xo2dee

[xo2dee]

hope you feel better soon !! ♥︎♥︎

awh thank you!! i think i’ll get back into it soon 💕

[xo2dee]

also did you delete your tiktok? ♥︎

no, its just private lol

[xo2dee]

hello, I’d love to talk to you more as I’ve been following you ever since I was a hs senior and have admired your work ever since then! but I’m really shy and awkward so yeah.. I was in your dc server for a while too. your writing is soo beautiful I love the characterisation and the emotional depth you inject into it too, it’s so beautiful ♥︎♥︎

hi! and awh thank you so much im glad you like it! and sadly i deleted my server but you’re more than welcome to message me on here if you want to talk! 💕

[xo2dee]

hi do u plan on updating the nanami guide 😢

i do! just taking a long break since things have bothered me and pushed me away from writing 💕

[xo2dee]

Will we ever get a new nanami fic from you? 😩😭

wellllll, maybe some oneshots. idk about long fics 😫💕

[xo2dee]

A/N: This fic is dedicated to the lovely @ayyy-pee, for your birthday!

Controlled Chaos

Pairing: Geto Suguru x Black fem!Reader Content tags: No curses AU, Girl Dad/Husband!Suguru, fluff, suggestiveness. Summary: In which it is your birthday and Suguru is on a mission. Or two. Or ten.

As you peeled off your silk eye mask and matching satin-lined sleep cap, bright sunlight pierced your blurry vision, a stark contrast to the usual mid-November morning dreariness.

While it took you a minute to make sense of this exceptional luminosity, you could immediately attribute the sudden warmth you felt to the body that had just shifted closer on the bed behind you, to the arm encircling your waist as it pulled you closer and to the hot breath that blew into your ear as it whispered:

“Sleep well?”

Your arm instinctively reached behind you in response, sliding up across his shoulder, your thumb lightly catching the earring that occupied his gauged ear on your way up to his nape as you pulled him closer while soothingly running your nails over the base of his neck.

“Only as little as you allowed me, Suguru.”

Your husband’s signature scoff preceded his retort. “That didn’t seem to be a problem last night. Besides, don’t you think I did a solid job putting you to sleep?”

“You mean after you left me exhausted and sore? Having no other choice, yes, I did eventually knock out.”

“Well, then you’ll accept the massage I have you booked for in an hour as my apology. For the soreness, that is. I’m not sorry for anything else.”

“Really. Tell me what kind of massage parlor is open at six in the-”

It was your own words that snapped you out of your disarmed haze as you reached over your nightstand, patting for your phone for longer than necessary, only to come up empty. You lifted your head to level with your bedside clock, which would have displayed the time had it not been flipped away from your view.

You flipped over, now decidedly alert, as you put two and two together. Your eyes met Suguru’s playful look, and you could immediately tell that he was reveling in your confusion. You noticed he was fully clothed and groomed. His glossy deep black locks were neatly pulled back into his trademark half-up bun, and he wore a deep grey sweatshirt and matching color sweatpants, pockets from which he produced your elusive phone, confirming with this gesture that you’d been the victim of yet another one of his sneaky plans.

“Suguru,” you started, your tone a cautious warning. “How long did you-”

“I let you sleep in because you both needed it and deserved it. Especially today of all days. And,” he raised his arms up in mock surrender, “I know what you said, but the girls and I really need you out of the house for about two hours. Don’t worry about the details. I’ve got everything under control today. So you will go to your eleven am massage and you will enjoy it. End of story.”

Your annoyance melted away as you put the remaining pieces of the puzzle together. Suguru had said his sentence with so much conviction, his narrowed eyes fixing yours in feigned authority, but you knew him well, well enough to sense him balancing over an invisible cliff as he awaited your reply.

“You know, it is my birthday. You can’t just order me around like this,” you said, a hint of playfulness emerging in your tone.

He took his opening as soon as he saw it, quick to flip you onto your back and to straddle your hips in one swift movement, quick to bring his face down to have his lips hovering just over yours, any hint of apprehension decidedly evaporated as his pupils shone in mischief as he spoke.

“You love it when I order you around,” he uttered his final words before he closed the distance between you.

It was too late for you, by the time you recognized the timbre into which his voice had slipped as the same low, husky, and commanding tone he’d adopted last night, and countless times prior, the one that still had your stomach clenching and your blood heating even in this moment, years since you’d first heard it, years since you’d first obeyed it.

You were far gone by the time his lips released yours and trailed down your chin to that one sensitive spot between your neck and exposed shoulder and bit down hard, eliciting a sharp gasp of his name from you.

“Daddy, Daddy! Is Mommy up yet?”

Confusion bled into chaos as you [lied] frozen, attempting to reorient yourself between your husband’s onslaught and the incessant knocking of your youngest daughter on your bedroom door.

“Mommy, wake up!” This time from your eldest, as the knocking intensified, followed by the distinctive sound of the handle being yanked.

“Alright Suguru, get off!” Your voiced panic came out as a harsh whisper as you attempted to push him off of you.

He pulled away from you but remained in position and firmly held both your hands on the mattress on either side of your head. He turned towards the door as the kids yanked the handle with increased force, but the door did not budge.

“Let us iiiin!” You heard your youngest chant in a sing-song tone.

Suguru turned back to lock his twinkling violet eyes with yours and his mouth twisting into that disarming smile of his. “See? Locked. Crisis averted,” he murmured. “Give us a miiiinute,” he called out immediately after, mimicking your daughter’s tone, without missing a beat, without so much as a minute shift of his expression.

He leaned down once more, placing a tender kiss over the area he’d sunk his teeth into just a minute ago, and whispered into your ear, his voice traveling straight to your core. “Though you should freshen up and hide those marks before I let them in here,” he stated plainly.

“You are a menace,” you said, almost too unconvincingly. “Get away from me,” you pushed him off, half-heartedly, and he let you do it this time, as he let out a chuckle.

“Don’t take too long, baby,” he called as you lifted yourself off the bed and headed towards your en suite bathroom, eager to regain some semblance of control over your flustered state. “Your massage is in less than an hour.”

“If I’m late to this appointment I didn’t know I had after sleeping in because of an alarm that was turned off in sabotage, I’ll know exactly who to blame,” you said as you entered the bathroom and quickly shut the door behind you, but not quick enough not to hear Suguru’s snickering.

“I swear he’s so annoying sometimes,” you thought to yourself, as you leaned against the door and took a deep breath to collect yourself from the roller-coaster of emotions you’d just gone through.

But as you heard the excitement in your children’s voices as their father opened the door asking for you, as you listened to the doting tone in which he’d successfully convinced them to patiently wait for you in the living room as you got ready, and as you tuned into the silly idle conversation the three of them had seamlessly slipped into, you remembered the gradual shift along the years whereby annoying became tolerable.

After a quick shower and an express version of your usual skincare routine, you were delighted to join a rather calm family. Almost too calm. When you crouched down and greeted both of your daughters with a hug, they returned it politely before re-assuming their positions on the sofa, bringing their attention back to the show they were watching.

Suguru came up behind you just as you rose back up, brushing one hand over your waist, handing you an energy bar with the other.

“Sorry you won’t have time for a full breakfast.”

“Yeah, yeah. You better make it up to me,” you said just as his phone buzzed. You took a bite from your bar and watched out of the corner of your eye as he frowned slightly at the notification, typing a hasty reply before shoving his phone into his pocket.

“I will,” he finally replied, his gaze returning, his vulpine smile returned, almost making you doubt it had ever wavered. “I’ll make it up to you at lunch.”

“Oh, I better be on my way, then.”

You scarfed the second half of your bar and began gathering your things. You grabbed your bag, and he handed you your keys; you slipped into your shoes as he positioned himself behind you, holding up your light jacket to help you wear it. You engaged in an effortless choreography that reflected your years of coexistence.

“Girls, I’ll see you later!” you called out.

“See you!” they called back in unison.

You walked out to your car, and he followed you out, waiting until you were seated before bending down to give you a light peck on the forehead.

“Enjoy your massage,” he said before pulling away.

“Thank you,” you replied, and he gently shut the door. You hesitated before pushing down the window. “Hey, you have nothing to make up for, by the way. You know I was joking. I really appreciate all this.”

“Yeah, you better,” he said with a playful wink, to which you responded by rolling your eyes.

You did genuinely mean it when you voiced your appreciation. But it wasn’t until you were lying on the massage table breathing the calming aroma of lavender oil as the masseuse targeted tension areas you didn’t even know you had that you finally basked in absolute gratitude.

Your two-hour session felt more like twenty minutes, and you couldn’t quite tell whether you’d fallen asleep and for how long. You were still in a blissful daze when you returned to your car and Suguru’s incoming call came through your speakers.

“How’d it go?” He asked as soon as you picked up.

“It was so delightful. I desperately needed that.”

“I know you di-” he cut off, and when you heard his voice again, it came out muffled. “Scissors? Sweetie, I don’t know. Ask your sister. I’m pretty sure she’s the one who last had them.”

