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luv4fushi · 1 year ago

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thinking about arguing with husband!gojo. it’s funny because he’s the strongest sorcerer alive with several other, more wicked enemies harboring one sided hate for him, yet he’s anxiously glancing at you every now and then as you hiss at him. you’re the only one who can make him doubt his strength.

he usually finds you cute when you’re mad, but right now he doesn’t really appreciate the way your face is scrunched up and how you’re yelling at him.

it’s not his fault. he thinks you’re being so dramatic.

“you’re laughing at me,” you deadpan. “why do you never take things i say seriously?”

“because i honestly don’t think it’s that serious,” he fires back, and your eyes narrow. oh, fuck.

arguing with your husband is never fun. it’s probably because the both of you are stubborn; you’re stubborn because you’re simply right all the time, and satoru’s stubborn because if you’re not right, then he is.

you pause for just a second, but it’s enough to sprout a moment of extreme tension between you and your husband.

“right,” you scoff after you inhale sharply. “you just don’t care, do you?”

“don’t fucking say that,” satoru snaps. “i do care. that’s why i’m here.”

it takes everything in you to not shoot him another death glare. “so i should be thankful for the bare minimum?”

satoru blinks. he would’ve flinched, but he refuses to let you have that sort of power over him. “i’m not giving the bare minimum.”

“yes you are,” you argue back, voice straining as you swallow a lump of anger down the back of your throat.

the both of you are still. it feels like an eternity passes before the anger in you wanes. you’re exhausted and this fight with satoru is surely going to make the both of you upset enough to not talk for the rest of the night.

“i’m sorry that i’m not good enough,” satoru says, breaking the silence. you’ve never heard his voice so small, so pathetic—he’s never, ever shown you this side of him, and you’re starting to feel that dreading pit of guilt tug at your gut.

“that’s not what i meant,” you force yourself to say, sighing.

“but that’s what you’re thinking,” satoru mumbles. he avoids looking at your face.

“no it’s not,” you deny. “it’s never been about that.”

satoru gives you a wary look. “then what is it about? because i’ve done everything i can.”

“everything? really?” you sneer. “do you even love me anymore?”

silence. satoru swears he can hear your heart break.

“baby, don’t say that,” he groans, “c’mon, we were ten points away from three stars. that’s a single plate—one you didn’t turn in because you somehow forgot how to dash!”

you whip around to glower at satoru, your face twisting into an offended expression. “you set the kitchen on fire! how could i do something like serving a dish if the kitchen is on fire?!”

“baby, it’s the same button that it always has been this entire game!” he whines. “and you set the kitchen on fire! you keep forgetting to take the rice off the stove!”

you sigh exasperatedly, crossing your arms to act like some sort of shield between you and satoru’s (truthful) words.

“but you don’t chop up your stupid fish!” you protest. “so i end up doing five things at once!”

satoru opens his mouth to speak, but he knows you’re in the right. he opts to click his tongue instead.

“and every time i asked for help,” you add, frowning, “you just kept bringing out more of the dumbass cucumbers! we don’t have counter space for that!!!”

“that’s for prep to maximize our sushi making! throw it on the floor!”

“are you kidding me? that’s so unsanitary!”

“it’s a game!”

you’re both panting by the end of the fight. you’re biting down on your inner cheek and satoru is scratching the nape of his neck awkwardly.

“… sorry,” he mumbles. “i won’t bring out cucumbers anymore. and i’m also sorry for being mean about you not knowing how to dash.”

“good,” you huff. “‘cause i was seriously not gonna play anymore.”

“and…?” he prods, nudging you in your ribs. you can tell what he wants just by the sound of his voice.

“and i’m sorry for getting mad at you even though you’re doing you’re best at carrying me in this game…” you murmur, rolling your eyes.

satoru’s face brightens and he places a wet kiss on your cheek. “you’re forgiven.”

“love you, dummy.”

“love you too, baby.”

“no more cucumbers unless the ticket calls for them,” you remind him pointedly.

“yes, chef!”

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

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anticapitalistclown · 7 months ago

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clownie how are you? I wanted to request lookism boys reacting to the trend "chat can you watch my boyfriend?" its ok if you don't want to

Chat, Can you watch my boyfriend?

Gun, Jaegyeon, Vasco

Gun

Gun was focused on making dinner for the night when he heard your fast steps "Chat, can you watch my boyfriend for me? I'll be right back" before he could process anything your mobile was on the kitchen counter, and you already disappeared.

Gun raised an eyebrow and read the chat "is he really y/n's bf?" he read the question "yes, yes I am" he turned to keep cooking when a notification popped "gangnamoppa2: what is y/n doing with a loser" Gun chuckled while slicing the sashimi with his knife "the girl you're spending money on, sleeps with me every night" he shaped the rice to prepare the niguiri "who's the loser here?".

When you reappeared you found Gun giving a sushi masterclass while the chat was going crazy, you started to read the comments:

gangnamoppa2: this boy would do no good to my y/n, you should drop him

zoey: chat, let the man cook

yumin: who was that Daniel guy he was talking about?

ninjagoo: break up with him on live lol

baek: chat, don't be mean!

You tilted your head to your boyfriend "oppa, you started a war" Gun smiled triumphant "leave those losers and come eat with me".

Jaegyeon

Jaegyeon was installing a new steering wheel to Initial N, when you jumped on the passenger seat and left the phone on the dashboard "chat, watch my boyfriend for me, I'll be back real quick" you winked at the camera and left.

Jaegyeon absolutely couldn't care less about the chat, his first priority was Initial N and the new steering wheel "that's it, my dear Initial N, you've got a new toy" he said proud.

serasin: bro is cute but talks to his car

Jaegyeon read the comment "serasin, Initial N is like part of the family" the chat wouldn't get it.

monkseob: Initial N or y/n?

Jaegyeon was frozen "do I have to choose?" he sighed "okay chat, stop" his hand grabbed the steering wheel "y/n is very dear to me, but Initial N and I have a longer relationship"

2secondqueen: creep

snapper: tf is wrong with him?

"shut up" Jaegyeon looked at Inital N "Initial N has brought me places and I protected Initial N from the kings" Jaegyeon pouted "damn, it's been Initial N and me against the world, huh? I'm getting emotional" he saw you rushing back to him with a smile "I'll choose y/n".

Vasco

You pinched your boyfriend's cheeks and placed your phone on his table "chat, watch my boyfriend for me" you left the room, leaving him confused "y/n?" he called you, but there was no response "she maybe needs to go to the restroom" he looked confused at the chat "hello".

mimi: bro's scary af

baek: mf looks 30

clownie: he's kinda cute tho~

Vasco stared at the comments and pouted "I don't understand what you're saying" he looked at the door, how much are you going to take? "I guess my y/n has a lot of foreign fans" Vasco sighed "well, I'm Vasco, I like dogs and I want to get married in a future and have three daughters, and a kangaroo too" he looked dreamy "and when I'm older and about to die me and the kangaroo-" his speech was interrupted by you "I'm back" you smiled at him "where you constipated?" he asked you "no!" you giggled.

boxking: respect bro

dong: he's the one

yuna: wait! I want to know how the kangaroo story ends!

#lookism #lookism x reader #park jong gun #jong gun #park gun #gun park #jaegyeon na #vasco #vasco lookism #lee euntae #jonggun #park jonggun

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lyrefromthesea · 1 year ago

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Male pillars x reader - bringing them their favourite food.

author's note: due to a comment I've received on an earlier post, i'll not write for Muichiro anymore. i've stated before that i do not write sexual content for minors, nor do i engage in writing romantic relationships including them. everything i've written for him was seen as a platonic relationship between him and the reader. since my statement fell in deaf ears, i've decided to leave him out completely. i do not feel comfortable mentioning him in my posts anymore, my deepest apologies.

request: how would the pillars react to receiving their favourite food from you?

pairing: Tengen x reader, Obanai x reader, Rengoku x reader, Sanemi x reader, Giyuu x reader, Gyomei x reader

Tengen:

you were standing in the kitchen, whistling to yourself. today had been good so you decided to make your husband a little treat.

the market had been rather full, but you walked through the crowd and bought the ingredients you needed for his favourite dish.

seaweed. rice. and already prepared fugu. it had taken quite some time to find it, but you did it nonetheless.

standing in the kitchen, you had already made a plate of fugu sushi. at least that's what you thought. when you turned around to place another piece on the plate, it looked like there was one missing. have you forgotten one?

placing your finished piece on the plate, you turned around to make more. finally, you would be finished-

and another one was gone.

"Tengen! stop stealing the fugu sushi!" you scolded, not surprised when you heard quiet footsteps behind you. he wasn't a shinobi for nothing.

"sorry, darling. you looked so flamboyant, i didn't want to interrupt you!" he answered, wrapping muscular arms around you. a laugh escaped you, feeling him place his chin on the top of your hair.

"have i ever told you that you're the best?" he teased, finally freeing you from his embrace.

"i already know, that's why we're married."

Obanai:

you placed a bowl of tororo konbu right in front of him, telling him that you tried your best. naturally, he thanked you, but he didn't dive in like you would've expected him to do.

"what's wrong?" you asked, wondering if you had messed up the dish. it was your first time making it, perhaps you had missed a step or overcooked something.

"i.. could you maybe..?" Obanai asked, he appeared much more timid than usual. you tried understanding what was wrong.

seeing his finger brush against his mask, you understood, he still felt insecure about his face. you hadn't been in a relationship for long, he probably needed time to get used to this. "of course."

"just know that i would never judge you for what i see." you added, placing a kiss on his temple. truthfully, you were saddened about his request, but you wanted to give him the time he needed.

Obanai, on the other hand, was touched by your words. his meal long forgotten, he stood up, taking your hands in his.

"we should marry."

you looked at him, first shocked, and then you started laughing. perhaps he overreacted just a bit, but who could blame him?

Rengoku:

sweet potatoes. so many sweet potatoes.

when you've told Rengoku you could cook his favourite dish in the near future, he had been incredibely happy about it.

he came back with a load of sweet potatoes the next day, his whole head nearly dissapearing behind the amounts of the root vegetable he had bought.

now, another day later, you put miso soup and sweet potatoes for two on the table, smiling at your enthusiastic husband. he had offered to help you the whole time, which eventually led you to ban him from the kitchen.

he nearly devoured the dish as soon as you were sat on the opposite side of the table. it made you chuckle, seeing him swallow the huge bite he took down.

"umai!"

"you've outdone yourself, i'm glad i brought some sweet potatoes home!" he brightly smiled, earning another laugh from you. some sweet potatoes?

"Kyojuro, you brought a ton of them home." you countered, pointing at the rest of the potatoes you've put on the counter for now. "that will probably be enough for a month worth of miso soup with sweet potatoes!"

"sounds good, don't you think?"

Sanemi:

Sanemi plopped down on the engawa, letting out a heavy sigh. training had been rather hard, but he needed to stay fit. nevertheless, his muscles ached and he could really take a break.

he debated over going inside, he trained enough. a shower wouldn't hurt, he was sweating, dampened hair was sticking to his forehead. the man sighed, standing up to finally move inside.

however, when he saw you standing right behind him, he froze. you were looking up at him with wide eyes, as if you tried surpising him. he looked down at your hands - you were holding something - only now realizing that he had been right. you did try to surpise him.

he looked at the plate in your hands, it was filled with ohagi. his favourite food. his eyes moved back to your face, watching you tilt your head.

"it's for you." you told him, tilting your head to the side. "let's go inside, you've trained enough." you smiled, nodding towards the door. he nodded, following you into the kitchen. you placed the ohagi down on the counter, watching him slowly take one.

