#and i am. unsure of how much he was joking!

[bugmistake]

i really am trying very hard to get better at not caring what people think of me but ummm. being rejected by my peers does still hurt a little!

[nikkento-writes]

It starts with a distasteful joke from Gojo. "I bet Nanami's pretty vanilla in bed, am I right?" He nudges you playfully as he sips on his lychee mocktail in the restaurant. Your boyfriend excused himself to use the bathroom and Ieiri went out for a smoke, leaving you alone with Gojo, who you met for the first time just a little over an hour ago.

You're shocked that he'd even ask such a personal question, especially since your relationship with Nanami is still four-months fresh. Unsure how to respond, you simply laugh, not answering. When he continues to stare at you through his blindfold, your smile falters. "You're being serious?"

He smirks, clearly egging you on. "I just can't imagine our little strait-laced salary man being very fun in the sack. No offense."

You're torn between changing the subject all together into something less inappropriate and defending your lover's honor. And unfortunately for you, as the anger inside you begins to bubble at Gojo's tactless words, you choose the latter. "If you must know, he's very, very fun in the sack." You cross your arms over your chest, glaring at him. 

He shrugs, the shit-eating grin still on his face. "I just can't see it. But as long as you're satisfied, that's all that matters."

"I am very satisfied, thank you very much!" you emphasize, cheeks hot now, annoyed. Before you explode on him, Nanami and Ieiri return, so you try to contain your rage as much as possible throughout the rest of dinner.

You intend to keep his outrageous comments to yourself, not wanting to start any unnecessary drama, especially with Nanami who is above this type of ridiculousness. But remembering Gojo's smug expression makes you irate all over again. That night, while you're cuddling with Nanami, you share the story. "So, Gojo said something funny to me while you were in the bathroom." As you recount the short conversation from earlier, you keep it light-hearted, laughing about it as if it doesn't grind your gears (which it does). In all honestly, your sex life with Nanami is amazing, and while it's nobody's business but your own, you can't help being bothered that certain people think otherwise. 

When you're done, Nanami doesn't respond right away, processing it all before he speaks. "Interesting." His voice is steady, though you can sense a hint of annoyance in his tone. "He's an idiot," he adds, holding you closer, grazing his lips on your forehead. 

You giggle, snuggling into his chest. "I know."

"But...you are satisfied, right?"

The waver of uncertainty in his voice breaks your heart and you almost regret telling him. "Of course I am! You know I am!" you answer confidently, peering up at him.

He kisses your forehead. "You promise?"

Grabbing both his cheeks, you smooch him on the lips. "I promise."

Gentle kisses soon turn into sloppy ones as Nanami rolls on top of you, surrounding you in his strong and muscular body. It happens quickly; the blanket is shrugged off, clothes are stripped and scattered on the floor, your legs are spread wide for him as he eats you out voraciously, proving how much fun he can be in bed. He makes you orgasm twice like this, getting it nice and wet for his hard cock, throbbing in his fist as he strokes it. “Ride me,” he demands, laying on his back, licking his lips while you mount him.

You oblige, sinking down on his cock slowly, adjusting to his size. “Fuck, Kento,” you whine, wiggling on his lap until he bottoms out.

“Feels good, huh sweetheart?” He traces your mouth with his thumb, teasing it.

“Yes. So fucking good.” You suck on his fingers, rocking back and forth on his lap. 

He fucks you like this, his feet planted on the bed, bucking his hips up into you at a steady pace. Suddenly, his phone rings, interrupting for a moment. He glances at it, his expression tensing, showing you the name displayed on the screen: Gojo Satoru.

"Answer it," you say, grinding on him with a wicked smile on your face. "Prove him wrong."

For a split-second, he looks at you like you're crazy. But something in him snaps, probably the same thing that made you so angry earlier. Sometimes, you just want to prove yourself right. 

He picks up the phone, putting it on speaker. Gojo's voice rings out. "Nanami, I feel terrible. I said some inappropriate things to your girl - "

"Fuck me, Kento," you whine, bouncing on his lap as he thrusts up into you faster, entire body hot and electric with pleasure. 

Nanami has the phone in one hand and the other that was just in your mouth playing with your clit now. Through labored breaths, he says, "Sorry Gojo, I'm a bit busy being an absolute bore in bed. Isn't that right, kitten?" 

He holds the phone closer to you while you moan your boyfriend's name, your third climax of the night approaching quickly. "Kento, Kento, fuck me Kento!”

Satisfied, Nanami sets the phone down on the bed, gripping your hips to pound up into you, the squelching of his cock pummeling into your wet cunt so erotic and lewd. “Gonna fill you up, sweetheart. Gonna breed this slutty little pussy.” Over the edge now, he shoots his load inside you, letting out his own husky moans. He hastily lifts you off him to eat you out one last time, his cum leaking down from your cunt onto his chin as he sucks on your swollen clit until you come on his face, moaning obscenities incessantly. Completely spent now, you pull off him to cuddle, kissing each other messily as you both come down from your high. 

"Ahem." Gojo's voice startles you as you realize that neither he nor Nanami bothered to hang up the call. Horrified, the two of you wait with bated breath for his response, noting the suggestive ruffling in the background. "I apologize. I stand corrected."

[egophiliac]

Hello ! I positively adore the running joke of Idia unknowingly finding Lilia to be the coolest guy ever whenever he doesn't know it's him, like when Silver described his father, or obviously with muscle red. I can't say what'd be funnier, Idia finding out his online best friend is actually Lilia, resident spooky hyper fairy; or them both never finding out, and it'd become even more ridiculous as time goes on. How do you think it'll play out ? You're always so on point

(Also, though it makes sense, I'm still devastated bat boy didn't get a ticket for the Halloween skeleton train : ( does anyone mentions him at some point ? Like how he'd have fit right in with all those Halloween town little freaks, and how he'd have impressed them with his spooks and scared techniques; after all he's been every Briar Valley's children worst fear on Halloween for centuries. I'm on the eng server and I didn't wanna spoil myself by watching the whole thing on youtube)

Have a nice day !

you and me both, Idia and Lilia being oblivious online BFFs (+ Idia being incredibly intimidated any time Silver brings up his jock gamer dad) is my favorite running joke/subplot. 🤝 it's SO good, to the point where I also am unsure if I actually want it to ever be resolved or not...maybe, like, as a post-canon stinger or something? everyone's standing around covered in overblot ink, and Idia and Lilia's phones go off at the same time...

(legit I do think this is part of why Idia couldn't be present for Lilia's dream, because for some reason Lilia decided he was going to just. embody his past self online. he probably quotes his own battle strategies or whatever in the middle of boss fights. Idia didn't pick up on the whole "oh how weird that we both live on a super remote island" thing, but he would spend thirty seconds listening to General Lilia describing siege warfare and be like "w-wait")

all that aside, however it does end up happening, I do see Lilia being very blasé and all "oh! cool!" about it. y'know, taking it very much in stride! and Idia...very much not.

(can't tell if tumblr is going to chew this into illegibility or not, this will be a fun surprise ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ)

as for Lilia sadly missing out on Halloweentown shenanigans...he does get one little mention as part of an offhand reference to the light music club, but so far no one has brought up how this basically is just Lost In the Book of Liliatown (Sebek's been too busy yelling about not getting to be in the same group as Malleus). 😔 honestly though, it's probably for the best that he got left out, because he would just settle right in and refuse to ever leave. canon would shatter. we would miss out on all the delightful angst of episode 7 because Lilia is too busy eating poisonous shrubbery inbetween practicing his very best screams, and no one can pull him away from it.

(I can hope for a sequel next year though...)

[nereidprinc3ss]

light of the morning

in which spencer sneaks into bau!reader's hotel room and they share a little more than just the bed

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom!spence x sub reader, munch!spence, unprotected piv sex (dont do that), creampie (hate that word btw) praise, mentions of having to be quiet because morgan is right next door LOL, fluffy, established co-workers/friends with benefits, soooo idiots in love a/n: here is the promised smut. i am literally kicking my feet and twirling my hair and giggling and blushing at my own writing. I'm gonna have a freak out. requests are open like my legs

It’s late when the knock finally comes. Late enough that you’re dozing on the bed above the covers. 

It takes you a moment to reorient yourself—you’re rubbing your heavy eyes when you finally get the door. 

"Hi."

"Hey," says Spencer, hands awkwardly shoved into his pajama pants pockets. It’s funny, really. He never gets any better at this. 

You step aside and he enters the room, looking around as you close and relock the door. 

"Did I wake you?"

"How could you tell?"

"You’re in pajamas. And you look tired. I mean—you don’t look bad. You never look bad, I just meant… you don’t look tired but you’re not—I didn’t mean to—"

"Relax," you yawn, putting him out of his misery. "I was joking. I know I look tired." You glance at the digital clock on the nightstand. "It’s late. We have to be up early tomorrow."

"Yeah, I got, uh, sidetracked. Sorry."

He was reading. If it was anyone else, you'd be offended--but a sinkhole could open up under Spencer's feet and he probably wouldn't notice if he was absorbed in a book.

You shrug, a knowing smile lifting the corner of your mouth. 

"It’s fine. But I don’t know if tonight is a good night. I really am exhausted."

His eyebrows dart up. 

"That’s fine. That’s totally fine. I’ll just, uh—"

When you don’t move from in front of the door, he pauses, unsure. You bite the inside of your cheek, studying his rangy frame and choice of clothing. Blue pajama pants, slippers, grey CalTech zip up hoodie. It feels wrong to describe a 6'1 man as adorable, but that’s how he looks in his sleep clothes. There’s a very real chance, you find yourself thinking, that you are the only member of the BAU to ever see him in something other than slacks and a button-down. He looks so cozy that you kind of really want him in your bed even if he’s not doing anything but sleeping. The invitation slips out before you can think too hard about it. 

"You could… stay, anyway, if you want?"

His mouth parts slightly, and those eyebrows raise again. There’s a moment of awkward silence and you are very much beginning to regret your offer, wondering if you somehow violated the sanctity of your co-workers/friends with benefits situtationship. Clumsily you try to backtrack. 

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, you can—"

"No, no! You didn’t, I just don’t want you to feel obligated to invite me to stay in your room. I’m right across the hall, I can go back if you want me to."

You smile awkwardly, silent relief replacing the brief anxiety. 

"It’s fine. It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before." And not like you wouldn’t have ended up doing it tonight anyway, if things had gone as originally intended.

He chuckles, looking to the floor and nodding. The blush on his face does not go unnoticed by you. "Fair enough."

It’s incredibly endearing how nervous he still gets after six months of this little arrangement. 

"Do you wanna get your stuff, or…"

"No, that’s okay. I’ll just go back early tomorrow. The chances of someone seeing me leave your room are significantly higher if I do it so soon after entering."

You squint, unable to tell if he’s fucking with you or if that’s an actual statistically sound probability. And then you realize, blissfully, that you don’t really care. 

"Okay, well. Make yourself comfortable. I’m just going to brush my teeth."

Once you’re enclosed in the bathroom, hotel vanity lights blinding you as you brush, you find that there is a jittery sort of apprehension buzzing in your chest. But that’s silly. As you yourself pointed out, the two of you have shared a bed many times over the past few months. But the sleeping together is always a byproduct of the sleeping together. Never have you shared a bed in a completely decent, virtuous, strictly non-sexual manner. It’s always been a matter of convenience—less bother if he doesn’t have to worry about sneaking back into his room in the middle of the night when you’re both exhausted. Or maybe that’s just what you’ve been telling yourselves. 

You rinse your mouth out and exit the bathroom, flicking off the light and finding that Spencer has indeed made himself comfortable. The hotel room is dark and he’s already under the covers, fiddling with his phone. 

"What time should I set the alarm for?" He asks, looking over at you as you crawl into bed, drawing the covers over yourself. "I was thinking 6:23. That should give me enough time to—"

"Sounds perfect," you affirm, wiggling under the blanket as you get comfortable. He schedules the alarm and sets his phone on the bedside table, dousing the room in complete darkness. Your eyes stay open despite, waiting for them to adjust. A few moments of utter silence and stillness pass, and you can tell Spencer is completely stiff next to you. 

"Spencer."

“Yeah,” he answers immediately. Like he’s even more wired about this whole situation than you are. 

"You know you don’t have to avoid touching me at all costs, right? I’m not a leper."

He looses a nervous laugh. 

"I know. We’ve just never really done this."

You frown at the darkness.

"We’ve definitely slept in the same bed before."

"Yeah, but… this feels different."

That, you can’t argue with. Can friends with benefits share a bed just to be near each other? Does that blur some line? And why does it feel more intimate than the sex? 

Screw it. If there is one thing you don’t want your relationship with Spencer to be, it is uncomfortable. Uncertain, you can work with. But not uncomfortable. You reach for him, hand sliding under the duvet—and find his hand already waiting for yours. 

"I don’t think it’s that different," you lie, interlacing your fingers together slowly. 

"Prolonged physical non-sexual contact does have measurable health benefits…" the words are murmured, like the moment is fragile and he doesn’t want to shatter it. 

"Can’t argue with the facts," you breathe, trying to modulate the shakiness of your voice. But you have a feeling you’re doing about as good of a job at concealing your nerves as he is. He shifts.

"Can I…"

"Yeah."

Your heart is pounding as he slips one arm under your neck and the other around your waist, pulling you close. Instinctually you curl into him, slinging your top leg over him as you’ve done before, but always dismissed as post-sex brain chemicals making you feel all warm and fuzzy. A neurological reaction that is so solidly scientific, neither of you ever questioned it. But it feels bigger now. 

He exhales as you settle against each other—a sound of relief that mirrors your own. He’s so warm, so safe as he envelops you, physically and sensorially. In such close proximity, so clear-headed, you notice each layer of his scent. Toothpaste, lavender, vetiver, detergent. You sort of feel like a creep, but you can’t deny how comforting it is. Nor can you deny the pirouette your heart does when he begins minutely rubbing your back, like he’s not even thinking about it. 

"Goodnight," you whisper into his shirt. 

"Goodnight," he whispers back. 

You fall asleep pretty quickly after that. 

------------------------------

It’s unclear what wakes you up—maybe it’s the blue-grey dawn light filtering in through the filthy window (doubtful, it’s still mostly dark) or maybe it’s the blinking green digital clock on the nightstand. 5:02 AM. Your alarm will go off in an hour and 21 minutes.

Sometime in the night you shifted, turning over in your sleep, but Spencer is still holding you close. The arm slung so casually over your waist is slightly domineering, but you manage to rotate again and face him once more. Mere inches away from his face you can see every detail. His expression is so peaceful, it makes your heart ache. 

But you’re just friends. 

Perhaps he felt you moving, because his eyes flutter open and you watch as they flood with consciousness. He takes you in, takes in his arm over your waist. For a split second you’re nervous he’ll pull away. 

"What time is it?" His voice is scratchy with sleep. 

"Five."

"Why are you awake? We have over an hour til the alarm goes off."

"Sometimes waking up early is okay."

His eyes flicker between your own, and momentarily you’re paralyzed as you realize this is a limbo state for the two of you in which you’ve never operated. You don’t know what’s acceptable. You don’t know what to do. Being close to him feels so good, that the idea of separating hurts. But you don’t want to make him uncomfortable, or—

He leans forward and kisses you softly. In the blue light of dawn, rather than frenzied and hidden in the dark, a desperate tear of clothes and teeth and hands—it’s almost freeing. All the anxiety you were feeling just seconds ago begins to melt. 

Friends. 

"You looked anxious," is his whispered answer after he pulls away a moment later, like a kiss is the simplest remedy in the world. He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear. "We should go back to sleep."

"I don’t want to go back to sleep."

The corner of his mouth twitches as he studies you.  

"No? What do you want?"

Emboldened by your mutual indiscretion, it’s your turn to kiss him. You feel him smile against your lips, hand finding the back of your neck and raking up through your hair to pull you closer. 

The delirium of sleep seems to have softened you, filed down the rough edges of your boundaries and kicked away the lines in the sand. What’s a kiss or two when you’ve just woken up? A small, innocuous display of affection while you’re still barely conscious. Nobody could fault either of you for that. People don’t think clearly when they’ve just been asleep.

So what if your lips part against his, and his other hand finds its way under your shirt to stroke the bare skin of your waist and hips? So what if you hitch that leg over him again and press closer?

Spencer breaks the kiss, still ghosting over your lips. 

"I thought it wasn’t a good night?"

"It’s not night time anymore, is it, genius?"

You sneak another kiss, nipping his bottom lip gently as you pull away. 

Instead of whatever array of responses you were expecting, Spencer smiles slightly, eyes almost sparkling in the faint light. The hand on your hip moves to your face, gently thumbing across your cheek. He begins to say something, and stops himself—biting his lip to hold back the words. 

"What?" you ask, heart dropping. Illusion fracturing. 

"I was just—" he begins, pausing for a moment before the words all come out in a rush. "I was just going to tell you how beautiful you are, but I don’t know if that’s something I should say, or if it would feel too… I don’t know…"

He trails off. A rare instance in which he doesn’t have the words. 

You do. Intimate. Real. Romantic. And he’s right, it does feel too much like all of those things. But that doesn’t mean you don’t like it, perhaps more than is strictly good for you. 

"It’s fine. Thank you."

He continues chewing on his lip for a moment. 

"Did I just ruin the mood?"

"No," you laugh, "not at all."

"Thank god," he sighs, surging forward again. 

"Since when do you thank god?" You manage between kisses. 

He moves to press his lips to your jaw and down your neck. 

"Do you want me to talk about the historical and cultural transition of religious expressions into ubiquitous secular colloquialisms right now?"

"Kind of," you breathe.

"No you don’t," he murmurs against your neck as his hands find the hem of your shirt. "You want me to take your clothes off."

Well, he’s not wrong there. 

You help him tug the shirt over your head before leaning back into the pillows as he situates himself over you and lavishes more kisses down your neck and collarbones, pausing to suck a mark only when he knows it’s low enough to be covered by your clothing later. 

You gasp when his lips brush over your nipple, before running his tongue over the sensitive skin. He glances up at you, and though his mouth is occupied, you can see the humor in his eyes. He loves how sensitive you are—how easy it is to get a reaction out of you. 

Of course, you continue to prove him right when he takes the other into his mouth, trying to hold back your little whimpers as he darts his tongue over the peak. Maybe somebody else wouldn’t hear them, but Spencer does. He’s hyper attuned to the sounds you make. Something of a catalogue has begun to form in the back of his mind; he knows exactly what each noise means and how to get them out of you. 

Once satisfied, he moves to press a kiss to your sternum. 

"You’re gonna be quiet for me, right?" Another kiss above your bellybutton. "Because Morgan is sleeping right on the other side of that wall, and we don’t want to wake him up."

"I’ll be quiet," you promise, somewhat breathlessly. Spencer’s mouth trails lower until he’s pulling your shorts down your legs, leaving you completely naked. He tosses them somewhere on the floor and hooks your legs over his shoulders. 

"Good." He plants one last kiss to your thigh and the next one lands right between your legs. 

You regret the need to be silent almost as soon as he drags his tongue over your clit. It’s not like the two of you have ever had the privilege of making a lot of noise, as the hotel rooms are always so close to each other, but it doesn’t make it any easier. 

Instead you opt to rake your hands through his hair and try to take deep breaths. But he knows exactly what you like—he knows starting light and slow, teasing around your most sensitive spot will work you up to the brink of insanity, just like he knows gentle circles make your back arch and elicit the prettiest little moans. 

"More," you beg, and the hands wrapped around your thighs rub soothingly, reassuring you that if you can just be patient you’ll get what you want. 

He takes your aching clit into his mouth, sucking lightly and you’re forced to clap a hand over your mouth, muffling the sob of pleasure you can’t hold back. Spencer keeps it up until you’re practically riding his face, teasing your dripping entrance with the tip of his tongue when you get too close. 

"Fuck, please, Spence," you whisper through your fingers, hips rutting in your desperation. Somehow it always ends up like this—with him in charge and you begging. Not that you have a problem with it, of course. 

He hums into you, and if the way his tongue moves back to circling your clit with newfound fervor is any indication, is apparently satisfied with your entreaty. 

You gasp and try to control your breathy moans, but his mouth feels so good on you that your vision is going out and you’re losing touch with reality ever so slightly. You use the last of your brain power to bite down on the back of your wrist, hoping it adequately muffles the noises you make as you come on Spencer’s tongue and he greedily continues lapping at you. There’s really no way of knowing—your ears are ringing anyway. 

When you come to a moment later he’s peppering kisses on your thighs, rubbing your hips gently. 

"So pretty," he murmurs, climbing back up so your lips can meet again. "Everything about you is pretty."

You paw at his shirt, signaling that you want it off as you moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue, feel your slippery arousal staining the kiss. Spencer helps you, sitting up briefly to unzip his hoodie and pull off his shirt. 

You’re the one to drag him back down, and you notice that he pulls the covers back over the both of you in a sweet gesture he probably didn’t even think about. 

"Need you to fuck me," you beg, reaching down to try and undress him further. 

"So crude. What happened to my nice, sweet girl?" He mumbles against your neck, but helps you with his pants anyway. 

"You must have me confused with someone else."

"Doubtful."

You don’t have much time to consider what that could mean before he’s running the head of his cock over your clit and you’re gasping into his mouth, saying please like it’s the only word you know. 

"There she is," Spencer croons, slipping inside you slow enough for you to feel every inch but quick enough for it to expel all the air from your lungs. Once he’s opened you all the way up, impossibly deep and close, you’re seeing stars, barely breathing. His head has dropped to your shoulder but now he drags his lips up your neck and jaw. "We okay?"

It’s been a while, you realize, since that last case in Maine. He always takes some getting used to. Hardly able to think around the pressure of his cock you nod, trying to string together a few words. 

"Fuck, I need a second." The words come out choked, but you manage. Spencer rubs your hip, his lips brushing yours as he speaks. 

"Relax, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you."

He curses to himself, dropping his head momentarily. You’re so fucking soft, and warm, and perfect, he can’t think straight. But he has to try because he has to take care of you. 

"Spence," you gasp, failing to verbally communicate the intensity of the physical sensation. 

"I know, baby," comes his sympathetic coo. "You know you can take me. Deep breaths."

"Mhm," you squeak, trying to take follow his directions and soften your muscles. Spencer keeps rubbing soothingly over your hips, stomach, whatever he can get his hands on, really, pressing kisses all over your face and telling you how good you are, how perfect you feel for him. After a few moments he feels you fluttering around him and experimentally pulls out halfway, before pushing back in equally as slowly. Your jaw drops as he begins to leisurely fuck you, arms wrapping around his back. He gets deeper than you expect every time, rubbing you raw and stretching you out in the most delicious way. 

"Perfect, baby. Such a good listener, did exactly what I asked."

You cry out when he begins fucking you impossibly deeper, but still so slow and sweet.

"You feel so fucking good for me," he groans. "This is what you were made for, huh?" You agree enthusiastically, eyes fluttering shut. 

"Only for you."

Just three words—but he wasn’t expecting to like hearing you say that as much as he does. A strong desire to possess you overtakes him—one that he’ll probably have the decency to feel guilty about later, but for now feels fucking fantastic and intoxicating. 

"Only me?"

You moan an affirmation. 

"Good. I don’t want anyone else fucking you, do you understand me?"

"Yes!"

"I’m the only one who gets to touch you," he breathes, speeding up ever so slightly, "nobody else is going to feel you like this. Such a good girl, spreading her legs for me at five in the fucking morning. You’re not doing this for anybody else, baby."

"Uh-uh, please, pleasepleaseplease Spence—"

He knows what you need, reaching a hand down between your bodies to rub your clit. 