As you imagined the chaotic scene unfolding at home, you couldn’t hold in your laugh.

“You sound busy over there. Do you need me out for longer? I’m more than happy to go get brunch or-”

“No. Don’t. Come straight home.” his reply came out tense.

“Alright, alright. God forbid a girl wants some pancakes on her birthday.”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to snap. It’s just… we need the car to run some last-minute errands. Birthday-related errands. You know how it is.”

“Aw poor Suguru, it’s way early in the day for the girls to drive you insane,” you said in mock pity.  

“They’re not the problem,” you heard him mutter under his breath, just low enough for you to discern.

“Anyway, promise made, promise kept. I have a nice something ready for you when you return,” he added, his voice finding its regular inflection.

“I’m speeding home!”

“Please do- Hey! No running with the scissors! Be safe…- That includes you, racer girl.”

“Vroom, vroom!”

You could feel the exasperation in the sigh released by Suguru before you hung up. Few things could destabilize the man who always seemed to have the upper hand. But you knew him well, and you knew how he could get when things started to spiral out of his tightly held control, and sometimes, you took pleasure in adding to the chaos, just to tease him. As you pulled into the road still giggling like a child, you realized that it was your turn to be annoying.

A large Happy Birthday banner, some colorful streamers, and two very excited daughters awaited you at home. You were genuinely impressed at the progress they’d made in the short time you were out. And you let them know as much, sharing their excitement as they each walked you around and showed you what they’d contributed.

When they finally let you breathe for a moment, you found Suguru in the kitchen area, putting the finishing touches on a spinach, tomato, and feta egg frittata.

“Girls, get ready, five minutes, just like we agreed,” he called out to the kids in a stern tone.

You snaked your arms around his waist and hugged him from behind.

“I am both tired and starving. This is perfect,” you said as you exhaled into his back.

“I thought we could swap breakfast in bed for lunch in bed.”

You watched curiously as he led you towards your bedroom with one hand, bringing your plated meal along in his other.

You spotted a small breakfast tray sitting on wooden legs on your side of the bed, a cup of orange juice, and a small bowl of fruit already placed atop it. On the other side of the bed, a plush, turquoise-colored bathrobe was laid out along with a matching colored set of slippers. Four candles were spread throughout the room, two on each nightstand and two on the dresser. You immediately recognized the woodsy notes of Sweater Weather, your favorite. The combination of candlelight and what was now an overcast sky outside made for a lighting ambiance that could rival that of a cozy spa. You were touched and a bit speechless.

“Suguru…”

He led you to the bed and carefully lifted the tray to allow you to settle in before placing it back over you, this time with the plate as well.

“I would have put on some music, but I know that you’ll be turning on that show as soon as I step out of here.”

“You know me so well! I’m almost behind a full season, so you best believe I’m catching up today!” You took a generous bite out of the frittata and closed your eyes as you savoured it. With the hectic manner in which your days were going, having time for yourself was perhaps the best gift you could ever ask for.

“Thanks for this,” you started as you opened your eyes to witness him glaring at his phone, so immersed that you thought that he didn’t hear you. “Hey, everything good?”

“All good,” he said in his best attempt to school himself back to neutrality. You fixed him, unconvinced by what was clearly a lie. “Nothing to worry about!” He added, a bit more convincingly this time. “I’ve prepped everything for a bath. You just need to run the water when you’re ready.”

He leaned into you and placed a quick, chaste kiss on your cheek before whispering, “I’ll buy you about three hours.”

He left the room, closing the door behind him and you heard him calling out for the children.

“Okay,” is all you could reply after he was already gone. You washed away any lingering thoughts about Suguru’s odd behavior down with a sip of orange juice. By the time you heard the front door close and the silence of the house settled in, you had made the mental migration towards the images on your bedroom television and on the storyline you’d desperately wanted to see conclude.

For the second time that day, you could relax.

You were still in the bathtub, not realizing that three hours had almost turned to four, when the familiar cacophonous sounds of what you could only imagine being two very energetic children traveled up to your ears and pulled you out of your reverie.

When you joined them downstairs, you found the girls donning their party hats, and they hurriedly rushed to help you wear your own.

“Daddy, come on, she’s here. It’s time to sing!” your youngest exclaimed.

Suguru brought the cake, red velvet, with a single large candle in the middle.

They all sang you happy birthday as you sat there, beaming.

Birthdays or any kind of family celebration could be overwhelming at times, especially after the children came. But moments like these made it all worth it, moments for which you wouldn’t trade anything in the world.

You loved the habit you and Suguru had slipped into during moments like these. You’d often exchange a knowing glance at something silly one of the kids would say, or a light chuckle at some of the more creative drawings your youngest would present to you, as you gracefully asked her to explain what exactly it was you were looking at. Today, however, on more occasions than you’d care to admit, your sidelong glance at your husband would not be met, entirely preoccupied by whatever he was tinkering with on his mobile.

At some point, while you were playing a round of charades, and just as he was about to act out his phrase, Suguru’s phone vibrated. He picked it up immediately without preamble, and you watched him disappear into the hallway, just barely catching the words he’d harshly uttered.

“No, that’s not the one. Like I said, it should say it clearly on the label,” you didn’t need to know who he was talking to or what he was talking about to recognize the hint of frustration simmering just beneath the surface of his tone.

“We need him to finish the round,” your eldest daughter said, matter-of-factly, a mannerism she’d undoubtedly picked up from her father.

“I think he might be busy for a while. Why don’t you girls help me clean up and we can get ready for bath time?”

You were grateful for your energetic daughters, who each took turns revealing every detail about what went into the preparation for your celebration. Without this distraction, you imagined you’d be racking your brain even more than you already were, wondering what was up with Suguru. Was it something work related? Was he hiding some bad news he didn’t want to break to you yet?

“Mommy?” You'd since slipped into autopilot as you helped your youngest get settled in the bath when her voice finally broke you out of your contemplation.

“Yes, baby?”

“Can you tell Daddy that we have butter and bacon?”

“Tell him we have butter and bacon?” you repeated, in an attempt to decipher whatever silliness she was on about this time.

“Yes, tell him I checked the fridge and we have butter and bacon and found them.”

“Butter and bacon…” you repeated, perplexed at what she could possibly be referring to, barring the actual butter sticks and slices of turkey bacon you kept in the fridge. “Alright, I’ll tell hi-”

You felt a waft of cold air as the bathroom door opened behind you.

“Daddy!” Your daughter exclaimed.

You rose from your crouching position and turned around, almost bumping into Suguru, who gently but firmly repositioned you behind him as he took your place near the edge of the bathtub.

“I’m sorry, that took so long,” he muttered. “I got it from here. Please, go relax.”

“I’ll relax once you tell me what’s going on, Suguru. You’ve been preoccupied all day. Talk to me.”

“Believe me when I say that it is nothing for you to worry about.”

“No matter how much you say that, I’m kinda worried now.”

Suguru turned to look at your daughter as though he’d just remembered that she was present and very much engrossed in your exchange. His eyes softened as he turned back to anchor yours.

“I left two glasses and that bottle of wine in our room. I’ll join you as soon as I’m done.”

“Alright, fine.” You begrudgingly relented, finding solace in the fact that he’d definitely have to come clean as soon as you two were alone.

About an hour later, Suguru found you in your room, absentmindedly skimming over words from a book whose story hadn’t fully registered in your haze. You lifted your eyes to observe a decidedly more relaxed version of your husband.

“They’re finally tucked in.” His words were as light as his newfound demeanour.

“Hmm. Was it really that bad?”

“The stress of handling the kids solo all day added to whatever you’ve got going on in that damn phone?”

Suguru scoffed as he slowly made his way towards you. you baseline

“I take great offence in your insinuation that I can’t handle the girls alone. They love Daddy time, by the way.”

“Okay, so not the kids, then. The other thing.”

He stopped in front of you and gently removed the wine glass from your hand before bringing it up to his mouth and downing the rest in one shot. But you knew Suguru. All too well. You knew that beneath this mock domineering move was a desire to buy some time; that beneath the gesture of bringing your glass to his mouth was a method to conceal the uncontrolled micro expression from his face, the one that revealed that you’d successfully trapped him with his own words.

“Close your eyes,” he commanded.

“You’ve gotta tell me what’s going on Sugu-”

“I am. I’m doing it right now, trust me. Now, close your eyes.”

You felt the unmistakable silky texture of the tie that doubled as your go-to blindfold, the one that had served as the catalyst for last night’s passionate events as it had countless times before. You could feel his even breath behind you as it slid over your eyes and he fastened it behind your head.

“Suguru! Now is not the time for-”

“One last surprise. For you, this will arguably be better than whatever it is you’re imagining.”

He guided you to stand and slip back into your slippers and walked you out of the room. You giggled as he spun you a few times before he guided you to your destination. His attempt to disorient you was in vain because you weren’t fooled; you knew by the way your slippers slid over the linoleum that you were in the dining room.

