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#those feelings were so foreign to her
yllowpages · 1 year
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“ Judging by the clothes, they’re colonists. Maybe it was a fight? ” “ No, I don’t think so. Look how they’re arranged. ” “ Yeah, you’re right. They’re stacked. Or just shoved against the walls. ” “ They were already dead when they were brought here. This is a mass grave, Nate. ”
this is such a small little detail but one i love : elena being able to identify why those bodies were found where they were. it’s definitely in line with my headcanon from years ago that, in college, she studied both journalism and anthropology (probably archaeological and cultural, maybe linguistic). which makes sense, given the nature of her old tv show as well, having a lot of historical and anthropological subject matter. it shows that she’s just as observant, just as smart, as nate is when it comes to this stuff. it’s not just the adventure for her either, she also loves the history. if she didn’t, this wouldn’t be something she’d chase so much.
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sugaggukkie · 8 months
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watched the new jeans lolla performance and CHEESED through literally every second of it!!! congrats to the funnest cutest sweetest baby girls on an excellent american debut
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murdrdocs · 2 months
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Babe. Babe. Babe. I’m ovulating and it shows BUT. I’m thinking SO heavy abt how in MULTIPLE of ur luke fics you comment on his desire to cum inside, knowing damn well he can’t/that he’ll be able to talk her into it one day and it WONT leave my brain alone. I need a fic where reader finally lets him. I’m gnawing at the bars of my enclosure as I type this. down horrendously. send help.
creampie; MDNI – i did not realize that I did this that often erm
if he hadn't have told you verbally, with the way luke is fucking you, you would've been able to figure out what his goal was.
it was one he recently set, having been given permission by you, coupled with extremely enthusiastic consent.
truthfully, it was about time.
all of those sessions where you would see him staring longingly at your cunt after he fucked it, as if he were expecting something else to happen. all of those nights where he would hesitate before putting on a condom, plump lips parting as if he prepared to ask a question, and then promptly closing as he decided against it.
it all led to this: luke finally fucking you raw, leading himself to an orgasm that would make it all worth it.
he has you in a mating press, as if he needed to amplify his intentions even more.
the tops of your thighs pressed against your chest, your ankles and calves thrown over his shoulders, the position spreading you open to give luke access to the deepest parts of you.
he keeps mentioning it, clearly as entranced by it all as you are. little breaths of "so deep" and borderline gasps of "you feel me?" spoken into the stiff air.
you really aren't much better. the ferocity of his hips, the hunger behind each thrust, has made you go dumb. you can only respond in pornographic "yes"'s and "mhm"'s every so often. all of your energy and sense has gone to the feeling of luke driving himself in and out of you like you're nothing but a pocket pussy.
he'd already made you cum once, and another is steadily approaching. it comes closer and closer as you realize that luke is using your body.
it arrives when luke tells you he's about to cum, since you know what that means.
somehow, your brain begins to function and words form.
"please, luke. please cum in me. i need it so bad."
you sound desperate, like something out a video curated perfectly to appease audiences. but that's just how luke has made you feel. that's what he's done to you.
he presses one of your legs further down into your chest and begins to roll his hips into yours, abdominal muscles going taut as his eyelids lower to watch it all happen.
"'m close, baby. just a little..." he lets the sentence tailor off without a complete ending but its not necessary. not when his hips twitch and then still and then finally, he's spurting cum into you.
it's a foreign feeling, but in the best possible way. warm and wet, copious amounts, more than you would've expected. you think you felt him fill you out a little more for a second, but you can't even begin to consider that whenever luke pulls out and his cum follows.
you barely mourn the emptiness before luke's speaking to you.
"did so well, angel. but i need one more thing from you." he lowers your legs, kisses the tops of your calves. "push it out 'f me. need to see it, angel."
you do as told, letting his cum drip out and encouraging it a little with your last remnants of energy. luke's breath hitches, and then you flinch when his fingers probe at your entrance.
he apologizes in a soft whisper but continues his exploration. thick fingers sliding in his cum, smearing it over your cunt. when he gets up to your clit, teasing the bud with the newly added slip, you say his name. it's meant to be a warning, but it comes out more as a plea.
either way, he still chuckles through his halfhearted apology.
"can't help it," he reasons.
"just look so pretty with my cum leaking out of you."
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barbieaemond · 3 months
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Lykirī
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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 @chompchompluke @arcielee
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"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.
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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.
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“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.
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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.
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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."
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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. 
