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#and for some reason its kinda caught on

waywardsalt · 7 months

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unorganized ganonbeck brainworms going strong so now im thinking about ssbu ganonbeck cuz thats where it all began and its also just a really good ganonbeck premise

i mean, off the bat, ganondorf is a main playable character (i think y’all call em ‘smashers’? idk) and linebeck in ssbu is a master spirit so theyre both likely going to be known across the board by other spirits and smashers, so… they’re known. they can’t exactly fly under the radar and are generally visually noticeable, too.

i think ssbu ganonbeck is at its funniest when they’re trying to keep it a secret.

i mean, there’s probably hints in the beginning, linebeck going out of his way to watch ganondorf fight, ganondorf being seen talking with linebeck more often, other legend of zelda smashers and spirits having their own complicated feelings about these specific people seemingly getting to know each other better.

(im specifically interested in reactions from… idk specifically villains associated with ganondorf or… ANYONE canonically associated with ganondorf lol. linebeck just has toon link on his side)

the beginning stuff probably ramps up to slightly surprising stuff, linebeck seeking out ganondorf more often despite what people might assume of him, going as far as asking him to get drinks or something, and ganondorf just being oddly interested in what linebeck has to say over some others that make more sense and occasionally brining up things that linebeck has told him, this going all the way up to the two of them being noticeably flustered around each other, clearly signifying something-

and then to onlookers things appear to taper off back to just being friendly.

before things taper off, other spirits and smashers begin to take more notice, keeping an eye on ganondorf and linebeck out of curiosity, but once things appear to settle on just simply being friendly that attention goes elsewhere.

(of course, behind closed doors both literally and metaphorically, at that point ganondorf and linebeck start dating, but due to the prior attention decided it would be best just to keep it under wraps, out of irritation towards that attention and out of some sense that the knowledge of them dating wouldn’t go over well for some of the spirits or smashers, plus [mostly on linebecks end] worry over others making a stir over how odd the pairing is)

so time passes but people also start to notice that ganondorf is… less of an asshole? he seems to be in a better mood more often and while no one is really upset about that, it is curious and worth looking into.

it takes about a week for a group of smashers and spirits to (correctly) deduce that ganondorf is dating someone, and keeping it a secret. they can’t just ask ganondorf, so now there’s this little investigation group trying to figure out who’s caught ganondorf’s eye, and linebeck is removed from the suspect list because of course not, he’s more likely to be afraid of ganondorf and why would ganondorf be romantically interested in some random guy like that, they clearly dont have anything in common- (the group does not know about linebeck’s history of possession [he prefers to keep it secret], he still uses his old facade around the majority of people, and it is not common knowledge that he’s kind of a freak)

ganondorf and linebeck catch wind of the investigation and figure out their own set of excuses and hiding spots and every possible method of keeping things secret, so its practically a game to them as the investigating smashers and spirits go off on a wild goose chase the moment they eliminated linebeck as a suspect.

not every smasher or spirit cares about this investigation (they’ve seen enough relationships pop up and don’t really care about this new one) so in the midst of this mess, ganondorf and linebeck plan their next meetup based on what the investigation group are doing (without accounting for an uninterested party) and wind up getting walked in on by a group of smashers not involved with the investigation

linebeck and ganondorf end up being massively relived that the group that found them wont say anything (i always figure like. lucina (shes seen enough relationship shit to not care rn) cloud (its Not His Business) and sheik (really just wasnt interested) are the ones who find out), and the discovery group leave with exactly one rule: do not let toon link find out.

cue more ganondorf and linebeck figuring out ways to keep things secret, this time with a small group who do know, but they inevitably slip up a few more times so more and more people are in on it until the fact that they are actually dating gets out.

eventually, things flip; ganondorf and linebeck are no longer trying to keep their relationship a secret from everyone, everyone is trying to keep it a secret from toon link.

#IF I CANT DRAW THEN I WILL WRITE #ganonbeck #ganondorf #linebeck #ssbu #ofc this kinda relies on my specific read of linebeck but at the end of the day its just like #ganondorf and linebeck keep their relationship secret from the rest of the ssbu cast and shenanigans ensue #this can be like. a whole longish fic but i dont have the energy and idc abt most ssbu characters #this was supposed to be like. list of ideas vague concepts. this is a whole fic outline at this point #its a lil messy leans a bit into my specific read of linebeck and some ssbu biases but im thinkin abt ssbu ganonbeck and i htink its #funny if they try to hide their relationship in ssbu. they arent even the weirdest relationship thats sprung up but linebeck is insecure #part of the reason why its a secret is rlly bc ganondorf just doesnt want to deal with bullshit drama or w/e and linebeck is anxious abt it #id figure linebeck would be most in favor of keeping things a secret i imagine post-ph hes fucking sick of being the center of attention #look. them getting caught by the unconcerned group. it ranges from them being caught like. kissing. to getting it on in a storage room #this is all over the place but dont worry abt it. im just thinking abt them #you KNOW ww/ph link would have Thoughts on ganondorf and linebeck allegedly fucking #or something #salty talks

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copper-dragon-in-disguise · 4 months

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"you're like. a disney channel special character. you're the guy who the main character meets when they move to a small town and they get ostracized by everyone so they make friends with the one lonely kid who everyone makes seem super uncool and awful and then they get to know you and it's like you're actually really nice and smart and stuff and people just hate you for no reason.''

''oh. um. yeah thats- that's not actually that wrong actually I think no yeah you're- you're not that wrong actually um.'' (unsaid: i think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me and I might be a little in love with you now)

#he also calls me salad as a joke on what my name is #and caught me when i slipped on the ice at the crosswalk (by grabbing the strap on the back of my backpack but still it was nice)#fuck. i cant tell if i want to kiss him or if i want to be friends with him #im too aro for this shit #hi dont mind me having a mild crisis in the corner its cool ignore me *awkard thumbs up*#i. i dont know what this post is honestly but its Something thats for sure #fucking hell. i need to go eat food and play stardew valley and focus my emotional crisis on that instead #however. he is kinda cute. not in a stereotypically cute way in a he's kind of ridiculously adorable for some reason and i dont know why wa #and i want to have conversations with him cause conversations are fun and they're also fun with him. like extra fun #...shit #herein comes the problem that maybe im in love with my best friend and dont really know how to distinguish the two #...aww **shit**

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deadghosy · 3 months

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Ive just been reading your Lucifer big sister headcanons, and thier so so so so good, i love how you wrote it🥰. What about Lucifer with a little sister? Any thoughts? How different would he treat her? Maybe she fell at the same time as him and Lucifer blames himself for leading his sister down the same path as him. I can seen him being a protective older brother because come on their in hell surrounded by sinners its got to be stressful even tho she isnt weak what so ever but Lucifer can help but baby his sweet little sister.

(Obviously no pressure to write this)

Have a nice day 😁👋

As a younger sibling, I was gonna make this as I made the elder sister! So I’m glad you asked this as I can’t help but love to make this version. 🦆 sorry if it’s long, I just had fun making this🔥

YOUNGER SISTER! READER X PLATONIC HAZBIN HOTEL

Prompt: you are the younger sister of Lucifer Morningstar who fell along her older brother.

Dead ass you fell on top of Lucifer when you both fell from heaven.

“Groannsss….GET OFF!” Lucifer yells pushing you off him. You huffed getting off him as you dust yourself.

I headcannon reader to have a slight rebellious attitude sometimes like Adam but she’s not as terrible.

Like reader has a shirt that says “kiss my ass” with a kiss mark on the shirt as she puts up a rock gesture 🤟

Lucifer found your shirt and burned it, he can’t have his baby sister have such an inappropriate shirt!

“LU-LU! NOOO MY SHIRTTT” “THIS SHIRT IS NASTY LITTLE SIS!-”

He put his hand to your face to keep you away as he burned it. It was a funny sight as you huffed kicking him in his nuts as he groaned falling face first to the ground.

I also headcannon that reader is the reason why Charlie had a emo phase as reader kinda has a different aesthetic than Lucifer.

But on a serious note, Lucifer was kinda scared when you fell with him as he puts his hand through his hair watching you sleep. He couldn’t believe he brought his baby sister with him on his down fall. He knew he influenced you as you looked up to him more than the other angels. It was like if you were his child, his baby.

But he tucks you in bed as you were sprawled out in your bed snoring loudly. He chuckles kissing your head and leaving your room as he closes your door with a slight sad look.

Back to the funny sibling things, you are definitely the one who sneaks in the kitchen to take his leftovers for payback. After Lucifer walks out of his workshop tired and hungry.

You basically told him to take care of himself more. He walked in the kitchen to find his leftovers gone. So you could tell what happened next.

“Y/NNNNN!” You heard a fierce yell as you had shoved the food down your mouth and ran as you heard a loud flapping of wings behind you. “WHEN I CATCH YOU, YOU BETTER PRAY!”

It’s was so cartoony at how Lucifer chases you while you ran for you life. You have wings but he flys better than you so it’s no use.

He caught you, making you cook dinner for a month as you groan while he smirks patting a duck like a mafia man. “And you better wash the dishes too-” “NOW YOU ASKIN' TOOO MUCHHH!”

But soon the sinners came and made the freedom Lucifer gave them, turn into pure hell as you watch worried at the stress your older brother had. Lucifer tries to smile to show you it’s not affecting him, but it is.

He soon makes you stay all time in the palace, scared for your safety as you stay in your room worried at how isolated he soon becomes. Charlie would walk around babbling about you as she kept your company. You smile at your cute niece giving her boops to her nose.

I also headcannon you and Lucifer are like secret twins as you both hyper fixate about a lot of things like [favorite thing] as he hyper fixates on ducks and gives you his ducks to show off how cool he is as your older brother.

But also I can see reader being shorter than Lucifer, like to his shoulder as Lucifer blinks like a frog as you smile with an evil gremlin ready to stab someone.

But now for some overprotective brother headcannons.

You know how Lucifer when to see Charlie at her hotel, you joined wearing basically a female version of Lucifer’s outfit. But you wore shades to off your ✨coolness✨

Alastor was irritated at your louder personality but you also had a charming aura around you like how Lucifer has his prideful smile. Alastor smirks down at you as you are shorter than Lucifer, he kisses your hand with made you just stand there with a dotted blank expression.

Immediately Lucifer picks you up like a doll as he growls at Alastor like a dog ready to chump his hand off. He knew the radio demon just wanted to piss him off, so the whole time you were in the hotel with him. He always has you close and behind him from the radio demon.

Now if it was a sinner trying to court you, they better hope you don’t snitch like the young sibling you are. Cause ohhhh boy! Lucifer is teleporting to their house to give them nightmares. Maybe even killing them if they made you uncomfortable.

Heaven and hell agrees you are a cutie, demon or angel. Cause in heaven there were angels trying to court you but your brother was always behind you looking stern as he puff his chest trying to see if they suit you best.

Like literally he scares people off as you stand there minding your business.

“I feel a disturbance in the air…” Lucifer says as he was reading a book but pulls the curtains to see an angel trying to court you with their wings.

Immediately you’re being teleported to your room confused as a duck poofs in your hand.

