ♱ ━━━ WC: 1.9K ♱ ━━━ PAIRING: HAN X READER ♱ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog ♱ ━━━ a repost from my old blog

After a short nap, Y/n took to unpacking the things she had brought. It was mostly clothing and a few photos but nothing else. Maybe if she asked, one of them would take her shopping.

She heard the elevator ding and peeked her head out of the bedroom. Chan walked out, hands in the pockets of his slacks. Y/n stepped out of the room and met him in the hallway

“How are you settling it?” Chan asked as he wrapped an arm around her

“Fine, the place is a bit bare though,” Y/n told him.

“I’ll have one of the guys take you out shopping tomorrow. I just came by to see how you were settling in and to go over something with you.”

“Oh?”

“Come on,” Chan pulled her into the kitchen. Sitting down at the table he had put in for her and pulling out a stack of paper

“What’s this?” Y/n asked skimming through the words

“Contract. Jist of it says what you’ll be doing as a front and you will be paid for the work you help us with,” Chan stated

“You guys are paying me but you’re also basically paying everything for me?”

“Think of it as fallback money. If something happens to us for any reason or another, for any amount of time, you’re not left with nothing to fall back on, financially that is.”

“How considerate.” Y/n smiled, “I’m assuming there’s another part that talks about sex.”

“Yeah. Every one of us has our own version of this contract. But you're welcome to update anything in it to your comfort level. Most of it goes over what we are into and that every single one of us is clean.” Chan explained

“Well, so am I, guess there really is no point in condoms,” Y/n smiled

“Only to prevent a pregnancy.”

“I’m on birth control. Don't worry about that.”

Chan explained a couple more things; everyone was made aware of using the traffic light system as a safeword— tapping them twice if she was able to talk for whatever reason as a fallback—, aftercare being important to all of them no matter what, promising her safety from anyone outside of them, etc. Y/n read through the papers as she listened to him, making a few adjustments here and there, but mostly agreeing with what everyone wanted. She signed her name where needed and turned the paper back to him. Chan checked everything and made a quick message about changes to the rest of the guys.

“We don’t expect you to memorize anything either. And it doesn't have to be one way, you can ask us for sex too.”

“Thanks, Chan,” Y/n smiled at him

“No need to thank me,” Chan smiled back

“Is there anything else I should know now that I live here?”

“Say goodbye to your privacy,” Chan chuckled

The two laughed for a moment before Chan got called away. Y/n saw him off before going into her living room. They had been kind enough to furnish the apartment for her so that was one thing she didn't have to worry about. She figured she’d do a little online shopping for a bit. Adding things she just thought were pretty to her cart, even if she didn't need them. She’ll find a use for them.

She heard the elevator again and ignored it after looking up for a second, one of the guys came in to see her, something she was quickly getting used to.

“Whatcha doing,” Jisung asked as he joined her on the couch, laying on top of her as she was laid back against the armrest

“Shopping,” Y/n answered as she peered down at him.

“For what?” He asked

“House decorations, clothes, random shit.”

“Doesn’t sound like fun.”

“Well, I was bored and that’s why I started. If you have better ideas, I’m all ears.” Y/n dropped her phone on her chest and looked down at him

“Just keep shopping,” Jisung smirked

Y/n shrugged and picked her phone back up. Scrolling through the website she was on. Jisung pushed her shirt up a bit then pulled her leggings off her legs. Y/n lifted her hips a bit to help him as he adjusted her legs to lay over his shoulders as he came face to face with her clothed cunt.

Y/n peeked down at him before he started kissing down and licking the cloth of her panties. Y/n let out a small moan as he continued teasing her over the fabric. Nonetheless, she kept shopping.

Eventually, he removed the fabric and softly kissed her clit, licking the bud to her entrance. Y/n smiled as she peered down at him. One hand removed itself from her phone and ran her fingers through his hair, gazing back at her screen. Jisung picked up his pace after a few moments until he was eating her like a starved man.

It wasn’t long till the phone and shopping were forgotten. Her hands tangled in his soft locks and her legs threatened to close around his head.

Han hummed against her clit as she gave him a particularly harsh tug. His eyes cast up her body as flicked the little bud. “Fuck Ji,” Y/n moaned

Jisung didn’t dare let up. Playing with her clit and entrance with his tongue. Enjoying the taste of her juices on his lips and dripping down his chin. He just gave a bit more pressure when he sucked on her clit which seemed to do it for her. Hips rutted against his mouth as he licked her clean from her orgasm.

“So fucking good,” He wasn’t letting up. He continued making out with her sensitive clit. Y/n closed her legs around his head as much as she could. Jisung groaned against her cunt, eyes rolling into the back of his head, just from her thighs suffocating him slightly.

He pushed her thighs up after a minute. Putting them to her chest as he kept going.

“Close,” Y/n whimpered as she grabbed the cushions.

“Give me ‘nother,” Ji mumbled against her clit. He pushed one leg over the back of the couch to free up a hand.

Soon he was pushing two fingers into her and matching his pace to the rate he was eating her out

“Fuck!” Y/n cried as her second orgasm hit her.

Ji kept going through her high. Fingers pumping in and out of her as he pulled his hips from her clit and sat up on his knees. “One more doll. Give one more and I’ll give you whatever you want,” Jisung begged as he pulled her other leg over his shoulder and kissed her ankle

“Need your cock,” Y/n whined, legs slightly shaking

“One more baby and I'll give it to ya’.” a third finger pushed into her

“Too much,” Y/n whined as she grabbed his wrist

“Color?”

“Green!” Y/n called as his fingers curled into just the right spot

“You can take it, doll,” Ji smiled

He pushed forward till he had her coming on his fingers. Her body convulsed under him as he pulled his fingers out, watching her juices flow out of her and soak the cushions.

“Good job doll,” Jisung smiled as he leaned down and kissed her forehead.

He gave her a moment to come down and rest. He took off his belt, setting it on the coffee table.

“Where the fuck did you learn to eat pussy that good?” Y/n asked after her mind out of its haze a bit more

“Now why would I tell you?” He smirked as he leaned over her.

“Secrets are hot. You know what's hotter?”

“What?”

“Your dick in me.”

Jisung didn’t waste another second pulling ever fully down onto the couch and unbuttoning his pants and pulling his hard dick out, far too eager to actually take his pants off. Y/n couldn’t help but giggle at his eagerness and worked on unbuttoning his top and pushing it off him as he pumped his cock. He took his hand off his cock to take the white shirt off his body. Her hand replaced his on his cock, pumping him and lining the tip up at her entrance.

Jisung tossed the fabric to the ground before grabbing her hips and pushing into her. Both moaned as they got quickly used to the feeling. Jisung pushed his pants and boxers down more as he let her adjust to him.

“Fuck, move Ji,” Y/n whined

Jisung pushed her t-shirt up over her breast and moved her legs around his waist. He laid his hand on the armrest above her head. He pulled out slowly and thrusted back in quickly. His eyes glanced back and forth from her tits bouncing with his thrusts to her cunt swallowing him.

Y/n was a mess of moans and whines from him going down on her and making her come three times. Her walls were already clenching around him.

“Fucking warm,” Jisung groaned as his hips snapped into her.

Y/n tightened her legs around his waist. One of his hands fell from the armrest to lay next to her body. He lowered himself a bit to kiss between her breasts then sucked on the skin. Y/n ran her hands through his hair as his lips latched onto her nipple. Y/n gripped his hair tighter, clenching it around him.

