#eyewear on head

[mountndo]

So confident. Looks delish.

[xtrablak674]

LOOKs LookS LoOkS

I impress even myself with my creativity, and this wasn't taught as much as learned. A lot of looks were inspired by new pieces I acquired recently.

[Photos by Brown Estate]

[mikeshouts]

METALENSE 2 XR Glasses Powered By Snapdragon By P&C Solution

FYI.

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[metropolitant]

UNVEIL THE FUTURE OF STYLE: THE EPIC PRINCIPALITY OF ZEON X OWNDAYS COLLECTION

[miraclewoozi]

SPECTACLE. -j.ww

in which your new boyfriend, wonwoo, doesn't give a crap about his expensive eyewear.

pairing : wonwoo x fem!reader. content : smut. pwp. tags under the cut. MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT. w/c : 2.7k. notes : yeah i kinda. went insane over this idea. so. bon appetite to you, and also to wonwoo ? i guess.

content + smut tags : established - but new - relationship. making out. FACE SITTING. impact play? (one gentle butt slap). the shenanigans are on a couch if that matters, i don't know. reader is a little shy about doing it. PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything.

Wonwoo looks flushed when he pulls away from where he’s been kissing and nipping at the side of your neck, hair stuck up in every direction thanks to your tugging fingers and your gentle guidance to help him find your sweet spots. His lips are pink and a little plumped. His glasses are steaming up, sitting halfway down the bridge of his nose, and every slightly heavier breath he takes makes his broad chest rise and fall where it’s pressed wholly against yours.

You can’t help yourself from leaning forward into another kiss; he’s completely irresistible. Maybe the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. And while this isn’t really news to you, the dynamic of your relationship with him shifted a month or so ago and you’re still getting used to the privilege of seeing him this close up. 

He’s still adjusting too, if the way he groans directly into your mouth, hands groping harder at the curve of your ass as you shuffle in his lap is anything to judge by. Still learning, still figuring you out. But – and this is how you know what you’re building here might be the real deal – even when it’s clumsy, and when you knock teeth while you’re kissing and burst into slightly pained giggles, or when things accidentally slip out of place while you’re getting steamy… everything Wonwoo does makes your spine tingle. Makes your stomach flip. Makes your core throb. 

Even when it doesn’t always work? It makes sense, and it’s perfect, and losing yourself in the way his lips caress and worship yours is so damn easy when he murmurs your praises just for letting him do this in the first place.

“Will you do something for me?” He asks after a small forever, pulling back just far enough that he's not breathing up your nose. His hands have made their way under your – his – hoodie now and he’s grazing his fingers over your ribs, tickling enough to make you whimper, not enough for you to want to swat him away.

You think you’d give him the world if he asked for it in that deep, rough voice he adopts when things start heading in this direction. The moon too. Shit, if you could get a lasso around the sun and bring it closer to keep him warm, you’d do that as well. So, whatever his little request is now, you know you’re going to agree; resting your hands on his shoulders (finally leaving his gorgeous hair alone), you lean back from him and nod your head.

“Anything,” you say. You’re certain that you feel his cock twitch in his sweatpants where it’s pressed against the inside of your thigh, but you’re not quite sure why. 

It makes you feel hot, though. More-so when he bites back a grin, lips curling in that adorable way. It feels greatly unfair that you can’t swoop down right this second to kiss him again, and again, and again; as painful as it is though, you do exercise enough grace to wait for him to come out with it.

“Get up,” he says softly, dropping his hands down your sides and squeezing at your hips once. 

You do as he asks and move off his lap, sitting on the other side of the couch; he doesn’t say anything else as he stands up himself, pulls his hoodie off over his head and tosses it to one side before sinking all the way down to the floor. You raise an eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t see you. He shuffles into place with his back against the edge of the seat and only once he’s comfortable does he turn to look at you over one shoulder, grinning brilliantly.

“Okay,” he says, bending his knees and planting his heels into the floor. “Come here.”

You stand up off the cushions now and look down at him for a second, wondering what on Earth is going through his mind, but you know better than to start questioning his strange ideas. Especially when he’s in this sort of a mood. You step over him, one foot either side of his hips, and start to drop down too, but he puts a hand on each of your knees and stops you before you’re in his lap once again.

“No,” Wonwoo says, shaking his head. His hands then make their way to the backs of your thighs and he pushes forwards, trying to guide you where he wants you. Your knees bend of their own accord and press against the couch on both sides of his head. “Like this.”

You don’t exactly freeze up, but it is as if you forget how to control all of your muscles for a second. The ones in your legs seem to turn to jelly and you know it’s only because the sofa is currently taking a portion of your weight that you don’t buckle completely and fall onto the top of his head. The ones in your face give you a slack-jawed, wide-eyed, unblinking expression. 

Your abdominal muscles tighten and your cunt flutters at what you’re sure he’s trying to suggest, the rush of wetness you feel only worsened by the intensity in his eyes as he tips his head back and looks at you.

“Please?” He asks, all sweet but deep and rough at the same time. 

“Are you s–?” You start to ask. 

Wonwoo clicks his tongue at you and tries to encourage you further onto the couch to prove his point. “Yes,” he says, nodding eagerly. 

And then, just so you really can’t mistake what he's asking for–

“I want you to sit on my face.”

Your entire body heats up at how bluntly he says it. You squeeze your eyes shut and bite the inside of your cheek so that you don’t accidentally laugh with the nerves already trying to burst out of your tummy. 

It’s not that you don’t want to. If you had a penny for every time you’d thought about him giving himself up for your pleasure this way, you’d be rich. You do. You’re going a little crazy just imagining how good it’s going to feel. 

It’s just that him being so bold about it has you feeling shy, and that’s never happened to you before. You’re at a loss. You’re totally stumped.

When you open your eyes again and look down at him, Wonwoo is just as earnest and hungry for you as he was a few seconds ago. If anything, it’s as if he wants it more. It’s without a doubt the hottest thing you’ve ever seen and before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re nodding at him; his fingers start to drag up and down the backs of your thighs happily, before they hook under the waistband of your shorts and gently make that first little pull.

“If you don’t like it, we can stop,” he says to you, only pulling them all the way down when you start to help him. They get tossed over to the side to join his hoodie after you step out of them. His eyes glance to the panties you’re wearing – the last barrier, the final thing keeping him from what he’s so desperate for – before he looks back at your face and flashes you a smile. “Just tell me, okay?”

“It’s not that,” you laugh softly, taking off your own jumper and throwing it onto the pile. Wonwoo groans at the sight of you; you roll your eyes at him. “You just… took me by surprise.”

“Good,” he sighs, wrapping an arm around one of your legs and letting you settle onto your knees in position over his mouth, pressing his fingers into the top of your thigh. 

The first soft press of his lips over your panties makes you gasp and you hold a little tighter onto the back cushions as you look down at him. His eyes are closed already as he breathes your heady scent in, deep enough to hopefully stain his lungs, enough that he’ll never get rid of it, that he’ll be able to carry you everywhere he goes. 

But Wonwoo’s closed eyes aren’t the only thing you notice between your thighs and a soft laugh replaces the pleased sounds already spilling from your lips. One hand drops down to where he's settled and your fingers brush against his temple as they try to pinch at one side of his glasses. He looks affronted when he catches your gaze.

“What’re you doing?” He asks, gently moving your hand away. 

You tilt your head at him. “Your glasses,” you prompt, moving to reach for them again. His fingers curl around your wrist and he shoves your hand into his hair instead, rubbing the tip of his nose against the inside of your thigh.

“I want to keep them on,” he tells you.

“What if they break?”

“Don’t care,” he hums, kissing his way back towards your covered pussy. “I’ll buy a new pair. I just wanna see you.”

You swallow at this and decide that you’re definitely not going to try and change his mind, instead choosing to tilt your head back and let his skilled tongue work you up through your underwear. It’s a mess of arousal and spit and they’re soaked, translucent, clinging to you by the time he’s frustrated with them; frankly, so are you, and it's a relief when he concludes that enough is enough.

“Baby,” he groans as he pulls your underwear to one side and has to crane his neck up to lick the flat of his tongue in a stripe up your slit. You whine, the cool air and his hot breaths a menacing mix of sensations, but you don’t have the sense to respond; one soft slap of his hand against your ass makes you look back down at him, though, and you’re met with dark eyes, flushed cheeks and a practically frenzied Wonwoo in the space between your hips. Your sweet, softly spoken boyfriend is nowhere to be found.

“I said, sit.”

His strong arm tugs you down and your knees slide against the cushions, bringing your pussy even closer to his face, literally forcing you to rest against his lips. He chuckles triumphantly and buries his tongue between your folds, tasting you so much more legitimately than before. The way he loves – straight from the source, the spring. You feel him prod at your hole and your walls clench around what he gives you – barely just the tip, but it’s enough to have you reeling already, and when his other arm hooks around your other thigh, when he starts to move you back and forth, you take very little convincing to start to rock your hips down against him on your own.

“Oh,” you whimper as his lips seal around your clit and he sucks at it once, giving a few experimental flicks of his tongue at the same time. The hand in his hair tightens immediately and Wonwoo groans with you still in his mouth, sending delicious vibrations through your sensitive nerves and making you gush onto his chin. 

“So fucking pretty like this,” he tells you, stroking his thumb over your waist. “Might be my new favourite view.”

He keeps lapping at you teasingly, testing circles and sideways motions, precise swipes, long drags; every subtle change as he tries to find what makes you scream in this position draws a different sound from your throat. He tenses the muscle and fucks your dribbling hole with it while encouraging you to move enough forward that his nose bumps against your clit with every jerky rock of your hips. You’re grinding faster, now, pressing down against his mouth harder, caring less by the second about whether his glasses are actually going to break in two. Besides, the way he drinks you down tells you that he could do this for a week straight without getting tired; he doesn’t want you to stop, or slow down, or ease up. He wants more. And if you’re too shy to give it to him, he’ll just take, take, take.

“Just– oh, fuck,” you gasp as his tongue finds your clit again and he laps at it with so much zeal that he could rival your favourite vibrator. “Just like that–”

Both of his hands grasp you tighter, squeezing and massaging and kneading at your soft skin as you chase your high on his pretty face. His eyes are tightly closed in his own rapture, and you hope that he won’t blame you for wanting him to open them; your hand pulls harshly at his hair again, hard enough to make him cringe, enough to make him stop for just a second before he sees how wound-up you look. You try to pull off from him a little, at least enough for him to catch a couple of breaths, but Wonwoo captures your pussy between his lips before you even hear him inhale.

“You– you wanted to s—see me,” you stutter out as the fire starts to catch and you feel warmth and ecstasy start to build at your core. “Fuck– ah–”

So he does. With big, hungry eyes, Wonwoo watches as you hurtle towards oblivion, as you writhe and squirm and grind down against his ardent mouth.

He sends you crashing over the edge with a wet sob, your own eyes closing now as you see stars in the darkness and ride your high out on his still-moving tongue. There are tears on your cheeks before you can do anything about it. Your walls spasm around nothing. He barely slows, taking back enough pressure so that your pleasure doesn’t turn to pain. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t even blink until you’re out the other side of your climax, though.

When your pants start to die down and you’re twitching to get away from him, so sensitive that even his tiny kisses make you shudder, Wonwoo drops his head back down to the pillows and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. You don’t have the strength to move yet, still reeling, still too floaty to try for any level of coordination, but he doesn’t mind. Your swollen, glistening pussy right over his face is something he'd pay millions to see.

“Didn’t even break the glasses,” you laugh weakly once your voice decides to come back to you. 

“Mm,” Wonwoo hums, sliding them off his nose and inspecting them. He ‘tsk’s before putting them back on. They’re steamed at the edges and a little smeary now, and he surely can’t actually see that clearly through them. He obviously doesn’t care. “That’s not good enough.”

“Huh?” you ask, moving carefully so as not to plant your knee into his jaw but still trying to bring your legs together so that you can sit to one side. He isn't having it, though, and slowly shuffles up onto his knees, turns around to face you and lays his fingers on one of your ankles, wasting no time in trying to pry your legs apart again.

“That’s. Not. Good. Enough,” he repeats, using his other hand to palm himself over the fabric of his sweatpants. The tent in them would be comical if it weren’t for the animalistic look in his eyes; there’s nothing laughable about the way he’s looking at you right now, though.

“So what are we gonna do about it?” You ask, opening back up for him and not hiding how you stare as he rips his shirt off over his head. Then, he slides his fingertips up the inside of your calf, to your knee, down your thigh… he drags them over the lips of your pussy and collects a little of your slick on them before bringing his hand to his lips and sucking it clean.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” he tells you, groaning at your sweet taste as if he wasn’t just drowning in it a minute and a half ago. He lowers himself until he's once more level with your cunt and guides both of your legs over his shoulders, smirking up at your expectant face. “Maybe try to squeeze your thighs a little more this time. See if that does the trick.”

thank you so much for reading!! i hope u enjoyed this hehe. as always, likes, reblogs, replies, feedback and asks are always super appreciated.<3

[dovveri]

high fashion fashion

synopsis: you’re meeting with the top fashion designer in the country to get your measurements taken for haute couture: an exclusive, annual fashion magazine you had the luck to be chosen for

warnings: reader receiving, cunnilingus, fingering, strap-ons, swearing

w/c: 4.4k

a/n: momo part 2 here!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"miss minatozaki! the model is here to see you as requested!"

you shuffle around a little awkwardly as you stand behind the agent that had led you to the infamous fashion designer's lair. you were still a new name in the modelling industry so it came as a surprise when you booked one of the biggest fashion magazines in the country. naturally, that meant working with the best of the best, and minatozaki sana was the best of the best.

"come in!" a voice drifts out, it's high-pitched and honeyed, the kind of voice that lures people in and gets them to do whatever the speaker asks of them. you were cautious though, sana's reputation preceded her. tales of her perfectionism were not sparse, she was a difficult woman to please, and had been known to ruin careers with the shake of a head or the slight frown in her eyebrows.

the agent rushes you in, whispering about making sure you did whatever sana wanted you to do, and then taking their leave just as quick, terrified to be in the same room as the fashion designer of the century.

you wring your hands nervously, stepping forward and taking in your surroundings. it wasn't unlike any other studio you've been in. messy fabrics and half-completed outfits strewn over pages of designs and measurements, mannequins standing half-dressed and lifeless, and in the centre of it all, the mastermind of the methodical chaos you stood in, was minatozaki sana herself.

she tuts, making a note on the design she was currently working on, not having acknowledged your presence yet, so you stand there awkwardly, waiting for her to instruct you.

your eyes can't help but trace over her features while she works. it was only natural, you were a model, you learnt to have a sharp eye for the physical body, to be critical of yourself and others whether you were on the clock or not.

her face was perfect. she was wearing specs that perched neatly on a nose other models would pay for. her lips, although currently downturned in a frown as she perused her work, were set in a natural pout that accentuated her features, her eyes sharp and calculating behind the soft, round frame of her glasses. you could mistake her for the model for a big-brand eyewear company. your eyes glide down to her shoulder where her top slid down revealing pearly soft skin, and a sharp 90 degree angle, her collarbones protruding and proud. you're almost in disbelief at her beauty, how someone like her could've slipped under your radar, under everyone's radar. people knew her for the beauty she created, not the beauty she possessed.

you're so caught up in her you don't notice she's finally taken notice of you; quick, assertive eyes running over your own body, calculations and images of clothing pieces already forming in her head.

"y/n right?"

your eyes flick up to hers, blushing slightly at having been caught. you clear your throat, nodding, not trusting your voice to speak.

she puts down her pencil and steps out from the desk she was working behind, taking slow steps towards you. you were used to this, people staring at you, studying you. but under sana's gaze you felt like a baby deer again, like the first time you were scouted for your modelling agency. she circles you, humming here and there as she takes you in.