"you didn't have to." he said, already having bitten into the one in his hand. you chuckled at his words, he had nearly eaten the ohagi with one bite, yet he claimed he didn't need any.

"i needed a reason to get you away from training." you admitted, a sly smile on your face. but both of you knew he would've listened to you no matter what.

"i would've stopped anyways." he answered, placing the ohagi he had picked up to the side. he came closer, watching your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"what? why?" you asked, not questioning why he came closer. in a matter of seconds, you were in his arms, your eyes squeezing shut in disbelief.

"i wanted to shower." he smirked, basically squishing his sweaty body against yours. you let out a whine, trying to free yourself from his hug, but only managing to do so when he let go.

"great, now i can shower too!" you scolded, seeing him laugh to himself. he walked towards the bathroom, seemingly wanting to wash himself.

"let's eat the ohagi after you're finished."

Giyuu:

Giyuu didn't know what he had expected when he came home today, but he certainly didn't think it would be the smell of freshly cooked food.

no, scrap that. he was often greeted by the nice smell of a promising meal. this was different. it wasn't just any meal.

"welcome home, Giyuu." you greeted, watching him step into the kitchen. you looked content, already knowing that you would make him happy.

"are you hungry? i prepared something for you." you smiled, seeing him nod slowly. when you moved away from the table, his gaze wandered towards the bowls full of food.

your gaze was fixed on him, wanting to catch his reaction. he wasn't the type to voice his happiness, but you certainly caught the way he looked at the salmon daikon you made.

the lightest twitch of his eyebrows and the way his eyes narrowed showed his interest. he stared at the food for a moment, the quiet grumble of his stomach revealing how hungry he truly was.

but he didn't immediately start eating. instead he looked back at you, his gaze softening.

"i've got you this" he muttered, extending his hand towards you. you stared in awe, a small bag of your favourite sweets being placed in your hands.

"let's eat them for dessert, Giyuu."

Gyomei:

when you brought home the ingredients for takikomi gohan. you have wanted to surprise Gyomei with his favourite dish.

you stood in the kitchen, cutting the vegetables into small pieces, as you hummed to yourself. Gyomei should've been home in an hour, at least that's what you've thought.

"i'm home." you heard his deep voice call from the hallway. your head snapped up, looking at the ingredients and then towards the door. you wouldn't have enough time to put everything away. before you even had the chance to react, he already came through the door.

"..are those?" he stopped in the doorway, his head turning towards you. you knew he was blind, but his ability to detect your exact location surpised you ever so often.

the smell of his favourite food hung in the air, almost as if the world had wanted to ruin your surprise.

"i wanted to surprise you." you admitted, lowering your head. you knew he wouldn't be disappointed, but you've planned this since last week. he must've sensed your sadness, walking towards you and putting his hand over yours.

"i can help you, let's cook together." he offered, carefully taking the knife out of your hand. truthfully, you nearly objected, not wanting him to hurt himself, however, you nearly chuckled thinking of the large weapon he was wielding.

"let's call it a cooking date then." you smiled, opening the drawer to get a second knife.

#kimetsu no yaiba #kny #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #tengen uzui #tengen x reader #obanai iguro #obanai x reader #rengoku kyojuro #rengoku x reader #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi x reader #giyuu tomioka #giyuu x reader #gyomei himejima #gyomei x reader

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sweatyracoon · 10 months ago

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Skz Reactions!

Summary: You're on your period, and leak through your pants/shorts.

A/n: ALL members, I know I used Felix as a crutch a lot sorry

Warnings: blood mentions, suggestive (not all), language

Bangchan:

You and the eight boys had been friends ever since they debuted, meeting because you were one of the staff. You were near their age, which helped the bond.

You were particularly close with Han and Bangchan, them being so similar to you.

While filming a dance practice, you felt something painful in your abdomen, immediately making you cringe. It was too early to start, so you brushed it off as a simple pre-cramp. You continued with the camera.

During break, while the guys watched the video for mistakes, Bangchan came up next to you, gagging you from behind. He loved hugs, and you were never one to say no. He was just to comfortable.

But after a few seconds, he let his grip loosen, making you yearn to feel him again.

He didn't step up next to you; he didn't leave his place behind you. Then, you heard a noise, one like the sound of clothing being removed.

You went to turn, but Bangchan stopped you, whispering, "Don't turn, y/n. You have a red spot on your jeans."

You froze.

Sure, he was your best friend, but to go through something like this? Your ears flushed, scrunching your nose.

Then, his arms wrapped around you again, this time holding the sleeves to his sweater, wrapping it snugly around your waist.

"Here, no one will know, okay? Don't be embarrassed. After this, just go change," Bangchan finally came into view in front of you, smiling gently.

"Channie, I'm so sorry-"

"Don't be, y/n. Its normal, I get it."

"But, I don't want to ruin your sweater-" You try pleading with him, face flushed.

"It can be washed, silly. Besides-" he paused, leaning in slightly. "I don't mind a bit of blood."

Before you could become more of a mess, he grinned and turned back to the guys. Getting in their positions.

"Hey, where'd your sweater go, hyung?"

"Y/ns holding it for me. It got too hot in here,"

Lee know:

You were in the kitchen with Felix and Lee know, the two guys you considered your closest friends. They both enjoyed cooking with you, and that made you happy.

It was late, you were sporting your white tee, and a pair of shorts that were cut a bit too short, but they guys didn't care. As long as you were comfortable.

The menu was simple, sushi and ramen. Quick, but filling.

The boys worked their magic, allowing you to help with slicing or heating.

As you went to roll some rice, a cramp knocked the wind out of you, the boys noticing the sharp intake of breath.

"Y/n? You okay, noona?" Felix asked, patting your shoulder.

"Mhm," you breathed out, nodding. "Sorry. Don't worry, it's all good."

"Okay," Felix responded, reluctantly going back to what he was doing.

You were suddenly tired, rolling less and less, leaning against the counter.

You heard shuffling behind you, and then a small gasp. That's when you felt it. The small, subtle trickle running down your leg. Blood.

Before you could get any words out, you heard Minho say to Felix, "An aspirin and a pair of sweats from my room," all Felix did was nod, looking shocked.

You went to move as the said that, but Minhos arms around your waist stopped you from cleaning the blood running down your leg.

"Minho, I-" you couldn't help but cringe when you felt the wet, cold paper towel running up your inner thigh.

Minho dragged it all the way up into your shorts, making you shudder. The coldness kept you alert and aware, feeling how he was taking care of you.

"Don't let this embarrass you, Y/n. It happens, okay? Here, put your hand where mine is," he told you, waiting for you to listen.

When Felix came back with the stuff, Minho led you to his room, blocking the sight of you from anyone passing by, trying his best to protect your image.

"Thank you, Min. I really appreciate it."

"No worries,"

Changbin:

As Bangchans younger sister, you often found yourself in the company of the 8 boys. You loved them all to death and hoped they felt the same.

Changbin by far was your favorite, because he was genuine with you. You had listened to his insecurities and helped him through them, only to be rewarded with hugs and random raps. You didn't mind.

You were sitting on one of the cushioned chairs in the lounge room, waiting for the boys to finish their interview.

It was at the JYP studio, so you weren't worried, knowing they were in their element.

You sat, scrolling through IG, waiting. It had been a few hours, but these things take time.

You felt your stomach rumble, and you sighed. Perhaps there would be time for a snack while you wait. But you had no cash.

The rumbles grew louder, and that sinking feeling in your stomach grew larger, turning into a sharp pain, making you whimper.

Normally, your period isn't painful, which is why you thought it wasn't your period.

"Y/n?" You heard from in front of you.

You were so deep in thought that you didn't hear them exiting the room.

"Binnie? How'd it go?" You asked, trying your best to smile.

"Fine. But your looking pale, jagi. What's the matter?" Changbin crouched, looking at you.

"Just some stomach pains, is all," You put your hand to your stomach, grinning.

"Need a hug?" He stood, spreading his arms. "They can cure anything!" His joy made you smile, standing to capture him in a warm embrace.

Your stomach died down for a little, but you felt Changbin shift.

"Maybe not everything..." He almost sounds like he was about to laugh, making you turn to see what he was seeing.

Your eyes widened.

Where you once sat was a large red spot, staining the chair, and, most likely, your sweats, making your face flush.

"Oh my god, Bin-" you choked, embarrassed by the sight. "We need to get rid of this chair,"

"How?"

"I don't know!"

"Treat it like a dead body...Let's burn it."

You smiled, knowing he was trying to get you to calm down.

"that's...oddly specific."

He looked at you with a glint in his eye, "Let's go get you some new sweats first."

"We can't leave this here, Bin,"

He thought for a second, before taking off his leather jacket, and, gracefully, placed it over the stain.

"Better?"

Hyunjin:

You and Hyunjin didn't get along, to say the least. Jeonjin was your friend, and when you started hanging with the others, everyone but him seemed to like you.

This didn't upset you, of course, but it was unfortunate because he was hot cute.

Jeonjin, you, Felix and Hyunjin were all at an art museum, looking at his work. You loved seeing his art despite his distaste for you.

His art was real, and it had meaning. It connected with you.

But once that feeling of happiness started, it all came crashing down the moment you felt your cramps. It started. Of course.

You motioned for Felix to come over to you, him obediently leaving mid conversation with some art critiques. Hyunjin was one of them, scoffing at you.

"Felix, I just started, but I don't have a tampon with me. I think there's one in the center console of the car. Could you grab it fo-"

"I'm on it, jagi. I'll text you when I'm back, okay?" Felix didn't wait for a reply, leaving.

He was such a good friend to you, and it nearly made you cry.

You turned, making your way to the restroom, not wanting your period to leak so soon.

"Hey!" You heard, turning. Hyunjin was standing there, a displeased look in his eye. "What'd you say to Felix that made him run out like that? I was talking to him," he complained, not meeting your eye.

"Girl talk," you replied, walking back slowly, trying to reach the door.

"Girl talk?" He looked confused before looking down at your bottoms.

It only occured to you in that moment that you chose to wear white jeans and a white shirt, your ears turning red.

"Oh...girl talk," Hyunjin breathed. He looked back up to your face to see you tearing up.

You expected him to laugh, maybe even shout about it, focusing the attention on you, but his eyes softened, making your blurry eyes close.

"Here-" Hyunjin whispered, pushing you into the bathroom, making his way to a stall with you. "We're at an art show, so maybe...if you..just-" he was stuttering, waving his hands, going to touch you, but stopped mid way.

"What?" You cringe at how little you sound, waiting for him to explain.

"Maybe, smear it around...?" He shrugged, leaving them suspended as he made an interested face.

"You want me...to smear blood...all over my clothes...?" You ask, suddenly feeling overwhelmed.

"Ive always wanted to make art with blood ... I don't know-" he was interrupted by your phone.

Felix had the tampons.

"Hyunjin...Felix is at the door with my things. Definitely not tonight. But maybe, before it ends...you could use my blood if you want to," It makes you confused, saying it out loud, but seeing Hyunjins face light up makes you not doubt it.

"Okay,"

Han:

Lee know was teaching you a dance in the dance room while waiting for the others to show up for practice.

You and Lee know were close, so you spent a lot of time together.

He even knew about your crush on Han, but Han only saw you as a friend. Right? Lee know begged to differ, but he is also a tease.

You, Lee know, Bangchan and Felix were already there.

Your body cramped up a lot, so when your stomach clenched angrily, you brushed it off as being overworked. Continuing, you ignored the pain as best as you could, jumping into the next position.

When Han walked in, he caught sight of you behind Lee know, watching yourself in the mirror, focused on the routine. He admired this about you.