You gasp an airy, high pitched curse, hips twitching but unable to escape the near-punishing rhythm of his own. It’s obvious that your orgasm is close, but you can’t even warn him, too overwhelmed with pleasure. He kisses you, swallowing your moans that have probably become just a bit too loud given the whole hotel thing. 

No words are exchanged between the two of you as you near the finish line for a change, open mouths slipping against each others in what is too messy to be called a kiss. Your orgasm body-slams you, a choked silent scream as you tighten around Spencer and he seems to come at nearly the exact same moment—deep inside you, slowly rolling his hips in a few more strong thrusts as he finishes. 

You let out a delayed moan at the sensation of being filled up, still pulsing around him as he comes to a halt, buried inside of you. He drops his head to your neck, and you can feel each breath against your flushed skin. Other than the panting, you’re both silent for a while. Spencer seems to gather himself sooner than you do, finally breaking the quiet. 

"You okay?"

All you can manage is a little squeak, at which he looses a breathy chuckle. His hand slides to your hip, gently stroking the skin with a thumb. 

"Need your words, angel girl."

"I’m okay," you coo into his shoulder, but he has to strain to hear it above his own breathing. 

"Yeah? Why so quiet?"

But it seems that at least for the moment, he’s gotten all the words he can out of you. When he tries to move, you whimper indignantly, clutching onto him tighter. 

"I really did a number on you this time, huh?" He laughs when you nod into him. "Are you falling asleep?"

"Mhm," you hum dreamily, little puffs of warm air slowing against his neck. 

"You can have…" he cranes his head to check the digital clock, "48 minutes."

"An hour."

He settles his weight on you once more, pressing a chaste kiss to your throat. His voice is low and gentle as he admonishes you. 

"I said 48 minutes."

But it doesn’t matter—you’re already asleep, or close enough to it. Spencer takes the opportunity to shift you to your side, and the way you wrap around him like a vine even unconsciously makes his heart ache. He really should go now—the earlier he gets out of your room the less likely certain complications will arise—but how can he possibly leave you like this? A vulnerable, dreamy girl with tangled hair haloing around her on the pillow case, clinging to him with blind trust that he’ll watch over her as she sleeps? No—there’s no way he’s leaving yet. Instead, he brings you closer. 48 perfect minutes will go by far too quickly, he’s sure. 

[barbieaemond]

Lykirī

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

WARNINGS: loss of virginity, fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), handjob, we ride him bitches, dom/sub tones if you squint

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

Author's note: an early Christmas gift for those who celebrate!! For those who don't, just a regular smutty piece. This was based on a request where wife!reader rides Aemond. Merry Aemondmas :)

MASTERLIST

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @arcielee

"You are to marry the King's second son. Prince Aemond Targaryen."

Those were your father's words. Your sister had looked at you almost with pity and a hint of relief since that fate had befallen you and not her. You had simply nodded, accepting the fate decided by your father, just as thousands of other daughters before and after you would have done.

Your mother had come to comb your hair before going to bed, and without much ado, she had told you what would happen after the wedding, after the banquet.

"All you have to do is try to relax your nerves, and I promise it will be less painful.”

The thought had stuck in your brain until the wedding day. And the aura emanating from the prince didn't help. He was stoic to the point of looking like a statue, his posture rigid as a spindle, and there was something unsettling about him that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand when he took your hand to recite the wedding vows. Fear, but also a foreign giddiness prickling your skin upon feeling his calloused fingers around yours.

The banquet had not helped either. Prince Aegon had behaved like a court jester, drinking to the point of wondering how he could stand upright, poking his brother with cruel jokes about his eye and a whore who had made Aemond a man many years before.

You didn’t know what kind of unpleasant memories your good-brother had just summoned in his brother’s mind. That woman and her cheap perfume, that way it had clung to his skin, to his thoughts for days after his only ever trip to Flea Bottom.

Then the elder Prince had approached you with his breath stinking of Dornish and it was then that Prince Aemond broke his icy silence, standing up abruptly and looking down at you. "Come, wife. It is time for us to retire."

Prince Aegon had clapped his hands as if in front of a hilarious show, saying "Finally some fun! The bedding!"

The entire crowd present at the banquet had escorted you to the prince's chambers. The servants had removed your dress, leaving you in your underskirts; you had unconsciously covered your chest, crossing your arms to hide from the greedy eyes of the men peering in the doorway, Prince Aegon in the front row with yet another cup of wine clutched between his fingers.

Master Mellos invited you to lie down on the bed, and you obeyed, swallowing, while a host of servants shielded you from view as the Maester made his humiliating inspection.

"All is in order, your Graces," the Master informed the Prince and Queen. And that was enough for Aemond to completely slip the iron mask off his face and go straight to the door. "The show is over. Get out."

"Oh, come on, little brother. Let me watch, at least. I could give you some tips."

Aemond had towered over his brother, and from your seat on the bed, you were able to see the eldest brother shrinking by the moment. "This is not some common whore you're speaking of.” Aemond seethed “She is my wife, and you will owe her the respect she deserves. One more lewd word from your mouth, and I will rip your tongue with my bare hands. Am I being clear?”

"Gods, brother, are you already so cunt-struck?"

He never got an answer, only the door being slammed right into his face.

You stood in the middle of the room, torturing your hands as he looked at you from the door. He seemed unsure of what to do, until he cleared his throat and took a few tentative steps in the room.

“You could have some wine, if you wish. It may…help you.” He said, but as he said this, he seemed to regret his own words, given how his mouth twitched as if he had just tasted something sour. Memories could come just like that, sudden and sour.

“You must relax, my prince. Have some wine, maybe? No need to worry, I will take care of you just as a prince deserves to.”

“I’d like to keep my mind clear, my Prince.” You said, keeping your gaze down, hearing his fast and deep sigh. “Fine.” he said, straightening his back as a soldier. After all, wasn’t this just another duty?

It wasn’t just that though. You were his wife now, the future mother of his children. It was his duty and his right to claim you as his own.

“Lay on the bed.”

With your heart pounding in your ears, you did as you were told but when the mattress dipped under his weight, you did not expect to see him with his clothes still on, the eyepatch firmly in its place. More so, you did not expect the harshness of his gestures as he held your waist to turn you around. The air hitched in your throat as your face met the mattress and a strange sorrow gripped your heart. Did he not want to look at you? Did he not like you?

“Try to stay still and it’ll be over shortly.” he said. He was trying to sound reassuring, but his voice came out cold and flat. His fingers latched on your underskirts, hiking them up, filling you with embarrassment as you grow completely exposed beneath him.

Aemond knew what to do. He may not have been as depraved as his brother, but he was still a man. And once in a while, when his hands would not suffice, some maid or servant girl would’ve had to bear, quite keenly on their part, his intimate attentions.

As his hands began to glide on your thighs, you shivered and said “Wait…”

Slowly your head turned to look at him, cheeks red and breath slow and anxious. “Am I not allowed to look at you?”

Your words seemed to stun him for a moment. The mere thought of you wanting to look at him made him realize how wrong he was behaving. You were his wife, not a common whore to bend over and have his moment of bliss. He had even told Aegon. That was not his intention, but there was a gap between how he felt and how he acted, a limb severed by years of pity looks and feelings trapped in his mouth and swallowed.

Almost gently, he made you turn but once you were facing him, he pinned your wrists on the mattress, unable to touch him even if you had gathered enough courage to do it. You tried to brace yourself for what your mother had told you. But she had not told you that he would touch you there, that all your senses would go numb except for that one brand new feeling between your legs. But he seemed enthralled by it just as you, his mouth parting to let out slow puffs of air as you grow wet and swollen against his fingers.

Your breath was labored, coming out in soft pants that made your cheeks purple. More so because he kept circling his deft fingers on your core while looking straight into your eyes, reveling in the way you were answering to his call, in the way he was shaping your need, your desire.

“You never touched yourself, did you?” he asked in a husky voice.

You barely shook your head and his eye glinted with something dark as he brought his face close to yours “Good. I shall be the only one inside you.”

He swallowed your shaky breath with this mouth, kissing you for the very first time, apart from the shy, almost prude peck exchanged after the wedding vows. Your lips moved shyly, trembling with the coiling pressure between your legs. And just when you thought this heat, this delicious aching couldn’t grow more unbearable, he sticked a finger inside you, spilling a loud moan right against his mouth.

One of your wrists twisted in his harsh hold, willing to touch him, to grip on something, but he didn’t let you. “Easy…” he blew on your lips “Relax. It’ll feel good, I promise…”

It surely felt good to him, to feel the tightness of your cunt squeezing his finger. He curled it and you squinted your eyes, choking a gasp that made him smirk proudly against your jaw. “Gods, you’re so tight…” he breathed as he kept rubbing slowly against your walls.

“It’s—it’s too much—“ you cried out with pain and pleasure running together, breathing his scent of ash, leather and a hint of something minty.

“How will you take my cock if you can’t even take my finger?” He whispered with benevolent cruelty, moving his finger faster and deeper.

Certainly your mother had not told you of the obscene wet sounds you would hear, of the uncontrollable moans coming out of your mouth, of his soft growling next to your ear when his breeches became too tight.

He had lined the tip of his hard manhood to your entrance, catching your breath away as tried to still your nerves, but the pain came altogether. You felt like he was cutting you from the inside. Tears filled your eyes, squinting for the painful stretching. You knew he was restraining himself; he didn’t want to hurt you more than he already was. And you almost felt affection for him, most men would not have bothered.

Then he had started to move, you felt that stranger body rubbing over and over against your walls, and finally the pain soothed, but not completely. You could tell he was enjoying it, his ragged breath and faint moans told you so, as well as the curses hissed through his teeth in a language you guessed was Valyrian. And then he had stilled completely, gripping your hips hard and firm while you felt a hot wave pulsing through your core.

The next morning, you could barely sit down for breakfast, and your aunt had looked at you with concern and a hint of amusement in her eyes. She was a veteran at court, a long-time widow, and quite happy to be so. It was her who suggested your betrothal to the Prince.

"How are you feeling, sweet niece?"

"Awful." you said promptly, shifting your weight on the seat.

"Well, this is the kind of anguish all women must go through."

"I thought that was giving birth to another human being."

"Oh Gods, no. That is the ugly part. This is the good one," she said with a sly smile "I suggest you enjoy it as much as you can."

At the time, you didn't really understand what she meant. The first night with the prince had gone...well, you thought. But he certainly enjoyed it more than you.

The second time was better. Your muscles were still sore, but the pain was but a faint discomfort compared to the pleasure you felt for the very first time in your life.

The third time he went down on you, bringing you so close to the edge only to deny your release, with cruel enjoyment on his part, making you whine with shame at the loss of his mouth and tongue on your folds.

The fourth time he bent you down on the breakfast table, all things falling in a mess of cutlery. He had pulled up your skirts and lowered his breeches just enough to thrust in, unraveling a special spot deep inside of you that had you mewling like some primitive beast.

The fifth time he had you writhing in bed, hair stuck to your head with sweat and hands clenching the sheets while he had you peak three times in a row.

It was then that you started to think your aunt was right.

That was indeed the good part.

“Are you afraid?” he asks, with a soft taunt on the tip of his tongue. You drag your eyes away from the gigantic beast before you and almost scoff. That is enough for him to laugh, quietly, but still not quietly enough for you to not notice and wonder at the view.

It’s been merely one moon since you’ve been married to Prince Aemond, and you could count on the fingers of your hand the times you have seen him laugh. It was eerie at first, you feared all the things you heard about the One Eyed Prince were true. That he was cold as stone and just as hard. And he was. But the more you spent time together, the more you were able to make cracks, and let light through.

“I’m equally afraid as any little mortal of right mind would be in front of the largest dragon in the known world, my dear husband.”

His lips stay quirked up, but his eye widens, as it always does when you call him that. He steps close to you, a few of his long strides are enough for him to tower over you, and the ground below your feet shifts.

“Come.” He says, taking your hand, “I promise she won’t eat you.” This time you deliberately glare at him, and he raises an eyebrow. “Do you need some other kind of persuasion to trust me? Perhaps like the one I used this morning?”

The early afternoon sun makes his face almost hurting to watch, or maybe it's just his bold gloating that makes his appearance so exhausting.

“That was not persuasion.” you remark, hiding the tinge of red on your cheeks “It was coercion.”

“Hmm. You didn’t seem so hostile when I made you come twice before breakfast.”

"I was hostile to the chance of the maid assisting with what we were doing."

"The maid should know better than to enter while my wife is undressing."

His eye roams over you just as he had done that morning, hunger clouding it, making your insides shrink. "Perhaps it's best if she knew. Someone must be aware of how cruel my husband is." there's a soft tease in your tone—something you are still learning, but true nonetheless.

He had ripped your nightgown with his bare hands when the maid entered to help you dress. She fled hastily, but you barely spared a glance at her, already lost to the fierce claim of his hand between your legs. He had taken you, twice, and then ordered you to dress, forcing you to have breakfast with the Queen and the Princess with your thighs still sticky with sex, sticky with him.

And he had been there, sitting just in front of you, with a piercing and delighted gaze.

He pulls your hand, and you follow, getting closer to that living relic that is Vhagar, Queen of All Dragons. She raises her monstrous head and looks straight at you with her amber eyes.

It is the first time you step so close to her, and even if you thought about it a lot, your heart is pounding fast, and your breath comes out slow and labored. She's a dreadful wonder.

She flares her nostrils and smells you, making a low rumble which results in a gust of hot wind that ruffles your hair and skirts.

“Lykirī, Vhagar.” Aemond says quietly “Issa ñuha ābrazȳrys. Kostā pāsagon zirȳla.”

You look at him questioningly, and he answers. “I told her you are my wife. And she can trust you.”

You cast a curious look at the dragon and then back at him “Is that all it takes? You tell dragons to trust you, and they resist the urge to turn you into their meal?”

Aemond curves his lips and makes you step closer, standing behind you and guiding your hand on the old green scales. “It takes much more than that.” he whispers in your ear “You have to surrender to them, completely. A dragon is no slave.”

You feel the heat beneath your palm, but it’s not that that makes you swallow; it’s the heat of his breath on your neck, right into your ear, scorching his way into your brain and inflaming every thought.

“What does Lykirī mean?” you ask, and you hate how your voice cracks on the edges.

He smirks because he knows, he always does. But he does not answer. Instead, he pulls your hand again, and you follow, circling the beast until stopping before the intricate ropes that lead to the saddle.

“Aemond, I don’t think—”

“You are my wife and you will ride with me on dragon back.” He said, commanding.

Truthfully, you gladly want to obey; there is just a slight difference between picturing riding a dragon and doing it.

Even the climbing to get in the saddle is a challenge on its own, but he helps you until you firmly seat yourself in it. Aemond sits behind you, and you look around with widened eyes, as if you are looking down from the highest tower ever built, except this is a living one, made of fire and breathing fire.

He leans over you to grab the reins, and you tense, waiting with bathed breath.

“Dohaeras, Vhagar. Soves!”

She lets out a loud screech that makes your ears hurt, but you have no time to even register it because she's already moving. You grip Aemond’s arms and brace yourself against his chest when Vhagar lurches onward and opens her huge wings to take flight.

She goes up and up, above the clouds, and your head is dizzy, with fear, with euphoria, until you are laughing like a child, like you never did in your entire life. Aemond lets go of the reins and laces his arms around you, angling his head to look at you, his silver hair violently ruffled by the wind. “How does it feel, my sweet wife?”

There are no common words to describe it. Now you know why they say Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. No man could claim a dragon or rule the skies.

“I feel like I’m close to the Gods.” you say, and he tightens the hold on you “Dragons do not answer to Gods.” he says, burying his nose in your hair “Where does this leave us?”

You turn your head to look at him, and you feel like you are looking at one of them. And yet he looks like he’s beyond any God.

“Above them. Above the Gods.”

“Hmm.” He croons, breathing your scent through his nose, and then his right hand grabs your skirt and dips underneath, until you feel his cold fingers grazing your skin. “I will make you feel like one.”

He cups your core through your small clothes, and you whimper, gripping his arm harder. He feels your heat through his palm, hotter than Vhagar’s own fire, and he sets the fabric aside to properly touch you. “My sweet wife.” he whispers, sliding a finger between your folds “Always so ready for me.”

“Aemond.” You say, holding your breath, trying to oppose but your voice cracks, and your body with it, already answering to his call. You see clouds before your eyes, but it’s all a blur, all your senses are enslaved by his touch, rubbing lazy circles on your bud. Too slow for your liking, for your need. Your hips arch and buck, chasing his hand for more friction, and he laughs, darkly. “What is it? What do you need, sweet girl? Tell me.”

He takes your chin with his free hand and forces you to turn your head and look at him. His hold is ruthless, but his tone is almost pleading. “Tell me.” he orders and you feel like he’s smothering you, sweeping away all the air from your lungs. “I-I need more…”

“More of what?” he asks, stopping altogether. “Show me.”

You look him in the eye and swallow, heat inflaming your cheeks, but there’s no place for shame, not here. It is just a faint ghost passing through you, and then it’s gone. Your hand pulls the gown up, and you place it on his, like a feather. “Here.” You breathe on his mouth “Inside.”

The howling wind does nothing to muffle his growl, and then he’s kissing you, harshly, teeth clashing and biting your lips as he accepts your plea, sliding a finger inside of you.

A strangled moan escapes you, and he swallows it, darting his tongue in every corner of your mouth. He releases your chin only to grab your leg to further open them and then he adds a second finger, moving them deftly until reaching that special spot. Your head falls back on his shoulder, gasping loudly, digging your nails into his hand.

Your breath is ragged and fast, and you uselessly try to stifle moan after moan even if there are only the skies to hear.

“Don’t.” he says grazing your lobe with his teeth “I want to hear you. I want you to scream for me.”

Your mind goes blank, as does all your restraint. You feel the tide coming to crash you, hips moving on their own accord, chasing and chasing. And then you’re drowning in it, mouth falling open and flesh and bones clenching and trembling.

He grunts softly when your nails scratch his skin and his fingers slip out, glistening; he raises them to his lips and tastes every drop of you. Still panting, he takes your chin once more with his sticky fingers and licks your lips, so you taste yourself on his tongue.

Your head is still dizzy when Vhagar lands in a clearing in the King’s Wood, but this has nothing to do with altitude. Your limbs are heavy when he helps you dismount, your legs buckle. There is a tautness knotting your bones, itching your fingertips.

You wish to touch him, because you have never, not as a wife would touch her husband, not as he has done with you.

It is only a moon and yet he has taken you almost every night and every day. He has touched you everywhere, he has molded you to his liking, and you let him do it with giddiness, undoing yourself like clay in his hands. He had put his mouth on you, and you have discovered he particularly enjoyed it, because he has done that at the most inopportune times, even in some dark corner of the corridors.

And you wondered if you could do the same with him—not because you have to, but because you want to. You want to claim him just as he claims you, relentlessly.

And he really is. He is relentless, he doesn't give you the time to wander with your hands, to discover, to touch. Fire burns him quickly and you are ashes before you realise you are burning with him.

“I didn’t know my wife had claws.” He says at one point, while you are going back to the Keep.

You wake from your thoughts and turn, watching him raise his hand to show the red marks on the back of his hand, and the sight makes you almost proud—proud to have left a mark of you on him. But you want more, and he wants more. You know it; it takes a brief look at his breeches to know that he wants more.

You dart your eyes around, but there's no one. So, you stop. Trying to gather all the boldness you never had, you step closer to him and take his hand in yours. Your eyes look up slowly, glinting with uncertainty and bravery. "Then let me soothe your pain, husband."

Aemond’s eye widens, and the air around you turn heavy, forcing you to open your mouth to breathe. You take one more step and bring the back of his hand to your lips, kissing it gently while your eyes stay fixed on his face. The other hand goes tentatively to his chest and then slides down, and for once, just once, he’s the one answering your call. His eye darkens and his lips part when your hands bashfully grab the laces of his breeches.

But you should have known better. Targaryens and their desires. Doomed to take whatever they want, whenever they want, answering neither Gods nor men.

You barely blink and he grabs you by the wrists and forces you to the ground. Cold grass and bushes stinging your back make you gasp, but Aemond is already on you, watching you like a century-long thirsted man who takes a glimpse of a water spring, as if you could evaporate from his sight at any moment.

“Aemond, please.” you beg “let me—“

But his tongue is in your mouth, hot and scorching you alive. Your eyes flutter shut, and he hikes your skirts up, taking hold of your hips. You feel his bulge against you, hard and ready, and you can do nothing else than wait, pinned down like prey, all bravery a distant memory.

Suddenly he lowers himself down, lifting your skirts with haste until you’re completely bare half down. “No—Aemond, please I want to—”

“You want what?” he asks with a wolfish grin “Deny me your sweet taste? Iksā ñuhon, ābrazȳrys.” He said that already, you know what it means. You are mine.

“You belong to me. And this…” he swears placing your legs on his shoulders while looking at your aching core as a man who found the greatest treasure in the world. “This belongs to me as well.”

He runs his tongue up and down your wet folds, humming with delight as he tastes you and sees you squirm, arching your back on the stingy bushes. You moan loudly when he slowly swirls his tongue, not able to keep track of your hips starting  to move on their own, thrusting into his mouth and the sight of you like this, makes him even wilder, pushing him to open his mouth and put it entirely on your cunt, sucking harshly until anything before your eyes becomes blurred.

Your legs on his shoulders begin to shake and curl, caging him further against you, but just when you are about to come straight into his mouth, he pulls back. A weak sob leaves your mouth as your hips keep bucking against nothing and he smirks at that, untangling your legs from his shoulders, running his tongue over his lips, to taste what's left of you on him. You look at him through dazed eyes and a tinge of annoyance for the denied release. “What?” he has the boldness to ask with a sly smirk “Did you not enjoy it?” he runs his thumb on his glistening chin and swiftly licks it. "Hmm. I most certainly did."

“Aemond, please.” you claw desperately at his shoulders and forearms, forcing him to lie on you, feel something that could soothe the aching between your legs. He seems keen to grant you this mercy, molding his crotch against you so you can feel how hard and desperate he is.

“Please.” you beg in a thin voice.

“Speak it plainly, my love. I want to hear it from your pretty mouth.”

You look at him straight in the eye and what you say next is not a request nor a plea. Your mother would be ashamed of you, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You are not begging. You are demanding. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t need more than a few moments to get his cock out of his breeches, and not a moment later he’s pushing inside of you, your back arching on the bushes and your throat fighting for breath. He groans and starts a relentless pace, lifting his weight from you just enough for him to look at his cock going in and out, the sight only pushing him to thrust harder and harder. “Look at you.” he croons, sweet and rough “You were born to take me, to be mine.”

Your face twists with pleasure, teeth biting your lower lip while he takes you higher and higher, higher than any sky a dragon could ever take you.

He soon becomes messy and sloppy, cursing under his breath, but you can barely hear him. Your mind is sluggish and everything comes muffled: him, the birds chirping on some tree, your wet flesh slapping against his in the lewdest and most blessed way.

He curses some more, and then he’s spilling inside you, his arched mouth opening and his eye closing like a man absolved.

And yet, he does not stop. He has not claimed enough.

“Māzis, dōna ābrazȳrys. Come for me.”

Your hand clutches something on the ground, something with thorns that pierces your skin with pain, but you can’t even feel that, because you are falling, legs trembling around him, and heart stopping for an endless moment of pure breathtaking bliss.

“Gevie.” he coos with his lips on yours, falling with his body on you, still clenching and pulsing around him. He stays right where he is, nesting inside of you, and now it is the only chance you have been granted to touch him. You put an arm around his shoulders, catching your breath, and look at the skies above, thinking you are indeed above them.

