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raitonsfw · 3 months

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𝟸𝟻𝟶 𝟶𝟶𝟶 𝚢𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 | 𝚐𝚘𝚓𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚞 ꨄ

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Gojo was a big fucking spender, whether you liked it or not. Almost every clothing item he owned ranged well over the price of 150 000 yen, even his shoes; sometimes those were more expensive. Coming home one day from work, there’s a pink gift bag (complete with a lil bow and all) sitting pretty on the ottoman for you. As you opened it, black expensive lace peeked back at you and so did the price, zeros going on for miles on the tiny tag.

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, fem!reader, boyfriend!gojo, rich!gojo, dirty talk, lingerie (and the tearing of it), grinding (if you squint), fingering, cunnilingus, slight breeding kink, p in v intercourse, creampie, insecurity (about how much gojo spends), corny pick up lines, sayings, & jokes, pet names (sweetheart, baby, angel, pretty, princess, good girl), lovedrunk, feral, & pussywhipped gojo (man loves you, would hang the moon for you fr), a surprise near the end (i said he loves you goddammit)

a/n: happy february 1st (finally can say it without the queue messing up my schedule) anyway, here's my second valentine for you loves! i hope you enjoy, until next week! 💌 wc: 3.4k. v-day m.list | m.list

a/n pt 2: p.s. i'm such a sucker for writing gojo kinda cringey. alsoo its not my best work but i did what i could!

divider credit: @hitobaby & @firefly-graphics

Coming home was the biggest mistake you had made in your entire life, because what the fuck was this? Your fingers held up a piece of lace material, black in color and you puzzled at it as you noticed that the lingerie piece barely looked as though it’d cover anything; thanks to your million dollar boyfriend.

“It’s gorgeous, huh?” You heard his promiscuous voice ring out through the living room at just the right time, when your voice cursed him to the high heavens. You nearly jumped out of your skin, the lingerie falling near your feet and you turned quickly to face him, his hip popped against the doorframe.

“Satoru!” Your face was bright red, the blush spreading down your neck and you hid your face underneath your sweatshirt sleeve with a scowl. Gojo was in his usual sorcerer uniform, complete with the black blindfold covering the vivid blue and you still tried to shy away from him even though you knew you couldn’t. Not when his eyes saw all, saw the way yours glistened at the thoughtful gift.

“Hey sweetheart. Like the gift?”

“I told you not to buy me any more lingerie…” You huffed, glancing at the tag as you went to put the set back in the bag. There was an infinite amount of zeroes littering the price tag and you almost dropped the lingerie piece again– in utter shock that the fucking price was over 250,000 yen. “Oh my God…”

“Oh, please. I know you, you don’t wear lingerie sets more than twice. And last time I checked, I tore the last one.” He smirked, walking towards you with a tiny skip in his step and your hands trembled as you smoothed the lace over with your delicate fingers. “Besides, your favorite store was having a Valentine’s Day sale and I just had to have you in that.”

Right, it was Valentine’s Day soon.

“A sale?! This doesn’t look like a price tag for a sale. More like someone’s monthly rent, -toru.” You frowned, feeling Gojo’s strong arms fold underneath your waist and he took the fabric in his hands. Unfurling it from its tangled confines, he draped it over you with a gentle hum of a tune evading your surroundings.

“Hold it like that for me.” Gojo murmured as he stepped around you, standing in front of you while checking behind him as he backed up slightly. He focused on you, his fingers coming up to ‘snap a picture’ and you blushed profusely when you saw the dopey smile that mustered up on his face. Your blush turned into another scowl though as you remembered the price of it, how could he just spend money so fruitlessly?

Gojo lifted his blindfold for a few seconds to glance at your figure; you could see the gears turning in his head and you wouldn’t be very surprised if he sprouted an erection right then and there. But he also noticed your glowering eyes and his lighthearted demeanor faded away, a worried look washing over his face.

“What’re mad for, baby? I wasn’t going to pass up the chance to spoil you.”

“You spend so much on me, I’m not worth that much.” You muttered, starting to fold the lingerie set to put it back in the bag; away and out of sight from you.

You usually liked Gojo’s sweet gestures, gifts piled at your doorstep like it was Christmas every month normally but this time it just seemed a bit out of place– you knew him to flaunt his wealth alot but this? He’s never gotten you something so expensive. You couldn’t accept such a generous gift that would be soiled within minutes of wearing it.

“Excuse me? Where’d you learn that crazy talk from?” Gojo said with an exasperated gasp, coming to embrace you and you didn’t answer him as he pulled you close. His hands feathered through your hair and honestly you couldn’t breath through the fabric of his jacket, the turtleneck part of it threatening to strangle you as he squeezed himself around you in a tight hug.

“Don’t ever think that! I would buy the world for you if I could manage to fit it inside a gift box.”

You couldn’t help but laugh into his chest, his words souring after they sat for a minute. “That was so cringey, Satoru.”

“You still love me though, perks of being me… I think?” Gojo let go of you, holding you by your shoulders now and you reached up to slip his blindfold fully off. He blinked through the dimness of the apartment, his eyes fixating on you once more.

There was something that just made you feel so in love with him, everytime you managed to zero in on those hypnotic eyes of his– almost every bad thought melted away and yeah, you were definitely overreacting.

Let the man spoil you, if he so wishes.

“Yes, I still love you.” You fonded, planting a luscious kiss against his lips and he had no qualms, his mouth instantly moving against you eagerly. Gojo softly moaned into the kiss, one of his hands snaking down your back towards your ass and you squeaked out as he gave you a tiny swat against the plushness of it.

“Great, now go try on the lingerie.” Thrusting the bag back into your hands, he grinned at you and there was no way in hell you could deny him– not with the way he looked, so ecstatic to see you in the precious lace garments he bought you.

Putting it on wasn’t much of a struggle, it fit you nicely in all the right places. The full length mirror did you just enough justice, staring back at a body that had devious curves and everything in between the skimpy lace that barely covered your intimates. You weren't all that self conscious, though you weren’t sure what you’d do once you were in front of Gojo. Where would he look first?

Would his eyes lay against your breasts that bobbed in the lace, perched up prettily or would they drag to your soft thighs, cuffed in the garter belt holding up the thigh highs that accented the set? Would they focus on your mound and in the middle, your drenched pussy staining the thin fabric or would he drool over everything all at once?

“Baby… Are you done yet? I’m getting lonely.” You heard him mewl outside the door, a soft tap from his knuckle echoing through the bathroom and you nodded to yourself, adjusting little bits and pieces of the thread to make sure it sat perfectly for him.

You paused with your hand on the doorknob. Why were you so goddamn nervous?

“You have it on? C’mon, let me see already.”

As you opened the door, Gojo wasn’t in front of it anymore. Instead, he was seated on the lavish sofa that met in the center of the room, his head lying lazily against the back of it with his arms extended. His thighs were spread apart on the cushions, his legs folding outwards and you could already see a lush bulge in his trousers, peaked with interest as he waited impatiently for you. You wanted to skip the shame of twirling for him and just sit yourself right against it, sit yourself down on it and just–

Gojo’s head snapped up– he must’ve sensed you– and his bright eyes zeroed in on your face first. Then they trailed down towards your body, drinking in the adorned curves of the lingerie on you and his mouth fell open in a quiet sigh. “Y/N…”

You walked towards him, a small sway to your step and his hands pressed down against the sofa as you neared him. They nearly white knuckled it, his mouth still open and his eyes flickering over every crevice of the threads decorating you– his knees had quickly pressed together and you’ve never seen him so flustered in your entire life. Sure, you’ve modeled for him here and there with other gorgeous sets; but this was different.

Was this your Satoru? The ego induced maniac who could and would knock you off your feet with a single flirtatious remark? It was refreshing to see him like this– reduced to nothing but boyish clouded lust.

“You going to say something other than my name, baby?” You asked, pureness reining your voice and you purred inwardly when he was still speechless. You eyed at the seam of his trousers, noticing the way it tented up considerably just from a few seconds of gazing you over. “Satoru?”

“Hi, yes sorry. Come here.” Gojo’s hand faltered slightly as he reached for you and you happily obliged, straddling his lap. A low hum escaped him as you sat flush with his clothed cock against your heat, his legs spreading apart again to let you sink down onto him comfortably. “Holy hell, is this heaven ‘cause you look like–”

“So help me if you finish that sentence, I’ll take this off.” You interrupted, getting ready to move off of him but his hands grasped your hips greedily.

“That’s what I’m hoping for, angel.” A naughty grin crept up on his face as he pulled you into a warm kiss. Yeah, it’s definitely your Satoru.

His tongue slid past your lips easily and his eyes slipped shut, drawing you closer to him– faintly aware of the slickness that roughed up his trousers. You bit his lip seductively and a startled moan spilled into your mouth heavily, his hips subtly rocking up into you. It was needy and desperate and everything you ever wanted to hear and feel from him, because of course he was already riled up– just look at you.

His fingers looped inside the lace of your panties, rubbing his fingertips against the seams of it and you hummed as they curved towards the where you needed it most. His other hand fondled your breast, the flesh of it spilling out over the cups and all he wanted to do was press a tender kiss to your nipple, sucking it in between his teeth to nip and tug til it reddened with overstimulation.

“Are you going to touch me or…” You shook him from his daze, earning a sarcastic snort from him.

You moaned quietly as his hand immediately slipped underneath the fabric, toying with your nipple until it hardened and a gentle finger swiped through the slick that collected inside your panties. He tsked, “Already ruining the lace, so filthy…”

You let out a tiny huff, intending to apologize when two of his fingers sunk through your arousal and you leaned into him with a whimper. Gojo didn't hesitate to mark up your neck as soon as you moved forward, his teeth grazing alongside the nasty bruises and your hips jutted out as he expertly curled his digits into you. You whined into his ear– a glorious symphony if he must say so himself– and his thumb pressed into the swell of your clit. Sucking a languid hickey against the near front of your neck, he noticed you had started to move against him– fucking your perfect cunt down onto his pliant fingers.

Every roll of your hips, his cock got some action as well; as your clit rubbed against the tip of his cock that threatened to burst out of his trousers now. Holy fuck, he was straining too– he knew you could feel it as you sat right against it. He was losing his train of thought more and more by the second as you panted out, he needed more– so much more, his dick was nearly crying as it leaked out tiny droplets of precum in his boxers. If you weren’t so lost in pleasure at the moment, you would’ve noticed the small wet spot forming in the fabric– his jujutsu uniform’s probably going to need to be dry cleaned.

He would finish his pick up line if he could speak, his voice not quite there anymore– you looked like a heaven sent angel veiled in the lingerie of a hell spawned devil.

From his angle, Gojo could see the swell of your ass lightly jiggling, the lace barely covering it and the flesh of your thighs sat beautifully against his own and honestly he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed you, his vision blackening with lust as you worked yourself fully open on his fingers now. His cock ached so fucking badly and he vaguely noted to get you crotchless lingerie next time so he could just slide right in without needing to fumble with the weird straps.

When your breath hitched in your throat as your clit spasming directly against the frenulum of his cock, his tip desperately trying to dip into the lace through his thick fucking clothing– he lost it.

“Fuck it…” You heard him growl against your laced breast as he popped it out of its cup, the entire bralette tearing on impact. You gasped at the ripping sound, but you were too delirious to scold him as his fingers started fucking faster into you to keep you quiet about the torn lingerie. Gojo snagged your nipple in his mouth with a frantic moan, his fingers coated with slick as he pulled them out quickly to tear off your panties. They shedded easily and you were left with remnants of lace pristine against your body, another gasp coming from you as you realized what he did.

“-toru, what are you–?!”

Before you could finish your sentence, your entire figure was thrown against the cushions of the sofa and his shirt and trousers were stripped from his body. His eyes were trained on your ripped lingerie and you couldn’t quite figure out what was going on in his head until he yanked the rest of it off, excluding your thigh highs. And now you were exposed in front of him and he was out 250,000 yen; because he just couldn’t keep his composure.

“I’ll buy you another set, I swear– though I can’t guarantee it’ll survive…” Gojo said under his breath, planting kisses down the span of your chest. He trailed them towards your tummy, innate circles rubbing into your hips and he shuddered at how the garter belt sat snug against your waist– and how easy it was to tear off, his teeth latching on it with fervor. You gasped as you felt the band snap, your thigh highs falling down slightly where they sat as they were no longer held up by the precious lace.

He grabbed the extra lace from his mouth and threw it somewhere across the room, his tongue immediately delving into your tight heat. A broken whine was coaxed from your throat as he fucked it in and out needily, quiet pants breathing over your cunt. Gojo’s hands grabbed at your thighs, pressing his nose straight into your clit as he lapped at everything he could reach and you couldn’t help the wanton moans that leaked from your mouth, your hands grasping at his snowy hair.

He was downright animalistic at this point. You carved his shoulder blades with your nails, desperate for him to drive you over the edge; your impending orgasm making your legs tremble. “Satoru, shit– c-close…”

“C’mon, cum for me, pretty.” He murmured into your cunt, slightly muffled and you keened up into his mouth– ultimately fucking yourself on his tongue. And God, did he groan at that; his hums of utter satisfaction basically sent you spasming through your climax. Your hands flew to the edge of the sofa, clutching tightly as you rolled your hips into the insane pleasure– into his mouth that lapped up every drool of arousal that leaked out from your convulsions. He was vain with it too, looping out his fucking name against your folds to claim you as you whimpered his name.

“T-Take me with you to shop next time.” You managed out as you sat up on your elbows, looking down at him while you came down from your high. “I’ll decide what you can and can’t rip.”

Gojo tutted out a laugh, coming up to hover over you– his chin glinted with your juices and you reddened at the sight of how goddamn needy you were. “Fine, baby– now arch your back f’ me.”

His cock prodded your entrance, slender fingers wrapped around the base of it as he guided it into you greedily and you threw your head back against the arm of the sofa with a whine. You did exactly as he said; you arched your back into the intoxicating pleasure, his cock stretching you out and filling every bit of space you could give him. He fit perfectly within you everytime, which made you dizzy with lust as you hooked one hand around the back of his neck.

“Always take me so well, princess.” Gojo purred, not bothering to let you adjust as he started to snap his hips into you. “Fits like a glove, huh?”

You were so sore already– from the last orgasm wreaking havoc– but you couldn’t get enough of his long cock drilling into you, every thrust kissing your cervix and making your walls clench around him with whimpers drowning out the riveting squelches. You managed to look up at him, his fingertips nudging into the plush of your thighs, against the sleek material of your thigh highs and you knew he wasn’t going to last very long.

His eyes were already rolling back into his head at every fill of his cock dragging against your walls, his jaw slack and you were surprised at how pussy whipped he was– normally he’d watch you religiously writhe underneath him. His hair was disheveled as he ran his hand through it before frantically gripping your thigh again, panting out curses and you inadvertently squeezed hard around him at the action with a high pitched moan.

“Oh– fuck, holy shit..! Keep squeezing me like that, we’re g-gonna have to go shopping–” Gojo groaned out, his cock pounding into you harder now, pleasure coursing through your entire body as he hit your sweet spot dead on.

“F-For more lingerie?”

“No, for a fucking crib.”

“Fuck, Satoru– faster.” You whined out, completely obsessed with the thought and you felt your second climax tremble through your thighs, straight towards the throbbing of your cunt. ‘Cum in me, -toru…please.”

Gojo didn’t answer you, too wrapped up in your pretty pussy with hefty moans pouring out of him and his fingers slipped down towards your clit. He rubbed circles against it, interchanging his angle to fuck you deeper, faster– and you could feel how close you were.

“Got another surprise for you on Valentine’s Day, baby…” He started babbling, his chest rising and falling as he rutted into you. His eyes slipped from his cock, creamy and wet from your arousal, to your eyes now. “Involves a little jewelry piece, think you’ll love it… Think you’ll love me even more.”

You didn’t hear him though, too caught up in your release caving in every sense you had and replacing them with pure euphoria. You couldn’t fucking see, hear, even think as it overtook your body. You came so hard around his cock, clenching and unclenching which brought Gojo to his own release rather quickly. He stilled in you with a harsh whine and his eyes squeezed shut as he came in you, white ropes leaking out rather abruptly.

He repeated soft praises like ‘good girl, take it all…’ and ‘gonna make sure none drools outta you, so good for me’ a few times in a needy tone, collapsing against your chest afterwards. Gojo buried his face into your neck, smoothing his hands over the thigh highs you had on.

“I’m so sorry about the lingerie, Y/N…” He apologized, his eyes glancing up towards yours as he moved over to litter kisses on your cheek. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow, I promise. You’ll pick out your Valentine’s Day lingerie set and I’ll watch you model it for me–”

You interrupt him with a soft kiss, humming against his lips. “It wasn’t my money, it was yours, you idiot.”

Gojo blinked at you, then a mischievous look crossed his face. “How about a nice pink set this time? Frilly, rose hearts covering your perky nipples and–”

“Satoru.”

a/n: wanna get tagged in future writing posts? join my taglist!

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astralnymphh · 5 months

Text

saturated sanctity

tonguefucking raw in the barn, away from dina's eyes ౨ৎ

. part two 𝜗𝜚

❛you had cunt on your mind, 'n cum on your breath❜

PREVIOUS CHAPTER . NEXT CHAPTER > .ᐟ ♡. summary; a chore so innocent and prosaic, far from featherbedding and near to plucking grain from your scalp– turns for the worst, or the best? i soundly connote, fornication ventured on two bends of eager knees, drinking you from beneath the hood 𐙚 .ᐟ ♡. cw; depictions of infidelity, homewrecking, semi-risky sex, jealousy, bit angsty, tension, guilt, pining, tears are shed, playing around, lusting, clit stim (r, fingers and oral), fingering (r), pussy eating (r), scant nipple stim (r), ass groping, ass slapping, breast groping, swallowing slick, pussy slapping, steamy make-out buildup, dirty talk, needy ellie, smug ellie as usual, dom!ellie, sub!reader (i swear sub!ellie is coming next chapter) domestic acts, bold text is flashback dialogue, petnames; babe, baby, good girl (lmk if i missed anything) .ᐟ ♡. pairing; farm!ellie x farmhand!reader .ᐟ ♡. a/n; ending feels a little lazy but it is what it is. hey i'll pull through on ss3 that's like the smut crux, if u get my jizzst..