“Keep clenching around me doll and I’m gonna blow,” his words were muffled against her boob, shifting his ministrations over to the other nipple and giving it the same treatment he gave the other

“Give…me, please.” Y/n whined. Her legs hiked up higher on his waist as she got closer to her next high.

“Got you all dumb on my cock,” Jisung couldn’t help but chuckle at her.

His tip hit right up against her g-spot. She pulled at his hair as her orgasm hit her again. The man above her pulled away from her nipples and gave himself a few more thrusts before pulling out; coming on her lower stomach.

Jisung rested his head on her chest as they both caught their breath. It took a few minutes before Jisung lowered himself down and then looked up at her. Y/n caught his gaze as he licked his cum from her skin. Y/N shivered under the touch of his tongue before he pulled away, bringing his lips back up to hers. His tongue immediately darted into her mouth. Y/n melted as his cum transferred from his tongue to hers.

Ji pulled away after another moment of enjoying her lips. “You could’ve come inside,” Y/n told him

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” Jisung smiled.

He stood up from the couch and fully took his pants off. He scooped her up in his arms making her squeak in surprise. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he made his way to her bathroom.

Jisung sat her down before giving her a forehead kiss. He started a warm bath for the both of them before walking out of the room and grabbing their clothes. Y/n took care of herself by the time he came back and checked the water.

“How are you feeling,” Jisung asked as he helped her into the water after he got in.

“Tired,” Y/n sighed, leaning back against him.

Jisung wrapped his arms around her body and kissed her shoulder, “Go to sleep, I’ll take care of you.”

“Thank you, Ji.”

♱ ━━━━━━ ⇤prev| m.list | next⇥

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miinatozakiii · 9 months

Text

moonlight serenade

kindergarden teacher!sana x fem!reader. (pt. 3)

summary: sana finds you even cuter after seeing you in shark pj's, you two are hopeless lesbians, you drive sana home and it's more romantic than it should be – oh my god you're not a mother?

wc: 5.3k

warnings: mentions of food, i think that's it ; reader has tattoos ; u two are hopeless romantics ; lesbians being lesbians

pt 1. pt2. pt4.

a/n: I love jazz. I've been listening to jazz in a bakery/cafe while writing each part actually. pls listen to moonlight serenade by ella fitzgerald, it's a work of art and one of my all time favorites :-D

(are lyrics in fics corny? I have no idea. I just love jazz and thought this song was perfect for this part.)

trying to write as much before I move! enjoy ;-]

“Are you actually serious?” Jihyo says, placing her cup of coffee down. Sana pinches the bridge of her nose and lets out a small breath,

“Jihyo, I don’t know what to do,” Sana says defeatedly.

Two months have passed by and that means two months of seeing you every now and then. Johnny, your brother, has returned from his business trip, so he ended up being the one to take Hana to school in the morning and the one to pick her up in the afternoon. You, however, were not going to miss the chance to see this lovely woman named Sana. 5'4 inches of pure beauty and charm. So, you convinced him to let you take Hana to school once or twice a week just to see who you think is the woman blessed by Aphrodite.

I mean, the temperature is dropping, and the warmth that spreads through your body when you see Sana is definitely something you need for this weather.

Every week Sana would see you in the morning once or twice. You two would exchange your friendly greetings before Hana goes off to chat with her new best friend Jiyeong, you’d stare at each other all lovingly (you two are oblivious, it’s sick), and then part ways. Rinse and repeat, reuse, reduce, recycle, etc, this went on for two damn months.

Sana would never say anything more, she wouldn’t flirt, she wouldn’t ask you out, and she wouldn’t do anything but be friendly. She still believed that you were literally her student’s mother, and there was a guilt that got heavier every time her heart did a flip from seeing you.

Each interaction sparked a small flame in your hearts, and just before it grew bigger, you’d wave goodbye; the flame would die again, never growing large enough to really warm you two the way you both needed.

“Sana… I honestly have no clue what to say,” Jihyo starts, and she looks at the young teacher in front of her, practically losing her mind, “I mean, you’re sure she’s her mom?”

“Yes, I mean, the girl’s dad and her take turns dropping her off and whatnot. I'm not going to be more delusional than I already am trying to find anything that makes her seem less like a mother, I mean, it's clear that she is the mother of that girl.” Sana explains, and her heart sinks a little, “I guess her dad is nice, though, and tall, I don’t know.” Sana groans.

Jihyo watches Sana stick out her signature little pout and swirl the coffee in her cup,

“Well… There are always others, no?”

“I don’t know, it’s just something about her Jihyo,” and Jihyo listens with interest, “I just, ever since we met, I feel like, there was some kind of… god this is so embarrassing…” Sana trails off, putting a hand on her forehead and pinching her eyes shut from slight embarrassment. Sana reminisces the way you’d joke about Hana making your wrinkles appear if she kept it up with her little antics, how you’d make her laugh at your little comments, and the way your eyes scan the room for her in the mornings and -

“You’ve been a hopeless romantic since we were roommates, I’ve probably heard worse.” Jihyo sighs, and she reminisces about the days when Sana and she had to share a small single-bedroom dorm, and how she would gush about anything and romanticize everything.

“Look, she’s just so pretty… Maybe we could just be friends? She’s sweet.” Sana suggests, and Jihyo laughs in disbelief.

“You want to be friends with someone’s mother that you also, or, might have a crush on?”

“Maybe.”

You let yourself in through the front door with your spare keys, hanging your jacket on the coat hanger and sliding your shoes off, setting them on the shoe rack.

There’s a faint melody of a slow, soft song playing, and there’s a low voice that hums along to the old tune. It fits the atmosphere of the quiet house on a Thursday night.

You creep through the hall quietly to see your brother in the dimmed kitchen washing a few plates. He’s in a navy long-sleeved shirt with its sleeves rolled up so water doesn't temporarily shade his apparel, and loose shorts that go down to just above his knees. His hair is a bit messy, and he looks nerdy with his circular black glasses on. You laugh at the sight of him in his pajamas and slides, he jumps a little and turns his head in surprise after hearing you.

“My god, at least text me.” He sighs, and you chuckle at him. You make your way over to the area where he is and sit across from him at the kitchen island, he directs his attention back to the dirty plate in his hand, “Did you need something?”

“Kinda.”

“You know where everything is, just grab it if you need it. Also, be quiet, Hana just fell asleep.” Johnny responds, turning off the sink and placing the white dish in the dishwasher.

“It’s not a physical thing, I just… maybe some advice, or at least your thoughts.”

“...On?”

“There’s this girl,”

"Oh," He mumbles quietly, “You’re ready to date again?”

“I think so,” You begin, “She’s different you know. Not like that girl in high school. She’s actually the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and she’s sweet and nice and caring and-”

“How long have you known her?”

“Two months...”

“So it is Ms. Minatozaki.” Johnny scoffs, though, not in an insulting way, more of an ‘I fucking knew it’ way. He picks up a rag and starts to wipe it on the countertop.

You look at your taller brother in surprise, “How did you know?”

“Hana tells me all about you two y’know? Why else would you willingly wake up earlier than you should to drop off my daughter at school? And, she tells me that you ask about her teacher?” He laughs, “You’re not good at hiding things, never have been.”

“Hey!” You say defensively, and a little too loud as it makes him put a finger to his lips,

“Lower your voice.”