It was easy to explain the dirt and grass stains on your dress. It was a little less easy to explain the twigs in your ruffled hair when you and Aemond returned to the Keep only to meet the Queen Mother along one of the corridors. Alicent merely smiled at you with a tight smile and did not spare from giving a look full of daggers to her son.

"Seven Hells" you mutter when you go back to your rooms and catch a glimpse of the mess you are in the mirror.

Aemond stays on the threshold to close the door and grins, or rather, gloats.

You step out of your muddy shoes and start to pull the laces of your dress.

"What are you doing?" he asks, and you playfully glare at him. "Am I allowed to take a bath now? Or do you want me to go around all sullied? I fear there are no believable excuses for the state I’m in."

"You can tell them the truth." he says, walking to you and replacing your hands with his to help you pull the intricate laces.

You smile softly with your back turned before raising an eyebrow, asking "Which is?"

He keeps his eye focused on the dress, a slight furrow in his brow, and stoically serious, he says "That your husband fucked you in the King's Wood."

"I could tell the maid. I'm sure she won't be stunned after what she saw this morning."

He makes you turn so you can look at him, and the sight before you makes your heart sing. His eye roams on your face softly, a rare sight on him, always stoic, always sharp, like all the angles composing this beautiful sculpture of black glass.

You always thought of marriage as a strategic deal for men, and a way for women to prove their value to the world, giving those same men sons and daughters. But you care for him. And he cares for you. That look on his face is enough for you to know that he cares for you, not merely as a brood mare.

“Gevie.” he says, quietly, and he touches your cheek, softly, making you wonder how those same hands can be so delicate and yet so merciless at the same time.

“What does it mean?” you ask, even if you are sure he will not answer. You observed that when he speaks in High Valyrian he does it almost to himself, as if to protect something he does not wish the others to know.

But this time, he meets your eyes and lowers his hand. “Beautiful.”

You look at him with your heart pounding in your throat, and then you stand up on your toes, crashing your mouth against his, almost catching him by surprise. But he is all too deft at turning the game on his side, and a few seconds later, his hands are gripping your hips and his tongue is licking the roof of your mouth.

When the door suddenly opens, you pull back, spotting the same maid from that morning who, this time, can do nothing but suffer the Prince's wrath.

"Can't you just fuck off for once?!"

You hold back a laugh against his chest and the poor maid flees in a hurry. But when he pulls you to him, tilting his head to pick up where he left off, you step back and say, "I'm afraid the Queen has requested your presence. You should go, my dear husband. I promise that by tonight I will be completely clean."

"Tonight?" he asks, raising his eyebrow. "What is happening tonight?"

You shrug your shoulders and hold back a smile. "Innocence doesn't suit you, my Prince."

"Neither does you."

"I'm afraid this is your fault. You are sullying my soul as well as...everything else."

"You won't be of the same mind when you have my child growing in your womb," and he smirks, looking at you as if he's taking a sacred oath, and then walks away.

You finally manage to take a bath and change clothes, and then you go to visit your aunt. She spends most of her time alone, sipping tea in the gardens, partly because she can't stand the other court ladies, partly because the court ladies can't stand her. Truthfully, you cannot blame them, your aunt speaks plainly—too plainly at times.

You sit down with her for tea, which you end up swallowing like salt, because your aunt takes it with a whole squeezed lemon, and no sugar.

"I saw you with your husband earlier. I may be too old for new fashion but mud on your skirt and twigs in your hair seem a bit too brazen, even for me."

You stifle a smile, recalling what happened. If only she knew he was brazen enough to have you utterly undone on dragon back, thousands of feet up.

Your eyes go distant while you fumble with some tablecloth threads, but your Aunt stares at you piercely, and grabbing her cup of tea she says "I love that look on you."

"What?"

She sips the sour liquid and puts the cup down. "That look. The I'm in love look."

"I am not!" you counter, cheeks going red.

"Of course you are. I've watched you two. I dare say he's falling way faster than you."

You look at her puzzled. Many things have changed in a moon. And you are sure you are utterly infatuated with him. But you did not know what to think of what he actually feels for you, if he even feels something. You know he cares for you, you know he loves spending time with you. You know he's passionate, possessive, almost soft at rare times. But in love? That seems too soon to consider, or to hope for.

"It is too soon to talk about love."

"In fact, I did not, my sweet niece. Falling in love and love are beasts of different species. Why do you think we say "falling"? You can't stop from falling. To love a person is an entirely different matter. Love is a choice."

You let those words sink but you prefer not to question your heart right now. There is a reason you have come here to talk to your aunt, even if you don't know how to address the matter without melting from embarrassment.

But in the end, who could you ask for advice? Your squeamish maids? The Queen Mother? Definitely not.

"Listen, I...I wanted to ask you something..." you start "It is uhm...a matter of somewhat intimate nature."

"Ah, my favourites." your aunt says, beaming "I am all ears."

You shift uncomfortably in your chair and swallow another sip of that dreadful tea "My mother...she explained to me what would happen between husband and wife to...consummate the marriage. But she didn't tell me...well, everything else."

Your Aunt is quick to raise her eyebrow "I gathered that your marriage had been consummated by now. Thoroughly."

"Y-yes, of course. But I...discovered...that there are other ways for a husband to please his wife...and I was wondering if...if I could…do those same things to please him."

Your aunt looks utterly puzzled for a long moment, and then, almost stunned, she says "Oh Seven Hells, child. You are telling me you never sucked your husband off?"

A few court ladies walking near turned their heads, going white as sheets, while you, on the contrary, take a nice purple shade.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, prissies. We all did it eventually." she dismisses them, waving a lazy hand, and looks back at you. "You should do it, if you wish. Men love it. Your uncle used to ask—"

"I don't want to hear that, auntie, I'm begging you." you say squinting your eyes.

"Listen to me, child. Men love to think they rule everything, everywhere. But it is not always like that. And if you want to rule your husband's heart, you must rule in his bed first."

That evening, Aemond wanted nothing more than to lock himself in his room with his wife and forget all the hateful political talk he had had to endure at dinner.

You had not attended, and that had bothered him. Never would he have thought of marriage as anything more than a duty, yet there he was, wondering where you were, who you were with, and why you weren't in his rooms when he set foot in there.

"Where is my wife?" he asks the maid, and she keeps her eyes glued to the floor, saying "The princess spent the evening in the library, your Grace. She told me that she would be—"

"I am here," you say, appearing behind the young maid.

You see his chest sag as if a weight is leaving him, and he casts an icy glance at the poor maid "Out."

He is rarely kind to servants, but you can tell by his tense shoulders that something is wrong.

"Aemond, what is the matter?" you ask as soon as the door closes, walking up to him with a hand behind your back.

"Where were you? Why weren't you at dinner?"

"I was in the library."

"For four hours?"

"It was a tough read—"

He grabs your arm, gripping hour wrist harshly, and you flinch. "Aemond, I swear to you.” you say watching his eye on fire and a sneer twisting his mouth “You can ask Maester Mellos." 

Suddenly he lets you go, and looks down, closing his eye for a moment. But he doesn't apologize, he never does, and not because he is a Prince. It's just the way he is. He doesn't apologize, he doesn't say thank you, he doesn't say please.

"Aemond, what's going on?"

"I don't want to talk about it now. In fact, never. Not here."

You watch him carefully, and you nod as he moves to pour wine into a cup. You watch him gobble it up greedily, which is unlike him. So, you get close and move your hand from behind your back and say, "Anyway, I wasn't lying. I really spent four hours in the library...trying to decipher this."

You show him an old book, and the title catches his eye, cup held in midair. "Tales of the Dragonlords?" he asks frowning. "This is in High Valyrian."

"It is." you confirm as you move closer, and you steal his cup before saying, "Would you read it to me?" and you take a sip, of wine and courage.

He watches the liquid flow down your throat and then accepts the invitation, taking the book—the one he has read so many times he can recite it by heart. He opens it to the first page, but you say "No. Page 72."

There is a slight imperative tone in your tone of voice, and it thrills him, given how his eye glints under the candlelight. He drops it on the table, looking at you from head to toe, and says, "I'll read it to you later, sweet wife."

He steps closer but you back away saying, "Fine, then. I'll tell you what I understood so you can correct me or not." and at the same moment your own hands go up on your corset and you start pulling on the laces.

The gesture catches his eye like a moth to a flame and he stays silent as you pull all the laces and then slip off your dress, remaining in your underskirt. His gaze roams over you slowly, and with a soft smirk, he decides to play the game.

“Page 72, you said. How Dragonlords claimed Dragons.”

“Yes.”

"And why did it capture your interest? Do you wish to do it? Do you wish to claim a dragon?"

"I wish to conquer, not claim."

He comes closer and looks at you, breathing through his nose, restraining, always restraining, and then he's raising his hand to reach a lock of your hair falling on your shoulder, but you stop him, air as heavy as moss.

"The Valyrian sages say a dragonlord must surrender himself completely to the dragon. But it works both ways. The dragon must submit his will to their rider."

He looks at you without blinking, and you take his arms, guiding him closer until you turn and push him lightly on the bed. He sits and you slowly climb on his lap, knees caging his hips, heart is pounding in your throat like a hammer. You hear him taking a swift breath and pride pools in your bones because for once you have caught him off guard.

You can feel his crotch hardening by the moment, but the look on his face is not one of hunger or lust. It is pure and blessed devotion.

You wonder at the view, and your eyes roam on his face until...

"Can I take it off?"

There's no need to say what. His face goes hard as stone, eye looking away with discomfort, with shame.

"Please, Aemond." you whisper. "I want to see all of you. I want you to bare yourself to me as I did to you."

"It is not pleasant."

"I don't want pleasantness. I want you."

He stares at you for an eternal moment and then he caves.

A flash of sparkling blue catches you completely and you can do nothing but watch with lips parted, while he keeps his eye down.

You wrap an arm around his shoulders and lean your head against his to breathe one single word in his ear. "Gevie."

His arms are all around you, holding you so tight you might gasp for air. Instead you are smiling, breathing through his long silver hair. You are not sure if you aunt is right, if love is indeed a choice. You can't bring yourself to care because you are doing it already.

And then he's kissing you, seizing your tongue with his in a fierce consuming way. He slightly hikes up your hips, and his hand tries to slide between your legs, but you lace your fingers around his wrist, breaking the kiss with panted breath.

"No." you whisper, and he looks at you almost questioningly, mouth open and chest heaving.

"Lykirī."

His eye widens and you smile, secretly. "I know what it means now."

He smirks at this and does not miss the chance to be the ever diligent scholar. "But you said it wrong. The R is hard."

“Lykirī.” You say again, following his lesson, and in the same moment your hand leaves his wrist and goes down to his breeches. He dips his chin to look at it, at your hands unsure, and he too looks unsure.

“You don’t have to—“

“I want to.” You say, and your voice comes out firm and clear. “Please, Aemond. Let me…let me touch you.”

He realizes now that in all the times you have been lying together, you never managed to lay a hand on him. He likes to keep people at distance. Too many wrong hands have been on him. The Maesters’, inspecting, debating, healing without healing. That whore, taking what it was not hers to take, not yet.

But he wants you to touch him. He has dreamed of it, in any way a man could dream of a woman’s touch.

He looks at you for a moment, chest rising slowly, and then, without taking his eye off you, he pulls the laces of his breeches and guides your hand around his cock. You look down, exhaling a long breath at feeling his hard and hot flesh already pulsing.

He knows you don’t know how to do it, so his hands guide you at first, going slowly up and down, and the air comes out of his mouth slowly and labored. You look up at him, his eye is pitch black, lid growing heavy with pleasure, and your core clenches, desire pools in your belly and flows down.

He must hear the call of your body, because he releases your hand, still stroking him, and goes right between your legs. You gasp loudly, and he hums, delight dripping from his voice just as you are dripping on his fingers. He starts to pump his fingers and you can do nothing but moan, clutching his shoulders with your free hand, the other still around his cock, but the act is growing lazy, your mind can’t focus properly on what you are supposed to do.

“Listen.” he orders you, fingers moving faster and faster, and you do listen. Your soaked flesh coming undone at his scorching touch. “Who else has you like this?”

But this is a question he’s asking himself. Because no one else will ever have him bare like this.

“You. Just you.” you say hoarsely, eyes closing and hips rocking on their own accord.

“And who am I?” he whispers just as hoarsely, and yet his voice is like a whip on all your senses.

“My husband.” you cry, feeling the wave ready to drown you “Ñuha zaldrīzes.” My dragon.

You cannot care less about how you said it, because then your mouth falls open, nails digging into his shoulder while your trembling hips keep riding his fingers, clenching them like a vice.

Your head falls onward, leaning against his forehead, and you try to catch your breath. You watch his wet fingers go straight into his mouth while he looks at you, humming with pleasure. “You look so pretty like this.” he says with the ghost of a smile on his lips “I should fuck you in Throne Room with the whole court watching, so they know how pretty you are when you come for me.”

You laugh with your cheeks flushing, and he slides an arm around you, and you know he wants to pin you down on the bed and fuck you until you are muffling nonsense in the pillow. But this is not his game. This is yours, and even if you don’t know how to play, you will win.

“No.” you say, climbing down from his lap, and he looks at you with hunger and a tinge of thrilling curiosity. “It is my turn to claim.” You say with all the bravery you possess.

Not a moment later, you are going down on your knees.

Another small victory, because his eye widens as he had never done before, and you can see that this, the sight of you on your knees before him, is something he has been craving for, even dreamed of it.

His breathing is slow, and you are not even touching him.

You place yourself between his knees and you lean closer and closer, anxiety twisting your insides, but you want to do this. “Lykirī, nuha zaldrīzes. Surrender.” you take him into your hand, tugging slowly, and your lips linger on the tip, heart pounding in your ears and eyes fixed on him. “Lykirī.” You say one last time and then you are swallowing him.

He hisses loudly and his lips part, hands clutching the covers until his knuckles go white. He’s like burning metal inside your mouth—hot and hard. At first, you just taste him, running your tongue over the head, and he’s cursing under his breath. His hands twitch on the covers, restraining and restraining, but there’s no need. You take his hand while looking at him and you release it from your mouth to say “Teach me.”

It’s like you have just poured fire on more fire. His eye goes wild, he takes hold of your head and starts to guide you again, making your mouth engulf him once more and deep down to the base and then up to the tip again, filling the room with a wet gagging sound. You get the gist of what you’re supposed to do, so your head starts going up and down and up and down, and he actually moans for you, head falling back for just a moment before looking back, he can’t help but watch as you fiercely claim him.

You watch his chest heaving fast and your jaw is starting to hurt but you don't care, you are too absorbed by the view before you. You are too thrilled by the fact that, for once, you have made him speechless.

He's always so bold in the bedroom, so cruel in deciding when and how to give pleasure, and now he's utterly speechless. He can only curse without breath, and gasp and groan.

“Kelītīs.” he manages to say at one point, voice all husky and cracking. You don’t know that word, and you have no time to ask because in a blink, he’s slamming you onto the bed and he’s hiking up your skirt, but you get on your elbows pushing him on his back and climbing on him.

“I’m not done, valzȳrys.” you say feeling his hard length inflaming your core, so you lay your hips on it as firmly as possible. “I claimed, but I did not conquer.”

“You are fucking torturing me.” he points out, bucking against you.

“Conquests could last for centuries, dear husband. You above all should know that.”

“All I know now is that I need to fuck you.” he says placing both hands on the sheets to pull himself up.

“No, I will.” you promise, rocking your hips once more “This is my conquest, not yours.”

You keep rubbing your drenched core on his length until a sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead, and he's so hard he's leaking from the tip. "You are twisted, wife." he says with a dazed tone and you smile even if you can't take it anymore, but you rock some more, saying "I'm a quick study. And I'm learning from the best."

Finally, when you are so wet you are dripping on him, you raise just enough to slide his cock inside of you.

You gasp together and you brace on his shoulders to start moving. You both know you are not going to last long, so you start rocking your hips slowly, taking him to the hilt until you struggle for air.

“Move…” he orders but you just take the opposite road, slowing your hips in a delicious torturing way. “Do you know what else the Sages said? A rider must know their mount, feel their heat below them.”

But Aemond does not have a single drop of blood in his head right now to give you an answer, let alone play your game; he's just fire that burns and burns and burns and just like the Sages said, you can feel his heat, burning below and inside you. He grips your hips and starts to thrust inside you like the wild beast you are supposedly claiming, until you are moaning so loud your throat hurts.

“Yes—” he growls as you bounce on him “Just like that—you’re gripping me so well—fuck"

You both turn sloppy, a mess of sweaty limbs and teeth biting, clutching at each other with bruising grips, pulling at the roots of his hair when you’re about to fall from the highest sky.

"Come on, my sweet girl. Let go for me." he breathes into your mouth, forcing you to move even faster "Let go fro your dragon. Seal your conquest." And you do.

He follows right after, spilling inside while digging his teeth into your neck like fangs on a prey, muffling his loud groaning.

And you are smiling like a fool, a lovestruck fool, but most of all, a conqueror. 

Thank you so much for reading!! 💞💞

[5sospenguinqueen]

Team Betrayal | Red Bull! Reader x Platonic! Grid

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N races for Red Bull but when she's caught out drinking another brand, she enacts her revenge until the Grid outs her snitched.

Apologies but this is a female reader.

Warning: Bad writing. I'm not sure what this is but it was prompted between an energy drink dilemma I had the other day.

There is no timeline for this. Make it up.

Main Masterlist.

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

Swiping away the sweat that ran down the back of her neck, Y/N grinned at the camera, drinking in the euphoric energy enveloping her on all sides.

"Thank you for joining us after such a long day." The interviewer beamed, pleased to have been able to catch the Red Bull racer before debrief started. "How're you feeling? You look absolutely drenched."

"Yes. Max thought he was funny tipping the entire can of Red Bull over my head. I'll wash my hair three times and still go home smelling of the stuff." Y/N joked, dabbing the drop of sticky liquid rolling down her forehead.

Pleased that the conversation had naturally developed down that path, the interviewer smirked at the camera before turning their attention back to you. "So, you've been driving for Red Bull for 2 years now? Is it safe to say you're also a big fan of the drink?"

She laughed nervously, unsure why such an odd question was being asked after a Grand Prix. Usually the media used this opportunity to ask how she felt about losing/her teammate winning. Again. "Who isn't?" Y/N joked.

Whipping out her phone, the interviewer (dressed in traitorous McLaren orange) thrust it in front of her face. The grin from Y/N's face instantly dropped as she squinted against the blinding sun. Disbelief painted her face.

"Where did you get that? That's actually me!"

"One of your fellow racers provided it earlier." The interviewer informed, tucking away the damning photo of Y/N drinking a can of Monster Energy, dressed in her Red Bull racing suit and attempting to hide her behaviour behind a laughing Lando Norris.

"Who?!"

"I'm afraid we're not at liberty to say. We promised confidentiality in favour of the photo," teased the interviewer.

"That's my face." Y/N's eyes darkened challengingly. She leaned into the microphone, staring down the camera. "In that case, those boys won't know a moment of peace until I get my answer."

She straightened just as soon after, smile flickering back into place as she heard her name being called. "Oops, I was meant to be in debrief a minute again. Thanks for talking to me. Catch you later!"

"Thank you for your time." The interviewer called after the retreating navy figure. She turned back to the camera. "Ladies and Gentleman, I think it's safe to say that Y/N Y/L/N is as ferocious off the track as she is on it. I don't know about you but I would not want to be a member of the Grid this evening."

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

The interview went viral.

YourUserName this you? (She retweeted with a pic of Lando wearing a Monster Energy hat, a can of Red Bull in hand)

→ LandoNorris no.

User 1 not Lando deliberately lying about his own face

User 2 oh, no. Lando. What have you started?

User 3 not me checking my phone every 2 seconds to see if Y/N has posted after she vowed vengence.

→ Your User Name 👀👀

User 4 don't drag poor Maxie into this. He's always seen drinking Red Bull.

User 5 she never was good enough for the team, hope they drop her after this.

User 6 may as well just go to McLaren with how much time she spends with them.

OscarPiastri just a warning. I can hear her laughing evilly next door.

YourUserName so just to clear a few things up. I have never bought a Monster Energy in my life.

YourUse Name i am always supplied with them by people who are attempting to remain innocent in this scandal.

PierreGASLY yeah, well. My shoes are cleaner than yours so...

→ LandoNorris you sure showed her.

User 7 not the Grid coming for my girl only to end up fighting for their lives.

User 8 coming for his teammate

User 9 not the whole Grid teasing her for betraying Red Bull

User 10 always knew Max didn't like them. This just confirms

YourUserName not you too. You said you had my back

→ Max33Verstappen this is why you didn't get on the podium

Max33Verstappen not my babies?!

→ YourUserName i may not have a podium but I do have your cats.

→ Charles_Leclerc you're making this worse for yourself

→ YourUserName watch out or Leo's next

→ Charles_Leclerc *horrified gasp*

User 11 alex fighting for his innocence.

User 12 the Grid are feeding us tonight.

User 13 what's the odds that they're fighting for their lives in the gc?

User 14 bet they're compiling a list of times they gave her Monster

→ User 15 trying to figure out who might be next

User we found the snitch

User 2 anyone else see Red Bull lurking in the likes?

LandoNorris @ danielricciardo this is why she didn't respond

Max33Verstappen daniel's currently crying.

redbullracing christian said you have a meeting with PR tomorrow.

→ YourUserName crap.

User 3 can we take a moment to appreciate all the Grid content we got this evening?

→ User 4 and look at how quick Y/N's responses were. Boo was ready for them.

→ User 5 what are the odds they were all sitting next to their phones, terrified every time it buzzed

→ lilymhe can confirm.

[nanamiscocksleeve]

May I request a situation where Kento suddenly turns corrupt in a way that he loses all respect and simply wants to sexually take advantage of fem!reader? Just fucking her rough like a rag doll. Whether it be a curse or aphrodisiac (that can be up to your amazing imagination) But of course, there’s consent and miss reader has a ball with it.

Ohhhh! This is what I needed to break back into writing JJK. But I feel like there's defiinitely some work out there where Kento rough fucks his s/o thanks to a curse or aphrodisiac and I was struggling to write something that felt fresh. This might be a little softer than what was asked because while I'm ok with writing degradation, I think Kento would struggle quite a bit with this.

I hope I've done this justice!

Warnings: MDNI, degradation, derogatory name calling, CNC, objectification, dacryphilia, free use, rough sex, S&M

Use Me

It's a quiet evening as your husband brings you a warm cup of coffee, pressing a kiss to you head as he sits next to you. He stretches and lets out a breath, relishing the peace, and puts an arm around you, drawing you closer for comfort. You sip quietly and appear lost in thought. Ever observant, Kento quirks an eyebrow at you.

"Something on your mind?" To his surprise, your eyes flick up to his over the coffee cup and a blush starts to dust over your cheeks and nose. "What's with that face?" Kento smiles, flattered at the sight and puts a hand on your wrist to lower the coffee cup. Your lips twist into an embarrassed smile and you shake your head, looking away.

"It's nothing I was just thinking about something." You sip and put the mug down on the table. Kento notices the way you hold yourself, the slight tension in your shoulders and the way your eyes look like you want to divulge a secret but were unsure if you should do so. The hand on your wrist slides and he lays his large, warm, hand over yours.

"What is it sweetheart?" He brushes away some stray strands of hair from your face. You bite your lip doubtfully, then decide to spill the beans. "Kento, there's something I want us to...try." You say in a strange tone, like you're still weighing the cons. Kento nods, encouraging you to go on.

"It's...related to sex."

This catches his interest. "Oh?"

"Yeah. It might not be something you're into."

"Try me." He reassuringly pulls you against him, allowing you a grateful moment of privacy as you hide your face in his neck. You clear your throat and continue.