Then his phone vibrated, bringing you back to the explanation he still owed you.

You opened your mouth to protest, but his warm voice into your left ear damn near made you forget what you were about to say.

“I promise you, this is the final time you’ll hear my phone ringing tonight. Wait here. I need to get something from the car.”

You heard him step backward, and you mentally mapped out where you were in the room. Wherever he was going, it wasn’t to the car, and you knew it. He was probably going to tell you, but you didn’t want to wait anymore. You carefully slid backward, using your hands to orient yourself to the nearest window. You twisted the latch and sure enough, you heard not one but two voices. You couldn’t quite make out what they were saying over the low roar of a car engine which you assumed belonged to your visitor, but you could distinguish Suguru’s low voice from the other boisterous one that could only belong to one person on this planet.

So maybe it is a work thing, you thought to yourself, as you shut the window and shuffled your way back to your best guess at your original spot.

You heard the front door reopen and felt Suguru’s presence behind you a second later. He set down whatever it is he’d retrieved from his not-so-secret guest, before you felt his fingers slide underneath the blindfold and pull it off your eyes.

It took you a few seconds for your eyes to get accustomed to the relatively bright dining room lighting.

Your mouth tugged into a genuine smile as you took in the sprawl laid out on the table.

A large plate in the middle of two smaller ones, its contents covered in aluminum foil. But the aroma you could now associate with a visual was unmistakable.

Buttermilk pancakes.

“Hmm. You were right,” you said as you turned around to face him. “This is better than the other thing.”

“Lunch in bed, breakfast for dinner. It’s all out of order, but I’d like to think that this chaotic day was mostly in control.” he said as he pulled your chair out for you.

“Control. Really?” you said as you took your seat. “Since you didn’t invite him in, did you at least thank him?”

“Thank who?”

“Whoever delivered this butter and bacon syrup?”

“How much more can I thank the delivery app guy?” he said elusively before a spark of confusion hit him as he acknowledged the second half of your sentence. “Also, butter and bacon? Wait… that’s not what it says on the label, right?”

You couldn’t contain your laughter at his confusion and at the fact that, for the first time today, he was the one who was completely baffled. And all he could do was sit there and watch with a nervous smile and a look that screamed wtf is happening?

“You’ve really relegated your best friend to ‘delivery app guy’. I wonder how he’ll react when I tell him.”

“Ugh. So you did hear him.”

“How could I not? It’s Gojo Satoru we’re talking about.”

And then it was like the dam broke. With the cat out of the bag, Suguru finally slipped off his mask and launched into a monologue.

“I looked for that syrup all over the place. Did you know that even if you specify, in capitalized letters, mind you, the flavor you want, that some of these delivery app shoppers will simply ignore the instructions and bring you whatever? I must have gone or attempted to order from every single grocery store in this city.”

You held up the syrup bottle, its label spelled ‘butter and pecan’, your favorite.

“Our poor daughter thinks you’ve been obsessed with butter and bacon all day.”

“Butter and bacon… So that’s where that comes from?” He exclaimed.

“I asked Satoru for help and I’ll never make that mistake again. He made me play his twisted version of twenty-one one questions before deciding to tell me just an hour ago that he had the equivalent of the country’s inventory of this flavor stashed in his pantry.”

“I know he has a sweet tooth, but that is insane!”

“He is insane. No syrup is that good.”

“Oh, he trolled you good, huh?”

Suguru gave you a side-eye as he stacked your plate with a few pancakes.

“Hey, I’m on your side,” you said as you raised your hands up in mock surrender. “But I have to laugh a little bit, right? A bottle of syrup had you stressed like this all day? Here I thought the world was ending. Off some syrup?”

“I don’t want to hear the words butter and pecan for a while,” he sighed.

“Well. I appreciate the effort you put into it,” you started as you poured the syrup over your serving. “It’s very sweet of you.”

He fixed you in mock suspicion, ready for what he knew you’d inevitably throw at him next.

“Sweet like this syrup,” you said as you doubled over with laughter, releasing the tension from the evening as you enjoyed the smile that Suguru could not contain.

“I’m letting you have this one today. Happy birthday, my angel.”

A/N: To the lovely Lexi, I wish you a very happy birthday and a fantastic year ahead! When I first started reading SiL on AO3 over a year ago, I’d never imagined ever connecting with its author the way we did here on Tumblr, let alone as a fellow fanfic writer! I’m so grateful that our shared appreciation for Nanami brought us together; you epitomize positivity and kindness, and it is always such a pleasure chatting JJK with you. Never change. Thank you for being you! 💜 (And I hope I did your mans justice lmaoo)

[xo2dee]

Let's Break This Down

this is for the lovely @vladersira, you have made a lot of noise on my page lately. You called me rude earlier when I had responded diplomatically the first time but since you keep running your mouth:

I will block you again. The same way you block tags you don’t want to see is the same way i will block people i don’t want commenting

Since we’re both blind bitches who can’t read, all of my stuff is tagged with black reader individually. Whether or not you saw it is not my problem. You can click on my master list and see my blog is for black people, always has been. Update your fucking block lists so that this doesn’t happen again.

If you do have black reader (and male, and trans) blocked i’m led to believe that you think self inserts are inherently white. So yes, it must’ve upset you because you don’t block things that make you happy (unless you’re stupid, you tell me).

You are not paying me to write nor am I begging you to read. I don’t give a rat’s ass of the stuff you do want to engage in, but don’t come on MY PAGE to tell ME how to tag for things that are tagged. You don’t get to be an entitled little shit on a page that isn’t yours because it shattered your worldview of what you "should" and "shouldn't" read

and lastly because this is still blowing my mind, if you block things because you can’t see yourself in it, you are missing out on a world of great pieces. I’m not just talking about fanfic. That is a child’s way of thinking. Don’t give me a compliment to cover your ass because other perspectives bore you

From the bottom of my heart, fuck you. I was having a perfectly good morning until you came along. The only reason why I'm making this a post is to reiterate that I am a black woman writing fics for black women. I would tell you to kiss my black ass but I don't even want you that close.

[xo2dee]

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝟣 - 𝒲𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒽 𝒾𝓉?

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Series Masterlist

Pairing: Hotel Heir Satoru Gojo x Club Heiress Female Reader Genre: Fake Dating/Arranged Marriage AU/Rivals to Lovers

WC: 4.4k

Summary: One unforgettable night out leads to a lifetime tethered to the one man you absolutely can't fucking stand. The feeling's mutual, but now you both have to find a way to make it work in your favor.

or

You and Satoru's parents give you an ultimate that you both quite literally cannot afford to refuse.

Story Warning: Fake Dating, Arranged Marriage, Profantity DUH, Gojo and Reader being fucking bratty and annoying, Slow Burn, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior. Smut Maybe? (probably), No Y/N usage here

Art by: nameissiyo on X

A/N: I don't even know how this happened because yall know I don't write Gojo LMAO. But here it is! Not sure how long this will be so bear with me because it's just gonna be a fun lil ride!

“It’s easy,” the man across from you hums from his end of the table, lips curled in a mischievous grin that has your skin crawling. “Then, after a year, we’ll announce that it just…didn’t work out between us.” He motions between the two of you with his finger. “You and I both get off without a scratch on us.” He shrugs, leaning back in his seat, confident as ever as he picks at his fingernails.

Disgusting. 

He adds, “Everything works out for us both in the end. My parents are off my back. Your dad is off yours, and they both get what they want. It’s a win-win to me! What do you think?”

You can’t trust this guy as far as you can throw him, and you know that’s not far. The man’s like ten feet taller than you even with your highest heels on! But what choice do you have in the matter? You have to do this. 

”No funny business,” you demand, eyes narrowed at the man. You mean it to come out more as a question, but the rise of your partner’s brows lets you know he’s aware that you’re not fucking around with this. 

And then his head falls back, a loud laugh bursting from his chest and you are tempted to sink into your seat when other patrons in the restaurant turn to glare at you both. He’s enjoying this far too much for someone who has everything on the line here, just like you.

“None at all, princess.” You ignore the pet name, rolling your eyes. It’s a promise that you’re not sure he’ll be able to keep. But again, you just have to trust him.

“You have a deal,” you finally agree.

The man leans forward, his elbows resting on the table, and you can’t help but to sneer in disgust at his clear lack of manners. How could someone raised in high society, the same as you, act in such a way? You wish you could wipe that cheshire cat-like smirk off of his face, but you keep it cordial. You can’t enter into this with bad blood already on your hands. This arrangement will benefit you both at the end of the day. You just have to remember that.

‘One year,’ you tell yourself. ‘One year, and you never have to see this man again. This will be easy.’

He reaches into his shirt pocket, pulling out an obnoxiously expensive pen, the signature Gojo Hospitality name written in a fancy gold font along the body. He sets it down in front of you, on top of the stack of papers you’ve spent the last two hours tearing apart meticulously, marking out anything you don’t agree with. He’d nagged endlessly about how long this was taking, like he had anywhere more important to get to. 