✵ masterlist ✵ series masterlist ✵ got too lazy 2 proofread right away ✵ WC; 9.8k+

VOLUME TWO - The skin that flakes/ Under the hood

𝄞

Indulgences have the gall to peck at you.

Pecky and prickly as the oncoming hens do, handwriting–on–the–wall misgivings that throttle you off a steady minute by minute track. Small nuances under light of sun kept doing so this week, numerous things apropos of bawdy suggestions wisped by that reckless pink snake of hers– always mere footsteps from running into Dina, ‘I think it would be, really, reaaally hot if you didn’t wear your p-panties at the table, tonight..’ always brain–caked in a bit of alcohol, hiccuping. Or, even when a cold cuff cocoons the hind of your upper–thigh, an inch below the crease of your butt and done as she passes like a ghost behind you in the kitchen.

A plum bruise should have formed from how often you flicked that forehead of hers. But no, of course no. The only thing that formed each time was a cocky curl into her lips, corkscrewing those fine hazel freckles connate to a whirlpool in water.

Owing to the fact that she lacked sufficient care from you, has her pouting when you deny her. Denied her of that fiendish wish to lie beside each other– even if it be upon that packed sofa, or– of her vehement dreams, reposing within sniffing distance of an ambery lit fireplace, running her work–worn fingertips along your hill of chest, letting the beat beneath your breast verse in her hands a tale to beckon her own in accordance, toasting aflutter with love. She would push a kind pressure to said breast, emboss prints to squishy skin, mold it to her liking, and smirk when your nipple erects and bends under her hardy palm.

On the other hand, woe of denial, she sought Dina in your figment. When she wasn't courting twisted fingers up your billowing skirt, she instead smelt her heart in twisting her from the inside out, which– even more woefully, gave Dina the impression that Ellie had come crawling back on starved knees. Woe is her, to misreckon and take what she thought was hers to safekeep.

Arteries, wrenched and awreck, you felt a toy in contrast to what really stood. Worry.

Worries are the hens, pecking at you.

Will Dina catch you two here? Over there? This night, or the inbound day? Tines of time aren't obligated to tell, ringing of peril whenever they yen a sign to sow.

Thoughts would only continue to foment come light of day.

A lemony sun has risen beyond the hill laden skyline, plucking rays for your wake. Muted orange tones mingle and caper into flaming reds on the crest of your sealed eyelids, caught just as you bid adieu to your cotton sogged dream. For dreams die, at every crossroad.

“Mhh..” the gentlest brush of breath hinders sun washed quietude split, and a set of toes curving down to a stretch. Achy aches ache, as there’s enough ache to go around for farm hands such as you, ugh right?

Disturbing be the sunlight drawing blinding rays on your bleary pupils, attempting to shade out familiar nooks of your room. Ah, there we go, hues of sable dark in unvisited corners and shyly crowding the light, fluid out of the clear glass pane. As the couch is situated opposite of this blaring window, it greets you quite rudely.

The moment colors begin to mature and petrify within your vision, you're already hiking up a foot and rocking your bottom off the quaint sofa, veering a peek to the indent left. Slept like a log, huh? Feet plant weight on plods carrying you towards the wardrobe, grantingly aside the wide pearl–border window, flitting a forearm up to block incoming light.

A huff bloats your cheeks and pouts ducky lips, then grumbling a burden off your shoulders, “Hhhmmmm..” no truer words were spoken.

You lodge fingers in oaken crevices and pull a sundry of drawers from their frame, rubbing cotton on wool as you dig without aim on what you may don, this or that, with which and what, where and when. Blah, yawn, bored, you avert your gaze on lucent glass and scrutinize a pine bough panorama– only for your eyes to spring and espy a sparkle.

A gleam of skin.

And a tuft of copper.

Ellie.

Her torso fit in a white ribbed tank, soaked in hues of gray at the dip cut collar, and handsomely clung to her perky breasts. An arm raises, a graceful length likeness of a canopy above her head, stretching freckled flesh over toned muscles, the grooves– shadowed in a whisper of brown, highlighted celestially, and exposing a small auburn bush beneath her pit. A seen groan escapes her slit gob, brows hefty– she crumples them dear into her eye sockets, ruching the thin skin. Exertion tapered her body akin to clay, and it was undeniably hot, scrunching her face up like that. Ellie then juts her hips forward and casts her head rearward as she stretches, releasing all tension in a swing of her arms down.

Seems like she's tending to the fore yards.

Dew gleams honey, sweat paints skin, and portrays your girls as a ruddy rose in dashing spring. Ruddy, yeah, that solar ball in the sky sure made her skin popping arid of paleness. Naturally, her freckles betone like pepper, bulging on her red face– which scrunches in her gripe of stress.

Her lips part, mouthing an obvious, ‘Fucking hell.’ and baring teeth after, slightly. Lashes interwoven, her eyes stayed squinted, only to widen and dart when a muffled shout rattles the walls.

Right, fuck, Dina needs me.

Just as the drizzly auburn–head jogs from a peeking view and presumably into the house, you reverse and capsize through stacks of cloth until you land your choice– a sundress. Hey, it's hot today, let your butt breathe for a change. You dangle it by the thin straps prior to pleating up the skirt and slinking it over your crown, yanking every seam in place. Ruffles hit a stonecast above your knee, a sensible length.

But one question stands unturned.

Bra, or no bra?

Hmm.

No bra.

A proper chest of cotton cradles your breasts come rain or shine, not like Dina would mind with brine, nor judge off the heart– just freeing the girls. No biggie. The woven material lollops to a fare–thee–well, cozy on the curve, ribbing as it falls in place. Now, you just need something on your feet. Striding forth, waxing a gale, bare steps soften on each oak board's scant gap, sylvan grain texture grazing your toes. Just a few feet ayond the couch is your shoe cubby, small box frames home to varied work boots and scuffed sneakers, and based on today, you choose boots, clasping the hardy backstays in a pinch. You crouch and gripe at the sore sting your knees gave, manning it through and sliding foot by foot plumb to the squishy sole of your boots, tying up the cordy laces.

Guh, these boots are near rugged.

Ignoring the plain–in–sight fray to your boots’ hemp laces, you grasp and wrench the icy knob ‘round till the door grinds a cry open. Stepping under the arch, you brisk thump by thump and cut where the hallway bends, advancing the dining table.

A dyad of ears harks your growing din of solid steps, calling, “There you are, did'ja sleep like a log?” mellifluous notes of Dina's cadence carries, veering your sight on the kitchen– where she be, perching an oaken honeycomb rack to forearm.

That I did.

“Yuup–” you pirouette, spanning the table's border and hiking that very ridge plane into your butt, sighing, “sun was there to greet me, obnoxiously.” leaning into the table, you grouse lightheardedly.

“Oh shit– sorry ‘bout that, swear I'll put up a–”

“Don't worry, it's the one thing that actually wakes me up these days,” you crack a quip, chuckling with an open mouth.

Dina caters a kind tug on her mauve lips prior to whisking her eyes returned, a glossy honey to be. Syrupy knuckles press and crinkle in the hilt of a honey fork, pruning waxy slices and welling gold bubbles, crafting a drippy stream that canals into a glass bowl. Through laden light it gains a gilded life, casting a tiny star on the moist blob– and there you witness, nectar of the gods.

Capricious minds might have swiped a dollop of that sweet, sweet delicacy by now.

Weighing the silence, you tempt thoughts racing around your skull. What chore am I assigned today? Where is the cacophony of babbles and gurgles that follow Dina like a haunting spirit? Where did Ellie go? Ellie, Ellie, Els.

God did she look breathtaking in that tight–

A rush of thuds divert your curious eyes to the creaking stairs, preluding the swell of said babbles and a husky voice, Ellie's voice.

“Dina?” hailed she, echoing halfway down the steps, “I changed his diaper!”

Dina cocks her head in heed, crowing back, “Okay! Just– give ‘im to her!” tone knocking against the hollowed walls, then, she sheers attention to you, “mind feeding him?”

You hum a keen, “Mhm.” void of second qualms and wait on that certain honey–head to appear, hearing the increments of footsteps draw lower and nearer.

The honeylike cowl, stria of fawn auburn drapes soft strands to laze with a purpose on her neck, fashioning that scruffy mullet eyes prize after. Honeykin defines the head that tags after gray, deadbeat converse hop the last few steps and plant still on the oaken floor. For a honey so sinful sought you, and buys a bite of time, to stare.

Her liven pasture eyes catch on you, just a moment, and skip away, reminded of what she intends, “Uh, here.” her forearms unfurl and slink to you, offering JJ up in thankful arms.

You rub in bare flesh to hers, scooping the gurgly baby in a shyer than thankful human cradle, foreheads feckly bumping into each other as you swap, a ghosting of heads. A whaff of her work–spent scent digs into your brain, and you had to admit, it was a tinge sort of lovely. She had the farmyard tang about her, blessed with sweat, a firming physique, a stare that caught you a corpus melting in her esse.

Fairer than the weeks before her touching of you, the bounty it procured was tame, fair is the present. Fairest days, faring a harvest more splendid than dreams carping yonder ebony skies and heavy heads. An unruffled weightlessness many souls find hopes fed in, you found aplenty of in the waking world. With Ellie, you drank laughs, fiddled about the haystacks, snuck apples in your fist– nicking dewey chunks down her gullet in shared kisses, or let her shamelessly tug some of your ass meat in horny hands. Oh, isn't infidelity just the niftiest drug.

Smitten as a kitten, you are.

Carpe diem.

“You’ sleep well?” asked Els in monotone, pitching a paw up to weave through her jumbled locks, splitting strands.

Heaving a breeze, you sigh, “Decent enough, you?” and counter the question, bobbing your stance on bending knees– pray that baby doesn't scream, as always.

“Like a baby,” she asserts, lush of a brag, dropping her hand and poking at the chubby–cheeked fella, who just got a free mention, “not so much this one, yeahh? Did you scream my ear off all night?” cooing.

“Mhm, heard that.” you add.

“Betcha did.”

“Hmm.”

Her eyes peek up, and goddess, it's that look again. Oh yes, the very gaze spilt upon the oaken table that hale spring day, a twinning star. These eyes, ladies and gentle–non–mens’, fondled a plight of husky play sat on the edge of her mucky mind, and it showed vividly in those flourishing pupils that thin her pine–lined eyes. Tilted smirk dotting dimples in her big appley cheeks, cuspid teeth goring a dint in chapped lips crying with dire need of moisture. Sexy– minus the lips maybe.

She knows what effect that look has.

What exactly sits vanward of that hormone tipsy mind, is an excerpt best served in the formula of two tongues tied– for even Ellie herself may strive to compose hunger incarnate at this fledgling hour of daybreak. And yet she cannot. The mere thought of your pussy clots her brain cells. So, how do we fix that?

Play pretend!

“Hey babe,” that auburnette already had her head whipped south towards Dina before you could flit a blink, feet sparking her a brisk carry yon the shabby oak floor. Creak, creak, clonk, foot by foot she departs a sliver of bitterness in your chest.

A demure bitter, a sense you can simply shake off. For now.

“There you are..” spoken so softly from Dina, who still had a rack of flaxen honeycomb in her hold, slanting to an angle, “what took ya so long?” voice curling.

“Wasn't that long,” she emphasized her vowels, “m'here now..”

“Good..”

She was far from there.

“Mhh,” hummed Ellie, pressing her lips into a thin stroke, puckering about to intone a curly, “ohhh, honey– can I have a lick?”

“Mh–mm, that's for the apples.”

“Aww.”

A meshing of lovers. Real love, virgin love, dying love, feigned love, it all wreathes together on the outside– for the sake of earthly vein, tender were those emotions long ago. Hasty do the doves encircle a budding entanglement, and bells chime where dust remains uncollected on wanton hearts. Uncanny, do the crows crawl in their grandeur of an affection died– sprawling sooty wings through tough gravel and mushy mud, rendering them unable to fly again. Unearth that shit, and you're seated for a whole fuckfest, indeed.

So consume what you see with a grain of shit–face nothingness.

Ellie slinks a glide upon Dina, pushing her harsher on the counter's nook and slumping arms to swaddle her torso. She cradled her in the natural bow of her body, projection of her bony hips plated dual plumb dimples in her ass, grinding with a purpose. Denim chafes on denim, bringing a light noise of fabricy licks. The cottony hem of her soiled tank begins to bunch with each rolled hump, proving the friction to be– lustful. Her hands wander her body, not yours, pausing and choking the fat plush of her thighs, losing sunny–ruddy pigment to wanting pressure, then releases, and traces back up.

Pupils of yours aimed so pinpoint on each sweep of her hand, yet, you bore an idle set of gestures. Cupping a waxy rubber bottle in your grasp, brimmed with milk opaque of lily–white and feinting a crisp chill to your fingertips, you park the nozzle to the baby's lips. Giving a squeeze with care, you feed him– idly, idly turned from the scene afore, except for your eyes.

Strain sets a pull on them as you stare.

A bitsy wince of, “Ellie..” dries moistness on her lips, shuddering to an ajar gasp.

“Mhm, like that?” husked with a bass that ripples, so, so deep in her diaphragm, you swore it nearly rattled your ears from where you poise.

A gasp died into, “We can't–”

“But we can..” a frugal answer, meant for one pair of ears only. Only, what a joke. An ill timed joke on Dina.

Had it truly been for one person only, Ellie would not be striking risk right in the butt. Nifty as she is, juggling those risks aimlessly, she stares at you. The crown of her head ruffles up messily on her scruff as it pivots, flushed nose pointed to you, pale lids of supple creases kin to a beach cove as they open, batting reeds of chestnut everlasting. They flap, waiting for you, in the delay of that week–past chance snuffed.

Intimidating, austere demeanor flowering in those buttony pupils– and she eyefucks you with them, even tugging a wink your way. A fucking wink. Her ploy of fondling Dina, so obscenely, clearly dirty, read in gold typeface as ‘Wish this was you.’ loud and proud. Much more so when her digits curl and dig dents in her waist, and her teeth carve marks as she bites her coral lip down, showing you.

She's showing you how she wants to play with you.

Being an unwelcome voyeur, you felt the tail–tug to glance away. And in that fleeting veer, a loud smack resounded and left you surprised on the tips of your boots.

“Uh!” a yelp ejects air from its jailed position in Dina's gullet, forwarding her body with a jounce.

A foul, “Hehe–” trebles a giggle from Ellie, shit–eating grin withal, “so sensitive.. again?” her hand rubbing circles to where she struck ass.

Fuck.

Fuck, because she has uttered those exact words to you before, wetly on the shell of your ear, yesterday. At dead noon eve, stark flat on your bedroom door, a makeout you'd rather not divulge. Though, did Dina hear that thumping racket?

You feel a throb, a throb that drops. It beats from your maddened heart to your aching hole, literally. A web of hot arousal dribbles over the ribbing of your walls, leaking into a sticky splotch on the plateau of your panties. Fern eyes of something unholier–than–the–moan–of–a–devil felt denser working than self–pleasure, it tickled just right.

But it doesn't belong to you, so don't pluck that apple. Ignore that tickle.

“Okay, baby–” Dina gruffs and shoots her shoulders up, nudging Els’ clingy head off, “seriously, I got shit to do.”

“Hmm, suit yourself.” Ellie gave up and wacked her hands up in defense, feigning offense.

You slither that milk–glossy tap gently from purling lips, cooing, “There you go.” as you set the bottle down with a placid thud, spurring a lone finger up to bat slowly upon the baby's nubby nose, how maternalistic of you.

A gait of striking steps softly approaches you. With your head huddled and stance shielded the opposing direction of the two, you couldn't see who that person was. Although, you deemed it safe to assume it may be Ellie, coming to poke at you again.

“Hey, could you help Ellie sweep the barn?” a honeyed voice entrances your focus instead, Dina, of course, “sheep dragged in a whole buncha’ shit, shouldn't take long though.” she notes, casually.

A long droning intervenes “Uhhh, I never volunteered to–”

“You did when you chose to live on this farm with me,” her voice strains, flowing into a breezy chuckle whilst gesturing for you to hand her JJ, “Right, babe?”

“Pshh–”

Bearing aloft, you slink that baby's bum right into her curviform arms, feeling the cottony onesie drag on your forearm as his weight lifts off, bending at the knees scantily.

“Fiiine, I'll muck the– smelly sheep shit for ya’,” her voice bores deeper in exaggeration, becoming a blurry blob moving behind Dina's poise as she slinks forth, “gunna’ need a mask, I think.” and quips, wrapping her lithe arms to a cinch on her waist.

Dina grunts, butting her arms loose before it gets tighter and coasting a few feet yonder, “Barn, please.” reiterated she, flatly.

Tapered as her jaw is, she clenches it further, taking that blow of a refusal to her touch peevingly, teeth to a grind. Jeez, she's quite handsy today.

“Hmmph,” a grunt deadlocks at the fore of her compressed lips, rolling at the neck and cocking aside a signal for you–”c'mon.” she mumbled, clicking her waggish tongue.”

A scoff jumps from you, “M'not a horse.” you squint and trot your feet along, heavy timber steps pittering towards the ajar backdoor, dash of light spilling through.

“What? Didn't say you were.” she headstarts and jerks the door chasmally open, banging against the oaken trim.

“Door!” shouted Dina, now muffled as you enter beneath true light of day.

“Sorry!”

You wince both muck–free feet into a macula of moist earth, feeling your weight sink and squeeze a taint of muddy blob as you hoick off and traipse forth. A kittenly, “I think the only horse here is you– smelling of sheep shit,” comeback lightens the air, giggling, “Peee–yuuu, somebody get me a mask.” and shooing an invisible stench from your nostrils.

