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baepsays · 2 months ago

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I'D GIVE YOU EVERYTHING (I JUST WANT TO SEE YOU WIN) ‧₊˚𓇢𓆸 ⸻ clan head Gojo

CHAPTER ONE: Lord Gojo

𓍯𓂃 pairing⋙ post Shinjuku clan leader Gojo x non-sorcerer reader

𓍯𓂃 description⋙ navigating a married life is hard enough, it is harder when you know nothing about your husband other than his heroic scars and dizzying smile.

𓆰𓆪 cw in this chapter⋙ canon divergence, nsfw, MDNI, clan and jujutsu world politics, arranged marriage, husband Gojo, Gojo with scars, one sided conflict, one sided pining, suggestive stuff, they are both a little stupid about e/o, misogyny (not by Gojo), internalized misogyny on reader's part, insecurities, dysfunctional families, fem oriented reader, use of she/her pronouns, self deprecation on reader's behalf, angst, some fluff, condescending Gojo, they do stuff in bed idk how to explain, manhandling, love bites, hickeys and marks, teasing, so much teasing, very lowkey dirty talk, talk about virginity, mentions of breeding, there is reluctant consent, emotionally detached Gojo, Gojo is just a bit mean, sexual tension in the air or just need to runaway? reader in her early thirties, Gojo is in his mid thirties.

𓍯𓂃 a/n: hope you have fun reading <3 art in the header by @/RUEheree on twt. if you'd like to be added to the tag list, refer to the series masterlist<3

word count: 7.5k

SERIES MASTERLIST ‖ <<PREVIEW . NEXT CHAPTER>>

The world of jujutsu was reformed drastically following the events of devastation that took place during the Shinjuku showdown. Many lives were lost, and many were left alive with the misfortune of living with the memories of the events. One such person happened to be the strongest himself, Gojo Satoru.

Gojo Satoru basically came back from touching death himself.

The sheer surprise of his life being spared after all that he went through to have his students win a losing battle, and live a better life as a sorcerer—was enough to have rumors circulate that perhaps the now scarred up Gojo Satoru is just a shell of a man from who he used to be.

The intensity of his powers were apparently dulled, especially the six eyes. The great blessing and curse on Gojo Satoru’s name, his six eyes, were left intact, but rendered basically powerless.

But it did not matter how much Gojo Satoru has weakened, how the current state of him could not compare to who he was. Because this was a man who has escaped death time and time, any fear that may have been there in those glowing eyes, was gone to say the least.

If one does think of it, Gojo Satoru is just as much of a changed man as everyone thinks of him to be, the nights he used to sleeplessly spent were now spent with a better sleep schedule. False pretenses were dropped. He was older, wiser, a man who has been struck with grief all through his life, and was now living a more predictable life. Now he just spent his days looking after his estate, staff, and helping his students as much as he could as a more powerful figure, in terms of not only his physical but also political capabilities.

The gruesome news of what took place in the room of the higher ups before the Shinjuku showdown was the first of such help. Just whispers were heard about the state of the room, if he was ever bravely asked of what exactly happened that day, the eerie smile was enough, on top of his now mostly left uncovered eyes.

The need for silence was more needed than boasting what he had done, with no remorse, as he never felt any for the vile people present in that room that day. As the jujutsu world was more or less at peace, the clan politics was still present, silently fuming away from everyone’s eyes. And as the head of the Gojo clan, he had to step up to his role more proficiently.

And with the newfound responsibilities and increasing age, the pressure to find a wife was becoming more and more vital.

Hope was not something you relied on usually, or at all. As a person born with no actual cursed energy to wield them in a battlefield, other than being mildly able to see horrifying entities float around, it was hard.

It was hard as it is to be a non-sorcerer born into a family of jujutsu sorcerers, it was probably harder as an unmarried woman, now in her thirties, surrounded by people who deem women nothing more than a womb on a pair of legs.

It was no concern to them if the world was burning down or if you were dying, your apparent reproductive clock was better understood by them than you. At least as a child it was a hush hush, and tease of sorts when the topic of your future husband was brought up, which was more often than not. This went on until you graduated university like any other normal human being, as the world of jujutsu did not seem to work out.

You liked that life. The normal life that these people looked down upon, making normal friends, falling out with them over petty reasons than losing them to some blood hungry curse, going on trips them them, stressing about exams, pulling all nighters to submit assignments, getting asked out on dates, growing plants, spending weekends by reading books and binge watching some show.

There was nothing significant in the lifestyle these people aspired for and maintained.

And you did not want to end up in an unfamiliar house having to start from scratch, how to mind yourself and navigate the unprovoked stares of disgust. Especially by a man who was supposed to love you for better and for worse, til death does you apart—if it were up to you, you would not like to bind yourself to this man, to begin with.

But then again, that was all wishful daydreaming. Especially when you are already sitting in a reserved private room at some fancy place, waiting to meet another prospective husband. At this point you have met at least over ten or hundred possible husbands, you have lost the count. To your parents and the clan, they were either too obnoxious, not as affluent as them, too egregious, not influential enough, or not as powerful as them. But this was no ordinary prospective meeting. After all this was the potential meeting that could tie your family to the Gojo clan.

He was everything they wanted to be, had all the qualities they were looking for in your future husband, and everything they despised. He was too egregious, too obnoxious, too condescending, righteous to a fault, and too giving. Yet, it did not waver their desire to have you tied down to this man. That was the effect of Gojo Satoru. It did not matter how much he had weakened in terms of physical strength compared to the new generation, it was how he boasted about that weakness and walked with his head higher than ever.

You did respect the man immensely. But you could not help but hold grudges against this man, whom you are yet to even meet. Grudges over how freely he lived. You have never in your life felt jealous of your peers’ powers, surely you have felt resentment. But that was fault of your own blood. But this man in particular you could not escape, probably even to the pits of hell he will follow you there to agonize your life.

The thought of possibly calling him your husband made your stomach fill with bile.

Your silent thoughts ran wild as you waited silently, sitting opposite an empty chair, surrounded by people chattering anxiously about the absent man in question. Your parents, a few important members of your clan, and a few members of the Gojo clan started to become more and more weary about the clan head’s arrival.

The clamour in the room stopped way before the doors to the room slid open. That was the sort of energy he exuded. Enigmatic and formidable.

The man who walked in, adorned in the most finely made white haori, complementing his hair, with a scarf around his neck. He looked almost the part of the groom, with half the outfit already hanging off his shoulders. But it was not the careful stitching of the jacket, or his sculpted body peeking through the compressed shirt beneath his jacket, or the piercing blue orbs set on you, that made you static in your seat—breathless even.

The three big scars that cut through his left cheek, under his right eye, and the one stretching from his chin down his jawline, accompanied by more scattered and faded out smaller scars, spread through every visible part of his body—that is what had your mind standing still in awe.

“Ah! Greetings Gojo-sama. Such an honor to be in your presence, finally.” Your father’s voice brought you out of the blue pupils assessing every single cell on your body. The realization that you had dared to hold gaze with Gojo Satoru of all people, that too on your first meeting, ran your throat dry. Quickly training your eyes on the table in front of you, as if it was the most interesting piece of furniture, you reached for the glass of water served to you. Hoping, praying, begging that you did not just offend him.

“Why? I made everyone wait too long.” The tone of his voice suggested anything but a polite question. Maybe steadiness and jest, but no place for ease.

“No! Of course not, in fact you are right on time!” One of the Gojo clan members quipped beside him. Looking ever so slightly from the edge of your eyelashes, you presumed this was the usual.

“Really? Then do you mind telling me if I'm actually on time or not? ” The question was directed to no one in the room but you.

“Gojo-sama, how can she-” Satoru cuts off your mother before she could finish the poor excuse she was about to make, “I was clearly not speaking to you, was I? Now, are you able to answer my simple question or simply too fascinated by the table?” A calculative smile stretched across his face.

“It is made out of cedar wood if you are wondering about that.”

The tone of his voice and that smile irritated something in you. All your life you have been a compliant decorative doll made out of unmoving porcelain, yet the sheer change in the inconspicuous inflection of this man’s words, pissed you off beyond everything.

“You are 24 minutes late.” The words came out unusually harsher than your usual voice. “Gojo-sama.”

The last bit of that respect came from the instant realization of what you did, followed by your mother’s eyes almost popping out of its sockets and your father’s disappointed sigh. They were as sure as you were, that this meeting is not going to work out in their favor. You were, on one hand ecstatic to have ensured that you were never going to be called this man’s wife, on the other hand the anticipation of what was to follow this meeting once you get home, made your stomach drop.

The members of either clan were already engaged in a dispute of words. “How dare a woman born with no cursed energy speak in such a tone with the head of the Gojo clan!” one of the members of his clan spoke with displeasure, slightly sitting up in his seat.

“Please excuse her insolence, she does not know any better. Apologize. Right this instance.” Your father urged you with his teeth pressed together.

You should’ve noticed the anger in his tone, but you were too busy observing the man sitting in front of you, from the curtains of your eyelashes as you held your head low. He sat with his grinning face held in his hand, the elbow of the said hand rested on the table, as he took a big sip of his tea. All the while boring his gaze in your, already itching with discomfort, skin.

The sound of the cup of tea pressed between his shining lips, being set down on the cedar table made everyone stop their sharp words thrown your way. It was definitely not the sound that the cup made, but rather whose cup it was, that made them halt their charges.

“I see. Then I must apologize to my wife to be, for making her wait that long for me.”

Weddings are difficult.

It takes a lot of preparation. Mentally and physically, it is extremely straining and of course the preparation, just organizing a lot of things all at once, drives one insane. The venue, the guests, the font for the wedding invitation, gifts for the guests, flowers, color of the silverware etc. meticulous things. And it takes a lot of people to have two people unite, in the name of the law and society, with God as the witness. But it is particularly harder to realize the significance of the act of being wed to a person, when you have no idea who that person is beyond the whispering gossips and scars of battle adorning his pretty face.

When you had no contribution to the choices made for the wedding preparation, or the person you are to be wed, it all feels less magical and more of a fever dream. The days before the wedding, you spent them holed up in your room, not really doing anything more than what you were required to do. So you solemnly spent those swift days contemplating things over and over again.

You thought you might not want to see your husband to be, before the wedding itself. But when the week before the wedding your father informed you that Gojo Satoru himself seeked out to have dinner at your house, you could not help but anticipate the sight of him. Wondering if he might show up in more casual clothing than his formal getups, wondering if the scar under his eye is still the same or did it somehow morph its shape, even if it has only been three weeks since you have seen him.

So you could not help but feel disappointment when he never showed up. All the food that was decorated on the dinner table was already cold, when an informant came to tell that, ‘Gojo-sama has sent the word that he cannot make it, and he is deeply apologetic to his fiance.’

Your shoulders sagged down as quickly as your father just asked everyone to start their meal. You did not understand the loss of appetite when everything before you was so delicious. It was all very confusing, maybe you just wanted to see him one last time before the wedding to reassure yourself. But then again, you cannot get rid of the doubt that did not stem from worry, but is fostered by fear.

“Are you ready?” your mother's voice made you look away from the reflection of yourself and instead your eyes focused on her. Because at least the harshness in her voice was more familiar than your own reflection.

“Time for you to enter. Everyone is waiting.”

The idea of being a married woman, to the strongest, at that—made the weight of the ceremonial kimono feel heavier than any piece of clothing you have ever dawned. The hood of the wataboshi partially covering your face felt like a shield, because while walking down the aisle it hid your eyes from peeking a glimpse of your groom. As much as it felt like you were dying, with the way your throat was constricting, making it harder for any air to pass—you could not help but take a peek at your groom, from below your hood, who was already standing there waiting for you.

His back was facing the shrine’s altar, and his eyes were trained on you. He looked like no other groom. Probably because no other groom has ever welcomed his bride with such a huge grin, while showing his back to the altar. It was Gojo Satoru after all. When has he done anything the usual way?

“Goodness, felt like you took forever sweetheart.”

His extended hand reached for yours, to pull you up to the podium, to have you stand beside him. The sight of his palms practically swallowing your entire hand, felt foreign. But the coldness emitting off his touch was worse. It was weird that he was touching you, but at the same time, it felt as if he was far away from your grasp. The distance and the coldness was far too sharp for you to keep holding his hand. And he probably understood that as well, as he loosened his grip to let you slip your hands out of his as soon as you could.

How the entire thing happened was beyond you. Your head was too occupied with how gorgeous he looked in his groom’s wear. Or maybe his blinding hair, or the scars scattered all over him, making him look more commanding than terrifying. It was all just very swift, if you had to describe it.

One moment you are contemplating whether you should make a run for it, not that it would help you. And then in another few seconds you two are already on your third cup of sake, completing the san-san-kudo ceremony, uniting yourself to him and joining your name to his.

“Still want to make a run for it sweets?”

You just looked at him, slightly horrified. “Anyone with two eyes can tell what you are thinking if they can catch a glimpse behind that hood, and I have six of them.” There was a tone of jest in his voice and the grin on his face.

“No. I, am just not feeling that well since this morning.”

“Then we must do something about that.” In one quick second, you were suspended in the air in his arms, your body was held close to his chest with the help of his arms.

The yelp that left your lips sounded louder than it should have, because that room full of relatives and influential people fell silent to the ordeal in front of them. But your astonishment was not due to the fact that your newly officialized husband has decided to embarrass you in a shrine where god witnessed your union—it was rather how contrary to the earlier, he felt warm.

“You feel warmer.” you could not help but let your thoughts slip out in a murmur. “Surprised?” you nod hesitantly realizing how that slipped out in a murmur.

“My infinity was up earlier, I noticed how you got startled. And how dare I make Lady Gojo flinch. ” There was a sense of tease in his tone, but also laced with pride and maybe some joy? He never fails to leave you perplexed. You had nothing to answer to that. Lady Gojo. That is who you were. The weight of your title made your head spin as Gojo walked you two out of the shrine, with you still in his arms.

The reception went as smoothly as it could have. Honestly coming to the reception was harder than the reception itself. Being in an enclosed space with Gojo was really more scary than marrying him in front of thousands of people. Now you just have to do exactly that for the rest of your life, or until your services are required.

He did not say or do anything much for the better part of the car ride to the location, other than handing you a water bottle and some packed riceballs, which were kept in the car before you two got there, with his instructions you presumed. You took it without any reluctance.

“Eat well. Who knows how much you might be able to eat there.” He was not wrong, you were expected to look and act as the perfect newly wed bride to the Gojo clan head, and that meant sitting there pretty and smiling at everyone. So you silently ate what you were given, unperceptive to those blue eyes staring at you with the intention of noting down every little detail about you, as a grin involuntarily stretched across his face, unbeknownst to either of you. Just Ichiji saw that in the rear view mirror and felt some relief for his employer.

With congratulations coming left and right, the title of Lady Gojo, being thrown at you at the end of every sentence, you could only think that your husband was right. Even the people of your previous clan were more respectful to you than they ever have been. As nice as they all have been, the pressure still hung suffocatingly high in the air. And you understood it had everything to do with the Gojo name being attached to you now. Or maybe it was Gojo Satoru himself, attached to you at every step, who made them hold their tongue. Your groom made it his mission to follow you around wherever you went, and loomed over every conversation you had with every familiar or unfamiliar individual.

“Will you let her breathe in peace?” “You really thought he was not going to be too much at his own wedding?” Two people chimed, with another man following them closely with solemn eyes.

“Sure, make my wife hate me . Some friends you guys are.” Never in your life you thought you would see Gojo Satoru pout. He was formidable, smug, maybe petty, and condescending, but the only thing you could think for a second was, cute.

Upon introduction you acquainted yourself with Geto Suguru, Irie Shoko, and Nanami Kento. Few of Gojo Satoru’s friends and comrades. They were probably the only people you had a sound and relaxed conversation with. Satoru seemed more at ease around them as well. They were in fact, the first bunch of people you felt were nice to you without any incentive hanging over them. The individual dynamic they have with your husband, and just all four of them together made you feel jealous of their bond. But again, that is something one only gains by growing up together or almost dying beside each other. And they have all of it.

The night ended soon after with everyone taking their leave, and the hall slowly becoming desolate. Satoru was ready to retire for the day as well. As he went to have the car fetched for you two to take your leave, your mother took advantage of that chance to catch you in the hallway, before you could leave after your goodbyes.

“You do know what you have to do tonight. Yes?”

The grip she had on your arm became increasingly tighter as each second passed without an affirmative answer from you. “Yes.”

“Do as you are instructed. And just let him take it.” Those were the last words you heard from your mother. Any sane person would gag at such interaction, but it was no more a surprise to you. Seeing your mother put on a faux smile as she entered the main hall, with one last glance at your way, ‘take it’ , that is all that you heard. You have been taught to just take it, all your life. If your male cousin likes your things, they can just take it. Your father is scolding you for speaking an octave too high, you just have to take that. You have to simply take all the snide comments and slimy suggestions, they are for your own good. When people made fun of your lack of powers, you were told to just take it as a lesser being. And now as you sit beside your newly wed husband, while being driven to his estate, you have to mentally prepare yourself to just let him take it.

After all that is all you were made for, that is all you are worth.

“Still not feeling well?”

The sudden question made you look at the source of the voice sitting beside you on the plush leather seats. “Yes?”

“Yes, you are not feeling well? Or yes, you were not listening to me?”

“Oh. I am sorry.” “Was that either of the options? Hmm?” The smile on his face was oddly comforting, and genuine. But that made it all more sickening.

“I did not hear you, I was just distracted.” “I guessed as much.” He did not say anything more, he looked away and went back to facing his side of the window, as did you. Or so you thought.

Satoru has been observing you since he came back from getting Ichiji to get the car up in front of the hotel, where the reception was held. He followed you closely from behind sensing the cloud of distress making its way back above your head. He somehow managed to get rid of them during the reception, and something or someone ruined all his hard work. And he did not appreciate that.

Right now he was trying to get a glimpse of your reflection on his side of the window. It was not slick. Nor was it very effective. Trying to find your eyes in the dark tinted glass was making him annoyed. He just wanted to hold your face in both his hands and stare down in your irises to draw out all the unspoken answers from the depths of your soul.

But that would effectively scare you off more than you already were.

So the next best thing was showing concern through more subtle actions. Like running out of the car just as it stopped on the stone driveway, in front of the huge doors of the main entrance. He made his way over to your side before you could even open your door. And in a blink of eye you were back in his arms. Now without the Haori, his skin was much warmer through the fabric of his Montsuki.

“Don't want you to tire yourself out more." He mumbled, way too close to your face than you would appreciate, his eyes were focused on the stairs leading into the entrance of your new house.

“Who am I if not your most obedient servant, Lady Gojo.”

Now it felt like he was trying his best to embarrass you. Was he trying to patronize you?

“You should not say something like that Gojo-sama, what if someone heard you?”

“If someone dared to eavesdrop on words meant for my wife, in the privacy of my arms— they know better than gambling with their lives.” The chuckle that left him was anything but humorous. The threat was very real behind those words, probably more present in his voice than his words.

The walk to the bedroom was long, it took many turns at long hallways to reach what seemed like the opposite end of the entryway. Where stood two sliding doors proud and all alone in that entire hallway. And every step he took to get closer to them felt like a sigh of breath leaving your throat to never return. And he probably felt that with the gripping dent of your nails in the back of neck, but he welcomed that. He felt nothing but contentment in you losing your composure in his arms. And he wished for nothing, but a lifetime of you letting yourself express your most hidden self in his arms, and have you leave your mark on him.

The bedroom was huge. And it was decorated with more than hundred candles, to perceptive eyes. All the expensive decoration, furniture, painting and scroll went invisible to your eyes—because there was only one thing in that room that caught your interest.

The bed. It stood on all its strong legs, near the huge windows overlooking the outside. It was surrounded by more candles, scented ones. And it smelled like the ocean and sweet tropical fruits. There were bouquets of roses and Lilies on each side of the bed, on the bedside tables. As Satoru placed you down on the fluffy and soft covers, the mattress almost engulfed you in itself. And it all became too real.

You might be Lady Gojo now. But the man hovering above you was Lord Gojo.

He can joke about being at your beck and call all he wants, but he was not the one married off to serve you. It was you who was instructed to just be a good wife and take it. You were here, on his bed, to serve him. To let him take you, take your virginity, and claim you as one of his many conquests. All you were good for, was to lie there and take his seed, to give him an heir and silently sit in a corner unless you are spoken to.

So why was he walking away from you?

“You are not- going to?” the hand you used to hold onto his wrist, to prevent him from walking away from you, was shaking.

“What do you mean?” The scrunch of his eyebrows made you think for a second he might be genuinely confused about what you might be referring to.

“You should know what I mean.” He truly is such a cruel man.