"I want you to take advantage of me. Sexually."

"Am I not already doing that?" Kento jokes but you shake your head, your hair tickling his skin.

"I mean...I want to be used. Objectified. Degraded. Made to feel like I'm just a toy for your entertainment." You pause and he feels you take in a deep breath before continuing. "I basically want you to reduce me to being holes that you use for your pleasure and nothing more."

Kento's heart pounds in his chest as you word your request. "You want me to use you like that?"

"Yeah. And like, I don't want you to be gentle either. I want you to be rough. Like leave bite marks all over me. Don't have sex with me. Fuck me. Roughly. Hard." The blood in his veins grows hot and he pets your hair.

"Are you sure?"

"It's something I always wanted to try. Not that I don't like how it is now. But. I didn't know how to ask." You feel his lips nuzzle your ear and his hands reassuringly stroke your back.

"Sweetheart you know I'm willing to try a lot of things. But I never want to compromise your safety or well-being. I can be rough if you want. But you need to tell me if it's too much. I can't stand the thought of doing something that'll hurt you."

"You won't hurt me. And we have our safe word. I promise to use it." There's a moment of silence as Kento imagines how this would go. You're his favorite person in the whole world, whom he loves and respects. But at the same time, this idea has him incredibly aroused, the thought of using you to his will and forcing you to submit to debauched acts that he's never allowed himself to think about.

He presses another soft kiss to your forehead.

"If it'll make you happy then all right."

--------

You whimper as Kento bites your lower lip hard enough to draw blood, wiping away the blotch with his thumb. He's unrecognizable to you. You've only seen him like before for a specific scenario; when he's hunting down a curse. It sends a skitter of fear through you but also brings forth a strong rush of arousal that makes your cunt clench in need.

"Now remember slut, you're mine to be used. And I'm only letting you rest after I've fucked and filled you to my satisfaction. And if I hear you complaining, know that I have better uses for that mouth. Now on your knees."

You kneel, keeping your eyes trained on the floor, feeling your heart pounding at what was about to happen. Kento roughly yanks your head up by your hair. "Open."

You part your lips then gasp as he shoves his cock without warning, sliding the hard flesh down your throat. You try to relax your muscles, choking in relief as he comes up then repeats the action. You're on the verge of gagging before he gives you reprieve. Saliva drips from your mouth as he gathers your hair and pushes back in, holding you firmly in place until your nose hits his pubes before thursting forcefully, grunting at the slickness of your wet, willing mouth.

You feel your breathless from the effort of keeping him in your mouth, feeling him nearly touching the entrance to your throat, tears streaming from your eyes as you struggle to accomodate all of him. When he finally pulls out you take in a thankful breath of air, spluttering from the freedom.

"Pathetic. Can't even deepthroat cock. What good are you?" His hands wrap around your throat just hard enough to give you that dizzying light-headed feeling as your brain is deprived of air before letting go. He pauses, watching you writhe on the floor to catch your breath. Once it steadies, he commands you.

"Crawl."

Turned on and feeling debased, you get on your hands and knees and start crawling on the floor, your ass jiggling with each movement that you make. You hear footsteps then squeal as Kento's hand slaps the soft flesh. You freeze as the sting ripples through you before Kento jerks your head back by your hair.

"I didn't say to stop crawling. Stupid whore. Who said you can stop just because you felt a little pain?" He brings his hand down repeatedly as you pathetically begin to crawl again, sniffing as you go.

"Crying when you know this all you're good for? Stop acting like you're above this." He leaves your ass smarting, red and pulsing from his abuse. His calloused hands grab your fleshy cheeks and spread them apart and he chuckles darkly. "Don't tell me you're turned on."

You whimper as you feel him insert a finger into your moist hole, probing forcefully before withdrawing. "Just when I thought you could sink no lower. You really are nothing but a basic piece of meat just hoping a cock will fill you and make you feel like you have a purpose."

His finger withdraws and he pulls you up abruptly, his hands harshly squeezing your breasts, pinching your nipples aggressively and earning a keening noise from you, your whole body feeling a sensitive blob. He twists and pulls, and you squirm in his grasp, causing him to growl and grip your chin, his fingers digging into your skin.

"Stop acting like you want to escape." He firmly spanks your pussy and your body jolts from the surprise, a cry leaving you. "You crave this. Want this. Because deep down, you know there's nothing more you want than to be a glorified fucktoy. That's all. You're a vessel to hold my cum, if I decide you're worthy enough to receive it."

He pushes one of your breasts up to his mouth and suckles roughly and you can feel the edges of his teeth skimming along the sensitive peaks. Kento releases it and does the same for the other, and just when your senses start to calm down, he sinks his teeth into the nipple, just hard enough for you make a noise of pain. He smirks.

"Oh. So you do have a limit." He bites the other nipple with similar force and you let out a broken sob. "Tsk. You're not very good at being a fucktoy are you?"

He shoves you to the bed and you fall on the soft mattress. You hear the clink of chains and see him securing handcuffs around your ankles before securing the free ends to the bedposts, angling your legs so that they're spread apart wide. Your wet pussy is exposed to his feral eyes and he licks his lips at the sight of the glistening membranes. He flicks your clit cruelly, enjoying the way you twitch and struggle.

"Oh you're dumb aren't you? Haven't you learned what happens when you try to avoid me?" He spanks your clit again, and your eyes roll back into your head as you try to separate the confusing blur of pain and pleasure that shoots through you body.

"Why is it that the more pain I give you, the wetter your dumb whore cunt gets?" The resounding echo of his palm on your wet folds gets louder with each slap until your clit is swollen and red from the repeated blows.

"Look at that. You actually want more after all that." Before you can process what's happening, Kento shifts on the bed and plunges his hard cock into your pussy. The stretch makes you sob because you weren't quite ready for him, the push slightly painful, but as you adjust to him, the feeling fades. His movements are harsh and selfish, swiftly bottoming out each time and hitting your cervix, setting a brutal pace that has you feeling like you might black out.

You let out a shocked squeak as his thumb starts to manhandle your clit, brushing over it in savage strokes that bring you dangerously close to the edge. Strings of incoherent noises spill from your lips, sounding more and more animalistic as your brain turns off all rational thought and begins to fill with need. You just wanted to orgasm, then have the satisfaction of Kento's seed filling your wet channel, to feel him soften inside you before the next round....

You let a quivering wail as your orgasm hits and Kento huffs in satisfaction as he feels your walls clenching him as you cum. Your feet thrash against their restraints as the ripple of orgasmic pleasure rocks your body. "You can't help it can you? Being a cumslut?"

His hips start to pick up pace and slam into you as he chases his orgasm, his breathing becoming ragged, hands digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises as he uses your hole to satisfy the raging, primal need that's fuelling his actions. His movements become sloppy and the edges of his vision start to blur.

"Here it comes. Your reward. Try not to spend it all in once place." With a final thrust, thick ropes of cum start to fill your insides and he shudders with the satisfaction. A moment passes before he pulls out of you, leaking his seed as he withdraws. You lay spent and exhausted on the bed.

Kento finally breaks character and crouches over you. "You didn't use your safe word."

"I didn't need to."

© nanamiscocksleeve original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

[little-diable]

Pleasure - Prof!Tom Riddle (smut)

Just a small Drabble about our fave fucked up, dark professor. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Professor Riddle threatens to fail the reader, something she won’t accept. Just pwp

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, choking, degrading, orgasm denial, Tom being Tom, power imbalance

Pairing: Prof!Tom Riddle x fem!student!reader (1.2k words)

“You threaten to fail me? Are you out of your mind?” Her voice boomed through the class room, eyes set on the professor whose assistant she had been for the past months now. His piercing eyes didn’t meet hers, he kept his gaze set on the papers, correcting the homework she had collected minutes ago. All before he had dropped this bomb on her, telling (y/n) that she was about to fail his class. “Look at me!”

“Careful, (y/n).” His eyes snapped up to meet hers, voice sharper than a knife. He leaned back in the chair, arms crossed in front of his chest while staring at her like a snake about to snap at its prey. He had always been a dangerous man, a man whose aura was a warning itself, set on pulling her into his dark trap. But today he had something else to him, something even more ruthless.

“Tell me why!” She was fuming, set on letting go of a piercing scream. This must be a joke, a prank he was pulling on her - her grades were better than most, she was always on time, and when she was working for him, she did everything he asked of her.

“I don’t owe you any explanations. And your behaviour proves to me that you’re not mature enough to work on it. Leave.” (Y/n) didn’t move, she kept staring at Professor Riddle who slowly rose to his feet. A part of her screamed at her to leave, to run before it was too late, but the more stubborn part forced her to stand still and watch his every move. “Is this how you want to play? This is my last warning, (y/n).”

Her body was trembling in anger and need, all while her mind brought back flashes of a similar moment that had happened weeks ago. Back then she had left this room with trembling thighs and his handprint burned into her behind. The following hours had been spent hidden away in her room while pushing herself over the edge numerous times with his name burning on the tip of her tongue.

“I am not scared of you.” She cocked her head, chin pointed in his direction while she looked up at him. It was a foolish game she was playing - a game she was about to lose, but she didn’t care, couldn’t worry about any wins or losses, knowing that whatever would happen between them would count as a win in her book.

“You should be.” His ringed hand found her throat, tugging (y/n) in for a teeth clashing kiss. She moaned into the touch, unable to stop her hands from wandering, from finding the back of his neck to keep him close. (Y/n) felt her surroundings spin, throwing her into another dimension while the professor moved her backwards to heave his TA onto his table. With her legs wrapped around his waist, (y/n) kept him close, not daring to think of parting just yet. “You try to distract me with those pretty little things you wear, you try to make a fool out of me, but you’ll never have this much power over me. You’re mine, (y/n), I’m the one guiding you.”

She could only moan in delight, feeling his hand disappear beneath her skirt to press his fingertips against her clothed heat. Slowly, he began to circle her bundle through the fabric of her panties, feeling them grow damp beneath his touch. A soft chuckle let him, buzzing through both their bodies while his lips moved down her throat, sucking on the spots that drew moans from her.

“You’ve been asking for it for months, so now you’ll take my cock like the desperate slut you are. But I won’t let you cum, not this afternoon.” His words drew a protesting moan from (y/n), eyes wide while she stared at him. No words managed to pass her parted lips, unsure how to speak up as the sounds reaching her distracted (y/n).

Within seconds he had freed his cock, pushing a condom down his length before her panties were tugged aside. Her fingernails left crescent marks on the spot where his shoulder met his neck as he pushed into her, forcing her tight walls to adjust to him. A part of her wanted to beg him to slow down, to give her some moments to relax before taking all of him, but that part didn’t get a chance to speak up, silenced by her loud moans.

Professor Riddle fucked her ruthlessly, he was using her body, set on chasing his own high while sticking to his promise. Tonight he wouldn’t let her cum, at least not for a few hours before finding his way to her.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, dripping from her chin onto the back of his hand which was still holding her throat. She was torn between focusing on the way he perfectly stretched her, about to push her over the edge, and the way he held onto her all too possessively, leaving her heart jumping in excitement.

“This is why I need to keep you around, love.” The nickname had a condescending touch to it, leaving her gasping while she tried to focus on his words. “You’re all for me to use, all for my own pleasure.”

(Y/n) nodded her head while another gasp left her, head wanting to roll back - though without any luck as he kept holding onto her. She felt his cock tearing her apart with every thrust, drunk on the feeling of him fucking her this posessively. With moans ripping their way through her, she clawed at his skin, giving into the subconscious need to mark him up to have the same claim on him.

“What would you ever do without me, huh? You’re so needy, such a pathetic little girl.” She was close to letting go, high on the low tones of his raspy voice, on the way he spoke to her with spite and adoration dripping from his tongue. With one hand still clinging to him, she let the other find her pulsing bundle, circling it a few times to give herself the needed push. Something he instantly stopped her from doing after a second or two.

“I told you I won’t let you cum for now. I don’t make empty threats, love.” More tears fell from her eyes as she stared up at Professor Riddle. Her walls clenched his cock, hoping to pull him into her trap - something he didn’t seem to care for as he pulled out of her to cum on her thighs.

“You’ll wait for me tonight, and perhaps if you’re good, I’ll let you cum.”

[hiddenreamers]

I was in your music video - f1 drivers x singer!reader

SUMMARY: They say that if a poet loves you, they will write you into immortality. But if you date a musician, they might write you into the Billboard 100. Which is exactly what happens to your driver boyfriend.

Featuring: Lewis Hamilton, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Carlos Sainz Jr, Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, George Russell

Note: Yes, two songs are sung by male artists. Yes, I'm going to ignore that fact and you should, too.

Lewis Hamilton

He's been in the room maybe five times. The space always felt strangely sacred to him - this is where you write, compose and practice songs with your band; this is where the magic, so to speak, happens. Walls are absolutely covered with tour posters, polaroids and printed-out articles. There's a large mirror that seems to be a message board considering all the sticky notes and words written with a marker. The only somewhat de-cluttered space is surrounding the setup. It's an unspoken testament to being a musician in a band.

There's a certain tension inside the driver. You've never asked him to listen to a song before it's finished. Sure, he has listened through your albums before they were officially released but it was always just that - a recording, not a live version. So what's different this time? Why is it vital he hears this song early?

Walking through the room, Lewis has to carefully watch where he's going. He doesn't want to accidentally break something by stepping on a cable or kicking a box with unknown contents. Inside a garage, he knows what not to touch but a recording studio and instruments are pretty much an unknown world to him.

Lewis is standing around a tad awkwardly, hands in pockets, when the bassist pushes a big black box closer to the driver.

"Have a seat." The musician points to the chest.

Lewis frowns. "On the box?" he asks, unsure. "Is that okay?"

"It's the Lucky Chest, Hamilton," the bassist announces. The other band members snicker at the title. "You have to sit on it."

"What's lucky about it?" Lewis inquires. More than the seating choice, he's interested in the reason for laughter.

"The first time we played at a big festival," the guitarist begins, her story slightly interrupted by her tuning the guitar, "we were sitting on it and listening to Green Day's stage, wondering 'how the fuck are we supposed to play after them?'."

"We were doing like a punk-rock tribute thing," adds the drummer. He's adjusting his seat and judging by the constant up-and-down movement, he can't make up his mind. The process is finally over when he reaches to tap the high-hat and nods to himself, content.

"After we finished our set," you take over retelling the story, "Billy Joe Armstrong came up to us and said we did great."

"So now it's the Lucky Chest," concludes the bassist.

Perhaps it's another testament to being a musician in a band when multiple people together tell one story without cutting details or creating chaos. A true harmony, though a joke a little on the nose.

"Well, I'm honoured," Lewis says. An airy giggle escapes him as he's still thinking about how easily teamwork comes to you and your band.

"You should be." The guitarist points her finger at him in a joking but accusatory way. Then she looks over her shoulder. "Whenever you're ready, drummer boy."

Music fills the room and Lewis is instantly captivated by you. He noticed it the first time he saw you on stage, how something inside you changes the moment you hear the instruments playing. Intensity, fire - passion in its most primal form. But this time around, the look in your eyes is different. You're no longer looking at the audience but him specifically; instead of singing a song, you seem to be telling him something.

So he listens.

I'm a desert, you're an ocean It's your motion that I need Without you I am broken, left to thirst out in the heat

And how strange he suddenly feels: all of the sentiments he already knows but now that you've put them into words for the whole world to hear, he can't help but find some revelation in them. For a moment, there's only the two of you and your confession of desire. Every word resonates with him and Lewis feels like he could say all of those things about you, too.

The song is far from over but he has already decided - he will listen to it before every race.

Lando Norris

Nothing seemed different about that day.

Lando is streaming while you're still at the studio. In an hour or so, you will come back, he will end the stream and the two of you will sit down to eat something. You will talk about your day, he will say something silly and both of you will laugh. Just like you always did.

To his credit, Lando couldn't have known about the song because you never told him. Some part of you thought it would be a bit dramatic to announce that you've written a song about him but can't play it yet because it's not finished. It would spoil the fun, wouldn't it? Therefore, you decided to tell Lando only after he listened to the final product. Perhaps you also wanted to seem a lot more nonchalant about the whole thing, planning on giving him just an off-hand comment of "oh, by the way, this one's about you". Life, however, rarely turns out the way we plan and that's exactly what happened that night.

If it was just one or two people calling Lando "honeybee" on the stream, he probably wouldn't even notice. But even he will pay attention when the comments are going on hundreds if not thousands.

He can't help but grow flustered at the pet name born out of his visceral fear of insects.

"Who told you that?!" he yells in a comically angry tone, a poor attempt at hiding embarrassment.

The comments come flooding again, explaining the situation only in variations of your name and the title Espresso. And like a detective following a crime, Lando immediately searches the internet.

"I feel lied to," he speaks up. "She didn't tell me she has a new song coming out. Why am I the last one to know? When I literally live with her? This is so unfair, I'm obviously the biggest fan, I should know first!"

Lando plays the music video. From the first line of "he's thinking about me every night", his bashfulness only gets worse. What starts as an excited smile, grows into a flustered, giggly mess. Although his pride is on the line, he can't deny any of the claims you make in the song. Yes, he couldn't sleep one night thinking about you and texted you about that. Yes, he does call you often even though he hates making phone calls. And yes, Lando Norris is, in fact, wrapped around your finger. What a horse is everyone can see and similarly, everyone can see and define who Lando is when it comes to his girlfriend:

"Simp?" he reads one of the comments. "Look, maybe I am but at the end of the day I'm dating her and you're not so who's the real loser here?"

Lando can only laugh his heart out when the chat gets flooded with identical comments: You.

"Okay, I admit. I'm down bad for my girlfriend and I'm proud of that."

Tomorrow's headlines are bound to be interesting...

Oscar Piastri

Although Oscar has seen you in musicals countless times, this situation feels a lot weirder and more uncomfortable. When he comes to watch your show, he's in the audience and you're on the stage. Now you're sitting side by side on the couch in your shared apartment, about to see your first movie. You're both the audience and the creator, which leaves you unsure how to act.

Unfortunately, your discomfort only grows. Oscar seems to be enjoying the movie but joy is not granted to you on this day. With each minute, you know your big part is coming. Oh God, what is he going to think?

Then, you suddenly pause the film. Oscar looks at you confused.

"There's something you need to know before you watch this scene and listen to the song," you say before he can ask you about your strange actions.

Oscar's frown only deepens. "You're making it sound really serious."

"Because it is. The thing is... " you hang your voice, unsure how to put words together. How do you tell someone this without making things awkward? "This is more embarrassing than I thought it would be but the song you're about to hear, I wrote it thinking about you."

He's trying to smile but the shadow of embarrassment on his face doesn't go unnoticed. You can only hope it's good kind of nervous.

The movie is resumed. As your discomfort is barely tolerable, you're looking away from the TV, fidgeting ever-so-slightly. Once or twice, you glance at Oscar, trying to see his reaction. The problem is, he's sitting unbelievably still. True, Oscar Piastri tends to be on the calmer side but right now it feels off. As if lost deep in thought, he appears to be diligently contemplating the scene in the movie; picking apart the words that came to your mind while thinking about him.

When the song comes to an end, you pause the film once more. A tense silence falls between you and Oscar, both longing to say something and yet neither willing to.

"So?" you begin hesitantly. "What do you think?"

Oscar shifts awkwardly. "Erm... I don't really know what to say."

A nervous giggle escapes your lips. "It's really sappy, I know." You try to downplay the situation, fearing that his reaction is born out of something negative. Does he think you're clingy? Obsessive? Too dramatic to handle?

"It's not that," he quickly denies. "Well, okay, it is kind of sappy but it's good sappy?" Oscar's tone raises slightly, revealing that he's unsure whether it's the right choice of words.

"Good sappy?" you repeat.

It feels as though woe has weaved a nest inside your viscera. "Good sappy" sounds like a lovely, diplomatic euphemism used not to hurt someone's feelings.

"Yeah, it's just..." Oscar doesn't finish his sentence. He runs his hand through his hair, then rubs the back of his neck nervously. Finally, he looks at you but not in a way you're familiar with. There's something ethereal in his gaze, a glint of inexplicable emotion that would escape a less observant eye. "It's really beautiful," he says. "The fact that you feel this way about me?" You could swear there are tears in his eyes as he lets out a flustered giggle. "I can die happy now."

Carlos Sainz

As old tradition entails, the Thursdays before a race weekend are meant for golfing. And who is Carlos Sainz to not give in to the custom?

He's sitting in his car, impatiently ploughing through the traffic of the city centre. Why are people out and about at this time, anyway? Shouldn't they be at work? Wanting to get his mind off of the fact that he's going to be quite late to the game, Carlos turns on the radio. The man is mindlessly skipping through the stations until something catches his attention - the announcer introduces you as today's guest.

"Hello again, pretty girl," Carlos says to himself. A small smile enters his face.

"First of all, I'd like to thank you," the radio host begins. "Unfinished Business is just the album I've been waiting for this year. And not only me! Have you seen Billboard 100 lately?"

Your flustered giggle is just as adorable as always. "Yesterday evening, I think?"

The broadcaster sighs dramatically. "Then you have ancient news. I have the site pulled up now and check it every few minutes. Let me tell you, Unfinished Business has climbed twenty spots since morning."

"Oh, shoot."

"Indeed." The announcer laughs and Carlos does with him. It's such a familiar theme for the driver - you being more humble than you really should be, surprised by the success you entirely deserve.

"Now, to address the elephant in the room or rather on the music charts. Over and Over Again is like a love letter all of us have written but never sent. Tell me all about it!"

"I guess 'love letter' is a pretty good description," you explain. Curious, Carlos turns up the volume. "For some time, I was trying to put my thoughts together and tell someone how I felt but never could quite do it. I can write good songs but in real life, I'm pretty terrible at speaking my mind and talking about feelings. I just don't want people to misunderstand, you know?"

"What are you saying, hermosa?" Carlos asks aloud, although there's no one to answer him.

"At least you can write a song about it! We regular folk are stuck with memes and playlists."

"Thank God, I can!" You laugh and, as embarrassing as it may sound, Carlos feels a sudden warmth spreading through his chest. "I was struggling with saying what I wanted to say to him, so at some point, I just decided I could put those words and feelings into a song. He likes to listen to the radio when he's driving so he might even be listening right now."

Although nothing bad or negative is going on, Carlos feels himself growing tense, nervous. There's no doubt the "he" you keep mentioning is him but what exactly is it you've been trying to tell him? Is there something he's missing?

"Did you tell him you've written a song about him?" the radio host asks.

"It might have slipped my mind," you answer coyly.

The announcer only laughs. "Oh dear, what a way to find out! Without further ado, let's hear your love letter to the mysterious man. I really hope he's listening to us right now. Don't you dare change the station, you lucky guy."

To his own surprise, Carlos recognizes the melody - you've been humming it for weeks now. But as you begin singing, the words leave him in disbelief. Do you really... mean all of that?

Carlos is lost in the song, feeling as though the lyrics aren't just lyrics but your genuine confession; a true love letter, as you have said yourself. He's brought back to reality only when the car behind him honks and Carlos is a hair's breadth away from picking a fight with the other driver. Nothing requires more haste or attention than his girlfriend exclaiming to the whole world that he will always be the one for her and that she will love him over and over again.

Charles Leclerc

You don't hear Charles coming in - you're too lost in your own thing to remember there's an entire world outside of the song and the piano in front of you. On the other hand, Charles doesn't announce his arrival as he doesn't want to disturb you. To be perfectly honest, he's a little too curious to interrupt you. It happens very rarely that you practise outside of the studio and so Charles doesn't really get to hear your more casual singing, not an embellished performance for the audience.