“Sorry.” You mumble, laying your head on your palm. Johnny turns his body to face you instead of the counter connected to the sink that he had previously been wiping,

“Soooo, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know Johnny.”

“You think she likes you?” He asks, genuinely curious about your new interest. Johnny grabs two glasses of water and places them on the counter, then sits down to the right of you, making sure to give his full attention to you.

Johnny has always been a good brother, and you two had your necessary brother-sister moments where you were at each other's throats; in fact, you’d bicker all the damn time and it even went on into high school. However, you two always had each other’s backs. Even when you hated each other there would be moments where you two were the only ones who understood each other, and sometimes time seemed to stop when you’d talk about the deeper topics and anything bothering you two.

And so, time slows down as Johnny listens to your rant.

“We’re friendly, I mean, what am I thinking? I feel slightly delusional I won’t even lie,” You sigh, “She’s so pretty and sweet and I just, I really want to get to know her. Like ever since I met her I felt like… It’s so corny but I swear the world literally paused for a moment.” You add, shifting your look away from your older brother.

How are you supposed to tell your brother that this woman that you’ve known for two months is making you lose some sleep, and, by the way, you haven’t even had a full conversation with her either. You think of the woman that you go out of your way to run into and see for ten minutes a day total, twice a week. You think of her radiant smile that rivals the sun's rays, the voice that’s more soothing than any song on your playlist, and the way her eyes light up when she sees you, and -

“You’re head over heels, huh,” Johnny says, amused.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I barely know her.” you lie,

“Well, you could.”

“And how am I supposed to do that? ‘Oh hey I think of you day and night just because I think you’re cute and nice and I think I almost overfilled a cup of cold brew while daydreaming about you, uh maybe we could go out sometime?’”

“Maybe don’t say that much, dumbass.” Your older brother says playfully, “Just start with a compliment or something, you seriously suck at this romance stuff.”

“Thanks,” You mutter, rolling your eyes, “But what if she thinks that’s weird? I’m literally her student’s aunt.”

“Maybe,” Johnny sighs and finishes the water in his cup, “Maybe you should get some rest, y/n. If you lose sleep over this woman who you’ve never had a full conversation with, imagine how much sleep you’ll lose when you finally do.” He stands up and makes his way over back to the sink to rinse the glass cup you had gotten him for his last birthday, “So, maybe you should catch up on rest now and rant to me when you finally have the balls to actually make a conversation with her, then I could actually give you some decent advice."

“You suck.”

“I want to give you my feedback and advice, but this is literally all I can say right now: ask her out and come back to me.”

“This is too much.”

“You’re a loser, y/n.” Johnny jokes, and he takes the cup that you hadn’t touched away and then rinses it.

You don’t even get to plan anything or prepare yourself for your next interaction with Sana, and you look stupid when you run into her too.

You’re at the nearest convenience store in an oversized t-shirt that was your brothers’, the gray shirt with a shark graphic on it that was too comfy to not steal. Paired with that tee were plaid shorts and white socks with more sharks on them that you had gotten from Hana last Christmas, along with grayish-green clogs on your feet.

You were dressed like a college student that was on a budget, and of course, you had to run into the woman of your dreams at a convenience store at 12:24 am on a Friday night while looking stupid.

Sana had run into you while you scanned the drinks section. You didn’t notice her calling out your name while there was pop music playing in your earbuds, and when you turned to see who had tapped on your shoulder your eyes widened.

Sana held a small basket in her hand, and she wore a purple sweatshirt along with gray sweatpants, much more presentable than what you were wearing. Your face goes red as you realize that she’s caught you looking ridiculous, all while she looks perfect.

Her hair is clipped up and some strands fall over her face, and she looks so unbelievably adorable just standing there smiling at you.

“Hi.” She says, looking you up and down.

She scans your whole look and gets a little flustered by how precious you look. Your hair is messed up and disheveled at the roots, as if you’d just gotten out of bed and ran a hand through it. The oversized t-shirt drowned your figure in comfort, and your inked, toned forearms were revealed. The t-shirt you wore had a cute shark graphic on it, Sana had guessed that your daughter had something to do with why you had that shirt. She smiles at the sight of you in such comfy clothing, looking lovely as ever while you stare back at her.

“Hey.” You respond, taking out an earbud,

“It’s surprising to see you here y/n,” Sana giggles, “Thirsty?” She questions, and she’s peeking at the vitamin water in one of your hands.

“I guess so.” You mumble, biting the inside of your cheek and putting a hand in your pocket, “It’s pretty surprising to see you here too.” You add. Surprising, but wow, definitely lucky. When would you ever see her looking so comfy and out of her workplace looking so cute?

Sana giggles and you feel like a huge gust of wind has hit you so suddenly, about to hit you off your feet. You smile brightly.

“I couldn’t sleep, I wanted something to snack on,” Sana shrugs. You glance at her basket and see some spicy turtle chips in the basket,

“Eating something spicy at this time is new to me, most people would have something warm, no?”

“Maybe.” Sana mutters, “I like your outfit, by the way.”

Your ears turn red again and you look down at your clothing, “Yeah… It’s a shirt from Hana’s dad, haha, that’s why it’s so big.”

Sana’s heart sinks a bit at the mention of Hana’s dad.

Sana and Johnny had met other times, and Sana thought he was nice, sweet, and she can't lie he does has a nice smile, but not as nice as yours. He treated Hana with care; Sana could tell he loved her dearly, as much as you did.

“I see, I like it. The two of them must love sharks, she always draws them during class.”

“She and her dad are very similar, lots of shark things in the house. I prefer koalas.” You reply. You wonder why the hell you’re mentioning koalas at this time, at this moment in this place, but it doesn’t matter because it seems to spark some kind of conversation with the woman in front of you, and Sana thinks it’s cute, actually.

“Koalas?” She questions amusingly, "They’re cute. I think hamsters are cuter, though.”

“hamsters?”

“Mhm.”

You chuckle at her response and wonder, how does she get cuter every time? Sana turns her head to eye at the drinks, then makes her way to the refrigerator door to grab one for herself, she grabs a canned iced americano and turns her body to face you again,

“Do you live near? I feel like I would’ve run into you sooner if you did.” Sana says, looking at the can in her right hand.

“Uh - no. The nearest convenience store closes at 12, so I just drove around until I found one open.” You answer, “Do you live near?” You ask. You wonder if the question is too weird or creepy to ask, I mean, this is a woman you don’t know too well, and would it be weird to ask a person you find so attractive where they live?

“Kind of. It’s a fifteen-minute walk, maybe less, give or take. The one right next to my place is closed too.”

“You walked? At this time?” You question her. Worry takes over your whole body because she walked alone? In the dark? At this hour?

Sana just hums in response, “Yeah, the neighborhood is really quiet and not too bad.”

“Still, you should’ve driven or something.”

“I don’t drive.” She simply states. You furrow your brows. She just stares back at you with those big brown eyes, it almost makes you forget about worrying.

She walks past you and heads to the self-checkout, you follow. There's a sudden idea that pops up in your mind, and you usually wouldn't be so bold to suggest or ask anything so direct, but it's twelve in the morning and your mind is too scrambled to make or think of any decent decisions.

“Sana,” You murmur, voice just barely above a whisper as you find the confidence for what you’re about to say, “Uh- this might be a little weird to ask, but, um…” You stutter, why the hell are you stuttering? She’s staring at you with those large espresso-colored eyes that remind you of your job at the moment, and the longer she stares back at you the more your mind races. This woman has your heart doing flips and pounding through your chest, you can barely manage your thoughts and words,

“Yes?”

