definitely a huge fan of skinship. always got a hand on your waist or his fingers looped in your own. not in a gross pda kinda way but a very subtle, almost subconscious way, like he just naturally was inclined to gravitate towards you. and if he'd had a couple glasses of something strong? he’d be draped over you like an extremely heavy mink coat, arms wrapped around the curve of your waist, chin poked down into the junction where your neck met your shoulders, smaller frame pulled back against the firmness of his chest.
a blossoming photographer. pays that 9.99 monthly so that he can keep all 12567 pictures of the bluebird that liked to chill outside on your windowsill, the most perfectly baked loaf of bread with the flakiest crust, oh and of you, of course! pictures of you smiling back at him over dinner on a warm spring evening, pictures of you fast asleep on the couch, white crust of drool leaking down the side of your mouth, pictures of you looking over your shoulder as you let the soft cotton of your robe slip down further and further. it was starting to look like those extra two terabytes may not be enough...maybe you’d get him an external hard drive for christmas.
i think his love language would be words of affirmation. he wouldn’t outright explicitly say it but you always noticed the way his eyes would shine with something soft whenever you told him how much he meant to you, how he was the best thing to ever happen to you…so on and so forth. he’d try to cower away from it, tastefully deflect by turning the compliment back onto you buttttt you don’t let him, forcing him to bask in the warmth of your praise, and the small raise of the corners of his mouth always made the extra little effort worth it.
huge fan of parallel play. he’d be sat in the corner of the couch reading a book and you’d be doing the same on the other side—pausing every hour or so to brew a new pot of tea, giving you a brief moment to debrief about the crazy plot twist that had just happened, the new character who was most definitely the villain or the awful ending that made you never want to read another book by that author again. and he’d just sit, thoughtfully listening, interjecting when he had something interesting to add, otherwise letting you walk him through the jumbled plot of a story that you weren’t even sure you liked.
weirdly good at giving fashion advice (even though he didn’t seem to care about his own clothes, especially *cough cough* that tie *cough cough*??)
i can imagine him laid back against the headboard of your bed, glasses low of the bridge of his nose, book in one hand, mug of tea in the other. you held up one dress.
“this one makes my tits look good…” he hummed quietly in what you took to be mutual agreement.
“…but then this dress makes my ass look soooo juicy.” he hummed again, this time to say "pick that one".
“but if it’s brunch then im gonna be sat down the whole time so there’s like no point.”
you looked back up at him, lips pursed slightly as if you had presented him with the single greatest dilemma that had ever been proposed in the entirety of mankind's existence. he tapped a finger against his chin. lightbulb moment.
“you don’t have a top and pants that give... that effect instead of a dress that forces you to choose?”
you snapped your fingers, running back into the closet to see what you could do. “see this is why we are married!”
he raised an eyebrow as he flicked back to where he'd earmarked the book. “the only reason?”
you looked at him through the mirror. “…no?”
he’s a little corny….but i was lowkey born on the cob so it’s okay. most certainly the kind of man to tell you that you "forgot" something as you clacked your cute little heels against the hardwood floor, about to leave the house when he’d call you over to the couch to give him; that something being a kiss, his hand snaking up against your upper thigh to pull down where your dress had ridden up a little, your lips slightly sticky against his from your lip gloss.
you stood back up. “there!”
he kept his hand on your waist. “one more.”
and so you’d give him one, two, three more kisses, each one getting longer than the last and before you knew it, you were straddling his thighs; a hand carded through the short strands of his hair, pulling back his head to give you more space to let your tongue slip past his own, large palms pushing your dress up to your hips, fingers kneading at the curve of your ass.
“you…have…t’go.” he mumbled against your lips, words getting caught in your mouth as you continued to drink up the little grumbles that snuck their way out.
you broke the kiss to get some air, looking back up at the clock.
you were supposed to be out by eight. it was now eight thirty.
“shit. you’re right.”
after cleaning up your lipliner and reapplying your lip gloss using the low light of your phone camera, you hopped off his lap, leaving him with one last kiss on the tip of his nose before finally leaving the house.
“see you!”
personal uber driver for all of your late night antics. you always told him not to worry, that you’d get a ride with your friends or take public transport but he’d insist that he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he knew you were safe, able to feel that telltale dip in the mattress, snoring loudly on your side of the bed.
you slumped into the passenger side, head leaning against the cool window as your playlist played quietly in the background.
“did you have a good time?”
he was still wearing his work clothes, shirt sleeves rolled up and collar undone, your eyes lazily trailing over the way his forearms twisted and flexed as he turned the wheel.