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Thank you so much for reading!! 💞💞
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fillejondrette · 4 days
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a lot of men really just seem to want to be able to victimize women without women getting upset about it. they'll say that women who take safety precautions have victim complexes, but then say the same thing about women who don't take those safety precautions. i saw this recently in the context of female travelers.
first, i saw a video of a woman demonstrating safety precautions to take on cruises, doing stuff like hooking things to her door to stop it from being opened, clipping the curtains shut, etc. personally, i don't feel the need to those things, and i feel like it's probably a diminishing returns situation- once you've done the obvious stuff like locking the door, any extra steps probably won't help you that much. but if it makes her sleep better, then there's no harm.
second, i saw a video of a woman talking about how she roadtripped in a foreign country with a couple of male travelers she met online. so the total opposite of the first woman, in the sense that she did something i think very few women would be willing to do.
the male comments on both videos were pretty similar, though. they both focused on women's so-called obsession with being victims. the first woman is paranoid, fixated on the idea of being a victim. one commenter wrote "me watching her do all this shit when i'm already hiding inside her room." the message is that women's precautions are silly and ultimately useless, if men really want to hurt us. comments on the second video contained a lot of assumptions that the second woman must have paid for her trip with sex. but many of the commenters were saying things like, "women will do things like this and cry victim, you wanted to be victimized." so they're acknowledging that being alone with random men is in fact dangerous for women. the second woman is a dumb slut who deserves what's coming to her.
i think men are, by and large, pretty aware of how men treat women. they acknowledge this with the argument that women need men to protect them (from other men). they treat male violence as a fact of nature that shouldn't reflect badly on men as a group, and shouldn't make women distrust men - except when a woman does trust men, no, that's wrong too. there's no correct way to behave that will make you a "good" victim, or a reasonable person, in their eyes, and i think that's the goal. if a woman's hurt, it's her fault. if she's afraid of getting hurt, it's her fault. the man is never the one at fault.
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norrizzandpia · 8 months
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The Infamous Stream (LN4)
Summary: When Max streams and the chat goes wild for Lando and Y/n’s sappy love
Warnings: really nothing yall have at it (except for like one minor insinuation to sex? But its literally like two words tbh)
"Don't mind Y/n and Lando behind me. They fell asleep on my bed after being here for an hour." Max's voice cut through Y/n's unconscious state. Slowly, her mind noted Lando's chest against her forehead and his arms wrapped securely around her. His chest rose and fell at a slow pace and his lips rested right at the top of her head, slightly kissing her hair. If it wasn't for his hands refusing to let her go and the warmth that radiated off his body, Y/n would have gotten up and out of her sleeping position once her brain comprehended that Max wasn't speaking to himself, but to his chat on his stream. With his hoodie engulfing her body, she snuggled further into her boyfriend and tightened her arms around his neck.
"When they wake up, I'm going to tell them about all of you in here going crazy for boyfriend Lando." Max's booming laugh seemed to wake the boy in Y/n's arms as his arms around her tightened and the pressure of his lips against her head lessened.
Seeming to think she was still asleep, Lando whispered, "Quiet down, Max. You're gonna wake her up."
From her position against his chest, Y/n groggily murmured, "No, I'm awake."
Lando's hand came up to cradle the back of her head as she moved to look up at him, "How did we even fall asleep?" Her eyebrows furrowed together and Lando smiled down at her, finding her adorable moments after she had woken up from a nap.
Max chuckled, "Maybe because my bed is so comfortable."
Lando's eyes met Max's over Y/n's head, watching as the chat absolutely blew up over the couple, "No way, Y/n's bed is way more comfortable. She has one of those memory foam mattresses and everything."
"And how would you know that?" Max wiggled his eyebrows at the couple as Y/n blushed and stuffed her face back into Lando's chest.
Lando groaned as his head pulled back, "You wanker."
Finally, Y/n decided it was time to end the cuddling session that was being broadcast to thousands, so she pulled away from her boyfriend and hopped off the bed. However, she couldn't escape from the room quick enough seeing as Max ushered her and Lando over.
"Come on, you guys have got to see these comments." With Lando getting up from the bed and Max's hand hastily waving her face, Y/n took a closer look at the words rapidly appearing on the screen.
Lando_norizz
There is no way I just witnessed that sweet moment for free.
F1-loveeee
CAN WE PLZ TALK ABOUT THE PLACEMENT OF LANDOS HANDS??? IM SCREAMING
emma.loves.racing.
They're so priv abt their relationship i feel like i just watched something so intimate
landoismysoulmate
I have never in my life been so incredibly devastated to see two people be so happy and in love
Other comments continued to come in, but Y/n could only read a few. Each of them made her smile as fans talked about how happy Lando looked to be with her. The couple had decided early on that they would keep the majority of their time together private and to themselves, so Y/n could gather that the lovey-dovey moment everyone just witnessed was something entirely foreign. She wouldn't mention that Lando was an incredibly clingy boyfriend who always wanted to be near her or touching her whenever they were in close vicinity to one another and she definitely wouldn't mention that usually their cuddling sessions turned not-so-innocent after an hour or two. All she could do was smile up at the man who was already staring at her like she hung the stars and the moon just for him.