“Uh, could I take you home?” You finally say, barely managing to make eye contact with her and it’s a humbling experience as your usually leveled (at least you think) demeanor crumbles under the presence of this woman.

“You don’t have to. It’s late and I don’t want to cause you too much trouble, y/n.”

“I’d be much more troubled if I knew you were walking home alone at this time, I insist.”

“Alright then. Let me pay first.”

You pause for a moment and Sana just turns back around, scanning the chips and canned coffee she had in her basket. It’s almost 12:30 now, and a pretty girl is letting you take her home. This wonder of the world is letting your disheveled self take her home.

“You have a nice car,” Sana says. She's never had a thing for cars or really knew too much about them. She's only paid attention to Jihyo’s five-seat white Lexus and the black, modified BMW that belonged to her childhood friend Momo. Other cars don't really matter or stand out to her, but Sana’s interest in you grows when she first sees the green Mercedes. Five-seated car looks nice and neat from the outside, for some reason, it really catches her attention. When she sits in the passenger seat she’s hit with the smell of coconut and vanilla. There are two things hung from the internal rearview mirror: One, a small keychain of a koala, and two, a picture of you and Johnny.

Sana can’t help but smile at the picture of you two, you two look happy.

You start the engine and put on your seatbelt before putting the drink you bought in the cup holder. You press on the screen in your car and a slow jazz melody plays. Of course, it had to be a love song.

“I’ve never seen your tattoos up close, they’re really pretty.” Sana suddenly says as you start to move out of where you were parked. Her eyes scan from your upper forearm, where the tattoo started, and down to where it ended just below your wrist, “I only saw a bit of them when you had dropped Hana off the first day.” Sana added.

She wanted to add on about how she also noticed the tattoo just under your knuckles too, and how she found the ink on your skin so endearing. She wanted to tell you all about the things she found attractive about you. From the noticeable things like your bold features to the little things she’s noted in her mind from every meeting. The way you’d always run a hand through your beautiful hair once or twice, the eye contact you couldn’t hold with her, the way you bit the inside of your cheek when you were quiet, the way your fingers often tugged at the beaded bracelet on your hand, how cute it was to watch you say bye to your daughter, and various other little details. Sana wanted to tell you all about those things, but that would be incredibly weird, right?

“Oh, yeah, thank you. I got the tattoo on my forearm a couple of years ago. Hana picked out the butterfly on my hand last year, actually.” You say, looking at the screen of your car as you back up a bit, making sure you don’t hit anything.

“Oh, also, you can type the address on my phone. Here.” You add, handing her the device. Sana types in her address quickly and it pops up on the screen. It’s a quick 4-minute drive, and you both wished it were a bit longer.

The music continues to play softly while you two sit in silence, and it somehow makes the mood a bit more intimate whilst the faint sound of Ella Fitzgerald's voice echoes,

I stand and I wait

For the touch of your hand in the June night

The roses are sighing

A moonlight serenade

Your breath hitches, “Um, you can change the song if you want…” You say embarrassed. Sana shakes her head and mumbles,

“It’s alright. I like it, It’s cute.” She admits, making you blush a bit. You grip the wheel a little tighter as you stop at the red light. The heartfelt lyrics fill the air with a romantic hum, and only the tender melody is heard as you sit together in silence.

The stars are aglow

And tonight how their light sets me dreaming

My love, do you know

That your eyes are like stars brightly beaming?

Sana’s heartbeat skips a little knowing that you listen to such romantic melodies, and she wonders if you love as romantically as such songs. Her mind wanders to the thought of you serenading her in the moonlight, or serenading her in a more domestic setting. The sudden thought of you humming along to these tunes while you cooked or cleaned allowed made her cheeks flush a bit. Jihyo was right: Sana is a hopeless romantic. She’s too far in to get out of the hole of these feelings, and her heart aches a little, the guilt piles up.

You on the other hand are freaking out.

Sana likes your lovey-dovey taste in music, and she seems content (Sana's having a crisis). Maybe you do have a chance with this woman, I mean, she’s already in your car and letting you take her home. Maybe you can do this again, maybe you can listen to songs like this together in a more intimate setting rather than your car, and maybe you can do more than just listen to Ella Fitzgerald together. All the maybe’s in your head are cut short as you reach her place and park in front of her apartment complex.

“We’re here.” You mutter, and you wish you weren’t.

Sana nods and reaches for the eco-friendly bag she had set down, unbuckles her seatbelt, then turns so that her eyes stare into yours with a new intensity. She puts her left hand on your right hand that had been gripping the gear shift ever so gently, your jaw tenses a bit and your left hand that had been on the wheel tightens its hold once more. She looks from your eyes to your lips, then back to your eyes again. Your heart is suddenly an acrobat the way it's doing so many flips.

“Thank you again, I appreciate it.” She says, and her other hand is on the handle of the door, ready to get out, but she doesn’t.

“Anytime, I didn’t want you to be out alone at this time.” you wonder how that sentence leaves your mouth so calmly because your heart is beating at least two hundred times per minute.

Sana’s lips curve into a smile again and you relax a bit,

“Well,” Sana starts, and she opens the door, “I’ll see you soon?”

“I’m picking up Hana on Monday.”

“Great. See you then, y/n.” She finally says, turning away and getting out of the car. You two look at each other again and your eye contact lingers a bit before she finally closes the door, waves, and turns to head inside the apartment complex.

The music continues to play, and your heart longs for her once again.

I stand at your gate

And I sing you a song in the moonlight

A love song, my darling

A moonlight serenade

A week passes after this encounter, and Sana is currently giving the kids an announcement that might have them jumping off the walls.

“Alright everyone in your seats please.” She says kindly. The students listen to her and shuffle to their seats, some chatter being shared as they do so. Sana claps her hands in a pattern to bring the students’ attention to her, and they clap their hands the same way that she had, quieting down in the process.

“Alright everyone, before I make this announcement, I need everyone to behave and not get too rowdy, okay?”

“Yes Ms. Minatozaki!” The class answers enthusiastically. Sana nods and smiles at them,

“Alright. So, there’s a special trip that is planned for you all next week.” She begins. The kids' faces start to light up after hearing the words “special trip” and almost all of them are itching to get more details on it. Sana’s face seems to light up with theirs from just looking at the excitement on their faces, so she continues,

“Next Wednesday we will be spending the day at the art museum downtown. There are going to be multiple people guiding you throughout the museum, and you’ll be able to learn about the art.” Sana explains, “And, at the end of the trip we’ll all meet back at a special room where you can paint along with an instructor.”

The kids’ smiles grow even wider, some are whispering to each other while others continue to keep their attention on the young teacher.

“Now, I also wanted to add that we will be needing some chaperones to help look after the class. I have some papers that I’ll give to you, make sure you show them to your mom, dad, or guardian. If they’d like to tag along to help out that would be great, and highly encouraged.” Sana says, pulling out a pile of papers from her desk, she begins to pass around said forms.

An hour passes and it’s free choice time. Hana walks up to the young teacher with the form that Sana had previously handed out. Sana smiles at the young girl and tilts her head,

“What is it, Hana? Is everything okay?” The young teacher questions,

“Um, Ms… What does guardian mean? You said mom, dad, and guardian earlier. Does that mean grown up?” Hana asks, and she looks at the paper as if her five-year-old self can read the whole thing with ease,

“I guess so. It’s an adult who takes care of you.” Sana explains to the girl. The girl hums to herself and furrows her brows,

“Does that mean y/n can come?”