How your hair flopped with your movements, your face scrunched with focus, your neck glistening with sweat. He loved watching your torso, because even though you were a girl, your thrusts compared to his were so masculine, making him feel tiny.

And your ass-! He always felt the need to stair, making him think he spent too much time with Lee know.

He loved that it moved so gently at a fast pace, defining your figure. How the sweats hugged it just right before flaring at the legs. How it was painted red with your-- wait, what?

It was then that he noticed that you were on your period, and leaking. No one else seemed to notice, him being grateful in silence, not wanting to embarrass you.

Without a second thoughts and trying to not make a scene, he ran up behind you, and gave you a hug, pressing himself flush against your back.

"Y/n! I missed you!" Han said, trying to sound normal.

"Han? Come on, I was dancing, man!" You groaned, not truly bothered.

"Hey, I got some news. Wanna hear it?" This caught both yours and Lee knows attention.

"Okay...?" Han never really acted like this with you, so you were a bit confused.

"Well, then I need you to come with me," he whispered. His bag of a change of clothes and water was still slung around his arm.

"What? Why?" You giggled, seeing his expression in the mirror.

He playfully tugged you backwards, making you roll your eyes.

"Just trust me, jagi. Close your eyes, I can't have you looking," Han smiled as you listened, gently leading you backwards into the hall, and to the private restroom.

He finally let you go, telling you to open your eyes.

"Han, what are we doing in here," You asked looking at him for an answer. He looked nervous all of a sudden.

"I made sure no one saw, so before you get embarrassed, it was just me," he explained nervously, digging in his bag.

He pulled out an extra pair of pants, holding them out to you.

"Why are you giving me your pants?" You asked, taking them anyway, looking at them with confusion.

"There's...blood. On your pants. I wasn't sure if you knew-" Han said, fidgeting.

"Oh," was all you could muster before seeing that his face was flushed, his cheeks puffed out.

"Thank you, Han."

"Of course. I'll let you change,"

Felix:

Felix was your best friend. Your partner in crime. Your go-to. He was your everything. And now, you both sat, playing videogames together.

"No!" He yelled, scrambling to get back in the lead.

All you could do was laugh as you continued your pace, besting him. He groaned as you wiggled in your spot, happy to have won.

"Don't get used to it," He grinned at you, making your heart flutter.

He was extremely attractive, and even more so with his black hair. A new color, one you had yet to see on him.

"Watch me," you stuck out your tongue, it being green from your sucker.

He returned the look, his tongue displaying purple, making you laugh.

"Are you hungry? I'm going to make some popcorn," he said, standing from his spot on the floor.

Comfortable and content on his bed, you responded with, "Chips."

He nodded, making a noise of approval before leaving, making you smile. He always took care of you.

When it was time to sleep, you both snuggled on his bed, and fell into a deep sleep.

Your dream was sweet. You worked a cafe bar with your friend, Felix. You were taking an order for some girl before hearing your sunshine call you. And then again. And again.

Now, your eyes open slightly, being Shaked awake gently, Felix calling your name.

"Y/n, you need to wake up," he whispered, not wanting to worry you.

"What's wrong, Lix?" You yawned, suddenly feeling sticky.

"I think...you made a mess..." He looked down at your power half, making you squirm.

Following his gaze, you saw a large patch of blood on the bed, your shorts, and...Felix's shirt.

"ohmygod Felix..." You gasped, now more awake than ever. "I'm so sorry!"

"Shhh..It's okay, jagi, it happens," he tried calming you, seeing you tear up. "Here, I'm going to go run a bath for you, and put the sheets in the wash, okay?" He went to get up, but you caught his wrist.

"What? No, it's my mess. Let me clean it up," you said, trying to sound strong.

"Y/n. Just let me take care you you, okay?" He said, and then a cramp hit you. You gasped lightly.

Almost as if he knew your body, he bent down and placed a soft kiss on your stomach, then left to start the bath.

Seungmin:

You and Seungmin never really talked, but you both often caught the other staring. It wasn't uncommon for the group members to tease you both about it, making you both flush.

Today was one of those days.

"Seungmin, like what you see?" Changbin snickered making the two of you look away.

"Shut up," he grumbled, making his members laugh.

"Awe, come on, Min. You know you like her," Hyunjin giggled, making Seungmins eyes widen.

They continued to bicker, getting a reaction from him. You continued to stay quiet, feeling uncomfortable due to your period cramps.

You had a tampon in, but it felt heavier than usual, making you aware. The boys stood making you stand and followed them. You were at an arcade for the day, courtesy of JYP.

Splitting into teams of three, it was Jeonjin, Hyunjin, and Lee know. Second, Bangchan, Changbin and Han. Third, You, Seungmin and Felix. What could go wrong?

About an hour in, Seungmin noticed your disinterest in the games, starting to worry. You brushed it off, just saying you were tired.

And you were. You lost so much blood, it nearly made you sick.

While he and Felix were shooting at dinosaurs, you felt the wetness between your legs, making you gasp, shuddering.

The guys noticed this, stopping their game.

"Y/n? Is it...?" Felix stopped himself.

Felix was like your brother, and he knew when your period was bothersome, so, you nodded, Felix responding by getting up to leave.

He was going to get another tampon from the car.

Seungmin looked confused, looking at the two of you. Then he saw your face scrunch up in pain.

"Y/n? You okay?"

"I will be," you nod, flashing him a small smile.

He noticed you rubbing your legs together, and as he looked closer, he saw a small patch of blood. It wasn't hugely noticable, but he saw it. He grabbed your hand and led you to a secluded area with barely any people, sitting down in a chair.

Instead of you sitting next to him, however, he placed you on his lap.

"Seungmin!? What are you doing?" You gasped, shocked at his boldness

"Shhh..." He said, wrapping his arms around you, rubbing your upper and lower abdomen, making you moan. It really relieved the tension from the cramps, making your mind blur for a few moments.

"Better?" He whispered, watching your face relax.

"mhm,"

I.N.:

As Seungmins sister, you found yourself head over heels with his best friend, Jeonjin.

You and him became close, but not as close as you had hoped.

One day, in the dorms, you were all eating dinner together, but you weren't as hungry as you usually were because of your cramps. No one really noticed other than Jeonjin. He was worried because eating was one of your favorite things to do.

Why aren't you eating?

He saw you using your chopsticks to poke the food around, and that was when he took action.

"Here, jagi. Try it," he said, bring his sticks to your mouth.

You looked at him, and seeing him like this, you couldn't say no. You gently bit the food off his sticks, chewing it happily.

The sight made Jeonjin calmer, seeing you eat.

After dinner, everyone was tired, and forcing themselves to their rooms. It was just you, Jeonjin, Bangchan and Han in the main room.

"Night, everyone," you yawned standing to make your way to you and your brothers shared room.

Everyone exchanged good nights, but as Jeonjin watched you walking in the hall, he saw a large red spot on your bottom, making him call out to you.

"Yeah-?" You looked at him with sleep in your eyes.

"Change your pants,' He whispered as he walked up to you.

"Why?" You yawned again, watching his features soften.

"Because..." He hugged you, but instead of a normal hug, he let his hands brush against your ass, making you gasp.

It was so unlike him.

When he brought his hand back to show you, you saw the red liquid glistening on his hands in the poor hall light.

"Jeonjin-"

"Shh, it's okay. It doesnt bother me," he said wiping it on his own sweats, making you cringe, but in the best way possible.

"Looks like we both gotta change," You giggled.

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enkvyu · 2 years ago

Text

9:45am — gojo satoru ;

gojo’s giving you one of those looks again, the type of look that is typically followed by nothing good. there seems to be almost no thoughts behind his sleepy eyes as he blatantly stares at you from across the table, and you subconsciously shift at the attention.

though you were drowsy too—checking your watch you realise it was only 9:45am—his gaze wakes you up.

you shove your chopstick in your mouth and around your food, you say, “well? spit it out.”

assuming you didn’t mean the rice in his mouth, gojo swallows and clears his throat. “i know something that might surprise you.”

“oh, okay. what is it?”

“here's the thing though, i can’t tell you.”

you stare at him. “why did you bring it up then?”

“you told me to spit it out.”

“well, that was useless.”

you direct your interest to the sushi in front of you and put a piece of sashimi in your mouth. a few silent seconds pass and gojo is still looking at you, and still very obviously holding something back.

eventually, your curiosity overflows. "gojo, just tell me what it is."

"i just told you i can't."

"why not? is it really bad? is it something serious? who is it about?"

gojo hums in thought. "it's about you. and it's about me."

you raise an eyebrow at his statement. "what the fuck? you have to tell me now."

gojo picks up the last piece of sushi from the plate you were sharing, and pops it in his mouth without another thought. you bristle at the sight. "what kind of person would tell the person the thing is about, the thing? also i'm taking the last piece of sushi."

"what are you on about? also you can't say you're taking the last piece after you've already eaten it! you didn't even give me the chance to scissors-paper-rock it!"

"my bad, i'll make up for it and pay for the food this time around. and i'm not telling you the thing no matter how much you beg me."

"gojo, you can't fool me i know for a fact you didn't bring your wallet today. so like always, it'll be on me. by the way, i'm not begging. i'm demanding you tell me."

"demand all you like, i'm not telling you anything." gojo sneers. "the sushi's already in my mouth, there's nothing you can do about it anymore."

you slam your hand on the table and level him with a stare. "spit it out!"

"i'm not telling you the thing! how many times do i have to say that?"

"i meant the sushi." when you don't laugh after, he realises you're serious. "i was eyeing that piece the entire time. don't you know you have to leave the best bite until the end so you can finish your meal perfectly. that was supposed to be my perfect bite!"

gojo looks at you and swallows. he reaches over for his drink and after a long sip, sighs happily. "well, it's already gone." he says with a shit-eating grin.

you swear passionately at him and he raises an eyebrow.

"did you want it that bad? if you want, i can still give you a taste."

you scrunch your nose at him. "that sounds absolutely disgusting."

"what? how?"

"you offered to regurgitate the sushi?"

he makes a face similar to yours. "no, i meant like, a kiss."

"oh." your grimace deepens.

"good oh or bad oh?"

"what do you think, oh."

he studies your face. "bad oh."

"correct." you take a sip from your drink and sigh, albeit a little unhappily. "i can't believe you dragged me here at nine in the morning just to steal my perfect bite of sushi."

"it's just sushi." gojo says. he looks over at you from above the frames of his glasses, noting the slight pout on your lips and the adorable furrow between your brows. without thinking, he clears his throat. "but because i like you, i'll order you another roll if you want."

you freeze. "what?"

"i'll replace your perfect bite."

"no, the part before that."

gojo smiles but there's something jittery about it. he fusses over his glasses and makes every move to avoid your eye. "that was the thing i wasn't supposed to tell you. i like you. but i guess you really are as demanding as you say since i told you anyway."

"oh." you say.

"was that a good oh, or a bad oh?"

"it's a 'i'm trying to think' oh." and then, after a pause. "oh."

he inhales sharply. "a double oh, that doesn't sound good."

you blink at him in the uncomfortable silence.

looking down, you observe the slides you had roughly put on before heading out at gojo's request to get sushi first thing in the morning. you look at the large shirt you had on, something gojo had left behind in your dorm after a sleepover, and the pyjama pants that you weren't even sure were yours. you look at him again, and he's in a similar outfit to yours. "you're telling me this now?"

"that's why i told you i couldn't tell you! why did you make me say it?"

"you're saying this like i knew what you would say!"

"you kept telling me to spit it out, spit it out, well i did and i still can't win."

"well you, well i actually, well," you clap your hands together. "actually i do like you too gojo, so—"

"you do?"

the two of you stare at each other.

you breathe out. "yeah."