All of a sudden, Lando was hysterically laughing beside her as he pointed to a comment that was quickly disappearing behind all the other chats being sent in. Luckily, she was able to read the words before they were lost and when she did, she couldn't help but join her boyfriend in his hysterics.
Landohasnorizz
Lando heard the nickname lando norizz and said hold my beer
It was a sweet comment and Y/n was grateful the two weren't being bombarded by hateful remarks like some of the other drivers on the grid had to go through when they went public. One of the reasons why Lando had been so hesitant to announce her identity to the rest of the F1 world was because of all the potential hate she could get. However, after years together they realized they couldn't just keep it all a secret when they were likely to get married and live out the rest of their days together.
As if to cut through her overwhelming thoughts, Lando's hand came to rest around her waist as he smiled down at her and said, "I have no rizz. I really don't know how I got so lucky."
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chosopie · 26 days
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Hear me out: Conquer Sukana who killed y/n bethroned and Y/n, a very high ranking princess convinces Sukana who leave her baby brother, Yuji be. Yuji is a 3 year old who often clinging to y/n since Sukana basically stole the throne. Sukana falls for the beautiful y/n
CONQUERER - RYOMEN SUKUNA
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“Master, it would be best if you spared them. They have done nothing against you,” Uraume spoke while he stood by Sukuna’s tall figure that loomed over you and your baby brother Yuji’s shaking figure. “Perhaps, you could even keep Lady Y/N L/N. She is known for her intelligence and her way with the sword.”
You stood in front of your little brother, arms spread open to shield his small body. Your face was covered in sweat and the blood of the man you were betrothed to. Now that he was dead, you were going to be queen—the queen of the foreign conquerer. It was unfair, but this was the rule and tradition every nation had mutually agreed upon. It was survival of the strongest. Those who are strong enough shall take what they can.
“Leave my brother alone or I will show you no mercy,” you spat.
“No mercy?” Sukuna laughed. “And what could you possibly do to me? You’re just a tiny and meek girl.”
You pulled out the dagger that was attached to the band on your thigh and pointed it at Sukuna’s upper abdomen. He quickly grabbed your wrist and yanked you to his hard and toned chest.
“Stab me, girl. Let’s see what you’ve got,” he moved his face close enough to yours that you could feel the heat radiating off his body. His eyes shamelessly examined your face, slowly trailing down to your exposed flesh. You wore a flowy purple off-shoulder dress that had a large slit that showed your legs. With him towering over you, he could see the top of your breasts your dress failed to cover.
You spat at him, causing him to move back. He scowled and tightly held your face with his large hand. His sharp nails dug onto your supple skin, leaving red streaks all over your cheeks.
“Do the women here have no knowledge of manners? Know your place. I own this nation now. I own you.” He let go of your face and snatched Yuji.
“No! Get away, monster!” Yuji fought back and tried to squeeze his way out of Sukuna’s arms.
“Yuji!” You screamed and stabbed Sukuna on the chest, carving out a big line that went all the way to his stomach.
Sukuna winced and threw Yuji onto the ground. You tried to run to your brother, but Sukuna grabbed you and held you in place.
“Please! Let him go! Just take me instead, you bastard!”
“Is that so?” Sukuna smirked, his hand effortlessly lifting Yuji from the ground and tossing him to you. You catched Yuji and hugged him tight, your left hand on the small of his back and right hand gently caressing his hair. “I shall take you as my wife,” the fierce man said.
-
Sukuna sat comfortably on his throne, his chin resting on the palm of his hands while he blankly stared at the lavish banquet your people had prepared. There were girls in revealing dresses that danced right in front of him, but his eyes were elsewhere. His gaze was fixed on you, who sat beside him in a beautiful white dress that was elegantly draped on your dainty figure. Your neck and wrists were covered in jewels of all sorts that Sukuna had gifted you prior to your unification.
“Smile a little, my dove. It’s our wedding. You’re more than lucky to have me as your ally. After all, I’m the strongest out there.”
Your eyes refused to meet his piercing gaze. “Ally? I had no choice. You forcefully took me.”
He gently reached for your chin and turned your head towards him. “You gave yourself to me, remember?”
“That’s because I had to protect my brother.”
“And you looked beautiful doing that. You would make a great mother,” he smiled with amusement.
: ̗̀➛ part 2
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wolfmoonmusic · 10 months
Text
Misunderstandings
Summary: Sirius is yours and you are his. But do you both know that?