“Of course, she’s your mom isn’t she?” Sana asks, and she’s confused as to why the girl looks up at her in surprise,

“My mom?”

“Yes… She’s your mom, no?”

“Ms. Minatozaki, Y/n is my aunt.”

Sana’s whole world stops for a moment. Y/n is her aunt?

“So your dad and her are…?”

“Y/n is my papa’s younger sister, she always jokes about him being so old,” Hana says, laughing to herself.

Sana genuinely stops functioning as she processes this new information: You’re not taken. Fireworks set off in her heart and confetti seems to pop: you’re not her mom. All the guilt that had been on her shoulders from thinking she was infatuated with a taken mother is gone, and it all makes sense now. Sana wonders how stupid she could’ve been, I mean, you and Hana’s dad had similar features, face shape, hair texture, and color. The young teacher had also realized that Hana only called you by your name, and not “mommy” or “mom” or anything like that; how could she have been so stupid?

“Ms. Minatozaki?”

“Oh, yeah, yes Hana. Y/n can come, of course, she can.” Sana says, and she really hopes you do come. Hana smiles and looks back at her paper before talking to her teacher again,

“You know, my aunt, she asks about you a lot.”

“She does?” Sana says, her heart skips a beat. Hana nods and looks back up at the teacher,

“She always asks about how school was, but she always ends up asking more about you and how you were during the day.” Sana’s eyes widen and she looks at the young girl in front of her, exposing you for being so interested in her.

The flame in her heart grows bigger, and it seems that the flame has no intention of dying down now that she knows you’re not Hana’s mother. Hana turns around and makes her way back to her desk to color after seeing that Sana wasn’t capable of responding again, and Sana doesn't even notice. Hana sits down unbothered, not knowing that she just turned Sana’s whole mood around, not knowing that this new piece of information will have her daydreaming the rest of the day – no, the rest of the week – maybe the rest of the month.

The school day comes to an end and the usual routine occurs: bell rings, kids scream, talk, and practically leap out of their seats to get in line to go to the entrance of the building. Sana waits with her usual group of eight, which includes Hana, and she hopes that today would be the day that you decided to pick her up. You had already picked Hana up on Monday, but now it’s Wednesday and those are the days that Hana’s dad would usually pick the little girl up, great.

Forty minutes pass and Sana sits down at the main office with Hana, no one had come to pick her up yet. Hana seems to be unbothered by this as she colors and draws on the sheet of paper that Sana had given her to cure her boredom, but she worries slightly since Jihyo still waits for her in the front.

Sana texts Jihyo a string of apologies and explanations and before she reads the instant reply, the sound of heavy breaths are heard as a familiar face enters the room, looking around all worried until her body relaxes when she sees her niece.

Y/n lets out a sigh of relief seeing Hana sitting down, coloring as if there wasn’t a single problem in the world. Her look shifts over to Sana, who is already looking at her. Their eyes meet and it makes the two women smile at one another.

“Hana,” your voice makes the little girl turn her head. She smiles and runs up to hug you, leaving her art on the desk,

“Aunt y/n!” And this is the first time Sana hears the little girl actually call you her aunt, she wishes that she would’ve called you aunt earlier (it would've saved her sleepless nights of wondering what the hell to do with her feelings, but at least she knows now).

You hug the little girl back and swipe away the strands of hair on her face, “Hi little one. Your dad had something come up at work, I rushed over as soon as my shift ended.” You explain. You turn back to share eye contact with the young teacher, eyes narrowing and lips curving upwards as you smile at her, “Thank you for watching her, I’m sorry for being so late.”

“It’s all right, really.” It’s more than all right, Sana thinks.

You grin again and turn your attention back to your niece, “Ready to go?”

“Yup!”

“Okay little one, come on.” and you crouch down to let her wrap around your shoulders, letting her piggyback ride you. You grab the art that your niece had made on the table and finally stand in front of Sana, thanking her.

“I’m sorry again, thank you so much.”

“It’s no problem, it’s nice to see you again,” Sana admits, a bit shyly too. The grin that’s already present on your lips grows and you wave to the shorter woman,

“I’ll see you.” You finally say, waving with your free hand and turning your head to the little one, “Let’s get going, your dad will be back by dinner.” You mutter, and Hana hums tiredly in response before you head out the main office doors, taking a quick glance at Sana, smiling again.

…

Jihyo’s going to lose her mind when I tell her all of this, Sana thinks to herself.

#sana imagines #kpop x reader #sana x reader #twice sana #twice x reader #gay gay gay #twice imagines #minatozaki sana #sana fluff

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imminent-danger-came · 11 months

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A "MK is Related to the Underworld Somehow. Probably." List With Commentary (And I Consider it Evidence for EAMK)

(1x08 Skeleton Key)

(LIKE CAN I PLEASE HAVE AN EXPLANATION FOR THIS SCENE. CAN I PLEASE HAVE AN EXPLANATION??? WHAT. WHY. WHY WOULD YOU EVEN GIVE HIM THE KEY IN THE FIRST PLACE.)

(1x08 Skeleton Key)

(Idiot boy putting the skeleton key in his ear.)

(2x03 Pig Pong Panic)

(MK + Bones. Never a good sign)

(2x05 Minor Scale)

(Is this perhaps just LBD trying to take control of MK? Maybe. Is it also really weird how her powers interact with MK in general? For sure!)

(2x06 Game on)

(2x07 Shadow Play)

(Number one: The Lady Bone Demon wasn't here to provoke this, number two: MK using "blue vision" to see his friend's fate inside the lantern is equally strange!)

(2x09 72 Transformations)

(Again, could very well be LBD trying to take control of MK here—however, it doesn't seem like she's trying to do much of anything to MK in this scene, as she's focused on spider queen. So it weirds me out and goes into this post!)

(3x03 Smartie Kid)

(So, if the stuff in s2 was LBD affecting MK then I get it. BUT THEN WHY HAVE MORE BLUE EYES IN S3 AFTER LBD HAS ALREADY "TAKEN" MK'S POWERS AND THE STAFF. Genuinely want to know what this was meant to imply.)

(3x12 The Corrupted King)

(LBD HAS ALREADY POSSESSED WUKONG HERE. Wukong and the Mech alone was spreading her too thin. She certainly wasn't attempting to posses MK here—so what was happening?)

(4x01 Familiar Tales)

(The scroll ink touches MK not once, but twice this episode and it doesn't ensnare MK. The scroll touches Monkey King once and this is what happens to him: )

(4x02 Familiar Tales)

(The scroll's ink emanates from MK, which I thought was crazy at first BUT IT THEN HAPPENS AGAIN IN 4x11)

(4x03 The Great Tang Man)

(Soooo we see a vision of an all inked up MK, then we see the stone cracking, then we see a shot of the curse from 4x02, and THEN MK turns Tang Sanzang's golden power blue, a color associated with both LBD and the underworld in general. HM.)

(4x06 Show Me the Monster)

(There's no hair flip so it's not MK, so it would make me think that this is an ink version of SWK next to the stone. It's weird so I'm including it!)

(4x06 Show Me the Monster)

(So. Ink blotting out the sun, something MK/SWK are often associated with, and then pouring out of the cracked stone, which we just learned MK was born from. And then the curse takes MK's form. I'm tripping over my own conspiracy board here.)