"okay." gojo nods. "okay, that's good to know."

you fidget with your chopsticks, twirling it between your fingers. "what now?"

"i didn't think this far."

"oh."

"i'm going to," gojo clears his throat when it cracks. "i'm going to order more sushi. that's what you wanted, right?"

you look at him. "yeah."

when he leaves, you stare at the wall in front of you.

"so like, did you guys forget we're also here?"

shoko sips at her milkshake, blatantly staring. at least getou has the tact to pretend to be on his phone. still, it’s impossible to hide his interest and his eyes flicker over to you. “i’m never going to agree to another ‘let’s go get food’ again.”

you open your mouth to say something and shoko patiently waits. unfortunately, the right words do not come to you and you use the opportunity to bring your straw to your mouth and take a sip from your drink instead.

"isn't there something you should be saying to us?" shoko presses, gesturing over to the counter where gojo was ordering.

you glance over too and spot gojo looking over his shoulder at you. something sparks between the two of you and you tear your eyes away to look at shoko and getou again.

"yeah." you say. "we're getting more sushi."

not proofread, i just started typing w the dialogue “spit it out” and this came about

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #shoko #getou #sashisu #getou suguru #ieiri shoko #sss trio #gojo imagine #gojo drabble #gojo fluff

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littlelamy · 1 month ago

Text

even though topper's party is so loud, rafe still hears your laugh, that honey-sweet sound that makes his fists curl under the table. especially when he hears you say pope’s name? and say, “i’d love to get sushi with you sometime,” rafe’s molars grind like tectonic plates moving in anger.

he doesn’t interrupt the conversation he instead, he tucks it away. files it under things you shouldn’t ever say.

as soon as you two get home, you’re already barefoot and oblivious, bouncing on the balls of your feet as he shuts the door behind you and locks it.

"you wanna eat sushi with pope?"

you blink. "...what?"

his fingers are already undoing the buttons on his shirt. “you said you wanted sushi. with pope.”

"i mean—he just asked and i said—"

"shut the fuck up," rafe snaps, stepping into your space. he cups your jaw in one big hand, fingers digging in just enough to make you squeak. “you know how many things i let slide? how sweet you get to be? but you wanna say his name like that?”

you shake your head frantically, but it’s too late. you’re done for. your fate’s sealed the second his palm collides with your ass with a loud smack. him dragging you to the couch by the wrist, sitting you down and yanking you across his lap.

"gonna feed myself sushi tonight," he growls, dragging your panties down your thighs. “since you wanna act like a dish on someone else's table.”

your face burns as he presses between your shoulder blades, folding you neatly. your chest pressed to the cushions, your ass up high and bare. you’re squirming, but not fighting him. you whimper when you hear the familiar rustle of takeout, the plastic clatter of chopsticks. you twist to look, and—oh my gosh. he’s unpacking rolls, spicy tuna and eel and tamago, like it’s a picnic and you’re the plate.

"keep still." rafe’s voice is low, and angry. “unless you want me to shove wasabi in your ass.”

the cool, delicate press of sushi rice settling on the curve of your bare cheek. he hums, placing another on your lower back, a strip of eel trailing dangerously close to your crack. soy sauce dribbles—on purpose—down the small of your spine.

"perfect little platter," he mutters, and you hear the snap of chopsticks.

you feel the shift of the rice leaving your skin, the warm breath on your ass before his teeth drag against the flesh just beside where he took it from. he licks up the soy sauce spill, tongue lazy, claiming every drop.

you moan—fuck, you don’t mean to. it slips out of you, you clench around nothing, and he knows it. he taps a piece of salmon against your entrance. the fish cool, your cunt hot, hungry.

“think pope would eat off your ass like this?” rafe asks, and the smack that lands across your other cheek makes your hips jerk. sushi almost topples.

“n-no,” you whimper.

“you think he’d put his tongue right here?” his fingers spread you open, thumbs pulling your cheeks apart, exposing your wet little hole. he blows on it—fuck—and you sob.

"say it."

"no! only you—only you eat me—!"

he laughs, low and filthy, like you just affirmed some dark gospel. "that's fucking right."

you try to press your thighs together, desperate for friction, but his thigh beneath you is unyielding. he grips your hip and bites into a piece of tamago that had been resting right where your lower back curves into your ass. chews slowly and moans just to mock you.

"you know what this tastes like?" he laughs.

you hiccup, chest heaving. "w-what?"

"ownership."

he eats another, dragging the tip of the chopstick across your slit like it’s an accident. you mewl, wriggling.

then he spanks you again and again. you can barely breathe, tears on your lashes.

“please—please i’m sorry—”

“shhh.” rafe leans down, licks a stripe from your pussy up to your tailbone, groaning deep in his chest. “still got a whole roll left. you don’t get to cum until it’s all gone.”

you sob into the cushions, every nerve alight, the drag of the chopstick down your spine, the weight of his thigh under your belly, the slick tease of his tongue collecting soy and sweat. he nudges a piece onto your lower lips, watching it balance, just barely, on your cunt.

"hold it there for me, sweetheart."

you clench, muscles trembling, as he takes his sweet time.

"hold it there for me, sweetheart."

you clench, muscles trembling, as he takes his sweet time.

his tongue dips lower this time, starting from the base of your slit and dragging up, slow and obscene, collecting your slick like it’s a dipping sauce. he pauses at your clit, lips grazing it like a secret before pulling away, leaving you twitching.

he eats the sushi, naturally, but not before letting the edge of it trail across your folds. the cold rice against your heat, the seaweed tickling your entrance—he watches how your back arches, how your thighs quake trying not to close.

"look at you," he says, voice full of grit, chewing slowly. "shaking. and i’ve barely touched you."

he wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, then smears that same hand across your pussy, pressing the sticky scent of soy and salt into you. you whimper, feeling the drag of his palm over your folds.

"pope ever make you feel like this?" he growls, two fingers slipping between your slick lips, teasing you but not pushing in. "ever have you wet and begging just from being looked at?"

you shake your head, fast, frantic.

"no? say it. say he doesn’t do this to you."

"he doesn’t!" you cry out, voice muffled in the cushion, fingers clawing at the couch. "only you, baby—only you do!"

he slides two fingers in deep without warning making you scream. he curls them instantly, finding that sweet spot like he mapped it out the moment he first split you open. and he uses it against you, relentless, pumping hard, merciless.

your ass bounces in his lap, hips jerking with every thrust of his fingers, slick dripping down to his palm, making loud wet sounds that echo through the room.

another spank, hard enough to make your thighs tremble, and then he leans down to lick the sting. again. in a pattern now. fingers thrust, palm spanks, tongue soothes. over and over and over. a sweet and harsh punishment in a perfect rhythm.

he grabs another piece of sushi, presses it to your clit like an ice cube, making you wail from the coldness.

he laughs at you whoile rubbing it in circles, letting the cold rice and fish smear against your swollen bud while he fucks you with his fingers, your body a trembling mess.

“you want me to stop?”

you scream, “no, please!”

“you want me to cum all over your back instead of inside?”

“no! please! i want—i want—”

he shoves the piece between your lips before you can finish the sentence.

you choke a little, eyes going wide, but chew fast, tasting the soy sauce and your own slick on the rice. his fingers never stop. he doesn’t let up, not for a second.

“that’s it,” he growls, lips brushing your ear as he leans over your back. “swallow it, slut. swallow every bite. you wanna be dinner? be dinner.”

your eyes roll back as the orgasm crashes through you—fast, violent, unexpected. your pussy clamps around his fingers, milking them, and your thighs spasm. you bite down on the sushi to keep from screaming too loud.

"don't fucking stop clenching," he hisses. "i'm not done eating."

and he dives into you.

tongue replacing fingers, lips sucking, teeth grazing. he eats like a man starving, like the meal is running away, like he's afraid someone might snatch it off your ass if he doesn't devour it now.

he eats you until you cum again, and sits back, wipe his lips, and let out a satisfied breath.

"best sushi i've ever fucking had."

you’re still panting, while he watches your legs wide, and cunt leaking down your thighs.

he can't help but tap your sore cheek, hard.

"get up..."

you don’t move.

he grabs you by the hair and drags you up into his lap, onto your knees between his spread thighs.

his cock is completely hard.

"now open that sweet little mouth," he says, fist wrapped around the base, aiming it at your lips. “and let me wash down dinner with dessert.”

❤︎ tags below

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#rafey ᘚ #littlelamyposts༄࿔#rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe imagine #outerbanks rafe #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe x you #rafe fic #rafe #rafe cameron x reader #obx smut #rafe smut #smut #smut rafe #dividers by kodaswrld

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sa1ntn3k0 · 2 months ago

Text

Strawberries, Cherries, and an Angel’s Kiss ≽^•⩊•^≼ nsfw!

Warnings: Stepdad Gojo x Stepdaughter reader (of age)

Satoru didn’t know he’d be married, let alone settled down, or, scratch that, have a girlfriend. Life for him was simple: work, work, work some more, then finally sleep for three hours and do it again until he had the rare Sunday off. He loved teaching; his students, Megumi, Yuji, and Nobara, were his kids, he was practically their dad, though he’d never admit it aloud. Their chaotic energy mirrored his own, a confetti bomb of mischief and grit he’d grown fond of. But having said all that… he hasn’t a clue on how he ended up here: sat in a cozy, sunlit, dark wood home in Setagaya at 7 p.m., a time where he’d usually be balls-deep in exorcising curses or doing paperwork, not breathing in the comforting aroma of veggie gyoza and lemongrass-infused rice noodles wafting from the kitchen. The warmth of the room seeped into his bones, softer than any mission’s aftermath, and the faint hum of a jazz playlist playing Colette by Piero Piccioni wrapped around him like a hug.

How? He takes a look to his right and sees a beautiful woman, all elegance and poise, her laughter like slightly weathered wind chimes as she adjusts the pearl clip in her chestnut hair. Just the way he likes them, confident, sharp, hot. Like… milf hot, cougar hot, not that he’d ever say it to her face (again). He looks ahead and sees you, a wisp of a girl, all tiny limbs and soft edges, nibbling shyly at your dinner. You look just like her, same cute nose, same cupid’s bow lips, but where your mother radiates bold magnetism, you’re… sparkling. Like a firefly in a glass jar, glowing even when you think no one’s watching.

Ah, this was his life, of course. He should know who’s who!

The girl being you, just a little thing, well, to him you’re little, being a mere child (19 years old), and he being all old and stuff (33 years old, yet he feels so much more). He’s seen a lot: he’s seen Sukuna carve him up like a holiday roast (survived, so, lol, Sukuna sucked majorrr balls), he’s seen curses gnarlier than a week-old sushi platter, and especially teenagers with more angst than a Shakespearean tragedy. So why does this little thing make him feel so… paternal? It was like the flicker he’d felt when he first met Megumi, a scrawny kid with a death glare and a family name heavier than a curse, but even then, he’d seen the little sea urchin as a little brother, not a son. Time had nudged that dynamic into something fatherly, sure, but Megumi was still his brat.

All Satoru knew was- oh, he zoned out. The beautiful woman beside him, your mother, nudged his ribs with her elbow, her burgundy almond-shaped nails glinting under the pendant light, the rock of a diamond sat on her ring finger, glimmered too. “Earth to Satoru,” she teased, her voice syrup-smooth. “You’ve been staring at your gyoza like it’s a cursed object. Everything alright?”

Satoru grinned, that trademark lopsided smirk that made your mother roll her eyes even as her red lips twitched upward. “Just wondering how I ended up here,” he said, gesturing grandly at the spread of home-cooked dishes. His voice softened, almost shy. “Feels like I stole someone else’s winning ticket.”