"i can see why mina chose you."

you cough awkwardly, "excuse me?"

"the editor. she handpicks the models for the annual haute couture magazine every year."

your eyes widen, she meant myoui mina. chief editor of the haute couture magazine. a limited fashion piece that only came out once a year and was revered by critics all across the country. the one you had the opportune luck to be selected for.

"r-right."

sana scoffs, "pretty face but can't speak. lucky you didn't go into acting."

you're a little taken aback at that, but you remind yourself this was characteristic of sana. this was in line with what you had heard. you would just have to grit your teeth and bear it, you could not afford to lose this opportunity.

"hmm. yes you'll do." she walks back to her work counter, heels clicking as she waves a hand dismissively.

"strip. everything. i'll take your measurements now and we can both get back to work."

you stutter, following after her, "d-don't you already have my measurements?"

she turns suddenly, raising an eyebrow as you almost crash into her. you realise she's a little shorter than you, though her presence made it seem she towered over you. "is there a problem?"

you blush, trying to create some distance between the two of you, "n-no ma'am! i just thought-"

"i like to take my own measurements. i don't trust the ones they sent me. after all..." she raises a hand, a manicured nail coming to trace your throat, from the middle of your neck to the tip of your chin. you hold your breath. "the notes didn't mention how devastatingly exquisite you are. i'll need to see if the rest of the... hardware matches that pretty face of yours." there's a dangerous glint in her eye, her lips curling up into a smirk as she watches your breath catch, then she's turning away and striding towards another work desk, leaving you tripping after yourself to follow her.

she quickly makes space on the counter, pushing aside sheets of drawings and pulling out a fresh new page devoid of any markings.

"well? are you shy or something? no one is allowed in here without my permission. we're alone darling don't worry." you can hear the teasing lilt in her voice, she doesn't need to turn away from her work for you to picture the smirk on her face.

you quickly rid yourself of your clothing, shivering a little in the air-conditioned workshop, reminding yourself that this was nothing out of the ordinary, you had been laid bare in front of beautiful women and men before, sana shouldn't be any different.

you hesitate when you reach your bra, but sana could smell your uncertainty.

"i said everything."

you gulped, undoing the clasp and sliding the straps off your shoulders, nipples hardening under the cool air of the room. you bend down to slide off your panties, stepping out of them carefully before coming back up, suddenly face to face with sana who's eyeing you with a hunger akin to the one of lioness. you turn to place your underwear with all your other clothes, but knowing sana was watching your every step lit a little fire in your lower stomach.

your toes clench on the cool tile of the workshop, you force yourself to take a breath before turning back to sana, and then letting her circle you again like her prey.

you almost jump when you feel her fingertip on your naked back, holding back sounds your mouth certainly shouldn't be making at work.

her finger slowly, slowly traces downwards, sana admires the smooth planes of your back, the sharp bones that jut out at your wingspan, the curve of your spine before pushing back out to your ass.

you don't even realise you're holding your breath until she pushes down slightly at the small of your back and you gasp.

then sana giggles. "cute."

her hand never leaves your body, she walks back around to face you, fingers tracing your arms, then your sides, squeezing teasingly at your hips.

"hmm... yes i can definitely work with this." her voice is lower, and you can't help but think she may be a little affected by you too.

she steps away again, grabbing a measuring tape, "you wouldn't mind doing a couple poses for me would you darling? i need to see which fabric would work best when you move around and sit or get into whatever other absurd positions momo might get you in when you take the photos."

you shake your head, irritated at the blush that was now definitely apparent on your cheeks. you were better than this, you took lessons on how to school your expression and bodily reactions for when you were forced into uncomfortable clothes and outfits.

sana nods towards a stool nearby, "just take a seat there, sit however's comfortable for now."

you follow her instructions almost robotically, wincing a little at the chill of the metal stool against the skin of your ass. you cross your legs, willing the arousal that was leisurely dripping out of you to stop before sana found out and fired you for being unprofessional.

she watches you wriggle around on the stool, trying to get comfortable with a smirk, treading forward when you're finally still. you try to look straight ahead, avoiding her gaze, but she cups your cheek lightly, forcing you to look up at her. she tilts your head from side to side, hums, then grabs the measuring tape and steps behind you, measuring your shoulder span.

"relax sweetheart, i can feel the tension in your muscles."

you let out a shaky breath, still refusing to speak.

"nervous?"

you shrug.

"you've done this before haven't you?"

you nod.

"are you not speaking because of the comment i made earlier? i didn't mean it y'know. it's not the first time i've rendered someone speechless before."

you gulp, unsure of the implications of her words, "r-right."

she giggles again, "almost thought i'd have to make you scream for me."

"w-what?!"

she hums, moving backwards again and ignoring your question, "lie down over there would you? on your front. if i know momo i know she loves her horizontal shots."

you shakily get up, moving to the mattress on the floor and laying down cautiously, feeling sana right on your heels.

it would be harder to hide your slick in this position, but you clenched your thighs together and did your best. the cool material of the sheets on the mattress brush across your already sensitive nipples in this state, and you fight the urge to let go and just go wild under sana's watchful gaze.

she hovers above you, noting down every twitch of your body, every arch, curve, bend. there's some rustling behind you but you keep focused on resisting your dirtier thoughts. that is until sana sits on top of your thighs.

you gasp at the feeling of her weight on top of you, right below your ass, "u-um-"

"i said to relax darling. i need to see how you'll feel when you're in this position." her excuses were getting sloppier.

"y-you do?"

"are you questioning me?"

"n-no! i'm sorry- please- um- please continue."

"good girl."

you feel your ears burning now as well, the blush having travelled across your cheeks and up. even you knew there was something other than fashion fitting going on here with that comment. but you still let her hands run over your back, even as they tease dangerously lower, down to your hips.

sana coughs, shuffling around, but her shuffling around was really her pushing her body up against your ass, essentially riding the back of your thighs. you can't help but release a choked-out moan, fingers digging into the skin of your forearms where you're resting your head, breaths coming in and out heavier.

she stops, smirking, then does it again, rocking forwards, eyes twinkling when you give her the exact same reaction, unable to control yourself.

"miss m-minatozaki-"

"just sana for you darling."

"... s-sana-"

"hmm?" she leans down, rocking forwards again, delighting in the moan you release, humming right next to your ear, her body laid almost completely on top of you.

"is this- is this still- are you still taking my measurements?"

she chuckles lowly, "what do you think?"

you whine, completely unsure what this devil of a woman wanted from you, "y-yes?"

"then why are you asking?" she giggles, finally letting you go, standing back up. "now, the couch please."

you inhale greedily, pushing yourself back up and wobbling over to the couch. your legs almost give out when you sit down, sinking into the material, and looking at anywhere but sana.

you're about to cross your legs again when she tuts, "ah ah. spread them."

your eyes widen, "b-but-!"

"but what? you already showed me a pose with your legs crossed, now i'll need to see one spread. surely you've seen it's a very classic pose? one of the outfits i'll have to design include pants and momo will definitely make you do this pose in them."

with nothing else to retort, you shyly spread your legs, the urge to cover yourself is overbearing. you wait for sana to say something, anything, prepared for your career to end here and now. you were so close to the big leagues too.

"run a hand through that pretty hair will you darling? elbow up."

you blink, doing as she says, dumbfounded as she steps closer, completely disregarding the obvious signs of lust at your core.

those hands come out again, one at your thigh, the other tracing down the tricep of the arm you have lifted above your head. with nowhere else to go, your arousal leaks outward, pussy drenched and needy as you hold your breath.

the hand that's at your thigh inches upwards, the one at your tricep downwards to cup your face again, thumb brushing over your lips that open just barely enough for her to fit her fingernail inside.

she can feel your shaky breaths on her thumb, can hear the whimper you let out when the hand at your thigh continues to trace up and down, closer and closer to your heat.

"s-sana..."

"yes darling?" her voice is husky, eyes lidded, lips open, whispering like she was sharing a secret even though no one else was around.

"i-i- i'm- i need-"

"what do you need?"

you gulp, fighting back against your better conscience, but the lust that's curling up inside your stomach wins out, "you. i need you."

she grins, "do you now?"

"yes please- sana please-"

"you're so cute when you beg darling. alright then. i'll entertain you." the hand that's at your thigh finally pushes forward, fingertips meeting drenched folds as you gasp in relief and desperation, hips pushing forward, trying to feel more of her.

"god you're so wet sweetheart. is this all for me?"

you're whimpering as she traces those practiced fingers of hers up and down your slit, just barely giving any pressure to your clit before dipping back down. "y-yes! all you all you-"

"well i have to be a good host and receive what you've given me don't i?"

she sinks down onto her knees, pulling your thighs towards her, taking off her specs and licking her lips devilishly as her eyes lock on her target.

your hands are about to move into her hair when she barks up at you, "no touching. you can touch yourself but you can't touch me."

you whine but obey, sliding your hands back up your stomach to grope at your chest needily, your nipples having been attention-starved since you took your bra off.

she grins, enjoying the view for a little before finally bringing her face closer. she blows on your puffy clit playfully, loving the way you squirm and whimper under her, before attaching her mouth to your pussy, sucking greedily.

"o-oh-!"

your hands grip your chest harder, wishing you could hold onto her head instead, but you have to settle for grinding down into her face, pushing against her grip at your hips while she eats you out, slurping loudly. the sounds are absurd, but your mind is too hazy to worry about being embarrassed anymore, not when your fingers are pinching and twisting your own nipples while you watch sana suck your clit into her mouth, her eyes locked on yours while she eats.

"g-god sana so good- so fucking good mmf- you- you- you're driving me insane god-"

sana flicks her tongue happily in response, one hand releasing your hip and coming down to play with your entrance. you clench around nothing, eager to take her in, and she obliges, pushing a finger in with your clit still in her mouth, curling it to hit the spot that only served to bring you closer to the edge.

"r-right there fuck- right there- i'm gonna- you're doing so good fuck-"

she starts pumping her finger in and out of you, the squelching sounds of your sex only become louder, an accompaniment to her suckling. you're flicking your fingers over your nipples, again and again, matching her pace, each stroke getting you closer and closer. then she adds in another finger, curling upwards, hooking into you, and you cry out, back arching, hips pushing into her face, shaking and trembling as you feel yourself fall over the edge.

sana continues to lick and nose at you while you come down, hands rubbing soothing motions into your hips and thighs. eventually, she slides back up, hand replacing yours over your chest and copping a feel for herself.

she's kissing your neck, chest, ears, all while you try and gain sense of yourself again. you turn your head with a pout, urging her to look at you. she smiles, knowing what you wanted without even asking, leaning in to kiss your pout away, your lips moving against one another as you hum at the taste of yourself on her lips,

she continues fondling your chest, rolling her fingers over nipples as you start to wriggle under her again, easily aroused.

she breaks away from your mouth with a smirk, "you're pretty when you cum."

you whine, burying your head in her neck.

"maybe i should tell mina and momo that. i think they'd get the best shots if you were mid orgasm."

"w-what?" your voice is shaky, still squiriming under her touch.

"hmm... you want another don't you? i've been working on something... special. how would you like to try it out for me?"

she doesn't wait for an answer, detaching herself from you and walking to one of her work desks. you can only watch after her, still spread open and tingly all over as she rummages through a drawer. your eyes widen when she pulls out a dildo, mind and vision suddenly clearer as she smirks, tugging out a corresponding harness and slipping the dildo into it.

then she starts to strip.

she leaves her top on, only removing her bottoms before stepping into the harness, the patchwork dildo hanging from her hips, looking strangely like it belonged on her.

she giggles when she notices you staring, doing a little spin, the fake dick swinging around ridiculously. "you like? i was going for... cutesy and demure." she plops down next to you, tapping her thighs.

you swallow nervously, pushing yourself up and straddling her.

"you can touch now."

your hands that were awkwardly swinging by your side finally come up to rest on her shoulders.

"answer the question."

"y-yeah- i- um- it's cute."

she giggles again, "that's good. need to make sure something as cute as you gets filled up with something just as cute hmm? then you can make all those cute sounds for me too."

her hands are relentless, tugging you down into her lap, brushing your hair over your shoulder, running fingers down over sides. she's always got to have her hands on you.

you huff when she teases the strap along your slit, feeling yourself dripping already. you try and catch her eye, pouting again.

she rolls her eyes, "just ask me if you want to kiss."

"can you kiss me?"

"see that was so cute! that's a good girl." then she's pulling you into her, latching onto your lips.

the makeout session that proceeds has you grinding down into her without even realising, and you take a hint of pleasure at her returning the movement, her own hips starting to rut up into yours. she sucks your bottom lip into her mouth, swiping her tongue across it before letting it go, invading your mouth still with the faint taste of yourself. when you break away to gasp for air, she moves straight to your cheek, then down to your jaw, neck, collarbones, sucking marks along her way, hands coming up to play with your chest again.

she pushes your breasts upwards so her mouth can reach skin easier, sucking and kissing, careful not to leave marks on you, knowing your body was your instrument in this line of work.

you moan when you feel her lips wrap around a nipple, the warm cavern of her mouth sucking the little nub, her tongue lapping over it with glee.

you're unabashedly rocking against her now, loving the tingle that went up your spine with every pass of the strap on your clit, her mouth still attached to your chest while you held the back of her head, keeping her against you while you moaned and whined into her.

she switches nipples, cool air hitting the wet, exposed nub. you shiver under her despite her actions only heating your body up past a temperature you didn't know was possible.

"s-sana-"

she hums around your nipple, always so focused on her work, the vibrations go straight to your core.

"need you- n-now- please-"

your nipple pops free from her mouth, "i'm not stopping you." then she's back at your chest, sucking and kissing, addicted.

you groan, looking down between you and shakily aligning your entrance with her strap. it takes a few tries and you're almost crying in frustration and sana's not helping at all, completely preoccupied with your chest, before you finally sink down, moaning low and heavy as you feel her fill you up.

"fuuck-"

sana sucks at the patch of skin on your left breast just a little harder in response.

you push yourself back up using her shoulders, then drop back down, cursing as your core tingles at the sensation.

you repeat the process, eyes locked on the way she enters and exits you, her strap coated in your essence, the squelching sounds mix with your whines and groans.

"fuck- fuck- fuck-" you start riding her, swearing each time she fills you up, setting up a rhythm that has you dizzy with need. sana finally decides to break away to watch her masterpiece bounce in front of her. fading bite marks and patches of red skin sway as she moves her hands down to your hips, pushing you down harder with each entrance, bucking her own hips up to get the strap that much deeper.

"fuck!" your hands on her shoulders tighten, feeling her everywhere inside you, around you.

"review it for me sweetheart." she husks out, "if you saw it in a magazine would you buy it?"

"y-yes- fuck- w-wait no i don't- i don't know-"

"no?"

"you don't come with it- fuck-"

she chuckles, hands moving again to grip your ass, squeezing the flesh between her fingers, "let's say i do. then what?"

"y-yes- yes yes fuck- yes i would-"

"mhmm? i want a more detailed review than that darling. i need to know how to make improvements."

"f-fuck sana- it's so- you're fucking me so- so good- it's good it's good-"

"other than good?"

"g-god you're so- it's um- fuck- it's cute and- i like the colours- a-and shit jesus christ- it fills me up just right- and i'm gonna- fuck- i can't- it's gonna make me cum-!"

"why don't i give it a helping hand then hm?"

"yes! yes- please- please- god- fuck yes-"

she pushes herself up, pulling you back down, surprising you with the amount of strength she had hidden, then she's thrusting up into you roughly.

"uh- uh- fuck- uh-" you're moans are cut up with every thrust, she's experienced, like she is in everything she does, panting with effort while her hips work, her arms pulling you down with every thrust up, you can't even keep track of where she's entering you, moving so fast it was a blur. or maybe those were the tears building up as it gets almost too much, your desperation to cum for her, to cum all over her.

