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just-aake · 5 months

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Chasing Shadows

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: A sudden mission on New Year’s Eve brings Natasha face to face with someone from her past.

Warnings: light fluff, light angst

Words: 1410

11:55 P.M.

Surrounded by the lively atmosphere of Times Square, Natasha glances at her watch to check the time before looking around at the excited crowds of people, all waiting for the annual New Year’s Eve Ball Drop to start.

Laughter and cheers fill the air as she withdraws to a more secluded spot, raising her hand to her earpiece to speak through the comms.

“I’m at the location.”

SHIELD had intercepted a suspicious encrypted message a few moments ago, indicating that something was set to happen in the area tonight. Being the only one available nearby in such a short time, Natasha took on the assignment.

After a brief static pause, Maria's voice comes through the comms.

“It’s a shame that this had to interrupt your holiday evening.”

Taking a moment to scan her surroundings, Natasha replies nonchalantly, “I could say the same for you. Besides, it’s fine. It’s not like I had any plans.”

A curious hum comes in response before Maria asks, “No special someone to begin the new year with?”

At her words, the face of someone from years ago unexpectedly crosses Natasha’s mind, accompanied by flickers of memories recounting moments filled with late-night escapades and adrenaline-filled touches.

One particular memory stands out–of a night similar to tonight, atop a rooftop, shielded from prying eyes.

Two people shared a rare moment of vulnerability, and against her better judgment, she wished life had played out differently for them—an unrealistic hope.

11:56 P.M.

“No,” Natasha replies to Maria’s question as she pushes away those thoughts and refocuses her attention back on the crowd.

Amidst all the joyous people, Natasha finally spots the individual they were seeking—a slippery criminal with a history of working for a notorious crime family that once controlled these streets.

The members of that family were taken down and arrested by an undercover SHIELD operation years ago, leading many of their associates to either scatter or continue their own shady activities in the city.

This particular individual belongs to the latter group and has proven to be very elusive, successfully evading capture from SHIELD multiple times.

“I’ve got eyes on the suspect.”

As she utters these words, the man locks eyes directly with her, as though she is the intended target instead.

Discreetly, he reaches into his coat, revealing a mysterious device with an ominous, glowing red button at its center. He briefly flashes it at her before tucking it away and swiftly turning around to disappear into the crowds.

11:57 P.M.

Immediately, Natasha gives chase, her eyes fixed on the suspect darting through the masses of people. With adept skill, she effortlessly maneuvers through the crowds, rapidly closing the distance.

As the suspect pushes through the final layers of people, Natasha spots another figure emerging from the shadows toward the suspect.

In a swift and seamless exchange, the mysterious device changes hands from the original suspect to the newcomer.

Natasha’s eyes narrow suspiciously at the action when suddenly, the two figures split off in opposite directions, causing her to realize what that means.

Either she continues chasing the elusive criminal they've sought for so long, or she goes after the person now in possession of the unknown device, which may pose a potential threat to everyone in the area.

Without missing a beat, Natasha alters her course to pursue the newcomer. Surging forward, she vaults over one of the crowd barriers, tackling the figure mid-stride, and sending them both crashing to the ground.

The impact elicits gasps of shock from the few people nearby as Natasha swiftly recovers, pinning the suspect to the pavement.

The newcomer wears a mask over their eyes, concealing their identity from anybody who looks at them.

Not from her though.

Natasha is taken aback as her lips part in surprise. She easily recognizes those particular sets of eyes, especially when accompanied by the knowing smirk forming on their face in response to her reaction.

11:58 P.M.

Natasha is still rattled by the revelation of the figure before her, allowing them to seize the opportunity to escape from their pinned position, forcefully knocking the Black Widow aside before swiftly resuming their sprint.

Partially recovering from the shock, Natasha's instincts kick in, and she rushes to pursue, her mind still grappling with disbelief.

It can't be. That thought repeats in Natasha’s mind as she follows the figure into a condemned building site.

She recognizes the structure immediately, both from that particular memory of the past as well as its status as an old building that fell victim to one of the Avengers' numerous battles.

Natasha enters the ruined building through the recently shut side door, finding herself in the emergency stairway that miraculously remains intact.

Glancing up, she spots the suspect running up the stairs, quickly ascending to the higher levels of the building.

11:59 P.M.

The anticipated event unfolds outside as the ball at the top of the Times building starts its descent, marking the last minute of the year.

Amidst the beginning of the countdown chorus from the crowds outside, Natasha also starts running up the stairs.

The echoing footsteps of the other person above her drive her to accelerate to catch up, sprinting up the stairs two at a time.

11:59:30 P.M.

Natasha’s heart beats painfully in her chest, and she’s not sure if it’s from adrenaline or from the overwhelming sight of seeing you again—maybe it’s both.

After all, you’ve always had that effect on her.

“Three!” - 11:59:57 P.M.

Bursting through the roof door, Natasha slides to a sudden stop at the edge of the dilapidated floor. Dust rises at her movement, and small rocks roll and tumble over the edge, falling into the gaping hole.

“Two!” - 11:59:58 P.M.

On the opposite side of the large chasm, balancing precariously on the rooftop edge, the suspect stands, hands clasped behind their back, awaiting Natasha's arrival.

“One!” - 11:59:59 P.M.

With her attention now fixed on them, the figure removes the mask covering their eyes with a dramatic flourish, letting it drift off in the wind and fall gracefully towards the cheering crowd below.

12:00 A.M.

The night sky explodes in colorful lights, illuminating your silhouette.

Natasha stands frozen, mesmerized by the sight of you again, with your Cheshire smirk firmly in place as the remnants of the fireworks rain behind you.

It's a perfect reminder of who you are—beautiful yet dangerous.

In one of your hands, you teasingly wave the device with its ominous red glow at Natasha, while your other hand raises to your lips, playfully sending a mock kiss her way.

With a mischievous wink, you suddenly toss the device toward her, the gentle force of your action causing it to barely reach over to her side.

Reacting quickly, she stretches her arm to catch it before it can fall down the hole, pulling herself safely back from the edge once it is in her hand.

Regaining her balance, Natasha's gaze shoots back to you, or where you should've been, but now there's only dust kicked up by the cold wind. Furrowing her brows, she scans her surroundings again but finds no traces of you anywhere.

You've slipped away.

Returning her attention to the device in her hand, Natasha turns it around, removing the back covering.

Now knowing who she is dealing with, she is not surprised when she finds no activation triggers or wiring—just a battery-powered red LED bulb and a piece of paper folded inside.

Natasha raises her hand to her earpiece, activating the comms.

"Hill, the device is a fake. It was all just a wild goose chase."

"And the suspects?"

"Escaped," Natasha replies regretfully, looking back at the empty rooftop space.

"From you? That’s impressive."

Again, Natasha isn't surprised; time in prison clearly hasn't dulled your skills. Though, now, she needs to consider the implications of your unexpected and sudden return to the city.

"Can you check something for me?" Natasha asks into the earpiece.

"Sure, what is it?"

"The confinement statuses of all the members of the L/n family."

Maria lowly whistles before commenting, "Haven’t heard that name in a while. Isn’t that the crime family that you took down during your first solo undercover mission?"

12:01 A.M.

Natasha remains silent at that, her eyes fixated on the piece of paper in her hand. The fireworks illuminate your familiar handwriting periodically against the darkness of the night.

Happy New Year, Natasha Let’s play again soon 🤍

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: Thank you for reading, and an additional special thanks for all who have read any of my other writings this year. I really appreciated all the likes, reblogs, and comments that you have given me (many of you are so sweet and kind for reading most or almost all of the things I wrote). Thank you again, and I hope you all have a happy New Years!

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff

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shibaraki · 8 months

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PAS DE DEUX ┊ GOJO SATORU

tags: GN reader, no curse au (ballet), principal dancer gojo, reader is a photographer for his ballet company, fluff, flirting + casual touch, barre exercising, getting together, first kisses

wc: 2.4K

Gojo Satoru is just a man.

Albeit a coveted man, able to do anything on stage exactly as he would in rehearsal. High arabesques and tight pirouettes. Otherworldly form. Broad hands able to memorise another’s centre of gravity within the first twenty seconds. Swan-like and slender. All agile limbs, a body brazen with self-assurance and packed with strength, reflected in how effortlessly he can catch, spin, and dip his partners. Low, on perfect pointe.

A beautiful, talented, annoying man. That which has chosen to breathe down your neck as you fiddle with your camera, rather than occupy any other corner of the large studio.

“You’re distracting me, Satoru”.

“How am I distracting?” he asked, inclining his head. You gave him a look, and emphatically motioned at him from head to toe. Satoru cracks a grin, those piercing blue eyes gleaming, “By existing?”

“No, because you're all up in my space. I’ll show you the pictures in a second so back up,” you snap, your hand fluttering dismissively at him. “And put a shirt on!”

A low, vibrating hum, and a smile that holds a sincere gentleness to it that you wouldn’t have expected to find. He looks almost boyish. You turn from it and feel his presence move away like the sun being blocked out, steady warmth then the absence of it.

He does not put his shirt on. Instead Satoru takes position at the barre and walks his fingers along the top. Dawn filtered in through the small windows, casting a spotlight onto every dip and curve. You resolutely do not look at that narrow waist, nor how closely his tights clung to his hips, his thighs. Pulled over his soft soled slippers are a pair of grey stirrup leg warmers, bunched around his calves. He’s—

You draw a sharp inhale and refocus on the LCD screen, the neckstrap suddenly uncomfortably heavy.

Satoru is a bit older than most of the other dancers you photograph but no more mature for it. Granted he’s gentler in his discipline, more experienced, and always less eager for the practice to be over. He liked the day to drag on and on, especially if someone was watching him.

People said he was arrogant. Maybe that was a little true and with good reason. But your lense saw through the veneer that Satoru wore. Session after session, through rehearsals and classes and auditions, you saw pride for his craft, and how deeply he loved imbuing that love into his juniors.

You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying so, but watching him dance felt transcendent. Whoever the pair, he made every pas de deux seem seamless, like two halves of the same entity coming together. Solo he was in a league of his own. Sometimes he danced as if he loved beyond the scope of his skin. Sometimes he danced as if the whole world had betrayed him.

“How’d I do this time?” you hear him ask in that very cavalier way that betrayed his interest immediately, becoming antsy in your prolonged silence. “Pretty good, right?”

Today you managed to shoot him demonstrating a particularly heartbreaking variation of a grand jeté. He reached the peak and fell so gracefully that you’d felt the whole room hold its breath. Another beep and the camera screen flickers to that very photo. Right leg stretched anterior, his left posterior to his body, evenly split into a horizon as he soared through the air. Rather than poise to mimic an elegant wingspan he had curved an arm into an arc over his face, almost as if in anguish, while the other draped behind him.

“Why ask if you already know?” you deflected, switching to the next photograph. “You definitely have a flair for the dramatic”.

“Maybe I want to hear it from your mouth,” you can hear the layered petulance behind his words. It makes you restless to think your praise could hold any significance to him. “Tense today, aren’t we? You should do some barre exercises with me. Loosen you up a little,” he continues, clicking his tongue. “I could even teach you some steps”.

You snort lightly, “That’s a ridiculous idea”.

“I don’t think so,” Satoru disagrees, a contemplative tone to his voice. Intensity returns to his gaze as it roams over your form. “You’re the only person in the company I haven’t danced with yet. Can you blame me?”

“It wouldn’t be dancing, Satoru. You know I can’t dance,” you insist, or so you think, the weak response barely audible over the heartbeat flooding your ears. “I’d look like a fucked up marionette”.

A hand crosses your line of sight. You hadn’t even noticed his approach. Satoru plucks the camera from your slackened grasp and slips the neckstrap over your head in one swift movement. “Then let me pull your strings,” he teases, proffering his open palm. Your throat grows dry.