You’re sure he took you for some bimbo ready to jump at the chance to marry the only son and heir to the Gojo fortune. But you’re not an idiot. You’re an heiress yourself, so he doesn’t impress you. And your father raised you to know that when entering a contract, it’s important to read the fine print. It’s important to find any loopholes, anything that can screw you in the end, anything that can make your life hell on the off chance things don’t work out. Make sure you’ve crossed all your t’s and dotted all your i’s.

But you don’t see any here, you don’t think. So you reach forward, taking his pen in hand.

“On the dotted line, then,” he instructs. “Sign away…future Mrs. Gojo.”

𝓣𝔀𝓸 𝓦𝓮𝓮𝓴𝓼 𝓔𝓪𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓻…

Daylight peeks through the curtains of your room, the midmorning sun beckoning you awake. The birds chirp loudly outside your window. And you are hiding the best you can beneath your blankets to try and drown it all out. It’s far too bright. So damn bright that the sun is somehow managing to penetrate the fabric of your linens, and your head pounds each time a sliver of light touches your skin. To top it all off, your mouth feels dry, yet sticky somehow at the same time, like it’s packed with cotton balls. 

Water. You need water, badly. 

You attempt to shift beneath your blankets, only to find that your body feels like it weighs a ton. Even wiggling your toes feels like it takes more effort than you’d like to exert. Your brain frantically sends panicked signals to the rest of your body that if you don’t hydrate soon, you may die, so you manage to find the strength to crawl out of your bed.

Your eyes are barely open enough to navigate around your enormous room, enough to see that you’re in a hotel suite. You don’t actually remember coming here, but you’re not all that surprised. You had quite a night of partying and drinking with your friends. The occasion? Well, you don’t really need one do you? For you and your friends, it’s a regular Wednesday night. Either way, you must have gathered your wits enough to book a suite instead of trying to get back home to your apartment in Tokyo.

And honestly? You’re proud of yourself! Better than stumbling your way home, or trying to figure out how to call your driver to pick you up.

Clumsily – and through squinted eyes – your hands feel along the walls until they reach the refrigerator, where you hurriedly yank the doors open and practically rip the lid off of a bottle of water. The cool beverage breathes life back into your dehydrated body. You feel like what you’d imagine a raisin would feel if it could be turned back into a grape. The drink is so refreshing, your eyes are practically rolling into the back of your head as you guzzle down the icy cold liquid.

When the bottle is empty, you carelessly toss it aside, crossing the threshold to the sofa in the common area. But just as you’re about to flop down, the muffled sound of your phone ringing pierces through the air. It’s usually set to silent or vibrate, because you don’t particularly care to be surprised by the loud noise. However, there’s only one person in this world who is allowed to bypass those settings, their tone always set to blare loudly should they ever call. You follow the sound back to the bedroom as quickly as you can manage. Tossing your clothes from last night around and shaking out your garments, digging through your clutch until you finally hear the tone get louder as you approach your bed. You lift your blankets, shaking them around until the device falls to the floor, still screaming that damn ringtone. You press the answer button, putting the phone to your ear.

”Hi, Daddy,” you sing into the receiver, hoping technology hasn’t advanced enough that he can smell the vodka on your breath, hear the way you’re struggling to catch your breath.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Your dad’s deep voice hums from the other side, and you breathe a sigh of relief when his voice sounds at ease. “Where are you?”

You frown, pursing your lips together. “What do you mean?”

You can hear that your dad is out from the commotion on the other side. If you had to bet, you’d say he was at a restaurant given the way he’s quietly muttering something to someone. 

“You were supposed to—“

It clicks for you then.

”Meet you for breakfast,” You finish his sentence. “Oh my god, Daddy. I’m so sorry. I’m late! I can be there in like…” you check your phone for the time. “about an hour if you give me time to get home and change!”

Your dad sighs, long and hard, exhausted. That safety you felt only a moment ago has now dissipated. And you know you are in deep shit, for whatever reason. You close your eyes, trying to calm the pounding against your skull.

“Perhaps transportation has advanced overnight,” he hums. “Can you make it from Seoul to Tokyo in an hour?” He questions bitterly.

”Seoul?!”

You scurry over to your hotel window, wincing when you pull the curtains wide open and the sun smacks you painfully in the face. When your vision clears and the urge to vomit isn’t as strong, you’re finally able to make out the foreign symbols along the skyscrapers and businesses of Seoul, South Korea.

The events of last night flood back to your memory.

You and your friends at your usual booth at one of your family’s many Tokyo nightclubs, Club Echo - Roppongi. Bottles on bottles of alcohol being brought to your table. Flashing lights. Sweaty bodies on the dance floor. Free food and drinks for everyone, the perk of being the daughter of the man who owns this very club.

“We should go somewhere!” Your best friend Shoko slurs into your ear as she leans across your booth. You hook a finger into the loose strap of her dress and pull the neckline up. Her breasts are one wrong move away from being on the front page of the Jujutsu Social tomorrow morning.

Beside her, your other friend Utahime nods excitedly, downing her drink. “Yeah! We should go somewhere else!”

You nod too, your brain sloshing around in your head, right along with the liquor. “Okay! But where, though?” 

Shoko and Utahime huddle together, whispering and giggling drunkenly and you wait, eyes roaming the club. It’s packed to capacity and for some reason the sight fills you with a sense of pride. Not that you had literally anything to do with it. No, that was all dad. You show up with your friends, get some pictures snapped of you, eat and drink to your heart’s content and then check to make sure any photos of you that ended up on whatever gossip blog look good.

And any that don’t, well, they’d be speaking to your attorney very soon.

The life of an heiress is so hard sometimes.

Shoko and Utahime spin around in tandem, large smiles beaming on their faces. “Seoul!” They cry in unison.

“Like…Korea, Seoul?”

“Yes! We can finally check out the new Club Echo there! We haven’t been yet,” Utahime whines. Her pink cheeks practically glow in the dark as she sticks her bottom lip out in a pleading face. It makes you want to laugh because it’s just so cute. But still! You’re not going to give in that easily.

“It’s like one in the morning!” You argue, your mind trying to fight the liquor that’s trying its damndest to make you give in. “By the time we get there, it’ll be closed.”

Shoko sighs your name, the disappointment clear in her voice. “You own the place, ___. All it takes is one call from you and you’re good! You know management is new and will be practically begging to score points with your dad! The staff will wait for you!”

“Also!” Utahime practically screams. Then she lowers her voice, leaning closer to you and Shoko as she whispers. “What if you run into Jungkook there?”

Shoko gasps, like it’s a scandal waiting to happen. “I heard he has the biggest crush on youuuuu,” she sings.

Your lips purse together, doing your best to let what Shoko says sink in. The sober part of you in the very deepest and darkest depths of your mind is fighting for its fucking life to get to the surface, screaming “Don’t do it! Dad is going to kill you!”

But the drunk part of you is fighting back just as hard, and it came ready to beat your ass. “But Jungkook! Also…chartering a private plane would be so fun!” Your brain argues. “That’s the point of having all this money, right? To do what you want! And to see Jungkook!”

The bumping of the music is making you feel dizzy, and the giggles and chants to “do it, do it, do it” coming from your two friends aren’t helping. If anything, it’s just making the alcohol set in even worse.

It’s just one night. Your pilot wouldn’t mind getting up and flying you and your friends out. You already know he’d be happy to get a call from you this late at night. In fact, you’re pretty sure he’d be thrilled because despite him being married with two kids and one on the way, you’re positive he’s got the hots for you.

“Call me any time, Ms. ___. I’d happily pick up the phone for you,” he’d told you with a wink after you’d made him fly you last minute to Coachella. You’d apologized profusely because you had no idea his daughter’s dance recital was happening at that time. To be fair, he didn’t tell you until you’d landed in California either!

So you pull out your phone, grinning wide as you tell your girls, “Looks like we’re going to Seoul!” They cheer happily, chanting “Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook!” before ordering another round of shots as you make a call to your pilot and driver.

It’s just one night. You’ll be back tomorrow. How much trouble could you possibly get into anyway?

- - - - - -

Turns out you could get into a whole lot of fucking trouble. 

You stand in your father’s office, squirming in your designer heels that cost a fortune, squeezing onto the handle of your designer bag that cost even more of a fortune as your father stares you down. You don’t dare meet his hard gaze, eyes glued to the chevron patterned hardwood floors in shame.

This tension couldn’t even be cut with a chainsaw, you think. The silence is absolutely deafening, and you think that if someone focused hard enough, they would hear your heart hammering in your chest, and the vein in your father’s neck throbbing.

The flight from Seoul back to Tokyo was long and terrifying. The closer you came to approaching the city, the more sick you felt. And by no fault of the liquor. Shoko and Utahime’s drivers picked them up from the hangar space, both of them about ready to keel over and having to be practically carried to their cars.