“Puuh–lease, as if you don't smell like a hot pile of garbage after your chores,” thrummed out of her gob easily, just so she could smooth in, “Emphasis on the hot.”

“God, you amuse me.” you shake your head low and smile, bloating the inwards of your cheeks ‘till they hugged your nose, two blooming mushrooms.

Her body spirals in a swing of her leg, now walking completely backwards, “Wasn't trying to amuse, m'being serious. U're hot.” she brownnosed, even giving you the fucking eye–up–and–down.

This baser, coy weirdo. Can't go nary a breath without summoning a smile unto you.

Your wandering eyes travel up a stream of fading cumulus clouds, sheer stranding like a veil pierced with astral rays– and you mull mind over answers across those clouds, for how could you reply, origin of wit?

Then, so cross the dumbest, possibly weakest retort, transferring from sky–gaze to mouth.

“Andddddd u're not.” you skip ahead of her with a feign of sass, causing her to whip back around.

“Not what you said last night.”

Okay that's true, but..

You egg her on, splayed palm melding to cold, rusted iron grip of a shovel, “I said a great many things, remind me?” as you tease.

“Gladly.” a hotness more snug than the sun cupped your wrist, pricking your grasp open free of the shovel–hilt and spinning you like a ballerina– knocking shin to shin so you plaster flat on the splintered wood door of that barn. Els hovered close, horridly close, breath fervent to your mid–face, “where should I start, babe?”

You freeze, blizzard of a kindled burn, a smolder trenching roots through your reddening cheeks. That throb, returns. You just couldn't gauge which throbbed more severely– the banging of a mad heart, resounding echoed thwacks against caved ribs, or the chokehold of your beaded clit, squeezing up into your cunt and getting you to chafe moist arousal from your labia, wringing webs across your entrance.

No, not again, not here.

“You should start..” a gulp burdens the words back in your gut, re–rounding with a deflect, “by mucking the stable.” silkenly fallen to a wholly nether topic.

Dumbfounded was the look to darken her visage, bristly brows dropping like sawed trees and cleft of her lips bowing to a frown, unamused, “Seriously?”

“Mhm!” you swerve the shovel handle at her unprovoked, letting her catch it prior to crouching under her barred arms and strolling off towards the sheep stall.

And like a dog, she tailgates hot on your hind. Bark bark bark, yapping ditto to one too, “Why do I gotta shovel shit n’ not you? –Huh?” yet in the most unserious, sportive tone, ever. Dorky smirk lingering in her words, pounding a laser through the thickset back of your skull.

Man, if Ellie was a dog– she'd be a damn Siberian husky. Pining for unending attention and peskily playful, too playful, even.

Each crunch of hay behind you, every little sigh she put forth in bone–dry air, the sum of her laughy scoffs that no way in a verdant pasture heaven wouldn't be expelled without a toothsome smirk. She was the blight of you, your anathema, pockmarking inside your brain imagery of how she looked when you averted your gaze, meanwhile she beheld the rear of your head, cocksure of her annoyance. Oh, and goddess how it never falters to soar her heart high of a heavenly altitude, skirmishing every cloud with her melodious drum of life when even simply laying scrutiny to the hair awry with mess, shrouding your nape in the natural fall of it, bouncing on each step. A love of life that you could give.

That is all her mind bends to, pestering you, so help her goddess, she will enact anything, to make this abominable sin a grounded relationship.

Look upon me, won't you?

You tuck a finger around the tiny hook lock, opening the large sheep stall, “Because–” you pause, cutting past the rails and drawing an arm over to grasp a rickety rake, elevating it over the half–wall, “someone's gotta uncover the shit first.”

Her knee pooches out mildly as she recasts her weight on a wall, twiddling her thumb over every scuffed mark of the shovel, examining its ridges beneath her print. Yet, her eyes stayed absorbed in you, taking the waft of every leg stride, arching of your spine as you stoop down, extension of your hands grasping the rake's shaft– stabbing the crooked tines into a labyrinth of heaping hay, the screaming of metal scraping on concrete, causing her ears to tremble and tighten, alongside a squint. The noise muffles, then awakens as she relaxes her facial muscles, slacking her jaw to speak, “Y'really good at that, y'know..” mumbled, even.

“Mmht–” you smack your tongue moist, dithering your head in puzzled wags, “–I am literally just raking the ground,” humbled you, thinking of her dumbly so, “weirdo.”

“Pshh, yeah, but I bet you'll have this whole stall swept in like a minute tops.” she claims through a fried rasp, vailing her pale lids low as she stares– stares of yearn.

Further squashed upon hilarity, you whack a tuft of hay clean through air, then stake the rake upright to a wooden beam and lean, staring back rich with spite, “And I bet an hour for you, what– just standing there?”

“I don't see any shit yet, m'waitin’ on youu..” her vowel drawls long, smug–fuck expression curling those rosy lips.

“Oh really?” your thumb unlocks from the lot of your clutching digits, breaching the rake with a springy sound as it bludgeons against the oaken column. Ranging your foot forward, you brace the skimp distance from you to her, planting softened steps.

Maraschino cherry of her chubbed cheeks, a puckish smirk reads more and more intently as you approach. Each thwack of sole leather to hardy ground is a pump of excitement for her– reckoning your current passage as a rite of igniting something. Sway of your hips, stopping of your tracks in front of her, she wonders– or hopes, of what you'll do next.

You gave that freckled face a prompt pore–over, recognizing that flare of her brows jerking up slightly when you park optics onto her slit–open ones, inhaling, “Then let me do it.” and splaying your palm up to the ceiling, expecting the shovel plumb in–hand, easily.

“Hmm, nah.”

You furrow a lone brow, “Why not?”

“Cuz’ I got it.” spoken cockily, lips flubbed out and head swung like a whip, winding the crescent strands of burnished hair out of her eyesight.

So cavalier.

If Dina were here, the place’d be fuckin’ primely polished. Be for real.

“Sure,” you blunt your accent, nigh on sarcasm, “what's gotten into you?” pleating your fist to a ball, you slot it between the warm pocket of breast to bicep, crossing your arms.

You.

You– are what's gotten into her. Two horny adults unchaperoned, in the convenience of privacy, sub rosa, a smidgeon apart, lusting with their parts of lechery, staring down at sorely empty hands that could be full of each other's flesh, it doesn't fare well. Emptiness, a sphere of it, sleeping in palms where it is an unwelcome voyeur– snoring, vibrating. Dormant touch never falls short of pulsation, like a magnet, it reaches for her.

Stroking the shovel rod as she does, with those knobby fingers of hers, twining the length, was patently suggestive. Soft rings resonate with each tug of her clewed hand, rubbing up and down, slow and thorough, what the fuck.

And worst–best of all? Eyes. Her sooty, pebble blown pupils thinning the evergreen in her eyes, pierced yours. Forbidding ones.

God, wary of reality or not– admit this, it was definitely hot. Hot, how her ashen lids embrace the snow and veins, a human cadre of gossamery skin. Hot, because they read debaucherous– and could carbonize a bible to cinders with a single glance, sacrilege to poetry, ergo; ‘Fuck me’ eyes. And lastly, hot, as they sat a throne upon a wicked smile, exposing her front teeth lightly, spit line attached top to bottom. In short, breathing you in, made her high off lust.

Asudden, the bow indenting her mouth is backwashed in a swallow, and her eyes disappear beyond the hood of her brow bone, captivating her soul upon a sigh. A sigh she breaks contact for, a sigh she must take, in lieu of composure– when all she perceived of you was a temptation.

A bastion of forced air swells up her cheeks, lukewarm on the gums, pouty of the lips, “Fffffffuck–” mouthed she full of that exhale, shaking her head to a low duck.

“Fuuck, what?” a mimic of her quiet curse befell your lips, curving tone and brow in confusion.

That's when her head perked, an inch, a slanted inch, bedeviled eyes divided by the drop of a short russet strand, mouth pursing to vowel out, “You.” hoarsely.

“Like ‘Fuck you bitch’ or in a ‘I'm gonna fuck you’ typa’ way?” you undulate your head cartoonishly, heightening the emphasis of both those options, cause both appeared likely.

Fluff of her brows crooking weirdly, she gawks with an inlay of temptations, bought, “That is the dumbest fuckin’–” she chuckles dryly, nose facing heavenward as she spins the shovel, going clockwise ‘round you, “–question, I've ever heard.”

Step by step, on beat, you slowly spun with her encirclement, noticing now that you're inclined to back up into the wall as she kitty–corners you, idle mitt pressing finger wads to textured wood, laying spread.The scratch of it smooches your shoulder blades as you smush plane on the wall, calves ghosting wales of wood coarse enough to leave blushy marks, and yet you rely on it to camouflage from her intimidating gaze.

A heartbeat hastens, brimming your throat with a blockage capable of consuming the words before ears could, tethering a timid gasp out instead.

Ellie rasped deep, “Cat got your tongue, hmm? Don't back down ‘n me now..” the heat of her face hovers close, cocking her head laterally to fit perfectly in your headspace, air blown from every syllable fanning your sutured mouth.

The weight her stare threw upon you was, probing, and direful. Every attempted scape–glance was a gut instinct, a reflex when shagged to a set of human bars. Flesh of bone, bone in flesh, arm to arm, what a bloody mess.

You curl your shoulders inwards, pressing folded elbows skin–tight to your ribs, “Dumbest question?” a gulp cuts the sentence, “you didn't even answer.”

“Want me to?”

“Yeah,” in defense, you tested her, “I do.”

“Ohhaha– okay..” Els’ cadence rose to amused laughter, shifting on her feet slightly, “We can fuck.” but she spoke it like you requested of it, although, did you?

Fuck.

A bulbous mass pushed your legs clean apart, trampiling the dress to a tight pull around your thighs. Confounded, you drop sights, sinking your chin in towards your neck and realizing– it was her knee.

Rough denim rustles clemently, a whisper of two fabrics meeting, between your quads. A friction so faint, so hush, begins to purr more acutely when a– ahh, pressure. A carnal pressure is given, given with urge, urging on your barely confined clit.

It stings as she drives her knee in, getting you to clench your insides, to seize up.

A juxtaposition doomed to interblend skin.

You impel up on the wall, heel sloping to rest on the flat trim. It smashed your pussy lips, causing a chafe, ramming fabric inside the rim of your hole, a velvety draw of sleek depressing on the cotton tongue of your panties makes it stay there. Thereupon, her groin grinds a roll, nudging your pussy on top of her knee.

“Remember this, babe?” Ellie gives thrall to the dense steel in her vocals, ticking her head aside more to pass that breath firmly on your ear, “–‘member how good my knee felt? Mhm? ‘So fuckin’ good’, you said?”

A diabolical coo, she's trying to get under your skin figuratively– and literally further.

But it surfaced that memory like a buoy, erecting ayond the navy sea line with its eye–catching signal. In you, it materializes. Last night, came a blanket of umbra, yawning its penumbra in the horizon. Witching hour, obscene–eyed, gloaming your senses and eating away at deceit. Deceived? Yeah, that's how you felt, daylight by day bright, a misinterpreter.

All throughout the day, she would ghost right past you en route to Dina, much like earlier– and love up on her. Spread her taint of arousal between you, her, and you, then her again. Leading on last night, where she stowed her knee, just like now, affirming how mortally she may succumb to madness without your vulnerable phasing unto her, except, in a casual way, short of poetry. On top of that continuous grind she gave on your groin, she marked you with a claim so bold,

So freakish, so outré.

Dirty with her perverted thoughts.

You remember it, hard.

‘You love me just as much as your pussy does, face it.’

Hence, her knee felt as fucking liberating as it did that stone stark night. Your clit throbs with an ache, coiling your womb in moreish begs, more, moree.. please more.

“I remember.” uttered softly, throat shutting on the words as you choke up in sensation.

A cordial chuckle blows summery hot on your ear, “Hehe, good,” and is soaked deeper in with a puckered kiss, popping quietly, “Good girl.”

That made you shiver, in a growing delight. A heat seeping between your folds, has you bearing down on her knee, slopping that raw precum all over the ruined seams of your underwear. In bodily reaction, your cunt shriveled in on itself, squelching a drop on barely–there textile– glossing a wet patch on the knoll of her knee.

Ellie espied that moistness saturating through her jeans and spreading warm on flesh when it seeps, slinking her leg a wimp inch out to gauge the spot, a fucking masterpiece, smack dab on her knee, “Fuck,” she spews, pinning teeth to lip, “for me?” she questions, even with an obvious ass answer staring her in the eyes.

Forget Dina, this felt right– too right.

“For you.”

Her teeth bare vast in a smirk, doubling up her cheeks, “God, I love you.” because finally, fucking finally, she will have her cake and eat it too.

But first, eat the space before you.

And so she does, tucking the wad of her nose squashed in the crevice of your nostril and cheek, brushing of her mildly cracked lips greet yours to part, a balmy ask of entrance. Wagging against, the skin barely hugs with cushy compress, then she nips your bottom lip and wedges her own between, indulging the bump of your cupid's bow to cradle a whisker inside her suckled hold– her humid realm of fog. Buds connected, she felt like butter searing, softness melting, disintegration inside your clasp of a satiny hole, and she was pungent of farmland, muck sweat, everything you could have prest for. Ellie pushes passion in the form of little spit bubbles down your throat– ingesting your voice, your taste, your brain, essence in whole. Taking each other in your own two gullets, bolts of song, and long gaping moans– and even longer pants of make–out exhaustion.

“Mhhh,” she shoves another groan to rattle your teeth, hopping over cloud nine with each moan you reciprocated– like music in a fairytale, a ballad, or of a siren song, splendidly spellbinding, yes? “–fhhck yeshh–” She hums, forwarding a buck of her knee fiendishly.

You yelped, and she liked that, an impish grizzle pushing past the swollen smile and drags saliva across yours.

But.

Those hands once empty, cannot lie powerless to being so. Hers, fly from the wall behind your head and trace down your biceps, buckling unfurled over the bulge of your loose breasts and cup them tender, giving a squeeze that dimples flesh above the neckline of your dress. Not a complaint rose from you, you liked it, yearned hard of it– loved it.

She could tell by the mere movement of your back, arching into her grasp, getting her fingers to squish them even flatter, laughing the kiss to a pause, “Look at you–” she hinds back to look at you, taking your eager rush to follow her lips into regard, “fucking cutie.”

“Don't call me cutie.” you astern.

“Why noott–”

“No.”

A grin enlightens her anyways, “Got it,” and slides her lip back between yours, suckling the plump of your upper, “Mhmm..” hummed so gravelly, so good on your ears, yummy.

This girl will be the first suspect of your murder. Murder of love.. in spring.

Adjourning the freshly–sown kiss with a sloppy smack, you interrupt, “Y'know–” mhhp, a quick peck, “–think I love you too.”

“Think?” she knits her brows together dumb on your featherly melded foreheads, squishing the grooves that form in–between, “could already tell from last night,” her rasp makes it sound of a patent fact, chuckling like an asshole when you whine amid her tease, “hmm–hm, sorry babe.”

“God, you're such a dick,” you bind your head lower and ghost your barren lips over her chin, smiling amongst your dim shadow.

Index and thumb of her hand thaw ripely of your chin, exerting under the bone and beckoning you up with a kind pull, “Would a dick do this–” she twines you to the left, “Mmph,” pasting a kiss beneath one eye, “or this,” twines you to the right, pasting another peck, “or even this?” and lastly, twines you faceward.

Patent of her pattern, you expect a delicate pair of those blood swell, pouty lips to spare something planets away from porny lust– a promise, that none of this was bad. However, hopes are dashed like a racehorse when your chin rears free and a blur of her auburn head plunges out of sight, and under the hood.

“Els’, where are you–”

Oh.

A gale of air spills up the gap of your thighs, sought upon by the whipping of your sundress’ hem up crinkled in her dual grasps, pushed against your hip bones. Knees grind in shallow dust, planting just next to your parked feet with a soft rub between the four, the perfect position, an orgasmic view. Ellie lets a gasp free upon eyeing the fat blotch soaked thoroughly to a glisten, fabric eased in your labia, showing her the shape of it. God, ‘think she saw you clench just now.

She balls the fabric to one hand, dropping her other and husking dry, “There she is– fuck, missed me?” a waggy finger rises to your clit, toying it in meager flicks– almost as to pet it.

A wince cries from you, “Ahh–” and you perk on your toes, inching away from her fingertip now padded in your sodden arousal.

Yet that fucking finger follows, pressing a hiemal print to flatten your bloated clit, clothed labia hugging the willowy knuckle. Cocky chuckle– likeness of her unabashed assholery and spilt through grit teeth, she muses in your clamping pussy lips, “Hehe, yeah? Need my fuckin’ fingers, huh?” and those damned coos, that tender tune, gosh– you can't get enough of it.

But you've had your fill of plaguing rumination.

Dina's away, nay a breath of her lingers here, not a peep of her can disrupt you, disrupt what you feel– how Els’ makes you feel. It's not wrong, if you're not the one suggesting it. It's not immoral, if it was never held in the hands of your intention. It's not your fault, if you let it transpire. Nothing to rue, not your sin, not your wrongdoing.

So you pluck the apple.

An ease of your quads down pricks your clit with the poke of her finger, cushing the delicate flesh, “Mhm– yes, yess.” whined you, nigh on breathless.

“That's right,” thick is her voice– like a coddling of wood thicket, pushing past the devout lips that embed themselves in the chub pliancy of your belly, lain of a smooch to your womb, a quiet one, “thaat's fuckin’ right.” and jerking your clit measured with tease, idly rubbing.

The gentle marrow of that contact with your belly and your clit, sent you aquiver. Your abdomen, shaking lightly against her mouth with a breath in, lading your stomach with a rise, high–strung by that simple kiss. Too sweet, you thought, sweetly toxified of honey, unorthodox to how hoggish she usually strikes as– you expected her usual playfulness.

Softness can be addictive, and her version of soft, definitely was.