“watching you drive feels like foreplay.” the words fell out of your mouth before you could stop them, palm smoothing over your face as if you could swallow back the words from where they hung in the warm air.
he looked at you out of the corner of his eye, bottom two fingers moving down to turn on the left indicator.
“in what way?” he queried, lip twitching in what could only be a poorly repressed smirk.
you sat up a little, thought crystallising in the slight haze of your tipsy mind.
“in the sense that…you drive like a…slut?”
your voice wavered slightly at the end, quiet scoff from your chauffeur making you fully bury your face in your hands.
“you! don’t laugh! im being serious!!” you weren’t sure if he could see your pout in the low light of the car, an arm moving out to reach behind your headrest as he reversed into the driveway, eyes flicking from the back of the car to your face with a quiet amusement that made you want to shrink down into a tiny atom.
he pulled the handbrake up.
“im sorry honey, i wasn’t laughing at you. there was something….funny. on the road.”
“…sure.”
"but foreplay? really? im sure i can do better than just driving..."
not a jealous man…but definitely has a mild possessive streak. doesn’t come out a lot but when it does, it does.
what was supposed to be a chill date at the local bar was quickly becoming a lively night out, two for one cocktails acting like a summoning ritual for all the nearby singles in the area. you had been waiting at the bar for a drink (well, two now because of the deal), husband in the restroom as you played with the strap on your purse.
you felt his presence before you saw him, slowly looking up to be met with a dark set of green eyes, rough scar on the man’s lip jutting up in a lazy smirk.
“think i would’ve remembered seeing a pretty little thing like you…you come here often?”
his voice was dangerously low, hands moving to shake your own when the fluorescent lights of the bar reflected off the large stone on your wedding ring, low whistle leaving the side of his lips.
“oh shit, didn’t realise someone already scooped you up. my bad baby.” he sheepishly grinned at you, shoulders relaxing once you realised he was actually quite sweet, finding yourself getting locked into a long conversation before you knew it.
“…and that’s when i knew that he had to be my husband!”
toji tipped his head to the side. “he sounds like a good man.”
“oh he is! the other day he even—”
they say if you speak of the devil, he shall appear and the tight grip of nanami's arm snaking to pull you even closer definitely didn’t feel angelic, other hand interlacing with your fingers.
“hi honey," he pressed a kiss onto the top of your head. someone's feeling friendly.
"who is this?”
toji's large hand nervously ruffled his dark hair. “m’names to—”
your husband interrupted. “right. right. well, honey i think it’s starting to get a little late.”
you pulled the wrist with his watch on it closer to your face to see what time it was.
it was 7.57pm.
“but it’s—”
you looked back up at toji, only to see him looking between the two of you like he’d just realised he was merely a pawn in a much greater scheme. he tipped his chin up at your husband in agreement.
“yeah. you don’t want to stay up too late, beautiful—”
his hand was now low enough to press small indents into the softness of your upper thighs.
“exactly.” your husband wasted no time in agreeing with the man he was just giving the cold shoulder to, the dark-haired man giving you a wink that said “goooood luck.”
ah. you knew what this was.
well, if you were really being honest, you had known what this was all along, biting back a small smile at the speed at which he whisked you into the car, drove to your house and pressed back up against the smooth wall as he slotted a knee in between your legs, hand gripping your chin forcing your head to tip back—lips slotting over your own with a hunger that stole your breath, hands running over his chest in a desperate attempt to ground yourself, body going lax underneath him.
eventually he broke away, brown eyes almost black, his hair flattened over his forehead.
“did you tell him you’re married?” he pulled at your left hand, wedding band and ring close up to your face like you’d forgotten you were wearing it.
“well yes! it’s actually a funny story because at first he was trying to hit on me but—“
his brows drew tight together. “he what?”
“he just…said i was pretty or whatever.”
great communicator. most arguments are able to be resolved quickly through thorough dialogue and active listening on his part. not often very strict on you but never lets up on the "don't go to bed angry" rule. but when trying to solve things vertically doesn’t work, trying to solve them horizontally always seems to do the trick!
“i-hckk—told you he just said i was p—ah-retty?!” you squirmed underneath the firm hold of his hand on your stomach, pressure on your lower abdomen forcing you to feel every inch he was slowly feeding you, other hand brushing a thumb over your lower lip, instinctually opening to suck the tip in between your mouth.
“so. if he hadn’t noticed your ring, the one i got you,” he murmured, voice different when he was arguing discussing his frustrations with you, low tone making your walls so slick, you could've rivalled a damn slip'n'slide. “when would you’ve told him?”