Request: Sirius and reader have a kind of an off and on flirtation/situationship thing going and he sees her going on a "date" with Frank Longbottom (personally I had headcanon that Frank was the fifth boy in the dorm along with the Marauders) in reality she's went on a pretend date to help Frank get ready for the real date he's taking her best friend Alice on and so Sirius gets jealous and wants to make things official before he loses her to someone else a little bit of angst with happy ending you know
Requested by: @jessiegerl
Pairing: Sirius Black x reader
Warnings: Readers parents hate her and well we all know how Sirius's Parents are.
w/c: 2.8k+
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<3
Sirius Black was not used to affection.
It was foreign to him. He never received praise, compliments, or anything positive. Ever.
So when the acquaintances he’d made on the hogwart’s express clapped him on the back after getting into Gryffindor, he didn’t know how to react other than to flinch.
And when you, introduced as James’s honorary sister, sat down that night, you’d complimented his hair.
You’d said “I like your long hair. It suits you.”
His parents hated that hairstyle. 
He’d kept it purely as an act of rebellion. However, now, now he seemed to like it just a bit more. He hadn’t said thank you. Because he hadn’t known he was supposed to. So he’d just nodded, and you’d grinned.
That grin changed everything. You changed everything.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“What if we make polyjuice potion, and I disguise myself as Narcissa, lead Lucius on for a bit and then prank him?” you asked, playing with the quill in your hands. 
Remus groaned, “We’re still on this?” he asked, throwing his head back in disbelief.
“N/n, Remmy is right, we pranked Lucius only the day before yesterday,” Sirius nodded. You raised an eyebrow at him knowing he was never one to back down from a prank on any Slytherin.
And you were right. He wanted to do it. But if that meant Lucius got a chance to be near you even in a slightly romantic way, he would hurl.
And possibly punch him.
“Oh c’monnn Siri,” you whined, putting on your best pleading face and puppy eyes.
Damn those puppy eyes.
Sirius just shook his head, ignoring the way his heart was racing at your look. He watched as you pouted, leaning back on to the couch, head resting on James’s shoulder. “James, help me out here,” you said, folding your arms as you waited expectantly.
But James was too busy staring at a certain redhead and you, still staring at Sirius, nudged James in the chest.
“Huh? What?”
Sirius burst out laughing at the way your face twisted in pure irritation, the other two boys joining in as you hit James repeatedly with a pillow.
“Ow ow! I’m sorry, I'm sorry!” James laughed as you continued your assault fighting the grin that was creeping up on your face.
“Fuck you Potter!” you laughed, as James tried to correct his hair, you stopping him and messing it up further.
Sirius watched the exchange between you both, a sick feeling crawling up his chest. He knew that you both were no more than honorary siblings and it would always be that way, but deep down he wished you were sitting next to him, doing all that silly stuff with him.
He immediately brushed it off, not one to allow feelings to linger for long, replacing his hardened stare with a smirk instead, watching you and James continue to fight like kids, admiring the bright smile on your face.
He wished that that smile would never go away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Black, if you could be any animal in the world which was not a dog, which by the way I still don’t understand why that’s your favorite animal, which would you choose?” you asked, mindlessly hooking your hand with his as you both walked to class in 4th year.
He ignored the burst of feelings that erupted in him, trying to focus on your question and not on the way your hand felt against his, clinging on as you pranced lightly. “Uhh, I don’t know” he muttered, his brain fogging up as he refrained himself from staring at your linked hands. You hummed, breaking away from him as James and Remus came into view outside the class.
He paused for a few seconds trying to calm down his erratic heart before shaking his head and entering the class. 
You waved him down, patting the seat next you, and the second he sat down, you grabbed his arm, sticking your tongue out at a slytherin girl eyeing you both with pure jealousy written all over her face.
Sirius laughed, “What’s that all about?”
“She likes you,” you pouted, “and asked me, ME to set you both up!” you pointed to yourself in disbelief.
“She looks cute,” Sirius said, winking at the girl. 
You gasped at the way the girl blushed in response. “She’s a slytherin!” you exclaimed, swatting his shoulder. 
Sirius shrugged, “Good point, guess I’ll have to find someone else then.”
“No way! You’re mine” you said seriously, jabbing a finger at his chest. 
His heart erupted, eyes widening. But he played it off quickly, leaning over to whisper in your ear. “You wish sweetheart.” 
Your face turned pink, eyes widening. Luckily the professor walked in, not allowing Sirius to dwell on your reaction.
Merlin, he was done for.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You were always a naturally happy person. The boys had never seen you cry, even though they’d all had their breakdown moments. You’d been their rock through everything. 