“Soo fuckin’ good t'me..” her lips detach only to press back in, multiple times, same exact spot. She wouldn't dare budge, not when it was deemed her duty to kiss you there by some unknown force, or her own accord. Ellie whispers, lugging those honey–drug lips over the pouch of your belly, “need that good fucking pussy n’ my mouth.”

A tilt, a modest slant of your hips projecting your crotch against her collarbone was your ask of entrance, and she gave her answer so fast.

“Hold this,” she cranes the clump of skirt to one of your paws, letting go when you meet fingers over fingers with her and hold your skirt to your ribs. She stops playing with your clit completely, tracing said finger up your groin and under your pantyline, pleating the band in on itself as she journeys it to your knees– letting it freefall from there.

Despite the milk–warm weather lambent to your forehead when settled under the sun, meant zilch to the cooler world inside the barn. Not wintry, but a tangible change sensed in your bare pussy. That's why you fastened your quads to a clench, nearly sucking in your cunt– oh, and the fact that two olive fern eyes are bluntly viewing it. Stage fright, much?

A fried gasp of, “Ohh, shit–” chills it further with exhalation upon discovering the raw truth to your aroused pussy, engorged in size and pinkish in sex irritation. Ellie was drunken in that eyeshot of serumy precum wetting a film between your slit, drawing gluey webs over your hole, barely open for full study. She needs you open, she longs to see, gulping a horny thought audibly before speaking, “spread them pretty legs for me, hmm? C'mon, it's just me–” she assures, donning that calming placidity whilst palming the round of your knees apart to guide you, “–there we go, uh'huh, fuck..” departed of her voice, husky as she studied the open spread of your filthy hole, dripping for her like it fucking knew she was looking at it.

All you could engage was a tunneled stare down of your protruding crotch and her reddish–brown dusted crown, the slump your knees took clung on the flank of her biceps– plowing with an indent in her bare sun–baked skin. Els’ face so sanguine compared to the paler pigment of her fingers, which now push your thighs uncomfortably agape to the extent of bulging fat between her knuckles. Eyes bark, luring under lids so heavy and lashes like a vignette– they bark and say, ‘Keep your fucking legs open.’

Say no less.

Taken in awe, “She's so fucking pretty–” she curses with meaning, a means to make it known, licking up a river between your folds upon seeing that exhilarating view, cupping a glob of slick in her pink muscle.

“Shit..”

Withdrawing her tongue, she swallows the creamy delight, “Prettiest pussy ever, ‘uh'huh, that's right.” Ellie being Ellie, she slaps it, eyeballing the spongy skin recoiling.

“Ah!”

“Yeah..”

Your nude cunt was honeydew heaven in her eyes, gleaming wet like grapefruit, that's why her tongue was already slipping out on open air. Head inching to intimacy, the button of her nose dovetails seamlessly between the tippity top of your folds, and your clit, kissed with a hot spell. That bud, it fit perfectly in the wrapping of her lips, straightaway suctioned further into the gummy pucker of her mouth.

An ache zaps that little bouquet of nerves and coerces you to nearly swoon over it, yelp hitching, “Ha– aah,” and shudder teething, “Ellie..” with a hump of your glutes butting her head back, only stirring that hungry mouth of hers to pop off and swaddle it back in, tongue flicking.

Her nostrils sunk deeper in, airflow turning muffled in your crotch– yet her moans remained, abounding, vibrating on your sensitive pearl, “Mhhhh, mhmm.” rumbling deep under the soft squelching her moving jaw brought to fruition.

Ellie, you fucking god, giving those plumate licks that are barely there, but scarily paired with deftness, getting you to squirm and squeal, “Yess– baby, yess..” That pink muscle snagging under the hood sometimes, smacking that pretty tiny clit of yours around with foams of flavor whisking onto her taste buds, humming in the notes of sex.

“Mhhh, fhhck.” her lips sever an inch, mumbling into your clit, “fuck you and your pretty little hole, god, fuck you.” she curses, cause how dare you let her impulses conquer, returning a trio of digits along your legs and swiftly finding your pussyhole, dilating the lips apart and shoving all three inside. How dare you, engross her ears in your moans echoing akin of a cathedral in her skull, ushering her to fuck you unholy.

“Ellie!” you wail, hoisting on your toes a second and clutching her in those slobbering walls– which only gushed a leak of arousal on her digits, and blocked her from further thrusting slightly, taken aback by the sudden stretch.

Her lips pop off again, slurping up the wet laces strung to her pout from your fattened labia, “Schlp– jesus, you are fucking tight,” the deepness rippled in her voice, groggy from the moist caking her gob, “let me in, don't push me out.. c'mon..” she coos gently, eyeballing the swallow her fingers took past your soaked lips, knuckles disappearing.

“O–ohh,” you tried to mouth ‘okay’, but the word just didn't fit the part.

“Just like that..” Ellie cools a fresh sigh, praising with a proud curl on her face, “Good fuckin’ pussy..”

Letting go, your gut loosens and heightens the sensation of her skinny fingers bottoming soundly inside your vagina, feeling the callouses rub as they curl and tickle your angelsent spot, airing lips find purchase behind her fingers– and a pointy nose bumps your clit pervaded with purpose.

Spry is the moan, moaning over ‘spilled milk’, “Oh my g– uhnn..” woe is you, clawing phantomly at the spring that coils inside your womb, unknowingly providing Ellie's eager mouth with your precum.

The physical reality around you, suddenly only consisted of you, her, the barrier that stills your back, and a void inside you– being filled.

Literally.

And figuratively? Cause jeez, you must give sanctuary to a sin–eating, fleshoid beast inside your bone prison of a body, coming back here for seconds like that.

Might you be the dirty.. dirty dog instead?

Rivers of filth, she pumps those glossy droplets out of you, leathery scars caressing your ribbed canal with each pleasuring undo of your senses, she steals them like they are impartial to your bliss– bliss is all she needed you to feel for her. Fuck the worry, trash the heartache, yank the anxiety out, and soften into a pretty blob atop her fingers.

Her sultry blessing sitting upon those fingers, that's how she deems you– you do well to remember that. Her, willing frame of hips thrusting back down on the friction she gives, burrowing her nose a scent so naturally seducing, a pheromone, fucking elates her own throbbing pussy. Nothing sugary, nothing stomach–churning, just the taint of you. The threading of her jean's crotch was enough of a brute, bullying her egged clit by driving a split in it, flattening the fleshy hood everytime she shifted weight from knee to abdomen, poor her.

“Huhnn– shit,” heaved grizzlier in her carp of stimulation decay, lack thereof rubbing one out herself and watching your delicate skin expand and crease. How could you blame her– her hand looked so right plugging your hole.

You suck your belly in, drawing tense on that thickset motion playing with your g–spot, whimpering, “Els’, please.. I can't..” a well floods in your waterline, searing with tears of crystalline iodine.

You really can't.

That scruffy mullet hides most of her big cranium, but, it was so fucking hot seeing the nominal stroke of her face, blushing strawberries betwixt your butter–spread legs. Her nose bobs north and south, dragging the bulb of cartilage over that nippy rosebud she happily exhales onto, pushing you over the earthly edge born of paltry touching. Ellie cognizes the slick–clear gospel that you were pending climax, manifesting as your needy bear downs into her slopping mouth practically lactating your pussy juices deep in the pit of her stomach, and the swelling of your wooed clit led on by her tongue, growing big and reddish on her nose to where it clasps the tip in a pillowy fashion, dabbing a glob of creamy sap.

A mouthquake splutters wetness mixed with her spit across your inner–thighs abd vibrates your folds, betrothal of her voice waking back up, sourly muted, “She's– suh good.. mhphh– to me..”

“Ellie..” you falter on breath, leavening in pitch.

“Phh–” a frothy sound garbled in your pussy lips, pushing her spit bubbles inside your gaping hole and traveling deeper with her fingering you, “makin’ this pushhy’ mine..” flubbed she, lapping up her cupid's bow of smeared sleek.

Your hole clamps her in as the pang begins to tick its patchy count of time, wearing the glass knot of your womb to a cracking, and troubling the base of her digits.

“Fuck, you wanna’ make this harder?” she sterned to the velvety rim of you locking on her triple shafts, porking webs of your pre–finish to teardrop down your walls as her palm splashes against your loch–sodden slit and mashes your g–spot repeatedly, plush of your labia bouncing in ripples. The noises were abundant, and pornographic, mushy as she fixes so much of your arousal on the pads of her fingers, hormones spiking at the lewd noises, “you hear that baby, ooh, fuck.” foxily ‘ooed’ that foxy–maned girl, beguiled in how your pussy spurts for her.

It wept in slaps, eliciting a palping squelch to bang, bang– bang– pound, brandishing a chilly tempest through and through your bloating labia, quivering as it readies to release. The stuffing was intimate– like a punch inside your spirit, coaxing the fragile glass to a rend, ergo, pushing out every lash of pure lucid squirt.

On the beat of your hole gushing, yelps batting you shut in the plain intensity such an orgasm brought forth, tore Ellie from simply just watching– to drinking every drop. Her voice, dusky in the backdrop of your wails sounded, “Yes– yess, babe fuckk that's it.. mhm, all over my fuckin–” her words wane as her lips clock in, a sudden rush of void fleets with her fingers sheathing out, drawing a long lubricous bunch of webbing only to be nourished in the warmth of her mouth– pursing into your labia and shaking about as you squirt.

Ellie has no shame in getting soiled of you, even the devil himself blushed at the linkness of her mid–face pancaking your lissom skin apart, spewing you wide.

“Ah! Nuh– nonono, t'much, too– uhhnn..” your throat fails you, clumping wads of words that wanted to breach, but her mouth was too good, and it's fucking obvious that she wouldn't stop, not when she can have you like this, bucking onto her flat tongue. Sinfully good, disgusting in the rawest fashion, making your crotch burn with ecstasy more than it already did.

Water upon the push of her mouth, blowing in and slopping noisily at the meat of your pussy lost it's carry to your ears. A biome of shadow, veils your vision and a pressure rains less than tender between your eyes, blurring everything before you, ebbing the grasp of your skirt to an impossible job, hands ashake. All you could gauge above the hood was fiery sweat, hot, steaming– taunting sweat, licking at your forehead.

Her nose headbutts into your vagina, slinking languidly as her head finally smacks off your numb folds, laughing, “Holy fuck– y'taste so good,” the air windy to your soaked entrance, convulsing in front of her barren eye, “shoulda’ let me lick you sooner.”

Huff, and puff, until the binds of your chest blow down, sprouting with an entire current of air, panting more than dramatic as you dwindle down like a bird's plume, “Too.. huh– haah, bad.”

A new kiss is savored to your clit, absorbing the snift her snort gave, “Haha– yeah yeah, n'you liked it, don't lie.”

No lie was home to call. You’ve a truthful virtuality.

You truly did like it, love it, cave obsession over that moment– for now it passes, and not a peck of guilt ran prickly on your arm hairs, saving your gullet free of a stony gulp. No crows died in the revelation of your scandal, only doves, encirclement in a trance chirping nuptials to be had.

I really do love you, Ellie.

Is that so bad?

“I can’t catch my– oof,” you grab sudden air with your fructifying lungs, “–can’t catch my fuckin’ breath.” and the struggle was visible, muscles like puppet strings to your fingers losing proper grasp and billowing the skirt plop on her head.

The rotund shape of it wiggles from the draping hem, continuing to laugh when her wet–handed fingertips poked thin on your ankle, bulging on both sides as she drew your panties back up all the way, slithering under your skirt’s canopy and stretching the band to a snap on your hips, skin tiding, jerking you off warning, which for sure winded the breath back in ya.

“Sheesh, no care for my panties at all?” remarked you of fun wit, gliding your thumb apart to rub the bend of your hip crest.

“You literally ruined them before–”

“And whose fault is that?” you winched from the barn wall and met pupil–to–pupil with her rising figure, revealing how slick–fucked her face really is, glossing with evidence of your cunt.

“Mine..” proudly, guilt was basal to her tone, nonexistent, inching closer to you with a slight wobble swaying on her heels.

You hark the crunch of gravel below, but keep your gaze airborne, Ellie–borne, “Exactly.”

“Cause m'hot?”

“No,” you rock your head, evil smirk deepening the corners of your lips to your gums, “that's a dumb question.”

Her arms begin to slink at fore, elbows chafing her flank, “Wow, stole my line.”

“Still dumb.” you pinch the neckline of her tank, straining it up to wipe her mouth clean.

“Coulda’ just used my hand.” she still does, the dork, purging any excess to the hill of her bent wrist.

You scrunch your nose fakely, “Uck,” and express, mumbling, “Bring a rag next time.”

Her hands then drop, creeping towards your sides, “Didn't think we were gonna–”

“Liar.”

Those strapping hands bend with wrinkles in her knuckles as they plant pleasantly on your hips, fingernails curling with lustier keys, tugging you plane on her body, “You're so fucking cute,” is all she could say, because there was no stem of denial baying for a different answer,

Doing this was always lingering a tail on her thoughts.

“And such a bitch, fuuck– want you so bad,” complained she, pushing the last of her grizzled groans past her blood–swell lips, which now dive in the sweaty nook of your swan neck– bespattering the sensitivity, “–need y’so bad..”

You comb a paw of fingers through her honey–cresten mane, dividing strands apart and giving a fond press to her scalp, whispering upon her pale–rosen ear, “Then have me–”

“I can’t,” her crumbled lips fail to cling, dragging dry beneath your ear, “I fucking can’t.” wearily said, wearing her voice to nothing.

Infidelity.

Wasn't nice at all, on both sidewalks.

A purer bid of tears wet her cheek, drenching into the flesh of your neck as she pushes into you, holding you dear, vast afar from intentions to let go.

“I know..” was a rare comfort, and wasn't one to you right now– for plucking that apple, ripped you of innocence. A blind eye you turn when sensuality is awake. Enrapture chokes your senses, sweeps you in the moment, clouds your memory of those ugly, nasty etceteras– those facets that deplore it. Even now, when Ellie collapses weight onto her ankles, pressing you into that same wall you saw heaven on, touching heartbeats incandescent for each other's total consumption, weeping wet on your bare shoulder– it hurts, aches you to say, “But I don't want to know.”

Clutch of your neckline, she bruises her knuckles tight in it, spiteful almost– gagging on tears that roll the wrong road, “Guh– fucking hell, don't say that..”

“Ellie, it's–”

“Don't.”

“Not your fault.” you flap your fingers up, palm still glued, patting her head.

She doesn't belong to you.

Yet you act like she does.

Pity.

A sniffle is the intake of air you feel before her nose skims off, craning her neck to an angle where she can gaze adjacent to your cheek, for beholding may prove a demise. But she can't forgo this one ask, this dream perched upon her brain, “Babe..” she purrs, dead of cadence.

“Hmm?” a whirl invites your nose to her cheekbone, offering you the picture of her side–profile. Oh, those lashes so dashing, they curl, darken her snow of eye, and trap tears.

Why, it's as if a rainbow overcasts those auburn reeds.

Ellie's capsized tune finds its stream back to that scratchy rasp, silkenly intoning on your earlobe, “Can you sleep with me tonight?” her buds ghost the rim, popping on the syllables.

Is that even possible?

You debate with the figments in your mind, casting doubt over your facial muscles, knitting, “Ellie, you know–”

“I don't.”

“Els.”

Long forked strokes of her fingers run up your jaw, scrolling you to then focus on her face cocooning your entire sight, and a husk enlaces you, “Forget about Dina,” a glimmer summons her lips to curl once again, “just tonight, fucking please?”

Fucking please.

A silence rots in the cordial space sparsely separating you, wrenching her brows with a ravine indenting between them– the serious look you love. And her hold of hands appear to deepen in your cheeks, claiming your skin as one, melting into her prints, squeezing a reply from you.

“Please?”

Odds may dote on you, think about this.

“Okay.”

(couldn't tag everyone who wanted to be)

taglist; @whore4abby @aouiaa @ellieslittlewhore @baumbii @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @fleshunger @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @fairyysoiree @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @disaster-bi-suki @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @ellieswh0r3 @beemillss @elsmissingfingers @bugaboodarling @slynxs @maleelee @savannahsdeath @beforeimdeceased @fleshunger @williamellieslilho @mcqueeferson @pretty-prrincess-13 @naomis-daydream @weridcatttyy @gold-dustwomxn @evera-era @criminallydownbad @yohibmbi @ang3licpretty

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johnwickb1tsch · 1 month

Text

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 27 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-“I have a surprise for you.”

Hearing this fills you with what is perhaps a disproportionate amount of trepidation.

However…consider the source.

“Oh?”

“I wasn’t going to give it to you yet, but…I think I’d better.”

You are not sure what to think about this, so you remain silent.

He takes your hand, leading you up the stairs.

As you walk down the hallway you are filled with more and more apprehension, convincing yourself that there is some trick he’s pulling around the corner. He has been disappearing on and off, refusing to tell you where he was going, but vaguely hinting that he was cooking something up for you.

You fear it’s something you don’t want at all, like a red room fully fitted with racks and restraints and hooks hanging from the ceiling. If he frames that as a gift you swear you will pull a Bertha, and burn this personal version of Thornfield Hall to the ground.

You do not like it, when he insists on covering your eyes as he walks you through a door close to your bedroom upstairs. By the time you take three steps into the room you have damn near worked yourself into a lather, a fine trembling running through your limbs.

“Shh, baby, you’re going to like this,” he assures you, which is no real assurance at all.

Five more steps before he stops you, removing his hands with a flourish.

Your heart leaps to your throat.

Floor to ceiling windows let in a flood of morning light to the room. There is a big table, and copious shelves, and…an easel.

You realize he has made you an art studio.

Your feet move forward of their own volition, taking in the various boxes stacked on the table and the shelves. They’re art supplies, and you recognize brand names that you could hardly afford on your barista’s salary. Sennelier. Windsor and Newton pigments, top tier. Fine brushes from France and Germany that cost fifty dollars a piece. Tablets in every size and every tooth of Canson paper.

“Oh. My. God.”

“You…like it?”