“That was awful,” you tell him, clutching to whatever dignity you have left. Then you take it. Long fingers enclose over your knuckles and he smiles.

Sometimes when you want something you’ll take it in whatever manner the universe is willing to give it.

“Ha. Worked though”.

As mercy would have it, Satoru guides you as he would a beginner. You’ve lived and worked amongst dancers for years. Your mind is familiar with the lifestyle, the lingo and the routine, but your muscles are not. “Another rep. Heels together with your toes turned out—that’s it, bend slightly,” your pulse rockets at the light touch to your hip, firm yet gentle in encouraging you to bend. The room is much hotter than you recall. “Place one foot in front of you. Point. Now sweep it around to the back in a C-shape,” warmth lingers where his fingertips had been as he steps back. “Point your feet,” he says, his lips suddenly close to your ear.

“What—?”

“As you circle,” Satoru repeats. “Point your feet.” You exhale and repeat. “Hm. Good at taking instructions, aren’t you?”

“I’m going to kill you,” comes your shaky response, already feeling clammy. It doesn’t escape you that he still hasn’t put a shirt on. Your inner thigh muscles are burning. Satoru laughs and the irritation ebbs away because he sounds happy. Giddy, even.

“This one will open your hips nicely,” Satoru finds your waist again and pivots you to face the barre. His body heat seeps through your t-shirt where he’s pressed against your back. Hands slide beneath your arms and down to your wrists, delicately placing them atop the barre. “Keep taking deep breaths for me. Bend your knees—hold,” the ache forces your eyes shut for the five seconds he keeps you inert, plunged into fleeting darkness with just his low, honeyed voice to guide you.

This really was a terrible idea.

“Rise to plié,” Satoru murmurs. “Up into demi-pointe. There you are, now hold again”.

Shadows pool into the studio space as the evening draws on. You’re rendered a sticky mess, and not in the manner you’d have liked. Wondrously, and despite the soreness that will no doubt wear in tomorrow, you had begun to feel you were working with your body and not against it.

Satoru had barely broken a sweat. You take comfort in the splotchy flush covering his cheeks and how his chest rises and falls, both signs of exertion. Equally as distracting. “You’re almost a natural,” he says, running a hand through his silky white hair.

Unsteady on your feet, you roll your eyes skyward while the burning in your lungs dwindles. “Sure. We’ll be onto our own pas de deux in no time,” you joke offhandedly. But Satoru’s expression wanes into something like longing in your periphery. Fondness, and then to amusement.

“Maybe not. Your pointe needs work,” he says.

“Well excuse me, big shot. I’m not even wearing the right shoes—”

“Want to try some lifts?”

A stone of dread drops into your stomach. The barre digs into your lower back as you lean against the wall, “We do some—some routine warmups and you think I’m ready for partnered lifts?!”

Satoru’s voice remains steady but his lips are starting to purse as he mirrors your posture, “I can take your weight”.

You didn’t doubt it. Satoru’s ability appeared to defy physics all together and that translated well with his counterparts too, whoever they may be. You’ve seen him lift people of every different shape and weight. Each one would become weightless in his embrace.

“No. No lifts,” you tell him, trying for a cadence that inspired authority. Satoru arched his brow and you got the sense that to him you were akin to a small disgruntled cat. Whether it’s the fatigue that lowers your inhibitions or plain pettiness, you hear yourself say, “I think you just want an excuse to touch me more”.

A pulse of magnetised desire rippled through the atmosphere. You don’t miss the way his breathing hitched, or how the hand absently rubbing the back of his neck stilled only for a moment before falling to his hip. Satoru swallows. Your eyes follow how his thumb strums the waistband of his tights—tights that leave very little to the imagination.

Anticipation prickles through your belly when he takes a step forward, then another, until his nose bumps your own. “You’re not supposed to say the quiet part out loud,” he murmurs, a little breathless. It ghosts across your lips. There’s trepidation in his gaze, searching your expression for rejection or discomfort, neither of which he will find.

You are reminded again that for all his apparent confidence and talent, Gojo Satoru was still very much human.

Your hands lingered in the narrow space between your bodies. Restlessly clenching, uncurling. Not knowing where to put them. The bare skin of his abdomen brushes your knuckles. “Satoru,” you begin.

He hums, palms coming to rest on your hips. He leans into you, emboldened by the invocation of his name, and echoes yours back.

“Did you seriously…” your thoughts drift as he dips lower, lingering. The blood rushes to your head. You could easily tip your head, align your mouths, and bring him into a kiss. Somehow the simplicity of that makes this whole charade even more laughable. “Don’t tell me you made me do a workout instead of just asking me on a date like a normal person”.

The response registers visibly on his face. He blinks, delicate pale lashes fanning over his cheeks, and in the next breath he’s lighting up, eyes first, glittering urainian blue. “That was hardly a workout,” he says, warmth bleeding into his voice. “It was a warmup”.

“Warmup my ass”.

“Can, if you want”.

Laughing, you cradle his jaw and say, “Stop being annoying and kiss me”.

Satoru’s hands have slipped beneath your shirt. He squeezes, smiles at the feel of soft flesh yielding under his thumbs, “Alright”.

Always has to have the last word, you think amusedly. Satoru pressed impossibly close. The barre has since become numb where it prods at your back. Your lips part as he tilts and your mouths brush, want knotted deep in your belly. It is slow at first, hesitant. But every movement of Satoru’s lips turns into sweet affirmation. Quick, then long, then greedy.

You wrap your arms around his neck and feel him shudder as you suck gently at his plush bottom lip. He paws at you with more fervour, languidly licking into your mouth. Soft wet sounds reach your ears and a contented hum reverberates through your skin that you can’t help returning. You feel his lips stretch thin into a smirk.

When you eventually part for breath your chest is pounding. He watches you closely. Half lidded and entirely too pleased. Something about the certainty and satisfaction stunned you then. Coloured the world around you in roseate. “You really do like me, don’t you?”

Satoru doesn’t falter. Quiet and deeply amused, he replies, “What gave it away? The constant pestering, the always staying behind after hours, the never wearing a shirt, the—?”

“Okay, okay. I get it,” you sighed, smoothing your palms down his bare chest simply because you can. “…I like you too, you know”.

“Yeah?”

You hummed. “What gave it away? The constant pestering?” you kissing the corner of his mouth, “The always staying after hours?” and then his cheek.

Satoru turns quickly to chase as you recline, nipping at your mouth. “Point taken,” he rumbles, pinching at the fabric of your shirt and lightly tugging it. “Pattern dictates this should go, next”.

“You know we need to lock up. If I let you start we’ll never stop,” you laughed, wriggling out from his embrace. The studio will be shrouded in complete darkness soon, and now you both need to shower. Satoru reluctantly lets you go, trailing after you as you collect your camera and pass it between your hands.

The screen flickers on, back to that incredible grand jeté. Satoru hooks his chin over your shoulder. “You really do photograph beautifully,” you think aloud. His jaw shifts and you can tell he’s smiling. “What were you thinking about, when you jumped?”

Satoru sniffed, not even pretending to think of something profound. “Mochi stuffed with whipped cream and zunda”.

You sigh fondly, eyes falling closed. Beautiful, talented, annoying man indeed.

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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riaki · 6 months

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thrifted romance | megumi fushiguro x reader

synopsis: you’ve never really spoken with megumi before, so when your friends leave the two of you behind on a snowy night, you take the opportunity to get to know him.

wc: 6.2k... SO SORRY I GOT CARRIED AWAY cw: swearing, college au, noncurse au, i don’t thjnk there’s anything else ??

this got way longer than i intended it to be and i rushed to grind it out so it may not be coherent.. if so i apologize :’3 and this one’s late but i hope the content makes up for it ! enjoy meemow barely proofread!

it's a late winter evening when you meet up with megumi and your friends on the side of the street— cozied up in puffy layers and a long blazer stained with coffee splashes and a few hot chocolate smudges here and there.

fall had melted away with the slow gradient of leaves from the trees, sinking into fluffy piles on the sidewalk that soon became coated and replaced with light snowfall; the first of many problematic inches. midterms were just around the corner, and with it meant late hours spent pulling all-nighters that left you exhausted, eyes dark around the edges with a lack of sleep; breaths of minty hot chocolate and coffee from the amalgamation you'd concocted to at least pretend to get into the holiday spirit.

(a fruitless effort, though— if not for your failure that warned you to stay out of mixology, but the way your roommate's cat had knocked over your mug and ruined the flashcards you'd been wrestling with and looked completely smug with itself.)

really, though, there was absolutely nothing jolly about school, or exams. so when your favorite inefficient, sidetracking study buddy had offered to spend the weekend out, who were you to say no? nobara had offered to go find a club, but it was far too cold out to frolic around in skimpy clothing and your expensive winter coats were much too valuable to risk being stolen in the haze of drunken students and sweaty bodies. so, you'd decided to go shopping, because what else is there to do with her? besides the usual karaoke session with the upperclassmen she seems to like so much, of course.

turns out, it'd had been a group endeavor. or, more accurately— a group of four, unlike the duo you had previously thought you'd be going out in. yuji and megumi were there too— friends from separate majors; you'd heard that yuji was involved in the uprising surge of software engineers and computer science majors clambering for a shot in the world of big AI tech companies, even though he supposedly was about as computer-smart as your teetering old grandma ripe with age, permanently stuck in her rocking chair crocheting the days away.

megumi, on the other hand, was a mystery. you'd shared a few classes together; his chipped dark nails that shone the same blue as his esoteric eyes beneath the warmth of the glowing sun, and his inky black hair that spilled over the collars of his simple gray sweatshirts like effortlessly graceful calligraphy on paper had captured your attention as smooth and seamless as the daylight turned to darkness, days cut short by the onslaught of cold. even so, you'd never brought yourself to interact much— he seemed like he'd prefer to keep to himself, if the way he'd disdainfully scoot away from anyone who tried to approach him and turn up the volume of his headphones indicated anything. you had laughed to your friend and called it introversion to its finest, only to promptly shut up when his unmoving gaze landed on you, leaving you feeling like a clown on the stage, rimmed by rich dark red curtains and a wooden floorboard as the beaming spotlight shines upon you imaginary button nose, hot and glaring under his gaze.

even though you'd approved of his music taste once you snagged a few notes by the ear, you'd really thought his taste in fashion was too bland to be the type of person to shop with nobara— her meticulous style and image were much brighter and more flamboyant than megumi's jaded attempts at a splash of color through the occasional blue argyle or layered turtleneck. still, those were better than yuji's paltry attempts at fashion; at least the myriads of color on nobara's figure were coordinated. the pink-haired boy with funny scars on his face would probably have been better off learning graphic design or art, with the disasters of clashing colors on his person.

and he'd gotten the opportunity to demonstrate his questionable tastes on the chilly evening, when black ice had begun to form on the roads and the soft light of boutiques with slow jazz flowing from the speakers filled your frost-bitten red ears as you walked up to the shade of a nearby lamppost. once you'd all met up, nobara had hooked an arm around your elbow and dragged you off, leaving the boys to follow along like it was walking dogs.

honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if you were— at least, with yuji. he carried nobara's bags like she was the next princess in line, without complaint and with the little fearful quivers that dogs get in their legs whenever their owners scold them for barking or misbehaving, much like how nobara would yell at yuji if he dropped a single cream linen sweater or ruffled pink cami.

megumi, on the other hand, was far too lethargic and quiet to be considered any kind of canine. although the weaved bracelet on his left wrist with a cute little puppy charm you caught sight of when he'd rolled his sleeve up implied otherwise. the only reason he'd even had to do that was to rub the sickeningly sweet orange blossom hand sanitizer nobara had spritzed on each of your palms after you took turns petting a stray cat, one that seemed to take a great liking to you and megumi in particular.

the night seemed to drag on forever; pale yellow lights and holiday decorations blurred into swathes and bubbles of color in your vision as the hours passed and the caffeine from the cute little coffeeshop you'd stopped at earlier began to wear off.

but there had just been something magical about that evening; spending time with friends (albeit, more like acquaintances) had granted you a much-needed break from cramming your mind with an overflow of information that was sure to spill out the moment you answered the last exam question. so, when it was almost midnight and it was time to retire to your bed, you'd insisted on staying out for just a little longer while nobara and the rest returned to their dorms to catch some sleep. yuji had complained something about his legs cramping, but you were feeling giddy, and the stars were twinkling just as bright as the light in nobara's eyes were when you told her you had to soak in the fresh air for as long as you could before being locked in to study again as she laughed and headed home with her pink dog-boy escort in tow.

megumi had mumbled something about staying with you since it was late and he wanted to make sure you were safe. you didn't think too much about it, because if you did, you were sure you'd end up with a faced even more flushed than it was frostbitten from the cold.

so, here you were, strolling down the quieter side of town, a brooding boy with inky dark hair and hands pale with blue veins shoved into the pockets of his jacket trailing behind you. he had one airpod tucked into his pierced ear; you assumed he hadn't brought his headphones because yuji would be there to prattle and babble. even so, you were content not to say anything, so there was plenty of opportunity for him to wear both. but he wasn't. you decided not to linger on it.

you'd just finished writing a silly little note out of the crisp snow gathered on the windshield of some stranger's car; the flakes were cold and biting on your skin, leaving it feeling numb with little droplets of icy water when you pulled away to admire your handiwork.