However, when 5th year started, you’d changed. You opted out of pranks, studying almost all the time and the usual spark in your eyes had faded. James seemed to know what had happened but he refused to let the others know, telling them it was up to you to reveal it to them. 
He was worried about you, Sirius could tell, and that made the long-haired boy worry even more. 
He’d tried to get you to talk to him, but you’d refused.
Until one day you’d shown up to Charms, puffy-eyed and asked Sirius to meet you in the Astronomy tower after his classes were done for the day. 
He’d waited anxiously, and as soon as his classes finished, he ran to find you.
You were standing right where you’d said you’d be, gazing up at the sky. You turned when you saw him, a small smile forming on your lips. But the boy noticed the way it seemed to require so much effort from you, which was never the case before.
You turned away again, wordlessly staring at the sky. He wanted to demand an explanation, no longer able to watch you like this.
“Y/N-”
“I’ve never stopped to think,” you started softly, still staring above. Sirius stepped closer to you, waiting patiently for you to continue.
You took a deep breath before turning to face him. 
“I’ve never let myself stop doing things or take a break because then all the thoughts flood the gates and I feel like I’m going to drown. But-” your eyes glazed over as you took a shuddering breath, looking down at your feet.
Sirius grabbed your shaking hands with one of his own, using the other to lift your chin up so that you could look at him. 
“I’m listening,” he whispered.
You bit down on your lip before starting again, “But this summer was bad Siri- they- they said the worst things and-” you couldn’t finish as a sob wracked through your body. 
Sirius pulled you to him, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and another lightly around your head as if trying to shield you.
He knew about the situation with your parents. They were almost never at home, and whenever they were, they made it very clear that they hadn’t wanted children in the first place. That’s why you spent most of your time at the Potter’s. 
It’s also why you understood his situation so well.
You pulled away, wiping your tears away as you looked at Sirius. “Euphemia says she won’t let me go back this time even if they ask,” you laughed slightly remembering the possessiveness that had come over the older Potter. 
Sirius smiled, “Good.”
“Thanks Siri,” you nodded, and Sirius beamed at the real smile that made its way to your face. 
“Anytime princess. But don’t get too comfortable, other girls will get jealous.”
You gasped, playfully punching him on his shoulder, “I better be your one and only Black!” you laughed, and he joined in, hiding the way that sentence struck his heart.
Little did you know.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Sirius found himself knocking on the door of the Potter’s house, he didn’t expect for you to open it.
Shit. He’d forgotten you stayed there now.
But he couldn’t back away. He didn’t have the energy, nor did he think you would let him, at the way you gasped in horror as you looked at him.
He mustered all his strength into a cheeky “Hi” before James appeared behind you, giving the same reaction you had seconds before. You stood there in shock, hands over your mouth and eyes watering at the sight of the boy in front of you.
Sirius gave up on trying to fake it, giving in as you and James pulled him inside the house. 
“James, get your mom,” you ordered. The boy hesitated as you guided Sirius to the sofa, before you turned and glared at him and he ran off. 
Your eyes scanned the boy, a sort of resolve taking you over as you kneeled down in front of him. Sirius was fighting to keep consciousness and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold it for.
“Sirius,” you called gently, placing a hand on his knee, slowly and carefully. “What happened?” you asked. 
Sirius didn’t want to relive what his mother had done to him, trying desperately to push it all away, trying to drown himself in your presence. But he knew you’d need an explanation if you were to help him get rid of the immense pain he was feeling right now.
“Cruciatus,” he whispered, noticing the horror and anger that made its way to your face, but also noticing the way the gentleness of your touch hadn’t changed.
“Can’t go back. Ever.” he muttered, and you were quick to adjust yourself so that he could look you in the eyes. “You won’t ever be going back. Even if Euphemia can’t keep us all here, you and I will find another place. But Black,” you placed a careful hand on his cheek and he leaned into it, “You are never. Ever. Going back there.” The seriousness in your voice gave Sirius enough strength to whisper a “Thank you” before partially fading out of consciousness again, comforted by the fact that you were here, and for once in his life feeling that things would be okay.
He could vaguely make out Euphemia and Fleamont’s reaction to seeing him nearly passed out on the couch, and your hurried explanation of whatever you’d understood from what he’d said. Euphemia walked up to him moments later with a some medicine in hand, something about opening his mouth, gulping, and about helping him sleep and doctors and the next day at sunrise. He couldn’t process it, just doing what he was told. 
James and you then carefully lifted him, carrying him to a room and gently placing him on a bed. 
He could hear you and James both talking in hushed whispers, but he was unable to make out what you were saying, as he fell into a disturbed sleep.