You, ever the quiet observer, peeked up at him through your lashes, cheeks stuffed with gyoza like a chipmunk hoarding treasure (your greed sickens even you, lol). Your doe eyes, so pretty, wide and guileless, framed by those unfairly long, thick lashes, locked onto his, and he swore he felt Infinity stutter. Dare he say… dumb? Not dumb, no. Just… silly. Clumsy? Absolutely. The way you tripped over air, spilled chamomile tea on your textbooks, and somehow turned even misplacing your overly charm-filled keys into a five-minute comedy routine, it was nice. Refreshing, even. A life spent in the shadows of jujutsu and clan politics made him crave your kind of softness. Your innocence.

A flashback flickered before he could attempt to stop: the three of you in Shibuya, your mother tugging him toward a boutique while begging for a Chanel bag that matched her favorite red lipstick, the same shade he’d caught you swiping across your lips one evening, pouting at your reflection like it’d betrayed you. “Too grown-up,” you’d mumbled, wiping it off with a tissue until your rosebud lips were raw and puffy. Satoru had tossed a tube of gloss you left in his hoodie pocket (yes, you wore his clothes, yes, they were so comfy) your way the next day, all casual nonchalance. “Dark shades wash you out,” he’d lied (you looked ethereal, but his heart couldn’t handle the sight). “Stick to this. Matches your… uh… vibe.” You nodded, always so dumbly-no, cutely. Right.

Off topic again, pay attention, Satoru! Back in the memory, he’d been holding your mother’s hand, his other tucked in his pocket, but his azure eyes never strayed far from you, a few steps behind, wobbling in baby pink ballet flats as if they were stilts. You’d looked like a fawn navigating ice, all wobbly knees and nervous giggles. He knew the issue, the freshly rained cement with the shitty grip of the flats called for a disaster, and hell, you were the queen of disaster. He wasn’t a total dick, so he’d snagged your hand too, ignoring your squeak of surprise. And then, his chest did this thing. A squeeze, a flutter, a warmth that had nothing to do with his cursed energy. He’d glanced down, taking in your lacy dress fluttering in the breeze, your hair catching sunlight like spun honey, and your fingers, so small, tucked trustingly against his big, warm palm. Infinity was off, but he hadn’t even noticed until you’d squeezed back.

The memory dissolved as you swallowed your gyoza, cheeks still dusted pink, and pointed at his buzzing phone. “Satoru,” you mumbled, voice feather-light, “your phone’s ringing.”

He waved it off, not missing the way your nose scrunched at his casual dismissal. “Nah, it’s just Yuji asking how to defrost a microwave meal. Priorities, kiddo!” (not true, that boy was a chef, rivaling the best in his opinion). He winked, and your resulting giggle, a tiny, hiccuping sound, nearly made him drop his chopsticks. God, you were cute. Cuter than the cartoon pajamas you wore: Hello Kitty one night, Miffy the next, as if you’d raided a kindergarten’s lost-and-found. He’d bought you a Rilakkuma bathing suit last month, just to see you swim in it. (You’d hugged it to your chest, eyes shining, and he’d had to flee to the roof to recompose himself, and don't get him started on you trying it on for him.)

The conversation drifted to your academics, top of your class, because, of course, you were, and your mother’s question about finals had Satoru puffing up like a cocky peacock. “She’s a genius!” he declared, reaching over to ruffle your hair. You ducked, but not fast enough, and he relished the way your pout rivaled Megumi’s. “Bet she’s got the whole psych department wrapped around her little finger. Right, kiddo?”

You mumbled something about “research papers” and “case studies,” but Satoru was too busy plotting his next surprise, maybe those strawberry mochi you loved from Family Mart, or that kitten plushie from the crane game you’d eyed last week in Akihabara. The first time he’d brought you treats, you’d teared up, clutching the pastel packaging like it was a lifeline. Your mother had explained later in bed that night, her voice hushed over midnight tea, that your father had been a ghost long before Satoru arrived, and how he should be careful about you, not overwhelming you with something as new as a “daddy” so soon. After your mom was asleep, he’d crept into your room, perching at the foot of your bed like an overgrown guardian spirit. You’d been curled around a chubby Totoro plushie, breaths even, moonlight painting you in silver. He’d sat there for an hour, wondering how the universe had handed him this, domesticity, family, without him even noticing.

Ah, spaced out again. Your mother slid the strawberry cake he’d bought onto the table, its sweetness mixing with the scent of your lavender body wash, a scent that clung to the couch cushions, his shirts that fit you like baggy dresses, everything. You lit up, clapping softly, and Satoru’s chest tightened as you scooped a bite. You ate like a storybook creature: nibbling at the frosting, eyes fluttering closed in bliss ever so slightly, a tiny smear of pink on your chin. He itched to wipe it away, but your mother beat him to it, tutting fondly.

He’d do it next time, for sure.

“Satoru,” your mother sighed, though her smile betrayed her, “stop staring. You’ll make her even more shy.”

“What? I’m appreciating the view!” he protested, leaning back with a grin. But his gaze lingered on the delicate lace of your nightgown, the way the sweetheart neckline fell just enough to highlight collarbones he’d once compared to “angel wings” (a comment that’d made you flee the living room, scarlet-faced). Appreciation, of course. The kind a father would have. Totally.

As you launched into a story about your study group, hands animated as you sighed about people half-assing even a voluntary thing, Satoru let himself sink into the moment, the clink of porcelain plates, your mother’s melodic laughter, the way your socks had tiny bows perched near your baby pink painted toenails, a little visible under the sheer cotton fabric. He didn’t understand this luck, this grace, but he’d fight heaven and hell to keep it.

He deserves this, all of it.

He deserves you.

Satoru wasn’t expecting the night to go the way it did. But before he could untangle the messy knot of feelings clawing at his chest, he took in the present: the quiet hum of the night, the faint glow of your strawberry-shaped nightlight casting blushing shadows across the room. He was lying in your bed, no, not next to his wife, but curled awkwardly under your baby-pink duvet, its frilly edges tickling his chin. He turned his head slightly, stealing a glance at you, cheeks still rosy from earlier, now warm with sleep, your nose adorably scrunched, and your hair a wild halo against the pillow. A strand clung to your parted lips, and he reached over instinctively to tuck it behind your ear, fingers brushing the delicate shell. Your lacy pajama collar had twisted sideways, revealing your pretty skin, so soft-looking. He adjusted it gently, careful not to wake you, then sighed up at the ceiling.

Hating how the night went.

Rewind to a few hours earlier: Satoru had returned home at 8 p.m., expecting the usual symphony of your mother’s jazz records and your muffled giggles as you scribbled notes for some impossible-sounding lecture. Instead, he’d been met with silence, then the crack of your mother’s voice, sharp as shattered glass, and your choked sobs. His blood had gone cold.

He’d found you in the hallway, your Miffy tote still dangling from your shoulder, your daisy-patterned dress wrinkled from the day. You looked smaller somehow, like a doll dropped mid-play, your face slick with tears that caught the lamplight like diamond dust. Your mother stood rigid, arms crossed, her fury a storm contained.

“What happened?” Satoru had asked, tone casual, though his fingers twitched at his sides. He wanted to bundle you into his arms, tuck your head under his chin, and vanish into the night.

Your mother gestured to your neck, her voice clipped. “She came home late. Smelled like cologne, cheap, at that.”

Satoru’s gaze flicked to the marks, faint, pinkish imprints scattered like careless constellations across your skin. His Six Eyes cataloged every detail: the uneven pressure (clumsy), the placement (too high, too obvious), the way your fingers trembled as you tried to hide them. He crouched a little to your level, his voice dropping to a rumble. “Who’d you let paw at you, kiddo?”

You’d hiccuped, doe eyes swimming, and his chest ached. “I-I didn’t let him-!”

“Enough,” your mother snapped, storming off. “You’re old enough to know better.” The bedroom door slamming left you to flinch like a spooked bunny, and fall to your knees, obviously overwhelmed from everything, leaving him to feel all kinds of things… Some he would rather not acknowledge.

Satoru knew hypocrisy when he smelled it, hell, at your age, he’d been sneaking into hostess bars just to swipe champagne flutes, but the thought of you, his sweet, clueless bunny, tangled up with some greasy college kid who didn’t know how to treat a girl, how to pleasure one… Infinity flickered at his fingertips.

He’d scooped you up, ignoring your squeak, and carried you to your room. “We’ll talk,” he’d said, depositing you on the bed. You’d curled into a ball, your sobs muffled by Totoro’s plush belly.

The ice-cold shower that followed was less about cooling off and more about freezing the image out of his head, your bitten lips, the way your dress had ridden up when you’d crumpled to the floor, showing your pretty thighs… No. Not his business. Except it was, because you were his.

When he returned, you were in your pajamas, pale pink, lace-trimmed, the collar crooked, and staring at your lap like it held the secrets of the universe. He sat beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight.

“Listen,” he began, voice softer than he intended. “It’s normal to… experiment. But you gotta be smart. Boys that age? They’re idiots. All hands, no heart.”

In reality, he wanted to say much more. He wanted to say how you should find someone like him, someone who’d cherish you the way he did (though he doubted anyone else could), to be rational and not impulsive, and to just-no. Scrap everything. He wanted you to be with him, always his.

You’d sniffled, still avoiding his glued gaze. “You don’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand.” He’d forced a laugh. “I was that idiot.”

Your phone buzzed then, lighting up with a name he didn’t recognize. You reached for it, but Satoru snatched it first, his gut churning at the god awful texts. Disgusting. The kid’s vocabulary seemed limited to late-night nude demands (though you never sent, that's his baby) and more for “proof” you’d “missed him.”

“This is the genius you’re starting fights over?” Satoru hissed, waving the phone, your charms jingling like high-pitched death bells. “He’s not worth the lint in your Miffy bag!”

You’d argued, cheeks flushing, babbling nonsense about him being “sweet,” and something in him snapped. Before he knew it, you were over his lap, your tiny tummy rested against his thighs, his big hand coming down in a swift, measured spank. Not too hard, never hard, but enough to make you yelp and leave a little sting. “You’re better than this!” he’d growled, each word punctuated by a tap that left your pajama-clad bottom tingling. “You’re my good girl! Act like it!”

By the tenth, you’d melted into hiccuping apologies, whispering “Sorry, Daddy” into his shirt as he cradled you. His anger dissolved, replaced by a guilt so thick he could taste it. He wished he had a beautiful platter of kikufuku infront of him, it’d drown the shitty feeling.

Now, lying beside you, he traced the curve of your spine through the thin fabric, marveling at how fragile you felt, like blown glass. You stirred, nuzzling into his chest with a sleepy murmur, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering in the scent of your strawberry shampoo.

“Love you, my girl,” he whispered, knowing you couldn’t hear. “Daddy’s got you.”

Tomorrow, he’d buy those cherries you loved, the fat, dark, glossy ones you’d suck on until they gleamed like jewels. He’d let you drag him to that absurd cat café downtown, even though the siamese there hated him (so what if he teased them, they should be able to handle it, they’re cats!). And if that sleazeball ever texted again? Well. Satoru knew a few curses that’d make him regret breathing the same air as his angel.

For now, he let your steady breaths lull him, your warmth seeping into bones he hadn’t realized were so cold.