"actually, maybe i shouldn't be doing that." you decided after a moment, mumbling under your breath. it was just a little message with a whiskered smiley face, but the headlights on the car and the bumper seemed to form a frown at you when you stepped back, shaking its motorized head at your vandalism.

"you think?"

megumi's voice sounded from behind you, a little weighed down by the cold with a wisp of warmth leaving his lips like a powdery exhale, curling into the prickly night air. he was standing on the sidewalk, observing you all prickly-like as if you were some flagrant toddler he was babysitting. you still had to get used to the way his voice sounded after rarely hearing it; the few crumbs you got when your professors forced obligatory presentations onto struggling students had sent this warm, fuzzy feeling collecting in your stomach at the rich tone of velvet it held. not rough or overly deep, but smooth and reassuring. the kind you could fall asleep to; like there was a lullaby just waiting to be poured from his tongue with little scratches in the indent of his tone.

of course, you hadn't heard enough of it to make such an assumption, so when you heard the little quip framed with irritation at the edges, it wasn't all sugary sweetness like you imagined.

"yeah, well, sorry i like to live a little," you huffed, rubbing your hands together in an attempt to resuscitate some warmth back into them with a small little sigh.

"you call that living?" he scoffs a little, cocking an eyebrow at the vandalized toyota behind you. now, it just looked a little sad; imaginary eyebrows over the red lights droopy in disappointment. you followed his gaze, before looking back at him and making a sour face as you stepped onto the sidewalk.

"maybe we just have different tastes, y'know? doesn't mean we don't have to get along like this," you mumbled, shaking your hands out a little to get the remaining snow droplets off before stuffing them back in your blazer pockets. "just like itadori and nobara. one has terrible taste in fashion and the other doesn't, but they both like their bright colors." you feel satisfied with yourself for that one, but clearly, megumi doesn't feel the same. but the corner of his pink lips seem to quirk up just a tiny bit, and you feel pride blooming in your chest.

there's just something about the way it looks— an almost implausible smile coaxed onto his lips by something particularly amusing, reaching his dull blue eyes in a way that made their usual tedious apathy morph into something like fondness, or appreciation. adding a shine to his navy irises the lamp light overhead could only hope to mimic. then again, you didn't let your mind linger on it for too long like usual— so instead you chalked it up to the one other thing that had caught your eye besides the sharpness of his jaw and the handsome slimness of his face: his jacket.

you take back what you said about his style and its blandness before— it would be unfair to what he was wearing right now. just a simple black turtleneck (one that you were sure he'd worn to the early morning wednesday lecture you had a few days ago, when the sun was still bright enough to catch on the condensation of the cup of lemonade your white-haired, oddly sweet-toothed professor had), and black jeans, but the vintage racing windbreaker hanging from his shoulders brought it together in a way that was unfairly seamless; all dark blues and stripes of checker; a neutral grayblue that reminded you of the sky on rainy afternoons, trudging about the shopping districts in tokyo. there were a few brand patches here and there, some red bubble lettering of names you didn't recognize in patches of color that brought out the shade of his eyes. maybe the labels of those energy drink brands you often caught him running on when the shadows beneath his long dark lashes seemed heavier than usual.

all that to say he looked good. like, seriously good. you didn't know how you hadn't noticed all night— but now that you had, it was hard to keep your eyes from his slim and tall silhouette (not that he minded). the jacket really complimented it.

"that's a neat jacket. where'd you get it?" you asked after a moment of chilling silence; he'd probably noticed you looking, and you prayed he didn't think you were checking him out. although, if that meant getting your hands on one of those windbreakers, you wouldn't really mind. he glanced up at you, tearing his attention from the sad snowy toyota camry that seemed worn past its years at the newfound attention on megumi's racing jacket. he blinked a little, and you didn't miss the little flake of frost on his eyelash; probably caught from brushing past a windowsill earlier. by now, most shops were closed; even so, the street still felt warm and safe. well, maybe it was to be credited to a person rather than the concrete— but like you had been all night, you ignored it.

"oh, this?" as if he was wearing more than one jacket (it was cute), "i thrifted it." and for some reason, you didn't expect to be surprised, but you were. him? thrifting? the few western-fashion tailored thrift stores you'd been to with nobara had been lacking— not like you'd been able to stay in them long; the artificial ginger had this... beef with reused clothes. she liked her clothes clean and fresh from the press, even if you reminded her they could just be fresh from someone else's press. megumi must be familiar with the antiquated racks of varied worn graphic tees and frayed pants if he could fish something that classy from a thrift store.

then again, it's not like you had any experience to go off of at all.

"really? y'know, i've always wanted to go thrifting," you sighed, stretching your arms out, watching the fabric of your blazer wrinkle and curve to follow the movement of your muscles. a light dusting of snow coated the surface, like powdered sugar on tiramisu. that makes the coffee stains fitting. "but i feel like i'm bad at it." you said, stepping over a crack in the sidewalk, the rubber bottom of your sneakers brushing against a little clump of pine green weeds.

"bad at it?" megumi echoes, following you with a faint ruffle of smooth fabric, like the sound of a zipper sliding down. before, the world had been a cool shade of gray, like smoke rising from a cigarette or the blurry blue of the sky from the window of a speeding bullet train. but now, you let yourself soak in the sound of his voice, like grinded coffee beans and a smooth, soothing honey medicine for your throat on a sick day when you get to cozy up in your bunk bed and watch the clouds drift by.

it's nice.

"yeah. like, i wouldn't know where to go, or what to find, or what to look for..." you trailed off, rubbing your cold fingers together again as your breaths leave in little exhales of coagulating mist in the cold night air. now that it was late, it the temperature would only continue to drop.

you walked in silence for a little longer, listening to the scuffles of shoes against concrete, glassy with ice that had begun to creep up on the roads like a steady stream of seafoam from the tides.

"why don't we go thrifting now, then?" he asks out of the snowy blue.

you paused, and you almost smacked straight into a pole. "now?" you spluttered, turning around to face him. the look on his face was unreadable; a mix between exasperation, amusement, an attempt at stoicism, and something like affection in the corner of his lips as they curved upward. it was like a CPR compression; the smile that sent fuzzy electricity through your veins and reinvigorated your heart.

"yes, now." he said it like you were stupid, which you might just be, the way you stared dumbly at his face. "the place i got this jacket from is just over there," he said, jutting a ring-adorned thumb behind him. you had to lean up and peek around his shoulder to see it; you wouldn't've noticed if he didn't point it out. it was tucked between two buildings, a stairway downward into the store. the only thing indicating its status as a retail and thrifting store was the broken neon sign and painted red arrow that gestured towards the staircase.

"looks really shady. and it's late." you grumbled after you got over yourself, and he shot you an irritated look. that was all he really seemed to be doing tonight; that downward knit of his dark eyebrows and the slight pout weighing his lips down. not very suave, you think.

he swallows hard, and you aimlessly watch the bob of his adam's apple. "well?" he prompts, a hard edge to his voice despite the situation. you stand there for a little while, marinating in the growing cold until you cant feel the tips of your fingers.

"fine."

one accidental slip on the crosswalk and a few minutes later, you're stepping down the last wooden stair of the thrift store and into the building's basement; it's much bigger than you would've thought, with an expanse of layered clothing racks that obscure your vision, the corners of the walls clogged with cobwebs and years of dust build up. there's a faint lingering scent of cigarette smoke and cologne; something vanilla that you've caught clinging to megumi's wrists and neck on the rare occasion you brush past him. faint jazz spills from the speakers, something in a swing rhythm with the signature lilt of saxophone that makes you think you should be out enjoying a romantic fancy dinner instead of being cooped up between old wrinkly moth-bitten clothes. but you're here with megumi, so you convince yourself you don't mind either way.

"you sure this is the right place?" you asked, trying (and failing) to keep the obvious distain from your voice as you kick a folded 'floor-is-wet' sign from your path and step into the store. you can't even see the cash register from where you're standing.

"yes, i'm sure. can you stop complaining?" you can practically hear the eyeroll in his voice, and you're sure you could see it too if you just turned around. "trust me. it's not all shit." his voice softens, and you freeze up a little as he brushes past you; the corridors and margins are tight, so he has to turn sideways to fit. even so, a tag on your coat manages to snag on his jacket, and you hasten to unhook it before he can notice. he almost disappears into the racks, and you have to follow him, pushing your way through thick coats and worn graphic tees that have cracked logos and balls of lints clinging to them.

you're no thrifting expert, but you're pretty sure the store's supposed to be in better condition than this.

"hey." megumi's voice soon snaps you back into reality, and you look up from the mustard yellow top you were eyeing warily to meet his sedate gaze. "the good stuff's in the back. c'mon." he doesn't give you much room to argue even though it sounds like you're here to do drugs rather than find clothing, and before you can react he's reached forward to grab your wrist and tug you along. a yelp of protest almost spills from your lips, but you bite your tongue and let him drag you along, trying to extinguish the hue of cherry you know is making a home on the tips of your ears.

you brush past patchwork coats and a few leather belts that've tangled with the lace from the silk shirts next to them, but nothing really catches your eye, until you realize that he's let go of you only because of the lack of warmth around your skin and you focus yourself on the current again. you glance up at him, but he already has his back turned to you, sifting through a rack of black shirts that all look the exact same. maybe you have an untrained eye, though.

still, you can't help it when your gaze lingers over the back of his neck; one strand of dark hair has caught itself beneath the collar of his turtleneck, and it irks you. and you decide to do something about it because you'll know it'll bother you if you don't.

time seems to move in a liquid slow; things are blurring and there's no mothballs or ugly recycled coats to get in your way as you reach over and swipe your hand across his neck, hooking a finger beneath the strand and pulling it out of his collar. it takes you a moment to realize what you just did, and when you do, it's like there's a permanent mark seared into your index finger just from the touch of his skin against your own. you think he might have whiplash because he turns his head around so fast to catch your gaze before you can slink away, eyes wide and eyebrows knit, and you notice his bottom lip is snagged between his teeth.

he raises an eyebrow, but before he can utter a shaming word that'll only make you feel more embarrassed you shake your head vigorously, apologetically.