“What the fuckkkk….” You say confused

#lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #fluff #hazbin hotel fluff #platonic Lucifer Morningstar #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x female reader #younger sister #young sibling activities #sister reader #young readers #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel x platonic!reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanons #hazbin hotel x you

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a-kaash-me-outside · 2 months

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˚₊‧ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪᴛ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀsᴜᴀʟ ɴᴏᴡ? ‧₊˚

♡ ft. geto, toji, gojo, higuruma, nanami ♡ total wc: 10.9k // nsfw minors dni! // ♡ contents: ౨ৎ 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 ౨ৎ, afab reader she/her pronouns, no smut in gojos or tojis im sorry, emotionally stunted men kinda but they grow isnt that nice (not talking abt higuruma and nanami god no), the aftermath of fwb caught feelings, consolation, emotional aftercare ig, lotta domestic fluff for higuruma and nanami's!!!! (everyone say ty @noosayog for nanami's bc she is the only reason i wrote his) ♡ listen along: casual by chappell roan ♡

- ᡣ𐭩 time passes and people change, and just because you fell first doesn't mean you don't get a happy ending + bonus continuation of higuruma's and nanami's ᡣ𐭩 -

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴇᴛᴏ [ 3 ʏᴇᴀʀs ]

on the list of people that you thought you’d see tonight, geto isn’t even in the top 100, not because of probability or likelihood, but solely based on the fact that you have not thought about this man in years. if you were asked the question from your future self, “holy shit, guess who we saw tonight?” you would’ve listed old friends, distant relatives, exes, minor celebrities, other flings, teachers from high school, people from stories you’ve only heard of, and then geto.

after that night, you really didn’t see barely any of him. a few posts on your feed: one 2 weeks after and another 2 months after that one when you remembered that you forgot to unfollow him. once on campus: him across a million tables getting lunch with some girl too long after your little thing for you to care about who she was to him at all. once at a mutual (though you didn’t know was mutual at the time) friend’s party close to graduation: you ran into him grabbing a drink from the cooler and neither of you said a single word to each other, just exchanged a very knowing glance.

fast forward a handful of years, with geto not on your mind during a single one of them, and you’re stunned, nearly speechless, as you recognize him across the bar. the track of which your mind is racing takes you stop after stop to thoughts and feelings you didn’t really ask to experience. they follow a curving roadmap in your mind of: why is he here? ↝ wow, he looks great ↝ does he live nearby still? ↝ that’s weird ↝ no, it isn’t weird, i still live here ↝ then what are the fucking chances that he’s here ↝ no, seriously he looks so good

he looks different though, you realize about 3 minutes into sneaking glances in his direction, in some way that you just can’t put your finger on right now. in your slightly tipsy state, you barely stop to ask yourself how you even clocked that it was him so quickly, how there was no hesitance in the recognition or questioning in the placing. he looks really fucking good.

in fact, now that all of the obligatory thoughts have come to a heed, that’s really the only thing that you can think about. how good he looks.

the events that happened that ended your situationship all of those years ago are nothing but outlines now; whatever you said or he said just sounds like underwater conversations. you can see the way that you left and you remember being dumbfounded, but everything else has lost its sting, like a story you’d recall to a friend of a friend in a setting much like the one you’re in. time has handled the memory the way that time does and as a result, when the two of you finally make eye contact after what feels like an hour of missed mutual glances, you offer a small wave. a wave that says, “i remember only knowing you in past tense. we are such different people now, i wonder what it would’ve been like if we met now instead.”

the wave was the first step, technically, sure, but he makes the literal first step. he departs from the conversation he’s been enthralled with for as long as you’ve been stealing glances and he weaves between people in the middle of their own stories before ending up in front of you.

when he does, he asks, as if he’s just randomly bumped into you rather than intentionally coming over, “shit… is that you?” he puts his hand on the back of your chair, thumb brushing your shoulder.

the friend that you’re with cocks their head, furrows their eyebrows, has no idea who this is or their connection to you, the timelines of their interactions with you spaced too far apart for one to know the other. geto notices this look, addresses it. “we used to…,” he pauses, “see each other? for a little bit.”

you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from your chest at the way he describes it. “yes, yes we did,” you nod. “back in college,” you explain a little further, “been a while.”

the interaction quiets, the two of you exchanging soft smiles instead of words, and your friend knows where this thing is going before either of you even do, so they bow their head, offer their seat to geto, and take their leave in the name of some bullshit excuse. he takes it without a second thought, asking you how you’ve been, laughing about the time that you saw each other at that party, and after an hour of just talking he says, “yeah, i actually thought about you the other day.”

you nearly choke on the drink he’s bought you. you rush to put it down. “you did?” you ask.

he nods. “i don’t even remember what prompted it. i think, maybe, i saw a photo of myself from college and how different i looked and how different i feel now and then just, out of nowhere, remembered how shitty i was to you.”

you don’t say anything in return, running your finger around the lip of your glass as you stare at him. you don’t know how to say that you don’t care anymore, that you haven’t thought of those days in years, that the surprise that you displayed a few seconds ago was completely genuine, because you were so convinced that neither of you had. it comes out something like a shrug and, “we were practically kids.”

he answers so quickly, “well, kids or not, i’m sorry.”

you laugh, gently so he won’t think you’re laughing at his apology. really, you’re laughing at the notion of apologizing for an act that no longer warrants forgiveness. you laugh at the thought of giving it anyways. you place your hand on top of his on the edge of the bar. “thank you,” you nod. he nods back.

when you let him take you back to his place for old times sake, you’re half-expecting the same person from the ghosts of memories from years ago, like all of the things he said at the bar were just a last ditch effort to usher the night in the exact direction that it’s heading in.

but he’s different now, just like he said he was before he apologized, and you can feel it in his movements and his actions. more confident, more intentional. he kisses you first and it doesn’t taste selfish. it doesn’t feel rushed to get to the main event. he savors it, holds your head in his hands, and doesn’t touch a single other inch of your body until he’s found the right combination of fingertip pressure and tongue that has you melting into his palm.

your mind flickers to the notion that these actions might be pre planned because they feel so meticulous and thought out, but that impression quickly dissolves when he sinks inside of you, slowly, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he does, his hand reaching down to cup your cheek, fingers nearly trembling against your jaw when he presses his hips completely against the insides of your thighs.

“shit,” he hisses, hands moving down to your waist, fingers light like feathers practically crawling against your skin, as if each print was so grateful it got to make contact with the softness below. when he grips into the fat of your hips, he’s careful, intentional or not, pressing his thumbs into the bone, but not letting his nails leave a single mark. it’s pressured, but comfortable.

he holds you in place, slowly pulling his hips back and he can’t help but look down between your legs, watching himself disappear inside of you, a creamy mess at the base, shallow breaths recycled in his chest.

“hey,” you say, eyes locked on the tenseness of his jaw and the way that he stops himself with sharp inhales. he finds your gaze in a second. “don’t hold out on me here.” you rest your arm on his bicep, fingers curling around wherever they can reach.

you can feel it under your palm, his muscle tensing as his pace picks up, rhythm consistent, but unrelenting. the breaths come out of you quickly and you’re unable to hold any sort of facade. “ah- shit, f-fuck,” you cry, “holy shit.” you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing harshly as strangled noises leave you without vetting a single one.

“n-no,” you shake your head, regretting it instantly as he slows down in response. you shake your head harder, “no, don’t stop, but- ah,” you groan, “your- you were- i meant,” you exhale a laugh, “let me hear you.”

his eyes widen slightly as he processes what you want from him, and then he listens. he leans down to kiss your lips and then your cheek and then your jaw and then your ear. yes, he’s fucking you better than you’ve ever been fucked in your entire life, but that’s not what makes you crumble. no, it’s his grunts and pants and breathy groans pressed right up against your skin.

you thread your fingers into his hair, twirling the ends of the locks between the tips, raking your nails down the base of his neck to the front, and then smoothing them down his chest. “more,” you mumble against him, and you’re not sure exactly what you mean, but he gives it to you, whatever it is. you’re certain he’d give you anything in the world right now if you just asked for it.

there’s a moment after when you’re lying there with him, shoulder pressed up against his, chest heaving, barely recovered, that you find yourself back in that college dorm. you don’t know why the tightness is rising in the hollow below your sternum, but it is. you remind yourself that you weren’t expecting anything from this anyway, so it doesn’t matter, but it does. you’re not sure if you just don’t want to be treated like that again or if it has something to do with geto being the one lying beside you.

when you turn your head to face him, he’s already looking at you. he doesn’t shy away in embarrassment, like it’s wrong that he’d be gazing at you after all of that. his features are steady, confident, strong. he smiles softly, brings his hand up to cup your cheek. “should we get breakfast in the morning?”

in the morning, you repeat in your head. you wait a beat, trying to come up with something to say, to proceed with caution or to discern his intentions or to at least not sound desperate, but all that comes out is, “in the morning?”

he nods, turning on his side so he can stare at you without his neck getting sore. he inches closer to you, kissing the top of your shoulder and then your temple. he drapes his arm over your stomach. “if that’s okay with you,” he says and then kisses you again.

“okay,” you nod back, lazy smile on your lips, eyelids heavy at the warmth surrounding you now as he pulls you closer to him. “yeah, sure,” you affirm, voice so soft and airy that the tightness in your chest is lifted away with the words, all that’s left is a hope you feel comfortable letting stick around.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴏᴊɪ [ 3 ᴍᴏɴᴛʜs ]

you are not expecting anyone. you have resigned yourself to a nice pair of pajamas and comfy socks and a warm cup of tea and a spot in the living room that you will only leave for a refill and bathroom breaks. you are tucked into the corner of your couch, back pressed up against the sturdy arm, legs crossed, and a throw blanket over your lap.

you are not expecting anyone, so the sound at the door should have felt a lot more jarring. well, it is jarring for a second, a few seconds actually, the echoing disruption bouncing off of the walls of your living room and back to you, but then the noises repeat themselves, like they’re on a looping track, and you realize that-

you know that knock. heavy-handed with a tight fist, back of the knuckles, not the tops. almost pittering out by the end of the three successions, like the first one is direct and assured, but the second and third don’t really bother keeping up. that knock almost makes you run to the door. if it were 3 months ago, you’d be skipping to the door.

but you hesitate for a few reasons. firstly because when the connection hits that you know that knock very well, you remind yourself to proceed with caution. secondly because it sounds the same but with a difference as small as a hairline fracture. you heard that knock far too many times during the span of a year and a half, and this one sounds almost completely identical, but there’s a half second pause between the first knock and the second knock and the raps feel less impatient.

you don’t have to look through the peephole to know who’s standing on the other side of the door, but you’re glad you do anyway. if for nothing else, it gives you a slight edge, you’re convinced, like you’ve seen him first, you have the upperhand now. at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

toji hadn’t contacted you since he left that day. no texts. no calls. no showing up at your apartment at 3 am. nothing. you kept telling yourself that you’d hear from him. when that didn’t happen, you started telling yourself that you didn’t care if you heard from him. you’ve actually been waiting for this moment, replaying what it would look like if he came back, the things you’d say to him and how you’d say them.

now, looking out at him just standing there, you’re frozen. every scenario you’ve replayed in your head, all of the emotional venting and blow out screaming that you’ve rehearsed and you can’t recall a single scene. you think about leaving him out there, about telling him to go away through the door or just pretending like you’re not home.