“If you don't speak to me clearly, I am afraid, I am too dumb to understand.” The smirk on his face said otherwise. “You are so mean.”

“How am i being mean to my own wife, if i don’t even understand what she is implying, hmm?”

“How will it be any more helpful if I say it out loud?” “I don’t know? You might have to find out for yourself.” He was annoying you now.

“I am trying to perform our duties and get over this, Gojo-sama.” Hopefully your stern voice camouflaged your nervousness and fear.

“Do you want to consummate our marriage that bad, Gojo-sama?”

The incredulous look on your face upon being addressed by the same title as him, by Gojo Satoru himself, was the last thing you expected out of this conversation.

“You- you, just- cannot address me like that!” “Why not? You are also a Gojo now. In fact, you are the lady of the clan now.” His argument was making more sound sense to you than your own head.

“I would have to argue your position is much more important than mine. From this day forward you are also Gojo-sama whether you like it or not. I hope you get used to it. And I don’t want to be called out by some title by my own wife.”

“You keep saying ‘my wife, my wife’, yet you are acting oblivious about our marital duties!” Suddenly the air was much heavier than how lightly it was circulating through the huge room. “You might get away with putting up a front, but my position in this marriage has been set in stone. So please spare me the questions and put an heir in me as soon as you can.”

You anticipated an array of reactions after such audacious proclamations. You guessed as much, the very second your tongue stopped speaking, the emotions on his face might be anything but that humorous and kind softness he has, oh so graciously, offered you up to this moment so far. And that made you look away from his face, which looked more halted than stoic, and in your experiences, surprises are almost always followed by anger or joy. And you were definitely not expecting him to clap his hand and offer you a big smile.

Your hand on his hand felt more foreign than before, so you pulled it off him. And it allowed him the satisfaction of at least not feeling your miserably shaking and soaking palm. And there it was, the anger.

Just as you let go of him, his own hand grabbed a mean grip on your wrist. It was confusing to understand what exactly happened in the moments after that. One second he is pulling you off the bed towards himself, next he is bending down to reach you half way across and pushing you on the bed with the weight of his body. You were essentially pinned onto your new marital bed. Both hands pinned on either side of your head, with a mean grip on your wrists by his huge calloused hands, and you were sure that you were done for.

“Since you have already cooked up these false ideas about what this relationship might look like, how about I show you a little glimpse into these imaginations?”

His face was probably close to yours by no more than half of one centimeter, you could feel his eyes searching for something in your own eyes, and you had no confidence to fake it. So you just shut your eyes real tight and waited for what was to come.

Satoru’s right hand glided itself from your wrist, to your forearm, under the sleeves of your kimono, until it reached up to your arms, where the bunched up clothing did not allow him any more access over your skin. The loud gulp you took, out of some sort of relief, was gone in a second.

Satoru was not a man to give up on the first hindrance, and people learn that usually the hard way. His eyes were more concerned with how your eyebrows were scrunched up, how tightly your eyes were closed and how your eyelashes were looking longer like that, or how you might end up making your lips bleed if you keep on biting down on them that hard. And how beautiful your neck looked, with the little knot in your throat going up and down with nervous gulps.

His right hand started working to get rid of the belts on your kimono, and his hand was slipping past every layer of clothing to reach your body. While his mouth made itself useful on your neck, peppering the most delicate kisses from the base of your neck, collar bones, along the column of your neck, up to your chin. And with several little scattered kisses on your jaw, Satoru’s eyes found your mouth open in a small gasp. Thankfully your lips did not bleed. But your eyes remained closed, too afraid to see what was going on, in the dim light of the candles illuminating the room in an orange hue, you were too scared.

You did not want to think about how his hand felt so cold and soothing on your burning skin or how his lips felt so warm and comforting. You did not want to see those blue eyes, or those scars spread all across his skin, particularly the one under his eye—it made you train your eyes back into those dilating pupils every time.

Satoru's hand was just below your breasts, it just stayed there. Sometimes moving an inch too close and then just going back to drawing circles around your torso, squeezing your waist at times—all while his teeth and lips worked all over your decolletage. Little bites and long intervals of his lips sucking marks around your neck, drew out hisses of pleasure out of you.

Who knew that being under your husband could make one feel this much pleasure?

His left hand never left its grip on your right hand. The platinum ring on his finger became warm over time, just like his cold hand, as it remained intertwined with your fingers. While his right hand found its way down your stomach, on the waistband of your panties. It was nothing impressive, not the sort of underwear one expects a newly wed bride to wear. It was a simple cotton panty, the bare minimum. Your family forgot that detail probably.

But Satoru absolutely did not mind. He liked the slightly loose elastic, it felt like any moment he could slip it off you, or slip his own hand inside. And it felt worn in, soft and malleable. He could tear it off you in a millisecond.

“Get it off already.”

“Ordering me around already, Gojo-sama? Hmm?” You were losing your patience. Who could’ve predicted that?

“Stop that.” “Stop what?” “You know what.”

“Again, Gojo-sama, if you do not tell me how will I know? Your poor, poor husband is not that sharp.” His patronizing voice vibrated in the crook of your neck.

“Stop. C-calling m. Me. Gojo-sama.”

“I don't know? Should I?

“Yes! You sound ridiculous!” Your eyes finally shit open and you rose up to now lean on your elbows, to get a better look at him. The unfastened kimono slipping off you and pooling under you in the process.

His eyes remained trained on you, hooded and shadowed by storms and turmoil in the blue sea, as he found refuge between your open legs. He was practically lying on your breast, with your bra on the verge of slipping off and giving him easy access to them, to mark them all over in pink and purple. Because clearly the plethora of lovebites on you, were not enough.

He did not say anything. Just the hand which was previously on your waistband, glided downward until it reached the back of your knees. His fingers worked with stealth while his eyes distracted you, like a predator. He grabbed onto your knee and pushed you back down on the bed, as both his hands found their place back on your wrists. While he cozied himself between your legs, and sat back on his knees.

He leaned in close enough to hover his own set of lips just above your own, just as they barely made contact—he moved his neck to glide those lips across your cheek, to your ear.

“I am glad we agree.”

“Then I can count on you, to not call me by that title again, right sweetheart?”

You did not have to see his eyes or his face to nod an instant yes.

“Use your words. Lady Gojo.” His voice came out harsher than ever.

“I won't call you that again.”

“Ah. What an obedient wife you are. Hmm? Your parents will be proud.”

With those last words dripping with nothing but sarcasm, he got off you. He silently fixed your kimono, tucked you in, and kissed your forehead with a whisper of goodnight. Right before he left you there to contemplate what just happened, and locked himself in the bathroom attached to your bedroom, for what felt like more than an hour. You did not really know if you were supposed to wait for him or not, what was he going to do when he came back?

All sorts of thoughts raced through your head, as you drifted into sweet slumber, on the most soft and comfortable bed you've ever come across in your life.

While Gojo Satoru hunched over the sink, looking like a freshly ripened tomato. He stared at himself into the mirror, with nothing but disbelief at his own audacity.

The morning came faster than it should have. It felt particularly premature to you when you spent the rest of your night, after the events that took place on your marital bed, by watching the ceiling above you with a blank stare. You did pass out for a brief while, but that was out of being overwhelmed to the point of losing consciousness. You were not sure if this was ok, to sleep in this huge room by yourself. But you could not, or maybe did not want to stop Satoru from storming out of the bathroom, and then speeding out of the room without sparing you a single glance. You wanted to enjoy one night peacefully in this bed, to compensate for many tumultuous ones to inevitably follow.

Even when getting off your bed to pace around the room, to maybe tire yourself out, sleep did not come. But if getting married was not tiresome enough to knock you out, then maybe walking around the room won’t do you any good as well. So you decided to take a walk in that huge garden sitting outside the floor to ceiling windows nearby your bed.

You did not make it much far into the huge garden. After the neatly arranged traditional garden, laid vast lands of grass and wild flowers, and bushes, and an arrangement of trees, including two cherry blossom trees sitting across each other, along the edge of a lake. It was lit with the reflection of the moonlight, falling on the surface of its water, scattering everywhere in a chaotic rhythm, because of the busy fishes moving around in it, probably enjoying the serene night. You would have liked to go take a seat near the lake, on one of those benches placed around it. But when you approached the nearest bench, under one of the cherry blossom trees, you found your husband already occupying it.

Maybe in another world, you went up to it and sat down beside him silently, maybe you spoke with him and tried to start a conversation. Maybe you two just sat together in silence, or maybe he saw you and walked away. But in this world, you could not even cross the five feet of distance that laid between you and that bench. Instead you walked back to your room, as silently as you could. You spent the rest of the night trying to get some sleep, as you laid on your side, and stared out of those huge windows by your bed, until the dark sky became blue.

Who knows what the outcome could have been if you walked up to that bench last night. Who knows what could have happened if only Satoru turned around and asked you to sit down instead of patiently waiting for you to come up to him. I mean, you should know better, five feet of distance is not that much for their presence to go unnoticed by him or his six eyes. Especially when it is you.

The morning itself was more uneventful, compared to last night. The shower was particularly soothing. Especially where he touched you last night. Maybe it has something to do with his powers, you told yourself, but you knew better. Why it was burning everywhere he touched or why those marks of his teeth and lips stung so sweet—was not something you really wanted to think about, as it made you go weak in the knees.

It was all very uneventful, until you came out of the bathroom after your shower, to find Satoru sitting at the end of the bed. He was still in the black kimono from the wedding. He looked like he did not get any sleep either, or so it seemed, because this time around his eyes were covered with his blindfold. It was eerie, for most people to see Gojo Satoru without his black blindfold, but for you it was probably the other way around. It was weird to see him with it for once. And that person felt like an entirely different person, than the one you married yesterday.

“Goodmorning, Goj- Satoru-san.” His given name did not roll off your tongue the smoothest. But he appreciated that you listened to him.

“You can drop the honorifics as well.” There was an appreciative smile on his face as he spoke, but even with his blindfold on, you could tell that smile did not reach his face. “I do not know if I can.”

Satoru did not push you. One step at a time, right? Even if these steps did not come out of your own volition, but his petty threats, he still welcomed them with a humorous smile.

“I wanted to apologize about yesterday.” He did not suit humility, that is what you thought when a grin stretched along your face. Seeing him squirm and look so uncomfortable was new, even when his eyes were covered, you imagined them to look more sorry than body language. Satoru really was just not familiar with saying sorry, but he never backed away from apologizing when he needed to.

“I really crossed a line there, just to prove a point.” you did not say anything back but just stood in front of him with your freshly out of shower wet hair dripped droplets of water on the carpet. “I would understand if you do not want to forgive me, I would like to make it up to you however.” He was trying his best. His best to not stare at you blatantly in that silken baby blue robe clinging to your body, that he personally picked out for you. Or the peeking marks he left on you, that made him go dizzy. It was all him.

“It is alright.” you went to sit beside him, but instead of sitting just by him, you sat on one of the corners of the bed, keeping the distance between you two. “Really?”

“Yes. I do not think I would have minded if you went all the way. I do not really have any say in that.”

“What?” He genuinely looked confused for a few first seconds. Then something else creeped up on him, something close to pity or disgust.

“I was wedded off to you to serve you and your bloodline. It is my purpose.”

Satoru felt disgusted. By everyone and anyone who has ever made you think about yourself like this. But he was mostly disgusted by himself.

“I do not know how much more plainly I can put it, and it is not just some opinion of mine, it’s just the plain truth. You are wrong to think that.” He got off the bed, to stand in front of you. At an arms length he looked further away than he actually was. His shoulders looked stiff and his jaw was tight. You have somehow managed to piss him off by saying things you were instructed to say all your life, to not piss off your husband.

“You are wrong.”

That was all he said before he stormed out of the room without a second glance. Exuding the sort of energy that said he might erupt like an angry volcano any minute.

NEXT CHAPTER>>

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

divider by @/omi-resources. header is from watashitachi wa douka shiteiru drama adaptation. art in the header by @/RUEheree on twt.

honestly i have been cooking this for almost a month and i am so indecisive about what i wanted to do with him i do not want to make an angsty story where the angst is just because of Gojo being an ass, lol i think there are plenty of those, done far better than wtv i can do. so this guy is still very canon adjacent, emotionally unavailable in a way you know the people you think you have all figured but then suddenly you are like wtf??? i do not know anything about you. so lol i am using my own emotional constipation as heavy reference. he has many many layers, i want to explore his death in the shinjuku fight, his powers which i have left intact mostly but in a more weakened state than his students and what not. i want to explore his thoughts on that. reader's insecurities i wanted to make them as real as possible so if i make anyone sad, it was the goal, also i am sorry. it will get sadder just saying. even though i will make them have so many suffocating with tension scenes. it will be happy eventually!!! and i hope you guys likeee itttt

tag list (1): @cheralith @slayzzz @madamechrissy @gojosperms @naomigojo @cuntphoric @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @fushitoru @rriwyu @arcanarix @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @emyyy007 @ineedbetterhobbies0809 @littlemisswitch67 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @tabalugax @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @thetiredcollegestudent @tokyolhtl @emochosoluvr @moncher-ire @hyunjinspdf @younjunie @howmanytimesamigoingtotrythis @em0cleo @novaisbebita @hisarmsaremycocoon @wise-fangirl @sheep-infog @arrozyfrijoles23 @ppejmurde @miizuzu @ricecake-mochi @tushkiiiiiii @ovela @69-gojos-wife-69 @fariylixie0915 @lxxnour @mereniss @theorphicangel

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sugarverse · 5 months ago

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Hiii! I was wondering if I could request either long or short fic about Tenya Iida. Likes it can be set in a modern setting where's he's a senior college student who's majoring in business and he has to take one more class to get his degree. It just so happened that the class is in the art building, and it is figure drawing (aka nude drawing) . Since he's just now hearing of the extra class he has to take, he's suddenly shocked when the model is an old friend of his from back home, whom he had a childhood crush on. Not only does his feelings for her come back, but he also has to have 1 on 1 section with the model for educational purposes. I kinda want it to be smut and fluff or however you see it fit. Anyway, I hope it's enough+

hi babe! omg I love this idea I kinda went a lil crazy and made it way too long. I hope u enjoy :)!!

𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙬𝙣 𝙏𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧

word count: 3.5k

mentions of: This is really just the fluff portion of it, kinda suggestive bc he pops a boner and leads to sex in part two. I think I’m going to make a third part simply so the two of you can go on a genuine date andsotheresmoreiidaxblackreaderouthere.

a/n: hells yeah that’s enough, hopefully I did what ya asked and so sorry I went overboard I have serious problems. here’s the smut part bc a 6.7k fic is doing too damn much but i can’t stfu my fault gang

moodboard here!

Tenya Iida.

4th year, Senior in college majoring in International Business and minoring in Spanish at Angelwood College of Arts and Sciences.

The visual arts building had only been a few minutes away from the business side of campus, which he gladly enjoyed the walk. This spring all he needed to finish was two gen ed classes, the rest revolved around his major and minor. His counselor helped set up his ‘missing’ classes before winter break considering he had to fly back to Japan to see his family for the holidays. He was ecstatic to learn all he needed was an art class with lab and a communications class.

When he asked what the class entailed, all he was met with was “beginner artists learning anatomy.” It didn’t sound difficult, just draw what you see. It would be nice to try something new anyway. He was not much of an artist but like all things Tenya does, he planned to give this class his all. The first week had been pretty easy, learning how to draw what you see with the use of models, shapes, and lines. Nothing too hard to follow. He would practice drawing his friends on the sketchpad he bought specifically for the class as a form of studying in the free time he had.

He neverminded it for the most part, excelling his knowledge in different countries in his free time to get better at his major. Sure they could teach you the technical way to do things, but in the end, everyone is still human. It would be inconsiderate to do business with a country and know little to nothing about their culture! It took almost two weeks for him to finally be able to even start the art project anyway.

As time went on and the January snow grew less and less, it was time to start their first real project of the semester. One on One figure drawing. The class needed to fill out a form explaining their free hours due to the limited art space and everyone's different schedules. Tenya happily filled it out when it was posted, continuing to work on class work from the library so that the lecture room could also be used for said project.

Their professor had explained that in-person class would remain on Mondays and Thursdays. It just worked out better for the models and students to have so much space.

He made the small walk over to the arts building for his last class of the day, a small shine in his glasses as he entered the white light of the room. The walls were anything but bare, artwork and unfinished projects sat in every corner of the room. Paint racks, canvases big and small, even stacks of unused clay. There was a stool sitting on a small platform in the middle of the room, assuming where the model will sit.

He stood next to the stool for a moment, looking up at the grey February sky through the skylight. The natural lighting was great, almost like a spotlight. He adjusted the lights in the room a moment, dimming them slightly so the white light hadn’t been so harsh on his eyes. He headed over to a more organized table, setting out the art supplies how he liked. He knew he was early, but he wanted to make a good first impression. What’s better than being on time?

He pulled out his laptop, checking that the few assignments for today were done and submitted. A small frown tugged at his lips as he realized he hadn’t finished something completely, typing in the last few answers. He always double checked, technology was reliable.. When it wanted to be. He couldn’t hear the shuffle of slippers against the floor over his typing and frankly, loud thinking.

He could see someone walk past in a teal robe representing the university's colors. Glancing up from the computer to give the model a proper hello, Tenya opens his mouth to speak but pauses.

“Y/n?” He asked, almost in a whisper in case he was wrong. A small look of confusion caused him to tilt his head to the side slightly. He hadn’t been able to see you for awhile with such busy schedules, but he knew your silhouette by heart.

You turn at the sound of your name, mid sliding off the slippers and fumbling with the gold silk of the belt. “Tenya?” You smile, asking as you turn to slide your shoes back on and quickly shuffle your way over to him. He felt his face burn red, frozen in place for a moment with his jaw slack. He stood as if needing to detach from the seat, smiling at your happy demeanor and your quickness to wrap your arms around him.

“It is you! I know those shoulders from anywhere!” You beamed, feeling his hovering hands slowly place themselves on your back to return the hug. He was very hesitant, simply because you were only in a robe. You pull away, hands resting on your hips and giving him a big smile. “Now what are you doin’ taking a figure drawing class, Mister businessman?”

He let out a sheepish chuckle, “I needed an art credit, W-What are u doing here?” He never had any classes with you at Angelwood, A few honors classes and gym in highschool but other than that, nada. Throughout the course of growing up, your interests drove you to different classes.

However, classes don't matter when your families are as close as yours and the Iida family. Shared Holidays, playdates, game nights.. It wasn’t like you were some stranger. You both always made time to hang out a few times during the year to catch up without the family just to give a real check on each other. It was his favorite, almost like a mini holiday to talk to you.

He loved spending time with you. You were smart, articulated and incredibly creative. You never took slack from anyone.. Even in middle school he can remember you being the one to stand up and say something when things weren’t right. You were headstrong and determined in anything that you did.. Art majors always get a lot of grief but you never let that deter you. And that was admirable in itself! ..And he had always thought you were so pretty.

He felt like a kid again, heart feeling as if it’d beat out of his chest at the mere sight of you. It had been around Halloween the last time he saw you, and here it was. Almost Valentine's day.. Still as pretty and bright as he remembered. Your next hangout wasn't for another month or so, so it was nice to see you sooner than that.

“I'm your model, silly!” You head over to the stool, continuing to speak. “The art department asked if I’d help in modeling and I said yes! People were too scared to sign up for the most part. I’m surprised this is the class you picked. Did you want to learn how to draw people?” You slide your slippers off once more, untying the cute bow on your hip that held your robe shut.

Suddenly the room was very hot and he couldn't breathe. Now his heart really WAS beating out of his chest. He quickly did a 180, shielding his eyes and removing his glasses for extra measure. “WHY– do yoU have.. nothing on underrrrneath?” He croaked, voice cracking as his tone raised slightly.

You tilt your head at such a question, the gears clicking a little later than they should have. “Figure drawing is um.. Nude drawing, Tenya. You didn't know that?” You slide the robe back on, giggling at the flustered man across from you. You could see his shoulders tense, shaking his head slowly.

Now how the fuck could he have missed that.

“I um.. No, I didn't. I thought that it was.. I don't know what I thought. My counselor picked it for me and I.. Most models we've used so far have.. had skin colored undergarments… On.” He let out a nervous laugh, keeping his glasses off. He turns around, cleaning them with the end of his shirt but refusing to look up at you. He needed to mentally prepare his brain to be professional in a situation like this. Not that he minded the glance, he just never thought this would be how..

You prop your feet onto the edge of the stool, interrupting his thought. You held your knees up to your chest so he couldn’t see anything but your bare legs. “Oh Ten, I’m sorry! I can ask someone else to-”

“No! I am perfectly.. capable. It's professional and I can be.. professional..” He put his glasses back on, hand refusing to be steady as he did so. He let out a shaky sigh, smiling at you and finally looking at you once more.