"sorry— it was bothering me. i hope you don't mind." you managed to say, the words spilling out in a rush before you turned away and slipped past him, disappearing into an aisle of dresses. you can feel his gaze burning cold holes into your back as you distract yourself.

you don't let yourself linger on what you just did— you seem to be doing a lot of that, lately, especially with him as you go through a few batches of clothing. by now, it's far past midnight, and you're feeling much more sluggish than you'd like to admit. you haven't seen megumi in a good twenty minutes save for the few times you picked up a few shirts and a cute diner jacket you thought would look good on him. he just thanked you bluntly, taking the bundle of clothing from your arms before walking away to the fitting rooms. you wished he'd stay to let you see the jacket.

you'd tried on a few things, discarding your blazer in favor of a cute knitted cardigan you grabbed, but nothing seemed to stick the way you'd like them to. it would be a great help if you had nobara to assist, but you were sure she was snoring away at home right now, and at the thought of your warm, inviting bed, your knees wobbled a little and you balanced yourself on the wall.

"hey— oh, you alright?" it's an unfamiliar voice; you lift your head up, looking for the source. it's a young boy— he looks to be about your age, maybe a little younger. there's a blue lanyard around his neck, and he's got a spattering of freckles on his hands, which are curled around the collar of a white linen shirt. he must be the one who's tending to the store.

"yeah, i'm okay. sorry," you said hastily, pushing away and rubbing the back of your neck. how embarrassing— he didn't seem to mind, though. he just smiled, big and bright and toothy. cute. reminded you of how toddlers would grin up at parents with those huge red lollipops in hand.

"no worries. i just thought i'd let you know that we're closing soon, since it's almost 2am." he said, shifting his weight on his sneakers. you nodded, about to give a hum of confirmation before another voice cuts through the slow jazz filling the stifling air above, all familiar in its smoothness.

before you could respond, though— "[name]?" megumi's voice rang out in the quaint little store, calling for you, and so you give the employee an apologetic nod before you turn and start toward the noise. you pass a mirror with a coat draped over the top, peeking your head around a tall rack of long skirts to catch sight of the raven head, in all of his glory. you notice that he's taken off his windbreaker.

"what’s up? we have to go soon," you reminded him, yawning a little and rubbing your eyes as you straightened up and stepped over to his side. there was another mirror in front of him, you noticed, with fading stickers pale in the dim yellow light stuck to the wooden rim. even so, with the smudges and the bare sheen of the silver, he looked good. that black turtleneck really suits him.

"i know. i just wanted to ask for your opinion." he said, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. you tilted your head curiously, and he held up a deep mauve sweatshirt, with some varsity logo branded on the fabric. it had a nice touch to it; a warm color that reminded you of red wine and slow evenings. you were sure it had been one of the pieces you'd picked out for him, but you were too sleepy to recall. "you should try it on. i think it'd look good," you said, gesturing toward the mirror.

you think you must've said something wrong, because he looks at you for a moment too long before he seems to catch himself staring and he nods, a choked little sound leaving his throat which he hides by ducking his head down and covering his face with his long bangs. you think you're hallucinating the pink on his cheeks.

after a moment, he glances at you. "hold this," he shoves his jacket towards you, and you have no choice but to take it. doesn't seem like he's used to taking no for an answer, but you're certainly not the one complaining when he tugs the sweater over his head, ruffling his soft black hair as he steps a little closer to you, observing himself in the mirror while straightening out the folds and fixing his turtleneck. you were right— it does look good on him. almost unfairly so— you don't know how he manages to rock granny clothes so well, like he was born a retirement home's runway model.

unlike him, you're not a reticent shut in— and although you'd like to say you have no problem telling him how good he looks, it's still a little difficult when the words feel like they're lodged in your throat in order to prevent you from making a fool of yourself again. but you ignore it and push on.

"you look great. i think it really suits you," you breathed, shaking your head as your hands tighten around his jacket in your arms. he blinks, adjusting the collar before glancing down at you. you take a moment to really appreciate the sight— him, bathed in the soft yellow glow of the chipped lights overhead. despite the dilapidated store and the antiquated, worn clothing surrounding him, he still manages to look like some ethereal angel boy you'd stumble upon in a bookstore on a dreary winter's afternoon and never be able to get out of your mind again.

ink black eyelashes flutter when he blinks, framing his eyes like the bangs falling over his face when he turns around again to observe himself in the mirror once more before he takes the sweatshirt off. it catches on his turtleneck, which rides up when he slips the mauve sweater over his head, tussling his hair and exposing the dip of his pale hips, all muscle and flesh and bone, and you pray he chalks up the red on your face to the cold. the end of his belt dangles from the buckle as you hand his jacket back to him, fingers almost brushing— just barely out of reach.

a meager conversation flows between the two of you; you follow him through the endless maze of used clothing until you somehow stumble upon the cash register and he buys his sweater; the only thing he manages to buy after all this time spent milling about in a dusty, dinky little retail store. the boy from earlier helps check him out, and the icy glare he receives from megumi when he glances at you seems to fly straight past your head as you pick at your cuticles. the tips of your fingers are still red from messing with the frosty snow earlier. you wonder when the car owner will find your message.

it's almost freezing when you get out of the dusty shop, emerging from the smoke-stained alleyway stairs and into the cold night air. your breaths almost seem to form a precipitate, and the thought reminds you of the chemistry conversions waiting for you on your desk beneath the lamp, and you cringe internally. staying out for a few hours longer seems way better than succumbing to the never ending stream of worksheets and documents calling your name. you wonder if your charismatic professor will let you get away with a few assignments if you call in sick. are papercuts excuse enough?

the click of a lock behind you signifies the store's closing— the employee left through a back exit, it seems. and you realize too late that you left your blazer in the dressing room when you turn around and a sigh falls from your lips. megumi, paper bag in hand, glances over at you.

"you okay?"

you almost forgot he was there, in his brooding vintage racing jacket glory. you shake your head, before sighing forlornly again. he notices this, making a little face; his lips press together and his pretty eyes narrow. he thinks you sigh far too much. you'd look prettier if you smiled some more. he likes it when you do.

"i left my blazer in there, but he just closed it and it's so fucking cold out," you whined, bringing your hands to your face and rubbing your eyes tiredly. you're cold and your fingers are going numb again, and there's light snowfall. so much for not losing your coat at a club. you can't tell which one's worse. "sorry to complain so much, but do you mind if we—"

you're promptly cut off; the words on your tongue left unsaid, burning with the taste of bitter black coffee. your gaze trails from megumi's hand, the clink of his silver ring against the zipper rail of his jacket as his fingers curl around the fabric, up his arm to the sleeves of his dark turtleneck, rounding the curve of his shoulders and up his neck to his face. he's not looking at you.

the words that leave his wet lips are so small and hurried that you think you're hallucinating them; when you inevitably looked back at this moment later, you'd realize that he was being shy. he mumbles something under his sweet breath, and you ask him to speak up.

"i said, you can use mine." he repeats, louder than necessary as he finally brings himself to look down at you from under his lashes, biting the inside of his cheek. his voice is a little strained, and a soft breeze carrying the smell of cinnamon and fresh ice rustles his hair. you blinked, feeling like a deer caught in headlights over a layer of thin ice, ready to shatter at a moment's notice.

"oh— okay. um, do you have anywhere else you need to go..?" you said tentatively, reaching forward to take his jacket again. it was exactly like how you'd done back in the thrift store, but the vague sense of deja vu you get is accompanied by an endless fluttering of warmth in your stomach that melts away the winters and tiring exams, and the night seems to become a soft warm orange, as if someone's drained the cool hues from the landscape.

megumi just shook his head, reaching into his bag and taking out the sweater he'd bought earlier. he slips it on again, adjusting it over his shoulders and refusing to meet your eyes as he crumples the paper bag in his hands. you notice they're slightly trembling as he does it, fingers digging into the material with much more force than is really needed. his hair follows each movement of his head; the strain of the muscles in his neck when he swallows again and gestures for you to follow him back down the empty street, past cars coated in melting snow and jaunty yellow lights twinkling over the awnings of closed store windows, shut down for the night. the sweater suits him really well, you think; not too loose, but tight enough in the right places to send your heart racing a mile a minute.

you pull his jacket over your arms, tucking your sleeves in and zipping it up. it's big on you— that's no surprise, and you can almost taste the vanilla on your tongue, his cologne lingering on every fold of the insulated fabric. it's warm, and it feels like being enveloped in a tight hug. in megumi's head, he hopes— prays its him you think of if you ever feel that way again.

you walk in a stiff silence; both of you want to say something, but you're dancing around it, letting your words linger unsaid until the other breaks the ice first. it's only ever cracked once you reach the dorms, where you part ways. there's light snowfall, and a thin layer of white has coated his hair when you turn to face him. you reach forward, learning onto the tips of your toes to brush off the ice. his hair feels unimaginably soft beneath your fingers, slightly damp from the snow. but he's the furthest from cold when you pull away; his face is burning up.

by now, you can't bring yourself to mind.

"thank you," you said softly, sighing contentedly. you move to take his jacket off your shoulders and return it, but he stops you, holding a hand up. the expression on his face is unreadable, but his lips are pursed together in a way that makes you think he's pouting.

"don't worry—" a pause. " you can, uh. keep it. i know you wanted one. just... give it back when you want, yeah?" he says, curt. almost prude, if it weren't for the way he was avoiding your gaze out of embarrassment. it was like trying to play the world's most difficult game of whack-a'mole, attempting to catch his eyes and see the iceberg that's melted into pools of warm glittering affection in his blue irises. at the thought, you wonder if he likes arcades, and you make a mental note to suggest an activity to nobara the next time she has the urge for an escapade.

you don't bother asking him whether he's sure, because you don't want him to take his words back. so you linger there in a moment of silence, letting it hang over your heads like a warm throw blanket, cozied in front of a fireplace with a mug of hot chocolate in your hands. maybe a coffee mix like you'd attempted before.

angel boy clears his throat first to speak, all honey that links the syllables together like christmas ribbon; rich like orange flavored dark chocolate. "i'll see you later, then." it's short and sweet, but your heart is already flying so high on euphoria you can barely bring yourself to care, or suppress the giddy grin that's spreading across your lips.

yeah, you're tired. yeah, you're still a little cold and you think you need to thaw at your desk for a week until exams, but at least you've got his jacket to accompany you when your study buddy passes out first and you're alone on all nighters. frankly, you can't bring yourself to care— your head is spinning with the events of the chilly night, from crude messages in the snow to thrift store mothballs and lanyards, to one checkered racing jacket. but you don’t think it’s so bad when it threatens to stick to your memory, like chewed up gum under your professor’s desk. whether it’s from the students or the professor, that’s a mystery you’ll never solve.