“i can see the shadow of your feet under the door,” toji calls out, muffled by the barrier between you guys, and yet it still rings out through your entire body.

you slowly open the door. though, even if it took an entire hour to open the door, you’re not sure it would’ve mattered. you don’t think time is something that could’ve prepared you for seeing him. seeing him didn’t even prepare you for seeing him. you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything, folding your arms over your chest. you just wait.

“i-,” he starts, but then immediately stops, half sighs/half scoffs as he leans his chest forward, eyes scanning the inside of your apartment, for what exactly you’re not sure.

“what, toji?” you ask, voice stronger- and more annoyed- than you anticipate it being. you’re grateful for that. “why are you here?”

“shit, this is already hard enough for me t-,” he says, shaking his head, corner of his mouth tugging upward in frustration.

you narrow your eyes, cutting him off, “sorry, this is hard for you?” you feel like laughing or strangling him more than you do crying, which is a desired outcome in this situation, you suppose. “you know that you haven’t talked to me in three months, right? you haven’t talked to me?” you ask, and you can feel your pulse in your wrist and your chest now, because the lines are coming back to you slowly, one by one, circling your brain, fueling your confidence.

“yeah, no, of course i know that,” he combats, like you’re the one that’s being an asshole right now.

you smooth your fingertips against your eyes, blocking the sight of him out for just a second before gesturing with your hand as you ask, “are you going to answer my question or…?”

“look, i said that this is hard enough as it is for me to just be here,” he snaps, and if you were a little less annoyed, if he hadn’t come at this whole thing exactly how he was, you might’ve clocked the desperation in his voice or the uncertainty in his pupils.

“do you know how fucking stupid you sound right now?” you ask. it’s a rhetorical question.

one week after he left, you were certain he was going to come back. you and toji had gone a week without seeing each other or even speaking. you had even gone two weeks. sure, the conversation felt much more serious and, sure, really deep down you knew this time was different, but still, you held out dumb hope.

one month after he left and you realized this was not just him being weird and distant. this was something brand new that you had never had to deal with before. you were still trying to figure out how to navigate it when the two month realization hit: that maybe he wasn’t coming back at all, ever, maybe you had done something wrong. if he had shown back up on your doorstep during that time this conversation would’ve gone very differently you think.

but he didn’t. he showed up at month three when your reaction to random memories of toji were no longer tears and guilt, but laughter and bitterness. there weren’t many things that toji could say right now that would warrant anything more than you standing in your doorway for 4 minutes or less.

“i-,” he starts, but then sighs. he looks left, down the hallway of your building, eyes shifting from object to object out of your view.

“please don’t waste anymore of my time,” you reply and it’s softer than you intend. you thought it’d come out angrier. that seems like a theme for you tonight: everything sounding different in your head. when he doesn’t reply, you start a countdown, promising yourself that when you make it to 15, you’ll close the door in his face. you only make it to 13.

“i’m not here to waste your time,” he says, with no air of disgust or annoyance, the first halfway decent thing he’s said to you tonight. “i-,” he huffs again, “i’m here to say sorry. and-,” he hesitates.

you wait, just listening. the longer that he hesitates, the more time you have to think about what he might say and how you’re standing with your door open for the entire floor to hear your conversation. you’re not sure what’s worse, having this conversation in the confines of familiar grounds or the openness of neutrality.

“and ask… are you already seeing someone else?” he finishes.

you’re dumbfounded, blinking at him slowly before responding in the only way you can think of right now, “goodnight, toji.” you shake your head, cursing yourself for expecting anything more.

“no,” he rushes to say and then stumbles over the rest, “i- i tried to see somebody else, quite a bit of other people actually…”

you scoff, squinting at him, saying more sternly this time, with an added attestation of closing the door in his face, “goodnight, toji.”

he reaches out with a quick reflex, grabbing the door before you’ve barely even moved it. “wait, no, i- fuck,” he mutters, scrambling, “can i just come in?”

“so that was your plan then?” you drop your hand from the door. “to come back here unannounced, be shitty to me, ask if i’m sleeping with anyone, tell me that you’ve slept with lots of people, and then ask if you can come inside?” you ask.

“i didn’t have a plan-,” he replies.

“clearly,” you interject.

“but i’m trying,” he finishes, and you’re waiting for there to be more, to explain exactly how this constitutes as trying, because you don’t really see that here.

“fucking christ, toji, you’re going to have to try harder than whatever the fuck this is,” you sneer.

“we- we had a good thing,” he tries again. you don’t understand how every time he opens his mouth it gets worse and worse. why are you even entertaining this anymore?

“fuck you, man,” you scoff, and it feels like all of the anger has left your body, and in the void where it once was present is nothing but disinterest.

“no, not like that,” he backpedals. maybe if he would say more than four words at a time, or four better words at a time, then you wouldn’t have to keep filling in the blanks or being pissed off or- “for the last six months of our relationship, i didn’t sleep with anyone else,” he admits like it’s the answer to all of your problems. the word relationship burns at the forefront of your mind so hard that you don’t realize what he’s said for 10 whole seconds.

“i, so what?” your voice is unconvincing even to your own ears. you had slept with other people even 2 months before that last day. that wasn’t the issue. you guys were allowed to sleep with other people. you had an explicit conversation about the fact that you could sleep with other people, something along the lines of, hey, we can see other people right? yeah, we’re not fucking dating. okay, just checking.

the so what, you had already answered for yourself, inner voice replying to your own question, screaming, you guys were exclusive, unknowingly to each other, for 2 whole months before you confessed and he left.

his answer is much different. he says, “so nothing really. i just- i needed you to know that.”

“well, what the fuck do you want me to do with that?” you ask, and it comes out bitter and discouraged, but what you really mean is, please tell me what you want, please, can you just tell me that you missed me.

“whatever you want,” he answers instead.

you take a deep breath, a million emotions coursing through your veins and up your throat. “you know what?” you say, and it doesn’t sound angry, it sounds playful, “no, seriously,” you smile and then you laugh, “fuck you, toji.” you close your mouth like you’re done talking, like that’s all you needed to say, but your heart disagrees, forces more words out into the air no matter how hard your jaw is clenched shut.

“you show up here and you’re an asshole and then you’re decent and then you say shit like that and then- then i ask you what you fucking want from this, what you’re trying to play at here and you tell me whatever i want?” you say, exasperated.

“what i wanted was for you not to leave me three fucking months ago. that’s what i wanted,” you spit, “i wanted you to tell me this shit three fucking months ago before i sat alone, by myself, sad and then angry, and the entire time, fucking missing you, you fucking asshole. that’s what i wanted.”

and then it’s there, out in the open, airing for the two of you to witness and to face, and no matter what happens, you know you’ve done everything and said everything that you’ve needed to. he’s quiet for a few moments and you let him be, not tapping your foot or rolling your eyes or being pissed off, but just letting it play out. if this is the last time you ever see toji, why not just let it play out?

“okay,” he says, and it’s soft in a way you’ve only ever heard from him one time in your entire relationship. “i’m sorry.” he pauses. “i really don’t know how to do this,” he admits and you believe him. it feels different from when he told you something along those lines earlier, but you have a feeling that this is what he was trying to say all along.

“do what?” you push, because your mind is making assumptions, but if he’s going to prove anything to you, he needs to start now.

“ask for forgiveness?” he says, like he’s thinking out loud, “apologize? date someone?” you don’t say anything. you’re looking for something more concrete than that. it takes a handful of uncomfortable seconds before he says, “actually care about someone.”

“and do you?” you ask.

his lips press into a thin line, his eyes shift from left to right again. you can feel him getting antsy with the conversation and he’s barely said one vulnerable thing. you look at him, eyes soft and pleading, silently begging him that if he’s grown from this, you’ll let him back in, you swear, but you’ve been hurt before and you know what you’re worth, so you’re going to need some sort of evidence as collateral. “yeah,” he mumbles, but it’s audible. “you,” he says like it isn’t obvious, and it’s quiet and daunted, but you really appreciate the effort.

“okay,” you say, and that’s all you say.

“okay?” he questions, confused. “that’s it?”

“yup,” you say, but your small smile and the fact that you’re not slamming the door in his face again gives away a bit more than that.

“can i… come in?” he asks, hesitant, like he’s still being tested.

you shake your head, hand gripped onto the edge of the door. “no,” you say, scrunching up your nose and furrowing your eyebrows. “because if you come in here, we’re going to have sex,” you admit, half because it’s the truth and half just to see the look on his face. (it’s worth it.)

“wait,” he says, placing his palm flat against your door, but not moving it. his hand is now inside of your apartment, the only part of his body that’s made it past this invisible barrier of hallway and your place. “that sounds like a great thing. why am i not allowed in?”

“because this is me having self-control,” you explain, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing the small portion of him that’s crossed the division back into the hallway. when you feel his skin against your pinky, soft fabric of that familiar shirt underneath your palm, you almost make a fool of yourself right after you say the word self-control, but you remind yourself what’s at stake here, what you really want.

“i came all the way out here to see you-,” he starts, but he doesn’t make a move to replace his hand on your door, letting his arm fall back to his side. it’s for the better, too, because you’re not sure how much more self-control you have already, no matter how much you tell yourself about longevity and whatever.

“if you really care,” you interrupt him, using his few vulnerable words against him, “and you weren't just trying to sleep with me tonight,” you pause, letting those words sink in, “you will go home and you will call me tomorrow morning and we will get breakfast- the least sexy meal of them all- and then maybe coffee if i enjoy hanging out with you outside of just having sex with you, and then we will go from there.”

“i-,” he starts to protest, but you cock your head. the truth is, if he said another word, reached out and touched your cheek or your hip or really anywhere on your body, if he kissed you, or just walked inside of your apartment and sat down on your couch, you wouldn’t have stopped him. you might even have gotten breakfast with him anyways. he doesn’t know that, you don’t think, but even if he does, he doesn’t act on it. he bows his head slightly, conceding, and says, “okay. i will just… talk to you… tomorrow… then.”

you nod. “goodnight, toji,” you say, hand on the door, closing it as slowly as you opened it.