“i was about to—” your lip quivered with each stroke, “i swear.”
his head stopped down to lap and suckle at the hollow of your neck, your breath becoming feathery. “you see, i don’t think you were going to.”
another kiss to your neck, your lips, your forehead. “i think you wanted to see me like this. is that right?”
caught red-handed. or wet pussy’d. however the saying goes.
you sunk your teeth into your lower lip, his hand moving down from your chin to your chest, fingers just resting around the curve of one breast as he waited for your response.
“…maybe.” you breathed.
and the smile that stretched his lips made you shiver, realising that the cat-and-mouse game you’d inadvertently been playing now culminating in you being moments away from getting fucked into next tuesday.
you pushed one of his shoulders. “you’re so sexy when you're jealous.”
he narrowed his eyes. “i'm not jealous—”
“you just felt a little...possessive?”
he shrugged his shoulders. "not possessive. you are your own person."
“okayyy. so protective?”
“you weren't in any danger so why would i need to be?”
right. you were back at an impasse, his pace slowing down the longer you argued.
you acquiesced. “fine. fine. im sorry. clearly you don't care.”
“oh, but that's where you're so wrong honey.” your hips were now slightly raised up from the bed, legs moving to wrap around his tapered waist, back bent into an even deeper arch. “only thing i care about is people knowing that i'm yours."
oh.
"you like that, don't you?”
you did. way more than you thought you would.
you blinked away the tears that were beginning to form in your waterline. “yes. i-i do.”
“you want me to show you how much i want people to know i got you? mess up your makeup whilst i give my gorgeous wife what she wants?”
you nodded so fast that you must've looked like a fucking bobblehead.
he sped up his pace, new angle hitting so deep you swore you could feel it in your lungs—wet sob wracking your lungs, the smack of your skin against his echoing around the four walls of your bedroom.
and he was always so sweet whilst he was breaking you down with a methodical precision, hold on your waist light enough to not cause discomfort—warmth of his palms grounding you with a consistency that never faltered, voice hoarse from calling out his name.
“hmmm? are you trying to tell me you're close?”
you nodded your head slowly, lowering you back down to the bed, his hands moving down to where your hips met his—thumb rolling over your glossy clit in tight, light circles, legs twitching underneath him.
“mhmmm, oh baby i'm going to—” you let your head fall back against the pillow, stomach dipping down loooow before you made a mess over his thighs and all over your covers, walls clamped around his girth so tight you weren't sure how he was still moving, pace slow but lingering, soothing murmurs working you through the rippling waves of pleasure that continued to crash over you.
"just like that." "don't run from it." "stay there and let me take care of you, okay?" this is a man who could talk you through it and then some, whole body warm from just the rasp of his voice alone. you could probably nut again from a few more words if you were being honest, melting into the sheets each time his hips met your own.
"look at me." and that was always how you knew he was close, his eyes lidded, teeth dug into his bottom lip as he held himself flush against you—buried up to the hilt in your heat before he finished, both of your eyes dropping down to watch the way your combined release dripped down onto his length, limbs still limp against the covers.
he gave you a kiss on the forehead.
"i love you."
you smiled back up at him.
"i love you too."
aftercare king. he may put you through the mattress but he’ll always pull you back out after, steam pouring out from under the bathroom door already making you feel relaxed, couple minutes passing before he comes back into the bedroom to bridal carry you to the bath tub, soft scent of jasmine swirling sprung the two of you.
he slowly lowered you into the tub, quiet sigh leaving your lips at the warm water washing over your skin, eyelid cracking open once his hands let go of you.
“you not joining me?”
he crossed his arms, leaning back onto the ball of his heels.
“i didn't know i was invited.”
you rolled your eyes. “if you don’t get your ass in this tub—”
a great househusband. you both work, have no dependents and have a shared appreciation for good food and even better wine. there was something so perfect about being able to come home to a home cooked meal, clean house and a good dicking down if you wanted. you truly did live the proverbial “good life”.
a/n :: a mismatch of random ideas that have been stuck in my head for way too long
no because nobody understands how hard it was to find x reader fics of anyone in the gaang or atla fandom in general before this movie came out. now there’s new fics coming out daily. I USED TO PRAY FOR TIMES LIKE THIS‼️
Smau: in which the jjk men are your roommates in a modern au and you ask them to pick you up from a shit date
Warnings: fluff, crack, cursing, not proofread
Featuring: Gojo, Geto, Choso, Toji, Nanami, Sukuna
Part 3 of a trilogy but can be read as a standalone (find the other parts in my smau masterlist)