"yeah. see you around, fushiguro." you can’t say the same about the mystery that megumi is, though. in fact, you think you’re already one step closer when you turn around and part ways, catching sight of him in the reflection of a frosted window. he’s slipping both of his airpods back into his ears, crimson at the tips.

the sound of your shoes against the rug stairway fills your ears as you clamber back up to your dorm, eyelids heavy with drowsiness and face flushed a pleasant warmth. even when you finally get to bed, you can't stop your eyes from drifting over to the bundle of lapis blue fabric sitting on your desk, and your mind from the soft spoken boy with eyes like the night sky and inky hair like calligraphy.

you decide you don't think his style is too bad, after all. and when you tell him that the next morning when he's still sleepy and his lashes fall slow when he blinks the weariness from his eyes, you get to enjoy the steady flush that stains his cheeks and prompts a hoarse cough from his throat when he ducks his head away and grumbles something under his breath, probably about being offended you even thought he was boring in the first place.

and if you ever ask, the only reason he lent you his windbreaker that night was to replace the scent of mothballs and dust with your sweet-smelling perfume.

so, as it turns out, you're able to get your hands on one of those pretty vintage racing jackets— except, it wasn't a new one; it was his. nobara hasn't stopped pestering you with questions since you showed up to class the next day; the only thing you hear for the next week is how much she regrets leaving early.

apparently, it's all yuji's fault.

my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

#ahhh im really sorry this is late;; got busy with life like those ao3 authors but much less impressive #i really like jazz i feel like not enough people do #just listen to persona music sometime. its worth #sometimes i make up words but thats ok as long as people buy it. i speak english first language trust 👨‍🔬#i feel like reader is kokomi or whatever her name is from saiki k #at that one ramen place but its a thrift store.. pretending it’s not all that bad except reader doesn’t rlly try LMFAO #for megumi!!! everything we do is for him 💐#megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x you #fushiguro megumi x you #megumi x reader #megumi x you #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #megumi fushiguro #megumi fushiguro x y/n #billet-doux #and via thinks her titles r bad #I CAN FINALLMY. WORK ON MY CHRISTMAS EVENT

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cappadociab · 5 months

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BALLOONSCANNER - MEGA+ (3)

Soaring Over Cappadocia: Booking Your Hot Air Balloon Adventure

Cappadocia, with its dreamlike landscapes, is a destination that captures the hearts of travelers worldwide. One of the most iconic and enchanting experiences you can have in this Turkish wonderland is a hot air balloon ride. If you're ready to embark on this unforgettable journey, balloonscanner.com is your go-to platform for seamless bookings and extraordinary adventures.

Cappadocia Hot Air Balloon Rides: The allure of Cappadocia hot air balloon rides lies in the unique topography of the region. Imagine floating gently above fairy chimneys, lunar-like valleys, and ancient cave dwellings as the sun bathes the landscape in hues of gold and pink. It's a spectacle that must be experienced to be truly appreciated.

Booking Your Balloon Adventure: Balloonscanner.com simplifies the process of booking your Cappadocia hot air balloon adventure. The user-friendly interface allows you to choose from various ride options, whether you prefer a standard group experience or a more intimate private ride. Booking in advance ensures you secure your spot and guarantees an unforgettable journey above Cappadocia's captivating scenery.

Unveiling the Wonders of Cappadocia: Your hot air balloon adventure is not just a ride; it's a voyage into the heart of Cappadocia's wonders. As you ascend into the sky, you'll witness the surreal beauty of the landscape unfolding beneath you. The sun rising or setting, casting an ethereal glow on the unique rock formations, creates a truly magical experience.

Tips for an Unforgettable Experience:

Dress Comfortably: Wear layers as the mornings can be cool.

Bring Your Camera: Capture the breathtaking views of Cappadocia's unique terrain.

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Book Your Adventure Today: Ready to make your Cappadocia dream a reality? Visit balloonscanner.com to book your hot air balloon ride and prepare for an experience that will stay etched in your memory forever. Let the winds of Cappadocia carry you on an adventure like no other.

Embark on a journey that transcends the ordinary - book balloon Cappadocia hot air balloon ride now and create memories that will last a lifetime.

#Cappadocia

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cool-content-star · 12 days

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Male Trendy Suit outfit

This Male outfit presents a sleek and stylish look for male Sims, ideal for formal occasions or upscale casual events. The ensemble features: A tailored coat that offers a sharp, modern silhouette, textured scarf that adds a layer of sophistication and depth, the shirt underneath provides a classic contrast, trousers for a seamless and polished appearance and leather gloves to complete the chic, winter-ready look.

Your Sims will be sure to turn heads with this fashionable and refined attire. 👔🧣👞

Trendy Suit with Long Coat, Scarf and gloves in 30 colors

Notes:

New meshes

All Lods

Custom thumbnail

HQ Compatible

Base game compatible

DOWNLOAD

❤️ With love ❤️ I hope you like it! ❤️

#ts4cc #s4cc #sims 4 #sims 4 male clothes #sims 4 male cc #ts4 male #ts4 male cc #ts4 cc #sims4ccfids

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femmefatalevibe · 8 months

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Femme Fatale Guide: Fall Wardrobe Essentials

Staple Tees:

**Purchase in Modal, Pima cotton, or a cotton-cashmere blend**

Fitted crewneck tees (long-sleeves/tees & tanks for layering)

Relaxed fit long-sleeve tees

Turtleneck long-sleeve top (fitted & relaxed fit options)

Contour bodysuits

Blouses/Shirting:

Silk button-down blouse

Cotton button-down blouse

Silk shell top/t-shirts/camis (for layering)

Sculpt knit top(s)

Self-tie wrap blouse

Shirred boatneck, mock neck, or cowlneck silk blouse(s)

Leather button-down

Knitwear:

Thin cashmere/wool crewneck sweater (fitted/relaxed fit)

Thin cashmere/wool turtleneck sweater

Chunky relaxed-fit cable knit sweater

Knit polo-neck sweater

Cashmere sweater vest (crewneck, v-neck, and/or turtleneck)

Mockneck cashmere/wool sweater

Cashmere long-sleeve sweater dress

Cashmere/knit skirt (mini, midi, or maxi - depending on your personal preferences)

Sophisticated coordinating knit set (top/pants or skirt of your choice)

Casual knit set (top/pullover and relaxed fit pants)

Cashmere cardigan

Cable knit cardigan (doubles as a light jacket)

Bottoms:

Black straight-leg jeans

Black bootcut/flared jeans

Black straight/bootcut trousers

Wide-leg trousers (I love a solid black, black pinstripe, and black with lace-up detail selection)

High-waisted leather pants

Split hem trousers

Stretch jersey/cashmere pants (straight-leg or flared)

Quilted leather/tweed mini skirt

Knit/wool mini and/pencil skirt

Leather skirt (mini or midi)

Silk midi skirt

Dresses/Jumpsuits:

Knit/sweater dress

Little black dress (shift dress/A-line cuts are great)

Blazer dress/jumpsuit

Slip dress (for layering)

Minimal black jumpsuit ("LBJ")

Leather and/or denim dress or jumpsuit

Jackets & Outerwear:

Black tailored blazer

Leather blazer

Tweed jacket

Trench coat

Leather moto/cropped/bomber jacket

Black wool coat

Raincoat ( I like Rains for high-quality options on the affordable side that are still built to last for several seasons)

Statement jacket/coat

Footwear:

Sleek flat/low-heel black boots with a pointed-toe or square-toe silhouette (I love Vagabond, Jeffrey Campbell, Vince Camuto, and Sam Edelman for more affordable, high-quality options)

Black loafers/sleek black flats

Black lace-up boots

Black heeled boots

Black pumps

White sneakers

Rain boots (I recommend the Melissa Shoes Welly/Grip/Step boots or a stylish, sustainable, and more affordable option)

Accessories:

White/black ankle & crew socks

Black control top tights

High-waisted shapewear shorts

Chunky/small chain necklaces & bracelets

Simple pendant necklace(s)

Pearl necklace

Simple diamond studs

Crystal drop earrings

Minimalist bangles

Stackable rings

A sleek, minimalist black tote (can fit a laptop for work/travel)

Black shoulder bag

Small black bag (top handle, crossbody, etc.)

Statement bag/evening bag

Cashmere scarf

Silk/decorative scarf

Fingerless/touch-screen friendly, lightweight gloves

Lingerie/Loungewear:

Seamless bra/underwear

Lace bra/underwear

Matching pullover cotton sweatshirt/sweatpants

Knit or jersey cotton top/lounge pants set

Luxurious pajama set (silk, Tencel, cashmere, etc.)

A to-die-for piece of lingerie like a lace slip/silk teddy

Silk or cozy robe

Cozy open-back slippers

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wintersongstress · 9 months

Text

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Summary: The first time Simon lays you down beneath him, you wear something special for him.

Word Count: 1.2k

Tags: Soft Simon™, kissing, foreplay, sweet words of praise, mild smut.

A/N: I wanted to get my feet wet with some headcanons for Simon, since I’ve never written for him before but am planning on writing a multi-chapter fic soon. I like to imagine him very soft and adoring with his girl, so if fluffy mild smut is your thing I hope you enjoy this little scenario where the reader wears nice lingerie for him 😊

❁ — Simon should have known that your first time together, when he lifted the last layer of clothing from your head, you would make it special for him to see you like this.

❁ — When you stumbled through the front door together kissing feverishly, he couldn’t go fast enough. He scooped you up by the knees and walked you backwards to the bedroom, your laughter making him smile and kiss down your neck. He loved the fragrant hollow of your throat where you enchanted your skin with perfume, and how when he whispered in your ear, goosebumps erupted on your skin at the tone. You wanted each other, he was doubtless of it as you fisted the back of his shirt in your hands and sighed for him yearnfully.

❁ — The bed is soft and moonlit as he lays you down upon it. You wait for him as he switches on the light on your bedside table, and the stained-glass lampshade casts a mosaic of warm honey colors all over you.

❁ — Smiling, blinking slow, you part your legs for him as he stands to his full height, inviting him between them, but Simon is transfixed. The rush that compelled him earlier, the one to cover your body with his own, simmers as he leans in.

❁ — Dwelling dreamily, he traces the side of your lovely, soft face with his knuckles. Along the curved plane of your temple, the pillow of your cheek, down to the lush seam of your parting lips. Your lashes dip and you capture his hand to press a kiss into the heart of his palm.

❁ — “Love,” he murmurs. He was so in love, he didn’t know what to do with himself. His other hand comes to rest on your knee and he circles a thumb across your tights. “I could spend all night just looking at you like this.”

❁ — You hum, lifting the skirt of your dress a little higher up your thighs. This was his way of saying that you didn't have to do this if you weren't ready; Simon would be happy with whatever you decided to share of yourself with him. A light of understanding glimmers in your gaze.

❁ — “I want you closer.”

❁ — A knot tightens in his throat as he watches your fingers flirt with the frill of your hem, shuddering to think of them up higher, between, glistening.

❁ — “You’re sure?”

❁ — A sun of hope burns in his chest as he awaits your answer. He holds it back with all his self-control, his fingertips trembling along the swoop of your collarbone. If you say yes, he would succumb to all the things he's imagined doing to you, thousands of times, scrambling for where to start in showing you how much you mean to him.

❁ — In a liquid motion, you slide up with your hands braced behind you to gaze up at him and place that hesitant, dreaming hand of his over your heart.

❁ — “Simon, you’re all I think about.”

❁ — Whatever remained of his granite cracks and you move together.

❁ — He unzips your tall boots, holding your ankle as he tugs them off. Your tights join the floor next and he’s gathering the soft folds of your knitted dress up over your head. The undressing of himself is all a seamless blur—he has no interest in seeing anything other than your bare body and has no patience for hindrances, but when you lift a final, snowy camisole above your shoulders Simon's stomach flutters and his breath catches.

❁ — With all his imaginings, nothing could've prepared him for the heavenly sight of you before him in lingerie, and his jaw goes slack.

❁ — You let him look, gaze shy with your bottom lip tucked in while your fingers fiddle at your side in anticipation.

❁ — Your breasts are perfectly cupped in a translucent bra, the powder blue mesh fabric of which is embroidered with a garden of wildflowers with seed pearls at their centers. A wispy little bow rests in the center, a shimmery lace that scritches between his thumb and forefinger as he marvels at it. Your underwear matches, framing your hips in a way that makes him groan.

❁ — "Christ, you're fucking perfect," he murmurs at last. A tremor of unworthiness stays his hands, too afraid of tearing the delicate garment to touch it.

❁ — "I wanted you to see me like this," you begin. "Because I thought you deserved something nice when all you do is make me feel so....worthwhile."