He almost sounds vulnerable in that moment, which is entirely ridiculous.

You imagine how you would have reacted, if your relationship had been normal. You would have thrown your arms around his neck, showered him with kisses.

This studio is everything you’ve ever dreamed of having, as an artist.

As it is…he is buying your complacency, if not your love, trying to distract you from your situation with expensive trappings and let’s face it—adult arts and crafts.

It hurts.

And yet, you know you’d better fucking say something, or Mr. Nice Wick is going to flee the scene.

“How did you know?” you ask, fingering a box of brand-new oil pastels. “It’s perfect in every way.”

You are trying your best to sound happy about it, but your throat is tight, and you know he’s going to get mad about it any second now.

He couldn't have surprised you more, if he'd stood on tiptoe and performed a pirouette, as when he simply gathers you into his arms.

“I had help from the owner of the art supply store,” he admits. “Pretty sure they'll be sending me a Christmas card for the rest of my life.”

You laugh at that, settling into the hollow at the base of his throat. It feels so good, just to be held like this. A part of you cautions not to trust it—but most of you is so exhausted from living on edge, you just take the comfort at face value.

“Did you go to Mr. Morton’s shop?” you ask, referring to the local art stop in town. You don’t know why this gives life to a glimmer of hope in you. It’s not like the kind old man would have any reason to suspect you’re here, with John Wick, just because the mysterious newcomer suddenly had a yen to buy out the store of all its art supplies.

“No, I went a little farther afield.”

Almost as though he was covering his tracks.

“Oh.” You cannot conceal the note of disappointment in your tone. “John…” You muster your courage for the next question, hoping you won’t blow the day all to shit, but you suddenly need to know. “Am I a missing person?”

He presses his lips to your forehead, and speaks quietly against your skin. “Technically, no. A friend of mine will ping your passport entry at JFK soon. You’ll tender your resignation with regrets at the coffee house. I’ll have your little apartment cleaned out. You don’t need it anymore.”

He really did think all this through. You digest the details of his Machiavellian plan rather distantly, as though you are on the outside watching from above. He has orchestrated your disappearance masterfully, but also in a way that won’t raise questions with authorities should you happen to resurface in his company. In a twisted way this gives you a sliver of hope, that maybe he doesn’t intend to keep you locked away forever.

A fool’s optimism, perhaps, but at the moment it’s all you have.

“Where’s my phone?”

“At the bottom of the Grand Canal, I’m afraid.”

“That’s littering.”

He just snorts in answer. You find that you regret the fact that all your photos are lost. You never did back them up on the cloud. How strange, that such a record of your life could be erased with the destruction of one electronic device.

Talking about this doesn’t seem to scuttle his mood, so it gives you the courage to ask, “Can I come in here whenever I want?”

You are so hopeful in your request that you sense him war with himself, in the end unable to outright say no. “If you're a good girl,” he qualifies with his lips still on your forehead.

Hiding beneath his chin, you grind your teeth at this caveat, but don't voice aloud any of the pithy comebacks that come to mind.

Then you notice your sketchbook from Italy is sitting on the worktable, along with your custom bound copy of Jane Eyre.

After everything, you’re not sure why seeing it there, knowing it had been in his hands, makes your heart skitter in your chest. He follows your gaze, a dark eyebrow lifting. It is filled with sketches of him from before you met up in Venice. The whole fucking thing is practically a confession of the grinding longing you'd felt for him, in the first couple weeks after you left. You can’t deny it now, but you can choose not to acknowledge it aloud.

He stares you down, clearly hoping for…something. A confession, perhaps, or at least an admission. You feel like a bug under a magnifying glass in the sun, fixed with that gaze. But you hold fast, and in the end he sighs. “I’m going to go clean up breakfast,” he tells you. “Have fun with your new toys.”

He kisses your forehead before quitting the room, and once again you fancy that if one were to squint, you could almost mistake the two of you for a normal couple.

-He actually leaves you to your own devices until darkness begins to fill the trees beyond the window.

By the time he comes to collect you he has changed into a black button down and dark jeans. It suits him to his bare toes, and inwardly you sigh. Why does this devil of a man have to be so goddamned handsome?

“So, what has my little artist made today?”

You are loathe to admit, the answer is nothing.

You opened every box, gazed at the pastels and paints and pencils longingly. And yet with charcoal in hand the fine white paper taunted you, inspiration an illusive thing.

You had no idea what you wanted to draw, or paint, or make. The past week has been so jarring, you would think you would be bursting with something, but all you draw is a blank.

You shrug, curled up in the comfy chair by the easel, your drawing pad open in front of you. He takes the seat opposite, regarding you quizzically.

“You don’t like it in here?”

“I love it,” you assure him, and its no complacent lie. “I just…have been soaking it in.”

“Hmm.”

You can tell that he’s disappointed, and your treacherous heart skips a beat.

You failed to turn on any lights, as the sun is setting. John flicks on a single lamp on the side table, washing his one side in a dramatic glow. It is as though something clicks into place, as you look upon him. Your dark angel, your sinister lover, your obsessive captor, a man you should hate, but you are drawn to him like a moth to the flame.

Perhaps now, he shall also be your muse. Was ever there a man better suited to embody the mysteries of Caravaggian shadow?

“Don’t move,” you say softly, and begin to draw.

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #yandere john wick #bittersweet john wick imagine #john wick fic

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lilac-5ky · 9 months

Note

Oh then! Can I request a scenario where Toji eavesdrops on a convo between Reader and Gojo (or whoever) where Reader confesses to having a crush on Toji?

Thank you so much!

Confessions of a Confection Thief (Toji x Teacher!Fem!Reader)

Plot: On a warm summer day, you confess your love for the man once known as the Sorcerer Killer to the man who, twelve years ago, spared his life. What you don't count on is the man in question listening in, nor the consequences of a mere lunch invitation.

Tags: au in which Gojo heals Toji's ass with reverse jujutsu and makes him his bitch, reader is megumi's teacher, parent/teacher relationship, age gap (reader early 30s, toji early 40s), character development!toji, soft!toji, confession, unprotected sex, oral sex (m. receiving), facial, doggy style, petnames (teach', sweetheart, baby, doll), MDNI (obviously)

A/N: You can tell I got inspired since this took me 9k words to develop that feature not only the confession, but the date and the "happy ever after" ehe. Hopefully this was worth the wait!

“Damn machine!” You grunt as you kick at the vending machine’s side, lamenting over the 1,000 yen bill you were just robbed of.

“Let me give it a try.” The man beside you suggests and you clear the stage for him to work his magic. His right hand lifts from his pocket, open fingers coaxing an entire bundle of sodas out without even making contact. What a show-off.

He gathers the cans off the ground and hands you the one that is your favorite, making you wait while he places the rest on top of the vendor for a lucky student to find.

“Isn’t that considered damaging school property?” You raise a brow, yanking the ring close to the tab with a pop.

“Is it?” He chuckles, bringing his refreshment to his lips. “It was already damaged when we got here. Ijichi’s gonna get an earful later.”

“I don’t think that falls under Ijichi’s responsibilities, Satoru. Cut him some slack already.”

“No harm in harassing your cute underclassmen from time to time, Y/N.” He smiles. “You should try it too.”

Right, you mutter under your breath, already regretting your decision to spill your heart’s contents on someone with such little regard for others. Shoko would’ve been a better choice. Utahime, too. You could wait until the weekend, get on the first bullet train to Kyoto, and have a girls’ night out like you used to before life and work got in the way. They’d surely talk you out of the horrible mistake you’re about to commit. Maybe that’s why you chose Satoru. He’s the only one who’d give you the final push down the cliff, and you don’t mind the fall.

“So what is it that you wanted to talk about?” He brings you back to the parching reality of Jujutsu Tech’s grounds, with the sun glinting across every metallic surface and body of water in the perimeter. The heatwave has only begun, and thankfully, the outburst of curses has finally simmered down, or else you’ve no idea how you’d survive abandoned building-hopping with those three rascals.

You take a sip from your soda, the taste of honeydew melon cooling your throat like the sweetest form of redemption. You struggle not to gulp it all down in one go, eyeing the remainder of drinks that have vanished in the horizon—or rather, you have, your steps leading you toward a path of tori gates that itself leads to the school’s Inari shrine. This should be safe. No one comes around these places.

“I have a confession to make.”

Satoru stops in his tracks, awaiting a follow-up that doesn’t come. His sunglasses come off, and a knowing smile slowly creeps up his lips. “I know.”

“Y-You do?” You blink in surprise. What does he know? How does he know? Since when does he know? “Satoru—”

“You’re the one who ate the last Manzu.”

And he couldn’t be any more off the mark.

You sigh. “That’s not it.”

“It’s not? Huh.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his palm after chugging his strawberry-flavored soda. “Guess I’ll have to ask Ijichi about that too.”

“Please don’t torment him for useless things.” You cast your gaze to your feet, kicking a pebble as you speak. “What I want to confess is… my feelings.”

The cicadas come to a stop, leaving space for your words to take root. You are hesitant to move forward, cautiously treading on the shells of emotions you recently began to accept. Almost there, you encourage yourself as Satoru invades your personal space, cornering you against the red gate’s pillar.

“Finally decided to profess your love for me?”

You shove his smug face away and roll your eyes at the notion. “Dream on, Shit-toru.”

He takes a step back, acting as if you just delivered a fatal blow to his heart. You chuckle at his childish antics while shaking your head in disapproval. To think the future of the entire Jujutsu world rests on the shoulders of a conceited guy who makes everything about him.

“Then who’s the lucky guy?”

Your anxiety resumes before it has the chance to fully dissipate. You close your eyes and lean back against the pillar, the familiar name on your tongue feeling foreign. “It’s… Fushiguro.”

“Fushiguro?” You nod. You understand it’s a lot to take in and give him a moment to process it, yet the longer he takes to answer, the more tempted you are to say this was a joke and call things off. “Don’t you think there’s a bit of an age gap?”

“I mean… I suppose there is.” You sound defeated. If even Satoru saw this as an issue, then there’s no reason he wouldn’t. “You think it’s that bad?”

“Bad?” His lips twitch. “The heart wants what it wants, Y/N. Give it a few years, and the difference won’t matter.”

“You think I have a chance?”

“Oh, definitely! I saw Yuji move some of his American-star posters into his room last week, and he didn’t throw any away. Jennifer Lawrence ‘s your age, right?”

Your memory is put to the test as you go through various Jennifers. Is she the one from Friends or the one married to Ben Affleck?

“I think she’s older by a few years.”

“Older?” He snorts. “Well, if it makes you feel younger, then who am I to argue?”

You decide to let his comment slide for the sake of picking on the dissonance in his words. “But what does a Hollywood actress have to do with this? And Itadori—what are you talking about?”

“Y/N, you should get to know him a bit better before confessing, don’t you think?” Satoru says, as he finds your beloved pebble and tosses it in your direction. You catch it with your heel. “The kind of woman he likes; his best friend; the ages of top-paid actors. These things shape up a guy’s adolescence. They’re as crucial.”

By the time he finishes talking, all the puzzle pieces fall into place, and you have to mentally control every joint in your body to prevent it from lashing at him with fury second only to the Curse King’s. Even by Satoru’s dubious standards, this is plain outrageous.

“Are you outta your mind?” You yell, pushing your hair off your sweaty forehead with both palms. “How could you—why would you—what do you take me for?” You fail to put your thoughts in order until you suck in a deep breath. “I would never crush on any of my students, or any other minor, for that matter!” You declare.

Thin white eyebrows furrow in genuine confusion. “But you said—”

“Fushiguro! The man I’m in love with is Fushiguro Toji!”

And not a single soul is left on campus who hasn’t heard your confession, no matter how far and wide or close you think they are scattered.

Toji’s never set foot on these damned grounds without cursing to himself as if the paths his shoes traverse are paved with nothing but shit. Even after all these years, something about marching through the front door just doesn’t feel right. It’s not hatred, that’s for sure. He’s spent more than two-thirds of his life cultivating his loathing for sorcerers to the point where he can tell it apart by taste alone.

No, what’s tainting his palate right now and will continue doing so in the days to come is more akin to chagrin than resentment. It’s failure. A failure that’s branded onto the bare skin of his torso and that he can’t pawn off for as long as he stands, because if a fate worse than death exists, then that’s surviving on a snotty brat’s pity.

Wiping some of his sweat and plenty of his regrets against his pants, Toji remembers his reason for being here has nothing to do with Six-Eyes or his past shortcomings, as he’s here to share the news of his divorce papers finalization with the only person he’s keen on letting know: you.

A decade has passed since he last heard from his wife—his ex-wife who had no qualms about leaving everything behind (her daughter included) and ran back to her parents, never to be seen or heard from again until a hotshot big firm lawyer showed up at his doorstep with a bunch of papers and a platinum-coated Montblanc in hand.

And with that, another overdue chapter was closed, the rest of the pages flipping through the wind. By the end of summer, the goalkeeper in his relationship with his son will be heading off to college, and with Tsumiki gone, Megumi decided he’d grown old enough to slam the door on his face and choose that faux albino sorcerer over his own blood.

It was that very rebellion that roused Toji to reevaluate his lifestyle. He stopped counting the years after the candle with the number 4 became prominent in each birthday cake, but that didn’t stop time from moving forward. He was aging. And while one-night stands do a decent enough job to distract him from searching his scalp for graying hair, the nights he catches himself wishing his bed could stay warm the morning after add up.

None of the silly little girls he fools around with are capable of that, not the way you are. Since that first PT meeting he begrudgingly attended two months ago, a rusty cog in his heart began turning again.

You don’t match any of his previous criteria. You don’t come from a wealthy family and aren’t an airhead either. You live in the dorms because you can’t afford rent in the city, and you are smart enough to have graduated from a big university. You are one of them, but you’re also proof that not all beauty was lost with her.

Toji doesn’t want to screw this up. Just once, he wants to do things right. He waited until he was a free man in the eyes of the law, wore his good jeans on a day when wearing jeans should be considered a criminal offense, and kept enough cash to afford however many side dishes you ordered—assuming you accepted his lunch invitation in the first place.

The jittery, four-eyed guy he ran into on his way to your class pointed him in the direction of the school’s shrine. After a while of wandering around, Toji spots two sets of imprints in the soil, the smaller ones belonging to your heels and the larger ones undoubtedly being that brat’s. Luck isn’t on his side today. His stride overlaps with Gojo’s as he childishly covers the younger man’s tracks, leaving yours intact, and eventually, the sound of clamor confirms his lead.

He strays off the pebbled path and mingles with the shadows of the dense forest, scoffing as Gojo’s shit-eating grin becomes apparent. That beanpole’s standing way too close to you. Toji almost intervenes when you finally push him. A kick to the nuts would do him better, but that’s enough for a tiny smile to rise on his scar. That’s my girl.

There’s no reason to stay hidden anymore. After all, that brat is already aware of his presence. He takes a few steps forward, turning into a pillar of salt at your sudden outburst.

“The man I’m in love with is Fushiguro Toji!”

His hand nearly reaches inside his back pocket to double-check the name on his ID. Looks like some of his luck returned to him. Asking you out just got a whole lot easier.

“Fushiguro Toji?” Gojo twists a finger in his ear. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Toji hisses, his fist itching to knock some teeth off his face. That ought to jog his memory, but he holds back, realizing that’s all part of Six-Eyes’ plan. To egg him on into a brawl he can’t win.

“He wiped the floor with your face only a few years back, Satoru.” You sound as irritated as he is. “How could you possibly forget?”

The man folds his arms over his chest, sparing a glare in Toji’s direction as he reclines against the tori gate. “Was it at the arcades? Man, no need to rub it in.”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. You sigh, hogging the unoccupied pillar with no intention to play his game.

“What about Megumi’s old man won you over?” Gojo gives in. “His kart skills?”

“So you do remember, after all.” You murmur in a low voice. “I don’t know. He’s just… nice.”

“Nice?” Gojo asks with utter disgust painted on his face.

Nice?

You nod, fumbling with the hem of your navy-blue dress. “Hey, Satoru. You know what makes for a good parent?” You don’t let either of them consider their answers. “It’s effort. Not success, but effort. Mister Fushiguro hasn’t missed any of his son’s PT meetings, even when the two of them are clearly at odds.”

Toji feels too guilty to step in and correct you that his priority is to see you. Not that Megumi doesn’t matter, but what’s the point of hearing his son excels in everything he never could for the nth time in a month?

“And?”

You glance at the clear sky. “And you remember those forms Yaga gave us for the kids to fill out? Nobara said her dream was to buy out Daikanyama. You can guess what Yuji’s was. As for Megumi, he left his blank, and when I asked him later, he said that he doesn’t have time for dreams; that his goal is to repay his dad the money he lost from the Naobito deal, so he owes him nothing.”

The two men blink in surprise. “Didn’t think he knew about that.”

“You aren’t exactly a quiet speaker, Satoru.” You shrug. “Point is, he doesn’t know. Neither of them do. Megumi doesn’t know his father attends his PT meetings, and Mister Fushiguro doesn’t know about his son’s dream. Isn’t it funny? They both care about each other but are too awkward to admit it.”

“And you call me twisted.” Gojo yawns. “You wanna act like a bridge between them? Is that it?”

You shake your head. “I wouldn’t want to interfere. Megumi placed his trust in me as his teacher when he disclosed that, and Mister Fushiguro… We are nothing to each other.”

Yet, Toji mentally added.

“You might think it’s crazy, but I think Mister Fushiguro’s heart is full of raw emotion he can’t put in order on his own. He’s not taught how to, and I… I think I could help him out with that; be someone he can direct those feelings to. No, I—” You shake your head again, except this time you do so with a little smile of conviction tugging at your lips. “I want to be that person. I want to be his person.”

Gojo doesn’t say anything for a good while, and you end up nearly as flustered as Toji himself. “Of course there are plenty of other things I like about him! He is funny, charming, has his own house,” your voice drops in volume, “he is very attractive, and we have the same taste in seafood.”