MK: "You're not my friend—you're NOT me!" Curse MK: "Sure I am! I'm your best friend, well, closest at least! I know more about you than you'll even admit—to yourself, or to others."

(4x07 Pitiful Creatures)

(The curse claiming it's a part of MK is weird! The curse looking like MK in it's most weakened state is also weird! It's all weird!)

(4x08 The Brotherhood)

(Absolutely no reason for a weird teal smudge to be there, and yet)

(4x11 A Lifetime of Mistakes)

(BOOM. SCROLL EMANATING FROM MK AGAIN.)

(4x11 A Lifetime of Mistakes)

(The broken memories flickering in the scroll are very similar to the way MK flickers in and out of monkey form: )

(4x13 Rip and Tear)

(Scroll ink touches MK again and he does not become imprisoned inside it again. The scroll at the very least has no affect on the boy)

And I think for now that wraps up this post!

#sincerely think MK is related to the underworld/is some sort of fucked up memory based creature #''Now I will undo the memories of this world'' hmm. Will you LBD? AND IF MK WAS YOUR ORIGINAL POWER SOURCE—I'M JUST SAYING #getting this post out before the tdp s5 trailer which I know will ruin me #Look I know the red string is strong here. But that's okay.#Sometimes you just gotta throw shit at a wall and see what sticks.#Let's play the game of ''am I noticing purposeful details'' or ''am I just overthinking it''#The game I play everyday #BUT. This would all play into eamk (eldritch abomination MK) let me tell you #And now he's like. A weird power soup with both SWK's powers and whatever other powers from the underworld/scroll #lmk #lmk MK #lego monkie kid #monkie kid #lmk theory #eamk theory

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baohanhanesel · 2 months

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Valeria Garza x Reader Vargas

You, Alejandro's sister, are in a party, hoping to stay out of your brother's sight. Because gods above know if you get caught in a party, you won't hear the last of it.

You usually don't prefer involving in such social events, you are more of a loner than a social butterfly. You are a nervous wreck inside that reserved exterior. Your brother has always been the party guy.

Alejandro was more social, easier to get along with despite his temper. You were more of the silent sibling. An introvert who just wanted to try something new!!

When you first set foot in the loud club, you were a bit hesitant. The sight of confident people who had a few drinks in already made you nauseous. Maybe this wasn't the brightest idea you had... But you were positive you needed to socialize a little. And what better way to do it other than attending a party? You squeezed yourself through the doors and finally landed yourself by the barstools. You sat down, and started to look around. So this was what Alejandro has been so enthusiastic about. Honestly, you did see the appeal. Pretty people despite the loud itchy music, you could see yourself coming here again.

In thirty minutes, you finally managed to buy yourself a cocktail. It wasn't anything fancy, it was a virgin cocktail. Helping yourself to alcohol in a new environment wouldn't be very wise of you, so you just took generous sips of your sweet drink. Watching the confident dancing figures in the middle of the dance floor, you were jealous of that amount of confidence and skill. Your eyes wandered on various figures, trying to take in the environment and get used to the feeling.

"Can I sit with you, pretty thing?"

You downright jumped in your seat, eyes meeting the source of the velvety voice who just spoke. You blinked once, twice. You didn't expect anyone else to approach you.

"Oh, uhm. Of course. Not waiting on anyone." You smiled awkwardly, was it necessary that you mentioned you weren't waiting for anyone? Well... It was late to change that now.

"Drinking by yourself? Would you mind if I join?"

The woman was boosting with confidence, and you liked that. You nodded, offering her your most genuine smile despite the embarrassment crawling on your face. Bright red cheeks making their appearance.

"No, not at all. I'd be delighted."

The woman orders herself a glass of tequila after settling down next to you, eyeing you up and down and sizing you up. Suddenly you feel more like a prey than anything. Was it smart to just accept an invitation from a stranger for a drink? It was too late for that as well!!

"Names Valeria." The woman smiles, leaning down on the bar counter and taking a sip from her drink.

You can't help but find the sight very alluring. Valeria is beautiful.

"Oh," you chuckle, and then introduce yourself as well. You tell your name, not sharing your surname for the balance.

"Like your dress, chiquita. You sure you aren't here with anyone?"

"Thank you." You take a breath. This woman doesn't have any friendly intentions, you can notice. You should probably cut this interaction short. You are not even a lesbian. "I just wanted to enjoy the environment." You add after, taking bigger sips from your sweet drink and seeing the end of it.

"Let me help with it? That's a virgin cocktail, yeah?"

"yeah." You blink. What is happening.

Valeria turns to the bartender and orders you a drink. The drink you got in thirty minutes comes in front of her within a minute or two. Seems you wouldn't be going home very soon.

Laughter erupts from your seat, you can't help but engage in more conversations with Valeria. Valeria is a smart woman, and she is so charming with her words as well. She knows exactly what to tell you.

"You are such a darling," You keep on laughing, in your fourth drink. "But that's really enough for me. Thank you for your company, Valeria."

Valeria is all about smiles, she's been getting closer to you during the night. Each drink, she would come closer to you and offer her arm around your back.

"Thank you too, I would be bored out of my head without you," Seems Valeria was having a good time too. "Even so, I really want to have a repeat to this. Can I get your number?"

You stop. Everything freezes. Shit. You shouldn't have stayed this long, how are you supposed to get out of this situation? This beautiful woman is just so smart, thoughtful, and charming. How can you let her down. You are not even a lesbian. You shouldn't have let yourself engage with Valeria. Now you have to let her down. But how could you?

All you can do is nod.

Valeria gets her phone out, and then slides it on the table in front of you.

You look down at the digits and dial your number in her phone.

"Would it be okay if I called you same time next week?" Valeria's confident words carry you out of your damn mind. You should probably give her the wrong number. But no, that's so rude. Does it even matter if you are rude to a stranger, you can't decide that either. You are too nervous to make a quick decision. It is best you get out of here quickly without further steps into... whatever this is.

You eventually add yourself into Valeria's contacts with your name and surname. She did say she was a busy woman during your second drink, so she surely knows more people with your name. You don't want to confuse her.... Why don't you want her to confuse you with someone else, you'll think about it later.

"Sounds lovely." You say instead, making Valeria smirk wider. Gods, you wish you were at least drunk because there is no justifying your thoughts about Valeria.

When Valeria glances down at her phone, she sees your name.

"Vargas." Valeria stops, then starts to laugh. That laugh doesn't sound like the previous sweeter ones. This one is more of a joyful, amused, and maybe even mocking laugh. "See you next week." She says instead.

While you walk home, all you can think about is her. Valeria is such a beautiful and charming woman. Her confident and naturally leading personality makes you want to kick a wall. You exhale, hoping to hear from Valeria... Why? It brings you only more anxiety to think about what should come after. You should probably let her down in your next meeting... That if you will ever have one.

Well, you can definitely think about the attractive woman later... For now you should sneak into your house without letting your military trained brother notice. You don't give even the slight chance that Alejandro won't notice, but you'll try your chances.

"Where were you." Comes the loud voice of Alejandro, while you sit in your phyjamas on the kitchen counter. At least he fed you before starting the questioning.

"In a party."

To your answer, Alejandro grins. After a moment of silence, he notices you were not joking.

"Wait, seriously?"