❁ — A stone rolls away from his heart. Simon's brows drawbridge up, forgetting his own feelings of inadequacy as he cradles your warm shoulders in his hands and leans in to kiss you. He could never word the depths of his gratitude and awe, so he imparts it in this kiss instead, bruising, tender, and acheful.

❁ — He finds your lips soft, warm, and beaded with moisture as your calves enfold around him like the wings of a dove. He's falling back with you on the covers and he cannot help but grind himself against you until you're whimpering, desire taking over his thoughts. He wants to watch you come, just like that. He wants to feel your warmth around his fingers and lave and tease at you with his tongue until he heard you call his name in the pleasure-filled tenor of your voice, to behold this beautiful sculpture of a woman unravel. His kiss breaks away to view the sight of you laid out for him and his palms course along your torso appreciatively.

❁ — "Oh, sweet girl. How can you want me?"

❁ — You lean up with an arm thrown over his sturdy shoulders, unhooking your bra, which he pulls away as you bring your caress to his thickset arms, holding yourself upright to kiss at the tragedy of scars across his chest. Simon holds you by the small of your back, letting his eyes fall shut and embracing how much he feels the delicacy of your soft kiss across his skin, the sensation warming his body down to his toes like sunshine.

❁ — Reaching his shoulder, you trace a nail along the groove of the scar that cuts through his mouth, your eyes aglow with affection. It's a look he's not ready for; it stirs in his chest a throbbing ache to never be without you, but what you say next surpasses it.

❁ — "Make me yours."

❁ — In a moment when the thickness of his fingers were tangled with the grace of yours, Simon once told you that whatever was left of him belonged to you. You could have the broken shards of a man he still had left to give. But then you embraced him, held those pieces for long enough to carry him here to the moment when you said those exact words that made his soul alight, and he is suddenly entire.

❁ — A groan flutters from him, and in his head he maps out a plan for everything he wants to do to you, knowing where to start first as he travels down your body. Parting your thighs around his shoulders, he kisses the wet spot darkening the bridge of your underwear with the fullness of his mouth, pressing his nose into you until you keen and lift your hips, giving him the opening he needs to pull your underwear down blindly and show you what you mean to him.

Comments are appreciated 🥺 Thank you for reading 💖

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley imagine #ghost x reader #mw2 #modern warfare 2 #call of duty #cod #simon ghost riley x female reader #modern warfare 2 x reader #call of duty mw2 #ghost fanfic #ghost imagine #mw2 x reader #*my writing

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mrsfatu · 3 months

Text

Never A Mistake

Paring: Jey Uso x Fem!Reader

Warnings: language, pure smut, 18+, body fluids

Word count: 6,713

Summary: The reader reunites with her former personal trainer, Jey Uso. The reader is overwhelmed by the memories and feels guilty for their past actions. Jey confronts her, accusing her of seeing him as a mistake. The reader is left with a deep, seductive desire, and Jey's possessiveness fuels the flames of their passionate encounter.

Attending my inaugural WWE event was an electrifying experience that left me spellbound. Positioned in the coveted front row, I became part of the action, enveloped in a world of larger-than-life characters and adrenaline-pumping spectacles. My journey into this captivating realm was made possible by my best friend Tracy, a devout follower of the oiled-up, half-naked men who grace our screens every Monday and Friday. As Tracy would passionately recount the intricate storylines, I found myself intrigued by the bloodline and the impending Judgment Day.

From the moment I stepped foot into the arena, I could sense the palpable energy that enveloped the air. The atmosphere was electric, a fusion of rumbling cheers and thunderous boos, creating an intense symphony of emotions. Excited fans, adorned in their favorite superstar's merchandise, added an extra layer of vibrancy to the spectacle.

As the lights dimmed, the crowd erupted into a deafening roar, signaling the beginning of the show. The stage transformed into a battleground, and the wrestlers emerged, embodying the epitome of physical prowess and showmanship. Each character had a distinct presence, captivating us with their larger-than-life personas and charisma. Their performances were a seamless blend of athleticism, drama, and storytelling, creating an immersive tapestry that held us captive throughout the night.

In the realm of friendship, Tracy has always embodied the essence of an "It-Girl." With her long, luscious curls, velvety soft skin, and lips adorned with a cherry gloss, she effortlessly commanded attention. Tracy possessed an allure that made heads turn whenever she passed, earning her the title of "The Instagram Girl." And then there's me, a more understated presence in our friendship.

While I too possess thick, curly hair, I prefer to gather it in a simple, elegant bun. My skin boasts a delightful caramel hue that adds a touch of warmth to my features. Unlike Tracy, my approach to life is more laid-back and serene, allowing me to embrace my own unique beauty.

My phone buzzed, alerting me to a new message. Curiosity got the better of me, and I glanced at the screen. It was Ivan, my ex-boyfriend. Memories of our tumultuous past flooded my mind, and I hesitated before opening the message. After all, it had been a year since we broke up, and he had always managed to find a way back into my life despite my efforts to move on. His persistence was both annoying and frustrating.

Ivan's messages were always filled with the same clichés that exes tend to use. "I'm sorry for how I treated you," "I hate myself because of what I did to you," "I only want you, give me another chance." It was all too familiar, and I had grown tired of his empty promises and apologies. But this time, the message was different. It simply said, "I just want to talk."

Ivan: Hey, I was wondering if you're busy. I know you probably don't want to talk to me but, I just want to talk a bit.

Y/N: Can't talk now, I'm out.

The excitement in the air was palpable as another figure made their entrance. The crowd erupted in a deafening cheer, and Tracy's voice soared above them all. "Oh my god, OH MY GOD! Y/N, IT'S JEY USO!" I discreetly slid my phone back into my pocket, trying to hide my lack of recognition. Tracy's reaction was akin to that of a child visiting Disneyland for the first time, a symphony of joyous squeals.

I attempted to play it cool, pretending I knew exactly who she was talking about. But then, it hit me like a wave of nostalgia. Jey Uso, my personal trainer from a few years ago. I recalled the countless times I had seen him on television, thanks to Tracy's monopolization of the TV whenever she visited. Jey Uso, the man who had departed from the bloodline. At least, that's what Tracy had informed me on a few Mondays ago.

This unexpected reunion sparked a torrent of memories. I remembered the grueling training sessions, the camaraderie built through sweat and determination. Jey Uso had been more than a trainer; he had become a mentor, a guiding force in my fitness journey. Seeing him now, amidst the roar of the crowd, brought back a flood of emotions.

Inevitably, the moment arrived when he gracefully exited the scene. His presence was somewhat elusive, until he finally reached the end of the ramp. A mere distance of 10 feet separated us. The deafening chorus of women's screams mingled with his entrance song, creating an atmosphere of frenzy. Every step he took exuded an air of confidence and self-assuredness. His chin held high, while his arms hung loosely by his side. There was an enigmatic beauty about him, one that eluded my comprehension. Tracy's assessment proved accurate; this man was undeniably captivating. In person, his allure was only enhanced, leaving me in awe.

In the midst of the bustling arena, Tracy had been desperately vying for his attention for what felt like an eternity. Two minutes had passed, with Tracy's repeated attempts to catch his eye going unnoticed. But then, there he was, just a mere five feet away. I couldn't help but fixate on him, my gaze unwavering.

As he drew closer, making his way towards the ring, Tracy's voice echoed through the arena, resonating with fervent adoration, "WE LOVE YOU JEY!" I had hoped that her passionate cry would finally capture his attention, but to no avail. Instead, it was me that he locked eyes with. The intensity of his gaze was so potent, it felt as if my eyes were about to burst from their sockets. In that fleeting moment, time stood still. It was as if the entire arena faded into insignificance, leaving only Jey Uso and me. With a mischievous smirk, he acknowledged me before stepping into the ring. The connection we shared in that brief encounter left an indelible mark, an electrifying energy that lingered in the air.

In a sudden turn of events, a perplexing entrance unfolded before my eyes, leaving my mind awash with confusion. Amidst the chaos, Tracy's piercing scream broke through the haze. My attention snapped to her, and disbelief colored my words, "Wait, there's two of them?" Tracy's response was sharp and laden with exasperation, "Yes bitch, they're twins, Jimmy!" Twins? The revelation struck me like a bolt of lightning, leaving me dumbfounded. So, you mean to tell me that there are not one, but two of these men?

In a surprising display of agility, Jimmy briskly made his way out, taking each stride with purpose. Upon reaching the front of our section, he cast a disdainful glance at the individual standing beside me. Tracy, eager for a photo opportunity, whipped out her phone and called out to him, "Jimmy, over here!" Yet, once again, he disregarded her plea. Instead, the man directed a contemptuous stare in my direction, leaving me perplexed as to what I had done to provoke such animosity. In response, I returned his glare, causing a smirk to creep across his face.

I was taken aback, my mind swirling until Tracy forcefully shook me. "Oh. MY. GOD! HE SMILED AT YOU! THEY BOTH SMILED AT YOU! I swear to god if they’d have done that to me, I would've died on the spot. aren’t they so sexy?'' Tracy exclaimed. My gaze remained fixated on Jey's silhouette. “Yeah, I guess," I replied. Tracy's jaw dropped, “YOU GUESS? Oh come onnn Y/N, they are literally the sexiest twins in this arena right now.” My eyes shifted to Tracy as a faint blush colored my cheeks, “Yeah, I said I guess. Don't get me wrong, they’re good looking. But I'm sure they enjoy the attention they receive from all you women.'' I explained.

“Well, that's your opinion. Hopefully, I get invited backstage," she added. Did they actually do that? Invite people backstage? If that were the case, Tracy would probably be the last person they’d invite. Her high-pitched screeching could kill an entire army.

As I gazed towards the ring, my eyes locked with Jey's while he adjusted his wrists. A wave of nerves tingled down my neck, and I quickly averted my gaze. Tracy, standing beside me, couldn't contain her excitement. "Just wait until you see their moves in the ring," she exclaimed. The tension between the two men was palpable, evident in their hostile glares. It was clear that they harbored some deep-rooted animosity towards each other. The thought crossed my mind that perhaps I should start watching WWE to gain a better understanding of this intense rivalry.

In the intense atmosphere of the wrestling ring, the referee handed microphones to both Jey Uso and his twin brother, Jimmy. With a deep breath, Jey grasped the opportunity to address his brother in a fierce tone. "Why you even here? This is not SmackDown, it's Monday Night Jey. Your best leave my arena," Jey exclaimed, his voice filled with determination.

Jimmy, however, refused to back down. "Don't act innocent in all this, uce. You may think you're perfect, but you're just as flawed as I am!" he retorted defiantly.

Jey's eyes twitched with anger as he responded, "No, I have always been there for our family. Unlike you, who only cares about his own success and glory! You've let success get to your head, uce!"

The tension between them grew, and I found myself captivated by their verbal sparring. Jimmy continued to challenge Jey, "Oh, really? And what about all those times you let us down? When you prioritized being 'Main Event Jey Uso' over our own blood, huh? Do you think that makes you a saint?"

Jey took a step closer, his voice now raised in a yell, "You know damn well that I have worked tirelessly to get where I am today! But at least I never lost sight of what truly matters – family and loyalty! Those are things you clearly know nothing about!"

It wasn't the sarcasm that left me gasping; it was the empathy in Jimmy's voice as he responded, "Family and loyalty? Is that why you abandoned me when I needed you the most? Where were you when I was struggling with my own demons?"

"Well, maybe if you weren't so controlling all the time, things would have turned out differently! Maybe I wouldn't have felt suffocated and trapped!" Jey's face showed a tear rolling down, revealing the pain he had been carrying.

In an unexpected turn, Jimmy resorted to gaslighting, saying, "Maybe if you had listened to me instead of pushing everyone away, we wouldn't be in this mess right now. It's always about Jey Uso and his problems!"