"f-fuck!" you scream out, clenching down around her, hips moving of their own accord, shaking and moaning, almost blacking out from pleasure.

your breaths are heavy as you come back down, still with sana's strap lodged inside you, sweaty hands unwrapping themselves from around her neck, slumping down and resting your entire weight on the fashion designer.

sana hums, brushing through your hair and your back, letting you catch your breath.

when you finally gain enough of your bearings, you grunt as you sit up, sliding the dildo out of yourself, cringing at the mess you've made between the two of you.

sana only giggles, bringing a finger down to trace the length of the dildo and then bringing it to her own mouth, sucking it and humming around the taste.

your stomach twinges again in arousal, but you whine, too sensitive to go again, knocking your forehead against sana's shoulder as you avoid looking at her.

she lets you rest there for a while, but eventually stands up, carrying the dildo off with her to clean off. when she comes back, she has your clothes and a damp towel for you to clean yourself up with.

"i have another appointment now. feel free to stay as long as you'd like, just don't touch any of the designs. i'll send the completed outfits for you to try once they're done." she's all business again, but before you let her turn on her heel and leave, you croak out.

"w-what about you?"

"what about me?" she raises an eyebrow.

you blush, covering yourself now that you have enough shame to be embarrassed. she pays you no mind, following your eyeline and looking down at herself. then she realises what you're asking.

she laughs brightly, "no sweetheart you don't need to take care of me. but if i ever need another... trial customer... i'll be sure to ask for you." she winks, and then she's off, heels clicking in the workshop and door closing behind her.

you sink down into the couch, still processing exactly what happened. all you knew was that everyone was right to be terrified of minatozaki sana. though your fear came with a side of thrill you're sure no one else could've warned you about.

[bubble-dream-inc]

under your skin.

The last walk-in you expected to see in your tattoo parlor in one rainy day was a massive masked behemoth of a man. It came as even more of a surprise when you wanted to see him there again and again; and a final time when he kept coming back.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Tattoo artist reader

rbs greatly appreciated!

WC: 7K

a/n: listen, as a tattoo artist irl, the first thing i did when i discovered ghost had a tattoo was to think how i had to self indulge. i’d kill to tattoo this man personally. shoutout to @117s-girl, @somnibats and Eddie for the tremendous help when i had writer’s block, and @deafeningcat for the amazing beta read as always <3

tags: fluff, reader being horny for ghost, ghost being slightly ooc, mentions at verbal abuse, slightly suggestive and slight angst.

You remember the first time Simon Riley walked into your shop.

It was a cold and rainy day - like most days in Manchester - and you were idling by, doodling on a notebook by the front desk and listening to whatever was playing on the radio without paying it much attention. Glancing at the clock on the wall where the empty loveseat was, you were starting to wonder if you should go get something to eat while you waited, when the bell on the front door chimed, indicating someone had come in.

At first, you thought he was going to rob you, and in a second you were already kissing your expensive equipment goodbye in your head, cursing the fact you had decided to buy that pricey tattoo machine you were eyeing for so long just last week, but those thoughts vanished when the figure just stood in front of you. Silently, you eyed the skull mask and sunglasses that covered his face, wondering what was this guy’s deal, since it was way too grey outside to be wearing any sort of eyewear. Trying not to let his huge stature looming over you be intimidating, you were about to say something when his gruff voice cut the silence.

“You take walk-ins?” 

So he really was a client, you thought. Rummaging through the notebooks in the desk, you quickly glanced at your schedule, seeing your next client wasn’t supposed to come for a few good hours, and decided you were curious about the masked man.

“Well, it depends. What were you thinking of getting?” 

He stood still for a moment, and you wondered if he heard you at all, but suddenly he reached for something in the pocket of his jeans, extending a neatly folded piece of paper in front of you. His voice filled the silence again as you unfolded the paper, and you found the thick accent oddly calming coming from him. 

“I want it to be a sleeve. Covering my left forearm.”

You opened it to find a surprisingly intricate design, and it seemed like whoever did it made it with the intention of actually getting it as a sleeve. Not taking the masked guy for an artist, you found a signature on the bottom of the page, a chicken scratch that read “Tommy Riley”. Usually, you’d make light conversation and ask about the design, especially when it looked important, but something told you not to pry into this man’s business. Assuming he’s this “Tommy” fella, you just smiled politely, deciding you could fit the first session of it into your work day.

“Sure. It should take a few sessions, though, is that alright with you?” He simply nodded, wordlessly, and you decided that was good enough of an answer. 

Leading him into the procedure room after getting his approval on the price, you made sure to give him a consent form for him to fill out and sign while you traced the design to a stencil - making sure to cut the right adjustments to wrap around his visibly huge forearm. You wondered if he was a weightlifter of sorts, or maybe just a gym rat. 

Transferring the stencil to his skin and prepping your materials for tattooing was a completely silent ordeal, and your client seemed more than content in just letting the silence linger for the remainder of your encounter, and even if you were getting antsy by it, you were glad he didn’t comment on how visibly nervous you were when you wrapped your gloved hands around his arm to make the stencil stick - feeling his warmth and the protruding veins even through the latex that covered your own skin. 

“You have any other tattoos?” You asked, stepping on the machine pedal to make sure your tattoo machine was at the right voltage while he got comfortable setting his arm on the arm rest.

“No.” 

“Cool.” God, you felt awkward. “I’m gonna start now, tell me if it hurts too much.”

“Right.” 

You felt stupid saying that to a man that had arms the size of your head and was at least 6,4. As expected, he didn’t even flinch when the needles touched his skin, but you weren’t about to give up on your mission to make conversation with your mysterious client. While tracing it with the machine, you analyzed the design a bit closer.

“That’s some interesting art.” It wasn’t. It was tacky as hell, all missiles and skulls and other edgy elements, but you were not going to say that to him. “You like guns?”

“Something like that.” 

You gave up trying to chat him up shortly after. Even with the weird dad sunglasses on, you could still feel his stare on you, unnerving at best, and you wondered what was up with the mask. In your line of work, you’d met some interesting individuals, and you considered your shop a safe haven for all outcasts and misfits; you’d known, after all you did decide to pursue tattooing as a career. Still, something about this man - Tommy? - made you feel an itch to see what lied beyond the mask - both figuratively and literally.  At least it would take a few more sessions to finish his piece, hopefully he’d say more than five words at once to you at some point. 

It took you two hours to finish tracing it, and you deemed it was good to go and begin shading another day. Getting into professional mode, you gave him directions on how to care for it and asked him to come back after a month to start on shading it, and, as expected, he only nodded to you. Going back to the front desk, he handed the bills containing the price you had settled on, and turned around, leaving without another word. Out of curiosity, you picked up his file. The first thing you noticed was that he had left the “Occupation” space blank.

The second thing you noticed was that the signature read “Simon Riley”.

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆

Simon didn’t come back after a month. 

A good few months later, you just figured he’d given up and was now walking around with an unfinished tattoo, or, worse, he had picked another artist to finish the job, and the thought made you angrier than you’d like to admit. Despite your annoyance, whenever you’d organize your clients files, you’d find yourself lingering on his, weirdly curious and feeling like he was a puzzle you were dying to solve.

A long time passed - you don’t know how much, but you’d say it was more than a year - before he showed up again, and, once again, it was unannounced. You were finishing a client’s tattoo when your friend - and coworker - knocked on the procedure room door, and when you’d told her to come in, she looked like she had seen a ghost. 

“There’s a guy in the waiting room asking for you. Said you were doing his sleeve…” She quietly announced, and you just stared at her quizzically, waiting for her to continue. "He 's…Big. Tall guy with a creepy skull mask.” 

She whispered the last part so he wouldn’t hear it, even if he was a good corridor distance away and the metal music coming from the radio would drown it out, and after a few moments you realized she was talking about Simon.  You remember answering something to her and finishing the tattoo on auto pilot before heading to the front desk, and, sure enough, Simon was standing there menacingly, in his whole huge aura, seemingly unbothered by how his height, frame, and mask were making the other clients in the shop regard him with uneasy looks. His eyes met yours once you showed up. You noticed he wasn’t wearing the sunglasses anymore, and his fabric mask had been replaced by a simpler balaclava and a hard skull mask on top that you hoped was made out of a synthetic material. 

Now bare, his gaze revealed its intensity to you, the dark hues following your every move in a way you supposed you could find intimidating if a small, very weird part of you didn’t find it attractive. He seemed tired, eyes cast downwards and with bags surrounding it, and you wondered what had happened when he was gone. 

“Hey.” You breathed, straining your neck to look up at him and completely forgetting about the other people in the room. “Riley, right? I’m guessing you’re here for the sleeve?”

He seemed slightly surprised you remembered his name, but the impression of seeing emotion in his eyes was gone in an instant as he simply nodded at you.

“Yeah. You got time?”

You didn’t. But you’d make it work, you weren’t about to send away the man who had, for some reason, plagued your thoughts so much for the last months. 

“I got a few more clients, but if you don’t mind waiting, i can fit you in?”

You hated how uneasy you sounded, your hands fiddling with a stray loose line of your ripped jeans as you waited for his answer.

“That works.” 

With his gruff reply, he turned and sat down in the waiting area, and you released a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. 

The hours went by, the clients came and went to and from your procedure room as well as your colleague’s, yet, every single time you left the room to go to the front desk have a sip of water or check your next client’s name, Simon was still there, patiently waiting, the loveseat seeming oddly small under him, and his all black, dark getup blending perfectly with the black walls of the studio. If anything, it made you even more intrigued, since most people would have left by now, considering how long a tattoo takes and he could just come back another day, but he didn’t show any signs of having anywhere else to be. The people traffic started to wind down, and soon enough, you dismissed your last client of the day as you were the only artist left in the shop and the sun had already hid in the horizon. 

“Glad to see you again. I was wondering if you had gotten another artist.” You laughed somewhat nervously, taking a breather by the glass door while Simon finished filling out another responsibility form, and you had to ignore how nervous you felt when he turned to glance at you with those dark and intense eyes of his.

“Got busy, that’s all.” He murmured, setting the pen down on the front desk and turning to the wall where your flash pieces were displayed. “And I like your work.”

Feeling your eyes widen, you tried to conceal how flustered the comment made you feel behind a cool chuckle, but something told you Simon could see right through you. Going back inside and pointing him towards the procedure room, you briefly glanced at the fresh consent form and realized he filled out his occupation this time, the words “Army” surprisingly not phasing you one bit.

Simon was the same as the last time, quiet as a grave. But, seeing as you were wrapping up the shading quicker than you’d anticipated, you decided this time you would not let this mysterious man walk out of your studio - possibly forever - without at least getting one piece of information out of him.

“So…does it mean anything?” You nodded towards his arm, trying to play it cool. Being in this field, you quickly realized not everyone gets tattoos that mean anything, and most of them are really just for aesthetics, but the signature below the original design had you wondering, even if the newfound information that he was in the military made the over the top missiles and dog tags inked on his arm make a lot more sense. He stared at you from behind the mask for a moment, making you feel queasy under his stare and suddenly very aware of how much you were draped over his arm trying to get the shading on one particular skull to look just right.

“Yeah.” After a few moments he replied, a wave of sudden relief washing over you upon realizing you had not, in fact, crossed a line. “My brother made it.”

“He’s quite the artist.”

“He really was.”

Oh. 

You decided to drop the subject after the implication.

“And what branch are you in?” Not looking at him, you spoke in a low tone, too concentrated on the machine in your hands to realize you were maybe asking more than he was comfortable talking. “You know, uh, in the army.”

“Special Air Forces.” You realized he tensed almost imperceptibly, relaxing once you only hummed.

“Cool. I’d reckon you guys had tattoo parlors closer to base, though.” 

“We do.” He huffed. “But I know the guys. Not nearly as clean as here.”

At that, you chuckled gently, missing the way Simon’s eyes softened at the sound.

You continued the piece in comfortable silence, distantly registering the pitter-patter of the rain that had just started falling on the street beyond the front doors. Finishing it up, faster than you would have liked, you decided the corny design looked good - really good - on him, and he might have been the only guy possible to pull it off, which could have been related to how big and strong his arms looked. Wrapping the tattoo in plastic film and reminding him to not keep it on for too long, you had to focus on acting professional and not let him know you were ogling at the recently inked piece of skin. The long sleeve shirt he had rolled up to his forearms did not help you one bit, nor did the way his eyes followed your every single movement.

When you got back to the front desk - relieved to find the rain had stopped - you expected Simon to just pay and leave silently the same way he did the last time, but he actually lingered, letting his eyes wander through the flash pieces displayed in a neat corkboard in the waiting room - this one with your name written on top. You actually don’t know when he got your name - something told you it was when he asked your coworker for you. He seemed quite interested in one particular design that had been gathering dust for a long time on the board, considering how big it was.

“See something you like?” You followed his gaze, realizing it was a ram skull chest piece you had completely forgotten about; it looked too dark and menacing for most people looking for walk-ins and flash tattoos. “That one was meant to be a chest piece. Works for the back, too.”

Simon studied it for a few moments. What was up with this guy and skulls? Finally, he turned to you.

“When can you do it?”

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆

The third time Simon Riley walked into your studio, it was, by far, the most memorable one. 

Unsurprisingly enough, he had decided to set an appointment for the chest piece to be the last one of your day, a week later; whether he enjoyed the night time better or just wanted to not be bothered with other people around, that was a mystery to you. There was a third option in the back of your head, but you told yourself it was delusional, and your fascination with the masked man was, in fact, one sided. That didn’t stop you from greeting him with a cheery smile as you looked up from where you were doodling on your notebook on the front desk, pretty much like your first encounter. However, you didn’t think too much of what exactly the chest piece implied as you headed to your procedure room with Simon in tow. It hit you like a ton of bricks when you freezed for a second, holding up the carbon stencil in your hands.

“Uh, you might wanna…take off your shirt. It’ll be more comfortable for you.” 

Preparing the stencil gel, you tried your best to ignore him and not let your eyes wander too much as he lifted the unnecessarily tight black t-shirt over his head, careful as to not remove the balaclava and skull mask combo, folding it neatly and setting the piece of cloth over your table before standing next to you in front of the full body mirror. 

I’m a professional. I’m a professional. I’m a professional.

If you thought Simon was huge before, that was an understatement. 6,4 feet of pure, naked muscle stood inches away from your much smaller body, and you were extremely relieved to realize that he had, probably out of consideration for you, shaved his chest beforehand - the same couldn’t be said for the faint happy trail very clearly peeking from his jeans, sitting way lower on his hips than you’d like. Scolding yourself over and over for fawning like a horny teenager, you hoped the nervous tremble in your hands as you delicately smoothed the gel over his collarbones wasn’t as obvious as you felt it was. Even through the latex gloves you could feel the heat coming from his pecs, as well as a few minor scars that shouldn’t give you too much trouble. You decided to ignore the very visible and very big bullet scar on his side. As he adjusted his dog tags to hang behind his neck so as to not get in your way, you finally peeled the stencil off, trying to calm your frantic beating heart as he analyzed it in the mirror to make sure it was in the right placement. 

It got worse when he actually laid on the tattoo table - comically dwarfed under his enormous frame. Sure, you had tattooed a fair share of chests along the years - both men’s and women’s - and it never really flustered you, after all, it was your job, seeing skin was a very big part of it. However, as you lowered your torso on the bed and tried to adjust your hand to sit as comfortably as possible on his chest, you thanked the gods it was such a big tattoo; you had no idea how you wouldn’t mess it up if it was a tiny one. But you doubted Simon would ever get a tiny tattoo. Above all, you could appreciate how he maintained his breathing slow and steady and, again, didn’t even flinch as the needles touched him, making you like him as a client even more. 

“I’ve heard you guys in the army got…codenames?” You started, desperate to start some conversation before your intrusive thoughts won. “What do they call you?”