As quietly as he can, he makes his way towards you. Charles casually leans against the doorframe, your back turned to him as you continue playing the piano. He barely bites back the smile that creeps onto his face whenever you effortlessly sing the high notes - they are difficult for professionals and yet you execute them so cleanly, they appear almost too easy.

The lyrics haunt him but in a truly delicious way. A particular note of sincerity in your voice makes the words stick to him like rain does to a reckless passerby. Sure, they will slip away, although not before drenching him; their vital piece will forever lie with him.

When the song comes to an end, Charles (without thinking twice) gives you a hefty applause. The surprise makes you almost fall off the chair.

"Shit, you scared me!" you yell at him. It takes a couple deep breaths and your boyfriend's apologies, to collect yourself. "How much did you hear?"

He shrugs, suddenly realizing that he wasn't supposed to hear even one note of the song. "Pretty much all of it."

Your expression must not be joyful as Charles resumes his apologies and poor attempts at excuses. Suddenly, you cut him off. "How'd you like it?"

For a moment, he only hums and mindlessly knocks at the doorframe, looking for the right words.

"I loved it," he confesses. A strange tension in his voice proves he's telling the truth. "It's a beautiful song."

"Good," you answer absentmindedly. Quietly, you nod to yourself before looking back at Charles, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "It would really suck if you hated a song about yourself, you know?"

His eyes grow wide and Charles seems to forget about blinking for a good minute. Judging by the changes in his expression, you can tell the exact thought process he's experiencing: realizing you've written a song about him, joy caused by that, remembering the lyrics and finally taking them personally.

The more observant fans might notice a new addition to his helmet: "Claire de Lune" written in elegant lettering.

George Russell

Common sense might tell you that a race car driver must have no fear. And that would be correct, although quite imprecise. They must have no fear on track, yes, but daily life is quite different from racing, isn't it? Or maybe George is discovering a range of emotions he has not known before.

Your relationship is fresh but that isn't to say it's not serious. The weight of the connection the two of you share is a major part of the reason why George has been dead set on taking things slow. The other part is him knowing what media circus will play out once the news breaks. It's hard to blame him for wanting to keep at least some aspect of his life private, especially one that means so much to him.

As understanding as you are, George's apprehensiveness is tiring. You perfectly understand his reasoning and to some degree share the sentiment but at the same time, you are just somebody in love - you itch to scream it to the whole world. Or, at the very least, share a picture of the two of you. Both of you haven't been middle-schoolers for quite some time now, so why act like ones?

George, like the supportive boyfriend he is, loves to see you in your element. He watches the music videos, yet, but he much prefers the dance practice videos, where you're visibly enjoying each second of the choreography. Therefore, when you upload a new dance video for your song, he's probably the first person to play it.

It's a catchy tune that makes even the most boring people want to dance a little. With his head moving to the rhythm, George doesn't focus much on the lyrics until something in the second verse catches his attention:

So used to hiding We built our kingdom around The right timing

The lines, understandably, hit a little too close to home to be a pure coincidence. Now suspicious, George replays the video - this time, he's actually listening to the words instead of focusing on your dancing. Any hesitation that he's the true recipient of the song is gone with the first line of "Say you want me". The desperation in your voice is simply too candid to be just an act for the sake of the performance.

With the song loudly playing on a loop, George is scrolling through his phone's gallery in search of the best pictures of the two of you. He can't help but mouth the lyrics along with your singing, only to randomly giggle as the thought once again settles - it's about him.

Your phone can't stop vibrating. The notifications are coming nonstop. What on Earth happened? Upon opening Instagram, the mystery is solved. The internet seemed to be set on fire when George posted a series of pictures of the two of you with a caption that earned a giddy chuckle from you: "Setting us in motion".

Max Verstappen

Max and you both understand how much support can change. Sometimes just knowing that this other person is out there, watching and cheering, can change everything. As such, the two of you try to attend each other's events as much as you can. Unfortunately, the universe isn't always kind and you end up on the opposite ends of the world. The only support you can offer then is watching the live-streamed event - just like Max is doing right now.

He's sitting in his driver's room in Singapore, while you're at an award show in the USA. Quite the distance. There's something unbearably humbling about having to watch your performance like most of the world, when Max is, without a doubt, not most of the world.

In the back of his mind, Max is still thinking about the conversation he had with you earlier. Although he never misses your performances, you made it a point to tell him to watch this one. In your own words, he's supposed to look out for something fun, like a detail that will make this show different from the others. So as though he is a hawk, or more of a vulture, Max is hyperanalizing everything that's happening on the screen. He's not about to miss your little surprise.

The song begins and as much as he wants to enjoy watching you in your element, Max is a missile on a mission. Nothing specific seems to catch his eye but that t-shirt you're wearing...

Max knows it all too well. Theoretically, it's his t-shirt but considering you wear it more often than he does, it's practically yours. Now it's styled to fit the concept and image of your bandmates but the colour, the logo, the number, are all unmistakeable. Considering how much you're touching the article of clothing, compared to other dancers, he's convinced he's found what he was meant to look for.

Before he can wonder why you've chosen to wear his t-shirt for your performance, it's you who gives him the answer through the lyrics:

I feel like for the first time I am not faking Fingers on my buttons and now you're playing Master of anticipation, don't you keep it all to yourself

Max Verstappen doesn't get flustered but if he did, he'd be beyond flustered right now. The realization hits him like a derailed train - the song that everyone has been obsessed with through the summer and that has pretty obvious sexual lyrics is actually about him.

And if he did get flustered, the emotion would be rather short-lived, giving way to pride. After all, the core meaning of the song is that he's a generous lover, right? Clearly, he's been taking good care of his girlfriend.

Now, each sung line of "Just the touch of your love" makes Max all the more frustrated that the two of you are so far apart. He's earned his title of "Master of anticipation" and he intends to keep it.

[submattenthusiast]

mommy

summary - in which matt calls you mommy for the first time

contents; mommy kink, mentions of boners, suggestive, no actual smut, idk what else.

matt didn’t ever think he would call anyone mommy, he doesn’t even call his own mother mommy. when he figured out you liked being called mommy he thought about giving it a shot.

chris had somehow convinced him to take the bdsm test, which landed him in this position, sat in his black gaming chair in front of his monitor, black screen illuminating his face. he was shocked by the vulgar questions the test contained.

you were scrolling on your phone on the bed behind him, not paying him any mind. he had mentioned some test chris told him to take when he walked into the room, you nodded with a hum before returning to your phone.

“some of these kinks are just outrageous’’ he stated, mouth agape. you chuckled at his shock. “do i like to wear a collar” “um no, next” he was going through these questions with a look of disgust on his face. you giggled every time he said a kink out loud, some of them actually being outrageous.

“you’re so vanilla, you’ve said no to almost every question” you snorted. he spun around in his chair eyes almost bulging out of his head, mouth once again open. “vanilla? how am i vanilla” he questioned, offended by your accusation. “those kinks weren’t even bad, and you were acting like a virgin” you explained. 

“and you’re not?” he said with a raised eyebrow. “i mean i’m not hardcore but not vanilla either lmao” you shrugged nonchalantly. “maybe you should be the one taking this quiz then’’.

he was mindlessly, reading out more questions. none of them caught your attention until you heard the word mommy come out of his mouth. you paused the tiktok you were watching, switching your attention to matt, watching his reaction closely. 

“do i have a mommy kink” he chuckled to himself, a dumb joke on the tip of his tongue. he clicked the unsure button then pressed next, the next question being about calling someone else mommy. “would i call someone else mommy” you froze in your spot as he read aloud, you bit your lip, nervous about his response. 

a wet patch began to form on your underwear, this turned you on more than you’d care to admit. you thanked god that he was facing the computer, your thighs squeezed together and you began to squirm. your mind was filled with the filthiest thoughts known to man. 

you were broken out of the trance you were in as he spoke “mommy?”. you didn’t respond, thinking he wasn’t referring to you. he repeated himself “mommy?”. “yes?” you responded, trying to play off how turned on you were.

matt was dumbfounded by your response, not expecting you to be so calm about the whole situation. he turned around in his chair slowly, brows furrowed in confusion. “are you into that or something, why are you so chill about it” he asked. “yeah i guess?” you spoke nervously, he had judged so many of the other kinks, you were worried about what he would think of you now.

he was speechless, learning that his girlfriend had a mommy kink, but more importantly, the fact that he liked it, a little too much. his cock twitched in his pants when he called you that, and he was semi-hard now. he wanted to experiment with this, desperate to know more. “you guess?”, his face was full of confusion “yeah i mean i’ve been called it before but it coming from your mouth made it clear” you admitted, staring at him intensely, waiting for a reaction.

matt got up from his chair and sat next to you on the bed. “i liked it too not gonna lie, i want to try it again” he confessed, hands resting on your thighs now. you moved to rest on his lap, thighs on both sides of his body. he looked up at you for a response, eager to hear what you were gonna say next. “yeah? then you’re gonna have to answer yes on that quiz baby” you joked. 

he rolled his eyes before responding “i’ll handle that later, but now i need your help with something else mommy” he said, grabbing your hand and placing it on the bulge in his pants.

a/n - not proofread, got the idea randomly hope you enjoyed

taglist; @mattybsgroupie @frnkocnlvr @fratboychrisera @issyh3ll @zariyam @bellassturniolo @thepubeburgler

[tjwritesfanfics]

Sneaky touch (Aaron Hotchner)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: Hotch is only a man and maybe you should wait until get home to tempt him.

Rating: Mature hinted

Words: 820

Warnings: Turning Aaron on with your foot (did it need warning?? Who knows)

Main Masterlist | Criminal Minds Masterlist

AN: I am having way too much fun with @imagining-in-the-margins Friends-with-Benefits challenge. Also, first time writing Hotch!

Dialog Prompt: “What is up with those two lately?” // “They’re sleeping together.” // “Yeah, right. Imagine… wait, seriously?”

Finally the case was over and the whole team wanted to celebrate.

You wanted to celebrate too, drinking with your friends was the best way to wind down after a long and hard case, but you knew something else long and hard you wanted instead.

Aaron and you had been seeing each other in secret (well not totally secret because it was your business and no one else really asked so you didn’t really tell) for a couple months. What went from occasional heated nights in hotel rooms when you were both lonely to passionate nights spent in his apartment when Jack was at a friend’s house to afternoon cuddles and dinner with Jack.

You were basically in a relationship with your boss, but there seemed to be no label on it.

“Here is to another bad guy put away!” Derek raised his beer, everyone meeting it in the middle with an assortment of cheers before downing their own drinks.

Everyone was talking all around you, making jokes at poor Spencer’s attempt with the cop in the last city, though he denied even trying to ‘make a move’ as Derek said. The mood was light and fun, but you could only focus your eyes on Aaron.

He was sipping his drink slowly, eyes fondly looking at the team. You knew he wouldn’t drink more than one drink and probably would leave after, but you were getting impatient and looking at how delicious his hands looked wrapped around the glass was making your thoughts run wild.

You tried to signal him with your eyes, trying to get him to chug and leave with you, but for some reason he continued to not look in your direction. Come on Aaron. You huff, pouting into your drink.

After a few moments of watching him, you got tired of playing nice.

Extending your leg slowly, sliding your foot along Aaron’s pant leg, a smile painting your lips when his eyes snapped to you. His eyebrow quirked up at you, the silent question loud and clear to you.

What are you doing?

You shrug, your foot sliding higher, but turning your attention to Spencer who had whined for your help.

“You saw me and the detective right?”

“I did,” You pressed your foot to Aaron’s crotch, trying not to reach when he couched into his first and waved off David when he asked if he was alright, “And you really could use some pointers in the game of hitting on women.” You turn back to Aaron, smiling now, mischief swirling in your eyes as if daring him to say something when you press your foot a little harder, “Hotchner? Rossi? You guys were married. Any pointers for the poor boy?”

Spencer whines again, his face a red you were unsure he could ever turn, burying his face into his hands begging for this to end while everyone started laughing. Aaron didn’t say anything nor did his eyes leave yours.

“That’s enough, leave the poor boy alone.” Rossi chucked trying to come to Spencer’s aid.

You laugh and wrap your lips around your straw, sipping on your drink, enjoying the feeling of Aaron getting hard under your foot. After all the times he’s had you squirming it was fun to watch him be the one on edge.

Aaron’s eyes never gave anything away, forever the amazing profiler he is, though you could see the slight twitch in his left eye and how his pupils dilated. You could tell how turned on he was just by having your foot pressing into him, how badly he wanted to just take you to the bathroom and have his way with you, but you knew he wouldn’t. Not in the vicinity of his team.

You lifted your eyebrow to dare him to do something, challenging him, and by the way his jaw tightened you knew you were in for one hell of a night.

A shiver runs down your spine watching him down the rest of his drink, placing it quietly on the table, but gripping it so hard that his knuckles were turning white. He was done with your brattiness and you were excited.

“I think I am going to head out for the night.” The table groaned, trying to convince their boss to hang around for a bit longer. “Y/n you said you needed to leave early tonight. Are you ready to go?”

You bite your lip to try and hide your grin (though unsuccessful) nodding your head, gathering your things, biding everyone goodbye before rushing off to follow Aaron who was halfway to the door.

“What is up with those two lately?” Spencer questioned.

Derek chuckled, clamping his hand on Spencer’s back. “They’re sleeping together.”

“Yeah, right. Imagine.” The silence and a smug grin from Rossi was all the answer Spencer needed. “Wait, seriously!?”

“You know, for a genius you really miss a lot of things.”

(Banners by cafekitsune)

[httpsserene]

Speaking of Mr. Daniel, we all know that he injured himself a while ago. How about the reader faking an orgasm because she doesn’t want to tire or injure him? Daniel frowns immediately upon noticing, but the nurse kicks you out because it’s past hours, and he's longing for the reader. He tries to grab the reader to come back but winces in pain, proving the reader's point. Your pleasure is extremely important to him so he’ll stop functioning if you said otherwise.

𝖍𝖙𝖙𝖕𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊'𝖘 2𝕶 𝕾𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 | 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖊𝖑 𝕽𝖎𝖈𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖔 𝕰𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐆𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐆𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩, 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐬

Summary: When Daniel isn’t feeling well, it’s no hardship for her to take of him. Except this time, he broke his hand and is proceeding to be an absolute nightmare to take care of. They haven’t had sex since before the accident in Zandvoort because she’s afraid that somehow she’ll end up aggravating his injury. Daniel, however, has convinced himself that he only exists to bring her pleasure. So, she comes up with a plan to soothe his service dom tendencies. Enter, Operation Fake Orgasm. How hard can it be? Spoiler alert: she’s a terrible actress. Pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!black-coded!reader(her skintone isn't referenced but she has braids.) Content Warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. orgasm/delay denial. hurt/comfort. caretaking. servicedom!daniel. discussion of pain medication, injuries, and hospitals. dom/sub undertones. sub/shy!reader. praise kink mentioned. sensual beard shaving (it's hot). wet dreams. somnophilia. safe, sane, and consensual. oral sex (m and f receiving). vaginal sex. fake orgasm. mentioned multiple orgasms. Word Count: 3.6k words

Author's Notes: if the tags scare you, i promise it's not that bad!

secondly, thank you for the patience concerning the delay. my sister is doing a lot better now! she had an allergic reaction to pollen; she inhaled so much that her lungs freaked the fuck out on her, and i was in the hospital from 9am-9pm all day. finally got back home so i'm posting it, way late, but at least it's on the same day.

to make up for it, even though my lil sis was nearly taken out by the environment (i'm joking i love her i'm just being a big sister rn), i am releasing episode four on friday! and episode five on either tuesday or wednesday next week!

i hope you all like this episode xxx

prev 2k special join taglist feedback & requests table of contents next ↻

The sound of bedsheets ruffling contrasts with the monotonous beeps of the heart monitor filling the sterile hospital room; the noise is more than enough to have you snapping your head away from your phone to look at your boyfriend. Daniel’s awake and he meets your eyes with a soft groan. You coo at him softly, squeezing his hand gently as he reorients himself.

“What time ‘st?” Daniel croaks out. You cringe at the sound of his dry speech and quickly hand him the glass of water resting at his bedside.

“It’s getting late, baby,” you hum, not failing to notice the slight wince he does when his cast knocks against the bed rail, “I sent Michael back to the hotel not too long ago, around 7. Charles, Lando, Max, and Oscar came and kept me company while you were in surgery. Oscar, I think, was pretty shaken up still—to me, I could tell he felt a little guilty that you’re here with a broken hand and he’s as right rain—so, maybe when you’re more clear-headed you can reach out to him. Yuki and Michael were here the first time you woke up. Still, you were so high on your pain medication cocktail, that I think you were hearing colors and seeing sounds,” you break from your ramble, suddenly standing and reaching over the bed to press the call button, remembering the nurse told you to alert her as soon as he woke again.

“Yes?” Daniel offers, unsure of how to respond to the edge in your tone, “I’m feeling better by the way—.”

A hysterical giggle slips from your lips, and you can see the regret wash over his face when you meet his eyes with a crazed look, “Forgive me, for not asking how you were feeling right away Daniel. It’s almost like, my brain isn’t working properly because I’m fucking worried about you. Yeah? I watched you crash into the barriers, and I heard you in pain—I called everyone on your team to get updates and nobody answered! So, I got on the next flight to Zandvoort after Michael finally texted me with updates, with no luggage, just my phone and a change of clothes—so forgive me, for not checking in on you right away, after you didn’t call me once,” you blink rapidly and Daniel softens, clearly it was a terrible time to deflect with humor, he just hates to see you worry about him, that’s why he avoided calling. He’s usually the one taking care of you.

“A-are you feeling better, though?” you ask shakily, deflating quickly at the sight of his warm brown eyes, “You’re going to set off every metal detector for the foreseeable future.”

“It’s like a 6 out 10 on the pain scale—”

“That’s what I’m here for,” the nurse interrupts in accented English, smiling at the two of you briefly before she moves to Daniel’s side and catching him up on the outcome of the surgery and discussing pain medication. 

“Visiting hours ended an hour ago,” the nurse speaks to you directly, “Did nobody come to escort you out?”

You shake your head in surprise, the time on your phone reads 9 PM—you have no recollection of time passing that quickly since Michael left. Gathering your few belongings, you lean down to kiss Daniel gently, “Be good for the doctors and nurses, Danny. I’ll be back in the morning, okay?”

“No, what—she can’t stay?” Daniel begs the nurse, and she frowns at him apologetically.

Ruffling his hair, you continue, “It’s not her fault—she’s just doing her job. And, we’re besties now,” Daniel stares at you confused, “She’s been coming to check up on me the entire time you decided to cosplay Sleeping Beauty so if you decide to be difficult overnight, she will not hesitate to snitch on you to me. Understand?”

Daniel swallows before nodding jerkily, “Can I have another kiss?”

It’s an easy ask for you to fulfill; but as your lips barely brush his, Daniel hisses out in pain. He tried to use his left hand to pull you closer to him, obviously aggravating the injury. You exclaim worriedly and he tries to pretend that the flare of pain wasn’t that severe. But, as the nurse reassures you that the pain meds will kick in and he’ll go right to sleep, you’ve already decided: that hand will never be in a situation that causes Daniel unnecessary pain again. 

You tell Daniel that same sentence on the flight back to Monaco. He assumed that meant you’d force him to wear a sling or have it constantly cushioned and elevated (which you did anyway). However, he should’ve asked you to elaborate because he was completely blindsided to learn that you really meant all situations. 

You may have gone overboard the first week. You’re well aware that his hand is the only broken thing on his body, but you pamper him as if he’s bedridden with the most severe flu seen in the last century. You cook and order him hearty meals, you have alarms set for when he needs to take his medication, you shower with him to make sure he doesn’t wet his cast—where nothing sexual happens, you killed the vibe the first time he insinuated shower sex in conversation, mentioning the statistics of shower-related deaths—you quickly fulfill all of his requests, even if it’s sitting through a movie you find tasteless; yet, you refuse to fulfill one: sex. 

The doctor pulled you aside while Daniel was getting dressed to be discharged and told you to make sure he’s very careful with his arm, slow and controlled movements only, nothing abrupt. 

And, if there’s one word to describe Daniel during sex, it would probably be abrupt. 

He can’t keep his hands off of you when he’s uninjured. From your first time with Daniel, he showed and proved just how much your pleasure is important to him—he made sure that you understood that he lives and breathes to make you satisfied. But, you also know that he’d ignore his pain if it meant he was making you feel good; and, that’s not something you can risk, not with an injury that could affect his career if it doesn’t heal properly. 

You’ve reiterated that to him multiple times when Daniel tries to deepen kisses, hoping you’ll forget about your stupid sex ban and let him make you feel good. He’s not used to going this long without making sure you’re sexually satisfied. You don’t even allow him to guide you through masturbation, because you know you won’t be satisfied with it even if you get off—it’ll only lead to you falling into his lap begging for more. 

On the eighth day, you’re sitting in Daniel’s lap on the couch, rubbing ointment into the bruises left by the seatbelts of the car. You thought he was focused on watching the entire Dutch Grand Prix he missed out on, not thinking much of how he’s toying with the length of your braids with his uninjured hand. 

You think nothing of the soft sighs, moans, and groans he’s letting out of his mouth as you lightly massage him. All of these noises are common reactions to a sensation that feels good. It sucks that they happen to sound very similar to the moans Daniel makes when he initially fucks into you. You’re just a girl with needs that Daniel never fails to take care of; you’re not used to this, for the same reason Daniel can’t understand why you won’t let him get you off. 

Then, Daniel gasps out a soft ‘fuck’ that has no reason to be sounding that lustful and you start to squirm in his lap. You mindlessly continue to massage him, not exactly proud of the way you continue to strain your ears to hear his noises—and on one particular shift of your hips, you brush across his hard-on that wasn’t there a few minutes ago, and automatically fly off his lap.

In the frantic movement, Daniel tried to use both of his hands to keep you in his lap, irritating his broken hand. You flutter around him worriedly, your words a mix of chastising and displeasure. You don’t hesitate to say that this is exactly why the sex ban is in place (Daniel pleaded that it was a fluke, but you’re not eager to put that to the test).

Three days pass before Daniel deems you relaxed enough to have another attempt at seducing you into an orgasm or two. He approached you in the evening after you had watched him like a hawk as he took his pain medication. He wants you to shave his beard. It’s grown out some since he hasn’t shaved in a week or so. You’re not a professional beard shaver or anything, but you can imagine it’s difficult to shave your face with one hand. And of course, you’d jump at any opportunity to help out your boyfriend and allow him to relax and look pretty. After an unnecessarily long tutorial, Daniel pretends to have 100% faith in your skills and lets you take the first swipe across his cheek. You painstakingly use slow movements and light pressure, not forgetting to pull his skin tight with your other hand and clean the razor off with every stroke. You feel him tense underneath you as you ready to attempt shaving along his jawline. 

Pulling back at the last second, you make to smack his shoulder before hesitating and pinching him instead (it’s his left arm, you don’t want to jostle his cast resting on the bathroom vanity), ignoring his yelp you nag him, “Well, don’t act like I’m about to gouge your throat out or anything! I can feel you freeze up underneath me—it’s not like I want to cut you. I already have to stare at your ugly face every day, I don’t want to make it worse.”

Daniel pretends to be offended at your attack and the two of you bicker back and forth before settling down. The fake roast session calmed Daniel enough that when you brought the razor to his jaw, he remained relaxed. 

You smoothly shave the small area of skin and turn to clean the razor when Daniel speaks softly, “You’re so good,” a slight pause follows, “at this.” 