Jey was now openly crying, feeling hurt and betrayed by his own brother. He spoke with raw emotion, "Our family was never truly united in the first place! We were always living under your shadow, Jimmy. I'm tired of being second best!"

"Don't blame me for your mistakes! You're the one who made choices that led us here. And now our family is torn apart because of it!" Jimmy retorted, his frustration evident.

"This is not about being better than me. It's about you tearing apart everything we've worked so hard to build together – our legacy!" Jey exclaimed, his voice breaking with sadness.

"Our legacy? Our legacy died a long time ago, uce," jimmy concluded. Jey drops the microphone and surprising everyone with a sudden superkick to Jimmy. The match had begun, signaling the start of a fierce battle between the brothers in the ring.

-20 minutes later-

As the wrestling match reached its climax, the crowd held its breath in anticipation. The familiar "1-2-3" echoed through the arena, and to everyone's surprise, Jey emerged victorious. A wave of excitement washed over the spectators, including myself, as cheers filled the air. It was an unexpected turn of events, and I couldn't help but get caught up in the moment.

Rising to my feet, I joined in the thunderous applause, applauding Jey's hard-fought triumph. The wrestlers slowly made their way out of the ring, each one leaving behind a trail of sweat and determination. Tracy, my companion for the evening, leaned over and reminded me that there was still one more match to come. With Jey's victory behind us, I finally had the chance to take a much-needed bathroom break.

In the midst of a bustling crowd, I found myself navigating through the throngs of people, trying to make my way to my destination. It was in this chaotic environment that an accidental collision occurred, causing me to bump into a woman. Unfortunately, the impact resulted in the contents of her cup splattering all over my pristine white top. Frustration welled up within me, and I couldn't help but mutter an expletive under my breath.

The woman, whose blonde hair cascaded around her shoulders, immediately reached for a napkin, attempting to rectify the situation. "I'm so sorry, ma'am," she began, her voice filled with genuine remorse. Before she could even finish her sentence, I interrupted her with a dismissive response, assuring her that it was no big deal. We exchanged a few polite words, and I couldn't help but notice the black shirt she was wearing, emblazoned with the word "mami." The top seemed to be tailored to accentuate her ample bosom, which appeared to strain against the fabric.

As I ventured into the hallway, my eyes were immediately drawn to the row of doors stretching along its length. Each step I took was accompanied by a nagging question, "Why were they staring at me like that?" It was as if their gazes held a hidden secret, one that I was desperate to uncover.

The uncertainty gnawed at me as I continued down the corridor, my mind racing to find an explanation. Could there be something on my face? I hurriedly wiped my hand across my cheeks, hoping to remove any potential blemish. But as I glanced at my reflection in a nearby mirror, I realized that my appearance seemed perfectly normal.

Still perplexed, my attention shifted to my shirt. I looked down, only to discover that it was immaculate. The fabric was unblemished, and yet the stares persisted, leaving me bewildered and self-conscious.

As I stood there, faced with three potential doors, my hope was that the one on the left would lead me to a much-needed bathroom. With a mix of curiosity and determination, I reached out and grasped the knob, ready to discover what lay behind it. As the door swung open, the room revealed itself - a dimly lit space with a comforting warmth. Instantly, I knew this was not the bathroom I had hoped for.

Despite my initial disappointment, I couldn't help but wonder if there might still be a bathroom hidden somewhere within this mysterious room. Part of me was tempted to give up the search and move on, but another part urged me to press forward, to see what other surprises awaited me.

In the absence of a visible light switch, I refrained from illuminating the room. Consequently, I cautiously navigated through the dimness to access an adjacent space. My hand landed on the wall beside me, and serendipitously, I discovered the elusive switch. As the room came into view, I observed the presence of essential bathroom fixtures - a toilet, sink, and shower.

As I finished my business, I couldn't help but feel a tinge of annoyance. Removing my shirt, I rinsed it under the sink, soaking it in the cool water. My frustration grew as I muttered under my breath, "Literally fucked up my Calvin Klein shirt."

Suddenly, a loud bang echoed through the room, jolting me from my thoughts. My heart skipped a beat as I realized there was someone else present. Fear crept in, and I instinctively switched off the light, hoping to conceal my presence. The darkness enveloped me, and I whispered to myself, "Oh shit... is someone else here?"

In that moment, I contemplated how to handle the unexpected situation. Perhaps I could play it off with an excuse like, "Sorry, I was just looking for a bathroom." The adrenaline pumped through my veins as I prepared for whatever may come next.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I was met with darkness that enveloped the entire room. The intruder, if there was one, had intentionally left every light off. It was my cue to move swiftly towards the exit, praying that I wouldn't stumble upon any obstacles and give myself away. With cautious steps, I began to navigate my way through the darkness, when suddenly, an exasperated curse escaped my lips. How could I have forgotten something so crucial? My shirt still lay abandoned in the bathroom, leaving me half-naked and resembling a bizarre fan.

I spun around in a hurry, only to be met with a forceful impact. Someone had bumped into me, leaving me momentarily stunned. Fear gripped me, rendering me speechless. "Who you? And what you doing in my dressing room?" I was taken aback. It dawned on me that I had inadvertently stumbled into a wrestler's private domain. Panic washed over me as I processed the situation. "And why don't you have on a shirt?" the man interrogated. Nervously, I stuttered, "I...I was looking for a restroom, and I needed to rinse my shirt. Someone spilled their drink on me...".

As the light flickered on, my gaze met his, and a wave of unease washed over me. It was Jey Uso standing before me, a figure admired by many. However, it wasn't simply his celebrity status that made my heart sink; it was the overwhelming presence he exuded. Straightening my posture, I stammered, "sorry for being all up on your personal space."

His unwavering gaze locked onto mine, not a single blink to break the intensity. "You good. I'll get you a shirt," he replied, before turning towards his closet. As he busied himself, I took a moment to survey the room, absorbing the details.

The space was a reflection of Jey Uso's character – bold and vibrant. Wrestling memorabilia adorned the walls, showcasing his journey and achievements. The room seemed to pulsate with energy, each item holding a story of its own.

My eyes wandered to a shelf displaying trophies and accolades, symbols of his dedication and hard work. Each one represented a triumph over adversity, a testament to the resilience required in the world of professional wrestling.

As I continued to explore my surroundings, I couldn't help but notice the meticulous organization of his wardrobe. Rows of neatly arranged attire, each piece seemingly chosen to reflect his vibrant personality. The colors and patterns mirrored the charisma he exuded in the ring, capturing the attention of fans worldwide.

A sense of authenticity permeated the room, reminding me that behind the persona of Jey Uso was a genuine individual. Despite his fame and success, he remained humble and approachable, willing to lend a helping hand to a stranger who stumbled upon his domain.

Returning with a shirt in hand, Jey Uso broke the silence, his voice warm and friendly. "Here you go. It might be a lil big though," he offered, extending the garment towards me. Grateful for his generosity, I accepted the shirt with a nod of appreciation.

Dressed in a blue shirt adorned with the word "yeet," I could sense his intense gaze fixated on me. Feeling a sense of urgency, I quickly commented, "Umm, thanks, I should probably leave now." Just as I was about to turn around and make my way towards the exit, he unexpectedly reached out and grabbed my wrist. With a hint of confusion in his voice, he inquired, "Don't you want to wait for your shirt to dry?" It occurred to me that leaving my Calvin Klein shirt behind in the dressing room of a charismatic professional wrestler would not be the wisest decision. Realizing this, I reluctantly agreed, "Yeah, I guess I'll wait."

He gestured towards the couch, invitingly. "We can sit and talk if you'd want. I aint got nun else to do for the rest of the night," he offered. Jey Uso's unexpected invitation to sit and talk, even though I was only half-dressed and he had intruded into his personal space, left me feeling a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. Nevertheless, I nodded in agreement and made my way over to join him on the couch.

Jey sauntered over to a small table by the door, casually pouring himself a glass of Hennessy. Turning to face me, he took a hearty swig from his glass before posing a question. "So, you come to these shows often?" he inquired. Unsure whether to fib or be honest, I opted for the latter. "Nope, this is actually my first time. I'm here with my best friend Tracy," I replied. He slid into a seat next to me, our knees nearly brushing against each other. "The girl who was screaming beside you?" he asked. "Yep, that's her," I confirmed. "By the way, I never properly thanked you for being my personal trainer three years back," I admitted. A soft chuckle escaped him as he responded, "Nah, don't worry about it. You still look like you're in great shape." I nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it's good to see you again, though," he remarked. "Definitely. If I ever need a personal trainer again, now I know where to find you," I teased. "I mean, I'm all over the place, flying in jets and whatnot. New York, South Carolina, Florida," he boasted, spreading his legs a bit.

Leaning forward in my seat, I couldn't help but ask, "What exactly caused the whole beefing between you and your brother?" He took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself to share his story. "A few months ago, I had a golden opportunity to dethrone the Tribal Chief and claim the title of WWE Undisputed Universal Champion. It was a defining moment that was brutally snatched away from me by none other than my own flesh and blood, my twin brother," he revealed, his voice tinged with pain. Restlessly, he began to fiddle with his wrists, a physical manifestation of the turmoil within. "The betrayal cut deeper than you can imagine. I had no choice but to walk away."

"I didn't know you had to go through all of that, but I'm glad you're out of that situation," I said. Jey smirked and chuckled softly, "Yeah, just some family issues and shit," he agreed. He leaned back on the edge of the sofa, taking deep, calming breaths. This vantage point offered me a better view of him – his glistening abs, intricate tribal tattoos, and the sleekness of his black leather pants. I couldn't help but find it all incredibly enticing. As he lifted his head back up, he apologized, "my bad, I'm just a bit tired," he whined.

My phone rang, interrupting my thoughts. Surprisingly, it was Ivan calling. I sighed, wondering what he wanted this time. Reluctantly, I answered the phone, my tone tinged with annoyance.

"Hello? What do you want, Ivan? I told you I couldn't talk because I'm busy," I said, my frustration evident.

"You never have time for me, and now you're mad because I'm calling? Get a grip," Ivan retorted.

"Get a grip? I've told you hella times that I don't want nothing to do with you. Yet you continue to slither back into my life like the snake you are," I snapped back, my anger boiling over. Before Ivan could respond, my friend Jey snatched the phone from my hand. He looked at me, puzzled. "Who is this?" he asked. "It's my ex," I replied, my face buried in my hands, feeling the weight of the situation.

Jey raised the phone to his ear, his voice devoid of sympathy. "look, I don't know what's going on, but she dont wanna talk to you, uce. So get off her phone," he stated firmly. He handed the phone back to me. "Hang up. Now," he commanded. Feeling the weight of Jey's words, I obediently ended the call. Collapsing back onto the sofa, I tossed my phone onto the table beside me. Tears welled up in my eyes as I let out a shaky breath. "When is this ever going to end?" I whimpered, my voice barely audible.

Jey gently lifted my chin, forcing me to look at him. He stood directly in front of me, his presence calming. "It'll get better, trust me. I've been through some similar shit. And how old are you again?" he asked, trying to offer some perspective. "I'm 24," I replied, wiping away my tears. "See, you're still young. I bet in a few years, hell, maybe even months, you'll forget he even exists," Jey reassured me, his words carrying a glimmer of hope.

Jey delicately approached me, his touch as soft as a whisper, tenderly wiping away my tears. Despite his outward appearance, a sense of warmth emanated from him, revealing the gentle nature of his heart. I lifted my eyes to meet his, and in that moment, I was utterly captivated by his presence. There was an irresistible charm about him, a magnetic allure that stirred a deep longing within me, an insatiable desire that refused to be ignored. The hunger in his eyes was palpable, a yearning to possess every part of me. With genuine concern etched on his face, he softly asked if I was alright, and I could only offer a silent nod in response. As he leaned back, a deep inhale filled his chest, and I couldn't help but notice a restlessness in his movements, a struggle to rein in his own desires. The ache in my abdomen intensified, intensifying the yearning to be enveloped in his embrace until it became almost unbearable.