Slowly, you were getting used to his brief silence before answering you. It seemed like his way to decide if your question was worth answering or not, and you were glad he had found them all to be so far. 

“Ghost.”

“Very fitting.”

You were surprised to hear him exhale in a way that resembled a very weak laugh, and you felt giddy knowing you made your ever so quiet and serious client laugh - or something like that. Feeling calmer, you continued the very big piece, strapping in for a long next couple of hours.

They passed quickly, your hand working almost in autopilot as you traced the tattoo’s lineart and made light conversation with Simon - Ghost. You learned he was a Lieutenant, liked bourbon and the mask never came off. Granted, it was mostly you speaking and him answering, but you were glad he was entertaining your nervous ramblings, and you were only slightly embarrassed to admit to yourself you found his southern British accent very soothing on his deep, gruffy voice. In turn, you told him a little more about yourself; why you got into tattooing and even a few funny stories from dealing with past clients. 

Finally deciding it was enough strain on his skin for one session, you set your machine down and admired your work, smiling under your mask. Taking a generous amount of the tattooing balm on your fingers, you swallowed your nervousness before gently spreading the substance on his chest so it would heal nicely, not missing the way he relaxed under your touch. If you weren’t so busy panicking by having your hands on such a massive and attractive man, you could ponder on how he seemed to be enjoying that as much as you were. With your approval, he got up to examine the piece on the mirror, and you caught yourself staring into his strong, chiseled, and scarred back, before averting your eyes, choosing to focus instead on cleaning up the inky mess you made on your trolley. You once again went through the now familiar ordeal of him silently thanking you, paying, and leaving into the night.

As Simon Riley left the studio that day, carrying an unfinished piece of your work right on his chest, you realized something clearly had changed in the air between you two. You just had no idea if it was a good or bad thing.

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆

The next time Simon showed up, a month later, you were stressed out of your mind.

You were booked, so you didn’t really have any open spots next to closing time the way he liked it, so he had to settle for coming a bit earlier than usual, which meant there were actually other people in the studio for once, including the one on the front desk yelling in your face.

You couldn’t really remember what he was yelling about, just that you were suddenly regretting your decision of working with people and wondering if it was worth it to stoop down low and insult him back the way he was doing to you. You figured the moment he started yelling about his already finished tattoo that it was most likely another scam attempt coming from him, but it didn’t really matter anymore once you zeroed in on the hulking figure that showed up unexpectedly behind your unpleasant client in the form of your masked savior. For a moment, you were scared things were going to get violent, but Simon didn’t have to do much. It took one glower from him, his gaze sharp enough to cut from way above the smaller man, and he was suddenly stuttering apologies and leaving the studio in a hurry. You ignored the looks the other people in the waiting room were giving the two of you, offering a tired, but extremely grateful smile, to Ghost.

“Hey, Riley.”

He was still staring at where the man had left, and the annoyance on his usually so stoic gaze came as a surprise to you. 

“What happened?” 

You were already heading into the procedure room, too shaken to deal with the stares of the people in the waiting room any longer, and shot him a sheepish look from over your shoulder. 

“Just a rude client being difficult. Not the first time he gave me trouble, either, but it happens.” 

Simon didn’t seem too happy with your answer, but he let it slide, for the moment. Heading into the room and closing the door behind you, the air fell into a familiar silence, broken only by the cluttering sounds as you set up your supplies, and, to you, your still frantic heartbeat in your ears by the less than pleasant interaction just a few minutes earlier. It was unlikely, given how observant he was, but you hoped Simon didn’t pick up on just how shaken you were. Still, you took a few moments to calm yourself down as you tested the machine with your feet; Simon had already made himself comfortable on the table, and soon enough you fell into the rhythm of inking him, the same way you had grown used to in those last few months. Focusing on a particularly stubborn piece of skin where the ink didn’t paint as easily, you were lost in thought when his voice pulled you back to reality.

“Are you scared of me?” You heard him ask quietly from above you, instantly knowing he was referring to the way your earlier client had run off on the sight of him. Pausing your ministrations, you looked up from his chest to find him already staring at you in a way that made your heart skip a beat. Since you were currently working on the details on his collarbone, you haven’t realized how close you actually were to his face, and suddenly you were hit with the realization you could feel his breath through both your masks; and an intoxicating scent of cigarette smoke and cologne. Caught in a trance by his dark gaze, you realized a little too late you were gawking and not really answering his question, which made you feel very glad for the surgical mask covering your suddenly very red face and flustered expression. Looking down to continue your work, you tried to find your words once again.

“Not really. I mean, the mask was off-putting at first, but I've had some odd people as clients. You’re cool, though. You remind me of those big, scary guard dogs, but in a good way.” Cringing at the lame answer, you felt like a kid talking to her crush in middle school all over again, and the huff-slash-chuckle that left Simon only made it worse. It seemed like he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t, and in your flustered stupor you couldn’t find any words either, so you just let the air around you fall into a comfortable silence over again. If it were anyone else, you’d be wary of the constant quietness, but, for some reason, Simon’s presence was enough to make you content, even if no words were exchanged. 

Blacking out the parts that had to be inked was a piece of cake for you and your enormous needle - which you were glad was being used on Simon, since, most of your other clients would have been crying from the pain only halfway done with the black - and soon enough you were heading out to the front with him, readying yourself to bid him goodbye and, disappointedly, only see him again in the next month, once his tattoo was healed enough for another session, however, as you approached the waiting room, he made no move to leave. You thought maybe he was, again, inspecting your work displayed on the wall, the prospect of continuing to tattoo him after his chest piece was done getting you giddy already, but he was looking nowhere but in your direction, eyes unreadable behind the skull mask.

“I’ll wait until you close. Who knows if that asshole won’t come back expecting me not to be here anymore.” 

Blinking up at him, it took you a few moments to process what he had murmured under his breath, and, in an instant, your heart rate shot up as you tried to wrap your head around the implications. Had it been any other client, you would have laughed it off, telling him not to worry and that you could take care of yourself, but it wasn’t just about anyone. It was him. And for some reason, the fact made you only wordlessly agree with a nod of your head and wide eyes, certain he could now see how clearly flustered and red your face looked. An intrusive part of your brain was screaming at you that he was just being nice, and that the protectiveness was just because of his job and nothing else, but you’d entertain these thoughts later - if ever.

So, much like the second time you’d met him, the rest of your afternoon was spent with seeing Ghost’s massive figure patiently waiting in the way too small loveseat in the front room of the studio, living up to the scary guard dog imagery you had joked about to him, except, this time, in between clients you’d sit besides him to catch a break and make light conversation, the deep rumble of his voice soothing all of your worries in a minute. 

As the hours went by, it was way past nightfall when you closed up, everyone else had already left and you were exhausted after washing the studio on your own. True to his word, Simon loomed behind you like a shadow, quiet and intimidating, refusing to leave until he had walked you to your car in safety. You remember thanking him profusely, and him not making a big deal out of it, and the way your heart thrummed in your throat as you drove on autopilot to your house, trying to ignore the way Ghost’s figure walking besides you on the quiet sidewalk a few moments before felt just right. 

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆

It was early August when you woke up in a very good mood that one morning.

Later you’d realize it was because it was the day of Simon’s appointment, but at the time you had chalked it up to just being a sunny day that brightened your spirits.

Business as usual, you went along your day, anxiously waiting for the place to empty out and you’d get your newly discovered favorite customer, not that you’d admit it outloud to him, or even to yourself. It was actually a slower day, with a big break between clients, which you were glad about, so between coffee and water breaks and chit chatting with your coworkers, soon enough the sun went down and the enormous figure of Ghost could be seen crossing the threshold of the studio’s glass door, responding your enthusiastic wave with a nod of his head, eyes relaxed behind the mask. As usual, he followed you inside the procedure room, and you remembered something.

“Lemme see how your sleeve is healing.” Extending your hand, you smiled cheekily at him, giddy after seeing his half-hearted eye roll, and he gave his left forearm for you to inspect. With his busy way of life, you’d have expected to be worse, but it was actually very well taken care of. “Wow, this has healed up perfectly, good job, Simon!”

You beamed up at him, but your smile faltered once you saw his eyes widening at the praise. Oops. He grumbled something in response and you decided to save him the embarrassment, releasing his arm with a chuckle.

No matter how many times he did it, every single time Ghost took his shirt off it made your brain short circuit, but you remained professional and fell into the familiar routine of tattooing him in comfortable silence, only this time it was broken not only by you talking first, but also him. It surprised you to hear him ask you questions first or tell you some non-compromising stories about his job, - making you chuckle a few times hearing about the shenanigans of this “Soap” friend of his - but you weren’t about to complain. You were lost in the familiarity of it all when you realized that you were actually almost done with the shading - meaning his chest piece would end one session earlier than expected. Trying to mask your disappointment, you wrapped it up, forcing a smile to a suddenly very confused Ghost. 

“I thought we were going to need another session but, uh, turns out it was…faster than i expected!” You gave him a slight, nervous chuckle, and you swore you saw his eyes widen behind the mask. 

As usual, you wrapped the ink in the plastic film - finding it very hard to make the masking tape stick to his large pecs - and gave the same instructions in a robotic way, following him to the front desk where he finished paying for his piece, all in absolute silence and with unreadable eyes. As the transaction was finished, he lingered, standing silently in front of you, looming. You couldn’t meet his eyes.

“So, yeah, i guess that’s it…” You gave another chuckle, offering him a gentle smile. “Hey, don’t be a stranger-”

“Do you want to go out with me sometime?” He blurted out, shutting you right up, and that stopped you dead in your tracks. You stared up at him, unsure if you had heard him correctly, and were waiting for him to say something else or even backtrack, but that never came.

“Uh. Yes? I mean, yes, sure! I’d love to!” You stammered, certain you were wide-eyed and a flustered mess, not expecting him to be so straightforward, or, even say anything at all. Simon seemed a lot more composed than you, even if the way he blurted his question out made it seem like he could be slightly nervous. You doubted he ever got nervous, though. 

“Great. Does this weekend work for you?” 

Thinking back on your schedule, you remembered that no, it didn’t.

“I’m booked with work…But, the next one I should be free.” You hated how awkward you sounded.

He nodded, and took his phone out of his pocket to extend it for you, and you assumed he was asking for your number in the Ghost-est fashion possible. You unlocked it, noticing the lack of a password and the factory wallpaper, realizing it was probably a personal and barely used phone, punching your number in and saving the contact. As you returned the device to Simon, you found solace in realizing he probably felt as awkward as you did.

“I’ll see you in a fortnight, then.” 

With a last nod of his head, he left, leaving you flustered, confused, but extremely giddy, and with a heart pounding against your ribcage. 

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆

Simon came back a week before he was supposed to.

As usual, you were closing up shop when he showed up, distractedly walking around the front room of the studio as you organized everything for the night, the sound of the heavy rain outside covering up the creaking of the glass door, so when you turned around, his presence startled you. 

“Hi Simon! You’re early.” You chuckled once you recovered from your scare, but he didn’t match your energy. He was just standing there, stiff as a plank, and staring silently at you. Growing increasingly worried, you were about to ask if he was alright when he beat you to it. 

“I’m leaving for a mission. And i’ll be gone for…some time.” 

Your heart dropped, and you could only stare at his mask trying to process his words and find words, but ultimately settling on a quiet and disappointed oh. He finally approached you, and in less than a second he was standing towering over your figure, holding you in that familiar eye contact you’d grown to look forward to so much, even if you'd realized by his gaze that he seemed just as upset as you. 

“Will you…be in danger?” It was a dumb question, but you couldn’t help yourself, everything you told yourself the days about moving slowly and waiting for your first date to decide how much you cared flying out the window as you openly worried for him for the first time. Ghost sighed, and suddenly you were hyper aware of how close you stood.

“I always am.” 

Not breaking away from his intoxicating gaze, your words lowered to a whisper, a plea.

“Be careful. Please.” 

The air stilled around you, thicker in tension that got worse with each passing millisecond, all of those feeling like hours. Simon’s height had never seemed so intimidating, and you never chastised yourself so much before for liking how his intense aura made you feel, something that increased tenfold once he boldly got even closer to you. Opening and closing your mouth like a fish, hoping something would come out eventually, you stilled upon feeling his gloved hands gingerly touching your face - dwarfing you in them - and you swore your heart was about to leap from your chest to your throat in a matter of seconds. His steely gaze flickered downwards briefly before returning to your eyes, asking for permission for something you didn’t even know quite right what it was, but that you’d give him regardless. The rough texture of his gloved left hand reached your now slightly parted lips as he traced the bottom of them with his thumb, moving his other hand to slowly lift up his balaclava just enough to expose his - unsurprisingly - sharp, stubbled jaw and full, lightly scarred lips. You barely had time to admire what you could see of him before his face was merely inches apart from yours, your breaths mingling together from both of your parted lips.

“You don’t even know what I look like.” He mumbled against you. A silent beg for you to stop him now, but you wouldn’t even dream of it.

“I don’t care.” You breathed back, voice barely above a whisper, and that seemed to break his resolve, as in the next moment he was leaning in and finally capturing your lips with his. 

Kissing Simon Riley in real life was so much better than what you imagined. His height made it that he had to lean down an awkward amount to reach you and you actually had to stand a bit on your toes, but none of that mattered as you finally felt his lips move against yours, surprisingly slow and gentle for a man that looked like that, but you supposed he was always full of surprises. He moved his hands from your face to your waist, gripping with a little more force when you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, encouraging him to kiss you harder - it would be a waste not to feel just how strong those huge arms of his could get wrapping around you. Groaning into your mouth, his touch soon became ravenous as he tasted you like a starved man, both of you now knowing it might as well be the last time you’d see each other, but you didn’t want to dwell too much on it, choosing instead to focus on the way he gripped the back of your thighs and lifted you onto the counter as if you weighed nothing, getting even impossibly closer to your smaller frame, never breaking the kiss. You felt like you could stay wrapped up in his arms for hours, but at some point you had to part your lips, keeping your foreheads touching and looking at each other without saying another word.

He waited until you closed up and walked you to your car again; except, this time, as you watched his retreating figure from the rearview mirror, your chest felt constricted, the unsureness of if he’d ever come back alive clenching your throat in fear. 

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆

The late june spring air smelled good, and you were in high spirits. 

You hummed contently, cleaning with a paper towel wet with soapy water the last smudges on the inked skin, leaning back to admire your work. The black crow on his upper back turned out particularly good, and you found it amusing how its edgy nature went along well with the other tattoos already on his body. Spreading the hydrating vaseline to wrap the piece up took a little more than you’d take with other clients, since you were busy admiring and feeling up the strong, scarred back beneath your fingertips. 

“All done!” 

The man got up, admiring the crow in an awkward angle in front of the full body mirror, and you couldn’t help but keep staring at the muscular back and pecs that you could see from your position in your chair.

“Quit the ogling.”

His voice sounded gruffy, but slightly amused, which made you chuckle and get up, stopping by his side to lean against his huge arms and stare back at him through the mirror.

“Quit being hot, then.”

Simon rolled his eyes, but you knew he was smiling under the mask and possibly had the slightest red dusting his cheeks - since he was so pale, you’d always notice it when he had his mask off, and in turn, he’d always notice how you’d stare at his face with a smug smile. He looked over the tattoo once more before you wrapped it up, past the stage of giving him the instructions, all of them already second nature to him, considering it had been so many years he started getting tattooed by you.

“You know” You started as he followed you to the front door of the mostly empty studio, the only other sound being the tattoo machine of a single other coworker that was staying late in their own procedure room. “You don’t have to wait for me, you know I still got another client and it should take one or two hours more.” 

Ghost huffed, turning to you with his hands on his jacket pockets, the height difference between you never failing to take all the air out of your lungs.