You let out a small laugh at the blush on his cheeks. He was so handsome, but to see him so flustered over little ol’ you? It made your week. “We can start slow, that might help.” you slide the robe down your shoulders, slowly putting your legs back down so he could see your robed torso once more. You stopped at the top of your breasts, letting your collarbone show. “Do you have any specific poses..?” You ask quietly, trying to hold back your amusement.

He sits down, red faced and completely flushed. A nude model.. jeez. From sleepovers to recess, studying together to graduating, and now almost graduating for the final time together. That's something you don’t get to have in every lifetime. But why do these thoughts keep coming back to him now?

There was no way he could still have romantic feelings for you. He’d never put your friendship at risk like that!

..right?

“I um.. yeah, small.” He cleared his throat, “Could you um.. Could you stand slightly off of the um.. Almost like getting up?” He fumbled over his words, staring at the empty paper as if he could burn the quick image in his brain onto the page to get the embarrassment over with. He sighed once more, trying to focus as he began sketching circles and lines as a starter sketch of the pose he wanted.

“When you need to draw a certain part I'll move it, Sound fair?” You ask, resting one foot onto the stool and one onto the ground. Your hand gripped the seat as your butt sat on the edge, similar to when people do that supposedly hot thing where they throw their head back and pull some weird rope to have water get poured on them.

It was second nature at this point for people to see you. Of course some of them were flustered and it was pretty awkward at first, but normally not to the point of stuttering and stammering. It wasn’t often that you saw Tenya fall apart, but this was way different. Especially considering you flashed him without warning. He was one of the most endearing people you had ever met, there was no way you would have done that without proper context.

He could only nod in response, not wanting to further make a fool of himself. Lightly tapping the pencil against the table, He looks up at you. “You can um.. re.. remove the top part, y/n..” It was hard to simply draw your arms and collarbone without including the robe, so you might as well rip the band-aid off and start with the top.

You nod, dropping it happily and letting the robe pull around your hips and between your legs. You close your eyes, facing up toward the skylight in an attempt to make him less nervous. “Sorry for flashing you at first, I would have explained but I assumed you had already known..?” You laugh quietly to yourself at your own mistake. Why would someone like him even take this class if he knew what it actually entailed?

And God, did he feel like a pervert staring at your chest like this. The boner poking his thigh almost immediately didn't help, making it even harder to concentrate. Way to keep composure. He pressed his lips together for a moment before speaking. “I had no idea, I’m sorry for my r..reaction.” He answered, stopping the pencil tapping to actually begin sketching more than just circles and lines. He hadn’t meant to yell, but he felt like he was close to passing out.

“I think it was a pretty valid one.” You send a reassuring smile his way, seeing him send you one right back. Trying to ease the mood, you look back up at the ceiling and close your eyes to avoid staring at the ugly overcast sky above you. “How was winter break? You get to go home and see your family? How are they?”

His smile grew wider at your question, scooting under the desk a bit more so that you hopefully wouldn’t notice his body reacting. “They’re great, Tensei is getting married soon,” He sounded excited at the thought alone, incredibly proud of his brother.

“And my mother has started a hobby making soap, if you can believe it. She sent me some to bring back one that smells like lavender and another that smells like oranges mixed with I believe she said papaya.? She made a coconut smelling one for you– I was going to give it to you the next time we saw each other,”

The sound of his sketching stopped and started as he spoke, giving your body small glances as he tried to study each part of your upper torso. The way your stomach creased, The way your shoulder was slightly lifted causing your collarbone to be more prominent, the curve of your breasts.. “How was your Holiday, y/n?”

“No way, Tensei is getting married?!” You accidentally stop posing, fully facing him in genuine shock. The robe was still covering your lower half, you had tied the belt to avoid accidentally flashing him again but here we are. You watch his face become even more red, eyes very obviously not meeting yours but still like a deer in headlights.

You quickly get back to posing how you were, “Sorry Ten, That's amazing!! I hope everything goes smoothly for him and his soon to be wife.. And tell your mommy I said thank you for thinking of me. I can't wait to try it!”

A smile stayed on your lips as you thought about the times you’ve spent in the Iida household. His mother always had the best candles and incense burning, you were positive the soap would be the same. “My family is up to the same old shit, you know them..” You let out a small groan, the holidays weren’t an absolute disaster, but after not being home so long makes you remember why you aren’t going to school anywhere near home.

“I did get some cool stuff for Christmas though! I got some new clothes and they got me a few art kits. You know, where it teaches you how to crochet? I also have a new diamond painting kit, I haven't opened either yet because it's just been so busy.” You replied, tapping your fingers on the side of the stool where your hand sat.

You look up once more, this time because the skylight was beginning to be covered in snow. You watched as it fell, thinking back to old times when you and Tenya would spend the last three major holidays with each other. You’d always make sure to trick or treat together, your families have been sharing Thanksgiving for as long as you can remember, and spending the night in your basement on Christmas eve to wait for Santa until you were both too old. Then instead of waiting for Santa, you’d all eat at least one meal together on Christmas day. Sometimes homemade breakfast, other times a small trip to IHOP or Waffle House.

“God damn it.. It’s snowing again..” You let out a small laugh, looking over at him over your shoulder, fingers still tapping away at the base of the stool. “Hey Ten, Do you remember when we used to have those big snowball fights? The one near Red Fern?”

“Of course I do! You refused to wear any kind of gloves and my mother would make you at least put socks on your hands so you didn’t get frostbite!” The two of you shared a small laugh at the memories of being young and dumb.

“Gloves always made my hands too itchy! They still do– But I kicked your ass in snowball fights with gloves or not.” You retort, a smirk appearing on your face. “Ice queen y/n of everything.” You could remember the insane snowball fights the neighborhood kids would have every. time. It snowed. If there was enough to make a few snowballs, there was enough to start a war. Tenya was always on your team, but it never stopped you from throwing a few his way. The ‘winner’ was King or Queen of the hill and first to sled down, which often enough was you.

“Remember when you almost broke my glasses throwing one right at my face?” He snickered, watching your smirk turn into a small pouty frown. He knew you didn’t mean to, that same day you helped your mom make cookies for him and his family as an apology, even though he wasn’t upset to begin with. But you knew it could have broken his glasses and you would be devastated if you were the reason for it. You were a real sweetheart, even if you had a weird way of showing sometimes.

“Hey! You know that wasn’t on purpose, I felt really bad after! I even let you get me back!” Which was true, but he never aimed for your face. Always a spot on your fluffy coat, never your legs because you hated your pants being wet… and a face shot just felt wrong to him.

“Yeah, Yeah. I remember that part too,” He smiled to himself. “Those were really good times.. I remember Tensei always bringing us hot chocolate and we’d sit on your porch and draw things in the snow..”

“Oh! And when we’d come back all wet and mom already had spare clothes in her hands because she didn’t want it on the carpet. We’d put on too big clothes just to sit and watch Christmas movies..” You missed those times. But they never really had to stop, you two could have a huge snowball fight after this if you wanted to and the snow stuck. Was he too grown for that? Would it even sound fun to him?

“Do you still watch A Year Without Santa Clause every year?” He asks, breaking your train of thought. You nodded quickly at his question, grinning like a maniac. “Of course I do! And I watch Charlie Brown’s Christmas, Rudolph The Rednosed Reindeer.. And sometimes Spongebob's Christmas Special. Do you still watch old Christmas cartoons?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Don’t wanna ruin tradition.” He answered, pressing his lips together slightly as he stared down at the paper. You can tell he freezes a bit, the sound of his scribbling coming to a stop. He set the pencil down, rubbing the sweat of his hands onto his thighs.

“You can um.. remOove-..” He quickly cleared his throat, “The rest.” He let out a disappointed sigh at his inability to keep composure. This wouldn't be half the problem it was if it was someone else modeling. But this is you we're talking about.

“You sure? If you need a minute we can take a break, honey.” You gave him a sympathetic look, still smiling but this time more.. warm. The kind of smile someone gives to another when they genuinely care for them. Or love them for that matter. He adored it, it was the same smile you'd give him when saying he needs to take a break, the same smile you give him when the two of you out to get coffee and catch up. The same smile he's fallen for many, many times.

But to tell you the truth? It’s driving him crazy. All of this. Was driving him crazy. No matter how hard he tried to be professional, he could stop his wandering mind. You were a goddess. What else was there to do besides take a break and hopefully release some steam in the bathroom or something. Completely inappropriate, but the pain from being hard for so long was starting to cloud the best judgment.

He looks down at the sketch so far, then back to you as he rubbed his hand upward against his face. It pushed his glasses up, causing them to be crooked when going back down. “I um.. I think I do.. need a minute.” His voice died out as he watched you slide the robe back on, words failing him because couldn’t think completely straight.

© if you like what you see please reblog! It means a lot and helps me out. Want more? Heres my m.list! I write for x black reader so throw me some requests :P my other account are icons and x black reader moodboards if you’re interested!

thank you @thecutestgrotto for the banners and thank you @fizzintine for coloring the top pic!

have a good day/night/whatever!

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sapphire-writes · 1 year ago

Text

the winner takes it all

Art x Reader x Tashi

summary: winners deserve rewards, and Tashi is more than happy to spoil her star athlete with the help of her ever-dutiful husband.

word count: 2.7k

rating: mature/explicit/18+

warnings: porn no plot (deep breath) m/f/f dynamic, threesome, dom!Tashi, switch!Art, sub!Reader, p in v, creampie, overstim, hair pulling, titty play, use of toys, praise, teasing, spanking, orgasm denial, oral (fem receiving), oral (reader giving fem), face sitting

note: hope you enjoy! my first non-HOTD related fic!

link to other stories from me!

To be notified when I post something new, be sure to follow @sapphire-writes-updates & turn notifications on 💙

Your match had taken place several hours ago. You’d been anxious the entire time, but ended up winning, much to you and your coach’s pleasure. The ride back to the hotel was torturous, as well as the following mandatory ice bath, sauna, shower, and footage review. It was the routine you’d followed ever since Tashi began coaching you.

She was nothing if not thorough.

After tying up several loose ends, including Tashi grilling you for every point you missed, every fault she could see when she paused the footage, you now found yourself in a more pleasurable position.

Art held your legs open as he continued his even thrusts, cock sliding against the walls of your pussy at a torturous pace. Tashi sat beside you, clad only in a silk robe and lace panties, brushing some hair from your face that was sticking to your forehead with perspiration.

You had the suite to yourself for the night. Tashi and Art’s little girl was safely tucked away with her grandmother in another elegant suite on the other side of the hotel. Another part of the routine.

“Tash….”

“You did well out there today,” she interrupts, reaching beside her to the end table drawer and pulling out her Hitachi wand. It buzzes to life as she turns it on and a strangled whine leaves your throat as she presses it to your clit, “See what happens when you put in the extra time? That backhand of yours is a lethal weapon now.”

“Fuck!” is the only response you’re able to give as Art moans at the vibrations as he continues to pound into you.

She likes you best like this, fucked dumb on Art’s cock, mindlessly agreeing to her plans for future matches, eyes rolling back in your head. Different moves she’ll have you practice. How hard she plans to work you on the court the following morning.

“Come on, come for me,” Tashi insists, hand trailing over your breasts, “What’s my girl need to come, hm? Need these pretty tits attended to?” She pinches your nipple for emphasis and your jaw slacks, a pleasurable current in your gut winding tighter and tighter with the continuous stimulation.

Art slings your left leg over his shoulder, pressing a tender kiss to your calf as he does so.

The new angle sends him deeper inside of you and you clench, mouth falling open with an uncontrollable moan.

“That’s it,” Tashi murmurs, eyes never leaving your face, “Feels so good doesn’t it? Art knows how to treat his girl, huh? Don’t you baby?”

“Yes,” he hissed between clenched teeth, beads of sweat forming on his brow, “Fucking perfect pussy, god—”

Tashi removes her hand from your breast, taking hold of your chin.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes water with pleasurable tears but you do as she asks, always keen to follow her instructions. The tennis court, the bedroom, it was all the same playing field in the end.

“Come on baby,” she murmurs, leaning down and pressing a kiss against your lips, “Come for me, you’ve been such a good girl, you deserve it.”

“Fuck!” Art courses as your pussy tightens around him, “Oh uhhh—”

“I’m cumming,” you helplessly whimper, the words nearly a sob, “Tashi…..fuck….Art fuck feels so—-“ your abdominal muscles tense as your reach your peak, white-hot ecstasy flooding your body as a shudder rolls through you.

Tashi smiles as you come, fingers dancing down your neck. Art fucks you through it, leaning forward to pound into you at a harder rhythm, chasing his imminent release. It’s only then Tashi glances at him, her smile dropping slightly.

“Don’t cum.”

Art’s hips stutter as your walls continue to flutter around his thick length, his jaw slacks, eyes watering as he looks at his wife.

“Tash—”

“I said no,” she insists, shutting off the vibrator and throwing it to the side. Leaning forward, she captures your lips in a kiss. She sits up, a smile on her face as she kisses Art as well. He whimpers against her lips, hard and pulsating inside you still. But Tashi never changes her mind.

“You want to come, you should try winning.”

“Tash please,” Art’s voice was strained, Adam’s apple bobbing, his expression pained, “please let me come.”

“Yeah?” She taunts moving up to kiss him. She brings her lips close to his, his eyes fluttering shut as she barely brushes the soft pout of her mouth against his. His lips part, head tilting to chase her.

You watch from below them, still trying to slow your breathing. You like watching them dance, this push and pull they have. It’s hypnotizing, the effect she has on him. On you. Tashi pushes his chest and his eyes flutter open.

“Sit.”

Tashi nods to the chair in the corner of the room. Art hesitates and she raises a brow when he doesn’t move quickly enough. Teeth clenched, Art unsheathes his aching cock from your warmth, hissing as he pulls completely out. Your breath hitches at the loss of him, and you gaze up at Tashi waiting for her next instruction.

Fully naked, Art walks to the chair, cock hard and swinging between his legs as though he’s nothing more than a scolded pup.

Tashi stands walking over to him, and Art tilts his chin to meet her eyes. Slowly, she lets the silk robe fall from her shoulders, and she takes her time removing it and placing it on his lap. You can see his erection through the soft purple fabric.

“Hold that for me, would you?” she asks, turning back to face you.

You can’t help it as your gaze falls to her breasts; supple and mouth-watering, dark nipples taunting you. The dip of flesh between her abdominal muscles, a spot you’ve run your tongue along countless times now. Tashi rejoins you on the bed, lying next to you, looping her thumbs in the waistband of her lace panties.

“You want a taste, baby?” she asks, smiling slightly at you.

You nod eagerly as she beckons you with a tilt of her chin. Scrambling into a kneeling position you slot yourself between Tashi’s toned legs, replacing her fingers and gently pulling off her lace panties, tossing them to the side and revealing her glistening sex.

Two things turn Tashi on. Telling you and Art what to do, and tennis.

Tashi brings her hand down her front tracing down her toned stomach until she reaches the soft curls that frame her pussy. She takes two fingers and spreads herself before you.

“Come on, baby,” she murmurs, her voice low and seductive, “Eat up.”

She’s an enchantress, you swear, using some sort of siren song to pull you in. Even here between her legs, she’s in charge; it’s you who’s helpless. You lower your face toward her pussy, already drunk on the scent of her even before your tongue reaches her warm slit.

You couldn’t hold in your moan of pleasured relief even if you tried as your tongue dipped lower, parting her lips and dipping inside her right entrance. There’s something about her, how she feels, how she tastes. You’ll never get enough of it. You nuzzle closer to her, nose bumping against her clit and she rewards you with a breathy sigh.

“Art,” she calls as you eagerly continue lavishing her pussy with attention, “How’s the view?”

“Fucking breathtaking,” he answered, his voice strangled, “Tashi please….”

“She’s so good,” Tashi praises, nails taking against your scalp sending pleasurable tingles down your spine, “Put that pretty mouth of yours where it counts. Show me how badly you want it.”

Your tummy flutters with excitement and you suction your lips around Tashi’s clit, sucking the sensitive button as you hear Art stand up.

“Put that ass up,” Tashi instructs you, her voice airy, nearly breathless. You arch your back, leaning forward into her as Art’s hands cup the front of your thighs.

You wiggle as he kneels behind you, his breath on your pussy before his lips meet your pussy. You moan against Tashi’s cunt as Art trails his hands up your thighs, spreading your cheeks wider as he feasts on you, tongue dipping inside of you and then up to circle your clit.

“I’ll make you a deal baby,” Tashi purrs, back arching off the bed slightly as your tongue circles her pearl, “If you make her finish before I do, I’ll let you come.”

Art groans against you, finishing with a frustrated whine as Tashi chuckles. You glance up at her, drinking in the blissed-out expression on her face, that sly smirk that reaches her eyes.

“Deal?”

Art doesn’t hesitate, he simply redoubles his efforts, tongue entering you with desperate precision. Your lips falter, the pleasure messing with your coordination as Art ups the ante. You feel him pull away from you, and hear the wet pop of his fingers entering his mouth and leaving just as quickly. Then he’s breaching you, fingers slipping inside you with ease from the continued attention following your first orgasm.

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut as Art fingers you. He sets a rough pace, placing his opposite hand on your asscheek and squeezing the soft flesh.

The two fingers he has plunged inside you to the knuckle curl perfectly against your spongy walls, hitting that sweet spot inside you every time he curls his fingers.

“Come on,” Art murmurs, slapping your ass, “I know you want to come again.”

“Yes she does,” Tashi agrees, unable to help herself.

“Greedy girl, never satisfied with just one, huh?” Art teases and Tashi chuckles at his efforts. Art never speaks to her like that, only you. Tashi prefers the more dominant role over both you and her husband.

Still eager to please her you sloppily continue eating her out, lost in the sensation of Art's fingers in your pussy, Tashi’s fingers in your hair—

“Come on baby,” Art encourages, though there’s a hint of desperation in his tone. He wants to come just as badly as you do.

“Such a messy girl,” Tashi coos, propping herself on her elbows, “Oh but so so good. I’m getting close…”

Art slaps your ass again, curling his fingers against your g-spot, and it’s no use. Your jaw slacks and your head lolls against the softness of Tashi’s inner thigh as your walls clench around Art’s fingers, your release barreling through you like a freight train. It knocks the air from your lungs, a desperate cry leaving you as Art makes a noise of triumph.

“So you are capable of winning,” Tashi snaps, a little too cold to be simply a bedroom taunt. Art stares at her, before she sits up, “I haven’t come yet.”

“Let me,” you murmur, looking up at her, still lying on her thigh. She smiles down at you, stroking your cheek.

“You’re a sweet girl,” she praises, “But Art won. I think he deserves to finish in that sweet little pussy of yours. Would you like that?”

“Tash…I can’t,” you whimper, still sensitive and tingly from your previous orgasms, “I can’t come again.”

Her smile fades back to that familiar smirk. She glances at Art, nodding at the bed. Cock still standing at attention Art joins you both, lying on his back. Tashi’s hand winds its way in your hair, tugging you not so gently from your resting place. You follow her lead like a puppet on a string.

“Don’t be ungrateful,” she accuses, pushing you towards Art’s lap, “This is a reward. You deserve this.”

Art’s cock pokes at the soft plush of your inner thighs as you straddle him. His hands move automatically towards your hips, rough thumbs brushing against you leaving goosebumps in their wake.

He looks at you with wide, watery eyes, blonde hair a tousled mess.

“One more?” he asks, and you know at that moment if you tapped out, he’d respect it. Art was never one to make you feel uncomfortable in any way, shape, or form.

He rubs your hips again, a soothing motion, and you lean into his touch. Something deep inside you tightens with want. You need him. You need her. You inhale a shaky breath and lift your hips, lining the swollen head of his cock with your entrance. Sinking onto him slowly like this is something else. The way he stretches your insides as you come to rest against him is a feeling you’ll never get used to.

“Good girl.”

Art’s head falls back against the pillows and then Tashi pulls them from underneath him. Her husband knows immediately what she’s after and tilts his head back as she climbs onto his face.

Tashi sits on her husband’s face as though it’s her throne. As though he was made for her and no one else.

She pulls you closer as you lazily begin to ride Art. Lips crashing against yours she kisses you passionately, rolling her hips at the pace you began. Soon you find your rhythm, moving in sync together as Art moans beneath you, happy to pleasure both his girls at once. Tashi’s hand finds your hair again and she tugs your head back, latching her lips against your neck.

She’s fond of leaving marks. Art is hers through their marriage, but she likes to remind you that you belong to her as well.