You nod in response, stuffing your mouth with the leftover dinner.

Alejandro takes a moment longer to register what you just said, then his annoying smirk gets wider. Teasing, even. You know what is coming next. You hope he doesn't voice it out loud.

"Met anyone? At least text me if you want to spend the night in a hotel."

You roll your eyes, but then your mind wanders somewhere else despite the empty teasing of your brother. You... And Valeria could have ended up in a hotel. You quickly scratch that idea, cheeks flushing red with humiliation. You really wish you were drunk, at least you'd have a reason to think such obscene things then.

"Yes actually."

"You keep surprising me," Alejandro calls your name, nudging you to spill. "What's the name."

You have nothing to hide. And besides, if you give the woman's name he will stop teasing you and understand you just made a female friend. No male danger in sight. So you shrug.

"Valeria."

You did expect your brother's smile to fade, but you didn't expect it to fade this fast.

"Excuse me?!" Comes the loud voice of the guy in front of you, his eyes spoke louder somehow... He was pissed.

#call of duty #cod #cod modern warfare #valeria x reader #valeria mw2 #valeria cod #valeria garza #alejandro cod #alejandro vargas #alejandro mw2 #brother Alejandro #reader has a gay awakening

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inkykeiji · 7 months

Text

all wrongs do me right

characters: kawata souya x fem!reader x kawata nahoya

genre: smut with the tiniest sprinkle of angst

notes: i haven’t been able to get the kawata twins out of my head since the first episode of season three so here’s an icky lil piece about souya jerking off to nahoya fucking his girlfriend! as always please heed the warnings and stay safe! | title credit: taste of you by rezz ft. dove cameron

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, souya is a nasty little virgin, traces of twincest if you can read between the lines, stuffy humping, masturbation, voyeurism aka jerking it to a poor unwitting couple (or are they? muahaha), implied rough sex, slight daddy kink with nahoya

words: 2.5k

Souya feels fucking sick.

It’s something bitter and thick, something that coats the lining of his stomach and sours the back of his tongue, something that furls into a thick, hard lump and lodges itself in his throat.

It’s something he can’t fucking help.

Souya has barely spoken more than a handful of words to you—you, always so sweet, so nice, so kind to him; you, always desperately striving to include him in activities and conversations despite his unintentionally sharp edges and inherently callous tone; you, always gracious, never shameless, even in the face of his accidental offense—but he’s stained his stuffies and his sheets to you more times than he can count.

Tonight will be no different.

He should feel fucking disgusted in himself, he’s sure—he does feel fucking disgusted in himself, he thinks. But it’s not enough to stop him.

Nothing ever will be.

Even though his bedroom is all the way across the expanse of the flat, he can still hear you, every single time.

He swears if he listens hard enough, he can even hear that precious little gasp, caught somewhere between surprised pleasure and sharp pain, as his twin brother pushes his cock into you for the first time that night.

If he shuts his eyes tight enough, he can even imagine your back arching off the mattress as Nahoya fills you, each vertebra bending with each inch shoved into you, spine forming a perfect curve, hips inadvertently pushing downward, eager to meet Nahoya’s.

You must look so gorgeous—at least half as gorgeous as you sound, if not even more so. Souya wishes he could see you, just once—he thinks that would be enough to satiate the gnawing and clawing at the bottom of his ribs, maybe.

Maybe if he had a photo or two, or a short video, he wouldn’t be forced to resort to such deplorable methods every night; maybe he could even jerk off discreetly, stain his bedspread to the thought of you quietly and without any of your help, instead of encroaching on your privacy like this.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Because as much as he wishes it wasn’t, and as much as he tries to trick himself into believing it isn’t, this is a compulsion, an addiction, a creature raging out of his control, growing stronger and stronger with desire, with desperate need, every day.

Maybe he’s stupid to think it could ever be satisfied with anything less than your cunt. Maybe he’s stupid to think that it could even be satisfied at all, that this voracious, all-consuming craving isn’t eternally greedy, perpetually needy, that it’s hunger isn’t boundless and it’s yearning won’t grow once it gets a single taste of you.

A loud whine draws him out of his rumination, his cock twitching against his old stuffed shark in response, and he bucks his hips against it twice, smearing a webby streak of precum across the fuzzy material, its fur gone all clumped and crusty from too many nights like these.

That whine in particular never fails to inspire a full flock of butterflies to flutter in his tummy, a half-stifled whimper of your name heavy on his tongue.

This is how it always starts; some aimless humping, lazy and languid with no real tempo, briefs already kicked to the foot of his bed in a crumpled little heap, hips squirming and writhing in erratic little motions as he rubs up against his stuffy—just teasing, really, exactly like what Nahoya’s currently doing to you.

It never stays like that for long, though.

Because Souya just can’t fucking wait—too eager, too desperate, too hungry to ever take his time with it at all, to indulge, to savour, to draw it out—and it always materializes into Souya curling a fist around his cock much too early, his other arm wrapped firmly around his stuffed shark as his hips roll and his hand works, the head of his cock grinding against the plushie, a leg thrown haphazardly over it.

It’s really fucking perverse.

But your moans are already climbing in pitch and frequency, too, meaning Nahoya has already traversed past his tantalizing and is moving on to something a little more satisfying.

As expected.

By this point, Souya’s such a seasoned pro that he knows the general pattern and rhythm of your whimpers and moans and mewls, the general pace and timing of his brother’s fucking, that he can stroke his cock in the same manner.

If he focuses hard enough, closes his eyes and hones his concentration, he can almost imagine it’s him fucking you instead. It wouldn’t be all that different, would it? His cock’s half an inch shorter than Nahoya’s, but it’s a little girthier, which Souya thinks probably makes up for it.

He’s sure it wouldn’t feel all that unusual to you; not when he has Nahoya’s style and pattern of fucking so memorized that he’s sure he could imitate it pretty well, given the chance. How much different could it be, really? They are twins, after all—he bets with a blindfold on, you might not even be able to tell the difference at all.

Maybe. Maybe not. He sure would like to find out, though.

A stab of guilt sears through his stomach, chased by sick thorns of pleasure sprouting in his gut, the fisting of his cock accelerating. He’s not sure Nahoya would take too kindly to Souya thinking of you in such a manner. He’s not sure he cares.

Because it all feels so good, head gone cloudy with a thick haze of hedonism, smothering any flickers of remorse, consuming them and adding to the sheer exhilaration of it all.

Pathetic little noises keep leaking through the gaps of his teeth and the seam of his lips no matter how stubbornly he tries to silence them, pulled from his throat with each swift tug of his hand.

He can’t hear much of what Nahoya’s saying to you, his voice too muted to be anything other than an indistinct rumble undertowing your precious little sounds, but whatever it is, you’re eating it up.

“Please, please, pl-please,” you’re begging in response to whatever his niichan just said, needy and strained, and his cock throbs violently in his palm.

“Please, please, please,” Souya’s rasping out in tandem, stroking his cock in hard, fast, thorough yanks, in perfect time with the fractured words his brother is fucking out of you.

It’s really cute, how increasingly sloppy you get the more Nahoya fucks you, twining your words together with threads of saliva, all slurred and messy. Nahoya gets that way when he’s close, too. Souya thinks it’s kind of nice, the way the two of you match like that.