“Sounds to me like you’ve got it all figured out.” Gojo let his hand drop after fixing his sunglasses over his nose bridge. “But you should know, Fushiguro, or rather Zen’in Toji, is a lot more than that. He’s killed more sorcerers in his prime than most curses combined. Not sayin’ that to be a buzz kill, but you should be careful around him, or else,” his tone drops a menacing octave as he peers over his shades, “I’ll have to terminate that relationship myself.

“You get it, right?” He switched back to his usual voice with a lighthearted chuckle. “Wouldn’t want to lose another precious friend.”

Silence reigns between you, and that’s Toji’s cue to walk up. He’s heard enough. The few fallen leaves rustle under his weight, caution thrown to the wind as tiny twigs crunch below his sandals. He’s close enough for you to tell someone’s coming, but not close enough to tell that someone is him.

“Got nothin’ better to do than gossip about others, Six-Eyes?” Toji paces in the middle of you two, his eyes flickering in your direction. He has to brace himself not to smile at how red your face has gotten, his resolve giving way to a suggestive smirk. “Teach’.”

“Mister Fushiguro.” Your smile is shaky, but there. Always there for him.

“Yo, it’s been a long time!” Gojo springs forward. “Came for a rematch?” His hand travels up his neck, rolling his shoulder blades one at a time. “Could use the exercise.”

“I’m done fighting kids.” Toji deadpans.

“Is that so?” Gojo scratches the back of his head. “Your hands must be full with all that jell-o they feed you at retirement house,” he chuckled at his own joke. “What then? Remembered to pay the med bills twelve years later?”

“Satoru!” You object.

“Only if you remembered to hand the Star Vessel cash back.”

“Mister Fushiguro!”

“Money belongs to Amanai,” Gojo raises his volume. “I don’t think she’d want you to have it.”

“Really? ‘Cause last time I checked, corpses don’t talk.” Toji grits his teeth and unwillingly finds himself at the end of your right palm, the other one prompting Gojo to maintain his distance.

Your eyes are round, but the look behind them firm. The same look you assume when you reprimand your students, he bets. His gaze is drawn to your fingers, small and slender as they graze his shirt. You’ve never been so close to him before. If it weren’t for the walking parasite to his left, he might’ve been enjoying the proximity.

Perhaps for the first time in his life, Toji is the one to back away first, clearing his throat with a soundless cough. His eyes remain on Gojo’s while he speaks. “I’m here to take her out.” He stops and considers adding “to lunch”, previous occupation and all, but deems that should be obvious enough.

“You got time?” His tone softens, still bearing hints of the annoyance he failed to submerge.

A single finger pad skims over his chest as you withdraw your hand, slower than you did the other. So cute. He promises to give you plenty of opportunities to touch him later.

“I have an afternoon class, but Satoru can cover for me.” You smile sweetly at Toji and click your heel down on Gojo’s foot. “Right, Satoru?”

He’s inclined to agree, his face lightening up behind his shades. “As long as you agree to grade my papers for the next three months.”

“I’m already stuck grading the papers from when you went to Hiroshima,” you mumble under your breath, your nose scrunching in an expression that’s new to Toji. “Fine.”

“Mister Fushiguro?” You turn to him.

Toji shoots Gojo a stunted glare before his large palm finds its place in the small of your back, prodding you to move forward.

On the way to the car you find yourself making small talk about the weather, and on the way to the restaurant, your getaway is Megumi’s recent success in domain creation. This isn’t the first time you’re alone with him, but with every mile you count away from school grounds, you shrink into an ever-growing bundle of nerves that threatens to unravel on his passenger seat.

You’re in the middle of your third recounting of the kids’ excursion in Saitama when a hand moves to your lap and muzzles your every thought.

“Don’t tell me you’re nervous, Teach’.” Toji says once you’re stopped at a red light.

He’s careful to keep his fingers over your dress, only his thumb looming over the bare skin of your knee. Your glance loses momentum as it travels from his knuckles to his wrist and then his elbow, reveling at the sight of muscles bulging underneath his rolled-up white shirt. You’re glad half of his attention remains on the steering wheel, because if you got to see the other side of his lopsided smile, then you might say something that’s unbecoming of an educator—and you almost do, after his hand drops to the gear stick.

“I don’t normally do these things, Mister Fushiguro.” You admit, preserving some of his leftover warmth with your own palm.

“Hmm? What things?”

“Going on dates with parents—it’s a first for me.”

“Oh? So that’s what this is?” He chuckles lowly, as if the notion were new to him. Other than the few visible wrinkles around his eyes, you wouldn’t guess this man was roughly ten years your senior. “You can relax. Got a long way before the main course, sweetheart.”

Embarrassment flares up in your cheeks at the pet name. You can’t remember the last time you were asked out, let alone called something of that volume. You don’t mind it. If anything, you like the ring.

“Ah, and do me a favor, won’t ya?” His head cocks to the side, tousled black strands falling forward. “Quit callin’ me that.”

“Calling you what?”

“Mister Fushiguro.” He grimaces. “It’s ex mister Fushiguro now.”

“What?” You exclaim with more excitement than you’re entitled to.

It doesn’t go unnoticed. “Check the compartment glove.”

You do as you’re told, discovering a bitten-off subway that’s wrapped around at least four layers of napkins. His sloppy eating habits mustn’t be what he’s so eager for you to see. You nudge it to the side and dig out a few crane toys that are too adorable to be his, and then finally, a stack of creased official documents that you have to separate from the massage parlor flyers stuck between the pages.

You quickly go over the lines, the most notable by far being the words “Divorce Agreement” written in all capitals on the front page. “Is this…?”

He nods. “Got ‘em this morning. Thought you’d take proof over my word.”

“That’s amazing, Mister Fushig—” You bite your tongue. “Looks like you got to keep all your assets, too.”

“All, except that name.”

You remember pondering why, even though Toji was born into the main family, both he and his son left the Zen’in surname behind. Others would kill for a chance to be written in their family registry—but then again, it was just like the Zen’ins to keep clan matters private.

“You can call me Toji until I take on a new surname.” He continues, his voice reflecting his lax smile. “Am open to suggestions.”

You return it, piecing a non-existent strand of hair behind your ear. “Already proposing that I should marry you?”

“Better strike while the iron’s hot,” quietly adding, “figured that should give ya enough time to sort my shit out.”

“What was that?”

He grins as he cups your hand with his own. “We’re here.”

Toji’s restaurant of choice turns out to be a cozy little family restaurant by the park in Nerima. He asks if you’ve been there before, but you shake your head. Having no car means you rarely get to go around Tokyo without Ijichi, the kids, or Utahime whenever she decides to pull a surprise visit. You’re a tourist in your own town.

At this time of the day—neither appropriate for lunch nor for dinner—the tables are mostly empty, and you’re free to choose your own seats. He points at the bar, and you point at the window. He pulls your chair and then plops down on his own, chin quick to balance atop his wrist while he stares off at the greenery on the horizon.

You thought sitting closer to the window would be cooler, but the heat is reflected through the glass. You should have listened to him.

A waiter drops off your menus with a tired smile, patting some of the perspiration off his forehead with a napkin. “Sure is hot today, isn’t it?”

You nod politely and start browsing the list of appetizers. All those nights you spent bent over your tiny desk lamp pile up against you as your stomach lets out a low grumble—overjoyed to be presented with something that doesn’t require a microwave.

“You drink?” Toji waves the wine menu in your face.

“If the occasion calls for it.” Your reply paves the way for his next question. “I’d say a glass of champagne is due to celebrate your freedom.”

He flings the menu at the next table. “Don’t have that here. Maybe next time,” he says, and you almost stand in ovation at the prospect of there being a next time.

“You don’t want anything?”

“Not a drinker.” He doesn’t care to elaborate. You go back to scanning the pages, and you must’ve taken long enough for him to grab onto your menu. “I can recommend you some.”

Your stomach gurgles again, and this time he hears it. His stare lowers over your body, and you shift in your seat, offering him the menu to distract him from your issue. His bottom lip curls in amusement.

“The stake’s good here since their stuff’s from Kobe-hmm,” Toji pauses as he zeroes in on an item that he taps with his index. “The barbecue ribs are the real deal.”

His green orbs spin like pinball in his eyes while he flips through the pages, pointing out what’s good and what sucks, as those are the two main phrases he uses to describe the specialties. This is the most you’ve heard him speak in a row, and admittedly, you miss out on most of what he says taking in his mannerisms.

His surprisingly well-trimmed nails drum on the table when they aren’t shifting to a different page, while his cheek prop up his fist. He makes a habit out of licking his slanted scar at every nasal consonant, and there’s a slight drawl whenever he stumbles upon a foreign word, his thin brows furrowing in uncertainty. However, his most distinctive quirk of all remains the unintentional frown his lips shape; a trait shared with your young protege.

Toji might be a little rough around the edges, but still carries some of that boyish charm.

“So?” He slaps the menu shut.

You suck on your teeth, unable to remember a single specialty. “I’ll have what you’re having. You sound like you come here often.”

He gestures for the waiter to come over. “The kids dragged me here all the time. There’s a park here,” he points outside the window, as if that’s self-explanatory. The image of a little Megumi and a little Tsumiki tugging at their father’s pants to play hide-and-seek makes your heart swell.

The waiter arrives approximately a minute later, and Toji places your orders. You’re apparently having the aforementioned ribs, along with a beef bowl, some chashu, and a few standard vegetable dishes that, for some reason, should not contain any red bell peppers. He chose plenty, but he chose smart. None of these break the bank.

“Why not bell peppers?” You ask once the waiter goes off to fetch your water. Toji scratches his jaw as if he’s got no idea what you’re talking about, until the realization hits him on the head.

“Fuck, Megumi’s the one who hates ‘em.” He curses and motions for the waiter again when you catch his hand in mid-air and bring it down onto the table.

“I’m not a big fan either.”

Your eyes lock with his and slowly dart to where your hands meet, watching as his fingers decisively slip between your own. He forces your wrist to prop against the wood, your knuckles hugging, while he tests out what it feels like to be holding hands. Ever since the only woman he let himself cherish passed away, he’s avoided the slightest illusion of romance, and if you could peer into his brain, you’d see him contemplating how your hands are small like hers—how they’re soft like hers.

They’re just hands; he dismisses the stupid notion that hands can be anything beyond what they appear to be, and yet yours feel special to him. He looks back at what you told that asswipe and wonders if those shards you claimed to see could ever amount to love or if you’d be cut like all the others he purposely hurt. He wonders if you are dumb enough to love him. He wonders if he’s smart enough to love you.

“Here’s the seasoned spinach and the chilled tofu—” The waiter cuts in, and the table clatters after you fail to retrieve your hand. The man makes room for the plates and the glasses, standing there with an awestruck smile until Toji harshly orders him to “Scram”.

Another man with a lousy temper.

Metallic chopsticks replace your hand as Toji transfers about half of the spinach to his plate. “Man, I’m starving.” He declares and wastes no time to dig in.

You follow his lead and quickly forget all about his rudeness as your eyes well up at the euphoric taste that floods your taste buds—your insides sincerely thanking him for each bite that makes it down your throat.

The conversation dies down while you share the appetizers unevenly, with him discreetly claiming the last bites under the guise of asking you whether you’re going to eat that. You don’t mind. After all, he is paying, and he’s ordered enough for your belly to gain that five-month pregnancy bump without your stolen share.

However, when the main dishes arrive, he does the unexpected and takes on your plate first, separating the meat from the bones without your asking. It’s a clumsy way to compensate, but you can’t help but think it’s more of a reflex than a tactic, considering all the times he must’ve had the kids slide their plates his way. You thank him by dropping an extra three chunks of meat on his plate, which he gladly accepts—no returns.

The waiter who didn’t dare approach your table after delivering the ribs comes back with the dessert menus and picks up the dishes. You don’t fuss over your choices for long—Toji decides on chocolate chiffon cake and you on coffee jelly. It is then that you realize your impromptu date is coming to an end, and you haven’t asked him one question about himself.

“So what is it that you actually do?”

No sorcerer who hasn’t heard the name “Sorcerer Killer” exists, yet only a select few know the urban legend behind it has retired—a decisive factor in his deal with Satoru.

“You mean when your little friend ain’t tasking me with his dirty business?” Toji shrugs. “Stocks, mostly.”

“Stocks?” That’s not at all what you expected.

“Takes about five minutes of your time, and if ya get lucky, you’re settled for life. Rest is knowing how to read people and the market.”

Judging by the sound his car engine emits, he must be still waiting for his big break.

“Would you say you’re good at reading others?”

“The market? It depends. The people?” Toji smiles confidently. “Yes.”

“What’s your reading on me then?” You take the bite.

“Hmm.” He rubs his chin while sizing you up. “I bet you were one of those four-eyed nerds at school.” His serious tone makes you snort out loud. “Eighty percent of your experience comes from dating shows, and the other twenty from group dates with your gals. Y’are too damn trusting and find good even in rotten apples, but don’t mind losing a shoe if someone gets on your nerves.”

“Oh, really?” You snicker into your palm and shake your head once he asks you if he’s wrong. “I’d say eighty percent right?”

“Heh, told ya I’m good.”

The waiter interrupts you as he drops your dessert in the middle of the table. He apologizes and points at a few tables away, where a little girl is devouring the last piece of chocolate cake available. Toji huffs in annoyance, attempting to bewitch the cake from the girl’s plate with his glare alone.

“We can share if you want.” You offer him a spoon, which he begrudgingly accepts.

A few spoonfuls and half a dessert later, he points the spoon at the family behind you and asks if you want one. “Kids,” he specifies. “You like ‘em?”

You tap your spoon against your lips. “Would you believe me if I said I see them as walking-talking grading papers? Don’t get me wrong, I love my job and lucked out with our first years, but this was supposed to be a co-teaching gig before Satoru offloaded even the second years on my back.”

“Want me to teach that brat a lesson?” Toji flashes a grin.

“I think his confectionery going missing before he gets to try any is enough punishment.” You smile mischievously. “I can save you some. Wagashi or castella?”

“I’m beginnin’ to like you more by the minute.” He blurts out and perhaps it’s a slip of the tongue because you catch him cocking his eyebrows upward right after.

“I like you too.” You earnestly say. “God, I sound like a teenager.”

“Nah, pretty sure you’re my dream woman.” You both scoff in unison. “Now that’s lame.”

“Yeah, it was.” You hide your blush by pretending to search for the waiter. “Shall we get the check?”

“Thanks for driving me hom—well, back.” You give a little bow, having yet to unbuckle your seat belt.

“Don’t sweat it.” Toji leans against the steering wheel. He looks even more handsome in the late-afternoon light, the shadows that contour his face bringing out his defined jawline and jade eyes. You aren’t prepared to part with the sight. Not when you were just getting accustomed to it, but every word that follows leads to a quicker parting.

“I had fun today.” He nods.

“Let’s do it again sometime.” He nods again.

“I’ll be going now.” He is reluctant to, but nods a third time.

You open the door and step out of the vehicle, your waving turning into a grip as you tug the car door back open. A perplexed look wanes into a full-blown smirk when you ask him if he’d like to come in for a bit.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Your desk chair looks comically small wobbling beneath Toji’s weight, a long arm draped over the backrest while he gawks at your crouching form, half your body—save for your backside—swallowed by the mini fridge. He hears a lot of rattling. The dorms are quiet after sundown, and with the expulsion of the third years, the sound of empty drawers being flipped inside out (just in case a minuscule bottle of Ramune has slipped between them) echoes throughout the east wing’s desolate floors.

You should’ve grabbed those soda cans when you still had the chance. You consider running outside, but in the unlikely event no one’s gotten to them first, you doubt they’re safe for consumption after boiling under the hot sun for hours on end.

“Damn, kid screwed this one up badly, huh?”

You glance over your shoulder at Toji, who’s going through the scattered papers on your desk, finding the one test Megumi flunked in his entire four-month career at Jujutsu Tech. You close the fridge and pad toward the desk, balancing against the edge to peer at the answer sheets in Toji’s hands.

“Everyone failed that test.” You trace a finger over the bright red 48 mark. “Megumi actually did better than most; rest scored below 20.”

“Of course he did.” Toji scoffs.

He leaves the papers on the desk and quirks a brow as he takes in your image. Your dress has lifted higher up your thighs now that you’re propped on the furniture, revealing a slit that his eyes discreetly follow to where his imagination needs to fill in the blanks. He’s not here to fuck you, he reminds himself. He’s here because you were kind enough to offer him a drink for giving you a lift, but your hands are notably empty.

“What happened to the drinks?” Toji forces himself to look you in the eye, supposing that your eyes existed on the same level as your tits—perfectly delineated under your dress’ square neckline. He hasn’t even kissed you, and he’s already picturing what your nipples would look like sucked between his lips.

He shouldn’t go there. He really isn’t here to fuck you.

“I… forgot to do my shopping this week,” you answer, oblivious to his lewd thoughts. “Sorry, I brought you up here for nothing.”

“It’s fine.” Toji glances at the wall clock. Time’s the greatest excuse. “I should go. It’s getting late.”

And he really thinks he’s made the right call, until your dangling foot pushes against his chest to prevent him from getting up—slowly traveling down his lap while his eyes travel up to your actual ones, picking on a glint he previously missed.

“It’s not right for me to let you leave empty-handed.” Your voice assumes a sultry intonation that contradicts your angelic smile. The spread of your legs widens to reveal a thin white strip that clashes with the dark blue of your dress. He feels a strain in his pants; his conviction is wearing thin. It’s more of a “maybe” now, if anything.

His hand slides from your ankle to your knee, rubbing rough circles that purposely stray away from your sensitive parts. “Whatcha offering, doll?” Toji rasps.

“How’s twenty percent of what you got wrong sound?” Your toes create friction as they curl against his crotch, swaying back and forth. He doesn’t answer. He expects you to go on. “I was a big-time nerd. Got in college with a fully covered scholarship and all.”

His breath hitches as he moves closer to your thighs. “Expected that much.”