“Nonsense. He’s not supposed to be here for another half an hour, right? I’ll go grab us some dinner from that place you like and I’ll be right back. I’ll help you close up then we can go home.” 

You shook your head with a giggle, watching as he came closer to you, and were about to protest more but he gave you a look that left no chance for you to be stubborn, shutting you right up. Taking one hand out of his pocket, Simon lifted his mask just enough for you to see his jaw - which you had already admired that morning while he was shaving - and his lips, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on your cheek. You smiled, feeling him murmur just so you could hear it.

“See you in a minute, love.”

With that, he left, leaving you to watch fondly his retreating form from the glass door, as you chuckled dreamily one last time and went back to your procedure room.

[kamiversee]

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 29 || The Confessions

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, fluff, & angst.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 4.4k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——THE WORRY YOU EXPERIENCED WAS unnecessary though and the night goes entirely different than you expect it to. Who knew you'd have to be more worried about Gojo rather than the dress you wore...

The two of you were quick to part ways once you were inside, him taking a seat at a table decently far from the bar while you took your place there. Your back was to the man the entire night and he even wore these stupid glasses that made him look like one of the three blind mice.

You teased him about it for a while but he simply ignored you, claiming that he needed the eyewear to look inconspicuous.

So now you sat at the bar alone, glancing around for a specific blonde-haired male who was supposed to be there somewhere.

You waited and waited, ordering a drink or two while you were at it. Time flew by and as you waited, you'd look back to where Gojo was and send him a questioning look, silently asking where the hell Nanami was.

Gojo would shoot you a text saying he has no idea and you'd roll your eyes at him. A few minutes of waiting turned into thirty, then an hour, then two.

By that time, you were annoyed that of all the people you'd been watching the entire time, not one of them was Nanami Kento. Before you could send Gojo your millionth glare of the night, an arm was slung over your shoulder and his voice was in your ear.

"Don't cuss me out but..." Gojo murmured cautiously, "I just found out he actually comes here every other Friday night..."

Your eye twitches, "Tell me you're joking."

"I'm sorry sweets," Gojo says, chuckling a little as he pulls away from your ear.

You turn your head to face him with a glare, "I've been sitting here waiting for two whole hours because of you."

"I'm sorry, truly." He apologizes softly, "Lemme' make it up to you."

A brow is raised, "How?"

Gojo nods his head over to the dance floor, "With my amazing dancing skills," He offers enthusiastically, "That way your night won't be completely wasted!"

"No." You decline flatly.

The man pouts, "Oh c'monnnn, just one dance? I promise you'll feel better after."

With a heavy sigh, you move his arm off your shoulder and turn to slip out of your chair. For a moment, Gojo keeps pouting, assuming that you're rejecting him again before a hand goes to his tie and you drag him toward the dance floor.

He stumbles after you for a moment and then smiles happily when he realizes where you're taking him. The second your foot hits the dancefloor, an arm goes around your waist and you're spun around to meet Gojo's face before you even realize it.

He pulls you in close and he's got this gushing smile on his face even though you're still glaring at him. Gojo slides a hand to one of yours, forcing it up and around his neck and then following suit with your other hand.

"This isn't the kind of dancing I thought you meant," You tell him quietly.

There are a few other people dancing around the two of you, all of which appear to be couples.

"Gotta' fit in with everyone else, love," Gojo says, slowly swaying to the gentle music in the background just like those around you.

You sigh heavily, "This doesn't make up for anything."

"Then what will?" He asks, "I really didn't mean to waste your night like this."

You shrug in response to him.

There's this piano being played in the background and the whole dancing situation feels all too romantic.

You didn't like it at first but as Gojo continued to dance with you, easing your body closer and closer to his own, you slowly started to enjoy it-- even if only a little.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

At some point, both his arms are wrapped around your waist and yours are comfortably up around his neck. You keep trying to avoid his eyes but it was impossible with the way he just stared at you as you slow danced.

When you do look at him, you move a hand to take those ridiculous glasses off his face.

Gojo smiles when his eyes meet your own unobstructed, the sight of his happy expression melting your heart in indescribable ways. You take his glasses and tuck them down into one of his pockets before bringing your hand back up.

"Told' you they looked stupid," You try to explain your actions so you don't seem weird.

He hums, "I thought they looked pretty cool..."

You simply shake your head at him and return to focusing on your dancing, swaying gently as the piano has long since stopped playing, and now a radio of songs is what's guided people to dance. There were a few songs that made you want to stop dancing, especially when Choso popped into your mind at one point.

Gojo notices the distant look in your eyes and tilts his head at you, "What's wrong?"

You shake your head, "Nothing-"

"Don't lie to me, I can tell something's on your mind," He interrupts, moving to give you a slow twirl before pulling you back into his body, "What're you thinking about?"

You avoid looking him in the eyes, "Someone else."

"Oh wow, thinking of another guy while you're dancing with me?" He utters playfully, trying to lighten your mood.

You chuckle but his words hold the truth, "Yes, actually."

"Choso?" Gojo asks.

The way you're still avoiding his eyes tells him everything he needs to know. For a moment, he doesn't say anything and neither do you. You two just keep dancing as the song playing changes.

There's this mellow beat that flows into your ears, a song titled Old Love by yuji & putri dahlia. It's a beautiful song and it makes the moment of you slow dancing with Gojo all the more unnecessarily romantic.

You rest your head against the crook of his neck and Gojo lets out a sigh. There's no reason why you should even be dancing with this man still but you didn't exactly want to stop.

Gojo starts thinking back to the song that played a few minutes before the current, "Y'know, earlier... I was uh, I was thinking about you and him while that one song played," He says suddenly.

You grin, "What song?"

"Slow dancing in the dark," He explains, "I think the artist is named Joji... Ever heard of it before?"

You move away from his neck and meet his eyes, "I mean it just played not that long ago so, yeah."

He chuckles, "I mean before today, sweetheart."

"Uhh... Once before, yeah," You shrug a little. Then, you narrow your eyes at him, "Why'd that song make you think about me and Choso?"

"Well, did you hear the lyrics?" Gojo sighs.

"I did," You hum, "But I don't get how it relates to me and Choso..."

The man you're dancing with sighs heavily and his eyes dart off to the side, "Do you know what the song is about?"

"Uh, a failing relationship, I believe..." You murmur, not one hundred percent sure.

"Yeah," He agrees.

You raise a brow immediately, "Are you saying me and Choso are gonna fail?"

"No," Gojo chuckles, "The overall meaning of the song applies more to me and you, even though we're not in a relationship."

You blink and simply listen to his explanation.

"That one part where the song is all, you should be with him, I can't compete." Gojo quotes, "That uh... That made me think of you and Choso I guess."

"Is that how you feel?" The question that leaves your lips makes him tense up, his eyes carefully falling on yours once more.

Gojo gazes at you in thought for a long moment before saying, "Might' be a little cliche but, yeah."

"So you actually think like that?" You ask softly, "You wholeheartedly think I should be with Choso and not you?"

"Well..." He trails off.

His explanation fails to find his tongue, words floating around in his brain as he tries to come up with a good way to answer your question.

"Do I think you should be with him, yes." Gojo eventually gets out. "Would I rather you be with me, of course."

The look in your eyes softens, "This whole thing is hard for you, isn't it?"

His voice gets caught in his throat for just a second, "Wh-What?"

"I mean, having to know that once the list is over..." Your gaze drops down a little, "You're supposed to help me get with Choso. Doesn't... Doesn't that hurt you?"

Gojo feels his heart beating rapidly in his chest as he processes your question. Of course it hurts him, not that he wants to express that to you though.

"Nah," Gojo lies, chuckling loosely, "I'll be fine-"

"You're lying." You cut off, your voice gentle, "You can't tell me that helping the woman you love get with another man doesn't hurt you."

"So what if it does?" He shrugs, "S'long as you're happy, I'll be fine."

The air goes somber, the looks exchanged between the two of you filled with all different kinds of emotions.

"That's so toxic," You scoff, turning your head away.

"How? I'm putting my feelings aside for your happiness, what's wrong with that?" He questions.

"Everything," You try to emphasize the importance behind what he's doing as best as you can, "You're just gonna put aside your love for me so that I can be happy? That's terrible. You may be an asshole but... to a certain extent, you don't deserve that-"

"So what do I deserve then?" Gojo breathes out, his voice dipping down into something almost hurt, "Tell me my love, what is it you think I, as your blackmailer, deserve?"

You swallow down a heap of emotions, "A better situation," You say.

He tilts his head as he peers down at you. Even without your eyes on his, you can feel how emotional his gaze is, "And what better situation is there for me that doesn't involve you?"

The strings of your heart are once again being tugged on, this one more aggressive than the last. You can't help but shut your eyes for a moment and shake your head in disbelief.

"Maybe one where you're not blackmailing me," You whisper, still avoiding his eyes. "Perhaps then, and only then, would you have experienced the joy that is having your love reciprocated."

Gojo starts chuckling at your claims, almost as if it's untrue. "Sweetheart, there is no greater joy for me than loving you, even if it's not reciprocated."

You finally brought your gaze to his and it was as though time froze. Dislike courses through you at the way the moment became so intimate, so personal. The way your eyes flick back and forth between his left and right as you search for some sense of focus, trying to still the rapid thoughts in your mind, doesn't go unnoticed.

"That isn't joy, Satoru." You murmur to him, "That's misery."

"It's not," He argues.

"Loving someone so deeply and having it constantly ignored can't be joyful." You explain simply.

Gojo laughs, "You don't get it."

"Don't get what?"

"How deep it goes."

"Tell me then," You request, your eyes never leaving his blue ones.

Gojo rests his forehead against yours, "Tell you how deep my love goes? Sweets, we'll be standing here all night-"

"I don't care," You tell him, "I'll never be able to wrap my head around why you love me if you don't explain it to me."

His lashes flutter into a slow blink, surprised to hear that you don't understand the way he feels for a second time that day. Has he not made it clear enough? Do his actions truly not speak louder than his words? He supposes they don't, seeing as his actions merely contradict those intimate claims of his.

"I love you for a lot of reasons," Gojo starts off, his voice completely open and vulnerable to you as he begins to express himself. "It wasn't a love at first sight kinda' thing or anything but I have felt this for a long time."

"Even before the list?" You ask.

"Mhm," Gojo hums, smiling a little as he recalls the moment, "I think I fell in love with your voice first."

"M-My voice?" You gasp, chuckling a little at how he'd fall for such a ridiculous thing.

"Yes, your voice." He continues, "I even remember the first thing you ever said to me."

"Hi?" You say, mocking your past self.

"No," Gojo goes to correct you, "It was actually 'let me know if you need anything'," He quotes.

Your brows furrow, "That was the first thing I ever said to you??"

"Yeah," Gojo chuckles a little, "You didn't say hi when we were introduced to each other, you just waved at me."

"Did I really?" Your eyes widen, "Oh my god that's so embarrassing..."

"It was cute." He snickers.

You visibly cringe, "No it wasn't, why the hell didn't I just say hi...?"

He shrugs, "You were shy."

"Did you say hi?"

"Nope."

For some reason, you feel like you couldn't even remember the day you met him. It was earlier that year, during the summer when you first moved in with Shoko but you don't remember the day exactly.

"Wait really?" You ask in suprise.

"Yep, Shoko just said 'Gojo this is my roomate, roomie, this is Gojo' and called it a day." Gojo recalls flawlessly, shrugging a little, "Then, you spoke to me for the first time later that day when you ran into me in the kitchen."

You raise a brow, "And you mean to tell me that's what you fell in love with?"

"Yes ma'am." Gojo says confidently, "Your voice made me feel all giggly inside."

"You're joking."

"I'm serious," He laughs, "Ask Suguru."

"He'll lie to take up for you."

"Not true..." Gojo pouts.

You shake your head at him, "Anyways, keep explaining why you love me because so far you've just explained how you experienced love at first sound."

Gojo laughs at your words, the sound oddly comforting. "That's exactly what it was too. Wish' I talked to you more back then."

"Think things would be different now?" You ask curiously.

"Mmmh... Maybe," Gojo shrugs. "But who knows."

He then goes to continue his explanation of why he loves you.

"Anyways, I really mean it when I say I love everything about you." Gojo proceeds, "The first time I heard you laugh I think I was on cloud nine."

"So you just love the sounds I make then?" You scoff, raising a brow in question.

"I mean I love your face too, you make the cutest expressions-- especially when you're all pouty about something." He rambles, a beautiful shade of happiness reflected within his features as he expresses his thoughts.

You smirk a bit, "Yeah?"

Gojo chuckles, "Oh and when you do that, god that's so fuckin' sexy."

There's this constant smile on your face for some reason, your brows furrowing at his words, "Me saying yeah?"

"Yes." He sighs, "Or like when you get this tone with me that makes me feel kinda' small? Not in a demeaning or belittling way but it's like you're talking to a lost puppy and I dunno," Gojo shrugs, "I just fall for it."

"When have I ever done that?"

"Literally any time you've asked me if I needed help with something."

"Oh..." You hum, recalling past times, "Well that's because you were acting like you couldn't find anything in my apartment..."

"I couldn't."

"Whatever."

"Your smile," Gojo points out, "I'd kill to see it on you forever."

You giggle, "Murder is a bit excessive, no?"

"Is it?" He questions casually.

"Yes, Satoru."

Gojo moves to twirl you around again in sync with whatever song's playing now, "I meant it when I said I'd do anything for you."

You follow his motions and then end up right back in his arms, "Right..."

"I'd sacrifice the very thing I love just to see you happy." Gojo claims proudly.

You scoff, "Thought' I was the thing you loved?"

"You are."

His words bewilder you, "Then that makes no sense."

"It won't." Gojo shrugs.

"You're so confusing," You point out to him with a sigh, "I'll never understand you."

"I don't seek understanding from you, love." He voices out in a soft tone.

You arch a curious brow, "Then what do you seek?"

"From you?" Gojo smiles, the sight making him appear peaceful, "Simply seeing you happy, that's all."

"Then, logically speaking, wouldn't dropping this stupid list make me happy?"

"You may think it'd make you happy but..." He trails off, losing himseld to his thoughts, "N-Nevermind-"

That was odd. How else are you supposed to view freedom from the list if not blissful? What is he not telling you?

"No, what is it?" You push further.

"Nothing."

A frown takes over your features, "You're lying."

"I can't tell you." Gojo results in saying.

"Why?"

"Because I just can't."

You hate how he doesn't explain himself, wishing that just for one moment he'd let you into the mess that is his brain. "Everyday you only confuse me more, you know that right?" You tell the man.

Gojo's eyes are gentle on yours, "In due time you'll find clarity when you think about me."

"Will I?" Your tone is soft, the moment of tranquility between you two never subsiding.

He glances away for only a second, "I hope so."

You think you can live with that so all you hum is a simple, "Okay..."

After which, you and Gojo continue your slow dance. It's all too romantic but you've still yet to grow the desire to stop. You guess he was right about this making up for the two hours you wasted.

"Can I ask you something now?" Gojo suddenly questions, his eyes now back on you.

"Sure." You reply, your fingers moving to play with the lowest strands of hair on the back of his head.

He finds himself relaxed under your touch but his mind and heart are so anxious, "Is there anything you love about me?"

You scoff obnoxiously, "Love? About you? That's a strong word, Satoru..."

His brain freezes for a moment. Gojo takes his time processing what you've just said before uttering, "You didn't say no."

"I..." You catch yourself stammering, unknowingly glancing down at his lips and losing yourself in thought before finally answering him, "N-No, there's nothing I-"

"What is it?" Gojo cuts off, seeing straight through you.

"There's nothing." A lie, there is one thing and you hate yourself for adoring it the way you do.

He scoffs, "There's something, I know it."

"There's not one thing I love about you, Satoru." Another lie, you can never get over the feeling of his lips on yours, "Like, maybe. But Love? I..." Your words fade for a moment, "I don't feel that emotion for you whatsoever-"

"Liar." Gojo cuts off yet again, he's persistent with getting it out of you.