The praise tingles down your spine and you think nothing of it. Except, it continues. With nearly every swipe along his jaw, he continues to murmur praise with lidded eyes and an alluring tone. Whispers along the lines of ‘good girl,’ ‘just like that,’ ‘you’re so sweet to me,’ and paired with his stare dancing across your face, you dread the moment you finish shaving him. As your razor ventures down his throat, the air grows thick with intimacy. It’s the result of your boyfriend trusting you to repeatedly brush a blade along his throat and your unfortunate kink for praise and acts of service. With the last brush of the razor, you gently set it down on the vanity, exchanging it for cloth you wet with hot water. Ringing it out thoroughly, you gently begin to wipe Daniel’s face avoiding eye contact. When you swipe around his lips, you get distracted by their flushed color, a result of when Daniel bit his lip to make the skin underneath taut for you to shave. His tongue slips out to wet them and you can’t help but smash your lips to his.

It feels euphoric. You’re kissing him frantically, moaning into his mouth without inhibition, and you can feel him laugh as he struggles to match your desperate pace. His hand squeezes at your waist, anchoring you yet furthering your desperation at the strong grip as you try to climb him like a tree, tugging at his hair, shirt, pants, anything you can reach. At this point, Daniel would’ve had a hand in your hair, tugging at your scalp sharply a couple of times to rein you in and move you to his rhythm. You’re a little lost at the missing sensation and you pull away to pout at Daniel like you always do when he spends too much time teasing you.

It takes one look at his blown pupils, smug smile, and heaving chest before it jogs your memory. You step backward quickly to put space between you guys, raising a hand when you see him open his mouth, knowing he’s only going to convince you to get naked for him.

“I’m going to bed,” you state with a pointed finger, “You, are going to get in the shower, with cold water, and think about what you did wrong. And! You will not wake me up for sex.”

Daniel’s face falls, and you can tell he expected you to break, “Wait—you don’t let me shower by myself, what if I fall?”

You turn and leave the room, “It would be divine intervention. Karma, for trying to get me to break my rule.”

Daniel doesn’t wake you when he slips into bed, but you lose the benefit of going to sleep early when you jolt awake before sunrise. Your mouth is dry and your panties are embarrassingly wet. You can’t recall a single detail of your dream. Still, your legs are trembling at whatever scenario your brain decided to torment you with. 

Fuck it. Or fuck him, literally.

That makes sense. You’re going to ride Daniel, it’s the perfect position to make sure he doesn’t move his arm. You work him up beforehand so hopefully he won’t last as long; Daniel has unparalleled stamina usually, but with you constantly denying him for a while…he may wind up quicker. As soon as he cums, you’ll fake yours as well—because he’s only pleased if you're satisfied, otherwise he’ll attempt a round two. It’s that easy, right? You turn on your side and stare at Daniel, his face relaxed as he sleeps. Your synapses start firing as the plan comes to life. The two of you have discussed somnophilia, more on you as the receiving party. Daniel, of course, offered himself to you on a silver platter—any taste of you using him to get off? That’s always going to be a yes from him. So, yes. It is that easy.

You pull the duvet down to the edge of the bed and quietly shift to hover over Daniel’s thighs, never more thankful that he decided to wear only briefs to bed. And that he’s already half-hard; you’re extremely happy that the two of you don’t have a hand on how creative your dreams can get. He doesn’t shift when you pull his cock from underneath his briefs, carefully dragging them

down just enough to not be a bother. He stays under as you get him hard, it only takes a few strokes and some teasing along a vein on the underside. You rise slightly, sucking on two of your fingers before bringing them to rest along your entrance. It’s an annoying experience, you can’t remember the last time you had to stretch yourself out—Daniel’s spoiled you. The feeling of your fingers inside of you is underwhelming, the slight tinge of pleasure would be multiplied if it were him instead but; this is not for you. You are simply performing tonight.

You slide your fingers out and decide on getting Daniel as close to the edge as you can before he wakes up. You lean down to mouth at the head of his cock, knowing it’s incredibly sensitive and the sensation pushes him to the edge quicker than anything else. It can’t be more than a couple of strained minutes—your eyes and ears peeled to make sure you don’t miss any signs of Daniel starting to awaken. Thankfully, you feel him start to pulse along your tongue, a sure sign that he’s getting there.

You pull off, taking a second to breathe as you rest your head on his hip. With one last reassuring exhale, you move to straddle him, one hand underneath you to guide his length to your pussy. The second his head pops into you, you let out a pitiful whimper, eyelids fluttering shut, and your legs begin trembling again. Another realization hits you as you struggle to silently take all of Daniel.

You can’t recall a single time Daniel had forced you to be quiet. He’s always trying to make you scream his name. If he needs to hide your noises he muffles them with a hand over your mouth or his fingers in your mouth. Naturally, you use his tricks and do the same. With two of your fingers shoved in your mouth, you quiet your sounds as your ass meets your (somehow still) sleeping boyfriend's thighs. It feels like he’s in your throat; you know that no matter how long it takes you to make him cum, you’re going to be aching tomorrow. You begin to grind against him, whimpering softened around your digits. You slowly increase your rhythm up to a bounce, doing your best to squeeze around him—Daniel has mentioned before that he can’t resist cumming when you feel like you're trying to keep him inside of you and never let him pull out.

It must work because suddenly Daniel’s hips rock up into yours, and he’s awake with a singular breathy moan of, “Yes—oh, I thought I was still dreaming.”

You laugh airily, letting your spit-slicken fingers fall from your mouth and drop to press against your clit (you’re not actually, you’ve missed it by a mile but it’s all about convincing Daniel), avoiding meeting his eyes knowing Danny will assume it’s under the pretense of you being shy (once again, yes you are incredibly mortified, but you know he’ll be able to tell that you're faking this in a split second).

“H-how long,” Daniel moans out crackly, his abdomen contracting underneath you, “Have you been at this? ‘Gonna make me cum already.”

You nod frantically, moaning out loudly as if you’re on the edge as well. Daniel gets his feet planted and thrusts up into you forcefully enough that your moans turn real. Throwing your head back so he doesn’t see your face in case it gives you away, you continue to moan out exaggeratedly as you feel him cum inside you, pitching your voice and shuddering as if you released as well.

“What the fuck was that?” Daniel commands quietly.

You slump forward, sliding off his softening length and nuzzling into his neck to pretend like you didn’t hear him and to hide. He lets you avoid answering the first time he asks. He takes his good hand and fists his hand in the braids along the nape of your neck and tightens his grasp enough to get you to gasp.

“Mhm. When you cum, baby,” he starts softly, “That’s the quietest you ever get during sex. Usually, it’s because you choke on your breath, even though I remind you to breathe through it every time. You do this cute little thing where you try to slam your thighs shut around me, it doesn’t matter if it’s my hand, my head, or my hips, you try to crush me. It’s also one of the only times during sex when you make eye contact with me on your own, well depending on what position I have you in. I won’t repeat myself.”

You mumble into his chest fitfully before sitting up, “I didn’t want you to hurt your hand, okay? That’s all. During sex, you can never stop touching me and I was afraid that somehow you’d treat your hand a little too roughly and then, boom, you’ll never drive a Formula One car again—”

“Calm down, babe,” Daniel soothes you, bringing his right hand to massage your hip, “I think you’ve overdramatized my injury in your head a little bit. Firstly, I don’t even care if my hand suddenly fell off—genuinely, never deprive me of making you feel good. That hurts me more than my hand aches. Secondly, this entire time I didn’t even move my left hand off the bed. See?”

You look down at his hand and nod once. This entire time you enforced a needless sex ban when you could’ve been riding a high every day.

“Now, if you could be kind enough to let me restore my ego,” Daniel taps you on the ass so you rise to kneel over him, “C’mere and sit on my face.”

You hesitate, the thought of pretending to deny him crosses your mind, but you already shorted yourself of one orgasm tonight. That’s how you find yourself riding Daniel’s face, embarrassingly almost losing control of your legs at the first knock of his nose against your clit. Your boyfriend has mastered the skill of eating pussy and that’s why you feel no shame in just how quickly a few targeted thrusts of his tongue and the pressure of his nose have you shattering apart above him. And as Daniel said, you do choke on your breath as you climax, your legs tighten around his head as well—and you don’t have the strength to be humiliated at how he knows your body better than yourself.

Daniel guides you off his mouth and lays you down by his side only using the uninjured arm, and the care and strength behind that movement sends you shaking again through the aftershock and come down. 

Daniel coaxes you onto your back and nudges your legs open to slide in between them. He trails the fingers of his right hand across your fluttering folds, before spreading you open with two fingers, enamored at the way your relaxed entrance winks at him. 

“You can give me one or two more right? I think you need a reminder of how much I thrive off of making you feel good, pretty girl. Let’s see how many more I can get out of you before the sunrise.”

taglist: @saintslewis @cherry2stems @lorrari @inloveallthetime @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @my-ylenia @katekipshidze @darleneslane @lovingaphroditesworld @smoothopz @vetteltea @tallrock35 @iloveyou3000morgan @smartstupyd @spideybv28 @lh383 @loomiscorpse @hiireadstuff @namgification @gg-trini @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @multi-fandom-rando @sweatrevenge5436-blog @bokutos-babyowl @oliviah-25 @landoslutmeout @love-simon

© httpsserene 2023

[just-jordie-things]

fuck it, i love you - okkotsu yuuta

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ 10k follower event special! ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

word count: 11k warnings: none really. reader likes lemon oreos bcuz i projected onto this <3 summary: (y/n) and yuuta get to know each other better over the phone while he's on assignment in africa. feelings ensue. more info: long distance friends to lovers, yuuta got that romance dawg in him

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[ and you know everyone adores you // you can’t feel it and you’re tired // baby, wish that you would hold me or just say that you were mine // but it’s killing me slowly ]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The first time he gets a call from her, Yuuta is a little perplexed before he answers the phone.  Of the few people he might’ve expected a phone call from, (y/n’s) was the last name he expected to see on his screen.  Nonetheless, he answered it right away.

“Hello?” 

“Hey, Okkotsu,” Her voice was so cheerful, he could’ve easily believed that she meant to call someone else.  But she’d said his name, so it couldn’t have been a mistake.  “How’s Morocco?”

“Morocco, is….” He trails off, fingers tapping a poor rhythm on the table in front of him.  Doing paperwork in a hotel room wasn’t ideal.  The desk provided was always small, and the chair always uncomfortable.  But it wasn’t like he had a lot to report anyways.  “It’s alright, I guess” 

“Alright, you guess?” She repeats curiously.  “Sounds like you’re bored already” 

“Bored-? N-no, no I’m not bored,” He stammered over his words, and (y/n) could be heard laughing through the line.  “I’m just, um, I’m trying to do a report right now” He said sheepishly.

Trying being the key word.  He’d practically given up ten minutes before he got her call anyways.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” (y/n) apologized right away.  “Am I keeping you? Should I go?” 

“N-no!” Yuuta squeaked, cringing at himself as he slumped back into his hair, covering his face with his hand as if there was anyone else around to hide his embarrassment from.  “No, you’re not keeping me, I… I have nothing for this report anyways” He explained.

“Really? Not goin’ so well?” She asked.

“Uh- it’s just- I don’t want to bore you with it,” He sighed.  “Anyways, what’s the call for? Isn’t it like…” He glances behind him at the analog clock on his bedside table, wincing when he sees how late it was.  “Three in the morning, your time?” 

“Actually, it’s only two forty-five,” She corrects with a clear smile in her tone.  “And aren’t I allowed to check in? You’ve been gone, for like, weeks” 

“Y-yeah, you’re allowed,” He mumbles back, face feeling hot.  “I just figured, y’know, you’re… busy” 

“Never too busy,” She half-jokes.  “So tell me all about it, boring parts and all” 

Yuuta’s brows pinch together, a small scoff leaving his throat.

“Really?” He’s unsure as to why she’d want to hear about the ins and outs of a trip that so far had proven to be pointless.  “You sure you want to hear about it?” 

“Course,” She hums back.  “Beats studying” 

So he complies.  There’s not much to tell, but he finds a way to walk her through what his day-to-day with Miguel was like.  Looking for more of the Black Rope.  She seemed to have some interest in the cursed tool, asking excitedly if it could stop the cursed techniques of even the strongest special grade sorcerers.

“Yeah, that’s kinda the point,” He chuckles.  “But it’s been slow.  I’m starting to think this is going to take longer than we thought…” 

(y/n’s) a good listener.  She lets him ramble on even when he’s not making sense, and continues to prod and ask more questions when she comes up with them.  He thinks maybe she’s just stalling to keep her from studying, but he figures there were countless other things she could’ve done to keep her occupied… right? 

It’s not until Yuuta notices the clock and remembers the time difference between them that he finally stops his rambling and suggests they end their call soon.

“Ah- it’s late, and I’m probably boring you now, too” He lets out a light hearted chuckle that she can’t help but reciprocate.

“I guess I should try to study just a little” She huffs.

Yuuta scoffs, a small smile on his face as he picks up his pen and stares at the half-finished report in front of him.  Maybe he’d been stalling, too.

“Or you could just go to bed, cram last minute tomorrow” He suggests.

She seems amused by that, and when she lets out a little laugh he thinks it’s the right choice, too.  The noise comes out lazily, full of sleepiness.  It’s obvious even through the phone.  Yuuta wonders if she’s hunched over her desk, ignoring the textbook and notes right in front of her.

“You’re pr’lly right,” She murmurs, her tiredness even more evident in her voice.  “I guess I’ll go to bed then” 

“Okay,” Yuuta drums the pen against his thigh in an erratic beat.  Something about saying goodnight makes him feel a little disappointed.  

Until now, he hadn’t realized that it had been weeks since he’d casually talked to a friend.  Toge texted plenty, and sometimes he heard from Panda and Maki, too.  But this felt… different.

“Well, goodnight-” 

“And Okkotsu?” She interrupts him without realizing, quickly apologizing before she continues her thought.  “You didn’t bore me, just for the record.  I think it’s neat that you get to be on such a special assignment.  I hope that it gets more exciting for you” 

He’s thankful that she didn’t opt to facetime him, because his face grows so warm he just knows he’s turned into a tomato.  And something about sitting in his lonely little hotel room and blushing over such a simple comment is downright embarrassing.

He laughs nervously, tugging at the collar of his shirt to relieve the heat on his neck.

“Uh, yeah, me too,” He stammered quietly.  “Thanks.  Good luck with studying” 

She hums.

“Goodnight, Okkotsu.  Thanks for keeping me company” 

The call ends there, and Yuuta smiles to himself as he sets his phone down and finds the energy to finish up his pointless report.

Talking with her had been nice.  Maybe they hadn’t become the closest of friends between him enrolling at Jujutsu Tech and being shipped off to Africa, but he thinks that could- and should- change.

He’d have to make more of an effort to get closer to her while he was away.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

When (y/n) calls again, it’s not so late this time.

Yuuta had just settled in the hotel lobby with his burrito for lunch, his only plan for the time being was to scroll aimlessly on his phone while he ate.  To his luck, just as he sat down on the stiff cushioned chair in the lobby, his phone rang.

“Okkotsu!” 

It had been a little over a week since their last call, and Yuuta had done his best to keep in touch with her since then.  A few photos of the wildlife native to the area that she seemed to enjoy, or a pretty sunrise here or there.  There were a lot of messages sent to her first thing in the morning, beautiful photos tagged with his complaints of being up so early.  It was the easiest time to use his phone, and he’d tried to make a habit of at least messaging her once a day.

To his delight, she always sent him a response.  It wasn’t always right away, with an eight hour time difference that was a steep ask, but she never failed to let him know that she saw his message and appreciated it somehow.  Whether it was an emoji reaction or a full text, she never left a text from him unanswered.  Strangely, Yuuta found this to be thoughtful of her.

“I’m cooking, can you believe it!?” She sounds excited, but the kind of excited that seems like something very wrong is about to happen.

“O-oh?” He stutters, chucking as he tucks his phone between his ear and shoulder so he could unwrap his burrito.  “What, are you not allowed, or something?” 

“Hush, I don’t let anyone tell me what to do,” She laughs at his comment, not realizing he wasn’t joking.  “I just haven’t cooked for myself properly since moving away from home.  The kitchen here is puny, though,” She mutters the last part.

The muffled sounds coming through the speaker sound as though she’s rummaging around the cabinets.  Yuuta tilts his phone away from his ear a little, the dishware clanking together more unpleasant than usual coming through a phone.

“But I thought it’d be nice to make a home cooked dinner.  I was going to make some for everyone, but I guess they already ate.  So it’s dinner for one tonight,” She explains.  Yuuta’s chest sinks with disappointment at the thought of missing quality time with his friends.  “Anyways, what’re you up to?” 

“Eating a burrito,” He replies dryly.  “What are you making? I’d much rather have that” 

“Don’t speak too soon, it’s been a while since I’ve been in a kitchen,” 

(y/n) laughs, and Yuuta does too.

“Just ramen,” She answers.  “Figured it’s best to start out simple.  Also figured I couldn’t set anything on fire” 

“Depends on how you look at it.  Setting something on fire while only cooking ramen might be an accomplishment, with how difficult it must be” 

He doesn’t mean to be funny, but (y/n’s) laughing again, and Yuuta smiles through a mouthful of burrito for saying something clever enough.  Pride swells in his chest the longer he hears her laughter turn to muted giggles while she’s pittering about the kitchen.

“You’re eating, should I let you go?” She asks once her laughter has calmed down.

“No, it’s alright,” Yuuta shakes his head even though he knows she can’t see.  “I’m bored anyways.  I was just going to sit here by myself and eat this burrito” 

She laughs again, lightly this time.

“Alright, then, want me to tell you about how hard Maki kicked my ass in training yesterday?” She offers.

He’d already had an inkling, recalling a harshly worded text from her followed by a photo of her left leg covered in blue and purple marks that were bound to grow dark soon.  He’d cringed when he’d seen it, giving the image a frowning emoji reaction before responding with, ‘Maki?’.  But he happily agrees to have her tell him the rest of the story behind the bruises.

He deems (y/n) and Maki to hold a far closer friendship than he did himself, so he knew that the next five minutes of ranting on her part is in good nature and she was only annoyed with losing, not necessarily with Maki herself.  That said, as someone who had dealt with the torture of training with her, Yuuta understood the feeling quite well.  He laughs when she talks about being thrown to the ground like a ragdoll, and he winces when she tells him about the absolute beatdown she’d taken.

It’s a gruesome retelling, even though at times she talks as if it was as casual a part of her day as brushing her teeth had been.  The life of a jujutsu sorcerer was always an unorthodox one.

“She didn’t even try to go easy on me, Okkotsu.  But, she did get me an ice cream sandwich with my ice pack, so she’s still my best friend, I guess” She’s only teasing, evident in the way she giggles.

“Yuuta” He says without thinking, having happened to swallow the last of his food and finally getting a chance to speak.

“Hm- what?” 

“You can just call me Yuuta” He clarifies, eyes darting around the lobby to be sure no one could see him blushing.  

His voice grows quieter as he suddenly feels bashful in the public setting.  None of the people passing in and out of the space pay him a second glance, and it doesn’t dawn on him that they might not even understand his language, but his body language says enough.  He’s tucked into the corner chair, hunched over and holding the phone as close to his face as possible so he wouldn’t have to raise his voice too much.  Not to mention, his face was turning a rosy shade of pink.

“Alright, Yuuta,” (y/n) muses, testing the waters to see how his name sounded.  It felt foreign, and it had the color in Yuuta’s face darkening even faster, but she seemed amused by the change.  “Ramen’s coming along pretty well, I think it’ll actually be edible!” 

She’s quick to move on from the semi-serious topic.  He’s relieved for this, and does his best to come across as casual as possible.  He asks her about the recipe, and she talks to him for a while about her process until the conversation somehow turns back on him and he’s updating her about Morocco.

Time passes so easily, Yuuta barely realizes that he’s been sitting in the lobby for an hour, not thinking about how she had finished her dinner and eaten it too.  (y/n) never mentions the time either, unknown to him, sitting on the counter in the common room’s kitchenette as she talks aimlessly about anything and everything she can think of.  Yuuta enjoys hearing about it all, the shenanigans that she’s been up to with Toge, the odd style of teaching that Gojo has, even just the simple things, like how yesterday it had rained.

There’s something magical about being on the phone with her, he realizes halfway into hearing about how she’d gone outside to help the worms back into the grass after the rainfall.  Not only does he lose time, but there’s not a dull moment.  Most of his days had become so bland and boring they’d started to blend together.  Besides the occasional sword training, he’d spent the majority of his time wandering about with Miguel.  It was starting to feel aimless, with every passing day that they came up empty handed.

Talking with her was everything but boring, never boring.  It finally felt like he had some company to get him through this assignment.  He hoped that this second call meant they could make more of a habit out of it.

“I should probably go so I can clean up the kitchen,” She sighs when she finally suggests getting off the phone.  It’s then, and only then, that Yuuta checks the time, quickly pulling his phone away to tap the screen before putting it up to his ear again.  “I think it’d be obnoxious for me to stay on the phone while I do the dishes” She adds with a chuckle.

His heart spikes at the idea of her wanting to keep talking, though.

“Y-yeah, that might be too loud,” He replies.  “But that’s okay, I should probably get some training in, or something, anyways” 

“Gotta keep up that Special Grade status,” (y/n) teases.  He’s grateful she can’t see him fluster every time she teases him, no matter how lighthearted it is.  He’s not sure why it sends him into a mini panic every time, but he hopes he gets a hang of himself soon, if they’re going to keep talking like this.  “Talk soon, though?” 

He’d really have to learn to get a hold of himself.  The short question has him beaming and nodding his head wildly, although the only people to see it are the hotel staff at the check-in desk who’d been peeking glances at the weird talkative boy on his phone for the last two hours.

Yuuta clears his throat before speaking, hoping to sound as normal as possible.

“Yeah, yeah we can talk again soon”

He’s not sure how well he does.

“Okay, cool,” The smile is evident in her tone, and in turn has Yuuta smiling too.  “Talk to you later then, Yuuta” 

Maybe he was just hopeless, but hearing his name again has him blushing and fidgeting in his seat.

“Bye, (y/n)” 

Even once the call has ended and his phone is sitting lifeless in his lap, with the rush of adrenaline Yuuta gets, one might think he’d just received the best news of his life.  Funnily enough, he hadn’t received much news at all- besides the fact that the worms on Jujutsu Tech Tokyo’s property were safe and accounted for after a life threatening sprinkle- so his giddiness was solely brought on by talking with her.

Slowly but surely, she was becoming his favorite person to talk to.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[y/n]: need ur help, it’s urgent [y/n]: ok woah i should not have said it like that

[yuuta]: ??? are you ok???

[y/n]: need u to help me win a bet

[yuuta]: ._. [yuuta]: ok.

[y/n]: vanilla oreos suck, right? 

[yuuta]: this was urgent? 

[y/n]: panda said they’re his favorite flavor.

[yuuta]: oh god. [yuuta]: he needs a wellness check for sure.

[y/n]: THANK YOU  [y/n]: toge said his fav were the birthday cake ones but the vanilla weren’t bad. he’s still got the taste of a toddler, but at least they’re not his FAVORITE i mean cmon.  vanilla is just bad. [y/n]: i knew you’d understand me.

[yuuta]: ur right this was urgent.  i thought i knew them. [yuuta]: what are your favorite?

[y/n]: obviously i told them original.

[yuuta]: … implying they’re not actually your favorite? 

[y/n]: you’re asking very personal questions, yuuta

[yuuta]: lmfao [yuuta]: i’ll tell u mine if u tell me urs :)

[y/n]: u first i’m shy :)

[yuuta]: original are good.  but i like the toffee ones best 

[y/n]: interesting.

[yuuta]: so am i getting judged for my oreo preference, too? 