He woke up in the middle of night once, sweating and terrified, haunted by what he’d seen in his nightmare. But before he could properly react and realize where he was, you got up from beside him. 
He couldn’t breathe, and tears were streaming down his face. He could see you move to sit in front of him and your lips moving but he couldn’t make out what you were saying. 
You then gently placed your hands on his face and surprisingly it helped. 
It grounded him, reminded him that he was with you and not with his monstrous parents.
Your voice started to fade back in and he could hear you telling him to breathe, and so he did, thankful that you were there to help him.
Of all the Marauders, he felt the safest with you. 
“I’m okay,” he whispered once his breathing was back in his control. You nodded, sighing softly.
“Thank you,” he muttered, looking up at your tired eyes, “and I’m sorry I woke you up.”
“It’s fine,” you shrugged, “I hadn't slept. I was too worried.” You said, moving to sit against the headboard of the bed.
“Sorry for that then,” Sirius said lying back down. 
You stared at him for a few minutes before running a hand through his hair, massaging his scalp softly.
“It’s not your fault Sirius, don’t apologize.”
Sirius didn’t respond, trying to focus on you, and on where he was, rather than the memories that were flooding his brain.
You laid down next to him, and Sirius realized that he was infact in your room, and as he turned to apologize once again, you placed a finger on his lips.
“If you apologize for intruding or something like that again, I will make you sleep on the couch.” you threatened your voice laced with humor.
Sirius smiled at you slightly, and you pulled him close to you, allowing him to tuck his face under your chin as you wrapped your hands and legs around him. He was glad you did so, it made him feel safe, and as if you’d heard his thoughts, you whispered into his ear “You’re safe with me Black. You’re mine, and I’ll keep you safe”
He wished he really was yours.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sirius couldn’t find you anywhere. And what worried him more was that he couldn’t find Frank anywhere either. 
Why did that matter?
Well as you and Sirius had gotten closer and flirtier, you and Frank had gotten closer too. After the fiasco that took place over the summer, you’d spent more time with the boys in their dorm room and naturally that meant you were hanging out with their roommate Frank Longbottom as well. 
And now Sirius was worried that you’d thought his flirting was just him being Sirius and that he had no actual feelings for you.
If you really did think that and if you’d decided to hang out with Frank instead, Sirius had no idea what he would do. 
He’d searched every nook and corner of Hogwarts and now the only other place he could think of was Hogsmeade. 
Oh Merlin he hoped it wasn’t Hogsmeade.
Sirius snuck out of the school during study hours, making his way to Hogsmeade, anxiety filling him.
As he made his way through hogsmeade, his heart dropped when he saw your familiar figure next to Frank’s. 
Your head was thrown back in laughter, and Frank was grinning. “You did great! I’m sure next time will be just as smooth,” you said, patting him on the shoulder.
Next time?
Fear creeped up on Sirius.
He couldn’t lose you to Frank. 
He couldn’t lose you to anyone.
He ran up to you and Frank, seeing both of your faces twist in confusion.
“Sirius?”
“You can’t date him!” Sirius exclaimed, pointing to Frank. 
“What?” you and Frank both said at once, before realization crossed your features and a small smile formed on your lips. 
But Sirius was too anxious and worried to register it, only glaring at Frank.
“Frank, what about you go back, and I’ll figure out what Sirius wants,” Frank nodded at your suggestion and walked off, patting Sirius on the back once.
“Why can’t I date Frank?” you asked, looking at Sirius who was still glaring at the boy who’d just walked away.
He spun around to look at you, surprise all over his face. Anyone could see you struggling to hide your smile and maintain a serious expression on your face, but Sirius was blinded.
“Because- ‘Cause-” Sirius faltered, what he was about to do, dawning on him. He hadn’t wanted to confess to you like this.
“Because?” you asked, raising an eyebrow and crossing your arms in front of your chest.
“Because I like you,” he rushed out, scared he would think twice and miss this chance. And the slight tinge of pink in your cheeks gave him confidence. 
“Actually no, I don’t like you, I love you. I’m head over heels for you and I cannot imagine not being with you, at all. I want - no need you to be mine”
You grinned, “Black finally confesses! And you really think I would have gone out with Frank when I have feelings for you? He wanted me to help him get ready for the actual date he’s taking Alice on, since she’s my close friend.” 
Sirius heard nothing except - “You have feelings for me?”
You laughed, linking your hand with his, “I thought it was obvious!”
He turned you around, looking at you, “You really like me?”
You shook your head, laughing lightly, before leaning up to place your lips against his.
His hand moved to your waist, pulling you in, as your hands wrapped around his neck, fingers entangling in his hair.