"What would I possibly love about you?" You ask, playing dumb.

He shrugs, "I dunno, you tell me."

"I hate you," You say, tone void of ill emotion, "Did you forget?"

"I'll never forget that." Gojo responds, voice soft but passionate, "But you can hate me and still love one thing about me. Whether it's something I say or do, you're allowed to love something about me, there's no crime in it."

You get quiet for a long moment, simply staring up into his eyes. After which, you look off to the side. Love is such a strong emotion and you hate to feel such a thing for something that Gojo does.

"There's nothing." You result in saying yet again.

"Not even my looks?" He asks.

"Nope-"

Gojo grows frustrated with you and tips his head into the direction you're looking in, trying to get your eyes back on his, "So what is it?"

You sigh heavily, "It's noth-"

"You stuttered the first time I asked and I saw the way you looked at my lips," He points out, "What is it that you love about me?"

"Nothing, Satoru." You sigh, pleading for him to leave you alone already.

"Tell me."

"No."

"Please?" He begs.

You remain stern, "No."

He's got part of his answer, "So there really is something?"

You don't reply.

"I fucking knew it." That fuels him to a new degree and you feel his arms grow tighter around your waist, "What is it? Tell me please, I won't stop asking until you do."

"Keep asking then." You murmur.

"I will." Gojo says, having no plans on letting it go now, "Tell me. What is it that you love about me? What do I do that makes your heart race?"

That question can be so simply answered. His kisses-- it's the one thing that's always made your heartbeat pound against your chest to a new degree.

"What about me makes you go weak in the knees?" Gojo continues, his voice lowering into something desperate, "Tell me, sweetheart. Please."

You swallow the sudden lump in your throat, "I'm not telling you."

You shouldn't be experiencing such an emotion anyways, it's wrong.

"What is it?" Gojo pleads, his voice so utterly desperate that it makes you feel weird.

You groan, "Nothi-"

"My touch?" He asks.

"What? No-"

Gojo keeps questioning you, "The way I look at you?"

"No."

"My voice?"

"No."

"My confessions?"

"No."

He sighs, "Then just tell me."

"No." You repeat.

"Please? I'll do anything," Gojo's voice almost breaks? It's nearly a whine the way he pleads you, almost like he can't go on without knowing what it is you love about him, "Just tell me what it is and I'll leave you alo-"

"The way you kiss me." You finally blurt out.

Silence.

It envelopes the two of you completely.

Your eyes are everywhere except his and he feels like he can't even breathe properly.

Did he hear you correctly? The way he what? Kisses you? You love that about him? Damn is his heart about to fall out his chest.

"Wh-What?" Gojo breathes out, his eyes are so wide, almost even teary. "T-The way I what?"

Your voice is barely audible, "The way you k-kiss me, Satoru..."

He blinks.

You repeated it and his entire body just felt warm. He's never experienced an emotion to this degree. What is this? Is this what it's like to have his feelings reciprocated? Even if only a little...

He's just staring at you, eyeing your flushed face, seeing how embarrassed you are, and feeling the slight nervous tremble in your body. Gojo was infatuated, taken over with thoughts and emotions of you.

He couldn't even breathe properly. His mind was running rampant, his heart was throbbing so violently in his chest, and he thought he was sweating. Chills ran up his spine as he replayed those words you just uttered.

And the emotions he experienced got no better when you carefully dragged your eyes up to his.

Time had stopped, nothing else in the world mattered except for you and Gojo physically couldn't help himself.

You watch the way his eyes go glossy and he pulls you impossibly closer to him, his face nearing yours. Was he on the verge of tears?

"I'll never do anything else then," Gojo whispers, his voice sounding almost distraught yet whole at the same time.

His head tilts to the side and your brows furrow, "Wha-"

It happens. His lips are on yours before you have another moment to process.

It was so sweet too, his lips impossibly softer than ever. You couldn't think straight anymore as his lips moved over yours, feeling your body melt into his arms.

The man's overwhelming love for you engulfed all of his senses and he nearly lost his mind-- his kissing growing eager as his tongue pushed into your mouth.

You gasp, "S-Satoru-"

He wouldn't even let you speak, beginning to walk you backwards and off the dance floor. You stumbled against his body, your lips slipping over his as he released a sweet little whine into your mouth.

Your hands slid down from around his neck and to his arms, trying to brace yourself for his sudden aggressiveness. You didn't fight with the kiss but you were definitely surprised when you heard a wolf-whistle from someone nearby, followed by your ass lifting onto a table slightly.

When did you get this far off the dancefloor?

Gojo's hands were all over you. They went from your back to your legs, sliding along your thighs and feeling you against his palms. All as you lost your breath within the heated kiss you shared with him.

You heard a chuckle, followed by a 'what a beautiful couple' comment from some older woman-- the sound making you move a hand to Gojo's chest to try and push him away for a second.

Instead of pushing him away, your hand simply flattened on his chest as he sucked on your lower lip and then slid his tongue right back into your mouth. Soft smacks could be heard coming from your lips and you hated how public the sight was.

"Sat-, hah... S-Satoru, please-," You uttered against his mouth, to which he simply groaned against you.

You should've never told him you loved his kisses.

The man moved his hands under your thighs and then he moved to wrap your legs around his waist, then lifted you up.

"I love you," Gojo breathes, just barely, into your mouth. It's almost a groan the way his voice leaves him, his mouth devouring your own eagerly.

Your heart is so heavy as you simply kiss him back, feeling your body being carried off somewhere else. Gojo was so passionate with the way he kissed you, almost as though he feared you'd slip away from his grasp at any given moment.

You don't know where he was carrying you to and you think you stopped caring at some point.

You truly did love kissing Gojo Satoru, despite the conflict that follows feeling such a dangerous emotion toward such a simple action. You loved it regardless.

GOJO SATORU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

GETO SUGURU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ITADORI SUKUNA ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮???

NANAMI KENTO ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: ???

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

[stivkun]

Ashore sporting some fancy protective glasses.

Unfortunately models based on human eyewear tend to not hold on Ashore's head well, so they glue them temporarily with tree sap. Fashion requires a bit more work sometimes.

[meyousing]

𝔾𝕠𝕛𝕠, ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕊𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕒𝕝

𝕤𝕪𝕟𝕠𝕡𝕤𝕚𝕤: gojo is always, always getting the wrong idea when it comes to your needs, and worries that you express, but it's just so difficult to correct someone who never thinks that they can be wrong. 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖𝕤: yandere gojo x reader, nsfw, mentions of past kidnapping/captivity, cheating and manipulation. all sexual nsfw under the cut! <3

Three docile raps against the bedroom door, surely muffled to his ears on the other side from the sheer gentleness of your knuckles, if he was even nearby to begin with. It was almost as if you didn’t want to grab his attention, but you couldn’t wait much longer, these same four walls were beginning to drive you stir-crazy, and the ugly plush toys that he provided months ago could only entertain you for so long. 

“Mhm?” You heard him hum, followed by a quiet thud that you imagined coming from his leaning against the door. 

You jolted softly in surprise, not expecting him to be right there so soon. But you could easily see it; his lazy posture as his torso went limp against the wood like a petulant child–he certainly portrayed the immaturity of one most days. Even as he hummed you could detect a smirk on his lips; promptly shutting your eyes to block out that mental image and how mocking it felt even without the direct intent to.

“I need to pee” you lied, picking at your fingernails and twisting the material of your nightgown nervously, hoping the falsehood would suffice and he would relieve you of the suffocating claustrophobia brought on by this unchanging environment. 

Eventually, you began to understand that Gojo liked having you here as his little side piece; he saw you as nothing more than a pretty plaything, to keep only for himself, even though you were certain that he made time within his busy, busy schedule to partake in his own trysts with all kinds of other people–your thoughts were only made so much worse when he would come home smelling blatantly of another person’s fragrance, or looking a little more dishevelled than he normally should have, even after a genuinely busy, action-filled day. 

 You, on the other hand, were just too pretty to be shared or merely ogled at because he just knew that anyone with eyes would try and claim you for themselves–you had to stay stowed away here, with him, because that could not happen. Yet, that hadn't ever happened back when the Gojo that you knew was actually rational. Nobody had ever approached you when they could very clearly see you two walking hand-in-hand, arm-in-arm, so how could you truly grasp the likelihood of someone else ‘claiming’ you? That would have to be a possibility left entirely to mystery; a thought for you to dwell on for hours when there was nothing else to do while alone in this room. 

Having at least expected a verbal response before the door opened, you stumbled back helplessly as he swung it out suddenly, pressing his weight into the grip he had on the doorknob and standing before you. Your eyes slowly moved up to his, noting the lack of eyewear and cursing the way your stomach knotted when the natural attraction of his features drew you in like a lamb. Of course, the smirk that you suspected him to have was evident–even widening as he noticed your roaming eyes and the way you paused upon the sight of him. As if he wasn’t cocky enough. 

“Are you sure?” He asked mischievously–enragingly.

“Yes.” You tried to watch your tone, tried not to mutter the word in a way that portrayed how annoyed you were from this already too-long interaction that was intended to be as short as possible. But you knew that there was a semblance of snark in the way that your pronunciation of the last letter was rather sharp; a short hiss behind your teeth.

Gojo’s head tilted playfully and his eyebrows lifted, as if his face on its own was saying “I don’t think so!” while he leaned in closer to you, bent at the hips so his nose was immediately before yours without reducing his posture too much. Arrogant.

“I don’t think so,” he retorted lowly. Oh, how much better that he actually said the words too, joining the silence of his expression! You resisted the urge to snarl at him as you made the connection, growing impatient.

“I think I would know if I had to pee, Gojo.”

“Nope.” The way he popped the letter p as he said that made you cringe away, yet he was unrelenting; “I know exactly what you’re trying to do.” His smirk graduated into a grin, and he spoke oh-so confidently.

Your eyes widened only slightly. You weren’t technically doing anything wrong, at least not that badly just yet; lying to him about needing to use the bathroom when you truly didn’t. But he managed to instill guilt within you, making you feel bad for doctoring the truth. How could you go about asking him to just let you out of here for a bit without imagining him taking offence? Or being met with an immediate no, which would crush your spirit too soon. Your mind was still relatively strong even after being here for what felt like quite a while, and you wanted to hold onto that.

“You’d know ‘if you had to’ which means you don’t really need to. So… what is it? What do you really need from me?” He continued and leaned even closer, his words so playfully murmured in such near proximity to you.

He was getting the wrong idea. You knew this, but he was stubborn and thought he knew better than you at the best of times, so if you didn’t rush to convince him a bit harder without admitting the blunt truth, you’d be fucked.

“I-I need to use the bathroom, please,” you said quickly, unable to control the little stutter and immediately seeking a change in his gaze to see if he caught on. 

Of course, he did, chuckling softly under his breath and closing his eyes as he did. You’d only dug yourself deeper.

He stepped forward and you stepped back, effectively trapping yourself between him and the wall behind you as he subtly kicked the bedroom door closed. You felt your throat swell as his hands slid into his pockets, the newfound silence weighing down heavily upon the two of you. Gojo couldn’t help but remedy that quickly; couldn’t help but keep talking.

“I know you too well, Y/N. I think you’re feeling something else down there that you’re a little too shy to outright ask for, aren’t you?”

No, no, no. Absolutely not. 

“N-No–” You struggled to say this out loud though, and that one moment of hesitation did you in. When dealing with someone who always thought that they had the right answer to everything, there wasn’t much you could do anyway. 

“Of course, you won’t admit it to me.” He threw his hands up nonchalantly as if he were just a little exasperated with your apparent reluctance. “I’ve already told you to stop acting so shy… I mean, it’s cute and all, but I like hearing it from you. Doesn’t it feel dirty to be so honest with one another?”

His arms crossed over his chest and he simpered down at you again, taking your lack of a verbal response as a sign of that alleged shyness you seemed to have. 

“Ask me. I want to hear you say it.”

You remained still and your eyes stayed widely trained on him, unwavering despite your internal rage at the way he was so confidently wrong. What’s worse is how you were stuck now, and whatever would follow was inevitable. Would it be easier to just go along with it, despite the way that the mere idea of that was sickening?

“I…” you started but failed to continue when you could see how he watched you in a way that felt rhetorical, like he ‘knew’ that you would just be ‘too shy’ to get the words out. So, so annoying. This was proven further by how he could only giggle and give you no time to finish a word before chiming in once more.

“You…” He drew the word out as you paused, “...caught me in a good mood.” 

Was this statement supposed to preface his decision to suddenly whisk you into his arms and escort you the short few steps to the bed? After placing you down there, he wasted no time in getting on top of you, knocking your knees open with his thighs so he could slot his body between them with enforced ease. Now he was too near. You could cope with his intimidating tilts closer while you stood inches apart without distance ever being shut all the way, but the feeling of his clothed chest rubbing against yours now was a bit much; too indicative of what you could only dread to imagine coming next. Your heart began to race, and he could feel it. 

“Aw, you still can’t help but get a little nervous being with me, can you? How cute, really.”

While his tone was playful, the flash of sin that slid over his gaze didn’t go unnoticed, and sent an anxious chill down your spine. You couldn’t even find room to retort, instantly feeling your muscles go taut once his long fingers traced up your side, slipping under the material of your gown with an ease that came naturally. He felt the way that you tensed, and you felt a twinge of regret for your decision to go braless earlier when his fingertips glided over to your breast so he could tease your nipple, staring into your eyes as he did–watching for a reaction.

The sensitivity inflicted by such a tender caress made your breath catch. When envisioning your fate before; when you had been caught so soon within your lie, you knew that you were done for but you hadn’t imagined that you’d be fucked so literally–grunting softly in uncharacteristic frustration when he pulled away for a moment. 

He raised an eyebrow upon hearing the sound, suppressing a chuckle as his hands moved down to grab the bottom of your gown and start pulling it off of you. You couldn’t help but assist him, keeping your gaze aside so you wouldn’t have to see the knowing look he was surely giving. It was so awful, so horrible that rather than feeling sickened by going along with it, you could only feel internal anticipation. External as well, you supposed, given your lack of hesitation with helping him get you bare. You followed along with ease, like the lost, unguided puppy that he always made you out to be. 

“Rest assured, I’m all yours,” he said with a tone that you knew he intended to make sound genuine, though there was something underlying within it, like he didn’t really mean what he said at all. He would still screw around on you, fuck other people then come home and assert himself over you, disallowing you to even think about doing the same thing, to even think about other people. You felt yourself grimace as you thought about this, frowning while your nightgown was fully lifted up and off of you. He took notice of your expression, and rather than showing concern, he displayed intrigue. 

“Do you not believe me, baby?” was muttered with a ridiculously babied tone that you hated when he used it.

Ugh, stop with that. No. You didn’t believe him. But what would happen if you said that? There was rarely ever room for you to be defiant, Gojo had way too much power over you in so many ways that your obedience went without question, and you didn’t want to find out what he would do if you ever deviated. But right now it felt different—you had a very, very small window of opportunity. For once, you felt compelled to take it. 

“I don’t.” 

He hardly raised his eyebrows, only looking mildly surprised; as if he wasn’t very surprised at all. It was unnerving… what, had he expected you to say that? He, who was so used to hearing immediate fan-girly-toned exclamations of 'Yes, Gojo!', wasn’t even a little shocked by this? He lifted himself off of you a bit, your lower bodies still mostly in contact while he supported himself with hands gripped easily upon your knees.