You on the other hand, your chauffeur was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Nanami?” You ask the flight attendant waiting at the end of the plane’s steps. Your brows pull together in confusion as you scan the area. Your driver is never late. It’s one of your pet peeves about each other, really. He’s meticulous, always on time, while you’re always running behind because why not? Sometimes you get caught up in things! It’s literally his job to wait for you, anyway.

But still, this is strange. The young blonde man is usually standing beside your car, with the door held open for you while he mumbles about how you need to work on being more punctual and considerate of others, that he doesn’t get paid enough to be waiting on you.

It’s a lie. You and Nanami are around the same age, and you know damn well he keeps this job because it’s easy and you pay him more than well enough. You even grab drinks together some nights. He’s more than your driver, he’s your friend (sometimes).

And your friend is nowhere to be seen. It’s just you, the flight attendant and the pilot who is on his way to park the plane. You could really use the support of Nanami at the moment, because you have a terrible feeling settling into the pit of your stomach. Which is justified when a car pulls into the hangar space, a car that you know is not yours, and the flight attendant gives you a smile that offers a silent “I’m so sorry,”  before she speaks and tells you, “Mr. Yaga has come to retrieve you Ms. ___. Your father would like to see you.”

Your father’s chauffeur and a longtime family friend. He’s loyal to your father and your father only. 

That’s when you knew you were screwed.

The sharp intake of breath from behind your father’s desk makes you flinch, and your teeth dig into your bottom lip to keep yourself from trembling when he finally breaks the silence.

“Do you enjoy your trip?” He questions, voice flat.

You’re too afraid to answer, because you know he doesn’t actually give a single shit if you had fun or not. He’s irate. There’s no other reason he’d call you here. You do not come to the office to see your father unless you’ve severely angered him. Which is almost never, because your father just sort of lets you…do you.

“Well?” He asks again after a few seconds go by with no response from you.

“Yes, Daddy,” you answer quietly, fingers tightening around your bag strap.

“Did you enjoy the food at the club?”

“Yes, Daddy. It was very good.”

Your father hums, leaning back in his chair, and the creaking sound makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

“Good, good. And the staff? Did they treat you and your friends well?”

Every answer you give feels like you’re inching closer to your demise. You wish he’d get to the point. What is the meaning of dragging you here?

You nod anyway. “They were wonderful, Daddy. Your management did an excellent job selecting employees.”

You try to tug at his heartstrings, the ones that aren’t attached to you, but to the other love of his life – his business. Your father is a hard man who loves very few things. You, your mother, and his company. But not in that order. You’re fairly certain that at this particular moment in time, he definitely loves his company more than both you and your mother.

“I know they did,” he affirms. “The Seoul team is so great, they remained open for you and your friends to stay until the early hours of the morning –” Your father’s voice rises, echoing off the walls of his office, and you squeeze your eyes shut. “Until you finally stumbled your drunk asses to bed! Imagine my surprise when I woke up alerted to the fact that your plane was taking off in the middle of the night, jet setting to wherever the hell you deem appropriate or fun at the time. But no…no, ___,” your father spits your name like it’s bitter. “That’s not the best part here.”

You hear his menacing tone, can practically see the anger raging behind his eyes in your head.

“Imagine my surprise when I get a call from management of the Seoul location letting me know how much they enjoyed having you and your friends. You all were splendid guests, and they were grateful for the opportunity to serve you, the heiress to the Club Echo business…”

You finally gather the courage to look up at your father, a bit of hope in your eyes that quickly gets crushed when you see the tick in his jaw.

“Until seven in the fucking morning!” Your father is full on yelling now, and you see the vein in his neck protruding, hard and pulsing. He’s about to blow a gasket, do something irrational. Now’s your chance to speak up for yourself!

“Daddy, I can explain–”

“Quiet!” He barks, and you zip your fucking lip.

Your father stands, taking his time coming around to stand in front of his desk where he leans against the edge. He folds his arms across his chest, not a hint of forgiveness in his eyes.

You’re so fucked and you know it.

What’s your punishment going to be? Is he taking away your black card? It would be a struggle, but you could survive. Banning you from the club for a month? Sure, that would suck, but you’d survive! Firing your pilot? Honestly, that would be a plus. Make you return that really expensive painting you just had delivered last weekend? Okay, no big deal! All of these punishments are reasonable, you think. As long as you got them back – minus the pilot, you’d be fine!

Your father stares you down with more anger and frustration than you’ve ever seen him aim towards you. Your knees threaten to buckle beneath the weight of his glare and you wish you had worn more sensible shoes. Not that it would make much difference. WIth the way your father doesn’t seem to be giving into your pout and watery eyes, you think you’d be shaking even if you were barefoot.

Your father pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing harshly as he closes his eyes. “You know you’re on the Jujutsu Social?”

Jujutsu Social?

That shitty blog that posts about nothing but gossip, drama and socialite’s lives? You’ve never paid it much mind. You’ve been on there plenty of times.

‘Club Echo Heiress’ Walk of Shame! Cast Your Votes on Who the Lucky Man Was!’

‘Spotted! Club Echo Heiress seen getting very cozy with up and coming rock star, Suguru Geto. Could they be the new it couple?’

‘Does She Ever Get Tired? Heiress of Club Echo Seen Partying in Bangkok!’

Blog posts about you are nothing new. You read them like the morning newspaper, then go on about your day. But it must have been something particularly awful for your father to be so upset about it.

“That blog is a piece of shit,” you tell him, trying to calm his temper even a little. “I’ll send those posts over to the lawyer and I’ll own the blog by this afternoon, if you want.”

Your father scoffs, his anger rising again. “Why? So you can drag its name through the mud like you’re doing mine?”

Okay, so maybe that was the wrong move. “That’s not what I meant, Daddy. I just meant–”

“You know what they’re saying about you now?” Your father chuckles dryly. “I don’t typically pay any mind to these blogs, you know? But I think they hit the mark on this one. Want to hear what they said?” 

Tears form along your waterline, the fake amusement in your father’s tone, making you want to crawl into a hole. 

“You are a spoiled brat,” he tells you anyway when you don’t reply, emphasizing the insult. “Keeping your pilot on standby so you can fly from one country to another overnight just because you feel like it,” he lists. “Going to the new restaurant your daddy opened, because of course you can. And this one’s my favorite,” he whispers angrily. “Taking advantage of the employees that have their own lives and families to go home to, overworking them so that you and your friends can drink and dance to your heart's content. Just the three of you.”

“I’m so sorry, Daddy,” you whimper, biting down on your trembling lip as you step closer.

Your father tilts his head, seemingly confused at where these tears are coming from and it stops you in your tracks. “Oh no…No, sweetheart. Don’t cry...” His soothing tone…you almost want to fall for it, but you know your father. He’s not done. “Don’t cry now, just because you’re in trouble.”

He stands from his desk, closing the distance between you two. He takes your hand in his, hard and calloused, his hard work over decades evident as he holds your soft and smooth one that has never seen a hard day's work in its life. “I’ve been waiting, hoping that my only daughter finally gets her shit together. Hoping that maybe you’ll want to learn the ropes of the business. But that doesn’t seem so. Doesn’t seem like you want to do anything but spend the money that I’ve worked so hard for.” He sighs, just so tired of you and your antics. 

He gazes into your eyes, almost in pity and you see your dad there. Not your father, who is the strict businessman that was just standing before you. But your dad, who held you and kissed your cuts and scrapes, who helped you learn to read and tie your shoes, who gave you all that you could ever ask for. Then he’s gone, replaced by your father who drops your hand and leaves you standing in the middle of his office as he wanders over to the floor to ceiling windows of his office. He holds his hands behind his back as he takes in the Tokyo skyline. “The blogs are right. I’ve been far too easy on you. Given you everything so that you’d want for nothing, and you consistently take advantage of me and your privilege. It’s time for you to grow up.”

You can’t bring yourself to speak up this time, afraid that just like all the other times, you’ll be putting your designer heels in your mouth. 

“I didn’t want it to come to this, sweetheart,” and it’s your dad once more, peering over his shoulder like it’s paining him to get these next words out. “I’ve been in talks with Gojo Hospitality…”

You narrow your eyes, moving closer to your father, because you’re praying this isn’t what you think it is.

“I’ve proposed a merger of Club Echo to CEO Gojo.”

“...Okay? What does that have to do with me growing up?”

Your dad looks you over once more, and you can see the love he holds for you in his eyes once more before the switch happens again, and he’s back in business mode. “He’s interested,” he states simply, but you know that’s not all.

“Again…What does that have to do with me growing up?”

Your father stares out the window again, not daring to glance in your direction. “You and his son are to be married in order for this merger to go through. Club Echo will be built into Gojo Hotels across the world.”

You think you may jump straight through that window and let your father watch you freefall all the way into the Tokyo streets if you truly heard him correctly.

“Married?”

He nods.

“To…Gojo?”