“And I did go on a lot of group dates. The girls wanted to meet guys whose names didn’t start and end with Gojo Satoru.” Your heel presses firmly onto his length. He’s big. You can’t tell exactly how big, but you know it won’t take long to have his cock plugged in one of your holes.

“And you didn’t?” Toji asks, rolling the plush flesh in his fingers like play-dough.

“I valued my precious dating shows a lot more.” You feel the stretch of his lips as they lay on your inner thigh, peppering kisses until the lower half of his face disappears past the layers of your dress.

“Seems to me I read ya like an open book,” Toji inhales deeply, growling a low “Shiiit, Y/N” when his nose nudges your dripping cunt, his jade eyes flickering shut while you shiver. You’ve never heard him use your name before—all pretense of respect in the form of his little Teach’s drops the second you start to rut your pussy into his face.

Before his hands can slip into your underwear, you prod him back onto his chair and get off the desk. His glare fades as soon as he watches you kneel in front of him and rest both your elbows on both sides of his knees.

“Skipping dates doesn’t mean I missed out on the experience.” Your smile drips with honey while you palm him on the way to unzipping his jeans.

You tug them down, and his hips wiggle to accommodate you. It’s a lot tougher than you thought, with the tight fabric stubbornly adhering to every muscle of his bulky thighs until it recedes. His boxers come down with greater ease, and your hand finally wraps around his cock, feeling his girth out in your open fist.

“I told you at the restaurant, but I really like you.” You give his length a slow stroke that has him sucking his teeth. “I’ve liked you since the moment I saw you barge into my classroom. I like you so much I think I can love you.”

Toji bends forward and pinches your chin between his thumb and his forefinger, tilting your head until his lips find yours—soft when they fumble around and rough when they part for his tongue to sneak into your mouth. Your delicate fingers insist on pumping his cock as he cups your cheek, ending the kiss with a playful bite across your bottom lip.

“I know,” he grins. “Heard ya talkin’ to that brat earlier.”

You would be shying away if it weren’t for his cock throbbing in your grasp, his swollen tip flushed with the exact same shade of feverish red as your cheeks.

“Eavesdropping isn’t so nice, Toji.”

“I’m not so nice either, but you overlook that.” Toji throws his head back, holding onto his breath, while you drool all over his cock head—clear strings of saliva streaming down the veiny shaft. “Y’know what’d be nice, hah—having that nice little mouth of yours wrapped around me.” Your hand drops to his balls, pink lips eager to fulfill his wish, with your cheeks barely hollowing around the tight fit. “So fucking nice,” he hisses.

His filthy praises are muffled out by his groans, which grow both in volume and in pitch the more inches you manage in your throat, his raspiness fading into the breathiest of moans once your nose tingles his unkempt base. You let go with a plop, air returning to your lungs through heavy pants. Your fists take over instead, appearing beyond puny as they struggle to engulf his hefty girth. Toji’s by far the biggest you’ve had; another of his assets you’re elated to discover.

You steal a lick from the precum that’s glazing his tip and purse your lips together. It’s a bit strong in flavor, but you don’t mind. It’s his.

“I meant everything I said,” you beam. “I still think of you as nice.”

“You’re bound to milk some kindness out of me if ya keep goin’ sweetheart.” Toji jokes, taking hold of his cock. He starts jerking himself to the sight of you, and you may have all your clothes on, but the way you genuinely smile at him, lips glossy from spit, almost sends him over the edge. “You’re so pretty,” he mumbles. “Even thought you were pretty in that—ugh, what was it?”

“Tunic?” You ask, recounting your first meeting.

“Yeah, right. That ridiculous grandma’s tunic you flaunted.” Raven strands flap over his forehead. “Wanted to rip that right off your body and fuck you on the spot.”

His words send pleasurable tingles throughout your body, with the pool in your panties overflowing your thighs. “What stopped you?” Your lips attach to his balls, your wet tongue lapping around until it finds a spot that has him fisting his cock at a faster pace, the tip rhythmically smacking your forehead.

Toji fails to gather his thoughts; his mind is solely focused on chasing after his incoming release. You feel his balls tighten and back away, setting your palms flat against your lap—eyes marveling at how the man who kept you tossing and turning in an empty bed for months on end is about to spill his load all over your face. A man whom you, up until a few hours ago, dreaded would reject you.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he pants out. “Gonna make you even prettier. Gonna make you into my pretty girl—fuck, all mine.”

“All yours, Toji.” You repeat, lulling your tongue out. “Cum on my face, Toji. Please, gimme your cum.”

And it is that please that gets his cock to spurt his milky cum all over your lips and chin, with only a handful of his velvety ropes making it onto your tongue. He grunts, squeezing the final drops from the tip until it stops twitching. He wipes it clean against your lips and helps you to your feet, taking advantage of your imbalance to hold you by the waist.

“Is there something on my face?” You ask, seeing as Toji blatantly drills holes into your skull.

Heavy eyelashes flutter over his low-hooded eyes. A dark chuckle rings against your skin as his mouth presses against your jaw. “Aren’t ya cheeky?” He licks a portion of his cum off your chin and feeds it to your tongue, all nice and slow, in a heady kiss that brings your bodies closer to one another. Your cunt is still soaked, pulsing around nothing, and his cock is still rock-hard, throbbing against your stomach.

Holding turns into groping as Toji gives your ass a squeeze. “Better not fail Megumi from now on.”

Your teeth clash together as you break into a sudden cackle. “Someone might think you’re only doing this to secure his grades.”

“Among other reasons,” he states.

“Is this how you care for your son’s education?” You humor him. “By seducing his teacher?”

“Nah,” Toji pauses to tug at your dress’ strap. He’s going to have to unzip it if he wants to move things forward. “My kid’s plenty smart on his own. Besides, the teacher’s the one doin’ the seducing here.” He caresses your curves and smiles in triumph once he spots the zipper on the side. “Wouldn’t fuck ‘er if she’d let me go back to my car to jerk it like a responsible man would. Would’ve waited until the second date; buy her something good—you like flowers, right?”

You lift your arms for him to strip you. He leaves you to stand in your unmatched underwear, black lace on your tits, and white cotton around your hips. His tongue darts out, wetting his lower lip. “Is it too late to enroll?”

Your eyes perform a full circle. You almost shove his hands away from your bra when you realize it’s already off. He thumbs at your nipples with his palms cupped around your breasts, refusing to let an inch of your soft skin spill from his calloused, practiced fingers.

“I’m afraid you’re behind the rest of the class.” You go along with his game of role-play. “I’d have to give you private lessons.”

“Sign me up.”

Toji steps back to remove his shirt, undoing his buttons so quickly that you’re certain they’ll fly right off. He discards it on the floor, and you take stock of his physique, inevitably gaping at the jagged scars that span from below his left shoulder to the center of his torso. Your fingers carefully trail over them, as if the violence that caused them still lurks beneath.

So that’s what sustaining limitless leaves you with, you momentarily muse, before your sympathy dissolves into a quarter of a smile. You don’t want him to think you’re pitying him—because you aren’t. Both he and Satoru made their choices, and you refuse to be the judge of their decade-long feud.

His hands return to your waist, while yours meet behind his neck. You kiss again and again, the action of mouths stealing each other’s oxygen repeating until the edge of your desk digs into your lower back. His strong arms smother you like he’s never embraced another before; overwhelming you to the point where you’re moaning despite his cock not being in yet.

“Just so you know, this gonna be a regular thing.” Toji mutters, his green eyes confirming his sincerity in the way he pulls your thighs apart. He doesn’t think he’s never said that phrase before. It’s always the opposite.

He dips a hand into your panties, lathering his palm with your slick, and then strokes his dick. “Not ‘ere for the sex only.”

“You’re gonna stay over and buy me breakfast?” You entertain the idea.

“As long as convenience store Onigiri cuts it. A bit tight this month.” Toji leaves you some breathing space, kicking his pants off his ankles. “A’right. Turn around and arch that back for me.”

A wicked smirk rises on his scar as you face away from him. “I was hoping to fuck you on your little classroom desk, but this will do just fine. You can look back on it next time ya feel swamped with papers.”

“I won’t be able to get any work done!” You protest.

The aforementioned papers glue to your breasts when you prop yourself on your elbows. You glance over your shoulder, catching sight of Toji positioning himself between your legs. You feel him run his cock between your now-bare folds, your panties having dropped in a pool around your feet like tasteless anklets.

Toji kneads your ass with one hand, the other stroking himself along your clenching holes. “You can think of this as my confession.” He trails off as he drives his thick cock into your wet pussy, and he does it slowly enough for it not to hurt, but it’s him who ends up needing a good minute to adjust after he bottoms out.

He knows it’ll feel even better once he moves, but it already feels perfect as is. So warm; so tight; so good that he’s afraid he’ll lose composure and jackhammer into you until the desk legs break.

“Haven’t had such perfect pussy in ages.” Toji grunts, his nails digging sharp crescent moons into the fat of your ass.

He’s had his fair share of pretty girls with empty brains and tight cunts, but yours is something else. Yours, he wants it owned. He wants it to lull him to sleep every night, only to wake up the next morning to the mess you’ve made creaming around his cock all night long. He wants to make you into his personal cock warmer, and he nearly cringes at the thought, until he feels you pulse around him and realizes you probably want that too.

“Fuck me, T-Toji.” You stammer, pulling your body forward only to slam it back on his length.

That’s all he needs to get going. His hips mercilessly slap against your own while he drills his cock in and out with such vigor that he feels it kissing your cervix. The desk bangs hard against the wall, almost overpowering the sounds of your soft whimpers. He forces you to meet his tempo, using the leverage on your ass to cut down on the distance between his leaking head and your puffy cunt.

“‘member what I told ya when I first saw ya?” Toji slows down, his fingers reaching between your thighs to swipe at your clit while his hips switch to languid rolls.

“Y-You mean after you—fuck, put your shoes on my desk thinking it was Satoru’s?”

“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” He huffs and brings your arm behind your back, pressing down on it. “Remember,” he mouths hot kisses down your nape and shoulder, his palm cupping your entire cunt while your walls flutter around him. “Remember how I said you’re too hot to be stuck ‘ere teaching brats manners?”

You fist at the table, desperately searching in your foggy mind for a memory you can’t seem to find or a place to grip, the only answer you can muster being, “You never said that.”

“I didn’t?” Toji flicks the sensitive nub upward. “Well, not every thought’s meant to be shared, mhm?”

He pops your dialogue bubble by nipping at your neck, his cock scratching an itch that has you writhing in pleasure.

“Shhh, baby.” He coos, the warm timbre in his voice soothing the shrill ringing in your head. “Promise I’ll be more vocal now on. Tell ya all about how good that sloppy pussy’s flooding me, or how gorgeous your cute face looks lighting up whenever ya see me.”

The flames in your stomach shoot up to your heart, beating so loud you swear it punctuates his every word.

“How many times was it?” He asks. “Eight PT meetings in two months? Or ten? Ya think I wouldn’t notice I was the only parent called?”

Your head droops forward. “Would’ve been eleven if you didn’t come today. Wanna see more of you, Toji. F-fuck, wanna see you all the time.”

“And you will,” he detaches from your neck and picks up his speed, keen on having you see starts with the way he thumbs your clit. “Gonna make you cum around my cock every day, sweetheart. Just call me and—ugh, I’ll come runnin’. No need for that PT crap.”

Your bitten lips do nothing to contain your unregulated cries as you tighten around him like a vice—the only coherent words among your long-drawn vowels being “I’m cumming, Toji!” that you scream at the top of your lungs.

Toji begrudgingly pulls out, letting you ride your high alone. If he stays in a second longer, he knows you’ll end up with a nine-month trouble that will escalate into a lifelong problem in the form of paychecks for him and test sheets for you.

He plops down on the chair to cool down for a moment, proudly admiring your stupefied expression, eyes blown out with sheer ecstasy, and lips gasping for air.

“Hey. Are you free tomorrow?”

Maybe you are worth the trouble.

The delightful buzzes in your head are replaced with a series of acute knocks against your door. You barely have time to locate your rug of a dress in the corner of the room and zip it up, hoping the fabric’s enough to keep the marks on your body out of your visitor’s field of view.

“Should’ve known,” you groan, wishing you'd shoved your head in the pillows and pretended you were missing—except, there's no hiding from him. You step outside and close the door with your back, folding your arms over your chest. “What brings you here, Satoru?”

“Mornin’ to you too, Y/N.” His mouth is full as he speaks, rice grains framing both sides of his lips. “How was your date?”

“It was…” you pause, focusing on the plastic convenience store bag he’s holding rather than his eyes, “good.”

“Good, huh?” He grimaces. He doesn’t have to tell you he was hoping it’d fail. “Anyway, came to drop these. Someone left them on your doorstep.”

You peer into the contents of the bag, full of onigiri in different flavors—two that are tuna mayo, two with shrimp tempura, two with salted salmon, and lastly, a spare pickled plum.

Your lips curl into a smile as you pick your favorite from the bunch. So that's your answer.

"Thanks, Satoru." He is surprised you didn't scold him, gladly taking his chance to leave before you speak again. "Wait."

"I was the one who stole your Manju."

#Toji x reader #toji smut #fushiguro toji #toji x y/n #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #fushiguro toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fanfiction #jjk fanfiction #toji <3 #toji headcanons #toji fic #toji x you #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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rintosei · 1 year

Text

YOU COULD CALL IT LOVE

feat. itoshi sae x gn! reader

prompt: "wait, you think i'm cute?" (requested by @fallenssun for my 1k event! hope u like it rosie loml mwah + idk if this prompt fits the situation here but you know what it's okay)

there were a lot of words to describe itoshi sae but cold and mean is not one of them. sure, sae can be straightforward with his words and occasionally hurt people’s feelings, but he doesn't mean to be... rude.

sae was used to people distancing themselves from him, which resulted in him not having too many friends when he was a teenager. but you stuck with him, even if your friends had told you that he looks like a bad guy and you shouldn't get near him.

you didn't listen, obviously, because sae doesn't seem like a bad guy. in fact, he seems like an interesting and good guy in your eyes. the first time you talked to him, he was... stiff. he couldn't utter a single word out without stuttering and his face turns red whenever you laugh at something he says.

at the age of eighteen, itoshi sae confesses his love to you. it was after one of his games that he came running to you and asked you if you wanted to start dating. you have no idea if it was the adrenaline that made him ask or if miraculously gathered up the courage from scoring two goals, but you said yes.

and now you are twenty while sae is twenty-one. nothing has changed since the day you started talking to sae, but it was clear that the two of you are more mature. sae is still the intimidating-looking-guy everyone is afraid of, while you're the sunshine who gains everyone's attention.

"baby," sae starts, giving you a look. "can we move to another spot? it's so hot here." he points at a spot under a tree that gives shade, but you shook your head.

"no way! this is the best view for the ride! don't you wanna see how the ride goes before going on it?" you asked with a small pout on your face. "it's no fun standing there, you know? you're just like a parent waiting for their kid to get off the ride."

"but you are a kid."

"i'm gonna punch you in the face if that's what you want." you say, giving sae a glare. you eventually started to feel bad for sae, so, with a heavy heart, you left the spot, standing under the tree.

"see? you love me too much to leave me out there in the hot sun." sae teases.

"you're a soccer player, for goodness sake! you literally play under the sun for hours and don't complain but when it's my turn to have fun, you complain!" you exclaimed, crossing your arms with a soft huff at the end.

"look, i love you, but it's so fucking hot out today," sae utters. "i told you to bring a hat but you didn't want to!"

as soon as he says that, your eyes caught the merchandise store that was practically filled with accessories, toys, and other cute stuff. you take sae's hand and dragged him there, not giving him a chance to say anything.

"hi! would you like to buy a cute dog hat? or possibly this little notebook to write down your fun memories here today?" the staff asks you, holding the two items in his hand.

"hi, yes, can i take one of the dog hat and one of the giraffe headband there?" you politely asked, pointing at the giraffe headband that was on the display.

"alright! that'll be 2500 yen, please." the staff said and you payed, thanking the staff once you got the items.

"okay, what the fuck?" sae says, finally being able to speak. "why'd you buy these for?"

you didn't say anything yet, only putting the giraffe headband on your head before taking the dog hat and placing it on sae's head. you stifled a laugh. the hat was so big that it was practically covered sae's entire head. "aw, you look so cute!"

"wait, you think i'm cute?" sae asks and you nod, laughter erupting from your chest. "in this hat?"

"you look absolutely adorable!" you cooed, placing both hands on sae's cheeks and squishes him. "the hat fits you perfectly! i have good taste, don't i?"

sae frowns, not finding any of this amusing. "take this stupid hat off of me right now." he tries to pry it off but you quickly stopped him, keeping the hat on his head.

"no! i promise, you look cute! just... like a big marshmallow!" you tried convincing him, but sae does not look convinced enough to keep wearing the hat. so, with a heavy heart, you took your hand off of the hat and let it drop by your side. "ugh, fine. take it off if that's what you want." you pouted, crossing your arms as you mumble about how sae never wants to do these cute things with you.

he notices this, of course, and he sighs. instead of taking the hat off, he wraps an arm around your shoulder, resting his chin on top of your head. "are you upset?"

"no."

"mm, of course you aren't," he teases, turning your around and pokes your nose with his pointer finger. "i'm not taking the hat off, okay? wouldn't want you to be upset while going on the rides, don't we?"

your eyes light up and a big smile appears on your face. "really?! you aren't taking it off?" sae nods, and you started jumping up and down in excitement. "see! you look good in this and it saves you from the heat you've been complaining about from before! now come on the line isn't that long for this ride!"

sae allows himself to be pulled again by you if it means he can see your pretty smile once again.

there are a lot of words to describe itoshi sae — cute and silly are definitely one of them.

taglist: @hyomagiri @tim-shii @fallenssun @17020 @saetoshi @inariezaki @venusbby @piichuu @yuansen @egoistcore @seimirii ♡

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tojisun · 2 years

Note

WHY DIDNT I THINK OF THIS SOONER? we all know baby megumi is a menace and toji is a potty mouth. i can imagine tiny little megumi with his big adorable eyes following toji around with a swear jar to make some extra pocket money but at the same time makes toji bring him to buy gifts for the reader. (and toji catching on and playing along for megs)

this is so cute and comical omggg!! i love soft toji and baby gumi interactions so much, they make me so happy fr! ahhh i had fun writing this short thing and i hope you’ll like this one <33

> megumi calls reader his ‘mommy’ but i didnt specify if shes mamaguro or toji remarried or smthn. lapslock. dad toji and baby gumi centric. no curses au!