“Well, why not?” A finger drummed idly against your perched leg, soft reverberations resonating through your femur, making you twitch slightly as the air and room surrounding you two began to feel heavier, and more tense. His tone itself was neither heavy nor tense, yet you felt a sense of dread anyway due to the unknown. Gojo had way too much power over you in so many ways that your obedience went without question. What would happen if he didn’t like what you had to say? You figured that he would certainly dislike a hesitant response after expressing such an atypical opinion, so with that added pressure you sputtered out the first thing that came to your mind, muttered like an absolute fool:

“Y-You always come home smelling like some cheap perfume, and I’ve seen lipstick marks on you before that obviously couldn’t have been from me!” You rambled this like a little outburst, sounding like you were finally relieving yourself from the burden of a thought that’s been weighing on your consciousness.

It only made Gojo smile. Not his usual cocky grin or his knowing little smirk, but a genuine, horribly attractive smile.

“You don’t have to be jealous.”

Of fucking course. You weren’t jealous, per se, you just felt that your being kidnapped and isolated into one room of his house while he forbade you from interacting with any other person may have been a bit unfair when he, on the other hand, could come home all leisurely with extremely blatant evidence of–at the very least–some foreplay-equivalent contact with other people all over his skin and his clothes, if you were to be so presumptuous. How to say this to someone who is so selectively dense, though? 

“It’s not that–”

He shut you up with a kiss, so it didn’t matter. It was a kiss that was neither messy nor rushed like his typical first resort when he wanted a quick fuck, but rather one that was too precise as he tilted his head to deepen it and eased his body back down on top of yours again. His hands slid down the tops of your thighs so he could hold you against him with the utmost affection at his fingertips. It made you shiver, you couldn’t help it. You also couldn’t help the way that you seemed to return his kiss, even as your body remained a bit wound from such an unusual situation and sensation. He pulled back slowly, intimately, almost causing you to follow his movement to prolong the moment. You weren’t dishevelled enough yet for that, but with Gojo, there was always a way for him to gain your reception eventually.  

“Honesty, Y/N.” His voice was a little raspier when he spoke. It sent something hot through you, and you swallowed the sudden lump in your throat when his eyes stared into yours, so heavily lidded, yet you could still see their gorgeous hue peeking through his depigmented lashes. You couldn’t shy away this time, because he was so close and on display. You also still couldn’t find a way to deny your natural attraction to him, unable to avoid falling victim to it in every instance similar to this. But now, with his intentional tenderness, it was that much more difficult–you were so much more malleable, you could tell. 

His demand for honesty made you nod in obedience. This, in turn, made him grin and bring a hand off of your leg so he could run it through your hair. 

“It’s really cute, you know, how you couldn’t outright ask me for this.” His fingers caressed your cheek before gliding down to your neck with a feather-light touch. “But I’m looking forward to the day when you can.” 

His hand remained light, hovering above your ever-rising pulse while he brushed his lips against yours without fully connecting them for a second time. Your breath shuddered when he did this–why did you feel such immense disappointment when he didn’t kiss you again? 

You couldn’t understand what kind of influence he managed to inflict upon you this time, what was so different at this moment–how it drove you to lean up and close that gap to your liking, satisfying the suddenly dire need to feel the plush of his soft lips properly. This managed to surprise Gojo, and he chuckled against you, his hand pressing down further on your skin only so he could stroke it, not adding much pressure for now. He waited until you had your fill, kissing you back until your neck unhinged and you rested against the pillow on your own time. You were the one to pull away, accompanied by a little smooch sound once you two parted fully. 

“Better.” His tone was one of satisfaction, him evidently taking this as your reception to his wish for more incentive on your part; more honesty. 

His hand was faster than you expected when you felt it return to your breast, tweaking an exposed nipple with a bit more force than before, causing a whimper to catch in your throat as you subconsciously arched into the rougher touch. This flustered you, and he took advantage of your state by bringing his free hand between your legs, lifting his hips off of yours so he could slide your panties aside. You only realized this had happened once a small bit of air brushed along your growing wetness, making you shiver and look up at him in mild surprise. He could only offer a conniving grin.

“You want me to touch you here, don't you?” His question was further punctuated by the tracing of his index and middle fingers up and down your pussy lips–not touching anywhere that would stimulate you yet, even in spite of how this still made you shiver. He wanted you to say it, to admit it, to outright ask. You were unfortunate enough to be getting so worked up by mere foreplay that you could no longer find it in yourself to even try and deny him, not when he looked down at you so knowingly. Like always. 

“Y-Yes” you admitted it with a quiet tone, sounding just as shy as he kept making you out to be. Maybe he was right after all, which bothered you. Feeling bothered hardly lasted though, because the immediate gratification from two of his slender fingers pushing into you made your breath catch and your thighs twitch. 

“Good.”

The short replies were odd for Gojo; he who could hardly go a moment without yapping every thought bobbing around in his seemingly empty but deceptively intelligent mind. You were left to believe that such immediate responses were all he could muster while he analyzed you, taking in every bit of information that he could; your physical responses to each unique touch, the pace at which you would reply, how much mental clarity you had left–in other words, the state of malleability you were in. It seemed that you had become putty in his hands now, quite literally. 

It took him no time to find your sweet spot, and his allowance for your time to adjust was minuscule once he began to stroke it with intent. Your body stiffened due to the infliction of such immediately intense pleasure, but it seemed that he was only laying it on heavy to act as a distraction. It worked, because you didn’t hear the shuffling sounds of material being slid down, and your eyes had fallen shut for a few seconds in bliss so you couldn’t see the way that he took a second to align himself with your pussy before pushing his cock in alongside his fingers. The intrusion made you gasp, your eyes shooting open to confirm the sight of him penetrating you in such a way. He caught your eyes with a chuckle and a devious little smirk, teasingly rutting his hips into you for a moment so there would be greater pressure applied now, making your body shake helplessly.

“I’d never fuck anyone else like this, you’re special to me baby.” 

He failed miraculously if that was meant to act as some sort of consolation towards your earlier expressed doubts of his loyalty. But you didn’t care about having your woes consoled as much as you would if you were in a clearer mind state, because the feeling of him now pushing deeply in and out of you right now was too good, too satisfying toward the arousal he had managed to build up within, even after you had started this interaction off with no such feelings, none other than annoyance and impatience. Now, you craved more; you craved release. That was all you cared for.

He rocked his hips in a way that was so precise, the blunt tip of his cock pushed his fingers harder into you and each meaningful thrust made you feel positively numb, made your mind grow delirious as he was all you could focus on. You could only wonder how it may have felt for him, though he showed no extra indications of enjoyment aside from his breaths coming out more ragged than those he exhaled previously.  

Not much time passed before you somewhat adjusted to the feeling, your thighs trembled around him yet he maintained a pace that was just enough to keep you on the cusp of a crest, each thrust he gave was accompanied by soft moans of need from your throat. He tutted after you moaned a bit louder and gave him an exasperated look; your eyes communicating a silent plea for more. 

“So greedy now, maybe your change of heart wasn’t so good after all” he teased, but before you could form any response he leaned down to kiss you in that same intimate way as he did moments before, thrusting into you a little faster and groaning against your lips at the same time. His own sound of pleasure sent something down your spine, made you squeeze around him, and you didn’t resist as he went to press his tongue into your mouth. You brought shaky hands up to his shoulders, holding onto them and taking the material of his shirt within your grasp as you became more and more worked up, needing an outlet to exert your buildup of elation against.  

As his mouth continued to caress yours, you gasped around his tongue when his thumb which was attached to the hand buried inside of you snuck against your clit, nudging it in time with each bump of his cock inside of you. The addition of sensations finally gave you that extra push, and as you pulled his shirt into your fists and clenched your pussy around him tightly; you finally came, hips squirming and back arching as each wave of delight washed over you. Gojo’s lips stayed on yours as you did, and he matched each writhe of your body to their fullest, maximizing how you felt with his body too. Amidst such a fuzzy state of body and mind, you could vaguely feel his hips stuttering against you before his warmth flooded into your womb, making your body feel even hotter, and forming a knot of risky excitement in your stomach as he chose to stay buried in you even as he finished too. 

When you ever-so-slowly recovered from the high, unlike any you had experienced before, he too moved slowly, except for the way that he pulled back from the kiss. He did it differently than the last; the previous was intimate from start to finish, but his departure now was rushed, as if he was timing it intentionally–ensuring that you were still in that blissed-out state of mind so you wouldn’t be able to question the depth of his next words:

“Now… you can stop questioning who I see, and what I do in a day.”

You heard what he said, sure, but your primary focus was on regaining proper breaths, in and out, while your lower body still twitched and tingled in the delicious aftermaths from such a tall height of ecstasy. So, you didn’t really hear what he said. You even nodded along with him like an idiot, tossing an arm over your forehead as you favoured focusing on slowing down your rapid heartbeat. You couldn’t see it, but he smiled in satisfaction and took another moment to get a good look at you and your vulnerability. Then you felt him leaving your body, a muted whine of dismay hiding behind your lips as you felt so empty now, aside from the sensation of thick heat from his release as it pooled at your entrance, threatening to spill out if you moved an inch. 

“Seeya!” 

Your eyes hardly opened as you looked up in confusion, and all you caught was the sight of his back as he closed the door behind him post-exiting the room–noting how he managed to fully dress up again in what must have been only a few seconds. The familiar click of the lock being instated rang out quickly, with his distancing footsteps growing even quicker; hasty, as if he had somewhere very important to be now. 

Was he off to meet someone else, perhaps? No bother to you, at least not yet. This was becoming a regular occurrence, him touching and filling you until you were reduced to a breathless mess, then leaving you with your thoughts, and the feeling of recovery following such rapture soon warping into bile-stirring regret; making you sick to your stomach after you realized that he had somehow hypnotized you into letting him use your body, as if there weren’t countless others he would be doing the same thing to later if he hadn’t already within that same day. He would make you feel so special, and tell you things you must have wanted to hear, yet it was all for naught when you understood that you were just part of a category for him–you were nothing special. 

Fortunately, you were still latching onto those final moments where you could feel remnants of exaltation, so the inevitability of those woes you’d soon care so much for was put on hold… for now. 

© meyousing 2023. do not share/export my work onto any other platforms. do not translate my work.

[replaytech]

just let me help you | tech x reader

warnings: small injury

(shoutout to my sister for this fic idea☝🏻)

-

“Kriff”, was not the first irritated word to leave techs mouth.

He had been working on fixing a part of the marauders control panel for the last 20 minutes.

All of his efforts, however, are to no avail.

A pair of footsteps walks up behind him and sighs, “Tech, I’m calling in someone from the hangar”, hunter says.

Tech just adjusts his goggles and continues tinkering with the controls, “That is unnecessary, I can fix it.”

Hunter knows full well that tech is capable of fixing just about anything, but they were on a serious time crunch to get off of this planet.

-

You’re making some minor adjustments to one of your astromecs when a tall, dark haired man with a face tattoo walks up to you.

“Are you a mechanic?”

The hand that’s holding a wrench stills as you look down at your dusty coveralls and back at him with a “What does it look like?” look.

He laughs lightly, “Were kind of in a hurry and could use some help, we can’t pay much, but it would be really appreciated.”

You stand up, dust off your legs and push your glasses farther up your nose, “Payment isn’t needed, lead the way.”

-

You walk into the cockpit of their ship and see a man looking very frustratedly at some loose wires, “I am getting there, hunter.”

“I’ve never seen an omicron class attack shuttle with these modifications before.”

He stops what he’s doing immediately and turns around, “Pardon me, I thought you were my brother.”

The way he’s looking at you makes your face turn slightly pink, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to barge in or anything.”

He adjusts his goggles, “Who are you, exactly?”

You fiddle with your eyewear as well and tell him your name, “I’m a mechanic here at the hangar, your brother sent me.”

He looks at you silently for a second before swallowing and facing away from you, “I am Tech. However, I can manage this, you may go back to your duties around the hangar.”

You cross your arms and tilt your head, “Your brother said that you’ve been working on it for a while, can I just take a look?”

He glances at you sideways and moves over slightly, “I suppose a second opinion wouldn’t be a negative thing.”

You smile softly and make your way over to the control panel, looking at every single detail and focusing on each piece.

Tech, of course, notices how entranced you seem to be by the technology of the ship and can’t help but stare at you.

The way your glasses fall down your nose slightly, the way your eyebrows slightly furrow, the way you bite your bottom lip, he takes note of it all. Your focus might be on the controls, but techs focus is all on you.

Tech blindly reaches for some random wires, seeing how his gaze can’t be torn away from your face, and you notice, “Wait, don’t put those toget-“, your voice cuts off.

You warn him a little too late, and he brings a wire down onto another and shocks his fingers.

He lets out a startled sound and backs away, “Are you alright?”

He looks at you and the way that you’re worriedly checking his hand, “I, I think I will manage.”

You look up at him with a quirked brow, “It would kill you to ask for help, wouldn’t it?”

You swear he’s slightly blushing, “I suppose it wouldn’t cause extensive damage to my health.”

A grin breaks out onto your face as you both sit in chairs opposite from each other. You pull out a small med kit from your satchel.

You hold his hand and slowly peel off his glove. You start to feel almost nervous. All you’re doing is taking off his glove but it feels so… close.

You gently inspect his fingers, “It’s not too bad, you just got a first degree burn on your pointer finger and thumb.”

You look up to see him looking at you silently with his lips parted, but after a second or two, he clears his throat, “That’s the conclusion I came to as well.”

As you wrap his fingers in bacta patches and dry wraps, you speak up, “So, are you and your brothers soldiers?”, you gesture to his armor.

“My brothers and I are enhanced clones from kamino. I suppose we are technically still soldiers, just for a different cause.”

You furrow your eyebrows, “Enhanced? I’ve heard of clones because of the war, but I never knew there were enhanced ones.”

Tech adjusts his goggles, “Yes, each of my brothers has an enhanced trait. Hunter can track and sense any electromagnetic frequency on the planet, crosshairs marksmanship is unlike any you will ever see, wrecker has the strength of approximately 100 regular clones and I have what would be referred to as a brilliant mind.”

You finish bandaging his fingers but his hand stays loosely on top of yours, “I find that men with the highest intelligence quotients tend to be the most engaging and endearing.”

He looks a little flushed and maybe even taken aback, but recovers quickly, “That is one way to characterize those with a mind similar to mine.”

You look at him for a few seconds before awkwardly clearing your throat, “Well, we should probably get back to fixing up your ship. Try not to connect two opposing wires this time around.”

You once again feel nervous around the brilliant clone. The way he looks at you, it is almost as if he is seeing the beautiful blue lakes of Naboo for the first time.

He stands next to you as you resume inspecting the controls, “Technically, it was not my fault.”

You snort, “Is that so?”

“Yes. I am not used to being in the company of someone who has a mind like mine, it is very distracting. The amount of beauty you have in your face alone does not help my situation. Neither does the fact that every other part of you is equally radiant and stunning.”

You nearly choke. Tech thought you were beautiful?

Somehow, your face becomes more blushed, “I don’t know about my beauty being as much as you say”, you awkwardly laugh.

Tech glances over at you, “Those who do not acknowledge your beauty simply do not have the brain capacity to realize how exquisite you really are.”

You bite your lip to hide your smile, “You’re one to talk. I blush everytime you look me in the eye.”

He’s about to say something else but he catches the look of confusion on your face, “Is everything alright?”

You point to a switch below the controls, “Your power switch is turned off. Tech, there’s nothing wrong with your controls”, you can’t help but laugh.

You turn the switch on and the panel comes to life, “I did not realize that somebody turned off the switch.”

“You’re welcome.”

The two of you turn around to see a tall man with a tattoo over his eye and a toothpick in his mouth, one of his brothers, probably.

He points his toothpick at tech, “I had to get her here somehow. You’re welcome”, he walks away.

You grin and cross your arms, “So your ship was fine this whole time?”

“That is correct, but I was not aware of that.”

“And why would your brothers bring me here?”

“Perhaps they noticed my gaze linger on you for longer than usual when we first arrived.”