Art bucks his hips up into you, the head of his cock nudging perfectly against your sweet spot, just as his fingers had moments before. A whine leaves your lips and Tashi laughs against your neck.

“He’s good at that, yeah?” she murmurs, placing soft kisses up your neck and returning to your lips, “Good with his cock, good with his…his tongue.” Her eyes squeeze shut in ecstasy as Art does something you can only imagine.

He moans again, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise as he decides the pace you’ve set simply isn’t enough. Art’s hands dip below the curve of your ass right where it meets your thighs, lifting you with ease up and down on his cock. He meets you halfway, thrusting up into you as he slams you up and down.

Your whines increase in volume, turning into elongated moans swallowed by Tashi’s kiss. You can feel her nipples pressing against your own and you reach out to caress them. Tashi gyrates her hips on Art’s face and his pace becomes more frantic as he plants both feet on the mattress fucking up into you harder, faster, deeper.

“I—”

Words are lost to you as your mind goes fuzzy; that familiar pressure in your gut builds, a wave of pleasure cresting deep within you. Tashi’s mouth captures yours once more as she snakes a hand down your front, nimble fingers circling your clit giving you just what you need to reach your end. Again.

With that the rubber band in your belly snaps and you come with a startled cry, pleasured tears leaking from the corner of your eyes as you clench around Art’s thick cock. His hips falter only for a moment as he chases his own release, and soon you feel his cock twitch within your warm walls, his spend blooming inside of you.

Tashi smiles proudly as you and Art ride out your highs, the pair of you moaning, limbs jerking from the exertion. Everything’s a game to her. And she always wins.

“Just like that,” she murmurs, hips still swirling around Art’s face, “Oh god I’m—”

You watch as her thighs tense, her head dips and her eyes squeeze shut as her orgasm crashes over her at last.

Carefully you ease Art’s softening cock from within you and lay between the both of them. Tashi on your left, Art on your right. You’re facing Tashi, watching as she comes down from her high, feeling Art’s chest press against your back.

It’s quiet for a moment, the soft sound of a kiss being pressed to your shoulder the only noise in the room. Art snakes a hand around your waist, fingers brushing the soft skin of your tummy. You giggle slightly at the ticklish sensation which causes him to bite down gently on your shoulder. Tashi simply watches, wetting her lips.

“On the courts at five tomorrow,” she says, before standing, “I’ll run us a bath.”

Art sighs and you can’t help but agree with his subtle frustration. Back to business.

“Whatever you say, coach.”

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated but never expected 🩵

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dduane · 5 days ago

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I like writing a lot…..

But when does it stop being soul sucking????

How can both be true??

(sigh) Easily. All the arts are full of apparent contradictions like this.

Re: writing, specifically: This work is a very particular kind of magic. And like all real magics, the use of it inevitably has a price.

"Soul-sucking" strikes me as a slightly harsh idiom for the payment of the Writing Price. But that's okay, because the idiom itself points at the remedy. And it's really simple! Just this:

Every time you sit down to write, you have to consciously work to do it well enough so that you grow some more soul.

(I mean, you don't think that souls run out when you use them, surely? Or can't regenerate over time? They can be surprisingly resilient... assuming you don't buy into the idea that they're limited to what you feel like you started out with, or what you've got at the moment.)

Repeatedly pouring your soul into your work is very much like bodybuilding. At first it hurts like hell. Then the body starts to adjust to the increased demands you're putting on it. After a while you look back and find you've blown way past the boundaries that you earlier thought were impassible.

When you start getting that soul-sucked feeling, it's just a sign that the workouts are having an effect. It's the equivalent of the lactic-acid ache after a session at the gym. But you still need to keep working at it to improve your results. If you find you need to take more rest time between writing bouts to replenish your reserves, fine: work out what your best refractory period seems to be, and adjust your workload to suit that as best you can. But at all costs, keep writing, at whatever interval works best. Over time, it does get easier.

Does it ever stop "sucking" / demanding that price?

Nope. Sorry! But you can learn over time to grow into those inevitable demands on your time, energy and commitment. Just keep reminding yourself: Nothing truly worth doing ever comes without a price tag. And the more you work at your craft, over time, the bigger the price tags you'll find you can afford without flinching.

...So get back in the gym. (And I hope this helps!)

#writing #writing advice #endurance #and building it #(though periodic rest matters too)

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leafostuff · 3 months ago

Text

Practice routine [Ft. Jo Yuri]

Author Notes: BOOM SURPRISE SMUT, SO SURPRISING EVEN I DIDNT KNOW I WAS GONNA UPLOAD IT TODAY, i had a blast writing this and Jo Yuri did get on my radar lately so i did want to give her a smut of appreciation.

Hope yall will have a Great read and a great day

Ps. No beta readers because :p

=================================

It's a practice routine what you two have.

There is nothing better to build a strong friendship than a vow to help each other build strength and have a healthier lifestyle, especially when your friend is an idol, practicing hard for her next comeback.

Two light knocks on the glass door and it quickly opens, you are greeted by Yuri standing in front of you, wearing a white button shirt and long, black pants paired with an warm, sweet smile as soon as she looks at your eyes.

“Finally! It took you forever to get here Oppa~” then she grabs your hand, pulling you inside the practice room, wooden floor surrounded by mirrors from almost all sides.

“Yeah, you forgot your company halls are a maze to walk around in,” you say, your hands work on taking your sweater off, leaving you with a basic tee and a pair of sweatpants

“Well maybe if you came here more often then you wouldn't be so lost” she retorts in a playful manner. “Okay you already got here, lets get started with the session”. She announces before immediately taking her shirt off revealing no bra, giving you a free view of her mounds, her nipples already hard as she asks you.

“Pants off, Please~”

Well, i never said what type of workout you two enjoyed doing.

“How many reps do you want to do again? 15? 20?” You ask, meanwhile your hands quickly lower the pants and boxers, throwing them off somewhere in the room.

“Hmm, lets do 30, im feeling spicy today” she comments however It's her eyes that tell you her needs before her words. She's looking at you, her smile beaming in excitement with every step you take toward her with your length proud and ready to work.

Yuri now kneels in front of you, face level with your cock as she takes one of her hands, attempting to wrap her fingers around it, her face leaning in close enough to have her lips part wide enough to have your tip rest inside, letting you feel the first tingles of pleasure.

“Readeh?” She mumbles a question while your tip is resting on her plump lips, eyes meeting yours with an ever-so innocent smile, funny given the fact she has you dick ready to be devoured.

You can only respond with a sly grin before saying, “One…” this word is so engraved inside Yuri’s brain that as soon as she hears it she starts letting her mouth take in your cock, getting close to your balls before eventually going back to your tip, and then doing it again, and again, and again.

Right now, the only sounds present in the room are your steady counting, the faint slurping sound of her mouth in the goal of getting you worked up faster and the playful, sweet and muffled moans coming from Yuri. And how does this look? Well you can't say you are less than aroused seeing how the mirrors around the room portray her taking care of your cock so well, it's filthy yet at the same time, it's the purest form of art you ever witnessed.

It's around the 12th rep that she lets out your cock, lips coated with your seed forming a sultry smile. “Wow, I can feel myself getting better at t-mph” you don't give her the chance to continue the sentence, bucking your hips into her mouth, getting her to gasp in surprise, or pleasure, it might as well be the same for her.

“The set Yuri, your pace is great” She smiles at your compliment, turning all of her focus back again to your cock as she continues to bob her mouth back and forth, eventually the pleasure Yuri showers your member with slowly start to take control of your body, enough that your hands have to gripe the back of head for stability,

Enough that every time Yuri lets your length deep inside her mouth you move your hips forward, letting your tip graze the back of her throat.

Eventually you count the 30th rep, getting one more moan from her and then she lets her mouth of your cock with an audible pop sound. “Mmm, that exercise is always a good warmup for me~” she says, letting out an adorable chuckle while she licks her lips from any leftover cum.

“That's good to hear, let's start the next exercise?”

“Ooo, yes yes yes, you know I like it when we do that exercise” she happily agrees, grinning like a child as you now sit down on the floor, watching as Yuri begins to lower her own pants, revealing to you, surprise surprise: no panties as well and her lower lips are already glistening with her own fluids

“Wow, were you this needy for a workout Yuri?” You ask as the two of you begin to shift your position: now you are sitting on the wooden floor while Yuri is straddling your lap, feeling how your cock is inches apart from her lower entrance.

“You know what they say…” she says, her hands making quick of your shirt, throwing it somewhere in the room. a good workout always helps when you need a little boost” you can feel her want, you can tell how much she needs you right now so why delay the inevitable.

“20 reps?”

“30” Yuri answers as she now puts her hands on your abs, feeling the texture of your 6 pack on her fingers. then without any foreword she lowers herself into your length, making you feel her pussy tightly wrap around you

The first round of friction makes you sound a heavy groan of pleasure, your hands go to each side of her hips, gripping for control while you move her up and dowm on your body, making light clapping noises from both of your bodies.

Yuri looks like she enjoys it, replacing her sharp movements to literally bouncing on your dick around the 8th rep, her tongue lolls out of her mouth making her unable to sound anything but a sultry, needy moan.

Eventually through the pleasure you are experiencing, you find the strength to lean your head close to Yuri's ears. “God, you love it when i fuck you like that, right?”.

She can only moan in response while moving her head in a way that can resemble a sign of agreement. “Yeah, you fucking love it when I pretend that I am your private coach to your company, to your manager just so you can have some cock to relieve you? To fuck your entire body silly?” You say in between your grunts, it's not like she could actually answer since she is busy being impaled by your length so you settle with a loud gasp caused by your hand giving a loud smack to her right buttcock and groping it tightly.

The last couple reps are slower, replacing the consistent pace with raw strength every time you thrust yourself into her tight cavern. Yuri attempts to cry out a scream of pleasure but not before you seal her mouth with your own, muffling her moans enough so that only your ears are blessed with hearing the unholy symphony that comes from her mouth.

She can feel how close you are to unloading for the second time today so just as the last rep of the set comes, she sinks her hips to engulf your length entirely inside her, getting both of you to mutually release your orgasm at the same time,and the cum goes everywhere.

On the floor.

On Yuri's Thighs.

On the upper half of your chest.

But most of it goes inside her, rope after rope after rope of cum fills the insides of Yuri making her brain unable to process the pleasure taking over her body. Eventually she finally manages to detach herself from your body, letting the both of you fall onto the floor, a mixture of you two fluids leaks out of her Cunt.

“That. Was. Awesome!!” She tiredly exclaims, panting heavily after each word, her eyes looking at the ceiling light. “I swear, this was like, The best training session we had in a long time” she adds, even when its obvious she was talking about sex, for her its just an intensive workout.

you only have enough energy to sit up without saying a, you see Yuri still laying on her back, her body full of sweat and cum while her face just like at the start shows a happy, satisfied smile. You can't explain why, but seeing her like this suddenly gives you an idea.

“Do you know how to do a sit-up?”

She scoffs, looking at you as if you just asked her whats 2+2. “Without any problem, its not some rocket science”

“Can you do 30 reps?”

“Sure, watch me” she responds, laying on her back once again and getting into position of the exercise. “On-ngh” Just as Yuri was about to start she could feel a weird sensation running over pussy however as she looks down, its just your head in between her legs, your tounge is giving slow licks to her hole, “what are you-hahh…doing?” She asks in between a small jolt of pleasure.

“Just an after practice treat for me, each rep you do before cumming is one second of me eating you out, win-win from how i see it” you look up her with a bratty grin, however its impossible to beat Jo Yuri in being a brat so in response she just smiles and says.

“Better hope i taste good then” she now looks at the ceiling again, continuing her reps thus giving you the signal to continue your deserved meal, and how sweet does she taste for you after a good workout.

Unlike your previous excerices today, this one had given you the opportunity to hear Yuri moan, but instead of the usual needy noises and the constant need for your white fluid, this time they are moans of music and each one is a note creating this passionate sonate of sex, for example:

“Haaaa, so good”

“Can you go slowe-nghh…please?”

“Oh yes, thats the spot”

“Fuck, You're gonna make me cum again with that tounge…”.

And meanwhile the workout goes on, you can feel small beads of sweat flowing from her thighs onto your hair, her thighs wrapped around your head depriving you from air, and her fluids flow inside mouth little by little, tasting like an unforbidden nectar you couldn't stop yourself from it's addicting flavour, something so sinful feeling oh so right with Yuri.

But sadly you can only experience the pleasure for so long, since fairly quickly you can feel the last round of cum coming from Yuri nto your mouth as she detaches herself from your tounge, gathering some strength to sit down and say in a breathy tone, “Fuck, this was amazing”

You eventually have to bid your goodbye to Yuri, after all your practice session with her was over according to your managers, but not before you help each other find your clothes, clean up any cum stains on the floor and depart with a small hug added with firm grope of her left buttcock.

Its now evening, already at home, getting yourself prepared for the Gym, even a coach needs some practice of its own, out of nowhere your phone sounds its mario coin notification, taking it out of your pocket you see it's a message from Yuri.

On it there is a picture: Yuri, fully naked, her Feet and hands sticking to the ground but her ass? Standing up and proud into the air with the hole almost directly in front of the camera lens, and the text below?.

“Good evening Oppa, can we do this workout tommorow?? I really think it can help my flexibility 😉😉😏”

Good to see your favourite client enjoying your service, already asking for more.

#kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #yuri smut #jo yuri #izone yuri #male reader smut #x male reader

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blackmoonoracle · 18 days ago

Text

What abt you is being reflected back into the world around you?

PILE I

An elevated status or sense of authority, perhaps people are listening to you more- maybe even when they shouldn’t be. I think you are very detached & in return the world seems difficult to grasp. Could be Pisces or Aquarius energy here, it’s as if you are so far detached that you feel as if you cannot be perceived.

You are a person who gives and receives Good Will & blessings because these are the things you give in silence- people may not be aware of your charitable nature, the things you do to consider others or help those that society has deemed as unfit are almost a elevating you in a sense. I see that you are not afraid of the “weirdos”, you may be very charitable to those who are swept under the rug by society without batting an eye.

You listen & you care, and I feel that this is going to be reflected back to you or IS reflected back to you through gifts and blessings… BUT

It’s so weird- because it seems like there’s an inversion where you don’t give this same love to yourself- and so that same love you pour into the world will begin to come into you.

This message is a little sad, but your lack of self love reflects into the world around you as well. Your self hatred or self loathing, this may be why others seemingly loathe you as well. You are being taught a very hard lesson, and that lesson is self love. You may not have been loved properly as a child, or you were loved under specific conditions.

This lack of self love is being reflected to you through the disinterest, detachment, or avoidance of others.

The more you avoid yourself the more others will too.

Hope this helps pile 1, if you guys enjoyed this reading def hit me up for an in depth on this topic for 25$ 🥰

PILE II

Your creative abundance, your uniqueness- you may attract a lot of unique opportunities or cool experiences because of how you carry yourself. Life is art to you, and therefore life brings you artful experiences. Perhaps sometimes you feel as if life is confusing & difficult to conceptualize but this is okay-

That is part of the beauty, I sense water a very watery energy- there is so much love in this pile. A love for life, an inner light that bursts through the darkness with glee. You desire to free yourself from the confines and constraints of a world that does not encourage authenticity.

Sometimes it may rub people the wrong way, sometimes it has forced you to walk away from people, places, and things that you truly wanted- maybe you even convinced yourself you fumbled what was meant for you.

What is meant for you is to choose yourself, I feel like you have turned your life and your existence into a piece of art and that is what is being reflected into the world around you.

It brings you many experiences, lessons, and new ideas so that you may bring them to life.

You are a creator, and you are meant to bring to life the divine sparks that will occasionally flow through you.

For those who are single or struggling in love: You may feel as if nothing is permanent in love & as if you struggle to be still-

But I sense limerance, you miss someone- or you’ve yet to forgive someone. Love is there for you, there is someone. I promise 🥰 choosing yourself was the right option.

Hope this helps pile 2, if you guys enjoyed this reading hmu for an in depth on this topic for 25$ 🥰

PILE III

You may feel like you’re alone, or like others don’t take the lead. You could feel as if you don’t get the same breaks as other people do- like you have to work yourself to the bone and work a million times harder than others.

This isn’t to punish you, but this is because it’s your god given gift. You are a self starter, and you can absolutely rely on your spirit team for more assistance. Ancestral veneration Is very important for this pile- some of you need to be working with your ancestors or relying more on your spirit guides.

All of the inner healing, inner work, inner action youve been taking is reflecting into the world around you.

You may not see it yet, but the wind is catching your sails- and while there may be some unexpected detours but they will lead you in the right direction. You are an incredibly powerful soul, some of you may have been drawn to pile one. This feels like an evolved version of the second half of pile one.

You have finally chosen yourself, you are existing as the most honest hardworking version of yourself and the spirits are pleased. Your spirits may even be rejoicing because you are trying so hard.

As you show more interest in your dreams, more opportunities will come to you. Don’t be afraid of the coming change, for once the only thing you’ll lose is the old version of you.

A new beginning that is occurring within you is creating a new beginning in your physical life. 🥰

Hope this helps pile 3, if you guys enjoyed this reading msg me for an in depth on this topic for 25$ 🥰

#tarot community #tarot online #tarot reading #pac #pick a card #pick a pile #tarotblr #pac tarot #pick a picture #tarot

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motorsportbarbie13 · 3 months ago

Text

Aftermath - Chapter 8

When Lando leaves you heartbroken after you get tired of trying to make something out of nothing for far too long, Max steps in to help you pick up the pieces.

warnings: lando makes an appearance in this one. abusive language used, including sexist name calling. pairing: max verstappen x leclercsister!reader word count: 3.9k words a note: here it is babies!!! the last one in this series. i know it's been different from what i usually write, but this has been so much fun. extra special thank you to @lestapiastrisgirl as usual for beta reading and holding my hand at 2am when i wake up struck by an idea hahaha <3

Aftermath - Chapter 1 Aftermath - Chapter 2 Aftermath - Chapter 3 Aftermath - Chapter 4 Aftermath - Chapter 5 Aftermath - Chapter 6Aftermath - Chapter 7 Master List

madmaxx1 posted

52 likes liked by ferrarisprince16, babyleclercpriv, jadebby, and others madmaxx1 pretty pretty girl ferrarisprince16 hey! so this is insane! >>>artiebartie yeah! stop thirsting over our sister >>>madmaxx1 never babyleclercpriv <3 jadebby god you two are so cute it's gross

missleclerc posted

missleclerc surprise! some new pieces are debuting at @/nessasgallery TONIGHT. I'll be there to discuss this new direction my art is going in along with what (and who) inspired me to try such a drastic new approach to painting. I hope you'll drop by and take a look, it would be lovely to see you! maxverstappen1 does this make me your muse??? >>>charlesleclerc hey! my car is up there right next to you! that means I'm a muse too! >>>missleclerc you two are ridiculous >>>user0298 uhhhhhhhh... user1029 ferrari and red bull without a mclaren in sight. iiiiiiinteresting >>>user1100 i think this is all the breakup confirmation we need user455 oh shes in LOVE LOVE with max >>>user444 oh this is so messy. i love it. give me 12 more seasons right now.

“If we don’t leave in the next ten minutes, we’re going to be late for your own event, pretty girl.” Max tuts at you from the doorway of your bedroom but there’s no bite behind his words.

You glance up at him from your vanity where you’re sitting doing the last bits of your makeup. He looks heartbreakingly handsome in crisp white button-down underneath a tailored navy blue sport coat and matching slacks. His hair is combed neatly to the side, gelled into submission in a way that makes you want to rake your fingers through it just to muss it up.

“I’m nearly ready, mister bossy pants.” You shoot back before switching off the light on the vanity and standing up.

Max rolls his eyes but takes advantage of you walking towards him, smile on your face, and blatantly ogles you. The way the navy blue lacy dress hugs every dip and curve of your frame has Max checking his watch, wondering just how late you two could be without raising suspicion.

“Don’t get any ideas.” You giggle, wrapping your arms around Max’s waist before pitching up onto your toes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You were just scolding me that we can’t be late and then you come in here looking at me like that.”

“It’s not my fault you look like a goddamn masterpiece in that dress.” He murmurs against your neck as he drags hot, open mouthed kisses down towards your collar bone.

The way Max talks to you now, the reverent way he looks at you like you’re a piece of art in the most normal of situations, the way he always has to be touching you even with just the tips of his fingers, it’s everything you’ve ever craved from a relationship and everything you thought you didn’t deserve.

Two weeks have passed since that night in your studio and while Max had to be gone for half of it for a race, one that you had solidly refused to attend until the dust between you and Lando settles a little more, it’s almost as if you two have been together for years now. The way you’ve slotted yourself into his life and Max into yours is so settling, so calming that you’ve caught yourself waiting for the other shoe to drop. You’ve caught yourself waiting for him to behave like Lando, to push you away or do something that proves that Lando was right all along.