[y/n]: lol no.  ur safe.  for now ;)

[yuuta]: well we had a deal.  what’s ur fav?

[y/n]: … i like the lemon ones

[yuuta]: :o [yuuta]: don’t those come with a VANILLA cookie???

[y/n]: … [y/n]: maybe.

[yuuta]: ur ridiculous

[y/n]: but the lemon flavor makes it different.  it’s not PLAIN vanilla.

[yuuta]: can’t argue with u there

[y/n]: ya bcuz u wouldn’t dare :)

[yuuta]: no i wouldn’t :) 

[y/n]: mwahaha i have the big scary special grade afraid of me :)

[yuuta]: idk about big.  and the scary is all rika

[y/n]: does she have a take on the great oreo flavor debate? &lt;3

[yuuta]: … [yuuta]: she always preferred animal crackers.

[y/n]: &lt;;/3

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

When Yuuta finally works up the courage to call her first, it’s been a couple weeks.

Which in hindsight, it feels like too much time has passed.  Even though they’ve been texting every single day nearly nonstop.  Yuuta had grown so attached to his phone it was almost becoming a problem.

Not that he’d admit it.

“Okkotsu Yuuta!” She picks up the phone with the same eagerness she’d held the last time she’d called him.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“I was bored, and was hoping you had something interesting going on,” He sighed, falling backwards on the perfectly made bed in his room.  Too perfect.  It was always annoying to tug the covers out of their tightly tucked corners to comfortably sleep at night.  “All I’ve been doing is train and I’m exhausted” He grumbles.

(y/n) hums through the speaker.

“Well if you’re that bored, I suppose I could tell you about a boy conflict of mine,” She suggests.

Just as Yuuta was starting to relax into the mattress, he felt his spine go stiff as a chill shot from his tailbone all the way up to his neck.  It feels like his entire body has been drenched in icy water, freezing him solid.

“It’s okay if that’s too… weird, though” He’s drawn back to reality by (y/n’s) nervous laugh, something he doesn’t hear all that often.  It’s strained and awkward, displaying every bit of anxious emotion that she felt.  

“It’s not weird,” Yuuta’s not usually very good at lying, people always have a way of seeing right through him.  He wonders if he’s only decent at telling this one because she’s not physically here.  She can’t see the way his face contorts as it tries to stay neutral, or how his fingers start to tap against the comforter beneath him.  “Boy conflict is… normal” He adds.

He’d meant that one, but she laughs anyway.

“I guess so,” She sighs through the speaker.  “But I’ve never really had any before.  Not like you get to meet a lot of people.  But… I guess I met someone..?”

Yuuta’s gut twists, and he wonders if he ate something bad with his lunch.  Maybe the chicken was undercooked? No, it seemed fine.  He probably just ate too fast.

“That feels less like conflict and more like interest” His jaw feels tight when he talks.  With his free hand, he rubs at it and tries to keep his teeth from clenching.

“Well, I am interested,” 

Distantly, Yuuta thinks he should swallow some tums before he goes to bed so this stomach ache won’t keep him up all night.

“At least, I think I am,” (y/n) sighs again.  “He’s not a sorcerer, I met him at a corner store I went to with Maki,” She explains.  “He was cute and all, I guess we had a moment over the energy drinks? It’s kind of a blur, I didn’t really pay attention until he was handing me his number and now I have this number and- I don’t know.  Is that weird?” 

Yuuta’s not really sure what to tell her.  He’s not really sure how he feels about it.  His gut tells him that yes, it is weird, and she shouldn’t be going out with some guy she met at a convenience store.  Anyone can walk into one of those, he thinks bitterly, his brow furrowed as he thought over her dilemma.

“Well, um, did he seem… nice?” 

The question comes out pathetic.  Yuuta’s smacking his hand over his face from how stupid he sounds, and feels.  

“Yeah, I guess” (y/n) answers anyways.

“Then I guess ball’s in your court?” The suggestion comes out more as a question than he means it to.  Yuuta thinks he wasn’t equipped for this, and maybe he should have told her it was a weird thing for them to talk about.

But he wouldn’t have meant that.  He would talk to her about anything, and he wanted her to feel the same.  He wanted her to talk about anything and everything she wanted.  Lord knows he’d take an interest in it. 

However the interest he has in this conversation isn’t quite like normal.  His curiosity is less genuine.  It feels like it’s lurching around in his mind, something disappointed yet irritable growing in it’s place.  He hates the feeling.  He hates feeling that way towards her.  Even if it wasn’t directed at her specifically.

“You’re right,” There’s more determination in her voice now.  “I should just text him, right?”

No, Yuuta’s jaw is clenched again, teeth grinding loudly.  He hopes she can’t hear it through the phone.  No, don’t let some stranger have your number.  He doesn’t deserve it like I do.

“Right!” His voice is louder than he means to, as if trying to overpower the jealous train of thought that runs through his mind.

He’s sitting upright on the bed in a second, still rigid and uncomfortable, but his anxiety makes him want to pace.  He needs to work off the awkward feeling in his chest somehow.

“Then I can see what he’s like,” (y/n) speaks as though she’s really telling herself what made the most sense.  Yuuta’s nodding wordlessly, his eyes fixated on a spot on the floor that’s growing more blurry by the second.  “And then if I like him… maybe we can go out or something” She mumbles the last part, clearly distracted.  

He wonders if she’s texting him now.  The idea of her reaching out to this random guy while she’s on the phone with him sends his heart plummeting to his already upset stomach.

Where were all of these nasty feelings coming from? 

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea” Yuuta’s speaking, but it feels distant, he’s not exactly sure of what he’s saying.

“Alright.  I’ll text him later, then,” 

He’s relieved that she wasn’t doing it this very moment, but there was still an unsettling pit in his stomach knowing she was bound to reach out at some point.

“Thanks, Yuuta.  So, what’s been going on with you?” 

It takes a while of chatting and pacing the room before Yuuta feels like himself again.  He’s lucky there wasn’t a circle burned in the shape of his track in the tightly coiled carpeting of his room, certainly he would’ve had to call Gojo for a favor if he was billed for such damage.

Eventually the nasty feeling in his chest settles and he’s sitting in the bed again, the notebook he was drafting up today’s report on propped on his legs and his phone at his side, (y/n’s) voice on speaker as she tells him about the rest of her and Maki’s outing in the shopping district.

As it always does, time goes by too quickly, and soon enough she’s yawning through the speaker and telling him it was getting too late for her.

“But thanks for calling, Yuuta.  I was starting to think you didn’t know phones worked both ways” She teases softly.

Had she been waiting for him to call? 

“Yeah, anytime.  I just… you know the time difference… I don’t ever want to bother you” 

“You? Bother me?” She giggles.  “After you let me talk your ear off about a boy, I don’t think that’s what’s happening here,” She tells him.

The nasty feeling swells again.

“Besides, you could never bother me,” She adds, her tone much softer.  Almost sweet.  Yuuta can’t tell if his stomach is convulsing or doing flips.  “But call again sometime, m’kay?” 

“Okay,” He says, hopeful, and just as eager as he felt.  “G’night, (y/n)” 

“Bye Yuuta, goodnight!” 

His phone lights up with the low battery icon once the call is over.  He’s slow to plug the charger into it and leave it on his nightstand for the evening, his mind still mulling over everything she’d told him.  Or more so, how he’d felt taking in all that information.

He couldn’t have possibly been jealous, right? Not over some random guy.  Not because of her.  They were friends, after all.  Friends that didn’t even get that close until after he left.  In his time at Jujutsu Tech he’d only spoken to her a handful of times, and mostly in passing.  It wouldn’t feel right to have something like jealousy spark up now.  No, he was probably just worried for her, seeing as he couldn’t look out for her when he’s thousands of miles away.  Yeah, that was it.

It couldn’t have anything to do with the way he felt his world light up when she laughed.  Or that getting a text message from her in the sound effect that he’d picked out just for her contact had serotonin spiking in his brain.  

None of those things were connected at all.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The fourth time they talk on the phone, unfortunately, he has to hear about this guy again.

Yuuta’s not even sure he knows his name.  He thinks (y/n) must’ve mentioned it once or twice in their texts, but it’s never quite stuck, and honestly, Yuuta doesn’t want to ask.

Not that he cares- it wasn’t like that at all.  It had simply been too long for it to feel appropriate to ask.  He didn’t want her to think he didn’t listen, is all.

He’d called one evening when yet again he felt like putting off writing up his report.  It had almost become a habit to reach out to her as soon as he was stalling, or bored.  He didn’t have much to talk about, he never really did, but he had been eager to tell her about some new cuisine he’d tried that he’d thought she might like. 

There was a pesky thought in the back of his mind about her visiting him for a few days.  Only pesky due to how often it presented itself, even when he should’ve been focused on more pressing matters.  He knew it was bad when Miguel had taken notice and smacked him upside the head to get him to pay attention- on this earth, preferably, he’d said.

But he couldn’t help it.  The idea of having her here, for a few days or a few weeks, had become his go-to daydream.  He already knew everything he’d want to show her, the busy, colorful markets and the good food Yuuta hadn’t known existed until coming here.  To how pretty the beaches were at sunset, especially when the little hermit crabs would wake up and wander around the shore, he thinks she’d like that a lot.

Even just the idea of having her around to hang out with and chat about anything and nothing, just like how they do through their phones, had his chest buzzing with warmth and excitement.  Even though it was all in his head and logic told him she probably couldn’t make such a trip.  She had her own assignments and lessons after all, and technically he was supposed to be working.

Nonetheless, when he found himself getting bored, his mind drifted off to pretending she was there with him to keep him company.  Sometimes it even did the trick.

Tonight when he calls her, he’s kicking around the idea of bringing it up.  Maybe if she took it well enough he could reach out to Gojo about it, surely he had the social standing and the funds to let her visit.  His heart is thrumming in his chest just thinking about it, every ring of the dial tone putting him further on the edge of his seat.

It rings a total of five times before she finally answers.  It’s not all that late in Tokyo, just half past nine, but suddenly Yuuta worries that this wasn’t a good time to call.

“Hey,” He’s the first to speak, grinning from ear to ear when the line finally clicks and she’s answered the call.  “Is this a bad time?” 

“Uh, n-no,” She stutters back, voice quiet and a little raspier than usual.  Had she been sleeping? She speaks before he can double check if it was an okay time to talk.  “I’m not doing anything.  What’s up?” 

Yuuta can’t quite put his finger on it, but it certainly sounds like it’s a bad time.  Her voice is lacking it’s usual mirth, and she sounds like she’s purposefully trying not to raise her voice.  His smile begins to fall as his brain starts to stir with worry.

“Nothing, really.  Just… wanted to talk, I guess,” It feels a little embarrassing to admit, but for once, she’s not teasing him.  It’s strange, not hearing her softly poke fun at him when he’d clearly given her an opening to do so.  “What’re you doing?” 

“It’s almost ten here, I’m in bed” 

The words almost come out cold, a bitterness to them that Yuuta wasn’t used to.  If it weren’t for the crack in her voice, he might’ve thought she was upset with him.  But there’s a noticeable little hitch in the middle of her words that tells him it’s not annoyance he’s picking up on.

“Hey,” His voice is quiet as he sits on his bed, brows furrowing as he feels the mood shift even in a room thousands of miles away from hers.  “Is something wrong?” 

“No” Comes her instant answer, but it’s not remotely believable.  Her voice is so quiet and muffled it barely comes through the speaker, and shortly after he hears a shuffling that sounds like a heap of blankets being tossed around.

“C’mon, wanna talk about it?” He pressed again, dragging his finger over the crisp comforter on the bed to create misshapen invisible designs.  “What happened, (y/n)?” He asks again, voice softer than before.

The tiniest of sniffles could be heard, and his heart sinks at the idea of her sitting alone in bed and crying.  Whatever caused it he was sure he could find a way to solve it.  It wasn’t often that Yuuta felt cocky with his Special Grade status, but in this moment he was sure he was the most powerful person in the world, and if something had bothered her this much, he’d certainly be able to take care of it.

“It’s- it’s stupid,” The high pitch in the cracking of her voice was more evident the louder she spoke.  He’s worried she was going to leave it at that, maybe tell him to leave her alone or hang up altogether.  Then he hears a wobbly inhale before she’s whimpering through her words again.  “I’m so stupid, Yuuta, what was I thinking?”

His heart cracks with every word she speaks.  He’s not sure what put her in such pain, but he swears, he’s experiencing it too just knowing she was hurting.  He places his free hand over his chest to ease the hollow feeling that carves itself there.

“What d’ya mean? You’re not stupid, not remotely.  C’mon, y’know that,” He tries to keep his voice light and gentle, even though the growing put in his stomach had his throat closing up.  “What happened? Talk to me” He pleads softly.

(y/n) sniffles, before trying to even out her breathing again so she didn’t sound so pathetic when she talked.

“I don’t even want to tell you, it’s so stupid,” She admits.  “B-but everyone else is busy, o-or gone and I- I don’t want to cry about it anymore,” 

Had she been crying for a while? His heart seizes at the thought.

“Promise you won’t laugh at me?” She mumbles.  Yuuta nodded his head rapidly in response.

“Yeah, yeah of course I promise.  I won’t laugh at you” He tells her with grave sincerity.

She sighs, breath still shaky, but she does her best to talk through it.

In a wobbly, quiet voice, she tells him everything.  About how she had plans to meet up with convenience-store-guy that Yuuta still hadn’t caught the name of.  How she’d taken plenty of time to plan out her outfit and put herself together, how in the meantime he’d been nothing short of flirtatious and sweet, leading her to believe he’d been eager to go out with her.  She tells him how an hour before they were set to meet up a block away from campus, she’d stopped hearing from him altogether.  She laughs humorlessly as she explains she’d sent nearly ten messages asking where he was or if he needed to reschedule before she’d dropped it completely and walked herself back home.

“No text, no call.  Absolutely n-nothing,” She mutters bitterly.  “But I don’t g-get it, did I do something wr-wrong?” 

“Of course not,” Yuuta sighed, trying to release the tension of his building irritation so he could keep his focus on comforting her.  “He’s just… he’s stupid, okay? I don’t know what his deal is, but you dodged a bullet, for sure.  If that’s how he acts before a first date, imagine how terrible he would’ve been by the twentieth” 

Surprisingly, he’s not terrible when it comes to consoling her.  (y/n) hums tiredly in agreement.  It doesn’t necessarily take the pain away, but there is some relief in knowing it never would have worked out.

“Yeah,” She breathes out.  “But… I was excited, you know?” She mumbles.  “I’ve never been on a real date before, at least I don’t think I have, but I think I’d know,” She explains.  “I just… I thought I’d feel normal for a night.  I- I thought he liked me.  I kinda liked him, too.  But mostly I…” She trails off, and they both remain silent for a few beats, each processing their own mess of thoughts.  “I liked the idea of being liked, I guess.  Is that selfish?”

“Of course not,” Yuuta chuckles warmly.  “Everyone wants that.  It’s completely normal,” He says.  “Besides, it’s not like you were imagining things.  He did have an interest.  Who wouldn’t?” 

The last part comes out before he can realize what he’s actually saying, and his face grows hot with the insinuation of his words.  He’s stammering to fix it, which doesn’t help him much, but he tries.

“W-what I mean is that there will be plenty of other people who will meet you and fall for you completely and y-you’ll be swarmed with phone numbers and people who like you!” 

He doesn’t mean to raise his voice, but his nerves are starting to take over as the word vomit continues.  (y/n’s) quiet as she listens intently, and the longer she doesn’t speak up to stop him, the worse his rambling becomes.

“You’ll have to fight ‘em all off, you know? There’s so many people out there who haven’t been lucky enough to meet you yet, and when they do you’ll get to experience everything you want.  You know what?”

There’s a soft ‘what?’ from her end before he continues on his rant.

“It’s a good thing your first date wasn’t with that prick anyways.  It wouldn’t have been fair.  It wouldn’t have been right at all if your first date was boring or shitty or- or anything short of special and electric, okay?” 

(y/n) still doesn’t say anything, but she’s hanging onto every word he says, even when they’re rushed and he’s stumbling over them, all of her focus is on what he’s saying.

“Because you deserve it.  And anyone who is remotely worth your time will know that.  And they’ll- they’ll text you too much before you finally go out, because they’ll be nervous because you make them nervous because you’ll be so out of their league, you know?” He doesn’t even pause before continuing.  “And they’ll pick you up on time if not early because they’ll respect your time, and they’ll have flowers- the prettiest, most expensive bouquet they could find- right? A bouquet even Gojo couldn’t afford,” 

She lets out a watery laugh that has Yuuta easing up in his rambling, a warm feeling planting in his chest in the hopes she’d smiled, even just a little bit, even if it was through her tears, he’d provoked just a little bit of joy from her.

“And… and if you’re anything short of completely swept away, then you’ll call Maki and she’ll come get you so you don’t have to spend another second wasting your time with a loser that doesn’t deserve you” 

His chest is heaving a bit when he finally stops, not realizing he was losing his breath the longer he rambled on.  His face feels hot as he processes everything he’d just dumped on her, and he prays that it wasn’t as pathetic as he’s worrying it was.

There’s a few small sniffles before (y/n) speaks up.

“Well, if you were back home, I’d just call you,” She says softly.  Her voice doesn’t sound as strained as before, and Yuuta hopes it means she’d stopped crying.  “You really think I’ll be able to find all that?” 

“Yeah, ‘course I do,” He mumbles back, although his words hold absolute certainty.  “Not a doubt in my mind” 

She giggles, a real little laugh that he can almost see.  It’s short and sweet and it has him elated that he’d lightened her mood.  He’s not sure what exactly he did, but he’s grateful that the word vomit was beneficial for once.

“Thank you, Yuuta,” She murmurs.  “You’re right, and, I actually feel a little better,” 

His heart soars, and he’s smiling to himself again with pride and relief.

“I’m still going to watch Pride and Prejudice before bed, though.  I’d already committed to it and I can’t just go to sleep now” She tells him seriously.  Yuuta laughs, falling back on his bed as comfortably as he could with his feet still planted on the ground.

“I’ve never seen it,” He tells her.  “But don’t stay up too-” 

“Never?” She interrupts with a gasp of shock.  “Yuuta, that’s criminal” 

He chuckles again.  “Is it really?” 

“Yes, very much so,” She tells him.  “When you’re back we have to watch it, okay?” 

“Yeah, sure-” 

“No, promise” She demanded for the second time that night.

“I promise,” He repeats, smiling to himself as his gaze wanders the ceiling.  

He couldn’t help but think that if she were to visit him, they could spend a whole afternoon here in this room watching her movie, probably eating snacks and making a mess of the place as they got cozy for it.  This room had always remained perfectly tidy, so much so it was almost boring.  Having her in it would surely brighten it up and give it some life, he thinks.

“We’ll watch it as soon as I’m back” He tells her.

“Okay.  Good.  You were on thin ice for a second, you know” She murmurs sleepily.  He can hear her yawning.

“Was I?” He muses.  “Is that what it takes to get you to hang up on me?” 

“Are you suggesting I wouldn’t?” She quips back, and he’s glad that her teasing nature has come around again.

“I’m suggesting you never have before” Yuuta shrugs.  His fingers are pressed firmly against the back of his phone, keeping it close to his ear so he couldn’t miss the way she laughed at him.

“Yeah, well, maybe you’re just good company,” She hums.  “But it is late and I want to watch this movie, so I guess there’s a first for everything” 

His face is warm and he feels full, like he’d just eaten a good meal, despite him having skipped lunch in order to call her.  Yuuta smiles lazily at the blank ceiling as he hums back to her.

“Alright, enjoy your movie,” He says.  “But, uh, you can call me again.  Y’know, if you… need to.  Or want to” 

There’s a pause before she responds.

“Okay,” It comes out in a hushed whisper.  “Have a good rest of your day, Yuuta” 

The time difference has his lips pinching into a frown, but he quickly tries to hold onto the last few seconds of joy he has while talking to her.

“Goodnight, (y/n)”

The call ends, and he drops his phone to the mattress, letting it sit forgotten beside his head.  He stays put in his semi-comfortable position, still staring at the ceiling as his hands fall to his sides.  His chest felt tight, and his mind a little dazed as he replayed the call over and over in his mind.  The hurt he’d felt when she was hurting, the relief he’d felt when she was happy.  It was overwhelming, the way his own emotions were thrown through the wringer depending on hers.

His heart was hammering in his chest so hard, Yuuta knew he couldn’t deny his feelings any longer.

He was falling for her.  Fast, and hard.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[yuuta]: [attachment]: one image [yuuta]: i think you’d like these little guys

[y/n]: :D a hermit crab!!! [y/n]: so cute! can’t believe ur holding it, i’d be scared of getting pinched

[yuuta]: i’m special grade, i’m not scared of anything :)

[y/n]: getting real comfy with throwing that title around, huh? you must think so low of me, a mere second grade.  i could never amount to the *mighty* okkotsu yuuta.

[yuuta]: lol shut up it’s just a crab

[y/n]: he is super cute.  his name is yuu now :)

[yuuta]: bcuz u miss me so much? :)

[y/n]: bcuz he’s small and feisty.  that little claw looks ready to attack :>

[yuuta]: ok i’ll admit he did pinch me once. [yuuta]: but in his defense i did pick him up and i am a big scary human

[y/n]: lmfao [y/n]: i thought we just established ur small and feisty

[yuuta]: i don’t think i like being called small 

[y/n]: tiny  [y/n]: smol [y/n]: just a baby

[yuuta]: are we still talking abt the crab?? 

[y/n]: and maybe a little cute [y/n]: if we’re still talking about similarities :) 

[yuuta]: cute???????

[y/n]: when u first came to jujutsu tech u were kinda like a hermit crab LMFAO [y/n]: i think if u had a shell u would’ve lived in it for WEEKS XD

[yuuta]: ._.

[y/n]: :)

[yuuta]: ur being a menace today [yuuta]: more than usual

[y/n]: it’s bcuz gojo’s lesson plan so far has been fighting the air :/ idk how he’s a teacher.  i’m definitely not learning anything [y/n]: except that i might be able to take him in a fight without cursed energy

[yuuta]: my money is on u :)  [yuuta]: but also i’ll be there with ice cream when u get ur ass kicked 

[y/n]: &lt;;/3[y/n]: that’s my broken heart[y/n]: you’ve broken my heart.

[yuuta]: lol [yuuta]: but there will be ice cream [yuuta]: <3

[y/n]: …  [y/n]: ok i might forgive u

[yuuta]: is it bcuz i’m cute  [yuuta]: :)) [yuuta]: ?? (y/n) ?? [yuuta]: :(( [yuuta]: don’t ghost me ik ur not paying attention in class

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The tenth phone call they have, (y/n’s) the one calling him.

It’s one in the morning his time, so he’s sound asleep on the mattress that still feels stiff after about three months of him sleeping on it.  Every day he longs more and more to go back home to his cozy room and his friends and her.  

When his ringtone blares, a pretty tune that’s suddenly the most obnoxious sound on the planet, he’s awake right away.  Jolting from his slumber and reaching around blindly in search of the device.  He nearly shoves everything on his bedside table right off, his arm swinging with too much force in his desperate attempt to pick up the phone.

Even once it’s in his hand, it takes him a second to steadily press the accept button, his vision blurry and sleep still threatening to take back over.  It takes him a few tries before he’s answering the call and laying the phone on his pillow next to his head.

“Hello?” He rasps out.

“Yuuta!” (y/n’s) all too cheery for one in the morning, but he distantly remembers it’s the early evening in Tokyo.  His eyes squeeze shut as he rubs at them tiredly.  “Yuuta! How could you not tell me the good news!?” 