[xtrablak674]

Orange Salvation

[Photos by Brown Estate]

[mikeshouts]

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[cera-writes]

Could I request Scott summers x reader with a similar eye mutation. The reader has a gorgon mutation and can turn people to stone, and they meet/ bond over not being able to see properly, eventually getting into a relationship.

A/N: I love this idea! It's so sweet! Tags: just sweet fluff with a shared understanding

A Shared Burden

The sterile walls of the X-Mansion medbay felt like a cage after the chaotic awakening of your mutation. Professor Xavier had explained the X-Men, a sanctuary for mutants like you. But 'sanctuary' didn't quite describe the prickling anxiety that crawled under your skin after Beast's in-depth examination of your petrifying gaze.

Hank had loaned you a pair of mutant specialty eyewear. It was a revelation that dawned on you now. You'd never be able to take them off with turning someone into a slab of concrete; or at the very least, controlling your deadly eyesight.

The door creaked open, revealing a tall man with a kind smile. "Hey there," he said, his voice gentle. "You must be (Y/N). I'm Scott, Scott Summers. Cyclops is fine too."

You offered a weak smile. "Nice to meet you, Scott. Though I wouldn't exactly call turning people to stone a mutant power you'd advertise in the brochure."

He chuckled, a sound that eased the tense knot in your stomach. "Yeah, well, Hank can be a bit… thorough. But hey, at least you get a cool codename out of it. Any ideas?"

You shrugged, a touch of self-deprecation tinging your voice. "Haven't really thought about it. Maybe something Gorgon-related, considering I turn people to stone with a glance. I mean, Medusa would be way too cliche."

Scott's smile softened. "Your power… it's tough, I imagine. But you're not alone. We all have things to deal with here." He gestured towards his head, the unspoken reference clear.

A silent understanding bloomed between you. Scott knew what it was like to live in a world where you had to be constantly on guard, where your very nature made you an outsider. There was a shared burden in his gaze, a quiet empathy.

"How about we get you settled into your room?" Scott suggested, his voice warm. "Maybe tomorrow we can start figuring out how to control your… uh… petrifying gaze."

The following days were dedicated to navigating your mutation. Scott, ever patient, was your guide. You practiced focusing your gaze, not on turning things to stone, but on dampening the overwhelming sensory input that triggered your power. He understood the struggle to keep your emotions in check, the constant battle to avoid accidentally turning someone into a statue.

Slowly, with Scott's steady support, progress came. You actually did learn to somewhat control the intensity of your gaze, to filter the world through your special glasses that dampened your mutant sight but allowed you to function.

One evening, after a particularly grueling training session, you and Scott found yourselves on the balcony overlooking the X-Mansion grounds. You leaned against the railing, a comfortable silence settling between you. The setting sun cast a warm glow on the world, a world you could only perceive through a muted lens.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Scott said softly, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

"They say it is," you replied, a tinge of wistfulness in your voice.

Scott turned to you, a sincerity in his voice that resonated with you. "Maybe someday you'll see it all, (Y/N). But for now, you have something just as valuable."

He reached out, his hand hovering near yours. You mirrored the gesture, the space between your fingers tingling with unspoken emotions. "What's that?" you asked, a whisper that carried on the cool evening breeze.

Scott's smile, though unseen, was evident in the way his eyes crinkled at the edges. "Understanding. You're not alone. We both carry burdens, burdens that make us different, but also burdens that connect us."

In that moment, amidst the muted colors and the filtered light, you felt a warmth bloom in your chest that had nothing to do with the setting sun. You realized, with a jolt, that the hours spent training with Scott weren't just about mastering your power, they were about finding solace in shared experiences. The man beside you, with his unwavering support, was a beacon in a world that often felt isolating.

Weeks turned into months, and your bond with Scott deepened. You found comfort in his quiet strength, in the way he understood your struggles without needing words. You learned to communicate through subtle gestures, stolen glances, and shared laughter. One crisp autumn evening, as you sat by the window, a comfortable silence settling between you once more, Scott spoke.

"We may not see the world in the same way, (Y/N), but we see each other. And that's all that truly matters."

His words, laced with a quiet sincerity, sent a shiver down your spine. You met his gaze, a spark of understanding dancing in your own eyes. Perhaps you didn't need to see the world perfectly to find beauty. Perhaps the most vibrant colors existed in the warmth of shared understanding and the quiet promise whispered in the space between. As you leaned closer, the world blurring at the edges, you knew you had found a connection that transcended sight.

[blingblong55]

Bloom- Simon "Ghost" Riley

Based on a request:

Could you do a fic, simon x witch! reader where the reader is a very powerful witch (like Scarlet witch powerful). Simon gets lost in a forest during a mission after being shot by some blue energy by the enemy team. He doesn't know that the forest is an enchanted one. The reader finds him wounded and with a mysterious energy so she takes him to her sanctum sanctorum in the forest (🙈) and then he has to stay for a few months for the reader to study that energy and then they fall in love.  Thanksss ❤️ ---- F!Reader, witch!au, fluff/romance? ----

You live near a small, calm, beautiful and peaceful river. It is said that this river is special, that if you follow it, you'll find the mythical and wonderful creatures that roam it. From fairies to soft fur cats, this place is truly magical. 

One day, as the sun is still looking over the trees, a tired soldier finds the peculiar place you call home. It was like out of a soft and kind witch story. A flower-filled garden was the entrance to such a place, the birds chirping and two cats roaming by what welcomed him. It is as if the sweet creatures lured his wounded body into this side of the forest. 

It's a long walk before he can even get close to such a place. Simon walks with caution, gun steady as he approaches this place. His eyes were vigilant, looking over the vegetation, the windows and then the door. His body begs to sit down and he complies. He finds some tree, sits down and looks at his wounds. "Bloody hell, Simon. You fuckin' had to ruin this mission, you blood muppet," he curses himself and shakes his head.  

The second you see him, you can tell there is truly something wrong, no right-minded person comes to this part of the woods. Your cat looks up at you and you nod. As you approach him, something tells you to be cautious and you follow that feeling. 

All of a sudden, his body freezes and he is turned over. His eyes come in contact with yours. They are so beautiful, just like the nature that surrounds him and you. 

"Who must you be?" you ask him rather later after your eyes scanned his body. "...Soldier...I'm a soldier, and you are?" Simon's voice is deep and raspy. "I'm Y/N, I live here, what are you doing here?" He takes a moment to try to explain his situation, "..I stumbled through here, running away-"

"Oh god, you're bleeding-those damn farries," you take his hand and guide him into your home. It was always known to you that when you found this place, the farries that here long before you did, always tried to get you to help any and everything. You were too powerful, they weren't and since they were sneaky but helpful, you and them made such a good team when help was needed. 

His brow was bloody, and so was his cheek, arm and left thigh. What must someone do to earn this?

There is truly no evil in you, which is by some force, you stumbled upon a home like this. It's a perfect, secluded place and it even brings magical friends now and then. 

"Who did this to you?" you ask him gently, trying to not alarm him with a louder voice. "I...it's not important," he lies and you shake your head. "They seem superficial, except the leg, which one needs a lot of time to heal," you explain, not trying to push the previous subject. 

When you put on your special glasses, made by the kind fairies, you can see why such thigh injury would take time to heal. This man was not hurt by any human, any normal one that is. 

You run to your garden, urging to find red tulips. Your eyes turn a sage green colour before switching to a soft pink as the plant decays and you rush back in. "What's wrong?" Simon asks but you shush him up. "You stay seated, don't interrupt," you say, not trying to be gentle anymore. The mark of black magic was always noticeable to those with the special eyewear. 

A black with gold buttons cape comes flying from the nearby table and places itself around your shoulders, the hood so effortlessly falling on your head. You begin to whisper, calling for all help to turn the decayed flower into medicine to heal him. 

The room goes completely dark and silent and before he knew it, you had a bowl in your hand. 

You kneel in front of him, and he panics but before he can say a word, your cat walks to him, licks his hand and purrs. Your cat always knew best and calming Simon was a wise move. 

Simon sighs as he feels relief in the medicine you're applying. His wound finally became normal, the odd colour it had now gone. You stand up, "You mustn't leave, not until you are safe," you advise with caution. "Why not? what will happen if I leave?" he asks with fear in his voice. "Whoever did this is still out there, searching for the mark it left on you, now, whilst you're here, you mustn't leave this part of the forest," you tell him softer this time. 

He looks down, weighing his options. 

Once those sweet brown eyes of his lay back on you, you smile, knowing his answer. 

For nearly five months, Simon has it here with you. Adoring the days and nights when he doesn't feel like his life is at risk by some gun or bomb, all he looks out for is those fairies playing tricks again. 

With time, you and him enjoy the time you spend together. He tells you his life story under the willow tree by your home and you tell him yours. 

Nights become sweeter when he and you sit under the moon. "I like this place," he confesses and you smile. Truth be told, there is an odd feeling you've been getting each time he flashes you a smile. What must it be? No clue, you lie to yourself. 

Slowly, month six comes by and you've decided to enjoy all activities, not wanting to be the powerful witch you are but a woman in her twenties, enjoying the sun in the safest forest there is to be. Simon has become the person you roam the forest with, telling him silly stories of the animals you find along the way. Every day, he sits down in the leaf-covered room you call your laboratory and lets you inspect the dark magic wound. And every day, he watches you in a different light, at least now he does. 

With time, he sits under a full moon, confessing that his heart began to beat for more than the gun he held dear. "I think I have begun to enjoy you by my side, Y/N. It's weird, I don't know if I should like you or feel...different about you but I do like this feeling." He looks at you as your eyes soften. 

"Simon," you begin but he cuts you off. It's like a symphony that plays beside you when he cups your face. "I like that I'm not afraid of life, not since you walked into it," he whispers before nervously kissing you. Both your eyes closed as this warm and sweet feeling rushed through your veins. 

Isn't it beautiful? 

Being heaven-struck by the kiss of a soldier who he, himself always wanted that feeling too. Yeah...there is something else this forest holds. 

A/N: I don't why..but let me confess that each time I write something that isn't smutty, I get sleepy and its such a good feeling..anyway..bye

Tags:

@liyanahelena @johfaam0 @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @rvivienner @Krinoid24 @iruzias @frazie99 @night-mare-owl-79 @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @Juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @strangepuppynightmare @defnotlpuluvyou @enarien @Simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @nellsbobells @willowaftxn83-87 @coralwitchdreamland @ikohniik @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @pbcartii @Llelannie @Macnches2 @bbyfimmie @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @Nyx_Flower @sparky--bunny @honestlyhiswife @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @pinkblossomsworld @kaoyamamegami @the_royal_bee @beansproutmafia @soapybutt17 @asianbutnotjapanese @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @anonxasian @born4biriyani @thegreyjoyed @mychemichalimalance @marshiely @sleepyycatt @believeinthefireflies95 @noodlezz-bedo @alexaseeraj @trinthealternate

[moonstruckme]

Ayyy I'm back with another request

No hurry on this, though, because you wrote me an amazing one not long ago and I want you to have some well-earned rest.

Anyway, can I please request a poly!marauders where the r has glasses and they see her without her glasses for the first time. I wear glasses and am mildly insecure about wearing them and taking them off. It's a vicious cycle😭 I'd adore having some lovey-dovey boys fawning over me regardless of my eyewear

Thanks a million

-🔮

Here you go my love! Thanks for requesting <3

modern au

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 925 words

You touch your middle finger to the bridge of your nose, pushing up frames that aren’t there. You feel immediately silly. How long will it take to kick that habit?

You have to admit, it’s nice to not have to worry about your lenses fogging as you stir the boiling water, or your glasses slipping off when you peer into the pot to check on the pasta. Still, this new freedom feels oddly like it’s come at a cost. It seems a bit ridiculous to miss your glasses, but it’s been years since you’ve been without them, and you feel sort of naked. Your face looks different in the reflection of the microwave, nothing obscuring the area around your eyes. It’s odd to see yourself so clearly without anything in the way. 

The door opens, Sirius’ voice booming. “You’ll never believe what happened on the way home.”

“What?” you call, and you can hear him kick off his shoes in just any direction, the thump thump thump of them bouncing on the floor. Later, Remus will straighten them with a patient sigh. Sirius’ footsteps head for the kitchen.

“This guy stopped me to ask for the time, and I told him, and he said—whoa. Hey baby, what’s new?”

You smile down at the pasta. “He called you baby?”

“I…what? No, you’re baby.” Sirius shakes his head before you look up and he realizes you’re messing with him. Never one to lose the upper hand, he fixes you with one of his suaver looks, eyes narrowing until they’re mostly gray and a smirk twisting his lips. “Don’t play coy with me, pretty thing. You think you can distract me from all this?” Triumph sparks in his eyes as you feel your face warm, and he presses on. “Who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?”

You roll your eyes, opening a cabinet door between you to grab the olive oil. “It’s my Clark Kent plan. You’re not supposed to recognize me, so I guess it’s not working.” 

“Takes more than glasses to fool me, sweetheart.” His voice is silky smooth, but when you close the cabinet, he’s studying you. “It’s a good look. I like you both ways, obviously, but variety is the spice of life or whatever. Maybe we should get James to switch it up every now and then.” 

Remus emerges from down the hall, drawn out by your voices.

“Moons, have you seen this?” Sirius asks. “Someone’s replaced our girl with one who has working eyes.” 

“Not working eyes,” you correct him, self-conscious as Remus comes over, his eyebrows lifting slightly, “an old glasses prescription. I’m switching to contacts until I can get a new pair.” 

“You look nice,” Remus says, that mild, effortless kindness in his tone. “Does it feel different?”

“Weird,” you agree, taking the pot off the stove. Remus anticipates you, bringing the colander to the sink, and you give him a smile of thanks. “I feel like Velma from Scooby Doo, you know? Like my eyes look like tiny little dots without them.” 

Sirius scoffs, and Remus' voice is lightly chiding when he says, “They’re not. You look just as lovely now as you did with them on.” 

You barely have time to blush before Sirius is upon you, stepping into your space. “And,” he says, “let’s try this.” He kisses you, and you can’t claim you weren’t expecting it but you’re far from ready, grateful for the support of his hand at your waist as you feel your knees go a bit wobbly. Sirius presses his mouth into yours heavily, nose pushing at the skin of your cheek. When he pulls back, you feel like you’re reeling. “See? Much easier without those wide frames in the way.”

“You’re the worst,” you say, and Remus chuckles as James steps into the kitchen. You hadn’t even heard the door open. 

“What, without me?” he asks, taking in you and Sirius’ proximity and the wetness of your lips. Then hardly a beat later, “You’re not wearing your glasses.” 

“She needs a new prescription,” Sirius says, stepping away from you to pour the strained pasta back into the pot like nothing’s happened. “She’s wearing contacts for now.” 

“Whoa.” James moves closer, looking at your face like he hasn’t had the chance to really inspect it until now. “So when you get your new glasses, can we help you pick?”

Sirius whips around in his excitement, and Remus moves him aside before the pasta can start to stick, adding olive oil and the herbs you’d cut up to the pot. “I hadn’t even thought of that,” Sirius gawps at you. “We have to, it’ll be so fun.” 

You try to imagine it, your boyfriends focussing intently on your face as they assess which frames suit you best. It’d be the peak of flattery and awkwardness. “Okay,” you say, busying yourself with getting water for everyone. “I could use the extra input.” 

“I’m sure whatever you pick will look great,” James promises, taking a couple of cups from you with a kiss to your cheek. “If you want, you should pick up some more contacts while we’re there, too.”

“Maybe,” you muse. “But which do you like better—with, or without glasses?”

“Either way, dove,” Remus hums, dishing out his helping of pasta. “The differences are tiny, and it’s still you.” 

“Yeah, I can’t pick,” Sirius agrees, getting in line behind Remus. “You can do your Clark Kent bit all you want, but you’re gonna look like our gorgeous girl both ways.”