In a daring and audacious move, I found myself straddling him, overcome by the magnetic pull of his gaze. The air crackled with electric anticipation as I whispered sensually, "Can you feel it? The weight of my body pressed against yours." His response, a throaty moan, “i- i cant concentrate with you on me like this.”

Inching closer, my lips tantalizingly brushed against his, igniting an inferno of longing for the taste that awaited him. Our bodies moved in perfect harmony, a symphony of desire that reached a crescendo with a shared gasp. The room hung in suspended silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic sound of our labored breaths.

With a tender caress, he pressed his lips fervently against mine, setting ablaze an insatiable hunger within him, mirrored by the fervor that consumed me. Our mouths became a battlefield of passion, a dance of devouring where he hungrily savored the essence of my being, leaving us both breathless and yearning for more.

Unexpectedly, the door swung open, revealing Jimmy's presence. Startled, I quickly rose to my feet, while Jey sat up, clearly taken aback. Jimmy wore a sly grin, leaving me utterly perplexed as to the reason behind his amusement. "Aye bruh-. Yo ass in hee gettin freaky and shit," he chuckled, "the tribal chief wanna talk to you, bro."

Jey retorted, uninterested, "I don't want to talk to him or you, so get out my shit." Jimmy ran his fingers through his hair, contemplating his response. "Listen, bruh, if Roman shows up, you know he's gonna start some shit, right?" he warned, slowly advancing towards Jey. Resolute, Jey stood up and made his way to the door. "ight, I'll be right back, and don't touch my shit. When i get back, ion wanna see yo face nomo after this," he emphasized before the door closed behind him, leaving me alone with Jimmy.

In the midst of Jey's dressing room, I found myself engulfed in a wave of shyness, apprehensive about the shirt I was wearing. The piercing gaze of Jimmy Uso seemed to burn into my very core. "So, you and Jey, huh? Something going on?" he inquired. It would be sheer madness to assert any sort of connection given that I had only reunited with the man today. Responding with a simple "yes" or "no" would hardly suffice, especially when I was merely borrowing his shirt and our interaction had been limited to a fleeting kiss. My mind drew a blank, struggling to conjure up any suitable response. Before I could gather my thoughts, Jimmy impatiently snapped his fingers, urging me to speak. "Come on, use your words, baby. You're a woman," he added. Flustered, I managed to stammer, "I... No," attempting to put an end to any misconceptions.

He approached me, his question hanging in the air. The one I had been dreading, hoping it wouldn't arise, finally did. I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of my response. "We only recently reconnected after three years," I replied. Jimmy furrowed his brow, clearly perplexed. "So, in other words-" I interrupted him, not willing to hear the rest of his sentence. "Please, don't say it. I don't want to hear it," I snapped. Jimmy chuckled softly, his curiosity evident. "Say what?" he inquired. "Something along the lines of 'so you sleep with people you've just met again after 3 years?' And if that was your question, then no, I don't," I retorted, my anger starting to bubble to the surface. "Honestly, this was a mistake. I don't even know why I'm still here. Is it already 11 PM?" I shouted, frustration seeping into my words. "Actually, it's 12 AM," Jimmy added, trying to provide some clarity. I slapped my forehead with the palm of my hand, realizing my mistake.

"The hell you mean a mistake?" Jey Uso's voice caught me off guard, not because it was particularly loud, but because I hadn't realized he had been listening. I cursed under my breath, realizing that he must have overheard some of the terrible things I had said. Memories of our long conversations about life, his stories about his family, and the time he stood up to my ex-boyfriend flooded my mind. It was all too overwhelming, and I found myself at a loss for words. "Um, nice to meet you, uh…” “Y/N," I stammered, desperately trying to regain my composure. "Yeah, nice to meet you, Y/N. See you later, uce," Jimmy chimed in before leaving. "Leave faster," Jey added, his tone sharp.

Jey's gaze remained fixed on me, unrelenting and piercing. I stood there, enveloped in a heavy cloak of silence, burdened by guilt and shame. It was clear that a mere "I'm sorry" wouldn't suffice in this moment, so I decided it was best to gather my belongings and make my exit. As I reached for my phone on the table, I could feel the weight of the tension in the room. The short walk to the bathroom to retrieve my shirt felt strangely disconnected, as if I were moving through a dream. When I returned, Jey was still planted by the door, their eyes never wavering from my figure.

In a swift motion, I hastily discarded the shirt he had given me. But before I could even think about slipping into my now dampened garment, Jey abruptly approached me, snatched the shirt from my grasp, and carelessly flung it to a corner. His piercing gaze locked onto mine as he uttered, "Seeing me was a mistake, huh?" Stammering, I attempted to explain myself, but my words were cut short as Jey forcefully pressed his lips against mine. His fervent desire was evident as he sought to entangle our tongues, engaging in a passionate struggle for dominance. Breaking away from the intense kiss, he questioned, "Was kissing me a mistake?" Trembling, I managed to utter a feeble denial before Jey's hand forcefully struck my rear, causing me to whimper in pain. "Speak up, ma, I can't hear you," he growled, his eyes never leaving mine. "I'm...I'm sorry, Jey!" I whimpered, my voice filled with remorse. Yet, even as he maintained his unwavering gaze, he coldly declared, "Sorry won't fix this."

He pressed his hungry lips against the soft curve of my neck, igniting a fiery passion that consumed us both. Each kiss was a tantalizing blend of urgency and tenderness, leaving a trail of electric sensations in its wake. His tongue, like a skilled artist, traced delicate patterns across my skin, awakening a symphony of desire within me.

"You looked so fucking good tonight," he breathed, his voice dripping with unbridled lust. The way he spoke, filled with raw desire, made my heart race and my body ache for his touch. "That tight ass Calvin Klein shirt hugged yo curves, teasing me, tempting me. And those black leather pants...fuck, you driving me wild." My toes, painted in pristine white, became a symbol of my surrender, a visual feast that intensified his longing.

A soft, involuntary moan escaped my lips as his mouth continued its exploration, his lips tracing a path of pleasure along my sensitive skin. His voice, deep and seductive, sent delicious shivers dancing down my spine, heightening my senses to new heights. "No wonder Jimmy couldn't take his eyes off you," he whispered, his voice laced with possessiveness and desire, fueling the flames of our passionate encounter.

"But...wait," I gasped, my breath hitching in my throat as I struggled to regain composure. "I have to make sure my friend made it home...I can't leave her alone." "She can wait," he growled, his voice filled with a primal urgency that mirrored the burning hunger in his eyes. The intensity of his desire, his longing for me, drowned out any rational thoughts. In that moment, nothing mattered except the intoxicating connection we shared. The world around us faded into oblivion as our bodies entwined, consumed by an insatiable craving that could no longer be denied.

In the midst of the electrifying moment, a realization struck me like a bolt of lightning. He had a point - she was indeed a mature individual capable of tantalizing patience. However, a delicious sense of guilt danced seductively within me. Jey raised his head, locking his smoldering gaze with mine. With a touch as tender as a feather, he caressed my bottom lip with his thumb, while teasingly nibbling on his own. His hands, filled with a hunger that matched my own, embarked on an audacious journey, venturing upwards and reaching the edge of my pants. In one breathtakingly swift motion, the buckle came undone, a symphony of desire echoing in the room as the sound of fabric hitting the ground nourished our escalating passion. Jey wasted no time, driven by an insatiable desire that consumed him, as he effortlessly removed my underwear, leaving my vulnerability exposed to his voracious longing.

As he descended to the floor, his eyes locked onto mine, now level with my most intimate sanctuary. A tidal wave of desire crashed over me, drowning me in the intoxicating realization of the depths of his insatiable lust.

I locked my eyes onto him, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down my spine. Speech escaped me, replaced by a wordless gasp as a jolt of electric pleasure surged through every inch of my being. My mouth formed a breathless "oh my god," a testament to the overwhelming ecstasy that his tongue, so skillfully and tenderly, bestowed upon my most sensitive area.

His lips embarked on a seductive journey, planting sensual kisses along the smooth expanse of my inner thighs, teasingly inching closer to the pulsating core of my desire. With every tantalizing touch, the fire within me grew, an inferno consuming all reason and inhibitions. He knew exactly how to push every boundary, how to unravel the deepest recesses of my pleasure.

Our eyes met, his questioning gaze filled with a mix of longing and hesitation. In that moment, I realized that this forbidden indulgence was a precarious path we were treading. But as my chest heaved with unquenchable longing, the undeniable truth washed over me. This desire, this primal need, was not a misstep; it was a plunge into the abyss of unadulterated bliss.

“Is tasting you a mistake?” he asked. With a voice thick with desire, I moaned in response, affirming what our bodies had already declared. "No, it's not." And in that instant, all doubts vanished, replaced by an unyielding hunger that consumed us both, fueling the flames of passion that burned brighter with each passing moment.

jeys tongue flicked my clit again before he began to slurp me over and over, making a wet mess. My hands found their way to his silky soft damped hair, and I gave it a squeeze. “You taste so good ma,” he said. My head fell back as I began to moan a bit louder. “Eyes. on. Me,” he demanded. I did as I was told, I lifted my head and made eye to eye contact with him. God, the view was so beautiful, I watched his tongue disappear into my cunt over and over. In the midst of our passionate embrace, I reluctantly let out a sigh as he gently disengaged. My hand instinctively cradled his cheek, urging him closer for a more intense kiss.

Slowly, we moved backward towards the inviting comfort of the couch, his gentle guidance ensuring our seamless transition. With a soft thud, we both collapsed onto the cushions, his weight comfortably resting upon me. As our lips finally parted, a shimmering trail of our combined desire lingered, connecting us in the most intimate of ways. I could feel his thick bulge through his pants. As he pulled away from the kiss, a trail of our joint fluids trailed to one another. He thrusted his hips into me, “tell me what you want mama,” he spoke, following a hiss. My breath was so shaky, “i want you, please, please jey.” he pulled his pants down along with his boxers with one hand. His mouth slammed onto mine once again.

As his cock rubbed against my sensitive folds, I couldn't help but whimper his name. "Please Jey," I begged, my body craving his touch. He slid into me with ease, and I let out a thick moan as my back arched. "So big," I stuttered, my mind consumed by the pleasure he was bringing me.

With each thrust, he grew deeper and deeper inside me, sending waves of ecstasy through my body. "Shit ma, you grippin me so good," he groaned, his eyes locked onto mine. He lifted his head to look at me, his voice low and husky. "Is. Fucking. You. A. Mistake?" he asked, each word followed by a deep and hard thrust. I couldn't help but whine as my toes curled, my body on the brink of release. "N-n. Fuck!" I managed to stammer out, my senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

His movements grew more erratic, more primal, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. "This is my pussy, ma, you hear me? Mine. You know this shit was never a mistake," he grunted, each thrust driving him deeper inside me.

I whimpered, lost in the sensation of him claiming me in such a raw and intimate way. "It's all yours, Jey. I'm sorry," I cried out, my voice filled with a mixture of pleasure and remorse.

He continued to move inside me, his pace relentless as he sought his own release. I could feel myself spiraling towards another climax, my body aching for the sweet release that only he could give me.

And then, as he pounded into me with an intensity that bordered on obsession, we both reached the peak of ecstasy. I cried out his name as I came, my body trembling with pleasure.

He followed suit, his own release sending him over the edge as he collapsed on top of me. We lay there, breathless and spent, our bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs.

In that moment, I knew that what we had was special, that the connection between us ran deeper than mere physical desire. And as he held me close, I knew that I was his, just as he was mine. Our hearts beating as one, our bodies in perfect harmony.

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