━━━━━━━━━━ ʕ•㉨•ʔ ━━━━━━━━━━

“ow, what the fuck!” toji curses, swiveling to see what hit his shin only to gape at the sight of megumi holding out the swear jar at toji while managing to look smug even with his face smoothed out blankly. beside the boy is his damned scooter which he must have used to whack toji’s leg.

“daddy, you swore,” megumi replies when toji still doesn’t move to drop a yen.

toji glowers at his son, but megumi only blinks at him.

another slow blink. like a cat.

…okay, that was adorable.

“fine,” toji finally grumbles, digging into his pockets for all his loose change and drops them into the jar. the corner of megumi’s lips quirk up slightly, before he is running away, his tiny feet padding silently on the floor.

toji sighs, exasperated but fond, before turning back to his call. he ignores shiu’s soft chuckles.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“shit,” toji whispers, raising his leg and scowling at the lego piece stuck on his foot. he plucks it out, and turns to the floor where megumi’s now-ruined spaceship lay, flattened and ugly.

toji frowns, remembering the hours that his son has poured into creating the spaceship, often forgoing his other toys and focusing most of his after-daycare hours to work on the spaceship. toji also remembers how you and megumi bonded every afternoon as you helped him make a bunch of tiny spacecraft for the spaceship, muffled giggling shared between you two as if the lego-building was a top secret mission.

well. he better get to fixing it before megumi comes back. he doesn’t want his boy being all sad and–

“gumi?”

“yes, daddy?”

“since when were you here?”

“since you said the bad poo word,” megumi answers. a beat of silence. then, the clattering of a handful of coins against ceramic.

toji holds back a sigh as he looks up from the mess and meets megumi’s mirthful eyes, the boy crouching by toji’s side with the swear jar in his hands. “so. ‘shit’ counts?”

megumi nods. “and you have to pay two times because you said it two times.”

“right. okay. makes sense.” it doesn’t.

but toji has no loose changes in him this time so he stands up, heads to your shared bedroom, and rummages around the vanity. he finds twenty yen which is probably enough for megumi’s swear jar.

“here you go squirt,” toji says as he holds out his hand towards megumi.

megumi takes them with another of his small smiles. “thank you daddy.” he walks away. “please keep swearing.”

toji blinks. “y’mean not to swear, yeah?”

“no,” megumi replies, not once stopping to entertain his dad now that toji has paid his swear jar fees, and leaves him in your shared room.

toji pinches the bridge of his nose before returning to megumi’s room to fix the broken lego spaceship.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“daddy, what’s satoru-nii again?”

“an asshole.”

toji pauses, frowning as he turns to megumi. megumi’s blinking at him innocently, meeting toji’s eyes wordlessly, then, ever-so slowly, he presents the swear jar.

toji processes the whole situation, gaping as his eyes widen in astonishment. “gumi, what the hell?”

megumi smiles wider, so boyishly excited. “you said ‘notha one!” he shakes the jar harder in his excitement.

toji drops his newspaper and turns to megumi, serious but mostly concerned. “baby,” he starts, not knowing how to ask why his son was hell-bent on making him cuss, even going out of his way to instigate it.

toji remembers his poor shin and suppresses a groan.

“what’s with the swear jar?” he asks.

megumi’s brows furrow. “you din’ pay yet.”

“right,” toji utters, pulling out crumpled money from his pockets and placing them inside the jar. “so, y’gon’ answer me?”

megumi hums, baby face going giddy again. “mother’s day gift!”

oh.

“gumi,” toji says, pulling his son into his arms. “y’know you coulda just asked for money, right? you din’ need to make me swear.”

megumi hums again, shrugging. “but i wanted to earn by m’self.”

toji almost laughs, his shoulders shaking from quelling his barks of laughter at the thought of megumi thinking that making toji swear and pay for said swears is earning for himself.

he presses a kiss on the crown of megumi’s head. their precious darling boy is so comedic sometimes. toji smiles, fond and full and bright.

“i see,” he murmurs. “want me to help you buy mommy a gift?”

megumi nods, grinning so happily as he says, “yes!”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

(the swear jar money ended up not being enough to pay for the gift that megumi chose for you so toji paid for it whole, letting megumi keep them as his pocket money.

megumi doesn’t know anything about this interaction and toji intends to keep it that way.)

━━━━━━━━━━ ʕ•㉨•ʔ ━━━━━━━━━━

#suns.rq #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro fluff #toji fluff #jjk x reader fluff #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro #megumi fushiguro #baby megumi #jjk #these two deserve to have a close relationship so here you go 😭!!#just need toji forgiving himself and loving himself. his son. you #and megumi growing up with so much love and surrounded by his parents #a fix-it of some sorts because i yearn #suns.f #suns #anon #ask

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yeokii · 11 months

Text

# types of tropes w enha !!

₊﹒wc! 2.7k

₊﹒warnings! non-idol!enha, gn!reader (but I kinda wrote it with she/her pronouns in mind so if you see she/her pronouns im v sorry pls ignore), profanity, mentions of alcohol (only in jake's), mentions of skinship, mentions of stalker behaviour (its a joke, nothing serious tho) mentions of being high (ITS A JOKE), mentions of blood in Riki's one, spelling and grammar errors!!

₊﹒note! yen and Kayla my fave bff helped me w the tropes!! ngl got carried away with junwons one

₊﹒requested by this anon !!

# lee heeseung ⎯ coworkers to lovers

IT JUST FITS HIM SO WELL

heeseung would def catch feelings first when you asked him to help organise the files

HE ALWAYS AND I MEAN ALWAYS takes up the offer whenever you need help with something.

you want a drink? bro will bring you the whole menu

literally will do anything to show that he's into you.

bro just loves being near you.

but this one time where he dropped you home when it started raining heavily, you started to question ur feelings for him.

and so the mutual pining begins 😞

yall both would be mad blushing whenever you both interact w each other.

both of your friends would be so mad because they know you both like each other

like why aren't yall kissing already??

you kinda did know that heeseung did like you back but the man was oblivious

so you asked him out 😁

SUSHI DATE FTW!!

and you both hung out in his car after the date finished and this man did not want to take you home.

it was painful pls 😭

fastfoward to when you both start dating and he come to your house and picks you up so you can both go to work at the same time.

he would bring your daily coffee orders aswell

he would even teach you how to play league of legends help 😭

skinship is a must!!

give it a few months and he would know you more than you know yourself

PLS HES SO CUTE SOMEONE GIVE THIS MAN AN AWARD

"baby, let me take you on a date after you finish work."

"I swear to god, it better not be a ramen date again."

₊﹒other members under the cut !!

# park jongseong ⎯ brother's best friend

no cuz its so jongseong of him to fall in love with his best friend's sibling

he would know you since he was like 3 and he prolly always saw you as his best friend's annoying little sibling 😭

but you were literally completely in love with this man

if you could kiss the ground he walked on, you would.

PLSSS HE WOULDN'T EVEN TALK TO U

just a few glances here and there

but when you started to grow up, you kinda ignored him aswell cuz you started to get a life 💀

BUT U STILL KINDA LIKED JAY THOO

it wasn't very visible as it was before b4

but this hurt jays ego like why aren't you foaming in the mouth whenever you see him???

BYE SOMEONE PLS HUMBLE HIM

so when you both were at a party

YOU LOOKED ETHEREAL

and it bugged him why were you hanging out with other people??

this man really thought you had no social life plss

you looked so pretty and he didn't even look at anyone else, it was just you.

this man fell in love with you gn.

and then from there, he saw you as a romantic aspect or wtv.

IT WAS SO FUNNY BECAUSE NOW HES THE ONE FOAMING AT HIS MOUTH WHENEVER HE SEES YOU

you kinda noticed that he liked you because he believed actions > words

he started picking you and dropping you off to school when your brother couldn't

he would even bring one of your favourite snacks along the way too

he would text you and talk to you more often

so one night while you and ur bsf had a sleepover

jay also had one w ur brother

AND BROOOO HE WAS SO JEALOUS U COULD SEE HIS EYES TURNING RED

jay vamp era frfr

he was being very passive aggressive to ur bsf

SO U CONFRONTED HIM 😁

and bro just straight up said "I like you"

followed by "I don't like when they talk to you"

so ur just there 🧍‍♀️

like helppp it was so awkward

after the confession, he asked you on a date and ofc you said yes

IT WAS SO CUTE TOO

but a few months in the relationship, you both are getting comfy with each other

its either a full on classy restaurant date or staying at home and watching Disney+

theres no in between

and ofc your brother is okay with this as he gets used to it

he loves to act like he doesn't care for you but you know he loves you

"no I'm not blushing!"

"jay you so are! I didn't know you liked backhugs!"

"SHUT UP"

# sim jaeyun ⎯ exes to lovers

it would def be you who broke up w him

I js don't see Jake calling off a relationship

and it would prolly be over the summer when you thought you and the aussie boy (😝😝😝) didn't click anymore.

mans would be sooo devastated like wdym ya'll don't click anymore???

he would spend more time thinking abt why you thought the relationship didn't work than actually being sad

mans really tried to move on but he srsly couldn't do it.

he was so comfortable with you, he couldn't do that with anyone else.

all his friends witnessed him going through the five stages of greif

it was sad actually 😭

he would still have you as his lock screen like he never even bothered to change it

so probably after 8 months of going through crappy dates and drinking his heart away (he got drunk on apple juice) he decided he wanted you back

so he reached out to you

found out you work at a cafe through his 'sources' (jungwon)

and when you see him he's like "whatttt? you work here????"

its giving stalker behaviour

do better jake 😕👎

and now that he KNOWS you work here

he comes there everyday at 4 right when you're shift begins

bro is the master at small talk

and that is when the small talk with you goes on for an hour and you realise its been an hour since your shift is finished.

he offers a ride back home

and you agreed since you didn't want to walk home alone

you didn't really see the problem with exes being friends and you told him abt it too but

NO NO NO

this man did not work this hard for ya'll to just be friends again

so he waited until your shift finished and decided to bring you your fav flowers

and he asked you if you wanted to go out

and he brought you to a picnic

and you're like "Jake??? its night???"

"you always wanted to have a picnic with me so I thought why not?"

plsss you were shocked that he remembered you wanting to have a picnic with him but you both never had the time.

he even brought your fav sandwiches and drinks it was so cute

and when he dropped you back home he confessed everything and he told you he wanted to get back together

after thinking abt it for a few days

you decided you wanted to get back tgt

so you showed up at his house with flowers in your hand (it was rlly cute plss 😭😭😭)

and when you both get back together

he really tried to make the relationship even more stronger an always assured you to talk to him if you had any problem

its cute because this man is never gonna let u go

like whenever ya'll walk tgt, he's gonna be holding your hand

you're making something in the kitchen? he's backlogging you

you wanna pee? this man's gonna follow you into the bathroom

jake's so cute plss😭😭

jungwon swears he's the reason you both got back tgt

"please you looked so funny when you fell on your butt!"

"remember the time where I dumped you?"

# park sunghoon ⎯ first love

I feel like this boy would not fall in love that easily which is why he hadn't had his first love

sure he had his first likes, loads of partners, but never love

and then baam

you came in 😎

he felt like it was one of those tv series where everything was in slow motion and like the spotlight was just on you

he just felt like it was just you and him in the ice skating rink

like bro's brain just flew through the window

and ofc his kdrama moment had to end because u fell on ur ass trying to skate.

and bro let me tell you

this man procreated the loudest snort alive to mankind

and ofc you glared at him

which made him run to you, helping you up

"hi, I'm sunghoon."

"ok"

he thought he would cry right there.

he apologised and asked to make it up by trying to take you out for ice cream.

ofc you couldn't say no

and you both got to know each other well

this man was scared because he thought he wouldn't se you again

so what did he do?

this man used every pickup line known to mankind

NO NO NO

he did not ask your number

INSTEAD he turned into the rizzlord

oh was it a sight to see

NO CAUSE YOU KNEW HE WANTED YOUR PHONE NUMBER

he was js really nervous

so u asked his phone and saved ur phone number

"maybe I could like yk teach you how to skate next time?"

"wtv you say hoon."

# kim sunoo ⎯ best friends to lovers

oh god the mutual pinning..

YOU BOTH LIKE EACH OTHER

WHY ARENT YALL SUCKING EACH OTHERS FACES RN?

riki asked calmly

and I wholeheartedly agree

you thought sunoo was js your bsf

which explains why he always looks out for you

waiting for you at the school gate everyday even if you're like 30 minutes late

or always getting you fav drink

or always covering for you if you got into trouble

LIKE NAHHHHH

be so fr rn

riki could not stand it

bro was about to grow white hairs

this man was the literal definition of a third wheel

everytime riki tried to talk abt you two

you always dismissed it

AND SUNOO WAS BUTTHURT

like were you that blind?

you were js scared you were gonna get rejected and all these years of friendship would go to waste

and ngl sunoo felt the same

so ofc your matchmaker riki pulled sunoo aside and asked him how he felt abt you

and pls sunoo loves you more than himself

he literally only trusts you

and you were the same for him

#goals

so riki used his amazing megamind brain and asked yall to talk abt your feelings

and it took a while to open up after riki left and by the end of it you both had shared your first kiss with each other 😁

NGL IT WAS REALLY CUTE

you both were red

and now since y'all are in a relationship

riki hated it more

"BOOO get a room."

ur dates were so cute

either it was hot choco dates or ''lets go play in the snow' dates

you always enjoyed it

because you are with sunoo (I physically cringed)

"maybe I should call u the sun cuz u brighten up every room u walk into."

"r u high?"

# yang jungwon ⎯ academic rivals

his jaw dropped when he saw the results

HELLO A 95???

man hasn't got anything below a 97

and there you were

waving ur results sheet at him with a clear 96

bro wanted to slap that smirk right off your face

so he asked the teacher to check his paper again

bye the teacher did not give two fucks

so he checked it himself

he was actually supposed to get a 94 but lets keep that to ourselves 😁

he js waited until the next exam to rot around and by that this man took a mental screenshot of every page in the book

a 94???

GOODBYE.

if there was a dissapear button in life

he would press 65 times

and what did you get

a 97.

happiest day of your life ngl

this man had a whole fit

HE COULD NOT BELIVE IT

the teacher actually had enough of you

and gave you both detention

all you had to clean the classroom

'bonding time' she said

'it'll be fun' she said

so when you started to clean the room

all you both could give each other were side eyes and silent curses

it was painful actually

you both divided the room saying this was his side and that was your side

but there were tiny moments were you were staring at him, admiring his side profile

THAT WAS SO UNLIKE U

U WERE SUPPOSED TO HATE HIM

but why did he look so ethereal when he was sweeping the floors

GET A GRIP.

so there was this moment were you both close to each other and you tripped on your untied shoelaces and landed ontop of him

he landed on his ass

so romantic I know.

and you both stared at each other for a long time (5 seconds)

before he pushed you off him

"EW."

he stood up and went back to sweeping and you were still on the floor

you stood and started cleaning again

but what you didn't realise was that he kept staring at you

occasionally having eye contact

after that day, you both became softer to each other

YOUR TEACHER HAD HER JAW DROPPED WHEN HE SAW YOU BOTH NOT FIGTHING WHEN JUNGWON GOT A 94 AND YOU GOT A 96

like hello???

where the hair ripping and shitty insults??

your friend were in school because you stopped talking bt how much you hate him and so were his friends

scary really

both of your friends thought that you both were planning some big revenge or something

but then they caught you smiling at him while walked past you??

they called an exorcist immediately

THIS IS NOT OK??

you both didn't whine and ask the teacher to change when you both were paired up for a project

you both had a fun time and you actually had a good convo

you both called truce

and you both started to not hate each other

and one day while you both talked you had a moment of silence when you just said 'fuck it' and went in and kissed him

GET A ROOM

and the next day in school

you both walked holding hands

everyone was so confused because um what the actual fuck?

"can't believe I used to hate this pretty face."

"ew jungwon"

"shut up before we go back to being enemies"

# nishimura riki ⎯ hates everyone but you

when he heard about love, all he could say was 'bs'

like be so fr

BUT THAT WAS UNTIL YOU ENROLLED IN THE SCHOOL

he swore he could hear wedding bells

everything abt you was so perfect

like he never had an ideal type but god damn bro

might as well have one rn

he like froze for a sec

crazy ik

tbh you didn't acknowledge his existence for a few days

until you saw him playing basketball w his friends

and his basketball met w ur face

bye ur nose did not stop bleeding

man came rushing to u when he realised it was u

he took you to the nurse and when you were all ok

he sheepishly grinned at you and apologised for hitting you w his basketball

you were quick to forgive him and you started to become friends since that day

everyone was in shock because you were the first person he'd ever talked other than his friends

and you were so confused because everyone kept telling this was so unlikely of him

he had never tied someones shoelaces when they were untied

or he had never lent someone his jacket

even to his friends

the privilege was showing

like u were so confused because he doesn't do this with other people

he prolly be like 😐 but when you're there hes like 😁

soo you asked him

"idk I like you"

HELLO???

"oh uhm haha same."

BYE YALL ARE SO AWKARD

it took a few weeks for him to grow some balls and ask you to be his s/o

and this man needed to always be on your side

he's gaming? ur on his lap.

he's playing basketball? ur playing with him.

UR LIKE EVERYWHERE

its so cute

makes me sick

"BABY WHERE R U GOING?"

"riki I need to pee."

perm taglist!! @flwoie @zuyairus @bubblytaetae @yenqa @haknom

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