If it’s who you think it is – and you’re pretty sure it is – it’s that asshole that you despise from the very bottom of your heart. Insufferable, flaky, annoying, the list could go on and on for how you feel about Gojo, but there’s just not enough time for that.

“Satoru,” your father corrects you, confirming your fears. “Get used to calling him by his name. It would be strange to refer to your husband by your shared last name, don’t you think?”

Yeah, you’re gonna jump.

[xo2dee]

by the way, it's extremely easy for a government to NOT commit a genocide. you have to go out of your way to do genocide. if we start seeing US and isreali officials trying to be like, "we made a mistake! we didn't know what we were doing!" in the near future, remember that they had all the facts and chose to take part in genocide anyway. remember that they could have chosen to NOT send money. they could have chosen to NOT drop bombs and white phosphorus. they could have chosen to stop. stopping only requires that you do nothing, and they couldn't even be bothered to do nothing instead of something.

[xo2dee]

no i don't want to use your ai assistant. no i don't want your ai search results. no i don't want your ai summary of reviews. no i don't want your ai feature in my social media search bar (???). no i don't want ai to do my work for me in adobe. no i don't want ai to write my paper. no i don't want ai to make my art. no i don't want ai to edit my pictures. no i don't want ai to learn my shopping habits. no i don't want ai to analyze my data. i don't want it i don't want it i don't want it i don't fucking want it i am going to go feral and eat my own teeth stop itttt

[xo2dee]

“A coalition of organizations that work with marginalized communities in Lebanon such as migrant workers are raising funds to provide support and assistance (food, medical supplies, pads, diapers) to the various communities. Please share and donate.”

[xo2dee]

[xo2dee]

ᴊᴜᴊᴜᴛꜱᴜ ᴋᴀɪꜱᴇɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴛᴏᴏᴛʜ

✶ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Choso x Reader

✶ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: None

✶ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1,003

✶ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: As sweet as he was, your boyfriend really couldn't cook to save his life.

✶ ᴀ/ɴ: never written for choso but i wanted to start with something little and hopefully something thats not ass as ive planned a choso longfic for the future and wanted to practice a bit. also i like to hc that he'd be a terrible cook ngl lmao. hope you enjoy!

✶ twitter - ao3

“Um…”

Not your most eloquent response, but you supposed it could match the… delicacy of the situation.

By your side you felt him move, his shoulder bumping against your own as he shifted on his feet at your mumble and ducked his head lower to put his ear closer to your mouth. You could almost feel the sweat lining your forehead, his dark eyes boring into the side of your face as you fought to keep a straight face and stared pointedly at the… ‘food’ in front of you. It was hard not to laugh, your lips quivering and stomach knotting in a ball from holding your breath for so long, but the last thing you wanted to do was hurt your fairly new boyfriend’s feelings.

Even if he couldn’t cook a damn thing to save his life.

(No way Yuji lived with him like that… Either he cooked, or he was eating out every night.)

In your peripherals you eyed Choso for his body language. It was clear he was eager for your answer; perhaps a little praise here and there for his ‘astounding’ cooking expertise, but you weren’t oblivious to the anxious undertones he was permitting as well. It was almost like he knew he fucked up, but he wanted you to give it to him easy, so he didn’t have to come to terms that you and Yuji possible grinned and bared it every time he made something for the either of you two (and you didn’t even want to think about Eso and Kechizu. God they probably scarfed the shit down while Yuji’s stomach fought for its life).

Though looking at the dessert he made…

Choso’s finger dug into your side, effectively cutting off any more mental insults you could throw at the food, and he poked you twice in the hip while latching onto your belt loop, “You’re just standing there staring at it.”

Well, what could you say? “I’m just in awe how you cooked something that looks so good.” Something along the lines of that would butter him up.

Choso sighed, “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.” Or not.

You dared a glance at him, sucking in your lips at the dejected pout and longing gaze at the hockey pucks he created out of cookie dough, before relaxing your shoulder and leaning into him, “I mean it. Just a tad overdone –” he shot you a withering look, making you laugh sheepishly – “we can just throw it in the microwave to soften them up a bit.” You really didn’t want to lose any teeth, and Choso had such pretty ones you didn’t want him to lose those either.

The side-eye you were receiving was uncalled for in your opinion, and he was gazing at your face for a rather long time to gauge the expression (and see through your lies) on your face before he scowled and looked back at the mess. Part of you wanted to reassure him, knowing he really did try his hardest, but other part of you didn’t want to lie straight to his face and save yourselves both a future mess on your hands for lying. Honestly, it wasn’t a huge deal, but Choso also looked so sad… like a little baby panda sad…

You went to reassure him (truthfully that time), yet at that moment your boyfriend uncurled his fingers from your belt loop, took one of the hockey – cookies and promptly banged it against the counter in a sound so deafening it promptly stopped the words on your tongue as you both stared.

“…”

“…”

You both stood in silence for a moment, and then – “Wow, it’s so hard not a single crumb fell off.”

Choso sighed – again – and grumbled something under his breath while scratching the back of his head, “You hate it.”

Your eyebrows rose, fingers curling around his wrist to throw his arm over your shoulder as you fought off another laugh from his behavior, “I don’t hate it. It’s just… you burnt them.” Leaning further into him whenever Choso finally relaxed, you began to pull on his cheek and relish in the tint turning a charming shade of red, “Plus I think it’s sweet you wanted to make me cookies.”

He hummed, eyelashes fluttering and lips twitching as he avoided your eyes to showcase his embarrassment, “It’s been three months since we started dating.”

Your heart and stomach flipped timeously, still not used to Choso’s blunt attitude when it came to expressing parts of his feelings for you. He was still rather reserved in some instances, but more often did he leave you speechless when he decided to openly show his affection for you in ways that didn’t involve any physical intimacy. You couldn’t blame him for trying, but you did want to get away from the burnt cookie smell…

“So sentimental,” you teased, giving his cheek one more pinch before guiding him back to the couch where popcorn and a movie you had planned awaited, “Let’s just stick to this tonight. Maybe one day we can make cookies together… so they don’t burn.”

He answered you through a squeeze with his hand, following you dutifully and at ease from your suggestion. Though as you flicked through possible movies to watch, you couldn’t help but tease him a little more.

“How did you forget they were in oven?”

“I don’t think I set the timer.”

“I mean it happens to all of us.”

“…They could be edible –”

“No.”

“No, I mean – I think Eso and Kechizu might eat them.”

“Oh yeah, you’re right. Though it’s a wonder how they’re still alive if you were cooking for them the entire time.”

“I can cook some things, even Yuji says so.”

“Yes, the Yuji who eats takeout almost every night. Imagine what’d he say if he saw –"

Choso’s fingers found your lips, pinching them together and effectively shutting you up as he decided on a movie himself and not having to hear your mouth.

[xo2dee]

[xo2dee]

Igneous... The best sex of Sukuna I have ever read... Amazing!

Just one question. Reader became his, please tell me he has become only us too. Has he?

thank you so much! and i like to think so lmaoo

[xo2dee]

lemon love and deepspace fic era LETS GOOOOO. she’ll devour this fandom too 🙂‍↕️

𝐀 𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Zayne

Pairing: Zayne x f!Reader

Summary: The rain ruining his plans might have been the best possible luck.

Warnings: MDNI, Fluff, Smut, Oral Sex (f. receiving), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Creampie

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“It’s raining.” You point out, face nearly pressing on the window as you stare outside. It was going to happen sooner or later, the dark clouds had been adorning the sky the entire day, yet the day went dry.

“Raining?” Zayne sounds surprised, as if he hadn’t been staring at the same dark sky a couple of hours earlier. He stands up, walking over to look out the window as if he didn’t trust your word. You swear you hear him sigh when he confirms that it’s indeed raining.

“Is everything okay? Is our date still on?” You look at him, worried about his reaction. He wants to say that the rain will be over in ten minutes and the plans are still on… But it doesn’t look like it’ll stop any time soon. 

“The rain is going to make things more… Difficult.” Zayne answers, not wanting to give up on the date idea just yet. There is no hope though, you can’t go stargazing when it’s storming out. You stare at him, trying to study the look on his face– A task that’s difficult since the man does a great job at suppressing any trace of emotion. “Maybe we have to change a couple of things.”

From now on he will leave the dates to you and only you, because the one time he plans something it’s ruined before it even begins. It’s what he gets for trying to be romantic, there’s a reason you’re the one that usually takes on the role. 

“Like?” You ask, and he isn’t sure how to answer. He already had everything planned out, and he put his all to the specific date so now his brain is empty. The lack of answer makes you chuckle. “So we’re staying in?”

“Unless I get a reservation in time.” Zayne reaches for his phone to look up restaurants nearby, trying to salvage the night but you snatch the device from his hands. He raises his brows, wondering what you have in mind.

“Let’s stay in. We can cook something, play a couple of games… Other stuff.” You respond, and Zayne fights back a smile. It’s great to have someone pick up his slack. “I found this new recipe that I’ve been dying to try.”