You both pulled away a few moments later, gasping for air. 
“I’ve been yours since the first day I saw you,” you whispered, eyes locked on his.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too. But I think I love your hair more.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Taglists: @pinchofhoney @targaryenmoony
5K notes · View notes
houseofceline · 3 months
Text
My Pretty Girl - T.N.
Foreign Touches and Breakfast in Bed
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Pairing: Ravenclaw and sort of ditzy but talented Reader x Slytherin notorious playboy Theodore Nott
Warnings: Asshole Theo?
Summary: You wish you never woke up.
Author's Note: Hey guys! It's been a while, sorry for the wait but here it is!
< 6
__________________
“How much did you even drink last night?” Cho cringed holding your hair back as another round of vomit spewed out of you and into the toilet. You could feel your head pounding as you sat on the bathroom floor trying to calm yourself down. Waking up to a hangover and your period may be the worst combination known to man, or really women. Thankfully there were no classes today. 
“Too much,” you breathed in and out, making sure there was nothing else coming up. 
“Come on, we need to go to breakfast, you need to eat something.” Cho tried helping you up as you gripped onto the sink for support. 
You were not ready to go out in public like this. Bed hair, snippets of last night makeup look in the form of smothered mascara on your cheek, and a million knives stabbing your uterus. Definitely not a pretty sight. Plus, you did not want to see any of the boys after last night incase of something embarrassing you might’ve done while out of it. 
“I don’t wanna go,” you groaned as you flopped on your bed and curled up into a fetal position. 
“You have to eat something Y/n,” Cho spoke softly as she ran her fingers through your hair, trying to flatten it. 
“I’ll eat later.” You grumbled closing your eyes, menstruation already tiring you out. 
“I’ll be back,” Cho said as she left the room, but you were too tired to say anything as you slipped away to dreamland.
___________________
A foreign touch on his chest causes Theo to stir awake in confusion. 
What the hell.
He blinked a few times, allowing his vision to clear up.
Seeing the fake blonde from last night he groaned. 
“Why are you still here?” He mumbled, swatting her hand away from him as he scooted further away from her. 
“What do you mean baby? We don’t have classes today silly,” Hannah replied as she sat up, still nude from late night activities. 
“Right, so the last thing I want on a free day is to see your face. Get out.” Theo mumbled hoping she’d leave so he could sleep so more.
“Theo baby, don’t be so mean,” she spoke, reaching out for him again causing Theo to sit up in a huff. 
“You know the deal, you were supposed to be out before I even woke up,” he ignored the nasty feeling of her calling him cringey pet names. 
“Theo we don’t have to be like this.”
“My name is Theodore,” he stated as he got up and got dressed. 
He sighed as he picked up her clothing items off the floor and threw them at her. 
“I’m leaving since you won’t. But I advise you to wake up before Malfoy does, you know he doesn’t like you.” Theo said as he walked out, ignoring the gasps of surprise when her bra landed in her face. 
What an annoying girl. 
He walked to the Great Hall, deciding that he might as well grab breakfast since he was awake. 
“Did you fuckers seriously eat all the sausages?” Theo scoffed as he took a seat in front of Mattheo. 
“What the fuck did you want me to eat? Those nasty ass muffins?” Blaise replied as he passed a goblet of orange juice to him. 
“HEY! They’re not nasty,” Lorenzo spoke up with crumbs falling out of his mouth. 
“Buddy you’re getting it all over me,” Mattheo shoved the boy next to him with a scoff before glancing over at Theo. 
“Fun night huh?” Mattheo raised a glass towards the bruise-like mark on Theo’s neck. 
“Fuck are you serious?” Theo groaned as he rubbed the side of his neck. 
“I knew I’d regret it, she’s been so possessive lately,” Theo rolled his eyes as he continued eating breakfast. 
“Well I mean you’re always going back to her, maybe she thinks something will happen between the two of you,” Mattheo responded while Theo laughed in response. 
“She’s a Hufflepuff, you know only Slytherin girls are worth dating.” 
Mattheo frowned as Lorenzo looked up from his breakfast.
The whole table fell silent as Lorenzo finished chewing his muffin, “Y/n’s a Ravenclaw. I don’t think she lacks anything compared to Slytherin girls.” 
“Yeah in fact I think she looked better than any Slytherin girl last night,” Mattheo mumbled, causing Theo to look up in surprise. 
“She was there?” He gaped, suddenly feeling like he was going to throw up. 