It’s all so insanely hot, and every once in a while Souya gets extra lucky, fortunate enough to capture a smattering of words from his big brother—never anything more than a handful, just tatters of a single sentence—but his stomach swoops every time he hears that assertive amusement dyed with patronization, Nahoya’s voice husky and edges of his letters gone wispy with breathlessness, Souya’s cock pulsing hotly as another rush of blood surges southward.

“—Wanna be—little fucktoy?”

“I wanna,” you’re gasping out. “I wan’it s’bad!”

Christ, how can someone be so fucking sweet and so fucking sexy at the same time? It’s an intoxicating combination, one that goes straight to his cock, one that twists a feverish warmth in his gut and pulls his muscles stiff and taut.

“Yeah, yeah, take it,” Souya mumbles into his stuffed shark, the rocking of his hips speeding up as he hastily fucks his fist, words tapering off into a gravelly whine, almost as if he’s pleading. “Ta-Take m’cock.”

Nahoya murmurs something else, voice too low for Souya to make out anything other than the notes of sadistic glee steeped in his tone, but you cry out an affirmative in reply, the yelp jostled by Nahoya’s snapping hips.

“S’good, Daddy, s’good, your cock is so good,” you nearly sob, chanted out like it’s a fucking prayer, garbled and soaked with spit, fading into an airy little mewl.

“Fuck, f-fuck,” Souya’s hips stutter, that heat in his belly blazing, curse snarled out through his nostrils in a harsh, stammered breath. “Ha-ah, fuck.”

The expletive breaks on his tongue, jagged and high, and Goddamn it, Goddamn it—

He has to keep it down, for God’s sake—he knows this, knows that, logically, if he can hear you two, then you two can probably hear him, too.

The thought sends a vile thrill shooting through his gut, palm squeezing the head of his cock, the ball of his thumb rubbing across it in slow, lopsided circles, doing little to stifle his rapidly building orgasm, fervour coiling in his belly. An exceptionally loud grunt—much too loud to be discreet, that’s for sure—pries its way past his lips, rough and ragged and full of razors.

And God, he’s so gross, he’s so fucking gross, and can you hear him? Huh? Can you hear him? He hopes you can hear him.

Can you hear him, fucking himself to just the sound of you? Can you hear him, humping away at his old stuffed animals like the dirty little virgin he is, pretending it’s your body, your hip, your thigh? Can you hear him, fragments of your name slicing his tongue, tangling in his drool, never the full thing, shards bitten back and swallowed down to fester in his heart, to feed the animal living inside his ribcage?

Can Nahoya?

What does Nahoya think? How does Nahoya feel about his baby brother jerking his cock every time his niichan fucks his girlfriend, without fail, like fucking clockwork? Would he be disgusted, or did he get that same sordid gene Souya did—that knack for the naughty, for the nasty, for the downright nauseating?

They are twins, after all.

Another spear of guilt pierces his chest, radiating sparks of euphoria through his limbs, wicked little flares that leave his blood fizzing and tummy smoldering, adding to the dull, dense heat collecting in the pit.

He should feel worse about all of it, he thinks. He should feel worse about the utter disrespect he’s showing to the both of you, but he doesn’t. It’s hard to feel anything at all other than the push and pull, the tug-of war between rhapsody and repulsiveness, one only working to fuel and heighten the other.

Thick cords of drool are dribbling from the corners of his mouth now, panted out with his hot breath and his whimpered words, rolling along his jaw and dripping, slow and sticky, to puddle in the ridges of his pillowcase. Are you this filthy, too, when Nahoya fucks you?

You’re getting close now, he can tell, moans catching on Nahoya’s rough, fast thrusts and shattering into choked little gasps.

You’re trying to get his name out, and God, it’s so fucking cute, adorable little Naho-Nahoy-Naho!’s spilling from your throat in a single continuous stream, juddered by his big brother’s plunging hips.

Would you sound just as pretty trying to get Souya’s name out?

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Nahoya’s panting out, voice still tinged with that trademark teasing tone, almost as if he’s egging you on, a question of if that’s all you got infused into his words.

A threat is uttered, something about hurrying and making a mess on Daddy’s cock, and Souya coughs around the spit pooling beneath his tongue, wheezing out strands of saliva smudged and gauzy across his stuffy.

Because Christ, you’re so obedient, so keen to please, a chain of jagged affirmations pouring past your lips punctuated with the sweetest sounds of effort, your dedication to his big brother so fucking sexy, your dedication to his big brother rivaling his own.

A growl rumbles behind his ribs, and Souya shoves his face in his stuffy, teeth sinking into the cotton flesh in an attempt to muffle the sound.

His jaw already hurts from being clenched so tightly, a stiff ache that has settled deep within the straining hinges, something he’ll spend half an hour massaging out tomorrow morning.

But right now it doesn’t matter, not when that ball of heat is roiling in his gut, curling tighter and tighter and tighter with each quick pump of his fist, teetering on the edge of an explosion.

It’s as though he can’t jerk himself fast enough, hips twitching in quick little motions, sloppy and irregular and so, so fucking eager, into his own grasp, fucking his slippery palm.

His breath stutters as he tries to quiet himself, desperate to hear you cum, harsh erratic exhales huffed out against the synthetic fur of his shark humid against his upper lip, leaving behind tiny beads of condensation.

A whine splinters in his chest, eyes shut tightly as tears crystalize at the corners, his lungs swelling painfully with stagnated breath while his teeth burrow further into the plush of his stuffed animal, a pitiful attempt to starve off his impending orgasm.

He doesn’t want to cum before you, not again.

Drops of sweat are streaming from his brow and catching in his lashes, his curls saturated with salt and clinging in cute little swirls to his temples and the nape of his neck.

You’re so close, moans climbing higher and higher, louder and louder, faster and faster, and only a few more moments now, he only needs to hold out for a few more moments and then—

And then you’re crying out Nahoya’s name, breathless and beautiful, and Souya’s spilling his seed all over his knuckles and his sheets and the soft fur of his stuffy, hot and sticky and so, so much, groaning in time with his brother as he fills your cunt with his cum, Nahoya’s slurred out good, good, y’did s’good for me, baby forcing another weak spurt of cream to cascade over Souya’s fingers, cock jolting painfully.

He doesn’t stop jerking his cock until it’s too much, until each drag of his fist sends heavy tremors of overstimulation rippling through his flesh, until his thrusts are nothing more than pathetic little ruts, every brush of his cockhead against his stuffed animal causing him to suck a hiss through his teeth.

It starts to creep over him then, that dense film of shame grimy on his skin, that leaden block of guilt acrid in the pit of his stomach, nausea swelling in his chest and up his throat to sit, biting and bitter, on the back of his tongue.

It’ll fuse to him as he sleeps, seeping into his tissues, through his blood and his bones to root, to rot, at the very core of his soul, infesting and infecting, every bit of his being.

And when he sees you tomorrow morning, bright and beautiful despite being stained with his brother’s hands, bruises and bite marks peaking out from beneath Nahoya’s baggy t-shirt, it will reignite, that creature re-awoken, starved for any small piece of you it can devour—a soft smile, a sweet giggle, the brush of fingertips as they pass syrup or the knocking of knees beneath the table.

And Souya’s not sure he’ll ever be able to tame it.

#kawata souya x reader #kawata souya smut #kawata souya x you #kawata twins smut #souya x reader x nahoya #kawata nahoya x reader #kawata nahoya smut #kawata nahoya x you #kawata twins x reader #kawata brothers x reader #eeeeeeeeeeee genuinely we are so far past brain rot they're eating through my skull

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