She’s yelling, and even without his phone on speaker he hears her perfectly fine just having the device laying next to his head.  It’s a shock to his ears, his mind buzzing as it tries to wake him up to deal with the noise.  But he snuggles deeper into his pillow, rolling onto his side to press his face into the feathery plushness.

“-was gonna wait,” He mumbles sleepily.  “Y’know, ‘til I was awake, ‘nd it was a normal time” His words are followed by a low chuckle.  The pillow suddenly becomes the comfiest thing he’s ever touched, and even the stiff mattress becomes a little more inviting.

“Wait?” She repeats the word before gasping dramatically.  “Okkotsu Yuuta, I had to hear you were coming back from Toge!” 

He chuckles again at her antics.  He’s still exhausted, but his chest feels warm hearing the excitement in her voice.

“Do you know how long it took him to tell me? Hm? He did charades, Yuuta.  Charades!” The image has him laughing a little more, shoulders shaking just a little bit as he listens to her go on.  “I’m terrible at charades by the way.  The whole thing took, like, fifteen minutes.  I was pissed he couldn’t just write it down” 

“Toge’s jus’ like that” He mumbles.

“But you told him before me?” 

Yuuta’s not sure if the offense in her tone is fake or not.  To play it safe, he covers his tracks.

“No,” He sighs.  “Gojo pr’lly told him.  He only just told me before I went to bed” 

“And you didn’t even text,” (y/n) huffs, but he can hear the laugh she’s trying to hold back.  He smiles in relief knowing she was just sticking to her bit.  “Well you better actually text me as soon as you’re back!” She says threateningly.  “We have plans.  You promised” 

“How could I forget?” He hums, voice low and growing quieter as his body beckons him to fall back to sleep.

“Okay.  Good,” She says definitively.  “I guess I’ll let you go back to sleep.  Sorry for waking you up” 

He hums in amusement.

“Don’t be sorry for being so excited to see me you couldn’t contain it,” He teases quietly.  (y/n’s) silent on the other end of the line.  “And don’t be embarrassed, either” He adds.

“I’m not embarrassed!” She squeaks, making him chuckle some more.  Maybe he was just deprived of his sleep, but she was extra cute when he was the one doing the teasing.  “But I… I am excited to see you” 

He smiles into his pillow, sighing contentedly into it.

“I know sweetheart,” He mumbles.  “And ‘m excited to see you too” 

She’s failing to stifle a giggle through the speaker.

“Okay okay, you’re clearly wiped.  I’ll let you go,” She says.  “Goodnight, Yuuta” 

“Night, (y/n)” 

He’s asleep before she even ends the call, drawn back into rest by the suddenly comfortable bedding and the sweet echo of her laughter playing in his mind.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

(y/n) had been adamant about having their movie night the same night he gets back to Tokyo.  With the jet lag and the time difference keeping him awake against his wishes, she was sure that having a relaxed evening inside would be the best way to ease him back into being at home.

Yuuta, on the other hand, tried to make it clear that they didn’t have to rush into it.  His flight would land at eleven in the evening, and he was sure he wouldn’t even be back to campus before midnight.  While it might have felt like early afternoon to him, (y/n) would have already had a full day of lessons and training, and likely be exhausted by that time.

However she was stubborn.  It didn’t matter how much he tried to persuade her otherwise, she remained certain that she would stay awake long enough to greet him and have a simple, fun night set up for them.

And who was he to fight too hard against it anyways? The idea of her going through the trouble and wanting to stay up so late just to see him gave him energy for the whole day.  He was smiling through customs, bouncing his leg waiting to board, texting her as much as possible before he’d have to put his phone on airplane mode, and greeting every employee and flight attendant with so much delight it was infectious.  He’d even gotten an extra package of goldfish for his delightful friendliness.

He’s as quick as can be picking up his checked luggage and rushing out of the airport.  Anyone who saw might have thought he was late, but in actuality he was trying to be as early as possible.  He’d practically crashed into Ijichi, almost racing past him, but just as quickly recognition flashed in his eyes and he gave the manager a bone crushing hug, forgetting his strength.

The man was alarmed by the affection, awkwardly patting the boy’s back before stepping out of the embrace and nervously laughing.  He leads Yuuta out of the building and towards the sleek black car that’s waiting to take him home.  Yuuta’s positively buzzing the whole ride.  It’s obvious that Ijichi is tired, it’s almost the middle of the night after all, but he does find some amusement in Yuuta’s pure and unfiltered excitement.

However when the boy shouts for a pit stop at a local twenty-four hour grocery shop, the man almost drives the car right off the road, slamming on the brakes and pulling over roughly enough to wake him up completely.  If Yuuta notices the harsh driving maneuvers, he doesn’t say anything.  Simply grabbing his wallet and rushing inside the building.  Ijichi swears all these kids pumped full of muscles and adrenaline would be the death of him.

Yuuta comes back with a full paper bag and a grin, thanking the manager as they continue the drive home without a hitch.

He shouldn’t have the energy he does when they arrive, but Ijichi watches in shock as Yuuta easily carries all of his bags and the delicate groceries and breaks into a full sprint for the dorms, hollering one last thank you as he does.

He’s unceremonious as he drops his things in his room.  There is a certain comfort in being back in a space he can contently call his own, but the welcome home nap he was so eager to take in his own bed could wait.  He leaves his things and is swept away by his own two feet as he hurries down the hall.

There’s the faintest of light peeking out under only one door, all the others tightly shut and seemingly dark inside.  It was past midnight, and there were lessons first thing tomorrow morning.  He’s hesitant for only a second as he reaches the door, but adrenaline takes over again and he’s knocking as quietly as he can.

He can barely hear someone inside, although he doesn’t make out any real words.  Just to be safe, he knocks again.

“H’llo?” A tired voice calls back a little louder this time.

Yuuta’s hand is shaking when he reaches for the latch and slides the door open, just barely peeking inside.

He’d seen (y/n’s) room maybe once in passing, but he hadn’t taken a real glance, and definitely never stepped inside.  Now, he takes it all in with his face lit up in pure astonishment.

It’s decorated with string lights, soft and twinkling slowly here and there.  Just enough to give some ambience without it being overpowering.  Her small television is flickering with the title screen of her adored movie.  She’s curled up in a heap of blankets on the bed, and for a few seconds he thinks she’s asleep.  But her head tiredly lifts to see who her visitor was, and like a switch, she’s full of energy.

“Yuuta!” 

His name falls from her lips in soft awe, and she’s throwing her blankets back and sitting upright, shifting to get out of bed.  Yuuta’s beaming back at her, stepping into the room and turning to slide the door shut behind him.  The others would be quite annoyed if they were to be woken up at this hour.

She’s stumbling a bit towards him, her arms outstretched and her face in a lazy grin.  It takes no time at all for her to cross the room and throw her arms around him to hug him tightly.  Yuuta’s careful to hold his bag of goodies to the side so they don’t get crushed when he reciprocates the tight hug.

He hadn’t hugged her before he left for Africa.  He hadn’t hugged anyone, actually.  Just waved as he bid them goodbye.  Hugging her now feels like something he’d waited for for ages, and finally getting to hold her against him has his heart soaring.

“You’re finally home,” She’s smiling into his chest, and pulls away only so she can grin up at him, properly taking in his pretty eyes and longer hair.  She’s just about to comment on the change in style before she notices the bag in his hand, and focuses on it instead.  “Did you bring gifts?” She asks with a playful smirk.

“Uh- yeah, I mean, sorta,” He stammers, his face getting warmer than he would’ve liked as he opens the bag and glances inside, suddenly apprehensive about handing them to her.  “It’s not from Africa, but they are necessities,” He tells her.

(y/n) raises a brow curiously, before prompting him to show her what he brought.

Yuuta’s sheepish as he reaches in the bag and produces a family size package of lemon flavored oreos.  It seemed like a great idea when he’d picked them up, but now he feels anxiety twisting in stomach as he presents them to her.

“Lemon oreos!” (y/n’s) nothing short of delighted as she takes the package from his hands, already peeling back the plastic to snatch one and take a bite right away.  She hums as she finishes the cookie, her eyes twinkling with happiness as she seals the package again.  “You remembered, thank you.  We’ll definitely finish those tonight” She says with a laugh.

“Don’t worry, I brought my own snack, they’re all yours” He says softly.  She brightens even further at the prospect.

“You really know the way to a woman’s heart, Okkotsu” She teases.  

After months of getting teased over the phone, he finally gets to witness it first hand.  Her cheeks are pink and her eyes shift between his and other spots around the room bashfully.  He wonders if she was always so shy when she’d teased him before.

His smile softens as he reaches into the bag again, carefully holding the other gift as he pulls it from the bag.  (y/n’s) eyes widen and her lips part as she takes in the sight of the beautiful arrangement of flowers he was holding.  It was simple, a pretty bouquet of lilies, lily of the valley, to be specific, she recognized them as the same white flowers scattered around the courtyard.  Her eyes were locked on the bouquet as Yuuta picked around it a bit, making sure every flower was perfect and presentable.

“It’s not, uh, the most expensive bouquet in the world,” He mumbles anxiously once he deems the flowers pretty enough to hand to her.

She looks up at him as though silently asking if they were really for her, her surprise evident in the way she stared at him in soft surprise before she finally took the flowers.  Her movements are slow and so, so careful, not wanting to bend a single stem out of place.

“But, still, um,” With his hands free Yuuta begins to fiddle, scratching at the nape of his neck as he struggles to meet her gaze.  “Y’know, I just wanted to… give you flowers” 

A smile breaks out across her face as she leans close to them to take in a whiff, soothed by the gentle, clean scent that fills her nose.

“I love them,” She murmurs, still staring in awe at the pretty arrangement.  “Can I take a picture?” She asks, and he nods wordlessly.  He finally takes in a breath of air when she turns around to grab her phone from the bed, not having realized he’d been holding it since handing her the intimate gift.

What he doesn’t realize is she’s bounding back over to him with her phone in hand, the camera flipped around so she can take a selfie of her flowers with him very much in it.

“C’mon, smile!” She giggles as she turns her phone sideways, eyeing the image of him with his blushing face and wide eyes, obviously caught off guard.

She snaps the photo when he throws up a peace sign and gives the most relaxed smile he can, his eyes closed and his cheeks undeniably pink.  (y/n) admires it before tucking her phone back into her pocket and clutching the flowers close to her chest lovingly.

“Thank you so much,” She gives them one last affectionate glance before tucking them carefully into a jar on her desk- after she dumped all the pens in it onto her workspace without a second thought.  Yuuta almost laughed at how quickly she made the mess and left it in order for the bouquet to have a safe home.  Once she’s sure they’re safe and sound, she turns back to him again.

It’s funny how out of place he looks standing in her doorway.  Long legs and broad shoulders taking up more space in her room than she would’ve thought.  She’d almost forgotten how large Yuuta was.  Somehow, it made it funnier that he looked so lost.  Like he didn’t want to take a step, and didn’t know what to do with his hands.  She could tell he was trying his best to come across as comfortable as he could, but she could see the wince behind his smile, and his slowly shifting feet.  

He looks out of place now, but she likes having him here.  She likes that he smells like sandalwood, and something sweet like vanilla.  She likes that he’s still holding the paper bag that he’d brought her gift in, not wanting to drop it somewhere in her room like a piece of litter.  She likes that when their eyes meet he smiles, and crinkles form on his eyes that compliment his blushing face.

She likes everything about Yuuta, but right now, she likes that he was the first boy to ever bring her flowers most of all.

So despite her racing heart, she decides to tell him so.

“I’m glad you were the first guy to ever give me flowers” 

Yuuta’s smile drops slightly as his face softens with surprise, eyebrows raising higher when she steps even closer to him.

He’s holding his breath again when she leans onto the tips of her toes and pressing a quick kiss to his warm cheek.  The feeling of her lips brushing over his skin only makes it heat up more, and against his will he lets out a little gasp for air.  (y/n) giggles when she stands flat on her feet again, her nose slightly wrinkled at her amusement at how easily Yuuta flusters.

She’s starting to think to herself that she should test just how much she can fluster him while he’s here, when he’s suddenly the one taking her breath away.

He steps forward to close the distance between them again, dropping the paper bag so he can slide his hands under her jaw, tilting it upwards so he can lean down and kiss her with ease.  A gasp dies in the back of her throat just as his lips touch hers, the hesitation from her surprise only momentary.  

For a soft kiss, Yuuta radiates so much passion her knees feel weak, and her hands are firm as they press into his shoulders, desperate to keep herself upright.  Even his hands are gentle, their touch warm and featherlight against her face.

She longs to press impossibly closer and explore his every last dip and crevice, but for right now, everything is perfect.  His gentleness, his sweetness, him, she couldn’t have hoped for a more lovely first kiss.

Just as the kiss was, he pulls away slowly, forehead still touching hers.  A short sigh escapes him before his lips turn into a smile.  (y/n) watches as his mouth stretches and curls, her own face mirroring the expression, before her eyes flicker up to his to see he’s staring down at her.

“Sorry, I-” He shakes his head, trying to find just the right words to tell her how long he’d been thinking about doing that.  His mind is too foggy so he runs his mouth with abandon.  “I’ve just really wanted to do that” He murmurs.

(y/n) giggles, her face blooming with color at the blatant confession.  It had her heart going haywire even more after the kiss, and any hopes of being the one to fluster him goes out the window.  She’s putty in his hands and he must know it.

“Don’t be sorry,” She whispers back, shyly averting her gaze, not that it does her any favors, he’s still cradling her face and keeping her so close that it felt there was no shying away from him.  “I… I was hoping to talk to you, um, when you got back,” She says, the grin on her face betraying her as she tried to casually mention her feelings for him.  “About, y’know, hanging out more, ‘n stuff” 

Yuuta chuckles at her bashful nonchalance, nodding his head back at her with an excited gleam in his eyes.

“I’d like to hang out more and stuff,” He hums, dropping his hands from her face and nodding to where she’d set up the movie hours earlier.  “Should we start with watching your movie?” 

Excitement flashes in her eyes as she nods her head back at him, before taking his hand and tugging him over to the comfort of her bed.

“Settle in, your mind is about to be blown by literary perfection and cinematic masterpiece.  This is their love child” 

He chuckles, falling into the mattress with her and getting settled against the mountain of pillows at her headboard while she searches her blankets for the remote.  His chest is still vibrating with adrenaline, but as he sinks into a comfortable bed for the first time in months, he finds himself relaxing.

Despite his body feeling like it was the late afternoon, he feels as though he could go right to sleep.

It helps when (y/n) passes out first.  Her body slumps against his and she snores softly against his chest.  It’s such an amusing sight he can’t help but take a photo for her to wake up to in her messages.  He pauses the movie so that they can pick it up from where they left off tomorrow, and then settles deeper into the cozy bed.

The comfort he felt with every text received from her, every phone call to keep him company in the last few months of being away and being alone, it seems almost personified now.  Resting here beside her, simply sharing the same space, Yuuta feels the same wave of relief now.  He can’t help but smile to himself as he settles under the covers, being careful to not disturb her peaceful slumber.

He’s asleep in a matter of minutes.  The warmth of her body so close and the plush mattress working together to put his mind at such ease he didn’t even notice he was tired until he was closing his eyes and drifting off.

It was good to be home.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[ fuck it, i love you // fuck it, i love you // fuck it, i love you // i really do ]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

xoxo ~ jordie

a/n: gojo pays the international phone bills obviously so don't be commenting on it

[miaoua3]

(pairing: dino x f!reader)

based on that one video of vernon trying the food that dino made and immediately thinking it’s bad when vernon said that it’s chewy oh my baby how i love you

“babe? could you come here for a second?”, chan lets out from the kitchen, his voice sounding unsure and hesitant.

sensing that this is more than just a favour you could do for him, you get up and walk to where he’s standing in front of a stove.

looking at him expectedly, you smile “yes? what is it, love?”.

fidgeting with the spoon for a moment, he then takes a bit of a food from the pot, before he blows on it to cool it down. slowly bringing it to your mouth, he questions “could you try this and tell me how it tastes? i’m not sure if it’s all that up to your tastes.”

you just take ahold of his wrist before bringing the spoon in your mouth, choosing not to respond to his question and instead just do it.

you chew on it for a few seconds, eyebrows furrowing in concentration, trying to identify everything that he put in it.

hm, maybe a bit more salt would be good you think to yourself.

before you even have the time to open your mouth to sound your thoughts out loud, he interrupts you.

“i knew it, it tastes bad right? i’ll just throw it out a-and we can just order something-“.

sensing that he’s spiralling quickly, you immediately bring your hands to his cheeks and turn his head to yourself.

“hey, hey, hey, baby no, that’s not what i was going to say. i just thought that it could use a bit more salt but otherwise everything is fine, it tastes super yummy.”

chan just looks down to his feet that are fidgeting lightly. you look him with eyes full of pain before you move closer, leaning your forehead against his own so his eyes are forced to look at your own again.

“channie, my love, what is this about really? you know you don’t need to stress this much over some food. plus, you know that i would eat anything you’d make for me, because everything you make tastes divine.”

chan’s hands come to fiddle with the hem of your shirt, insecurity very visible on his face. you rub your thumbs against his soft cheeks as you wait for him to answer you.

after a minute, he finally quietly says “i know i’m not the best cook, so i just wanted to make you something as a way to improve my cooking skills, so you wouldn’t have to do it all the time, like you are doing at the moment…and what kind of boyfriend am i when i can’t even make anything that you like?…”.

your eyebrows furrow on their own as he continues to speak, heart breaking at how broken and sad his voice sounds.

deciding that you have heard enough, you bring his big and buff body down to your height, hugging him tightly as a way to reassure him.

you sigh before you start speaking against his ear “oh my love, you have to stop being so hard on yourself, baby. you know you are the best boyfriend there is, especially for me. you do so much for me, that i actually feel like i’m not doing enough for you. you are always there for me, you take care of me both emotionally and physically. i haven’t paid for anything ever since our third date, and you know how that makes me feel. the cooking…it’s the only thing i know i can do to repay you for being my perfect other half and for everything that you do. so it’s really not a problem for me.”, you pause so you can being his face in front of your own again. “you need to start believing me when i say that nobody could take care of me the way that you do, nor that i want them to…you are my soulmate, sweetheart, okay?”, you finish.

chan has to blink his tears away as he nods his head quickly before he hugs you tightly, hiding his face in your hair.

rubbing his back in comfort, you add “plus you shouldn’t be cooking according to my tastes, you know i like my food so salty, it gives me kidney stones.”, as a way to lighten up the mood.

and as he chuckles, you know that you’ve succeeded in doing it.

then again, if that hadn’t work, you would’ve tried another 200 different jokes, just to make him smile again.

because channie should only be smiling and be happy. because it’s what he deserves.

[nostalgicmiscellaneous]

Knowing Pen lied to him was truly Colin's nightmare come true in many ways, because of his past experience, but it's deeper because he actually truly loves Pen and she wouldn't lie to him because she's Pen, and Pen is special, but the the more you watch, the heartbreak shapes more clearly. Colin's expressions and his questions, the many times he's asked Penelope if she's sure of her feelings, if she regrets getting engaged, if she doesn't return his feelings for now...everytime Colin notices she has something to tell him, that he can feel it, he's expecting her to say she doesn't love him, that he indeed is not enough on his own, not worthy. When she's 'sick' and he wants to be near her..."perhaps she's trying to keep me at distance and is regretting", he's so unsure. Her confession at the church, that follows him once again asking her, telling "if you'll still have me?" and clearly bracing himself for some type of rejection, gives him a bit of peace, he starts to believe and is so giddy. At the Mondrichs ball, he's so happy when she tells him he's worthy. It breaks my heart for what's to come. His world came crashing down, because if she lied about that, if she - even if deep down he knows it's true, and that's why it hurts more, because she sees him negatively, she knows his mask and what's hiding - said those things about him in her Column, then she likely doesn't love him, not really, not in the way he loves her. It's hammering in his head: "Why would she love me?, and then, everything that happens make it worse, because - to him - he doesn't seem to be able to show to her his value, to prove to her he deserves love, because she seems to not need him, he's unable to help her in an effective manner and he feels like a failure as her husband, unsure of himself and mistrustful of her loving him. That's why Pen's words to him at Francesca's wedding makes me so emotional. I am in love with her words, how she tells him her needs and how his love is important to her on its own, and how can he show her that love the best/the best way to show it, what she doesn't need, what he doesn't need to do, that he actually excels at loving her when he simply loves her. It's in his special smiles to her, in their little jokes together, it's in the way he made love to her, in the way he gazes at her, how he makes her feel beautiful, in the way he dances with her, how happy it makes them to be together, how they can be silly together, how he kisses and holds her. It's curious because Penelope doesn't seem to doubt his love is there anymore, their dynamic here has shifted ( until ep5, she was also very insecure) , despite their issues, have you notice that? She just wants him to allow himself to show, she wants him to want to love her, she knows it's there, she wants him to act on his love and show her, in the many ways he's so perfect in showing her, so that she can show him back and make him feel loved too. Her offering the annulment was about protecting him and his family and a way to tell him: You don't have to keep on loving me, to be by my side, if i don't make you happy with my love, if you don't want to, if you are scared, in pain. But of course he wants to. He'll always want to and seeing her being so brave, makes him brave too, brave to let himself believe, to accept and let his heart melt away the protections he built with his hurt, makes him understand, deep inside of him, she loves him, that brilliant woman loves him and her light, as he said, will never hurt him, it was never meant to hurt him, instead it will always brighten up his path. She exposed herself out of love, for herself, for him, for his family and he exposed all his feelings right back to her, his insecurities and his love, he finally felt with certain how much he is loved, and it's every bit as much as he loves her. And he knows how vast that is.

[biancadoes1]

This is not really an ask. But I was reading an older article today about Nic when she first tried on the intimacy wear at home in front of her mirror & thought “Absolutely not. How am I going to do this.” Then proceeded to hide it in the bottom of her laundry basket.

It reminded me of the way she talked about how terrified she felt in the lead up to their first kiss, to the point she had a stress rash. Gives an insight into how big of a deal all of this was for her. Scary even. How vulnerable she felt. (I mean who wouldn’t!) Then the things she says about Luke - he’s so supportive, he never made her feel judged, he made her feel safe, he is just a joy to be around, she can’t imagine doing this with anybody else, what was originally terrifying turned out to be some of her favourite days, the whole experience is just so special and not something they can explain to anyone else, how they have amazing communication - anything they were unsure or nervous about they could just talk about it.

I think because we mostly see the fun & flirty side of them, it’s easy to forget sometimes just how much their bond and that comfort and closeness they have with each other was very much earned. There is a real strength and depth to their relationship. Like she says, they really went on a journey together… she always really liked him but now she has a real love for him.

The way they make each other feel seen, safe and supported (wether that be on red carpets or on set) is such a beautiful and special thing. I think about the strongest relationships in my own life and it’s the ones where I’ve been the most vulnerable, where they’ve seen me at my most unguarded. The ones that have seen me through the hard stuff and that make the difficult & scary parts of life more bearable.

I guess this is just a reminder that the love we see they have for each other is very real just like N says it is. They laughed and joked a lot on the world tour about how much they enjoyed it & I don’t doubt that for a second and I love that light, fun, cheeky side to their relationship. But just like Pen & Colin, there’s history there for Luke & Nic… one that is very hard to compete with. There were some very real fears, struggles and growth that they bore witness to & supported each other through to get to this point. It’s not surprising that their relationship is not like any other relationship she has. She said towards the end it became effortless for them. They clearly adore and respect each other deeply. I do not think it would be easy for another partner to compete with that kind of earned ease and trust. Or for L & N to not be drawn back to the safety of each others arms. I think they are home to each other and I think they are reminded of that every day they are together and apart.

❤️❤️❤️