“uh, yea, night,” he says back. you won’t tell anyone, and neither will he, about the stupidest small smile you see on his lips as he leaves your apartment that night or the fact that he wakes up extra early the next morning, muttering under his breath about how ridiculous dating is before he calls you at 9:30 on the dot.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴏᴊᴏ [ 3 ᴡᴇᴇᴋs ]

being away from ɢᴏᴊᴏ feels like detoxing. not from like hard drugs or alcohol, but… coffee.

like you know it’s not necessarily good for you, drinking it every day, but it’s a habit you’ve had for a while now and you just can’t seem to break it. it’s not really hurting anything in your day-to-day and you’ve been doing it for so long that it’s probably fine to just keep doing it.

but out of nowhere it hits you that maybe drinking coffee as much as you do is a waste of money and even if you don’t feel the negative effects constantly in your daily routine, you remind yourself of the times where you could distinctly feel the thump of your heart and the unsteady of your hands. you recall the time that you stayed up all night for the promise of a cup of coffee to get you through the day. in every memory that you’ve ever had in your entire college career, you’re holding a cup of coffee.

so one day you make the choice to stop. you stop buying coffee from coffee shops and pods for your coffee maker and cups from diners and accepting free ones from friends. you don’t really need a good cup of coffee as badly as you think you do. and it’s stupid, you think, because it’s just coffee. it doesn’t mean anything. just because you’ve been drinking it consistently for quite awhile doesn’t mean it has any sort of hold over you. it’s just coffee.

but then the headaches come and the irritation sets in and nights are hard, but for some reason mornings are unbearable, and you feel antsy all the time and you haven’t left your room in the past three days and the only thing you want is a cup of fucking coffee and you can’t relapse with coffee; it’s fucking coffee.

yeah, being away from gojo feels a lot like detoxing from coffee.

you try to just not see him. it’ll be easier for you if you just don’t see him, you tell yourself. you go out of your way to avoid his walking path on campus and you refuse to leave your dorm when you don’t absolutely need to in fear of bumping into him or worse, just seeing him from afar, and god forbid you even come within three streets of the corner where his apartment resides. you block his number and you delete social media off of your phone for the time being, too many mutual friends to make casualties, and you do not let yourself think about him. not falling asleep, not when you wake up, not while you’re doing homework, not in your dreams or in the shower, not when something reminds you of him, not when you see his favorite show on your recently watched, not when you really need a good cup of coffee.

and it works for a while.

but not forever.

three weeks into your detox and you’re doing such a good job at not thinking about gojo that you mix up his monday schedule with his tuesday schedule and on your way back to your dorm, you see him. if you keep walking at the same pace that you’re walking, you will collide with him. if neither of you do anything, one of you will get hurt.

you look down at your phone, hoping, in the forefront of your mind, that he didn’t see it was you. (in the back of your mind, you’re hoping that he’s the one to break the longest bout of silence the two of you have had since you met.) when you sneak a glance, he’s already almost reached you, jogging to catch up with you. “hey,” he calls out, just in case you haven’t seen him.

“hi,” you say, stopping in place and letting him approach you.

“i’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” he offers, like you wouldn’t have known that.

“oh, sorry, haven’t been on my phone,” you lie. he knows that you’re lying. he can tell that you’re lying, so you don’t really know why you lie in the first place. maybe to prove a point. maybe to make him feel bad.

“look, about…,” he trails off, trying to remember how long he’s been without you, “about that… day…,” he opts for instead.

you put your hand up, waving the topic off. you mean to say something like, don’t worry about it, see you later, but it comes out like, “we don’t have to talk about that here.” here. fucking here. if you would’ve left those four letters out, it would’ve been a perfect line to walk away with, but you don’t. your stupid coffee-craving brain tacks it on, hopeful.

“right,” he says, nodding, “should we get coffee maybe, then, or?”

it’s not out of the ordinary, or it didn’t used to be, but now it feels taboo. you want to snap and ask him if he’s sure, because coffee sounds a bit too much like a date for people that aren’t together, but you realize very quickly that the irritation from your coffee detox is maybe a little bit too much to hold in without any closure. “sure,” you agree, “i just got done with class so we cou-.”

“i know,” he says, because three weeks hasn’t erased your schedule from his brain either.

you order an iced tea. you’re still convinced you’re done with coffee for good. he looks surprised at your choice, like he’s never seen you order an iced tea before, because he hasn’t, but he doesn’t say anything. you sip on it throughout unpleasant pleasantries and it’s refreshing, but it’s lacking something. in fact, the longer that you drink this stupid drink that has caffeine anyways and isn’t as good, the irritation bubbles higher and higher until- “can i start?” you ask, tapping your fingers against the table in rhythmic succession.

“yeah, sure,” he says, bringing his coffee to his lips and taking a sip.

“if at any point in this conversation your answer to anything i have to say is that we weren’t together, i don’t think we should have this conversation,” you reason, and you mean it, but his reaction takes you aback. you notice the smallest flinch when you say weren’t.

“i wasn’t-,” he shakes his head, sighing, “no, i wasn’t going to say that.”

“okay,” you say, dragging your fingertips along the condensation on the side of your glass. “then what were you going to say?”

he thinks for a minute, like he didn’t assume that he’d get this far when he brought up the idea of coffee. “i wanted to stop you from leaving,” he says.

“but you didn’t,” you rebuttal.

“i didn’t,” he affirms. it’s quiet again. you can hear the scrape of the cups against the table as they’re picked up, drank from, and put back down. the chatter in the coffee shop drones over the sounds of hesitance and nerves. “i’m sorry,” he says after a while.

“so, do you think we were together?” you ask, “and be honest. i’ll know if you lie.” you search his face as he answers, and the only thing that comes up is another flinch when you talk in past tense again.

“yeah,” he says, honest. “being apart from you these past three weeks has been one of the shittiest things i’ve ever been through.”

“ever?” you ask, quirking your eyebrow, as if it isn’t somewhat true for you too.

he nods in response, continuing, “it’s been hard.” he pauses. “i’m sorry i was so shitty.”

“pretty shitty, yeah,” you agree, but you can’t hide how nice it feels to just talk with him again, to call him shitty and to sit across from him at a coffee shop table. “i’m sorry i ghosted you these past few weeks,” because it deserves to be said too.

“i really missed you,” he says, and he doesn’t hide from it. he looks you directly in your eyes and you can tell that he wants to reach across the table and hold your hand. you want that too.

“me or just, like, sleeping with me?” you ask, somewhat terrified of the answer, scanning his face for the truth once again.

he laughs softly and, try as you might, you can’t stop the fluttering in your stomach or the warmth in your cheeks hearing that for the first time in too long. “please, i haven’t thought about sleeping with you once,” he jokes.

“oh, no? not at all?” you ask, scoffing lightly, a tiny smirk threatening to break.

he forces a thoughtful frown, shakes his head dramatically and says, “can’t say that i have.” you’re laughing now, but through smile-squinted eyes you can still tell that he’s actually being genuine. “not really,” he says.

“so just me then?” you ask to make sure.

“just you,” he affirms. “a lot of just you.” you hum, content with his answer, but he gives you even more than thought he ever could, “i don’t want to just go back to the way things were. i don’t think that’s enough for me anymore.”

even though you’re sure a response like this would’ve sent waves of shock through your entire body, it doesn’t. it just feels right. you reply quickly, “good. i don’t think it’s enough for me either.” you reach across the table. the back of your hand brushes against his, and then past it. you wrap your fingers around the handle of his coffee cup and bring it to your lips.

he doesn’t protest or snatch it away from you or make a snarky comment. he places his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow against the surface of the table, and smiles at you. you take a sip from his mug, warmth spreading through every bit of your body.

why would you deprive yourself of coffee when it brings you so much comfort?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍᴀ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

you’re not exactly sure how many times something has to happen before it becomes a theme.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“do you -huff- want to -huff- have kids someday?” higuruma asks from beneath you, palms resting on the tops of your knees, thumbs massaging up to the insides of your thighs.

you slow your bounces and then you stop them completely. you blink at him once and then twice. “that is a really wild thing to ask while you’re inside of someone,” you scoff, searching his face for any kind of tone indicator. is he being serious? is he just saying something to get a rise out of you? is this a kink thing?

he smirks, placing his hands on your hips, coaxing you to continue your movements, and you do. you lift yourself off of him, slowly at first, but then picking up speed as you chase the feeling you lost when he asked the question. you’re breathless when he asks again, the repeated question no longer stilling you. the second time around it feels almost normal. “do you?” he asks on his exhale.

you shake your head and then tilt it side to side, closing your eyes so all of the conflicting fast paced movements don’t dizzy you. “i- don’t- know-,” you huff, “maybe- conversation- for- a- different- setting.” each word is punctuated by the slap of your thighs against his hips. he nods, completely okay with that answer, and then just drops it.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“shit,” you say in realization, hips circling, fingers combing through his hair. you pull your head away from his shoulder, pushing yourself up to look him in the eyes. “wait, how did your meeting go today?” you ask, and this time neither of you miss a beat.

when he slows to think about it, you pick up his slack, rolling your hips, feeling the drag of him inside of you, a breathy moan floating up your chest. he answers over your noises, “really good actually.”

“everything as planned?” you ask further, genuinely just as invested in this as you are in the act.

he nods, smiling. “yeah, to a t,” he says, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulling you against his chest. he kisses the side of your temple, holding you in place with a tight grip as he lifts his hips off of the bed, thrusting into you. “surprised you didn’t ask as soon as i came through the door.”

you shake your head against his shoulder, placing a soft kiss against his collarbone. “was thinking about it all day,” you explain. he fucks into you faster in response and it feels like a reward for caring about the things that are important to him. “but when- shit- when you got home…,” you grunt, “it completely- ah, fuck- completely slipped my- ah- mind, s-sorry.”

“ts alright, pretty.” he nudges his nose against your cheek, peeling your attention to his face. your cheek rests against his shoulder and you blink at him, focus dipping from the topic at hand as you feel that familiar tightening in your core. he can see it written all over your face, so he drops his head to kiss you, silently communicating that you don’t have to worry about finishing the conversation right now. he’ll bring it up again in a bit.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“should we get married?” he asks, back up against the headboard, looking you directly in your eyes, gaze following yours as you rise and fall.

“you are not proposing to me while i’m riding you,” you say, shaking your head, but you don’t still or slow. conversations like this in a setting like this just don’t phase you anymore. honestly, it wouldn’t surprise you if he did propose right now. you’re not even sure you’d say no.

the corner of his lip tugs upward and he exhales a laugh as he leans forward the smallest bit to kiss you. “i’m not, i’m not,” he assures, “why? would you say no?”

you’re quiet for a minute, not because you don’t know the answer, but to keep him on his toes. you won’t lie to him, you don’t think, but you don’t want to come right out and say it. his questions are rhetorical anyways, half-jokes that he’s not expecting serious answers to; you’ve known higuruma well enough and long enough to be confident of that. you could’ve replied with an eye roll and a scoff and nothing else and he would’ve dropped it. instead, however, you answer, “course not. i’d say yes in a second.”

he nearly comes inside of you right there.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

maybe it becomes a theme when someone points it out.

you can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, the way that the two of you keep having these serious conversations during sex. you know that you don’t do it on purpose; things will just hit you during the repetitive motions and you worry you’ll forget them and you know that higuruma won’t judge you for just saying them, so you do. whether this is the case for him, you’re not sure.

but the interruptions just keep getting more casual. it starts with big conversations: weddings and promotions and thoughtful decisions, and then it’s like you just start remembering things in this position: work drama and mundane did you knows. it’s almost as if starting with big topics just made it seem so easy to talk about anything like this.

it didn’t help, you think, that it’s just always easy to talk about anything with higuruma. you guys have been together, officially together, for over four years now, and conversation, no matter the topic or severity or setting, is something you’ve never struggled with. you continue to not struggle with it, inside of the bedroom and out.

you’re not sure what about the position and the moment makes you so susceptible to remembering little things that you want to tell higuruma when he’s not around, and vice versa. in fact, you’re not even convinced that it’s something about the action that jogs your memory anyway, it’s probably just a really weird and common coincidence.

and then one night you can’t find your keys.

you’ve searched everywhere for them, in your car, in your bag, every nook of your room, the places where they normally are, higuruma’s coat pocket just in case, and then everywhere else in your guys’ apartment. they’re nowhere to be seen.

when higuruma walks through the front door, even from where you’re searching in the kitchen, you hear him let out an elongated, “woah.”

you pop your head into the doorway, “don’t say anything about the mess.” you can see his eyes resting on the overturned couch cushions and then on the various opened drawers. “hey,” you warn, pointing towards him as you walk quickly into the living room. you throw your arms around him tightly and give him a small greeting peck. it’s routine at this point; if you don’t do it your whole night feels off. “i said don’t say anything.”

he lets you hang off of his neck as he puts both hands up in surrender. “i didn’t say shit,” he says, pressing a kiss into the side of your neck, then moving his hands to your waist, “the fuck happened here though?” he laughs against your skin and you can feel the vibrations travel to your fingers and toes.

you pull away from him, shaking your head. now that you’re back in the living room, it’s like you have to start this room’s search over too. you start checking under the couch and in the hall closet. “lost my fucking keys,” you grumble, smoothing your palms over your face, “i swear i’ve looked everywhere. i just can’t remember where i left them when i got home.”