Max knows you’ve been waiting for it so he’s made an extra effort to prove to you that it’s never going to happen. He knows you’re still healing, still recovering from what the British driver did to you so he hasn’t pushed. He hasn’t pushed to label whatever it is you two are to each other. It doesn’t matter to either of you because if you’re both in Monaco, you’re together. Max comes down to your apartment to watch while you cook dinner or you go up to his to cuddle on the couch and spend the night. It’s been a blissfully quiet time but you can both feel that private time coming to an end.

The comments on your post from earlier had been mostly positive but it was pretty apparent fans had put two and two together. People knew you and Max were…something. They had figured out that a breakup had taken place even if nothing had officially been announced. You knew that once you arrived to the gallery tonight, hand in hand with Max, that was all it was going to take to confirm to the public that you and Lando were over and you had moved on.

The thought of what Lando might do after he sees the coverage of tonight, and you know there will be coverage, has anxiety sitting heavy on your shoulders. Max clocks it instantly, shaking his head. He reads you so easily now, he always has but since that night in your studio, he’s been even more in tune with you and your moods.

“Don’t go there. It’s going to be fine. Everyone who loves you, who matters, is going to be there and we won’t let anything or anyone ruin tonight, okay?”

You nod, attempting to tamp down the anxiety that blooms hotly in your chest. You hated how much control Lando still had over you sometimes but you were getting better, bit by bit. “Thank you.” You whisper, nuzzling into the crook of Max’s neck while inhaling the scent of his cologne.

“I have something for you.” Max murmurs into your hair in an obvious attempt to distract you.

You pull back, eyes sparkling up at him. “You do?”

Distraction successful.

Max reaches into the back pocket of his slacks and pulls out a rectangular velvet box. You blink up at him in confusion. “Max…”

“It’s just something small to show you how proud I am of you, how wildly in love I am with you.” He says, the words skittering up your spine before settling deep in the pit of your stomach. You’ve never been loved in the way Max loves you and it’s always seemingly knocking you off your center. “Go on, open it.” He whispers, watching as you turn the velvet box over in your hands.

The hinges on the box whisper open and you’re momentarily speechless when you see what is nestled in the black satin. A diamond tennis necklace winks up at you with dozens of brilliant cut diamonds set in what looks to be platinum, stealing the very breath from your lungs. The stone that sits nestled in the center though is what renders you completely speechless. A large emerald cut brilliant blue sapphire stone sits in the middle of the necklace, the color a perfect match to the navy blue of Max’s Formula 1 car.

“Max.” You whisper, unable to find any other words beyond his name.

“Do you like it?” He asks, eyes searching yours earnestly, looking for approval in your face.

“It’s…” The words to describe the beauty of the piece sitting heavy in your hands escapes you. Your breath hitches in the back of your throat, a small, involuntary gasp escaping your lips. The diamonds, so bright they seem to shimmer with the captured light, blur and swim together as tears prick at your eyes. “Max,” You manage again, your voice thick with emotion that you struggle to get a handle on. “It’s breathtaking.”

He reaches for the necklace, his fingers brushing against yours, sending a surge of pleasure down your spine. His touch, simple as it is, is familiar but charged with a new intensity. He lifts the delicate chain, the cool metal a stark contrast against the warmth of his skin, and fastens it around your neck after you spin for him while lifting your hair out of the way. The weight of the piece settles against your skin, a physical reminder of his affection, his love for you. Love. The word echoes int he quiet space of your mind, a sound so heavy but exhilarating that it has fresh tears threatening to spill over.

“Turn around.” He murmurs, voice husky. Max takes a step back, eyes raking over you, a slow appreciative burn in their blue depths.

You obey, your movements a little stiff and unsure. As you turn, the sapphire catches the light, flashing a vibrant, rich blue against the pale glow of your skin. You spot your reflection in the mirror across the room just as you turn back to face Max and your breath catches again. The necklace transforms your outfit into something extraordinary. It’s not just beautiful, it’s…meaningful. It’s a symbol of his belief in you, his pride in being with you, his acceptance of you, flaws and all.

It’s a promise, whispered against your skin.

“It’s too much.” You whisper, the words barely audible. The sheer extravagance of the gift, the depth of the emotion behind it, is almost too overwhelming.

Max steps closer, his hands slipping around your waist as he pulls you against his body. “It’s not too much.” He says, his voice gentle but firm. “You deserve the world, everything beautiful and bright and good. And this?” He gestures to the necklace clasped around your neck, the sapphire resting in the hollow of your throat, “This is just a small token of my love.”

“Thank you.” You whisper, the words wholly inadequate and insufficient to describe the way your stomach is swirling with emotion but it’s all you can manage in the face of such overwhelming emotion. You reach up, your fingers tracing the cool surface of the center stone. It feels like a piece of him, a tangible representation of the connection you both share. And in that moment, surrounded by the quiet him of unspoken emotion, you know that whatever happens tonight, whatever Lando might do to ruin the night or in the future, you’re not alone. You have Max. And that, you realize, is more precious than any piece of jewelry that Max could ever give you.

f1.gossip.news posted

f1.gossip.news in a move that shocked...absolutely no one, charles leclerc's little sister stepped out hand in hand with new flame max verstappen tonight. while her and lando never officially announced their split, we've all seen the writing on the wall. her insta post announcing her new artwork debuting tonight featuring the red bull driver was all the confirmation we needed that her and the mclaren driver are dunzoooo. what do we think, chat??? user7575 she is GLOWING! good for her. >>>user0209 seriously, i haven't seen her or max look this happy in ages. user3221 i can hear the dishes breaking in lando's apartment from here in london >>>user0202 seriously. imagine losing the championship last year AND THEN YOUR GIRL to max verstappen. WHEEEEW BOY. user1992 this is so messy. i love it.

The light from the gallery spills out onto the sidewalk, casting a golden glow out into the street that guides you and Max towards it’s doors. It doesn’t escape your notice that the last time you walked down this sidewalk at night towards Nessa’s gallery for a show of yours, you were alone and desperately sad.

Tonight though? Tonight is completely different. Your arm is tucked securely in Max’s elbow as he walks with towards the gallery with you after dropping the car off with the valet. The necklace he’d given you that night sits securely around your throat, an outwardly sign of the budding relationship between you two. As you approach the gallery, you see your brothers waiting for you but this time, all of their significant others are also waiting for you as well.

Charles is the first one to intercept you, catching you up in a tight hug before whispering how lovely you look tonight in your ear. You’re passed first to Arthur and finally to Lorenzo, who makes a joke about the rock around your neck. Through it all, Max sits back quietly, watching you glow under the attention of your brothers. Jade, Alexandra, and Charlotte all make a fuss over your outfit and paw at the necklace, swooning over how it practically sparkles under the gallery lights.

When you finally make it into the gallery, there are dozens of people already there. Nessa sees you walk through the door first and pounces on you instantly.

“My darling!” She coos, wrapping you up in her arms and squeezing you tightly. “You are shimmering with happiness.” She comments, eyes darting to where Max stands behind you, hands tucked neatly into his pockets as he talks with Charles and Arthur. “And I suppose we have that man to thank for that.”

“Partly.” You agree, but you know it’s more than that. You feel as though you’ve been given a second chance tonight. You were so close to losing everything, to succumbing to everything that Lando had put you through over the last three years that this first night out feels like your first taste of what life should feel like. You knew you had Max to thank for a lot of that, but it also wasn’t lost on you how much you had also fought to be there for yourself. “I’ve done a lot of work on myself the last few months too.”

Nessa nods, running a protective hand up and down your bare arms. “I know, your art has changed! It feels lighter but also there’s so much more depth to it. I’ve had several inquiries about the one of your man after Brazil.” She says, eyes alright with dollar signs.

“Unfortunately, that one is already sold.” Max cuts in, slipping his arm around your waist before handing you a glass of red wine.

You startle, not realizing that you had already sold a piece so early on in the night. “It is?”

Max nods, taking a sip of his drink. “I came in yesterday afternoon while you were taking a nap and bought it.”

Your head snaps to Nessa, looking for confirmation. “Paid twice my asking price.” She murmurs, smirk playing at her ruby red lips. Traditionally, she never sold a piece before it was debuted but Max had been persuasive and insisted on locking down the piece without you knowing before hand.

“Max!” You hiss, bumping a shoulder into his. “I would have just given it to you if you’d asked! I was planning on doing that anyway!”

Max shrugs, small smile on his face. “I wanted to make sure no one beat me to it. And of course I paid for it! Allow my girl to give her work away for free? Just because I’m the muse doesn’t mean I get special treatment.”

You’re fairly certain you blush deeper a deep red than the scarlet of your brother’s Ferrari at the praise Max heaps on you. Nessa hides a knowing grin behind her own wine glass before excusing herself to go talk to a client that had just walked in.

Max and you are left alone in the center of the room and for a moment, the silence that settles over you two is a comforting blanket. It’s not hurried or anxious, the energy between you tonight. It’s a calm, steady thrum of energy that passes easily from Max to you without having to do much more than exchange a glance or quick brush of fingertip against bare skin. You watch your family swirl around the room, each gently checking in on you in their own time as they mingle and you feel yourself relax into the vibe of the evening.

You’re two glasses in and having a hushed conversation with Jade as Max stands beside you, backs to the door, when a sudden tension snaps through the gallery. On the opposite side of the room, the door at the front of the gallery snaps just a touch too loudly, pulling your attention in that direction.

The figure that stands just inside the gallery sends your stomach dropping through your toes.

“Shit.” Beside you, Max’s hand finds yours and he instinctively shifts to put himself between the rest of the gallery and yourself.

You knew this was going to happen. You had felt it in your bones tonight as you had gotten ready. You knew that Lando would never let you have this. Knew deep down that he’d never let you fully get away from him without having the last word. If there was one thing that Lando couldn’t stand, it was being made a fool of. And you knew that showing up here tonight on Max’s arm, wearing Max’s jewels would set him off.

You deserved what was coming.

You try frantically to step around Max, feeling the need to absorb the fire you knew Lando was going to spew everywhere. But Max won’t allow it. Without a single glance in your direction, Max shifts his weight once again and you find yourself even further away from Lando now. Somewhere to your left, you sense Charles and Arthur step in front of you two and you’re certain Lorenzo is around somewhere.

“Typical LeClerc behavior. Hiding behind others who are more powerful than you in order to save face. Learned from the best, didn’t you baby?” The venom in Lando’s voice sinks it’s claws into your bloodstream, threatening to drag you under.

Around you, conversations cease instantly, all attention on the scene happening in the corner of the room.

You weren’t going to let Lando win this though. You were done giving him the power to control you, done dodging the confrontation in an attempt to quietly end things between you. He just wasn’t getting the hint and if he was going to behave like this, then fine. You were fed up.

Pushing through Max and Charles, you stand in front of your ex-boyfriend, head held high. “Lando, this is neither the time nor the place to do this.” Your voice is deceptively calm, not giving away a bit of the fear that trembles just below the surface.

Lando sneers, rolling his eyes and then his gaze snags on the necklace at your throat. The navy blue stone catches the light, winking over at him with an antagonizing shimmer. He takes half a step closer and you feel Max shift again, but this time he comes to stand beside you instead of in front of you.

“Wearing his collar already, huh?” He bites out. A chorus of gasps ripple through the gallery but you just tip your chin up higher, used to his attempts at humiliation. Lando’s gaze shifts to Max beside you and a cruel smile curls at the corner of his mouth. “Tell me, Verstappen. Does she still make that little cooing noise right before she comes? It was always the sweetest little sound, you know the one I’m talking about, right?”

Humiliation burns through you, hot and bright as Max reaches for your hand, giving it a squeeze. Another ripple of disbelief peppers through the crowd but Max barely blinks. “You know, I’ve never heard her make that particular sound.” He pauses and Lando’s face lights up in a brilliant smile, as if he’s won. “Usually, she’s too busy screaming my name when I make her come though so she’s never been one to make quiet little sounds with me.”

Silence.

“I always knew you were a cheating whore.”

A sickening crack rings out in the otherwise silent room as your brother’s fist connects squarely with Lando’s jaw.

“Charles!” You gasp, hand flying to your throat as you watch Lando stagger back.

Charles shakes out his hand, received to be able to move all of his fingers. He can’t imagine that call to Maranello going well if he’d had to phone about a broken hand.

“Keep my sister’s name out of your filthy fucking mouth, you piece of trash.” Charles spits, voice a mask of sheer deathly calm.

Max steps forward, a silent demand for order radiating from the way he stands. “Enough.” His voice is unwaveringly calm as he watches Lando struggle to his feet, clutching at his left eye where a deep blue bruise is already blooming. “Get the fuck out of here before I call the police. I don’t think Zak would be to happy to hear about tonight’s shenanigans or enjoy having to read the media coverage after his star driver gets arrested for harassment.” Max takes half a step towards Lando and you enjoy the way the Brit scrambles away. “If you so much as sneeze in her direction ever again, I will make it my life’s mission to see your entire life ruined, Norris.” Max is practically nose to nose with Lando now, his glare cutting down your ex-boyfriend so he appears about two inches tall. “Are. We. Clear?”

****

Later that night, Max startles awake, unsurprised to find himself alone in your bed. He knew you were restless tonight. It had taken him nearly twice as long as it usually did for him to pull your body to release underneath him. And after, when you had tumbled head first into sleep, naked beside him, you weren’t settled like you usually were when you slept beside him.

So no, he wasn’t surprised to find you gone and the bed long cold beside him.

Pulling on a pair of boxers, Max wanders into your spare bedroom that’s morphed into somewhat of a second studio space. He finds you exactly where he expects you: facing away from him sitting in front of a half finished canvas. You’re bathed in a brilliant blue moonlight, wearing nothing but his white dress shirt from earlier and his necklace you still haven’t removed.

“Come back to bed, my love.” He murmurs into the crook of your neck as you drop your head onto his, sinking into the warmth of his embrace.

A soft sound of agreement hums in the back of your throat as you place the brush on the table beside you. Max is a touch surprised with how pliant you are, instantly following his suggestion without much fight but he also knows today took a lot out of you and the thing you sometimes craved was the ability to shut it all off.

“I wasn’t getting much work done anyway.” You murmur, standing and leaning into his embrace even more. The room is chilly anyway and you find yourself needing Max’s touch more than anything else in that moment.

You allow Max to tug you out the door towards your bedroom, knowing that he’s able to read you perfectly. He doesn’t rush you though. He lets you linger for a moment in the doorway, your gaze snagging lightly on the painting behind you. It’s a gorgeous landscape that you’re known for, something you haven’t been able to paint in what feels like a lifetime. The moonlight paints silver streaks across the floor, illuminating the painting that you had spent the last hour just starting at. It’s a peaceful scene, a stark contrast to the turmoil that had filled your day. A small, contented sigh escapes your lips and Max squeezes your hand just enough to pull your attention back to him.

Once back in the bedroom, the chill of the room sends a shiver down your spine. Max, ever attentive, pulls back the covers, gesturing for you to climb in first. He watches as you curl up on your side, tucking your knees up in towards your chest. The white shirt slips off your body, revealing the delicate curve of your spine. He slides in beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. Max reaches out, his hand finding the curve of your hip and gently pulls you closer until your back is flush against his chest. He wraps an arm around your waist, fingers splaying across your stomach.

You melt into his touch, the warmth of his body radiating through you. His breath is warm against the back of your neck and the steady rhythm of his heart is a soothing lullaby you’ve come to depend on at night. The events of earlier linger in the back of your mind, but here, in Max’s arms they start to feel a little more distant, muffled almost. He kisses the nape of your neck softly, a quiet reminder of his constant presence in your life now, how he’ll never allow you to be alone of face anything by yourself anymore.

“Better?” He whispers, voice low and rumbling against your bare skin.

“Mm-hmm” You hum, snuggling deeper into his embrace. You reach down and take his hand that sits on your belly, intertwining your fingers with his. The simple act of holding his hand grounds you, reminding you that you’re not alone anymore. You turn slightly in his arms, just enough to look up at him. His eyes, even in the dim light of the bedroom, are filled with tenderness and understanding.

“Thank you.” You whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

Max smiles, a soft, reassuring smile that makes your heart ache in the best way. “For what, liefje?” His Dutch accent is thick now, as it gets when he’s tired and emotional.

“For everything.” You say, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “For being here. For understanding. For taking care of me.”

He pulls you closer, his hold tighenying slightly. “Always.” He murmurs against your lips. “Always and forever, my love.”

And as you drift off to sleep, wrapped in the warmth of his arms, you know that no matter what happens next, you and Max will face it together. This, right here, in his arms, is your happy ending that you’ve been chasing after your entire life.

Tag list:

@shelbyteller, @martygraciesversion381, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @llando4norris @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @imlonelydontsendhelp @nina-or-anna-or-nora @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama @lauralarsen @dr3wstarkey @saskiaalonso @rbv3rstappen @ilovechickenwings @guaaafiiburg @mcmuppet @mindless-rock @piastri-fvx @mel164 @schumi-angel @myescapefromthislife @supertrashbread @sunny44 @tinystudentblaze-stuff @sarx164

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devotedlyandrogynousyouth · 5 months ago

Note

Okay, please tell me I’m not the only one frothing at the mouth at the idea of Baby Daddy Dick Grayson???

AHHH YES I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR SOMETHING LIKE THIS💙 I'll have Dick's babies any time tbh.

BabyDaddy! Richard Grayson

BabyDaddy! Richard Grayson who still insists on calling you "babe" even though you two have clearly been on rocky terms ever since the breakup. He acts like he's still the charming, lovable guy you once knew, but it’s a little harder to ignore his flirty nature now that you're co-parents and he's dragging his feet on the whole "responsibility" thing.

BabyDaddy! Richard Grayson who shows up late to pick up your kid, always looking like he just got off of a rooftop, trying to juggle his crime-fighting schedule with his duties as a father. But when it comes to helping out around the house, he tries to pull the "I’m too busy saving Gotham" card... again. You’re starting to roll your eyes every time he uses it.

BabyDaddy! Richard Grayson who, when asked to pay child support, tries to sweet-talk his way out of it with an overconfident wink, joking that "how could you possibly put a price on this?" while flexing his abs. But it’s hard to stay mad when he shows up with ice cream for your kid and flirts with you like you’re still together—just long enough for him to sneak out without paying.

BabyDaddy! Richard Grayson who, despite his flirty nature and charm, genuinely tries to be a good dad. He’ll drop everything when your child needs him, even if it means cutting his patrol short or rearranging his schedule. You can always count on him to be there for the important moments, even if his timing is off sometimes.

BabyDaddy! Richard Grayson who genuinely adores his child but still struggles to grasp the concept of boundaries. He’ll show up unannounced, claiming it’s to "spend time with the little one," but really, he’s just looking for an excuse to rekindle that old spark with you.

BabyDaddy! Richard Grayson who sometimes forgets that he’s supposed to be a grown-up, trying to get away with showing up at your house in his Robin gear to make everything feel like some sort of "happy family." His tendency to leap into action (sometimes literally) makes things complicated when you're just trying to have a quiet evening.

BabyDaddy! Richard Grayson who, despite his complicated life, always makes time to bond with his child. He might not be perfect, but he’s the first to throw on his old Robin uniform for a "training session" or teach your kid how to juggle or do acrobatics, giving them a fun and loving memory that they’ll cherish forever.

BabyDaddy! Richard Grayson who, when you finally call him out for his lack of involvement, just gives you that boyish smile and says, "Come on, can’t you just cut me some slack?" He’ll promise to do better, but deep down, you know he probably won’t—at least not until you hold his feet to the fire.

BabyDaddy! Richard Grayson who swears he’s "getting better" with commitment and responsibility but ends up over-committing to things, like training your child in martial arts when you specifically told him no, or disappearing for a few days on a "secret mission." You don’t know what’s worse—the lack of communication or him acting like nothing’s changed when he comes back.

BabyDaddy! Richard Grayson who, when he actually pulls himself together, is a total sweetheart. He'll leave you little notes, either tucked into your child’s backpack or stuck on the fridge, reminding you of how much he appreciates you and how proud he is of the family you’re raising together, even if he’s not always the most present.

BabyDaddy! Richard Grayson who secretly listens when you talk about your hopes and dreams for the future, and while he doesn’t always show it, he supports you in subtle ways. He’ll show up at your kid’s school play, even though he’s exhausted from fighting crime, just to let you know he’s on your side. His actions often speak louder than his words.