“Tell me what you need, and I’m on it.” He says, and you can’t help but smile. He’s willing to do anything when you have his attention. 

“I think we have everything, I just need you to chop up some stuff.” You tell him, and he nods in response. He’s not a great cook since he barely has the time or energy to make his own meals, but at the very least he’s great at chopping up stuff. “You can be my sous chef.”

“Yes, ma’am.” There’s a subtle smile on his lips, and it overflows your heart with joy when you notice it. You wonder why he smiles but it’s never unwelcome. Especially from him.

You kiss his cheek before telling him, “Let’s get to work.”

After nearly burning the house down trying the new recipe, you surprisingly end up with a delicious meal on your table. You’re enjoying your meal, too busy stuffing your face to keep up a proper conversation. You don’t need to talk either way, each other’s presence is enough to satisfy any need for interaction. Though Zayne can’t help but comment,

“Surprisingly it doesn’t taste burnt.” Which makes you roll your eyes. He can’t help but bring it up when you told him a million times that you had it under wraps. 

“I told you I had it handled.” You respond. “Or do you not have faith in me, Dr. Zayne?”

“Dr. Zayne?” He raises a brow, and you hum in response. He lets out a low laugh before answering, “I do have faith in you… But I am allowed to draw some conclusions when I see a flame coming from the pan.”

“That wasn’t a flame.” You argue, and he slightly shakes his head.

“Then why did the fire alarm go off?” He points out, and you puff out a breath. You cross your arms, your appetite gone because your boyfriend won’t allow you to have the last word. He never does, and it might be his only defect. He couldn’t be perfect. 

“Next time I’m leaving the cooking to you then.” You pout. He doesn’t want you to feel bad for the light fire, it could happen to anyone plus you were cooking a new recipe.

“You’re a far better cook than I am.” He responds, hoping that it’ll make you feel better. He’s staring at you, trying to decipher what you feel based on the expression on your face. You only stick out your bottom lip, clearly not happy with what he’s said.

What did he say wrong? He said all the right words, you should be gleaming not… Looking disappointed.

“Only because you don’t have time to pick up the skill, if you did then you would be saying something far much different.” You end up telling him, and he takes a moment to look at your face. He’s not sure how to answer. He ends up by telling the truth,

“Probably.” And the moment the word leaves his lips, he realizes he couldn’t have picked a worse answer. You look absolutely mortified, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

“Probably? You’re not supposed to say that.” You say, and he gives you a subtle nod. He’s not supposed to tell you the truth then.

“What am I supposed to say then?” He sounds ever so serious, and one swift look at his face makes you think that he is, indeed, serious. 

“No, I doubt it. You’re the best cook ever, dear.” You end up answering, almost laughing at your own response. You see a twinge of a smirk on his face, and you feel like you’ve accomplished something. He lets himself loose around you, and often laughs at any stupid joke that you make, but it still feels rare when you actually see him smile.

“Alright then, so not the truth. Simple.” He answers, and the smirk that comes to his lips doesn’t fill you with pride like it usually does. You puff out a breath and he says, “Repeat the statement.”

“No.” Your answer is firm, therefore he won’t bug you to do it. He’ll drop the subject. 

You two continue eating, and for once he’s the one that makes most of the conversation. He should apologize, he should’ve chosen better words. 

“If it makes you feel better, the one time I plan a date… It starts to rain.” Zayne hopes that by admitting his own failures, he’ll make you feel better. You can’t help but chuckle.

“That doesn’t mean that you suck, it just means that the weather isn’t on your side.” You reassure him, face turning to look out the window. The rain still falls, much harder than before. “Plus I’m enjoying the date. Well, I was before you–”

“In my defense, I was initially complimenting the dish.” He argues, and you can’t help but laugh. A petty argument from a compliment. Though you’d argue that it was backhanded, Zayne isn’t all that great with words– Unless it’s with him coming up with a witty comeback, or of course, explaining medical terminology.

“How about you start cleaning up while I look for a game we can play?” You change the topic as you finish up your meal. Zayne immediately nods, more than willing to fulfill the task that you’ve assigned. He begins to clear the table, and you stand up to look for the games that are hidden away. Games that you’ve gotten to play with him but you’ve never had the time to actually sit down together and figure out.

You look for something that’ll make the night more fun, and also something that you have yet to play… But you still land on an old game. Something that gets both of you competitive. You end up pulling an old game that you’ve played a dozen times with him. A game that makes you want to break up with him, but when you make up it’s a memorable night.

You set up the table with the game, and wait for Zayne to finish up in the kitchen. You’d offer to help if he was doing any other task, but you aren’t going out of your way to clean up, even if it is to help your amazing boyfriend. Maybe you can take a peek at the cards as you wait for him to come back to the table.

“Okay, I’m ready.” Zayne walks back to the table, grabbing the cards that you definitely didn’t take a quick look at, and shuffling them. “Who’s going first?”

“I am. I don’t trust you while playing kitty cards.” You respond, and he hands out two cards. You frown as you look at them, knowing that you’re starting off on a bad foot. Your assist cards can help you make a comeback, so you’re only praying you get lucky with that.

“I should be the one saying that, I saw you look at the cards.” He lets out a low laugh as he gives himself three cards. He takes a seat across from you before commenting, “Given by the look on your face, you didn’t get all that lucky.”

“I’m going to win. Mark my words.”

Though you’re as competitive as you can be, luck simply isn’t on your side. Zayne doesn’t help your case, using every card that he has, against your favor. You glare at him with every move he takes, and he smirks, proud of his every move.

“Can you leave me alone? I barely have any points, there’s no point for you to null my card.” You complain, and Zayne shakes his head. 

“I have to take every possible precaution.” He answers, putting down a card that takes away your turn– And if that isn’t horrible enough, he takes away one of the kitty cards that you’ve put down. “Last time you won, I heard about it for weeks.”

“Last time I lost, you also heard about it for weeks. Matter of fact, we almost broke up.” You point out, and you watch as the corner of his lips turn. He’s trying his best to fight back a smile, and you have to roll your eyes. “And if you keep up with your act, we might actually break up.”

“It’s just a game of kitty cards.” Zayne says, which makes you glare at him. You cross your arms, a scoff leaving your lips. Just a game of kitty cards? The game becomes a very serious matter when you’re as competitive as you are.

“If you don’t take it seriously, then you should let me win.” You claim, and Zayne knows that unless he stops playing, your date will completely go sour. He just fixed matters after his unnecessary comment, he can’t let himself nearly ruin the date once again. He could try to let you win, but at this point there’s no way you can make a comeback. Plus, it’s not satisfactory for him.

“How about we stop.” He suggests, and you know you can’t win.

“Fine.” You answer, a hint of attitude in your voice just so he notes that you’re not happy with him.  

“What were we going to do today?” You ask him, beginning to clear the table. The sight of the unfair game is keeping you mad, so it’s best to clean up. Zayne joins you.

“Stargazing.” He responds, which perks up your eyebrows. Where exactly? “It’s a place not too far from here that gives a perfect view of the city, and I thought it’d be a nice date. I bought a couple of snacks to have a late picnic, but the universe isn’t on my side.”

“That is such a cute date!” You comment, eyes looking out the window to see that the rain has calmed down. “We can still do it.”

Zayne looks in the same direction. It’s not what he pictured, but it’s not a bad idea.

“Just for a minute.” He grabs your hand, fingers intertwining with yours before he guides you outside. Your anger is long forgotten when you feel his large hand lightly squeezing your own. There’s still some light rain when you exit the place, but you aren’t staying outside for too long so it’s not an issue.

“Look, there’s a full moon.” You immediately point to the sky. The clouds had been hiding the moon all night, and now you finally get a chance to glance at it. “Just look at it, it’s so beautiful.”

“It really is beautiful.” He answers, though his eyes aren’t looking at the moon. His thumb traces lazy circles on the back of your hand, as he finally looks up at the sky. Stargazing is a dumb date if you aren’t going to the countryside. In a way, he’s glad his plans were ruined. 

You look back at Zayne, a foolish smile coming to your lips. Stargazing would’ve been nice, even if you don’t get a great sight, laying next to him for a whole night is the type of date that you need. You don’t even need to talk, each other’s presence is more than enough for you to be satisfied.

“Why are you smiling?” He finally looks back at you. It’s not a complaint, he’s overjoyed to find you smiling. He just wonders what’s going on in your mind. Two fingers come up to his face, brushing away the hair that’s on his forehead before you get on your tip-toes to press a kiss on it.

“You are so cute.” You tell him, and he chuckles. Out of all words that you could’ve picked, cute is the one that he least expected.

“Cute?” He responds, and you hum in response. Nevertheless, it’s a compliment so he’ll accept it. He smiles back at you, gaze getting lost into your eyes. You have the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen, maybe that’s the reason he’s so desperately in love with you. “Cute. I’ll take it.”

“Let’s go inside before you get sick.” There’s a mischievous smile on your lips as you say the words. He’s the one that usually says the phrase, but the tables have turned. Zayne lets go of your hand, hands falling on your waist before pulling you closer.