“did you check th-,” he asks, walking into the kitchen, grateful that you’re not in there with him or he knows you’d yell at him for the way his eyes go wide at the clutter and chaos everywhere.

you cut him off, “wherever you’re about to say, probably yes, ughhh. i’ve retraced my steps, i’ve looked in places that are fucking stupid to look in like every pair of shoes we own and in the fucking guest bedroom pillowcases. i’ve looked everywhere.”

from where he’s stood in the kitchen now, he can see you scrambling as you vent. he leans against the wall, “well, not everywhere or you would’ve found it by now.”

“i’ll kill you,” you say, eyes snapping up to meet his to show how serious you are.

he just laughs, “i’ve got a pretty good lawyer, you might not want to do that.”

“good legal can’t help you when you’re dead,” you snap, almost completely joking. he meets you back in the living room, helping you check all the places you’ve already checked.

15 minutes pass and then 35 and then he stops abruptly. “oh my god, i have an idea,” he says, and you look at him, hopeful. “you know when you usually remember things?”

your first reaction is joking annoyance, picking up a throw pillow and sending it his way. he catches it and sets it back down on the couch. “i’m serious!” he yell-laughs.

you throw another pillow at him as your second reaction sets in. “that’s not going to fucking work,” you say.

“how do you know?” he asks.

“because,” you say, trying to come up with a good answer other than just blind doubt, “because i don’t remember things while i’m riding you. it’s not a fucking superpower.”

“you don’t know that,” he jokes back and braces to be hit with another pillow. “okay, okay, but i’m being serious! besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen? you don’t remember and we’ve had sex, how horrible,” he reasons.

you let your arms fall, pillow in your hands resting against the tops of your thighs. you look at him, thinking, which, in hindsight, was a dumb thing to do, because higuruma can see the contemplation on your face.

eight minutes later and he’s inside of you and you’re the most embarrassed you’ve ever been.

“this is so stupid,” you mumble. you haven’t moved an inch after slowly lowering yourself onto him. you’re fully seated against his hips, hands smoothing over your face and then lingering there, covering.

he reaches up, fingers soft and kind as he wraps them around your wrists, pulling them away from your face. “ts not stupid,” he reassures, but you’re not convinced. you groan, turning to look away from him, but that just won’t do. he reaches up again, soft grip on your chin coaxing your gaze back to his. “hey,” he says softly, “just focus here, angel.”

you listen, somewhat, mind still flickering back to why you’re even riding him in the first place. “just enjoy yourself, okay,” he tries again, rolling his hips upwards, pressing himself inside of you as deep as he can. you close your eyes, and it’s quite easy to just focus on the feeling of being as full as you are right now. “good,” he whispers, “just like that.”

it doesn’t take long for you to lose yourself completely, moving on your own, letting the whimpers and whines take over any other thought you might think to say, chasing that feeling rather than worrying about whatever you’ve lost.

it all kinda clicks at once: where your keys are and why you always remember shit when you’re like this.

in the midst of everyday noise, so many things get lost: important and unimportant thoughts alike. but now you’re not worried about anything else. you don’t care about anything else right now. you don’t have to. you don’t want to. and in this state of letting everything go, mindless and blissful, some things slip back through the cracks.

you collapse onto higuruma’s chest, spent and happily aware of this new revelation that you have not, for once, shared in the middle of sex, but kept quiet as a come down surprise. you hum softly as he rubs up and down your back, hum again as he presses a kiss into your forehead. “m sorry it didn’t work, angel,” he murmurs.

you turn your head, ear pressed right against his heart as you gaze up at him. “i left them in the fridge,” you reveal, and he knits his eyebrows together.

you assume that he’s going to say something about how did you leave them in the fridge? or why are they there? but instead he questions, “what? and you didn’t tell me until now?” like you’ve harbored a life long secret. you laugh softly, snaking your hands up and scratching your nails against his scalp, playing with the ends of his hair. “don’t think this is going to get you out of it,” he says, “‘ts my favorite thing when you just blurt shit while you’re on me.”

you can feel the warmth in your cheeks and your chest as you breathe a laugh. “you’ve never told me that before,” you murmur.

“think it’s cute when you just can’t wait to tell me things,” he says, “feels more intimate than being inside of you.”

“ew,” you say, scrunching up your nose, even though you weirdly agree.

he just laughs in response. a few seconds of quiet comfort pass before he backtracks, “wait, why the fuck are your keys in the fridge?”

and you tell him all about it, about the day that you’ve had and how you remembered you hadn’t drank enough water so you were refilling your bottle from the pitcher in the fridge as soon as you got home from work, but your hands were full so you set your keys on top of the leftovers from yesterday, but then you had to go and set everything down and the fridge closed and by the time you left the kitchen you remembered you needed to do something else… and it just keeps going.

you tell him as you’re taking a shower and as you’re eating dinner together and as he’s brushing his teeth and you’re washing your face and laying in bed and setting your alarms. every room in the house is a mess, but you’ll deal with that later, you decide. you rest your chin on his shoulder. “and how was your day?” you ask, even though the clock reads much later than it should for how much sleep you both should get before you’re up early for work tomorrow.

nevermind that, he decides, and tells you all about it anyways.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

“can i ask you something and when i ask you, you’ll know i don’t mean anything bad by it at all because i love you more than everything in the world?” you ask, putting down your phone only after you’ve finished your sentence.

you wait a few seconds for nanami to take in what you’ve asked. he reaches over to the night stand for his bookmark and sticks it between the pages. he shuts it with an audible shuffling of paper and a sharp thump.

nanami has been with you long enough to not typically be surprised by your out of the blue… questions. (dronings? is there a word like droning but the connotation is more positive? like you talk at him a lot and he loves to hear the ramblings in your brain, but sometimes he is just trying to read his book before bed. whatever that word is.)

he places the book on his lap and then turns his chest towards you completely. you now have his full attention. “is that a yes?” you ask.

he inhales deeply, “if i say no, will you still ask it?”

you think on the answer to that question, really mulling it over before shaking your head. “no, i don’t think so.”

“then yes,” he smirks, “i suppose i have to say yes then.”

“great,” you say, tossing your phone onto your bedside table with a clunk. you sit up straighter, rocking forward to fully adjust your position on your side of the bed. you put your hand on his thigh and cross your legs, letting your knee rest on the side of his comforter covered hip. “do you ever regret not dating more?”

it definitely takes him by surprise. he thought you might drop another weirdly specific hypothetical about would he love you if… or request a glass of water even though you already told him tonight when he was getting into bed and he asked if you wanted one, that you did not.

now he’s the one mulling over your question and despite how nerve wracking it could be to wait for an answer to a what if that involves not you, you’re not anxious in the slightest. you’re quiet, just waiting for his answer, and when he finally speaks, you know exactly why you weren’t scared in the first place, “i’ve honestly never thought about it since i met you.”

“really?” you ask, and you’re mostly feeling very lucky that nanami is yours and you are his, but there is an underlying feeling of guilt that he’s unintentionally caused with this statement.

he nods. “sounds like you have though,” he says, and it’s not even a little bit judgmental. it sounds like he’s imploring you to keep talking, like he wants to hear exactly what you’re thinking, why you brought it up in the first place.

“i wouldn’t trade this security, this love, exactly what we have, you for anything in the world,” you start to explain, and it’s nothing but the truth, “but sometimes i just think about that first night when we were in that bar. the flirting, the risks, that feeling of not knowing where the night is going to end up. sometimes i think about that a little bit.”

he hums, thinking about that night, and after a few seconds of silence, he speaks up again, “first date nerves,” he nods, “now that i think about it, i miss those.”

you cock your head at him. that’s a weird part of dating to miss, you think, but then he explains further, “like when we went out on our first date and i didn’t know what you were going to wear or if you liked the restaurant i picked or if you’d let me pay for your food.”

“or if i’d take you back to mine,” you joke, raising your eyebrows at him, but really you’re burning inside. your cheeks feel warm just hearing about these feelings he’s never mentioned to you before.

“yeah, that too,” he laughs, getting back on track, “like, i’m still finding out new things about you all the time, but back then i was discovering who you were every second we were together, and that- that felt like…”

“like finding out soulmates were real?” you ask, because that’s what it felt like to you, that same exact phenomenon he’s describing. he smiles at you warmly, like you’ve just put to words what he felt he could only experience. “i know what you mean,” you smile.

he leans forward, cupping your cheek with his hand and guiding you towards him. he kisses you softly, placing his other hand on your other cheek and kissing you harder. “should we go on a first date again?” he asks against your lips, barely pulling away to speak.

you laugh, but when you pull away, you can tell he’s not joking. “what?” you ask, “what do you mean?” you’re already blushing though, already feeling the exact first date nerves he was just talking about.

“let’s go on a first date,” he repeats himself. “i’ll pick you up at your front door and i’ll choose the restaurant and it’ll be a surprise and i’ll ask you questions that i’d ask you on a first date even if i know the answers to all of them and more at this point.”

you’re smiling so big that your cheeks are sore as you nod fervently at the concept. “okay, yeah,” you agree.

“right, so we probably shouldn’t kiss or make out or sleep with each other until then to really play into the whole thing?” he teases, and you roll your eyes in response.

“you’re very funny, kento,” you say, leaning in, brushing your nose against his. he doesn’t even last a second, closing the gap with a small peck and then another and then another and then a much longer one and then he’s putting the book on his nightstand so he can pull you into his lap.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

you get a text 5 minutes before 7 that nanami is going to be 3 minutes late picking you up. the text looks a little weird underneath a thread of:

>> nami <3 >> how’s work baby

<< read << if you love me you’ll come and pull the fire alarm to get me out of here early :) :) :)

>> nami <3 >> fine but that’s a class four felony in some cases. will you be providing legal assistance or should i look elsewhere????

<< read << how do u know that?? nerd!!!

>> nami <3 >> google tbh.

<< read << wow. first i have to stay at work all day alone and sad and now i get to know my bf isn’t sexy and off the dome smart about everything. :(

>> nami <3 >> goodbye.