BabyDaddy! Richard Grayson who, when he does take responsibility, goes above and beyond. He’ll make sure your child has everything they need—school supplies, a new bike, or even just a good bedtime story. It might take a little nudging, but when he gets it right, he really gets it right.

BabyDaddy! Richard Grayson who might joke around with you, but he’s fiercely protective of your family. He’d rather face down a villain than see you or your child in harm's way. He’s always got your back, even when you fight, because deep down he wants you both to be safe and happy.

BabyDaddy! Richard Grayson who tries hard to make amends when he messes up. If he misses an important date or forgets something, he’ll make it up to you with an over-the-top gesture, like taking you and your kid out to dinner at your favorite restaurant, or even organizing a little weekend getaway—just to show he’s trying to make things right.

BabyDaddy! Richard Grayson who sometimes tries to make it up to you with a bottle of wine on nights when your kid is at a sleepover. "It's just the right thing to do," is almost always his excuse, and you know better. Despite your better judgement, you still let him in, anyway. What's the worst that could happen?

BabyDaddy! Richard Grayson who ends up between your legs after only a couple of drinks, greedily lapping at your neglected cunt as the TV plays on in the background. It was almost enough to cover up your soft moans as you tugged on his black locks while he practically made out with your pussy.

BabyDaddy! Richard Grayson who's on top of you pretty soon after that, rutting into you at such a ruthless pace that it was almost hard to remember your own name. His arms are wrapped around your torso just like yours are around him as he drills into you on the couch of your apartment.

BabyDaddy! Richard Grayson who likes to say the nastiest things during these nights that he knows you haven't heard since you were together. "Yeah? You like it when Daddy does this, baby?" His voice is caught between being a moan and a tease as he twists your perked nipples between his index finger and thumb.

BabyDaddy! Richard Grayson who never leaves your unsatisfied by the end of the night. Does he like to tease you? Yes. Does he like to make you work for it? Absolutely. But not once has he ever left your apartment without having made you cum at least twice.

BabyDaddy! Richard Grayson who will always stay the night, if you let him. He misses you so much more than he would ever admit, even to himself. There is absolutely nothing he wants more than to be able to hold you in his arms like this every night. He misses being able to stay the night without having to ask. You do too, for the record, but you just need a bit more time to think about letting him back into your life.

Masterlist

#batfam #batfamily #batman #dc #richard grayson angst #richard grayson x reader #richard grayson smut #richard grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson angst #dick grayson smut #dick grayson #nightwing x reader #nightwing angst #nightwing smut #nightwing

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amysteryspot · 4 months ago

Text

A Woman's Worth - Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Anthony tries to salvage what's left of his marriage and discovers what his wife is truly worth. (Part one)

Fandom: Bridgerton (TV Show)

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Female Reader

Warnings: mentions of miscarriage, cheating and lots of angst. English is not my first language and this wasn’t proofread.

Word Count: 4648

A/N: After so long, this piece is finally here. Thanks for patiently waiting and thanks @cevansgoodgirl for the help.

There is a mix of a scene with Laurie and Amy in Little Women and another one with Benedict and Tessa (the model/painter in 02x05), just so you know.

He remembers the first time he saw her—really saw her.

The (Y/L/N)s were guests in Aubrey House, and (Y/N) was in the balcony with Benedict while both their mothers and most of their siblings were in the lawn.

Anthony is not even sure what drew his attention when he was passing by, he did not have a habit of eavesdropping, but he got himself held back when his brother commented on (Y/N)’s painting.

"I declare that's rather good." Benedict said making (Y/N) huff.

“We both know that good is not enough, Ben.” She said with a hint of sadness in her voice.

Anthony could understand what his brother was talking about. The painting was a rendition of the scene unfolding before them—their siblings playing around while their mothers watched over them. It was rather good, indeed.

"It doesn’t matter, there's no place for me to do art."

Benedict frowned. "That's quite the statement to make at twenty. If you don't think you're good enough you have plenty of time to try some more, do better." He pauses, poking her. "You say that to me all the time."

"Then perhaps inform the academy.” She says, sarcasm dripping in every word. “Although two of the founding members are women, we are still not allowed to enter the classroom. It doesn't matter how much money we do or do not have."

"At least not while clothed." He comments, making (Y/N) throw the rag she was holding at him, which Benedict swiftly catches, changing the subject. "Well, now that you’ve given up all your artistic hopes, what are you going to do with your life?”

“Polish up my other talents and be an ornament to society.”

It was as if Anthony was seeing his sister speak.

“You sound like Eloise.” Benedict took the words out of Anthony’s mouth.

“Maybe she has been rubbing up on me.” (Y/N) smiled.

“You are searching for a husband, then?” Benedict asks, helping her pack her things.

“Yes.” She replies sheepishly.

“That's where Mr Scott comes in, I suppose.”

Anthony had noticed how Mr Scott had taken an interest in (Y/N), he never thought she felt the same.

Benedict continued. “You’ll accept him if he comes down properly on one knee?”

“Most likely, yes.” She said, pausing to look ahead for a moment. “He’s rich, respectable.”

When Benedict stifles a laugh, she lightly slaps his arm and Anthony has to fight back a smile. “Don’t make fun.” (Y/N) reprimands him.

"I’m not, I’m not, I promise.” He pauses. “It does sound odd coming from you.”

"I've always known that I would marry rich. Why should I be ashamed of that?"

"There is nothing to be ashamed of, as long as you love him." Benedict answers in a more serious tone.

Once upon a time Anthony would have easily seen himself at his brother's place, talking about love, but not anymore.

"Well, I believe we have some power over who we love, it isn't something that just happens to a person." (Y/N) says, closing the trunk with her paints, pencils and brushes inside.

"I think the poets might disagree." Benedict offers softly.

"Well, I'm not a poet, I'm just a woman.” She reminds him. “And as a woman I have no way to make money, not enough to earn a living and support my family. Even if I had my own money, which I don't, it would belong to my husband the minute we were married. If we had children they would belong to him not me. They would be his property. So don't stand there and tell me that marriage isn't an economic proposition, because it is. It may not be for you but it certainly is for me."

For the first time since he stopped to hear the conversation, hiding himself between the curtains, Anthony felt like he had overstepped a boundary, so he made quick work of fleeing the scene, her words echoing inside his head.

Anthony remembers Benedict joking about how him and (Y/N) would make a good match. He listens as his brother tells him about the conversation he had with her and Anthony feigns ignorance to the subject, despite having heard the entire interaction. Benedict’s voice turns into white noise in the background as Anthony is transported back to a conversation he had with Daphne last season.

At the time he didn’t understand his sister’s words—perhaps, he never would. Daphne and (Y/N) shared the same struggles, but his sister had been set in marrying for love, (Y/N), on the other hand, had already resigned herself about having to marry for convenience.

It was then that Anthony recognized that the both of them were, indeed, a good match. (Y/N) was beautiful, well mannered, educated and very good at charming people. She came from a not very rich but respectable family. Anthony knew he was one of the most eligible bachelors of the season, despite his fame as a rake. It wouldn’t be a sacrifice to marry (Y/N), which made making the decision so much easier.

Anthony visited her the next day, explaining his proposal to her.

“You listened to us?” She blinked a couple of times, trying to digest the information.

“Yes,” he confessed, “and I’m terribly sorry for it, but we have to recognize that this might have been for the best.”

He observed as she took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling, a little frown on her face. She was beautiful this way. Even more than when she was charming half of the ton in the many social events he had seen her.

“If you don’t mind me asking, my lord, why marry now?”

Anthony sighed. “My mom has been forcing my hand since Daphne married. Even before that, if I’m being honest. It’s time to find a good wife, settle down, and fulfill my duties.”

“Don’t take my question as an offense, but why me?”

She seemed unable to quite grasp his words. Anthony wondered if she still hoped, deep down, to marry for love and that her conversation with his brother had been only a fickle attempt to protect herself.

“You’re intelligent, (Y/N),” He kneeled in front of her. “You are beautiful and your family is respectable. If you are serious about your words to my brother, we both want the same thing from such a union.” He paused. “Would it be so bad to be married to me?”

(Y/N) bit her lip and Anthony caught himself observing the action with a little more intent than he should.

“No, my lord, I believe it wouldn’t,” she said.

“Then why not make the best we can from a predicament we can’t escape?”

She averted his gaze, looking out to the balcony where her maid was sitting and reading a book, while watching over them.

Anthony took the opportunity to look at her—hair carefully brushed and pinned up, the way the light contrasted with her silhouette, making it easier to see her nose, her lips, the curve of her neck…

“If I were to accept your proposition, would you be committed to this relationship?”

He frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I know that for our society standards maybe that’s too much to ask, but if I can’t be loved I’d wish to at least be respected.” She looked straight into his eyes and then Anthony understood what she was asking of him.

“You have my word that once we are engaged the only woman in my life will be you.”

Anthony asked her father for permission to court her in the same day, then he got properly down on one knee a second time to ask for her hand in marriage, the two of them married within months. Benedict had been shocked by the whole ordeal, but all he cared about was seeing his brother and his friend at least a little bit happy.

The process of knowing each other had been smooth, a lot easier than what Anthony first anticipated. (Y/N) took her duties as the lady of the house seriously, making a point of listening to Violet quite often. His siblings seemed to adore her even more than they liked him, and although inexperienced, as he knew she was, (Y/N) had proved herself to be a good lover. For all of those reasons, Anthony thought that keeping his promise wouldn’t be such an impossible task.

Then he discovered that Sienna had never left town and Anthony, who always prided himself in being a man of his word, proved himself to be as bad as the rest of the men he was surrounded by.

He fell back into the sheets with Sienna, and not long after that his relationship with (Y/N) became purely a show. At first, Anthony thought his wife was oblivious to his escapades, but he had clearly underestimated (Y/N)’s intelligence.

They never shared a bedroom, but there was no disguising how his visits to her chambers happened less and less, as there was no denying the gossip of the house staff that could only lead her to his broken promises.

Anthony expected a fight, things being thrown at him, screams and hits, but they never came, and that was somewhat worse.

One night when he got home after meeting Sienna, (Y/N) was sitting in the dressing room between their chambers, knitting. She lifted her eyes from her work to bid him good night. It didn’t go unnoticed to him how her smile fell from her face as she took in his disheveled state. Anthony felt ashamed for the first time in years.

(Y/N) didn’t give him time to explain himself for being so late—maybe it was for the best because he honestly didn’t know if he could find a suitable excuse for that—she just got up, leaving her unfinished work resting in the loveseat, and marched to her room.

Anthony sighed, throwing his coat away carelessly. The force knocked out (Y/N)’s knitting to the ground and Anthony groaned before bending down to take it. He furrowed his brow when he recognized the pattern—an onesie.

Maybe Daphne was pregnant again? She would’ve told him, right? Simon would, for sure. Then it hit him. Holding the unfinished piece between his fingers, Anthony realized that that was the reason why (Y/N) had stayed awake waiting for him until that hour—she was pregnant and wanted to tell him the news. Instead of the happiness she must have expected, she only received the sight of an unfaithful husband and a broken marriage.

(Y/N) never mentioned it to him and Anthony pretended as if he didn’t know, waiting for her to make the first move, tell him at her own time. (Y/N) never said it though, but he couldn’t ignore the knowledge, and the more time he passed observing her, the more evident it became to him that his wife was, in fact, expecting their first child.

In no time she distanced herself from him and all came to the point of no return in the night where she had gone through the loss of their child alone while he was rolling in the sheets with Sienna.

Anthony tried to reach out to her, succeeding only one time, a week after that fateful night, but in the following weeks, there hadn’t been much talking between them. (Y/N) would barely answer his greetings or the occasional question he threw her way trying to start a conversation. They had a few events to attend and these were the only occasions where she would grant him more than a couple of words. Anthony knew that that was all pretend for the sake of their reputation.

She refused every attempt he made to apologize or explain himself—not that there was much to explain. He couldn’t blame her, even if he wanted her forgiveness. It was her right to hate him and not want him around after he broke his promise to her.

They had never talked about it. Not until today.

(Y/N) was holding Augie, smiling down at the baby that smiled back at her, barely blinking with a look of pure adoration in his eyes.

“This one seems really enchanted by you,” Daphne comments, caressing her son’s little fingers.

“He’s just getting used to me,” (Y/N) answered, smiling at his sister.

“Well, it’s good training, since I guess you and Anthony will probably have one of your own soon.”

Is as if Anthony’s blood turns to ice. He looks at his wife whose expression turns into shock and then sadness in the blink of an eye. He recognizes the tears pooling in her eyes as she gives the baby back to Daphne and excuses herself, leaving the drawing room too quick not to draw attention.

He hurries back after her. Simon gives him an apologetic look to which Anthony answers with an equally sad smile. It doesn’t take him long to find her, bend down in the windowsill of one of the windows of the library, one hand covering her mouth to muffle her sobbing while the other rested on her belly.

(Y/N) doesn’t hear his approach, but when he touches her as if she was expecting him too. She jumps as far away from him as she can get as if his touch burned her.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t…” she doesn’t finish the sentence but Anthony could hear it loud and clear in his head.

Don’t touch me with the same hands you’ve touched her just a week ago.

“Okay, it’s okay,” Anthony reassures her, raising his hands so she can see them. “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me too, but I want to help you.”

“Nobody can help me,” she sobs, hands clutching tightly at her dress.

The sight breaks his heart. Anthony wants nothing more than to take her pain away and make it his, even though he is mourning the loss of their child with her. He knew her pain was fairly worse than his, she did not only lose a child but she had been losing her husband too.

“Why, Anthony? Why us? There are so many couples that don’t love each other and still have children, why can’t we?”

Anthony takes a step forward, then two, and then he’s bringing her into his arms, wrapping her tightly against his chest, his chin resting at the top of her head. She struggles against his touch a little, but she’s so worn out that it doesn’t take much for her to relax into him.

(Y/N) fists the lapels of his waistcoat, resting her forehead against his chest, letting herself cry.

“I wanted them so bad, Anthony,” she whispers between sobs, “so bad.”

Me too, he wants to answer. Me too.

They stay in the library, in silence, for a while. When (Y/N) finally stops crying, exhausted, Anthony takes her home without even saying goodbye to his family, sending a maid to let them know his wife was not feeling well.

Their relationship shifts after that day. (Y/N) appears so exhausted by the recent events that slowly, she starts to let her guard down again. Anthony is careful when dealing with her, his wife is fragile and the sadness in her runs so deep that he is always afraid to say or do something that will put her through more pain.

“You don’t have to worry so much, you know.” She says, making him look up from his papers to see her already staring back at him.

“I always worry.”

“I won’t break if we talk about it,” she guarantees. “We have to talk about it.”

Anthony is not sure if she’s talking about their baby or Sienna. Either way it wasn’t exactly a conversation he was eager to have.

“How are you?” He asks before he can contain himself. Anthony wanted to ask that for a while but never found the opportunity.

“Healing,” she answers, “or trying to.”

He nods, nervously picking at his nails.

“When did you discover?” She asks.

“The onesie.” He looks up at her.

“The onesie,” she scoffs.

“You were… waiting for me?” His question is almost inaudible, full of regret and shame, but Anthony knows that she heard him.

“Yes,” she answers, “I was.” There’s a pause, and then the blow to his face. “Obviously you were occupied with more important matters, my lord.”

“(Y/N)—”

“I know about her,” she confesses. “I’ve always known, just didn’t want to acknowledge it and have to face the fact that my husband, the one that promised to respect me, at least, had so quickly forgotten his own word.”

“It’s not your fault.” He tries to explain but it seems like (Y/N) has had enough of silence.

“Oh, I know, my lord. This is entirely your fault.” She paused. “And hers. Not that it will matter for anyone, I’ll be the one to blame, after all.”

Her words cut through him the same way they did the week after her miscarriage: it’s always the woman’s fault. Hers or Sienna’s, it didn’t matter. Anthony would never understand the full extent of the pain it was to be a woman in their society, he would never fully understand how much he put her through and yet, would never be blamed for it.

There’s no answer to her words, no explanation for his behavior or broken promises. All he can do is watch her swallow the tears that were threatening to fall and take a deep breath. Anthony opens his mouth to speak but she beats him to it.

“That night,” she says, “the night I… lost our child. You were with her.”

It wasn’t a question, but Anthony felt the need to answer it anyway, his voice low with shame.

“Yes.”

“I see,” she hums.

“If I could go back—”

“The outcome would have been the same.” She says.

“It doesn’t change the fact that I should have been there for you.”

“Yes, you should have.”

Anthony always knew that, since the moment he put foot inside their house and heard her screams, but hearing her say it had another weight.

“Are you still seeing her?” She asks, looking at him.

“No, it won’t happen again.”

(Y/N) scoffs. “Forgive me if I have trouble believing in it, my lord.”

“I know I haven’t been a good husband. God, I have been barely a good man since we married, but I promise you, I’ll learn from my mistakes and I’ll do better by you. I’ll be a better man, a better husband, one that you deserve and maybe, just maybe, I’ll get close to deserve you.”

The following days, they start to talk more during meals, and the silence that falls between them when they’re both at the drawing room—Anthony working and (Y/N) reading—is not uncomfortable anymore. Each day that passes makes Anthony believe that they can fall back into the friendship they had right after they married.

He doesn’t see Sienna again. Anthony sends her a letter telling her that they should stop seeing each other because he doesn’t want to hurt his wife anymore. Which is the truth. Every time he thinks about the last time he met Sienna, his wife’s cries of pain and sorrow plague his mind and he just can’t see himself hurting her even more than he already had without even realizing it.

Anthony watches her playing with Gregory and Hyacinth in the garden. His younger siblings are fighting for her attention but she doesn’t seem to mind, going back and forth in between the two of them with ease. Then she looks at him, a huge smile on her face that made him smile too. Her attention was quickly snatched from him to his siblings again and Anthony felt a pang of jealousy in his chest—he didn’t want to share her attention.

In the past few weeks, Anthony discovered that his wife was more than the character of the perfect wife that she played for the ton. She was very much real and very much a woman with desires and ambitions. Everything that happened between then made her more bold, she didn’t take his poor excuses anymore, she talked openly about all sorts of things and Anthony caught himself wanting to listen.

“Hum, did you finally realize that you got a diamond in your hands, then?”

Anthony turned his head to look at Benedict, who had a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

His relationship with Benedict was stranded since his brother discovered about Sienna. Anthony didn’t blame Benedict, he was friend’s with his wife since they were kids. He only had himself to blame for being so foolish.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Anthony answered, not bothering to pretend he wasn’t observing their siblings with (Y/N).

“Keep lying to yourself then,” Benedict smirked, turning away to leave.

Anthony called after him. “Will you ever forgive me?”

Benedict sighed. “I’m not the one who has to forgive you. I just expected more from my brother.”

“I know,” he agrees. Benedict makes a move to go out the door, and then comes back, pulling Anthony into a hug.

“Look, I could say a thousand things to you, but nothing will undo what’s done.” Benedict says when they part, a hand resting on Anthony’s shoulder. “Just… learn from your mistakes and do better. You’re my brother and I love you, but trust me when I say that you don't deserve (Y/N). Can you imagine what mother would have done to our father if they ever found themselves in the same situation?”

“They loved each other,” Anthony protested to prevent his mind from wandering.

“You are truly oblivious, brother of mine.” Benedict scoffed.

His brother’s word haunted him for the rest of the day and all the way back to their home. Always perceptive, his change in behavior didn’t go unnoticed by (Y/N).

“What happened,” she asked when they were alone in the dressing room.

Anthony hummed, turning around to look at her and trying not to get distracted by her beauty as she braided her own hair after taking off the jewelry.

“Nothing.”

Her reflection raises a brow at him.

“Do better,” she warns, getting up and walking up to him, face softening as she stands in front of him. “You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?”

He nods, taking one of her hands and bringing it to his face. Anthony’s eyes close.

“Is it about her?”

The question gets him off guard. His eyes open instantly to look at her and he drops (Y/N)’ hand instantly.

“No,” he answers, “no,” he adds firmly, cradling her face in between his hands. “There is no one else in my life but you. There won’t be no one else in my life but you.”

“Anthony…” She breaths, closing her eyes as her delicate hands take hold of his wrists.

He wants nothing more than to kiss her, but refrains. It’s not the time for that. They’re both healing and he doesn’t want to taint whatever it is they’re creating by getting ahead of himself. Instead, Anthony presses his lips to her hair, inhaling her scent.

“Stay with me tonight,” he pleads, not sure where the urge to stay close to her came from. Anthony expects her to put up a fight, but (Y/N) only nods, murmuring an okay, before guiding him to her room.

It’s the first time since that fateful night that the both of them sleep through it, getting up later than usual the other day.

Their first kiss after everything that threatened to push them apart for good, happens so suddenly that none of them expects it.