“Let’s enjoy the moment a little longer, I don’t mind getting sick.” His nose brushes against yours, his eyes looking into yours ever so lovingly. His supple lips land on yours, pulling away within seconds. “It’s barely even raining.”

“Just a minute then.” You tell him, and he nods in response. However, Zayne doesn’t care to look at the sky. Apart from the full moon, there’s nothing that’s worth noting.

He loves the feeling of the rain on his skin, every droplet is a subtle reminder that this is real. He’s living in the moment. What’s happening right now is not a fragment of his imagination. The way you look at him, the way you laugh, the way your hands wrap behind his neck– It’s all real.

“Okay, we should go now. I don’t want you to get sick… And I also don’t want to get sick.” You say, and he smiles. He lets go of you, allowing you to go inside without an issue. You’re not going inside without him though. You grab Zayne’s hand and drag him inside, knowing that if he gets sick, you’ll end up getting sick as well.

“I’m going to get changed.” You tell him, and he mindlessly follows. He’s seen you naked many times, there’s no need to be shy… Except he is the one that gets shy at the mere thought of seeing you naked. He’s already flustered at the idea of you getting changed; but he still follows.

“What do you want to do now? Watch a movie?” You ask him, getting to the room. There’s a sudden increase in temperature– Or is it just Zayne? Why does he feel hot?

“A movie… Sounds fun.” He swallows thickly, watching as you begin to lift up your shirt. His cheeks turn pink at the sight of some skin, but you never take off your shirt. You notice he’s staring, and you fight back on smirking. 

“Do you have something else in mind?” You watch him step towards you, ever so slowly. He’s hesitating. Should he? He doesn’t want to turn the sweet night into something… More. But he does.

He wants to feel every inch of you, and frankly, the shirt that you have on outlines everything which doesn’t really help. Maybe he’s a pervert for the thoughts that creep into his head, but it’s hard to think differently when you look like this right before him.

Before you know it, Zayne’s lips land on yours, tongue exploring your mouth before it finds your own. His tongue presses against yours while his hands desperately try to take off the damp clothes that cover your body. Very skilled hands struggle, nerves overtaking him at the thought of feeling your body. An action he’s done many times before, but he turns into putty each and every time.

You’re not as nervous though, hands going to his belt and unbuckling it without an issue. Your hands go into his boxers, feeling him up which makes the man pathetically whimper into your kiss. He can come undone from a single move. And even when your hands are wrapped around his cock, he’s too nervous to touch under your shirt.  

You pull away, a string of saliva connecting your lips until you pull far enough that the bond breaks. You take off your shirt, and Zayne is watching you as if he were a teenager all over again. Cheeks burn red at the sight of some skin, it’s truly pathetic. It’s not just some skin though, you’re getting completely undressed in front of him.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He’s dumbfounded, it’s as if he’s never seen this before. This is nothing new to him, but it always feels like the first time… That’s a good thing, right? 

His lips land on yours again, though he takes more risks this time as his hand fondles your breast. His lips don’t last long on your mouth, choosing to kiss down your neck, before his lips land on your breasts. His lips kiss every inch of your skin before his tongue circles around your nipple. 

It’s nice, but you need more. Your body is begging to feel every inch of him. Luckily for you, it’s as if Zayne can read your mind.

“I need to taste more of you. Please.” There’s desperation behind his eyes, it’s as if he needs it. You get on the bed for him, legs spreading without a shame in the world.He stares down at you and he licks his lips. Maybe this is how he should’ve led the date in the first place.

“You’re so gorgeous.” He says as he gets on his knees. He kisses your inner thigh, working his way up. So gentle and shy, but he doesn’t want to get ahead of himself. Doing things slowly is what makes this more exciting.

“Smells so sweet.” He finally gets to your pussy, the tip of his nose pressing against your clit before he kisses it. His lips feel so soft on you. He kisses your clit again before his tongue begins to flick it. Tastes even better than he remembered. 

Sweeter than he could ever imagine.

Low moans escape your lips as you feel his tongue work on you. The sound of your voice is perfect, all the motivation he needs to do this. It’s his reward for the night, and he couldn’t be happier. It’s perfect. You’re perfect. 

He kisses your clit, two long fingers running through your folds to gather your slick. Once his fingers are lubricated enough, he slowly pushes them in. He begins to suck on your clit and your eyes roll to the back of your head. You moan his name, pleasure already consuming you.

He curves his fingers so they hit just the right spot. You bite down your lip, feeling embarrassed at the thought of being too loud. He’s looking up at you, and the look on your face is something he wants to have ingrained in his memory.

His fingers pick up speed, and your hands grip the bed sheets. Pleasure consumes you, your climax slowly overtaking your body. You’re moaning his name again, unable to contain yourself as sex clouds your mind. 

“That’s it, baby! That’s so good.” You can’t help yourself as your boyfriend hits all the right spots. It’s music to his ears. Even when he’s been congratulated for his many achievements, this is the best thing he’s ever heard.

Your breath gets caught up in your chest, your body quivering as you finally reach your climax. Zayne pulls out his fingers, tongue continuing to lap at your cunt until he’s finally satisfied. He presses a kiss on your clit when he’s finished.

“I need you, baby. Please.” You say, and Zayne can’t afford to waste another moment. It hurts to even think with the uncomfortable feeling that’s in his pants. He walks to the nightstand to get the bottle of lube before giving all his attention to you. He gets undressed before getting on top of you.

“Are you sure you want this?” Zayne asks as he pours the lube all over his dick. Maybe he should consider some sort of protection, but he needs to fully feel you. He needs to feel every inch of your body. 

“I need you, please. Give it to me.” Your voice is enough to drive him wild. He runs the tip of his cock through your folds before slowly pushing himself into you. He bites his lip, not wanting the pathetic noise that leaves his throat to be audible. You feel so nice and warm around his cock, so fucking perfect in every single way.

“It’s so good.” He mutters, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head as he feels you around him. He bottoms out, stopping to give you time to adjust. 

“Move.” You tell him, and Zayne begins to move with slow thrusts. His eyes focus on your face, watching as it contorts with pleasure. It’s hard for him to not get nervous when you look like this, so fucking perfect. 

“You’re so tight.” He says, hands gripping the bed sheets. Your legs wrap around his waist, hands going to the back of your neck to push him down. Your lips meet his in a messy but passionate kiss.

You drive him insane.

“You’re doing so good, baby.” You praise him, and you hear a groan come from his throat. His thrusts pick up speed, slowly losing himself inside of you. All composure comes undone when it comes to you.

He watches your hand move down your torso, and before you can even finish your thought, his hand takes over. His fingers play with your clit, doing everything just right. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, moaning his name over and over again.

“Fuck.” He curses, a word that rarely leaves his lips. But what else can he say when you’re squeezing around him? He shuts his eyes, too overwhelmed by everything that goes on. Your hands go to his back, nails digging into his soft flesh which makes him moan– The slight pain heightens the pleasure.

“Zayne, I’m gonna–” You begin, pleasure overtaking your body as another climax approaches. Zayne hits all the right spots, he simply knows your body too well. 

“I know, dear. I know.” He’s out of breath. He’s close too. It’s just too much for him to handle. But you’re one step ahead of him. Your nails drag along the skin of his back as pleasure gets the best of you. You see white, finally reaching your high. 

“Good job.” He praises you, knowing that he’s not going to last much. You’re just too much for him, which in the context, is a wonderful thing. His thrusts get sloppy, getting more vocal by the second.

“Can I finish inside?” He asks, and you frantically nod your head, not even having the words to say yes. You pull him into a kiss, and he groans into it as he releases his warm cum into you. A dragged out sigh leaves his lips when he pulls away from the kiss. 

He stays buried inside of you, not wanting to leave your warmth just yet. He stares into your eyes for a bit, getting lost in them once again. There’s a certain spark in them, one that he’s noticed only appears when you look at him. The same spark that appears in his eyes.

“Can we cuddle?” You ask him as he pulls out of you. He lays down beside you, turning his head to look at your sweaty face.

“Clean up first.” He says, though you don’t listen and nuzzle up next to him. He rolls his eyes, but he still wraps his arms around you. “I admit, this is much better than stargazing.”

“We could’ve done that there too.” You respond without missing a beat, and his face gets completely red. He definitely wasn’t imagining that. He supposes that you could’ve, but it wouldn’t be as special– It would be even more special, it just would be indecent.

“I like it better here.” He tells you, pressing a kiss on the top of your head. “It’s warm, and there’s no bugs around.”

“You’re right.” You chuckle. “Could you imagine if a mosquito bit you–”

“How about I run you a bath?” Zayne cuts you off, knowing that the question that’s about to leave your lips is absurd. He doesn’t want to hear it. 

“Will you join me?” You question, getting off him. He takes a moment to look at you before nodding in response. 

A bath sounds nice.

[xo2dee]

The Moon Dressed Like Saturn ©