<< read << :(

>> nami <3 >> i love you

<< read << :)

you bite back the urge to reply with something you’d say to him after knowing him for years. rereading the text and thinking back to your first date, it makes you giggle. actually, it makes you kinda nervous. you text back a polite no worries! take your time! and he replies with a heart and you truly feel like you’re dating for the first time again. you feel honest to god giddy.

arriving to the restaurant, you are genuinely surprised. you thought after knowing him as long as you have and having gone to as many restaurants with him as you have, you’d go back to somewhere nice you’ve already been. but that isn’t the case.

he drives you to a pop-up restaurant 20 minutes out of town that you’ve never even heard of, but is the cutest place you’ve ever been, and the entire time he can’t stop sneaking respectful glances at you. he won’t stop telling you how nice you look. he even apologizes for it by the sixth time, pushing your chair in at the restaurant saying, “i know i keep mentioning it, and i’m sorry, but if i said it every time i thought it, it’d be a never ending string.”

if he keeps this up, you’re going to feel like you’re cheating. this seriously feels like a first date, like you’ve been in a relationship for over 5 years and you’re also going on a first date and it’s really messing with your head, but you never want it to stop.

he stays true to his word, asking you questions he already knows the answers to, but hearing them again, they sound brand new. he doesn’t know if he’s just forgotten some of them or if the testaments of time have weathered your answers just enough to sound unfamiliar, but either way, he’s hanging on to every word.

by the end of the night, you’ve truly convinced yourself that there are stakes to this date, like if you play your cards wrong, you won’t get to keep seeing this incredible guy. he pays the whole bill, even though you insist on getting your meal or at the very least dessert. he says, “you can try next time too.” and you can’t breathe, you feel so lucky.

“i’m sorry if this seems forward, but i’d really like to keep seeing you tonight,” you say as the waiter takes away the paid bill, and your heart is thumping so violently against your chest, you swear he can feel it too.

he shakes his head, “perfectly forward,” he smiles, “your place or mine?” you break character for the first time tonight, giggling at the reality of the question, hiding behind your hand as you do. “what’s so funny?” he asks, but he’s grinning just as big as you are.

“just thinking about how dreary my life would be if i hadn’t gone on this first date,” you say, and it’s a little too meta, but he’ll let it slide, because he’s a bit flustered at the sentiment. “mine is great,” you answer, placing your hand on his, rubbing the tips of your fingers against his knuckles.

everything about the rest of the night feels like a first too. it feels like your first kiss in front of your front door. it feels like he’s seeing “your” apartment for the first time. it feels like you’re making out on your couch for the first time.

it feels like the first time he’s ever been inside of you.

when he pushes deeper into you, eyes on yours shut tight, you tell yourself that you want to pretend you’re on a first date every single day of your life. you can’t stop whimpering, pleading for him to never stop fucking you ever, please don’t stop, please never fucking stop.

you break character for the second time when you’re right on the edge. he keeps looking down at you with so much love in his eyes and his hands all over you feel like they know every inch of you, and you can’t stop yourself. you grab his face in your hands, “kento, baby, please, ‘m gonna- ‘m sorry, i- fuck, please. i love you, fuck,” you whine, and he can’t stop himself either, hips stuttering, head falling against your shoulder as he feels you clenching around him as he empties himself inside of you, murmuring how much he loves you right back.

the way you’ve been feeling all night: blissful and coy, it’s not because it’s a first date, it’s because he’s nanami. it’s because he’s orchestrated the entire night and no matter how “new” everything feels, the underlying foundation of that newness, and the reason everything feels so good, is familiarity and safety.

“i’m sorry that i-,” you breathe, but he stops you, reaching his hand up to drag his fingertips against your lips, and you laugh, pressing a soft kiss into them. “okay, okay,” you say, and he places his hand back down by his side. “done with the first date stuff, just want to be yours again,” you murmur.

he scoffs, light, and you can hear his smile in it. he falls over onto his back, pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head. “never weren’t,” he mumbles against your hair. “always will be,” he mumbles again, holding you tighter.

“good,” you say back, settling into his arms like that’s the only thing you know to be true in the entire world. you wouldn’t trade that truth for a million first dates.

sure, holding your breath at quick witted flirts and stolen glances is nice, but it’s a lot nicer just knowing that you will never be loved better and you will never love harder.

♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡ no bc the yelling really worked very well idk yell at me more to write a continuation for toji (maybe also gojo bc hes the only one i havent written even an inkling of smut for) idk i'm just thinking of so many scenes idk throw hcs at me in my inbox IDK! toji dating for the first time? got me fucked UP

ᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴀɢs ᡣ𐭩 @igocrazyeveryday @vernasce-blogs @minty86 @abrielletargaryen @pompompompompompompom @mysticrays @lilolpotato @thisisew @pnkoo @optimisticsandwichgladiator @ryumurin @cisseadven @multi-fandom-fanfic @noosayog @anxious-chick @mintleafwrites @(tried to tag some other folks but couldnt!!)

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #toji x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #toji smut #gojo smut #nanami x reader #nanami smut #higuruma x reader #higuruma x reader smut #higuruma smut #nanami x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #actually not really tbh theres no smut in tojis or gojos cant even lie #toriwritesshit

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augustinewrites · 1 year

Text

your little flower stall is strategically set up a few feet from one of the trendiest restaurants in this area of tokyo.

it’s a smart spot, one that men like reo can appreciate when he’s already ten minutes late for his date. he’d quite literally just left work, a last minute meeting having forced him to get ready in the back of his car in his haste to arrive somewhat on time. his shirt is untucked and his pants are wrinkled from being left in the trunk for so long.

he winces when he catches his reflection in a window, running a hand through his unkempt hair in a poor attempt to fix it. he definitely can’t show up empty handed when he’s late and looking like this.

“good evening,” he greets, a little breathless as he approaches your stall. his eyes scan the bouquets available, looking for any safe picks and frowning when he realizes you’re out of roses. so he shrugs and picks up whatever’s closest. some kind of yellow flower.

“yellow carnations?” you murmur as he digs into his pocket for his wallet, prompting him to glance up at you. “an odd choice.”

“how do you mean?”

“it’s an unusual choice for a date, is all.”

he raises his brows. “how do you know they’re for a date?”

“oh, come on,” you grin, leaning against the counter. “a handsome guy like you doesn’t have someone to buy flowers for?”

he knows it’s probably just a marketing pitch, but his ego swells nonetheless. “handsome, huh?”

you simply shrug - tease - and place the carnations back into their bucket to grab a different bouquet. you cut a strip of white ribbon from its spool, winding it around the stems. “go with these instead. if your date knows anything about flowers, these will definitely get you laid.”

reo actually laughs at that, as he strongly doubts the wannabe influencer he’d been set up with knows much about the meanings of flowers, but he’ll take your word for it. he hands you his card, not-so-secretly hoping that you’d caught a glimpse of his name on its surface before you swiped it through your machine.

when you return it to him, he pulls a handful of bills out of his wallet and stuffs them into your tip jar.

“oh,” you start. “that’s too much–”

he flashes you a smile that’s been called ‘swoon-worthy’ before, waving you off as he tucks his wallet back into his pocket. “don’t worry about it! you’re saving my life here.”

“your sex life, you mean?” you quip, but your eyes sparkle at his praise as you hand him the bouquet. “well, thank you for your patronage, sir.”

he quickly dips his head in thanks, a little reluctant as he heads towards the restaurant.

_____

monday mornings aren’t especially busy for you, as bleary eyed office workers don’t have much need for flowers.

which is why you’re surprised when the man from last friday starts approaching your stall, holding a cup of what you assume must be coffee. he doesn’t quite look like you remember, from the impeccable cut of his suit to the way his hair is neatly pulled back. he’s even wearing aviators that you’re sure would look ridiculous on anyone else, but for some reason make him look like a movie star.

he pulls them off with his free hand and hangs them off the pocket of his bag, waving at you like you’re old friends. he looks so earnest and excited that you can’t do much else than blush and raise your hand in response.

“morning,” he greets once you’re close enough to hear. “this is for you. for last friday. i wasn’t sure what you’d like so i just got their special.”

he holds out the cup, whose logo you now recognize from the overpriced cafe down the street. you take it, smiling. “i take it your date went well then?”

he tucks his hands into the pockets of his trousers, shrugging. “sure.”

“did you come to buy her more flowers?”

“ah…i don’t think i’ll see her again.”

you perk up at that. just a little. “oh?”

“yeah,” he sighs, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “i, uh, kinda wanna see where things go with someone else.”

oh, of course there’s someone else. a guy like him probably never has a shortage of options. (and who are you not to capitalise on that?) “maybe some flowers will help.”

you think there’s something mischievous in his smile. “definitely. what do you recommend?”

_____

reo is running out of places to put his flowers.

they’re all over his office. they line the entirety of his windowsill and take over the free space on his desk. a small clump of white daisies in an old coffee mug. a single rose in his pen cup. his assistant has to crane her head around a vase of lilies to deliver her reports at the end of each day.

what can he say? you’re one hell of a salesperson. if anyone had asked him what his favourite flower was before, he’d have no idea what to tell them. in truth, he’d never given much thought to something so impermanent as flowers.

but you easily become a permanent part of his routine. each day he stops at your stall, utilising the information he’d gathered from the internet just moments before to impress you with an educated floral choice.

you always smile when you hand him the bouquet, and he wonders how your product isn’t sold out at the end of each day, with a smile as enamouring as yours.

when his office is overrun by floral accents, he starts bringing them home instead. his neighbours gush about what a great boyfriend he is each time they catch him returning with a new arrangement. they say that whoever he’s coming home to must be a ‘very special someone.’

they don’t know that it’s just nagi, who barely looks up from whatever game he’s playing but comments mildly that he didn’t think reo was a flower guy.

“everyone’s a flower guy,” he’d quipped as he unwrapped the brand new vase he’d bought to accompany the bouquet of peonies and anemones you’d given him.

and if nagi noticed he’d come home blushing the day you called him your most important customer, he didn’t say anything.

_____

“hey,” he asks on a particularly slow sunday afternoon. you’re in the process of wrapping - by his request - a bundle of lilacs, which happen to be your favourite flower. “come to lunch with me. i can get us a table—” he points to the restaurant behind you. “—there.”

you don’t answer right away, allowing yourself a moment to make sure you’ve heard him right. “what would your girlfriend think?”

he looks confused as you hold the lilacs out to him. “girlfriend?”

“yeah…isn’t she the one you’ve been buying all these flowers for?”

he blinks a few times before hanging his head with a chuckle. “no i— i don’t have a girlfriend.”

he doesn’t have a girlfriend. so that would mean…

“you’re asking me out,” you realize, averting your gaze to the counter with all the awkwardness of a kid receiving their first valentine. “i’d love to, but i can’t just close—”

“what would you make in a day?” he blurts. “ideally.”

“well, ideally i’d be sold out—”

he flips his wallet open and hands you his card. “i’ll take everything then.”

“everything?” you echo.

he shrugs, shooting you a wink. “what can i say? i’m a flower guy.”

“reo,” you laugh, pushing his card back towards him. “i’m not going to let you pay me to go out with you. just go grab some takeout and come back here. a pretty face like yours is bound to sell.”

“you’re whoring me out for business?”

“i’m just being entrepreneurial,” you counter.

he crosses his arms over his chest, a handsome grin on his face. “alright, but i’ll need to be compensated for my efforts. maybe even with a kiss…”

you roll your eyes (albeit with a smile) as you point at the restaurant. “at least buy me lunch first.”