(Y/N) had received the news that one of her younger sisters was going to marry the man she loves, her happiness made her throw herself at him and before either of them could realize, they were kissing each other.

It was just a chaste peck on the lips at the beginning. When they realized what had just happened they parted, his wife didn’t bother to step away from him to escape his embrace. They just stared at each other, eyes flicking between their eyes and their lips and then she placed a hand at the back of his neck, bringing him close to seal their lips again.

Anthony responded in kind, his hands on her waist, traveling up her back as he tasted her. It was like he was kissing her for the first time. They were discovering each other again, learning what each other felt like.

Desperately, Anthony wanted to discover what the strange feeling at the pit of his stomach was. Since before they married (Y/N) made him feel different, something he couldn’t put a finger on. He pushed it down to the depths of his mind—the last thing he needed was feeling something other than respect and partnership for his wife.

He protested when (Y/N) parted her lips from his and it took him a second to notice Benedict standing at the door, a smirk on his lips.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to let you know that our mother is waiting for (Y/N) downstairs. Something about the charity?”

“Oh,” his wife exclaimed, “I had forgotten about it,” she said, wriggling herself away from his arms, making Anthony growl in frustration.

If she noticed, (Y/N) made a good job at ignoring it. The same couldn’t be said about his brother.

“I figured,” Benedict smirked.

“Not a word,” (Y/N) warned as she passed him by, slapping his arm playfully.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Anthony watched as she turned around, stealing one last glance at him before disappearing and taking his breath away with her.

“Huh,” Benedict hummed, “I see.”

Rolling his eyes, Anthony asked, “And what do you see, dear brother?”

“You love her.”

“Nonsense,” he protested, “we’re just good partners.”

“Good partners don’t kiss like that.”

The ride home was silent, but Anthony’s heart fluttered in his chest when (Y/N) searched for his hand. Could Benedict be right? Did he really fall in love with his wife? He frowned while looking out of the window of the carriage and (Y/N) might have noticed it, because she made a move to take her hand away from him. Anthony didn’t let her.

“What’s going on in your mind?”

“Something Benedict said to me.”

“If it is about the kiss, don’t mind him. It won’t happen again.”

Anthony looked at her exasperated.

“I surely hope you’re not serious about that.”

“Anthony…”

“How can I live without your kisses again is unknown to me.”

“You lived quite well without them all your life,” she smiles, shyly.

“But now that I know them, I can’t anymore.”

Painfully slowly, she moves closer, giving him the chance to meet her halfway and bring their lips together again.

It’s like a breath of fresh air on a hot summer day and Anthony can’t seem to get enough of her. They get so distracted that they don’t even realise the carriage has stopped in front of the house until the door is open.

Recomposing themselves, he observes as (Y/N) giggles at the situation and feels his heart flutter at the image.

As they prepare to retire for the night, Anthony stops for a minute before following her into her room—he has been doing that for quite a few nights.

When she notices that he hasn’t entered the bedroom, (Y/N) looks back at him with a frown.

“Anything’s wrong?”

Anthony smiles, “No, nothing’s wrong,” he answers, as she extends her hand for him to take, and they retire for the night.

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #antony bridgerton fanfic #anthony bridgerton fic #bridgerton imagine #mystery writings

694 notes · View notes

imdumbhi · 5 months ago

Text

☆ ＣＡＵＳＡＬ

summary: basically what the title says lol

pairings: vi ✘ fem!reader

warnings: angst, smut

a/n: I hope you enjoy!

╰┈➤ MASTERLIST

If it wasn't for those stupid powder blue eyes, you would have known better to have walked away and not into a fucking wall.

How pathetic of you.

You were knee deep. That cut on her upper lip being the first thing you feel when her mouth collides with yours and feeling blown away by how she kisses you.

Vi kisses you like she misses you. It throws you off a bit because you never been kissed this way before. It's like experiencing a drug for the first time and wanting more because the second she pulls away from kissing you, you crave more.

How did you find her? You found her in a bar, drunk off her ass with no one around to guide her or help her as she babbles about some chick from Topside. You don't care. Yet, Vi did. 'I miss her blue hair' or 'She was so sweet', it was honestly sad. The sight of people like Vi astonishes you because you hadn't seen yourself ever being in their place.

That was foolish of you to believe.

The second you feel her fingers slide teasingly through your wet puffy folds, a moan slips from your mouth and your hips twitch towards her touch. That had your clit twitching for attention. Your glossy eyes with furrow brows then peer down, watching the pad of Vi's thumb move up to rub firmly against your clit. She kisses your gasp away and makes a circular motion.

How did you get here? She kissed you and grope your ass while trying to lead her down a dark alley.

You really couldn't help it. She was so hot.

And she wouldn't stop touching you.

The way she had touched you, taking her time and actually paying attention to how your body responds to her touches — maybe it was the whispers of sweet nothings or the kisses with something sweet and bitter. Or maybe you just don't go out much. The fact that you tried to come up with many excuses to convince yourself that what you were doing was okay when really, you would find yourself staring at a wall. Literally.

The flashes of Vi between your thighs never subsides. That memory has been playing in your head ever since she left the house Sunday afternoon. Her tongue swirling and lapping at your puffy wet folds like a hungry dog, god did she know what she was doing. Your fingers had thread through her pink hair, gripping a fistful and tugging her close to meet your grinding. Your pussy lips and clit sliding back and forth on her flat wet tongue in just the right ways.

"Good? 'Mm..." You remember her raspy voice and the look/feeling of her face when asking against your cunt, teasing your clit with a flick of her tongue and without warning teasing your slick opening. You can feel her tongue push in and push out, the pace slow but Vi kept pushing her face further. Her nose breathing heavily and pretty powder eyes staring greedy for your reaction.

Then there was this aggravating voice-

"Why the fuck are you moping and staring at the wall like that? It's weird, stop it."

"Am not."

"What? Yes you are. I can clearly see you doing it right now."

"Then fucking pretend you don't!"

"I can't! You're in the way!"

"Oh. Why didn't you say so?"

Art, your best friend ever since you were a child, sighs at you like he can't believe you're you and keeps walking by carrying a box of supplies. You and him own a shop in Zaun. It's small but pretty popular since the shop sells specific and expensive pieces of metals of all kinds. How do you get them? Art is pretty friendly and known with a Topsider, they trade a lot. You just don't know what exactly.

He comes back to find you staring but not at nothing, at someone.

"Hello, uh, did you need anything?" Art spoke for you. He then noticed the staring and mouth gaping by you.

The woman doesn't say anything. She does stare back at you.

"I'm so sorry about her." Art apologizes to the woman sincerely.

Silence falls in the shop. You can only hear faint music in the background.

"Wait, did you do something bad?" Art breaks the silence, frowning and squinting his eyes at you when he realizes the woman with pink wild hair is wearing hextech gloves. He knows you can't get that tech just from anywhere.

You break off the staring and blink, turning your head slowly over at Art with a 'what the fuck?' look when he assume you did something to break the law.

Shit is expensive and rare down here in Zaun, he thought as his eyes check the woman out. He could see how attractive and butch the woman was. She did look injured and bloody in some parts of her face but Art hasn't seen anyone like her around and if he had, he knew — he then notice your staring.

"Well did you?" He rose his brows at you.

"No!"

─── ⋆⋅𖤐⋅⋆ ───

She wanted to talk.

Talking isn't this.

Your face flush and press into Vi's shoulder, your nails digging into her back. The sound of slick and wet fills the room, along with skin to skin. The woman above you had her strong hands wrapped around your thighs, holding them as she repeatedly thrusts her hips between your thighs.

Plat! Plat! Plat! Plat!

She felt so incredibly good that it hurt. You shove your face further into her shoulder and dig your nails deeper into her tatted back. She was getting rough, angling her hips and moving deeper. She was practically hitting your cervix. It wasn't fair and she hadn't let you up once. Vi was driven to make you lose control.

"Yessss!" It's cried out and for some reason that just causes Vi to drive harder into you. Shes grunting and huffing on top looking drunk on you. The bed creaking and your eyes shaking with emotion as you watch her above. You almost forget that this is only—

The pink haired girl slips out, you, gasping confuse feel her strong hands guide your ass to straddle her lap. Your pussy glistens and swallows her fake cock in one go, Vi growls at the sight. She starts to help you ride her and you think she's deeper than before.

"That's right..." Her words tickle your skin and you can't help but ride faster, your hips moving back and forth. But then, your eyes find hers when leaning back and you instantly want to be good, better, for her. You start raising your hips and slamming them down, your hands using her shoulders for support.

Plat! Plat! Plat! Plat!

"Ffff-fuck~"

Vi curse with a long moan and with her hands, they move to your ass to grope and squeeze. You gasp at the treatment by her. You suddenly then cry out her name again when she shifts under and thrust up, your vision going white. You didn't expect that but you aren't complaining when you're near the edge.

Everything is completely perfect 'till that name slips from her mouth.

"Caitlyn!"

That's how you found yourself awkwardly stopping and climbing off her lap. You know she's embarrassed when she doesn't stop you or apologize. You could also feel how tense she had been after she said it. You grab a blanket and cover yourself, sitting at the edge of the bed.

"It's fine. Don't worry." You reassured her, tone slightly playful and light, your back turned towards her. You don't know why you said it that way or that in general when it clearly wasn't but you'll believe it because you don't get to be upset. Vi isn't your girlfriend nor will she be, you had to constantly remind yourself what you walked into.

You feel the bed behind you move and suddenly feel empty. You frown and turn your head to find Vi undoing the strap-on. You can see from her pink cheeks and narrowed brows, she was either upset or still embarrassed. Maybe both?

"Vi?"

"Can't even fucking do this without thinking about her..." You caught her muttering under her breath. She's definitely angry with the way she throws the strap across the room. She's huffing and puffing, her mouth trembling.

"Vi." You call her name softer this time.

Glistening powder blue look into your eyes and your heart flutters then twists at the reminder of the woman's clear lover. You could wonder and ask about what had happened but you don't. You wanted to help her forget even if you're left feeling used.

You offer her your hand which she glances at and hesitantly takes. You smile, pulling her back onto the bed.

"My turn."

It's only causal.

479 notes · View notes

itwasntimethatdidit40 · 5 months ago

Text

A good grade.

Pairing: Perv Art Professor!Joel x afab!reader Words count: 4844 Rating: +18, MDNI Summary: You always thought you would have a future in the art world, until you met Mr. Miller, your professor who decided to make your life hell. What are you willing to do for a good grade? Tags: perv!Joel, soft!Joel, power imbalance, degradation, smut, blackmail, reader is described having female genitalia, no other description of her is given, unspecified age gap (in my mind 24/45 but you can imagine whatever, they’re both grown up anyway), unprotected p in v (reader is on the pill but you know, do better irl), oral (f receiving), mention of blowjob, edging, edging with a brush, creampie, pet names, slurs, Joel has a dirty mouth, a lot of swearing, some reader's thoughts marked in italics.

Disclaimers: English is not my first language, very poorly proofread, no beta, it's all my fault and I'm very sorry! I like art but I'm not an expert, I've never taken lessons (well, in high school I did but it was art history and it was only theoretical) and I don't really know how they work, I made it all up so if it doesn't adhere to reality please excuse me. I hope you like it anyway, the other morning I woke up with the idea of Joel painting me as one of his French girls (heheheheh) and I started writing this thing 💀

If anyone wants to be added or removed from the taglist, please let me know. Thanks to anyone who reads, I hope you like it ♥️

You’ve always loved art, since high school it’s always been your favorite subject and drawing and painting your outlet, your way of expressing yourself. Your teachers have always praised you, considering your works not only perfectly executed but significant, mature, full of pathos. Everyone has always told you that you had an eye for recognizing artistic value, you’ve always been the best in your class and you’ve worked hard to get here.

You graduated with excellent grades and were accepted into a prestigious master's program. You would like to become a professional artist or at least an art critic.

You had a bright future ahead of you, until you met Professor Joel Miller.

He has done nothing but criticize you, your skills and your work from the very first day.

And he always does it deliberately, in front of everyone else. No matter how hard you try, you never get more than F for every work you submit. The disdain with which he treats you makes you feel like a failure and your breath die in your throat every time he lays eyes on you and says the most hateful words you’ve ever heard about yourself. Today it happened again. You spent sleepless nights working on this portrait, begging the model called by Professor Miller to see you after class hours. You even offered to pay her and she was kind, she didn’t ask for an outrageous amount despite the fact that she could have taken much more lucrative jobs instead of posing for you. You’re just a master’s student trying to support herself by working nights in a bar.

“What is this?” he thundered looking at your painting “You are only getting worse, miss, I have never seen anything like this. It is indecent that a person like you tries to make art, it should be prohibited by law. Look at this, wrong proportions, no harmony, no attention to detail, nothing. This does not even look like the same person I had pose for hours in front of you. You should be ashamed to present a work like this after 6 months of course”

You won't be able to finish your master's degree unless you get a passing grade in Professor Miller's course, but he doesn't seem at all inclined to give you even a measly D.

It’s a nightmare.

You'd be forced to start all over again, ask your parents for financial help, which is the last thing you want to do when they've already sacrificed so much to help you pay for college, or do the unthinkable and give up on all your dreams, the career you have cultivated with strength and passion throughout your life up until now.

You decide to make a last-ditch effort and try to talk to Mr Miller during his office hours.

You've always avoided it until now because you thought things would get better but it's the third F you get and you can't afford to go on like this.

The idea of being alone with him doesn't excite you at all, but you hate losing everything you've worked so hard for even more.

You take a deep breath before knocking on the door, terrified of what he might say to you.

Mr Miller is also an established artist and his work has been appreciated abroad so his disapproval could really preclude you from many opportunities.

“Come in” even from behind closed door his voice sends shivers down your spine.

You walk in muttering “good afternoon” feeling like a complete idiot, you are already convinced that it was a mistake to come to him, nothing will change his mind.

Joel is sitting behind his desk, frowning as he corrects tests. He looks up from the papers only when you are in front of him “Oh. it's you,” he says in his usual dismissive tone of voice “What do you want miss?”

You clear your throat and murmur, “I...” his gaze is already back on the tests, he doesn't even look at your face as he fills the paper with red marks and writes a big circled F at the top, the assignment of some other hapless person like you who will find himself failing his class. Incredible anger mounts in your body, you clench your fists and say "excuse me" in a stern voice.

It infuriates you, it's maddening how he can't even treat you as a human being for a second.

"What do you want?" he asks annoyed looking back up at you "and be quick about it, you are wasting my time."

“I'd like to know what I need to do to have you evaluate me favorably” you try to keep your tone as detached and respectful as possible even though you despise the man in front of you with every fiber of your body.

“Nothing, you can't do anything, I thought you had figured it out by now, are you also stupid besides not having the slightest talent?”

“Actually...fuck, I don't think I am that bad. And I think you are judging me too harshly,” you spit out feeling tears stinging your eyes. You promised yourself to keep calm but the way he is treating you only makes you want to insult him.

“I advise you to moderate your tone if you don't want to be expelled as well as failed in my class.”

He has the upper hand, you can't do anything about it. A sense of frustration and helplessness crackles under your skin as you plead with him, “Please Mr Miller there must be something I can do to change things. Anything...I…I don't want to fail.”

An evil grin paints on his face “how much do you care about it?”

“It's the only thing I care about, please, art means everything to me” you look at him feeling your whole essence crumble in front of him, you are desperate and tired of struggling, you just want to find a way to work things out. You have very good grades in all the other courses, he is the only one stopping you from achieving what you want most in the world.

“Actually you could do something to make it better,” Joel suggests, and you cry, ”Please, I'll do anything.”

“Anything?” he probes ”are you sure?” His smug, dangerous expression unnerves you, maybe you shouldn't have made yourself so vulnerable in front of him, but there's no turning back now. "Yes," you shriek.

He leans against the back of the chair while continuing to sneer under his mustache “Well, then I have an offer for you. I'm working on a series of paintings of women, you could pose for me.”

“Me?” you ask confused, the last thing you expected was for him to ask you to paint you.

“Why not, if nothing else you're pretty,” he admits, and it's the first nice thing about you that's ever come out of his mouth.

You wonder what the scam is behind his proposal, it can't be that easy, he's probably going to ask you to pose with some repulsive animal or in a way that makes you look completely idiotic or he's just pretending that this is the solution but then he's going to blackmail you and make you regret setting foot in his office.

He writes something on a post-it note and hands it to you “Meet me at this address tomorrow night at 8” he orders you “don't be late”

“I really...” you try to say.

“What? Is there something more urgent you need to do besides securing good grades?” he raises an eyebrow scrutinizing your astonished face.

“No it's just that...I'm supposed to be working at that time.” You mutter.

“Well get your shift changed, or ask someone to fill in for you, pretend to be sick, I don't care, just show up.” He barks at you.

“Okay,” you agree. You can't say no, it's your last resort, either that or total defeat.

You walk out of his office with the feeling that you have gotten into big trouble.

_____________________________

You get confirmation of this the next day when you show up at the address written by Professor Joel. It's on a suburban street with little traffic, in front of you is what looks like an abandoned former factory. A blast of cold air makes you shiver as you ring an old intercom near the front door. You huddle in your coat, wondering where the hell you are. Maybe he gave you the wrong address just to make fun of you, you took two buses to get here, at the very least you'll soon find out your professor isn't even here.

Surprisingly, he answers you instead, his thick voice ordering you to come up. You enter through the doorway into a dusty, bare lobby, only an old freight elevator in front of you. You push the button and the elevator car begins to descend with a sinister, metallic sound. "What the hell is this place?” you ask yourself "my god, I'm going to end up dead and thrown in a dumpster". You get on the elevator with your heart in your throat praying that there isn't a serial killer waiting for you on the other side.

The doors suddenly open wide onto a large room with concrete columns. You step out and look around, there is a large table in the corner, chock full of artists' materials, tempera, canvases, oil paints, watercolors, all thrown in bulk. Various canvases are resting on pedestals scattered around the room, and others lie leaning against the wall. There is an old leather couch in the corner and a double mattress resting on wooden pallets on the other side. Several rugs are spread on the floor. It's all messy and chaotic, but it definitely has the look of an art studio.

"Oh, you're here at last," Joel grunts, popping up from behind a pillar holding a dirty brush stained with red tempera.

He is wearing a pair of frayed jeans and a white T-shirt stained in paint, he is disheveled and barefoot.

He doesn't even look like your professor; he always wears suits and perfectly ironed shirts at university.

Two large leaded windows divided into small squares open on the wall in front of you.

It’s dark by now, so the entire room is softly lit by several lamps and candles scattered around.

“Where should I stand to pose?” you don't intend to put in more than is necessary; spending time with this obnoxious man is the last thing you want to do today.

“Sit on the couch,” Joel orders, pointing to the old leather ruin to your right, ”I'll prepare the necessities and we'll get started.”

You sit, quietly, dreading what lies ahead.

Joel picks up a blank canvas and places it on a stand, takes a graphite pencil from the table and orders you " Undress"

You squint your eyes, squeaking “I'm sorry, what?”

“I'm making a series of artistic nudes, didn't I tell you?” he grins

“No, you don’t” you retort.

Fucking bastard.

“Strip” he repeats firmly.

“But I don't-”

“Look, you're already irritating me, either take off your fucking clothes or get out of here”

You've seen people pose nude in your art classes before, even in Professor Joel's class, and all you've ever cared about was doing a good job, but now it's different. It's just you and him, in a place in the middle of nowhere, you weren't warned before, and more importantly, he makes you uncomfortable.

His gaze has done nothing but judge you from the first moment it landed on you. You don't want to lose that last bit of dignity you still preserve and let him see you in your most intimate form.

“So what have you decided?” Joel presses you.

With extreme reluctance, you begin to take off your coat, laying it on the couch. What else can you do? By now you have fallen into a trap, either you do this or your grade at the end of the course will be F.

F for failure.

“Damn asshole,” you think, ”I hope I never see you again in my life after your fucking course is over.”

The resentment must be clear on your face because Joel mocks you “Oh come on, don't pout like that. There's nothing underneath that I haven't seen a hundred times before. It's just tits and a cunt” he concludes in a dismissive tone, crossing his arms over his chest impatiently.

He rolls his eyes when after some hesitation you slip off the T-shirt you are wearing, revealing a light pink lace bra.

He curls his lips "cute," he whispers in a lascivious tone " take that off too."

“But Mr Miller I...” you try to retort

“Go ahead and take it off,” your arms reach for your back, you undo the hooks of your bra and drop it to the floor. You cannot believe this is happening, you are bare-chested in front of your professor.

"Very well..." he acquiesces, "you see, everything is easier when you cooperate."