As soon as the weather turned warm, the beach called to Satoru, but not as loudly as it did to you. You were a mess of a girl in the heat, complaining about the slightest rise in temperature, flopping around the house like a disgruntled kitten, and blowing up over trivial things like ice cubes melting too fast. What triggered the final straw was a calm Sunday evening. The windows were cracked open, letting in a breeze that carried the scent of blooming hydrangeas and distant barbecue. Satoru was sprawled on the couch, deep into Haruki Murakami’s Dance Dance Dance, a rare moment of peace after ducking out of a mission early. Your mother was out with friends, leaving the two of you alone, a fact that had you perched by the living room window, dressed in a baby-blue cami and cotton shorts so short they might as well be napkins, panting like you’d run a marathon.

“It’s boiling,” you whined, fanning yourself with a math textbook. “I’m melting, Satoru!”

He peered over his book, smirking at the way your hair stuck to your slightly damp neck. “Kiddo, it’s 75 degrees. You’d explode in July.”

You shot him a glare that could’ve curdled milk, cheeks puffing like an offended chipmunk. Satoru laughed, loud and unrepentant, before relenting. He shut the windows, cranked the AC to arctic levels, and flopped back down just as Clint Eastwood’s drawl filled the room. You hovered nearby, eyes darting between the TV and him, then the TV and him, until-

“Ugh,” you groaned, collapsing onto the couch like a deflated balloon. “I’m bored.”

“Read a book,” he suggested, knowing full well you’d rather eat chalk.

You responded by becoming a human worm, wriggling across the cushions with dramatic sighs until Satoru caved. “Fine, fine,” he grumbled, snatching your hand. “But if you complain about the heat again, I’m leaving you in a snowbank.”

The walk to the park was a parade of your hyperactivity, skipping, humming, pausing to gawk at every butterfly like it was an alien. Satoru trailed behind, hands in his pockets, secretly cataloging the way your sundress fluttered (you changed, taking every opportunity to dress up), the way your sandals slapped the pavement in a rhythm only you understood. Life was absurd: one hour, he’s exorcising curses in a moldy warehouse; the next, he’s listening to you rant about how snow should be a year-round accessory.

At the park, you dragged him to a patch of sunlit grass, spreading his jacket like a picnic blanket. “For your old knees,” you declared, plopping down.

He joined you, stretching his legs as you babbled about your latest psych lecture. A fat cottontail hopped nearby, and you squealed, clutching his arm like it was a lifeline. “Look! It’s so fluffy-!”

Satoru didn’t see the bunny. He saw you, the way golden hour gilded your skin, the way your eyes sparkled brighter than the pond beside you. His phone buzzed, breaking the spell: your mother was staying out late. Drinks with the girls, her text read. Don’t wait up!

Dinner was all sugar. You tied on a bunny-print apron, he donned Shoko’s gag gift, a “Kiss the Cook” apron, and together you weaponized flour and syrup into a tower of pancakes that’d give a dentist nightmares. You were a disaster, blueberry compote smeared on your cheek, batter on your apron, but Satoru couldn’t stop grinning.

“You’re like a rabid bunny,” he said, flicking powdered sugar at your nose.

“You’re the one who added chocolate chips to the third batch!”

Post-feast, you curled up on the couch, a shared Hello Kitty blanket tented over your laps as some forgettable comedy played. Your tiny knee brushed his, and Satoru froze, hyperaware of the way your giggles vibrated through the cushions.

Then- the question.

“Satoru…” You fiddled with the blanket’s fringe, suddenly shy. “Is kissing really all… icky? Like, with too much spit?”

He nearly choked on his hot chocolate. “Uh. Depends?”

“My first kiss was gross,” you mumbled, nose scrunching. “But the show said it’s s’posed to be nice. Is that… true?”

Satoru’s brain short-circuited. Fatherly. This is fatherly. “It can be. If it’s… gentle. Like this.”

Before he could stop himself, he’d cupped your face, rough thumbs brushing the apples of your soft, warm cheeks. You leaned in, eyes wide and trusting, plush lips parted just so-

The first kiss was a featherlight press, strawberry gloss, and mint toothpaste. Innocent. Brief.

But then you whimpered, little fingers fisting his shirt, and Satoru’s resolve crumbled. The second kiss was deeper, sweeter, his big hand sliding to the nape of your neck as you melted against him. He told himself it was a lesson, a way to erase the memory of that sleazebag’s sloppy mouth. But the way you sighed his name-

“Daddy-”

-nearly undid him.

He pulled back, heart hammering, and found you flushed, lips glistening, doe eyes dazed. “See?” he rasped, voice uneven. “No ick.”

You nodded, forehead resting against his collarbone. “...Can we… practice more?”

Satoru swallowed a groan. Hell was a corporate office with fluorescent lighting, and he was already drafting his resignation letter.

Instead, he tucked your head under his chin, fingers carding through your hair. “Later, kiddo,” he lied. “Daddy’s feeling tired.”

You fell asleep like that, curled into his side, tummy full of pancakes and hot chocolate, while Satoru stared at the ceiling and wondered when exactly he’d signed up for this particular brand of torture.

But he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t heavenly, feeling his lips on yours. It was angelic, a little angel’s kiss all for him.

End.

So uh… what's up? Disappeared for a hot sec (entire month) for good reason lol. UC decisions dropped for transfer students, and well, I got into my 2nd top school! Waitlisted from UCLA but into UCD for psych! Anyways, that being said and done, I can finally focus on writing more since April was me dying over checking my emails like a madwoman. Daddy Gojo supremacy, cause why not? I love this far too much so expect more soon. Obvi, put a warning up top, so do keep that in mind when I post, they are there for a reason!

#dad!gojo #stepdad gojo #father gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #satoru x reader #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #daddy issues #father and daughter dynamic #soft gojo

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pucksandpower · 1 year ago

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Something’s Fishy

Lando Norris x sushi chef!Reader

Summary: having a boyfriend who refuses to touch seafood is pretty hard when your whole life revolves around it, luckily you have a plan to fix that

You let out a deep sigh as you stare at the frozen fish sticks sitting on the counter. This is not how you imagined your relationship with Lando would be when you decided to become a sushi chef.

You knew he was a picky eater, but you didn’t realize just how deep his aversion to fish went. Still, you’re determined to slowly open his mind, one tiny step at a time.

“Lando, honey, can you come here for a second?” You call out sweetly.

He wanders in, that charming smile crossing his face when he sees you. “What’s up, babe?”

You sidle up close, running your hands slowly up his chest. “I have a little proposition for you,” you say with a flirty lilt.

His eyebrows raise. “Oh really? I’m intrigued …”

“I know you’re not a fan of fish but I was thinking maybe you could try just one teensy little fish stick.” You reach behind you and grab one, holding it up. “I’ll make it worth your while …”

He frowns slightly. “Babe, you know I don’t do fish.”

You pout dramatically. “What if I gave you a nice long kiss afterwards? To get the taste out of your mouth?”

Lando wavers, clearly tempted. “I dunno …”

Time to turn up the charm. You press yourself against him, looking up with wide, pleading eyes. “Pretty please? It would mean so much …” You flutter your eyelashes.

He sighs, a rueful grin on his face. “Fine, one fish stick. But that better be one hell of a kiss!”

You beam, handing him the fish stick. He eyes it dubiously, then takes a small bite. You watch anxiously as he chews slowly, finally swallowing with a grimace.

“There! That wasn’t so bad, was it?” You say brightly.

“I guess not,” he concedes. “Now, I believe you promised me a kiss?”

You grin and throw your arms around him. “With pleasure!” You give him a long, deep kiss, hoping to make him forget all about the fishy taste.

When you finally pull back, he seems mollified. “Not bad, babe. Not bad at all.”

Maybe this won’t be as impossible as you thought. If you can get Lando to eat one measly fish stick, perhaps you can slowly work your way up to actual fish. After all, Rome wasn’t built in a day.

***

It’s been a few weeks since the Great Fish Stick Challenge and you feel like it’s time to try again with Lando. This time, you’re determined to get him to try some actual fish — specifically, a nice salmon fillet.

You’ve marinated the salmon in a delicious teriyaki sauce, knowing the sweetness will help offset the fishy flavor that Lando hates so much. As the fish cooks, the savory aroma fills the kitchen. Lando wanders in, sniffing the air.

“Mmm, something smells good. What’s cooking?”

You give him your most winning smile. “Oh, just whipping up a little something. Why don’t you have a seat?”

He sits at the counter as you plate up the salmon, along with some chicken fried rice — his favorite. You place the dishes down with a flourish.

“Ta-da! Teriyaki salmon!”

Lando eyes the fish warily. “Baaaabe,” he whines. “You know I don’t do fish.”

You come around behind him, massaging his shoulders. “I know, I know. But remember how well you did with the fish stick? I thought maybe we could try again, move up to the next level.” You kiss his neck teasingly.

“Please? For me?” You purr in his ear.

He shivers a little at your touch. “You drive a hard bargain. I guess I can suffer through a bite or two.”

“Yesss!” You cheer, kissing his cheek.

Lando cuts off a small piece of salmon and pops it in his mouth. You hold your breath, waiting for his reaction.

He chews slowly. “Hmm not bad,” he mumbles through the mouthful. “The teriyaki helps.”

You beam. “I’m so proud of you!”

Lando preens a little at the praise. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get too cocky — I’m still not sold on this whole fish thing.”

But as you continue to watch him eat, clearing over half his plate, you can’t keep a smug grin off your face. Another victory for you! At this rate, you just may make a fish lover out of Lando yet.

***

This is it — the moment you’ve been waiting for. After the successful salmon dinner, you finally feel ready to tackle the ultimate challenge: getting Lando to try sushi.

You’ve closed the restaurant for the night, so it’s just the two of you. The sushi bar is covered in an array of expertly crafted sashimi, nigiri, and rolls. You’ve prepared Lando’s favorites — cucumber, avocado, tamago. And of course, an assortment of sushi with raw fish.

As Lando walks in, his eyes widen. “Whoa, you really went all out! What’s the special occasion?”

You smile coyly. “I wanted to have a little sushi date night. Just you and me.”

You pat the stool next to you. He sits and you hand him a pair of chopsticks.

Lando eyes the raw fish sushi warily. “You know I’m not gonna eat that, right?”

“Oh ye of little faith,” you tsk. “Haven’t I proved I can get you to try new things?”

You select a tuna nigiri, holding it up enticingly. “I just ask for one little bite. That’s all.”

Lando wavers. You up the ante, leaning in close.

“I promise to make it worth your while later …” you whisper suggestively.

His eyes darken. “Well, when you put it that way …”

Heart pounding, you feed him the nigiri. He chews slowly, contemplatively.

“Huh. It’s … not terrible.”

You want to jump for joy. Instead, you settle for just kissing his cheek. “See? You can handle a little raw fish.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it go to your head,” he grumbles, but you can tell he’s pleased.

You spend the rest of the evening feeding each other bites of sushi, laughing together. It’s perfect. And as you gaze lovingly at Lando, you know that somehow, someday, you’ll make a sushi lover of him yet. Patience and persistence are key. But you can be very persuasive when you want to be ...

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cloudcountry · 11 months ago

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I just discovered your writing and I love how you write Idia! If requests are open, could you write Idia with an S/O that cooks for him? It's heavily implied that Idia has depression and is very thin do to his lack of self care and malnutrition, but since he started dating he gains some weight and gets a bit insecure about it but reader comforts him because they're just happy that's he's eating healthy

SUMMARY: idia is starting to eat healthier and put on weight, which spawns new insecurities. you help him through it.

COMMENTS: i'm so unhinged about this request please. PLEASE. do not look at me right now im in SHAMBLES. you've saved my life with his request. IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT FOREVER I WROTE THIS IN LIKE 45 MINUTES IM LOSING IT. THIS BAD BOY CAN FIT SO MUCH NON SEXUAL INTIMACY IN IT. CRYING.