#reo x reader #they get married and open a flower shop #reo mikage x reader #reo mikage x you #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock fluff

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redtsundere-writes · 10 days

Note

sukuna and servant!reader is so good!! looking forward to rescue more of them <33

Eyes On Me | Sukuna Ryomen

king!sukuna ryomen x femservant!reader

Sypnosis: Uraume can't play chess with the king right now, you must step up. Contents: Obsession, pining, kinda fluffy, mentions of blood and body parts. Uraume uses they/them pronouns. Word Count: 2404 words. Author's Note: I love writing this ship. People have been asking me to make this a series. I'll try my best lol I think you can still read them individually, but there's a preferred order.

Beginning. ← Previous |

Sukuna hates humans. It's a fact of life. The sky is blue, roses are red and Sukuna hates the disgusting creatures that humans are. He has so many reasons to hate them that he doesn't even know where to begin. Humans are annoying, weak, clumsy, but most of all, stupid. They make decisions without thinking through the consequences. They prefer to spend their money on temporary pleasures and end up bankrupt by not prioritizing their survival. They worry about unimportant things such as social status, religion, and traditions. Sukuna hates humans, but boy, are they entertaining.

Sukuna tends to study his servants very carefully. Even though they only clean, cook and obey his orders to a tee, it was fun to watch them interact with each other. He finds it fascinating how the servants gossip in whispers, how the gardeners concentrate to prune the bushes well despite their hands shaking, or how the cooks taste the food several times so that it’s up to their majesty's standards. It was like watching dozens of filthy lab rats in the middle of a social experiment. Although… There was someone special he loved to watch, no matter what they were doing.

You had finished all the chores for the day and decided to help the cooks prepare dinner because you had nothing better to do. Your muscles were exhausted from having spent all morning cleaning the porcelain sculptures, the large frames of the paintings in the great hall, and the king's jewelry so they could sparkle in all their glory. You had been assigned the task of peeling potatoes, so there you were. Sitting at a table with a small knife, peeling potatoes while listening to the chaos going on in the kitchen. Uraume was busy preparing a special passion fruit tea for the king. The special coming from the water that was inked with human blood. Sometimes you wondered if Uraume had always agreed to cook with humans or was it something they got used to because of Sukuna's orders, but since they never talked about themselves, you never asked.

“Fuck!” A cook yelled when the frying pan caught fire.

Your eyes widened at the flashy flare. Uraume put the tea set aside to attend to the emergency. With some ice from their magic hands, they put out the fire in a jiffy, but left the kitchen a mess. They began to berate the cook with smacks in the head and curses for his ineptitude. The cook just apologized over and over again, but that wasn't enough for the head chef.

“You!” Uraume called. You put your task aside to attend to their orders. “Take the tea to our king and tell him I will be with him when I settle this situation.” You nodded and took the tray carefully to go in search of him.

After Sukuna gave you permission, you entered the library with the golden tray in your hands. The library was the coziest room in the entire castle. Its high walls were covered with huge bookcases filled with books, maps, and scrolls. There were long desks of works and hundreds of candleholders everywhere to enjoy reading during the evenings. He was sitting in one of the comfortable chairs in front of the game table, a small wooden table with a chessboard on top. The king was surprised to see you there despite having specified Uraume's presence.

“I didn't ask you to come,” Sukuna said chidingly as you served him tea at a small table next to him.

“Uraume had to attend to an emergency in the kitchen. They'll be here once everything is under control,” you replied as you set down the fragile cup of blood tea, adorned with small pieces of eyeball floating on the red surface to give it texture.

Your gaze traveled to the chessboard, it had been a long time since you had seen the king playing. You knew from the other servants that he was a good player and only plays with Uraume or some brave guest. This was no ordinary board. You could see that each piece was handmade and had luxurious detail. The pieces were made of white quartz, the eyes of the horses were rubies and the crowns of the kings were made of jade. It was the most beautiful board game you ever saw.

“Do you know how to play?” Sukuna asked out of curiosity.

Being a servant, you surely had not received the same education as he did. Well, almost no one was on his level when it came to education. Sukuna was a master mathematician, a skilled debater and could threaten his enemies in 5 different languages. You hadn't been as lucky. You're good at cleaning, cooking and taking orders, but what else can you do?

“Yes,” you answered with a smile.

That answer surprised him quite a bit. Although chess was a game that was rapidly gaining popularity among the middle class, it was not a game for women. It was a game that required intellect, always thinking two moves ahead and knowing how to read your opponent. You didn't look like a girl who could do all that.

“Sit down,” Sukuna ordered you.

“I warn you that it may be a short game. It's been a long time since I've played,” you warned him as you sat down.

Sukuna watched you with great attention. Your eyes scanned the board as if it was the first time you had ever seen one, your hands rested gently on your thighs and you smiled nervously. You may have known the rules of the game, but you didn't know how to play. The king took your word for it.

“Ladies first,” he asked you to start.

“My pleasure,” you said as your dominant hand moved over the pieces to decide what your first move would be.

Your father had taught you how to play. He always wanted a son to inherit the family business, but your mother only kept giving birth to women, so he had to resign himself to you. Your mother taught you how to be a lady so you could get married as soon as possible and your father taught you about the business so that your future husband wouldn’t take advantage of the family money. You used to sit in front of the wooden board and talk for hours after dinner. Your father may not have been the wisest or the most astute man, but he had left you a very important lesson: Always look people in the eye to know their true intentions.

This was one of the few times you came face to face with Sukuna. Because of his title as king and the great difference in height, you were always beneath him, physically and psychologically speaking. You were a simple human, while he was a king with the power to get rid of whomever he wanted with a simple movement of his fingers. Although his presence made you feel vulnerable, you didn't resent him. You had a relatively comfortable life serving him, but sometimes there was a need for you to show him that you were more than a servant. This was a good opportunity to do so.

Sukuna's eyes were not on you, they were on the board. His gaze denoted boredom. He was waiting patiently for you to make the first move. If you waited a little longer, maybe he would yawn. He overestimated you, you had to use that feeling against him. You moved a pawn to the C4 square, a common move among beginners.

“Finally…” He said in a monotone voice before quickly moving the knight to the F6 square.

Each of you took turns to move the pieces quietly as time went by. You took your time with each move, while the king only needed to look at the board from time to time to know what to do next. You could take all the time in the world, but he would still eat all your pieces. Even though it didn't seem to be an interesting game, you could at least keep up with him. Sukuna's queen advanced towards yours, standing face to face. One false move and your king was in trouble.

“Check,” you said as the queen retreated two squares diagonally, leaving her free to begin the attack on the king.

At that announcement, Sukuna woke up from the trance he was in to concentrate on what he was doing. He smiled with satisfaction as he noticed the change in your body. Your hands had relaxed, your back was straight, and your eyes were glued to his. You knew exactly what you were doing. You didn't need to tell him verbally that you would destroy him at his own game, your eyes told him clearly. It was as if you were dissecting his soul bit by bit until you left him completely naked.

Your hands were interleaved with each turn. You moved quickly as you realized that Sukuna had already noticed your active presence on the board. Sukuna returned the queen to his side. An interesting move. It was wise to know when to back away, but you noticed one thing in his eyes. He had no plan, he just acted based on his understanding of the game. He moved like in real life, using only his killer instincts.

“Check,” you announced again by moving a knight up.

“Not so fast,” Sukuna told you before taking the horse that was threatening his king using a queen. You smiled as you saw that his majesty had fallen into the trap. By moving his pieces like that, Sukuna had fully exposed his king.

“Checkmate,” you announced the end of the game as soon as you moved the white queen close to the black king. And only then, the poor maid defeated the almighty king.

“Well, well...” Sukuna sighed in awe as he looked at the board with extreme curiosity. He couldn't be mad at you. He had let his guard down. You were playing even before the game started.

There was someone special he loved to watch, no matter what you were doing. Sukuna would always hyper fixate on you whenever he noticed your presence around him. You could be cleaning, chatting with your companions or eating some dried fruit in the garden, and he would still only notice you as if nothing else in the world existed. You were the most interesting human he had ever seen. Sukuna tried to look for a logical reason for his obsession with you, but he couldn't do it. You looked like a simple being with clear goals, but he was sure you were hiding something behind your perfect facade.

Someone knocked at the door. Sukuna sighed, he wanted to be alone with you longer, but now was not the time. Uraume entered the room and was surprised to see you sitting with his majesty. Something strange had been going on between the two of you for months. They had even debated the idea of asking the king directly about you, but hadn't worked up the courage to do so.

“There was an inconvenience in the kitchen. Sorry to keep you waiting, your majesty,” Uraume bowed in apology.

“Lucky for you, you sent a good replacement,” Sukuna said before smiling at you in satisfaction.

Uraume instantly understood just by glancing at the board. You had beaten the king, something even they could not easily accomplish. They could tell that he was looking at you like no one else. It wasn't a look of disgust or boredom, it was a curious look. Like that of a child looking at a group of kids playing in the playground, wondering if he could come over to play with them.

“If you'll excuse me, I have to go,” you said as you got up to give the seat to Uraume. “Good game. It was a pleasure to play against you, my king,” you bowed.

“Good game,” Sukuna whispered so you could leave the room.

Sukuna and Uraume started a new game as soon as you returned to the kitchen to peel potatoes. They quickly noticed that something was occupying her majesty's mind. Their white pieces were eating his black pieces easily and his moves were slow compared to previous games. Uraume could tell that the game against you had changed the way he played.

“What do you see in her?” Uraume asked him after a move.

“Am I too obvious?” Sukuna asked them before getting up from his seat to start prowling around the library to clear his mind. “What do you think of her?” He asked her as he stopped in front of the window to admire the land. The large green lawn stretched all the way to the intimidating entrance of his wonderful castle.

“She is a dedicated servant and a perfectionist. She does all the chores in a timely manner. She is as good a servant as any other. The real question is: What do you think of her?” Uraume asked as they watched him from their seat.

“She has potential.”

“Potential? Potential for what?” Uraume arched their eyebrow at the confusing statement.

“She has the potential to become a queen,” Sukuna replied confidently.

Sukuna Ryomen was known among the kingdoms for being an unorthodox king. Not only because he took kingdoms left and right as if it were nothing, but because he has a strange way of ruling his people. He did not care about social classes, behavioral labels or unwritten codes of human coexistence. Everyone was inferior to him regardless of gender, race, or religion. He was the god of this new world and everyone had to obey him, just like that.

The fact that he wanted to have a queen went far beyond just following the established patterns of classical monarchy. Sukuna must have a reason why he wants to have a queen other than just because, but there was a more important question on the table.

“Your majesty, you can get any woman you want. You can get a beautiful woman, with more training and presence, why would you settle for a servant?” Uraume asked in confusion. Sukuna smiled. It was a good question.

“She has something much better than that,” he answered before continuing the game as if nothing happened. Uraume looked down to see that Sukuna had checkmated them.

Author's Note: I poured my poor knowledge on chess for this lol I hope it makes sense.

Order your own fanfic!

Masterlist.