He strokes his beard as he glances at you remove your shoes and pulling down your jeans, the same smug, dangerous smile he had in his office returns to peep across his face.

“Good girl.”

You feel a knot in your stomach. And you who thought that commitment and talent were enough to get results...poor naive girl.

You should get out of here and go to the dean and report him for unethical conduct but you suddenly realize that he may be the first, but he won't be the last.

"Lie down on the couch," Joel whispers to you, his gaze not leaving your body, hungry and demanding.

You don't want to be here, yet you feel you can't do anything else at this point.

"Raise your right arm above your head," Joel instructs, "and bend your legs slightly."

“Like this. Don't move," Joel stands in front of the canvas and begins to trace marks on the surface. His hand moves quickly, his fingers run over the traced lines smudging them.

You remain still as he ordered you, feeling goosebumps across your body and your nipples harden from the cold.

You have to admit to yourself that it is fascinating to watch him work; his gaze is alert and sure, his hands move expertly and competently. He is certainly talented.

Joel observes the work done so far, scratching his chin, adding a few touches here and there as his eyes scan the entire surface of the canvas.

Maybe he really just wants to paint you and you're making a big deal out of nothing, maybe this will end well after all. He moves the easel to one side of the sofa you assume to look at you from another angle until he growls “Spread your legs for me, darling”

“But I don't-”

“I need more shadows on your body”

“What?” you glance at him, this sounds like a lame excuse.

“Spread your legs” he repeats ”come on”

You do so, feeling his eyes everywhere on you, feeding on every uncovered inch of your skin. And for some reason you cannot explain, you feel your body react under his gaze. You peak at the outline of his cock straining under his jeans, a rush of adrenaline rushes through you, a flush of arousal between your legs.

No, you can't.

You cannot crave for him to look at you. He's your professor who lured you here under false pretenses.

Yet you realize how incredibly handsome he is. So far you had only thought of him as your teacher and had never truly paused to observe him, especially since he always treated you like a dirtbag.

“Perfect, now stay still like this,” he mutters.

He hums as you do “Such a good girl for me” in a mellifluous and manipulative tone.

You feel his voice penetrate deep into your bones and another thrill of arousal runs through you all, gliding under your skin and straight to your pussy.

This is so fucked up but on the other hand you are thrilled by the idea of ending up in one of his paintings.

He makes a couple of changes to the sketch and then walks over to you, sitting on the armrest of the couch. He watches you intently, as if he wants to study every tiny detail about you, you still have your panties on but you've never felt more naked than that.

“Hmm, someone is wet.” he observes, gazing at the wet spot on your underwear. “It’s all for me?”

“I…uh…no, absolutely not” You don't want to admit it even to yourself but the situation is turning you on, no matter how wrong it is.

“Honey, I advise you never to play poker,” he sneers. You look at him puzzled, and he adds, “You're not good at bluffing at all.”

When he reaches out a hand to touch you, you almost tremble, it's as if your body is crying out to him “take me. use me.”

All you ever wanted from the beginning was his approval and now somehow he seems to recognize something in you. You just want to stop arguing, to stop fighting, to stop feeling like you are worth less than nothing, you just want to know that you still have a future that consists of not settling for a job that you don't love and doesn't allow you to feel fulfilled and let you get the results you know you deserve.

And most of all, you want him to be on your side.

“You're such a pretty little thing, you know that?” his voice gruels as his fingers run from your ankle to your knee and then up to your inner thigh. You stiff, feeling your heart raging up under your ribcage and a fresh flush of arousal dampening your cunt.

How did you never realize how sexy this man is? Now that his gaze has softened you notice the deep brown of his eyes, with some hazel undertones, and how he lights up as he stares at you.

God, you want him so bad right now.

You are almost on the verge of grabbing his wrist and placing his big hand on your pussy already, but you decide to let him.

His fingers move slowly over your skin; instead of touching you where you need it most, his hand stops at your hip, fiddling with the hem of your panties.

"Can I?" he grunts.

You nod silently and he demands “I need you to use your words, baby. Speak to me”

“Yes” you breath

He grins as he places his other hand on your hip and begins to pull down your panties. You lift your pelvis to ease him, and he comments, "mmm, so eager. You’re such a slut, aren’t you?”

You feel your cheeks on fire as you cannot take your eyes off him, desperately in need of his hands, his lips, his tongue and his cock. You want it all, right now. So maybe he’s right, you’re a slut and you don’t even care.

Joel calmly moves your panties down your legs and brings them to his nose, inhaling your scent. “Sweet. I bet you taste even better.”

He gets up from the couch, tucking your panties into his jeans pocket, and takes a clean brush from a container resting on the table. He sits back right next to you, and grins.

He caresses the inside of your leg with the brush, the feeling of the bristles flowing over your skin is incredible, soft and intense at the same time, leisurely moving on your inner thigh, raising up closer and closer to your pussy, his eyes set in yours, mesmerized by you.

You are subjugated by him as he fondles you, going up your belly with his brush, deliberately ignoring your pussy, moving deftly over every curve of your body. It is as if he is painting you, as if he has made you his work of art.

The bristles rub over your rib cage, slowly, then your breasts, moving in concentric circles from your areola to your nipples. He passes the brush back and forth over your hard buds and a deep moan escapes from your throat. “Please, Mr Miller” you whine.

“You can call me Joel, darling” he whispers “what do you need?”

“I…fuck” You’re dripping wet, your voice is a wail and your body is itching to be touched.

“Say it.” he orders you, ”I want to hear it.”

“I want - fuck - my pussy” you blather, you are not even able to form a complete sentence right now.

Joel laughs faintly, descending again on your abdomen, very slowly, until he reaches your mound. He rubs the bristles from right to left lingeringly, then lowering again, descending on your outer lips, first one side and then the other. And then again and again.

When he finally brushes over your clit, you are so pent up and needy that you arch your back, emitting a throaty moan.

“Oh God! Oh my God”

Joel lowers the brush to your clit, surrounding it with the bristles, pushing and making concentric circles. He stops when he feels you on the edge.

And then he does it all again, circling and pressing, jerking your bundle of nerves with the brush. And then a third time.

You’re a crying mess at this point, mind completely numb and your body covered in sweat.

He spreads your folds with his thumbs and sighs, “Look at this pussy, all nice and wet for me, I can’t wait to dip into your sweet honey, babe”

He throws the brush on the floor, it falls with a dull thud bouncing on the carpet.

“So fucking perfect”

You squeeze your eyes whining “please" a riot of emotions assail you, your body is so on the edge you could explode just by the way he looks at you, moistening his lips with his tongue.

He puts his arms around your neck, “cling to me,” he whispers. You do as he says, instinctively encircling his waist with your legs, clinging to his body with all your strength as he carries you to the bed and lays you gently on top.

He undresses, staying in his boxers in front of you.

You can't take your eyes off him, gazing at his wide shoulders, his broad chest, his soft belly with a thin strip of hair running down into his boxers.

He kneels on the bed, facing you, gently spreading your legs and moving between them.

He lowers himself on you, placing a kiss on your clit, making you whimper another pathetic "please."

He sticks his tongue out and runs it flat across your folds, up and down, one hand firmly clinging to your hip, his fingers digging into your skin.

"I was right, you taste amazing," he murmurs against your skin.

You are no longer thinking about anything right now, not about your master's degree, evaluations or the fact that he is your teacher.

You feel his nose hitting on your clit as he eagerly licks your folds, opening them with two fingers to sink his tongue in.

You bite your lower lip, stifling your moans, burying a hand in his dark curls, pulling him toward you “oh fuck, yes”.

His tongue encircles your hard clit, swirling around, his lips lace over it sucking greedily.

“You don’t need to hold back, you can be as loud as you want in here, no one will hear us. Let me hear you, baby. I wanna know how you sound when you come”

He doesn't stop sucking and licking until you feel your orgasm mount inside you like a flooding river, invading your body, curving your toes, clenching your fists on the sheet beneath you and rolling your hips on his face, wetting his lips, his chin, dripping onto your inner thigh.

“Yeah, baby, come apart on my tongue, just like that”

He licks you clean until you calm down, devouring your juices to the last drop and then looks up at you “you have no idea how beautiful you are, starving for my cock” he groans “god, I must have you right now, I must make you mine, you hungry little whore”

You wait for nothing else, it seems your thirst has no way to quench today.

“Please, Joel,”

He pulls off his boxers, throwing them on the floor, his cock springs free and is incredibly hard, you can't stop looking at it. He's big, so big you don't even know how he's going to fit all the way inside you but you don’t care. “Fill me up, Joel, please”

“Yeah? You want this big cock inside you? Want me to fill you up so good baby?” He grumbles.

“Please, Joel, it’s all I need” you whine.

He lies on top of you, tapping your lips a few times with the tip, running it along your folds and wetting it with your juices, aligning himself with your opening, “I'll give you what you want, then.”

He nudges at your hole a moment before he enters you, just the tip, pressing gently to let you get used to his intrusion.

You moan feverishly, clinging to his back, bucking your hips toward him “more, please, more” you plea.

As he plunges inside you, he stares at your face, as if he doesn’t want to miss a single second of your reactions, when he’s ball deep into you you let out an incoherent whine so graveling it doesn’t even sounds like your voice.

He begins to pump into you as you circle his waist with your legs again, pushing to feel him deeper, your hands roaming in his graying hair.

“Here you go, taking me so well princess, you’re so good to me”

When his lips settle on yours you realize that you had not yet kissed until this moment. His lips are soft, demanding, his tongue penetrates your mouth licking eagerly, and you are more than happy to respond, savoring his taste of mint and cigarettes.

One of his hands kneads your breast, his fingers close on one of your nipples as his cock doesn't stop sinking inside you.

You moan into his mouth feeling like you are on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall into the sinful pit of hell.

“Where do you want me?” he whispers in your ear, and your voice comes out broken from the back of your throat ”Inside. please. I'm - fuck - I'm on the pill.”

You feel him spilling his load inside you a moment later, painting your inner wall with his hot sticky cum.

You feel delirious and exhausted, guilty for what you just did. Your moral code has just been shattered under the hot weight of his body.

He kisses you again, lingering on your bottom lip. “You’re so much better than I thought,” he chuckles.

He moves away from you and stands up naked to return to the sketch. He traces a few lines and makes some adjustments as you stare at him in amazement.

“Can you show me?” you ask. “Yes, come here,” he replies. You get up and stand next to him to observe the canvas. Your body is sketched on it and it looks perfect, you have never seen yourself so beautiful.

“You can go if you want, I’m done for today”

“I- I don’t want to”

“Do you want more?” he sneers “god, you really are a slut.” he comments as he gets closer to you.

He fucks you two more times, the first time he makes you get on all fours, licking your pussy from behind and then sinking into you while he holds you by the hips, his cock slamming against your cervix and his balls against your ass. Then you’re too eager to have him in your mouth, to taste your flavor mixed with his, so you offer to give him a blowjob and he fucks your mouth before digging back into your pussy again.

He drives you back to campus. “I may be an asshole, but I won’t let you walk around alone at night,” he says.

You get out of his car feeling like you’re in a bubble, like everything that happened was just a surreal dream you can’t wake up from. You collapse into your bed after throwing your clothes haphazardly on the floor. When you wake up the next morning you feel like shit.

You don't know how boldly you will look your classmates in the eye, but you can't skip class, and the thought of seeing Joel again thrills you, no matter how wrong it is.

When Joel enters the classroom, he ignores you, probably so as not to arouse suspicion; it would be too strange for him to treat you with regard after denigrating you for months.

He begins returning graded tests proceedings slowly as usual, moving between desks and laying down the papers without making any comment. The test that rests on your desk has a circled A at the top.

Tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @baronessvonglitter @lemon-nomel @almostempty @thundermartini @harriedandharassed @pedrostories

#pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel the last of us #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x afab!reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #perv!joel miller

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ramblingautisticman · 7 months ago

Text

So, I haven't stopped thinking about the dyslexic Wade headcannon- like at all- so here is the second part/expansive of this post!

I really like the idea of him being really insecure about it but slowly accepting it more and being more open about it.

I also wrote from my experience, and I'm not officially diagnosed don't come at me, but I struggle alot with reading and writing so yeah!

Anyway, enjoy. Please. I hope everyone likes this as much as I do!

---------------------------------

It isn't that Wade can't read- or that he doesn't want to- it's more that it's a massive fucking struggle. Most of the time anyway.

He's always had trouble reading (and spelling, but he can avoid that with emojis now! How technology grows!) ever since he was a kid.

And maybe it's because he didn't grow up in a great environment, or maybe it's because he was never really encouraged, but Wade never ever mentions it. Not to anyone.

He never told anyone when he was in school that sometimes words didn't really make sense to him, and that he was behind in work because of it, not because he would sit and talk (though he did that too). He never told anyone that he preferred art over english because it was easier to understand a picture to him than it was words. He never told anyone that he struggled to spell simple words like "bakery" and "shopping" but could spell "because" and "beautiful" because of a stupid rhyme he had heard once.

It was just something he had grown up with- something he had assumed other kids dealt with- u til he got to high school. Suddenly, he was surrounded by people writing 3000 word essays like they were nothing and people reading 200 page books during lunch, all while Wade still hadn't finished a single book he owned. While Wade still struggled to understand words that weren't in a specific font or colour- something he had realised shortly after turning 10- and everyone around him could just do it. They didn't take 10 minutes to finish a page of a book. They didn't get headaches from the concentration he had to use while staring at a page trying to figure out if the word "wandering" was spelt correctly. They didn't struggle to read the teachers writing because of the cursive writing. They could all just do it and Wade had to just sit and try.

Naturally, people noticed that he would read slowly and awkwardly when they read aloud in class, or that his work always came back covered in red pen from where he had misspelled simple words. He quickly became a target for bullying. Honestly, he probably wouldn't feel as self conscious as he does if that hadn't happened. If teachers had just stepped in and helped- noticed that something was wrong- he would've gotten some help and grown up with accommodations that would've helped him succeed. But he didn't get any of that. He got bullied for reading slowly and being dumb. He got kicked and punched because he had been spotted reading a book meant for younger kids (big mistake).

Wade tried. He did. He read books as often as he could to try and make his brain click- and it never worked. He would try and spell random words- and sometimes he got them and sometimes he didnt- and eventually he gave up. Eventually he succumbed to the voice in his head telling him he was stupid and that he was just going to have to go through life suffering.

And as he got older, he figured out stuff that helped and stuff that didn't. He managed to find a few fonts that helped, a few overlays that made it easier, and a few things to remind him how to spell certain words he usually struggled with.

He also got better at hiding it. Wade would tell people he preferred calls over text. He would open birthday cards and smile at the writing even if he couldn't quiet make out what it said. He would avoid anything that involved him reading in public.

And again, not because he couldn't read, but because it might take him alittle longer than it should, and the idea people would notice made his stomach fill with anxiety, sending him right back to being that scrawny kid I high-school who got beaten up every lunch time.

All of that only got worse after his accident. Well, the cancer and the torture and the murders, but ya know.

Now people were staring at him anyway. People would look and gasp and gawk as he walked down the street or went to the store to get groceries. Everywhere he went people stared. Everywhere.

So instead of being slightly worried people would notice him focusing too hard on reading, he was fully aware people were staring at him constantly because of his skin, and he liked to avoid giving them anymore reasons to stare.

To his suprise though, moving in with Al had helped. She was the only person he had told, and she was the only person who seemed to understand, telling him about something called dyslexia and telling him that his brain just worked alittle different than his. Then proceeded to pass out after using the last of her cocaine- but the thought was still there.

And she didn't seem to mind that he read alittle slower sometimes, because she still asked him to read her mail to her, and sometimes write letters or cards. Wade would have to ask her how to spell the words, but she never seemed to get angry about it, and she always seemed to know how to spell them. Plus, if anyone noticed it wasn't spelt right, they could blame it on her being blind (how was the recipient to know this letter hadn't been writing by Al? She could probably write stuff if she wanted. She's blind, not stupid.).

When he started to gain friends and family- somehow gaining a little group of them- he didn't feel as bad about them noticing. He still didn't say anything- didn't make it obvious- but he wanted them to know he read there cards. Make sure they knew he read the group chat messages. Make sure they knew he did care (and for some reason, probably because the writer loves this headcannon, it seemed like alot of him showing his cared had to do with reading and spelling), writing them birthday cards and Christmas cards, and responding to every single message.

He found a quick way around the messages. That was easy. Emojis, memes and gifs quickly became his best friend. They were easy to dichiper most of the time, and Wade loved them, so it was a win win! He did write things too, and auto correct usually helped if he was struggling that day, but he was getting better thanks to Al and her bossing about of writing letters to her grandkids.

Writing cards took a little longer, but he spent alot of time on each one, making sure everything look neat and was spelt well. It always made him proud giving someone a card that he knew he spent so much time on, perfecting every last word.

When Logan moved in, it was a topic Wade was trying to avoid. He knew he should tell him- they were getting closer and closer each passing day- but he always felt so stupid trying to explain it. It made him feel stupid, even if he knew he wasn't. Most of the time.

Luckily, it doesn't actually come up for awhile, not until they have moved into their own place and Wade is handing Logan a birthday card with a huge grin on his face, practically bouncing on his feet.

And Logan opens it and reads it, and smirks a little because "I don't think the word awesome is spelt like that" and suddenly Wade's smile is wiped off his face.

He really had tried- maybe he didn't read the word properly off his phone or something- because Wade is taking the card and trying his best to quickly read it but can't, and he let's out a grunt of frustration because rambling at Logan apologetically. "I really tried to fucking spell everything right- I'm the idiot for fucking trying to read the word to spell it- I mean, who does that when you can't even read properly? I can re-do it- gimme like an hour and a half to go get a new card and get Al on the phone to just ask her how to spell it and then I can give you one that isn't fucked up-"

And Logan shuts him up with a small kiss to the forehead, telling him that he "likes this one just fine, has more charm" and Wade wants that to feel reassuring but it somehow doesn't, and it just makes him more annoyed.

So after a small melt down and a good cry in the shower for fucking up Logan's birthday, he explains it to Logan. Tells him about how he sometimes struggles with reading and spelling, but he really did try with the card. He really does try to read and write properly but some days it's hard and some days he can do it easier, and that he never really told anyone until he met Al. He messily rambles about everything- including the bullying- and Wade expects to be met with some laugh or ridicule. Though, this is Logan- and somehow this man loves every other part of him- so why wouldn't he love this part too?

And Logan just apologises to Wade that he made him feel bad about misspelling the word awesome- makes a joke about how it's a hard word to spell- and that Wade shouldn't have been bullied for something he couldn't help. Tells him that it's nothing to be ashamed off, and that he shouldn't let it hold him back. Tells him that if he ever needs help with spelling something he can ask Logan, that if he ever can't figure out a word that he can ask Logan, asks if there are any accommodations he uses to help him.

And Wade tells him the things that help, the things that don't, thanks him for the offer of help, and suddenly it doesn't seem so terrifying that Logan knows. Suddenly he feels better about it. Sure, Al had helped, but hearing this from Logan made him feel less afraid to hide it. Made him feel better about telling his friends so they knew.

And Logan stays true to his words. He helps him when he is struggling with a word- never jumps in a reads stuff or spells things without being asked first- and even uses some of the accommodations. He has his phone set to a font Wade can read easier, and his next birthday card is in big bold writing (Logan's writing is normally really scribbly and hard to read) and on a colour that helps him focus on the words more.

And he tells his friends and they understand, they do the same. They help if asked, they don't rush him in reading their cards or messages- Yukio starts to use more emojis and Collosus tries his best to give Wade mission debriefs in person or voice messages- and it helps him immensely. He gets more confident about his reading and writing, and he starts to work on ut even more. And yeah, he can't get rid of his dyslexia, but he can try and find new ways that help him. He can find books in safe fonts and listen to the audio book as he reads to help (Though, he does prefer listening to Logan read to him, because his voice is so smooth and gruff somehow, and he could listen to it for hours).

Wade hated that stupid part of himself for so long, but now- even if he is 47- he doesn't really mind it anymore. He makes jokes about his spelling errors or words he missreads, and he works on finding new things to help with Logan, and everything is alittle bit easier knowing he isn't going to be ridiculed and judged.

(People who said they wanted this, I hope you enjoy! @wadewnstonwilson @logictoinsanity @zerotoqueero @superbattrash @spoopderman @klszkas @ohitsthemindstuffagain @mangoob @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes (tagging yall who said you wanted to read it!))

#so i really love this headcannon #dyslexia #dyslexic #dyslexic wade my child #dyslexic wade wilson #deadpool and wolverine #poolverine #wade wilson #deadclaws #deadpool 3 #logan #deadpool #wade winston wilson #wade x logan #logan howlett

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