In the beginning of your relationship, getting Idia to eat and drink was like pulling teeth. You didn’t want to force it—Idia knew how he felt far better than you, and making him do something he didn’t want to was just cruel. You knew from the start that if he didn’t want to eat, he wouldn’t, and even after consulting Ortho you didn’t notice any changes in his attitude towards eating. You reminded him to drink water constantly and brought him little snacks, but the water bottles remained mostly full and the snacks were unopened. While you managed to coax another few sips of water out of Idia, the snacks were still a no-go and his vitamin drinks won the day once again.

It took until the two of you were second years for him to consider eating more, and you were so delighted that you began to cook for him. Although he still gained most of his nutrients from those vitamin drinks he’d always drink in place of meals, you were so proud of him when he started eating the small portions you’d set out for him. Each container had four sections, one full of dried fruits, one with nuts, one with vegetables, and the last with meat. You always wrote him a note telling him how proud of him you were, encouraging him to eat the whole thing but letting him know he could stop eating whenever. It was more of a snack than anything, but he’d eaten it, the whole thing, and you felt so moved you’d almost cried.

Idia never thought it was that much a deal, even when you started gradually increasing his portion sizes into your third year at NRC, always replying to your praise with bashful mumbles and scoffs, twisting his beautiful hair into knots as a nervous habit. He would finish his snacks and bashfully ask for more, turning his pink cheeks away from you when you’d beam and tell him you’d be on it right away. Noodle dishes were popular, along with sweet chicken recipes, and anything with rice or pasta. You avoided using meats like pork or beef or anything that wasn’t light like poultry. Idia always favored things that went down easy, not hearty meals that left you feeling stuffed (and, of course, you never fed him sushi due to his dislike of raw fish.)

He was drinking more water as the years went on, too—by the time you came to collect his dishes and figure out if he wanted more food or not, you’d catch a glance of a half empty water bottle and feel your heart fluttering in your chest. It made you so happy to see him eating and drinking healthier. Even if he complained about needing to go pee more often (which took out of his gaming time, oh the dramatics) you could tell he felt better. It had been a journey of three years but you and him were making some serious progress together, and you couldn’t be more proud.

To celebrate just how proud of him you were, you’d gotten Idia a small chocolate cake to go with his lunch, and you were delivering it a bit early to surprise him.

Balancing all of the food on one hand, you bounce on the balls of your feet as you punch in the security code to his room (it changed every day and he always texted you the new one, reassuring you that your messages had been encrypted ten times over so nobody could even chip at the defenses, not that you were worried about someone hacking your phone in the first place.) The door opens with its usual mechanical woosh and shuts behind you the second you step inside, immediately locking again.

“Idia, I bought you a gift today!” you cheer, setting the containers down on his bed.

You turn around to face the rest of his room before stopping dead in your tracks, coming face to face with very wide eyed, shirtless Idia. He’s clutching his shirt to his chest, trying to hide as much of him as he possibly can, but the way the fat of his stomach pinches and rolls at his side could still be seen past the fabric. Your mouth forms a small o shape as you stare, taking him in.

“Stop staring!” he yells, and it's only then that you notice the tears in his eyes and the pink borderline red flickers in his flames, “Get out!”

He throws himself into the gamer chair, spinning it enough so that the back of it faces you. You can see him curling up into a little ball, struggling to get his shirt on in the state he’s in.

“Idia, wait!” you call out, stopping him in his tracks.

Soft sniffles fill the room, and it breaks your heart.

“Why are you here early?” he snaps, still not coming out from his hiding place.

“I bought you a miniature cake. You’ve been eating more lately and I’m proud of you for that.” you say softly, sitting down on his bed, “I’m not going to come over there, darling. Don’t worry. This is a safe space, you know? I would never judge you.”

Idia is silent for a few beats before he speaks again.

“Maybe...maybe I should stop eating.” he murmurs, and the pain that shoots through your heart makes you gasp.

“Idia, no.” you plead, gentle even though you’re panicking, “What’s making you feel this way? You’ve been doing so well, you’ve told me how good you’ve been feeling this past year because you’re eating healthier, what changed?”

“I look like this!” he spits out, and there’s so much self loathing in his tone it brings tears to your eyes as well.

“You look beautiful, darling, you always have. What about yourself do you not like?” you plead, hoping and praying he’ll open himself up to you.

“I’ve gained weight. I’m not as skinny anymore. I look gross.” he peeks out from behind his chair and your heart breaks at how bloodshot his eyes are, “I don’t...want you to see me like this and leave me.”

“My love...” you keep his gaze, leaning as close as you can to him without leaving the bed, “I love you no matter what you look like, you know that right? I love you as a person. You will always, always look lovely to me. I love you. I don’t love a perfect version of you I made up in my head. Every single insecurity you have, I love, because they aren’t flaws. They’re just you.”

You let him take your words in, listening to his heavy breaths before you stand up.

“Darling...can I see you?” you ask carefully, “I want to see you.”

He hesitates.

“Promise me you won’t be disappointed.” Idia’s voice cracks mournfully, like he’s already accepted a fate that will never befall him.

“Never.” you answer immediately.

Your breath catches in your throat when he shamefully moves away from his gaming chair, staring at the ground to avoid looking at you. Your heart hits the ceiling with how light it feels, your lungs contracting and your body growing warm. Oh, he’s ethereal.

You take in the parts that he hates—the creases of his neck and his soft pecs (his nipples are blue, you note, and honestly that doesn’t surprise you), the rolls of his stomach and the fiery trial of hair that leads to his pelvis. You take in the blue glow under his arms and the way the fat of his upper arm folds into his shoulder, and his way his stomach hangs a little over the waistband of his pants. You take it how his arms are bigger now, whether that be from growth or the added weight you don’t know, but what you do know is that all of this beauty was hiding under his hoodie for the past three years. Probably even longer.

“You’re beautiful.”

And your voice breaks as a single hand covers your mouth, hearts in your eyes as you finally, finally make eye contact with Idia, his hair sparking and popping like solar flares as the flames turn pink.

You love that pink.

“B...Beautiful!?” Idia jerks back, looking so scared and ashamed and confused, “What are you talking about!? Beautiful is for men in otomes with eight pack abs, I’m no ikemen but I’m not stupid and how could you ever call me something like that—!?”

“Idia Shroud, you’re beautiful!” you shout, your voice far louder than you intended and it cracks again because oh, you’re so emotional, how could this man think he’s anything but beautiful?

“...what?” he whispers, shirt still clenched in his hands like a lifeline, “You...you don’t want to leave me?”

What you want to do is ask why you ever thought he’d leave you in the first place.

What you do instead, is tell him no.

And you stay.

You don’t make an excuse to leave or try to let him down slowly. You stay in his room and you ask to hug him, you stay in his room and you embrace him so tenderly when he says yes, you stay in his room with him and you kiss his temple, holding all of the extra fat he didn’t come with when you fell in love with him in your arms, loving him all the same even though he’s changed.

He doubts you’ve ever called someone beautiful as many times as you’re calling him that right now.

So Idia shuts his eyes and buries his face in your shoulder, hiding his face and his body and his sobs from the rest of the world in the safety of your arms.

You really will love him no matter what.

He doesn’t know what to do.

#auburn's fics <3 #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #idia shroud #idia x reader #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud fluff #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst fluff #twisted wonderland fluff #gn reader

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nickistuffs · 5 months ago

Text

Between the Lines

Pairing: Harry x Designer reader (curvy or plus size whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference ��)

Summary: An early birthday gift should help.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: None. Angst with slow burn. 💗

✨masterlist✨ read the rest of Harry x Designer Reader there ...

It was nearing the end of January, and you found yourself deep in thought about what gift you could give to someone who seemingly had it all.

You scratched your head, wracking your brain for ideas. What could you possibly get Harry—someone who could effortlessly buy whatever he wanted?

The answer hit you after some deliberation. As a craft-loving person, the best gift wasn’t something money could buy. Instead, you decided on something personal: an elaborate handmade birthday card.

The idea sparked your creativity as you sat down to brainstorm the design. Your phone suddenly beeped, interrupting your thoughts. Looking down at the screen, you froze for a second. It was the very person occupying your thoughts.

Harry ☺️: Hey! Are you busy tonight and want to have some dinner?

Your heart leapt, and you quickly replied, feeling excitement bubble up in your chest.

Y/N: Nope, not busy at all! So what are we eating? 😩

Harry ☺️: I was thinking pasta. 😗🍝

Y/N: Hmm, I’m craving rice. How about sushi? 😗🍣

Harry ☺️: Sure, I’ll find a place. Pick you up in 40 minutes.

Y/N: Okiee! I’ll get ready. See you! Be safe. 😌🙏🚙

Harry ☺️: Always 😮‍💨🫡

You tossed your phone aside and hurried to your closet. After some deliberation, you settled on the comfiest yet stylish outfit you could put together—a flowy top paired with your favourite jeans. For the finishing touch, you applied a berry-coloured lipstick that made you feel confident

You were just about to head out when your phone buzzed again. Seeing Harry’s name pop up, you smiled and answered.

"Hello! Just going down the stairs now. Wait a minute for me, please.”

"Hi! Sure, I’m parked by the door," Harry replied, his voice warm and familiar.

Hanging up, you rushed out the door. Your excitement must have been contagious because you didn’t even pause to greet the doorman as you hurried to Harry’s car.

Spotting his sleek black Range Rover, you knocked on the tinted window. Harry rolled it down with a cheeky grin.

"Spare change, sir? Please, I’m hungry and cannot afford even bread crumbs," you teased, feigning a pitiful cough to sell the act.

Harry chuckled, his laughter lighting up the cold evening air. Playing along, he gave you a mock-serious look.

"I’m so sorry, madame. No spare change here. Go somewhere else, pauper," he said, rolling the window back up dramatically.

Your mouth fell open in exaggerated shock. Opening the car door, you saw him laughing so hard he was almost in tears. You couldn’t help but join in, your loud laughter filling the space.

"Hello! I guess I missed you," you said sassily as you settled into the passenger seat and buckled your seatbelt.

"I missed you too," Harry replied softly, leaning over to give you a quick hug in the tight space.

"Okay, let’s go. I’m hungry. For SUUUSHHIII!" Harry suddenly screamed, making you burst into laughter again.

…

The restaurant was cozy, with warm wooden tones and a calming atmosphere. You admired the decor as you waited for your food, bopping your head to the music playing in the background.

"Look at the solid wood they used here," you said, gesturing to the tables. "And the lights! The pendants are gorgeous. I love the pattern they used on the accent wall."

Harry watched you, a soft smile spreading across his face. He was quiet for a moment, his mind racing. Is now the right time to ask her to be my girlfriend? he wondered.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the waiter arrived with your food.

You both broke your chopsticks simultaneously and reached for a piece of salmon nigiri.

"So, how was your day, Harry?" you asked, savouring the fresh flavour.

"It was fine. Full of the usual meetings… that kept me from you." Your cheeks warmed at his response.

"I miss you too," you said shyly. "Thanks for inviting me to dinner. This is delicious!" Harry hesitated, his fingers fiddling with his chopsticks.

"Uh, Y/N… Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, what’s up?" you replied, taking another bite.

"Well, we’ve been having dinner for the past month or so…"

"Yeah?

"What do you think of our relationship at this point?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. "I guess… we’re good friends. You mean a lot to me, Harry."

"You mean a lot to me too, Y/N," he said softly, his gaze flicking to your lips.

But you didn’t seem to pick up on his deeper meaning. Harry smiled to himself, deciding to try again tomorrow.

…

The next morning, both you and Harry found yourselves struggling. You still hadn’t come up with the perfect gift for him, and Harry still couldn’t figure out how to confess his feelings.