#fanfic #fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna ryomen #jjk imagine #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #fluff #jjk fluff #king x servant #sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna #jjk sukuna #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen smut #jjk ryomen #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #ryomen x reader

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glitterjay · 1 month

Text

— car sex

⭒ bestfriend!heeseung, afab!reader, car sex, unprotected sex (consensual) + semi public sex, breeding kink, riding, possessive heeseung (kinda), cussing here and there, suggestive content under cut (mdni)

⭒ c's note: hmmm, i feel like this is not good at all... but i really hope you enjoy it nonetheless | mlist!

heeseung who had been your best friend ever since you started your first day of middle school. heeseung who was there when you got your first period. heeseung who went through the numerous break ups and hook ups throughout your years in highschool. heeseung who was still by you now in college. heeseung who was jealous of them all.

how was he meant to not fall for you when you went to him first about everything? it hurt him in the gut when you'd ask him for advice about how to do a proper blowjob. why couldn't it be him? what was the difference?

yet there he was, giving you a ride back home after you called him to pick you up from a party. you didn't drink at all. you didn't think you needed to be drunk to have fun, which was one of the many things heeseung loved about you.

it is true that the blood in his veins boiled at the thought of others seeing you in that short skirt, but who was he to complain? nothing but your mere best friend. "had fun?" he asked. you shrugged. "it was okay, i guess."

he hummed softly, leaving the conversation there. he turned a corner — a little too hard — which caused you to grip the seatbealt tightly. heeseung, on the other hand, took this as an opportunity to lay his hand on your thigh. "sorry about that," he apologized and kept it there.

you could feel the blush on your cheeks. for some reason his hand felt nice and warm, almost way too comfortable. and for some odd reason, as if your hand had a mind of its own, you put it over his, slowly dragging it up more.

heeseung's breath got caught on his throat. he was driving, he had to pay attention to the road. but how could he? his mind was starting to go crazy. were you really doing this? right here, right now? there was no way his mind was letting him believe it. not until he saw it himself.

so he pulled over to the side of the road. he looked over at you with big doe eyes. his hand was gripping your thigh a lot harder, but not enough to hurt. it was evident he was confused yet excited. "it wouldn't hurt to try, right?" you asked.

it was the perfect green light for him. all the times he felt like a loser jerking off in his room after hanging out with you were thrown out the window. his lust took over him, and in one swift move, he was kissing you passionately. maybe it was time to accept your feelings. it was time to stop hiding.

his lips were hard yet sweet against yours. you could taste the flavor of gum he always chewed. his favorite. his hands were quick to unbuckle your seatbealt and put his own seat back. also unbuckling his own.

he pulled away, seeing you stare out the window in clear embarrassment. "come here," he said, patting his lap. the idea of being on top of heeseung made you clench over nothing. only in your wildest dreams did you ever think of this situation. maybe wishes do come true after all.

you gladly took the spot he was inviting you to take. your skirt rid up as you positioned yourself on top of his crotch. your panties were so thin you could feel the outline of his cock as if you were naked.

heeseung's hands were fast enough to greet your thighs again, rubbing them up and down. the gesture made you throw your head back, making heeseung's dick twitch under you. you were so goddamn beautiful. there was no way he would let this opportunity go.

"you're so fucking sexy... but you'd look even better bouncing on my cock."

"and what's stopping me?"

if the heeseung that realized he had feelings for his best friend for the first time heard of this, he'd call it bullshit. you were both desperate, trying to get to the deed as soon as possible in such a tiny place.

you positioned yourself so that your entrance was right on his tip, and you slid down carefuly, letting yourself and your best friend adjust to the feeling. "you feel so goddamn good. just as i expected."

he was quick to start rolling your own hips onto his shaft, sighing loudly at the feeling. "fuck... i might not be able to hold myself." you held onto his shoulders for dear life, resting your forehead there as well. once you felt ready enough, you started bouncing up and down.

heeseung kept grunting and groaning, music to your ears. not only was his voice beautiful when singing, but fuck did he make pretty noises when moaning. his left hand left your hip to pull your hair back. "let me look at that pretty face of yours."

not only did his words make it to your head, they also made it to your core. his adams apple was a lot more visible now. as if you had never rubbed your thighs while looking at it move as he spoke.

your movements started getting sloppy, which heeseung noticed fast enough. the hand on your hair was long gone, back to its original position on your hips, helping you bounce harder and faster on him. "go on pretty girl, cum all over me."

and you did. you let out all that was in you at that very moment. your moans were almost pornographich, making heeseung curse under his breath. "i- haagh- ah! i can't hold it." he said. you took his face in your hand, forcing him to look at you as your eyes started to tear up at the overestimulation. "cum in me heeseung... please!"

that was all he needed. fuck was it all he wanted. with one quick thrust up, he was releasing all of his seeds in you while also holding you down on him. the warm feeling made you cum a second time, plopping back on his shoulder. "you're so mine now. so so fucking mine."

tag list: @hollyoongs @moon7jay @wondipity @defnotfertilizedtoesw | if you'd like to be in the list feel free to send an ask!

#— ✿ c's work!#kpop #hard hours #enhypen #enhypen hard hours #kpop smut #enhypen smut #engene #enhypen heeseung #enhypen heeseung smut #heeseung smut #lee heeseung #lee heeseung smut

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actually-safer-to-kiss · 4 months

Note

ok im listening to a spencer reid playlist and "marry me" by bruno mars came on and all i can imagine is its like a week or so after spencer had proposed, and he comes home to reader dancing/singing to the song while cleaning or baking. i would love to see this as a fic 🥺

Sneak Peek

Summary: Spencer comes home from a case to find his new fiancée, Reader, in rare form.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff, kinda sunshine/grump

Content warnings: None

Word count: 1.2k

A/N: Here ya go, babes 🩵

Finally, Spencer thinks when he sees his front door. For work, hours on the jet to and from Quantico don’t take as much of a toll on him as one would expect. Passing the hours with debriefs, cards, reading, and sleeping is something he’s grown accustomed to for years at the B.A.U.

This week, however, was different. Before this last-minute case in Cheyenne, Spencer popped the question to you (with the team’s help with set-up and delivery). Of course you said yes. He barely had time to fish the ring from his blazer pocket before you burst out with your answer. But you barely got to enjoy the first 24 hours of being engaged before the team was called to Wyoming the next morning.

But now, it’s Saturday, so that means you’re home. He can already hear music on the other side of the door when he twists his key. Quite an upbeat tune, unusual for your typical taste. While he sticks to classical composers, normally you’re drawn to calm acoustic songs with minimal production. But what he hears when he opens the door is pure pop.

He couldn’t help but smile as he stepped into the apartment, as the familiar scent of home hit him with the smell of something in the oven. You never cook. And you never bake. But Spencer knows what fresh cookies smell like. He followed the sources, rounding the wall that divided the entryway from the kitchen. And there was when his heart skipped a beat. You were there, in a dress, dancing and singing along with the lively tune, completely immersed in a housewife experience of your own making.

This is nothing but out of character for you. You and Spencer regularly put work first before anything. It is expected in your fields that you prioritize work over each other at times. So your wardrobe was mostly pantsuits and black pumps. Prentiss often gave you suggestions on where to shop for your go-to outfits. Which is why Spencer was so stunned to find you in a dress, flowing around your calves as you twirled on the tile floor. Your hair swayed with every movement, and the joy in your eyes was infectious. The room seemed to come alive with the energy you were exuding.

He drank it in, marveling at the happiness radiating from his fiancée. He didn’t think simply clearing his throat would be noticeable. But it was. And suddenly, your batter-doused whisk/makeshift microphone became your weapon of choice. “Spencer!” You exclaimed.

Spencer put his hands up in immediate surrender, his heart momentarily pounding for a different reason. “Woah, it’s okay. It’s just me.”

Your footing in the small space caused you to lose the rhythm of the music as you stumbled. Your socks gave you little friction, but Spencer was quick to save you from mild embarrassment. Granted, his degrees and experience in profiling didn’t exactly prepare him for impromptu dance saves, but he caught you with surprising grace.

“Careful there,” he teased, still holding onto you. “The team will have some choice words with me if they find bruises on you, no matter where they came from.”

You scoffed. “Wow, bruises. So romantic. What a way to greet your future wife.”

Spencer shrugged before lifting you back to your feet, making sure your feet were stable before letting his hands slide from your shoulders. They glided down to your palms as he extended your arms out. “Well, I can certainly say your greeting exceeds mine by miles.” He looks up and down at your dress; a plain green that hugged you at the waist. “I didn’t know you owned any dresses.”

“Hm.” You said. Your hands rolled with his, urging your fingers to link. “I managed to slip something past the genius in this house. Guess you’re not as observant as I thought.”

Spencer’s brows rose as his jaw dropped, instantly ready to roll with this. Sarcasm was something he had to pick up quickly with you, as it’s your default tone. And you have yet to stray after three years. “I’m observant.” The shock translates through his response.

“Clearly not as much as you like to think.” You untangle one of your hands from his and it creeps to cup his cheek, rough with little stubble. “Barely a week of being engaged and you’re already slipping.” You click your tongue as you shake your head.

“I’m very observant. I notice a lot, thank you.” He pulls you close. His now free hand snaking around your waist, just letting your noses brush. He notices how your mouth opens slightly, expecting a kiss as your exhale grazes his upper lip. He was planning to kiss you then and there, and whatever happened next, he was more than happy with.

But you called him out. So now he has to prove you wrong.

“You didn’t sweep up all the flour off the floor.”

Your eyes were half-open, one of the most vulnerable looks he gets to see. But it fizzles as the information clicks in your head. “What?”

“Your socks.” He gestures down to them.

And you look. Black socks were definitely not the wisest choice.

“How many times did you screw up the cookies?” He asked.

“I didn’t screw them up… too much.”

Spencer’s brow quirked.

“Just more flour than the recipe called for. But only because the bag was so difficult to open.”

So, you spilled it. But he kept that part quiet, as you were already turning pink. “How much salt did you use?” He asks instead. Because he’s not above being too gracious.

“Not much.” You bit your lips closed. “Just the standard amount.”

“The standard amount? Did you throw some over your shoulder for luck?” He brushes some grains he spots sticking to your collarbone.

You were still pink, and Spencer could feel the heat rise off your skin. “We… may need to get more sugar from the store.”

“What did you—”

“Not important. The cookies will be ready in three minutes. So, do you want cookies or not?”

“Hm,” He says, eyes glued to your shoulder again. “So if this is sugar…” And he leans down to kiss your shoulder. His mouth is warm against your skin as it scales across the center of your clavicle. His lips brush them before leading up to your neck.

“This is the greeting I expected.” You say.

“Oh, really?” He follows the pulse point that he’s learned makes your knees equivalent to jelly. When he kisses there, but doesn’t let his teeth scrape the delicate skin just yet. He closes his eyes, to get lost in the moment, in you, a bit faster. The excuse of sugar on your skin has long been exhausted, but you indulged regardless, indisputable by the small sounds that escape you as he kisses more. The arm that holds your waist braces to take on your weight when he nips.

And down you go. But he catches you. Once again

“Does my future wife expect more?”

You say nothing. You swallow dryly, but Spencer understands that as a yes from you. He keeps you both still. Nipping again while his other hand takes free range around your dress. It makes you mewl, and he’s close to hoisting you to bed.

“The cookies—” You remind him. “Can’t let them burn. The timer says—mm—two minutes.”

“I have plenty to keep me occupied for two minutes.”

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