As you prepared for the day, your phone chimed.

Harry ☺️: Good morning. Want to ask if you’re busy for lunch today. 🌞😴

Y/N: Not at all. Want to get sandwiches at Feli’s place?

Harry ☺️: That’s what I was planning. See you there. 😎🥪☕️

As you ended the conversation, an idea suddenly struck you.

What if I made Harry something that wasn’t just a card? What if it was something more personal—something meaningful?

You grinned, a spark of excitement taking over.

…

By the time you arrived at Felice’s, Harry was already there, waiting at your usual table.

"Hey, you," he said with a warm smile. "Missed you all morning."

"It’s noon, Harry. We literally saw each other last night," you teased, sliding into the seat across from him.

"Well, it felt like a whole day already," he replied cheekily, his grin infectious.

As Felice brought over your drinks, Harry shifted in his chair, tapping his foot nervously under the table.

"So," he began, his voice hesitant, "I wanted to ask you something… about us."

You set your matcha latte down, a small crease forming between your brows as you looked at him. "What is it, Harry?"

Harry took a deep breath, his green eyes searching yours for courage. "You mean the world to me, Y/N. I was wondering if… if we could take things to the next level?"

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. For a fleeting moment, you thought you might have misunderstood him. But instead of jumping to conclusions, you took his statement the way you always had—through the lens of your friendship.

A warm smile spread across your face as you reached out to pat his hand.

"Of course we can, Harry," you said earnestly. "We’re best friends! I don’t think I’ve ever been closer to anyone."

Harry blinked, his hopeful expression faltering for a split second before he quickly recovered. "Right. Yeah… best friends," he said, his lips curling into a soft, bittersweet smile.

You leaned back in your chair, sipping your latte. "I’m so glad we had this talk. It’s nice to remind each other how much we mean, you know?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, his tone warm yet tinged with something unspoken. "It’s good to know where we stand."

But inside, Harry felt like screaming.

He cleared his throat, glancing at the time on his phone. "Actually, I just remembered—I have a call I need to take back home. You know, work stuff."

Your face fell slightly. "Oh, already? We barely had time to hang out."

"I know, I know," he said, standing up and putting on his coat. "I’ll make it up to you, promise."

You gave him a warm smile and stood up to hug him goodbye. "You better. Drive safe, okay?"

"Always," he murmured, his voice soft, as he stepped out the door.

…

As the door chimed shut, you settled back into your seat, finishing your latte. Felice appeared from behind the counter, wiping her hands on her apron, her expression a mix of frustration and disbelief.

"Y/N," she said firmly, crossing her arms as she leaned on the table and sat in the chair Harry previously sat on

You looked up, startled. "What’s up, Feli?"

She sighed heavily, shaking her head. "You do know he’s trying to ask you out, right?"

You blinked, confused. "What? No, he’s not. Harry and I are just friends. He was just being sweet, as usual."

Felice groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Sweetheart, he wasn’t being sweet—he was confessing his feelings for you! That whole ‘take things to the next level’ thing? That wasn’t about friendship."

Your cheeks flushed, your mind replaying the conversation. "Wait… are you serious? He meant—oh my god."

"Yes, I’m serious!" Felice threw her hands in the air. "He’s been head over heels for you for weeks, and the poor man is probably banging his head on his steering wheel right now because you didn’t pick up on it."

You stared at her, stunned. "But he didn’t… I mean, I thought he just wanted to—oh no."

Felice softened, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Listen, Y/N. You’re amazing, but sometimes you’re a bit oblivious. Go home, think about it, and if you feel the same way, don’t make him wait too long. He’s trying, but he’s nervous, too."

You nodded slowly, feeling the weight of her words. "I had no idea," you murmured, biting your lip.

Felice smiled knowingly. "Now you do. And for the love of all that’s holy, don’t let him chicken out next time."

…

The walk back to your apartment felt longer than usual, your mind replaying every word Felice had said. Could Harry feel that way about you?

The thought sent a mix of butterflies and panic fluttering through your chest.

Shaking your head, you unlocked your door and stepped inside, determined to distract yourself.

"Focus," you muttered, setting your bag down on the table. There was still the matter of Harry’s birthday gift—a task that had been daunting enough before all this confusion.

You pulled out the materials you had bought earlier, laying them carefully on your worktable. Cardstock in soft pastels, fine-tipped pens, watercolours, and a small collection of pressed flowers you had saved from past projects.

Your plan: a Victorian puzzle purse. A charming, intricate craft that unfolded layer by layer to reveal hidden messages. It was old-fashioned, meaningful, and perfect for someone as thoughtful as Harry.

With a deep breath, you started sketching designs for the embellishments. At the corners of the puzzle, you drew delicate hearts, intertwining vines, and blooming flowers. Each stroke of the pen felt meditative, calming your nerves as you thought about what you wanted to say.

…

Once the decorative borders were complete, you dipped a fine brush into your watercolour palette, adding soft blush tones and a touch of gold to the design.

As the paper dried, you pulled out your favourite pen, poised over the center of the puzzle where the first message would go.

"Dear Harry," you wrote, the words flowing easier than you expected.

"Happy Birthday to someone who brings light and laughter into my life every day. You’ve shown me what kindness, warmth, and passion look like, and I’m so grateful for every moment we’ve shared."

You hesitated, biting the end of your pen. Should you say more? Your mind wandered back to Felice’s words, and the possibility that Harry’s feelings for you went beyond friendship.

Taking a deep breath, you decided to be honest in your writing. Erasing your previous note.

You smiled to yourself, finishing the letter by signing your name. Folding the puzzle purse carefully, you tucked each corner in place, marvelling at how beautifully it had turned out.

Setting the finished craft on the desk, you leaned back in your chair and studied it, pride swelling in your chest. The puzzle purse was perfect—elegant, intricate, and heartfelt. You hoped Harry would love it as much as you had loved making it.

But as you stared at the delicate folds and hidden messages, Felice’s voice echoed in your mind again: "He’s trying to ask you out."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Could she be right?" you whispered to yourself.

For the first time, you allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like if Harry did feel the same way. His shy smiles, the way he always made time for you despite his busy schedule, the way his green eyes softened whenever he looked at you… it all started to fall into place.

Your cheeks heated as you realized how much you wanted it to be true.

Pushing the thought aside, you stood up and placed the puzzle purse carefully in an envelope, sealing it with a wax stamp for an extra touch of flair. "We’ll see," you murmured. "First, let’s get through his birthday."

Little did you know, Harry was sitting in his car outside your apartment, staring at his steering wheel and replaying your conversation at Felice’s. He was determined to figure out how to tell you his feelings, once and for all—before he lost his nerve.

The soft knock on your door startled you. You weren’t expecting anyone. As you peeked through the peephole, your breath caught. There he was, standing in the hallway, looking both nervous and determined, a bouquet of wildflowers clutched in his hands.

You opened the door cautiously, surprised to see him. "Harry? What are you doing here?"

"Hey," he said, his voice soft but resolute. He held up the flowers with a sheepish smile. "These are for you."

Your eyes widened as you stared at the bouquet—an assortment of daisies, lavender, and tiny pink blooms, the kind of arrangement that felt as though it had been picked straight from a garden. "For me?"

He nodded, stepping inside at your invitation. You closed the door behind him, still cradling the flowers in your arms as if they were the most fragile thing in the world.

"Thank you," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "They’re beautiful."

Harry’s gaze softened as he watched you fuss over the flowers, your fingers delicately brushing the petals. He noticed the faint blush creeping up your cheeks, the way you avoided his eyes, and it only strengthened his resolve.

"Y/N," he began, his voice breaking the silence. You glanced up at him, your expression curious but cautious.

"I—" He faltered, running a hand through his curls. "I came here because… well, because I couldn’t wait anymore."

You tilted your head, confusion flickering across your face. "Wait for what?"

He let out a shaky breath, his hands fidgeting by his sides. "To tell you how I feel."

Your heart skipped a beat, the weight of his words sinking in. You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out.

"I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks now," he continued, his green eyes locking onto yours. "Every time we have dinner, or lunch, or even just coffee, I try to find the right moment, but it never feels right. And then today, when we were at Felice’s, I realized I can’t keep putting it off."

You stared at him, your mind racing. Could this really be happening?

"I like you, Y/N," he said, his voice steady despite the nervous tremor in his hands. "More than a friend should like a friend. And I don’t want to pretend I don’t anymore."

Your grip tightened slightly on the bouquet as you tried to process his words. Harry liked you? As more than a friend?

"But…" you stammered, your voice shaky. "I thought we were just—"

"Friends?" he finished for you, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. "I know. I’ve probably confused you by not saying anything sooner. But, Y/N, you mean so much to me. More than anyone ever has. And I just… I couldn’t hold it in anymore."

You blinked, your heart pounding in your chest. "I… I don’t know what to say."

"You don’t have to say anything right now," he said quickly, his voice gentle. "I just needed you to know. Whatever you feel, I can handle it. I promise."

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the air thick with unspoken emotions. You glanced down at the bouquet in your arms, your thoughts swirling. Finally, you looked up at Harry, his hopeful green eyes searching yours.

"Harry, I…" You hesitated, biting your lip. Then, as if a lightbulb went off in your mind, you remembered the gift you had been working on for him all night.

Without a word, you turned and walked to your desk, leaving Harry momentarily confused. When you came back, you held a sealed envelope in your hands.

"This… this was supposed to be your birthday gift," you said softly, holding it out to him. "But I think maybe it’s better if you open it now."

Harry blinked, his brows knitting together as he carefully took the envelope from you. "Are you sure?"

You nodded, clasping your hands nervously as he broke the seal.

Harry studied the puzzle purse with awe, gently unfolding each layer of the intricately designed card. You had poured your heart into it, embellishing it with tiny hand-drawn flowers, delicate hearts, and vibrant splashes of color.

When he reached the center, he found the letter you had written. As he began to read, your pulse quickened.

"Dear Harry, I spent so much time trying to figure out what to give someone who seems to have everything.

But then I realized the only gift I could give you is the truth:

you’ve made my life brighter in ways I never thought possible. You inspire me, make me laugh, and make me feel seen. You mean so much to me,

more than I think I’ve let on. And though it terrifies me to say it… I think I’m falling for you.

Happy birthday, Harry. You deserve all the happiness in the world."

sincerely yours,

Y/N

When he looked up from the letter, his eyes were glistening with emotion. He smiled, a mixture of relief and joy spreading across his face.

"You…" He paused, shaking his head in disbelief. "You’re falling for me?"

You nodded shyly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t know how else to tell you. I thought it would be safer to put it in the card."

Harry let out a soft laugh, his shoulders relaxing as he set the card on the table. "Y/N, you’re incredible, you know that?"

You looked at him, your brows furrowing slightly. "I’m… incredible?"

"Yes," he said firmly, stepping closer. "And for the record, I’ve been falling for you too—hard. I’ve just been too much of a coward to say it outright."

Your heart swelled at his words, and before you could overthink it, you reached out and took his hand.

"So… what now?" you asked, a nervous smile tugging at your lips.

Harry grinned, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. "Now, I make this official. Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?"

Your breath hitched, and you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. "Yes, Harry. I’d like that."

Relief and happiness washed over Harry as he pulled you into a warm embrace, the wildflowers now forgotten on the table.

You rested your head on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart.

"I guess I don’t have to wait until my birthday for the best gift of all," Harry murmured, his voice low and full of affection.

You pulled back slightly to look at him, your eyes shining. "And what’s that?"

"You," he said simply, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

… In the spirit of Harry's 31st Birthday. Here is my gift to the fandom. 💗💗💗

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