Lorenzo rolled his eyes knowing that Theo had no right to even care if she was there or not. Mattheo and him had begun to care for the girl as if she was their baby sister and at first they were rooting for Theo, but now they weren’t so sure anymore. They had thought that she could be the one to make Theo better. After all it was him who had shown interest first, it was him who had begun to change because of her. She was the first girl Theo had ever described without using compliments that didn’t mean anything. Never spoke about how hot her body was instead ranted to the two boys about how angelic her face looked while she studied and how she smelled like flowers and vanilla. Not only cared about what was on the outside but on the inside as well, bragging to the boys about how talented she was and how cool her nail designs were. That is the same boy who had his eyes set on someone else last night, and the thought of it even made Lorenzo want to either cry or punch him. 
“Yeah but don’t worry, she didn’t need your company,” Lorenzo scoffed as he continued to eat his breakfast again. 
Lorenzo isn’t the type of person to show any resentment or hold any grudges, so Theo definitely knew he might’ve messed up. 
But before Theo could say anything, a familiar face approached up behind Mattheo and Lorenzo. 
Following Theo’s gaze the two boys turned around and greeted the girl. 
“Chang! What’s up?” Lorenzo greeted happily, a complete 180 switch in tone. 
“Hey boys, I’m grabbing breakfast for Y/n since she doesn’t feel well and I thought seeing your faces would cheer her up,” Cho explained as she showed them her plate of chocolate chip muffins. 
Theo furrowed his eyebrows, “Is she okay? Is she sick?” 
Cho rolled her eyes at the boy who caused her best friend to come back to the dorms sobbing her eyes out. She didn’t even know Theo that well but as she watched Y/n clutch her heart as she cried in her arms, she felt as if the boy had broken her heart as well. 
“She's fine as if it’s any of your concern,” Cho brushed Theo’s questions away as she avoided any eye contact with him. 
Lorenzo and Mattheo didn’t bother coming to his defense but instead got up and grabbed some juice and fruit before following Cho. 
Theo looked down at his plate and suddenly didn’t feel very hungry anymore. Blaise sighed before patting his mate’s back in comfort while Theo pushed his food around. 
Maybe he deserved that. 
2K notes · View notes
kentopedia · 6 months
Text
♰ his parliament's on fire — dazai osamu
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.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖ KINKTOBER NO. 1 - nightclub owner!dazai
every man in yokohama has a long list of crimes they’d commit to be with you, but none quite as long as dazai’s.
contents. fem!reader, nsfw minors dni, port mafia boss!dazai, port mafia member!reader, bsd typical blood / violence, unprotected sex, established relationship, takes place before doa, dazai & reader are a lil unhinged bc they're in love, praise, soft dazai, riding dazai, sub reader, v slight breeding kink oops — 10.1k
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The music shook your chest as you watched people head to the front of the club for a dance, a combination of those that were regulars, and those who were just desperate to blow their money on an evening in one of the finest night clubs in the country.
It had grown hot in the club, even for an autumn evening in Yokohoma. There were more people filling the tables than usual, standing only to swing their partners around on the dancefloor. A woman sung sultrily to the crowd, a song that you hadn’t heard in ages. Even for a Saturday, it was crowded, the capacity met, and then surpassed, packed to the brim as a group of foreign billionaires weaseled their way in by paying twice the entry fee.
You swirled your glass, sitting alone at the bar with your legs crossed, the tight, red dress rising up on your thighs. Beside you, a man was puffing a cigar, blowing the smoke back in your face so frequently that it took all your effort not to cough. Still, he paid you little attention, too enraptured by a skinny young woman that giggled every time he touched her arm.
A few more individuals made their way to the dancefloor, tracking unaccompanied dancers like prey, hopeful that they could score a partner for the evening. It was amusing, really, how often you’d seen some of the same men come back. They’d throw stacks of money on the table in a desperation to acquaint themselves with beautiful, upper-class women, even if they’d go home unhappy and broke.
Ice clinked against the sides of your glass as the last drop disappeared down your throat, warming you up for the rest of the evening. Already, you had caught the glimpse of several men in the club. But those who knew who you were knew to keep their distance, and they never tried to sneak more than a subtle glance in your direction.
Those who didn’t usually noticed nothing but your striking beauty and the allure of darkness that seemed to follow you. They were drawn to you easily, smiling at you like they were entitled to gawk at your appearance, like it would be criminal for anyone so beautiful to shield herself away from the world.
Rarely did that ever end well for them.
You handed your empty glass off to the bartender—a dear friend that you’d convinced to work for you at the club—and made your way over to the dance floor. The crowd parted for you with quick glances and slackened jaws, stumbling on their own feet to get out of your way. Once you passed, the world seemed to resume itself. Everyone continued about their business, averted their gaze, even if they were careful not to get too close to you.
Something about that made you smile.
For a while, you danced on your own, grinning carelessly to yourself as you twisted your hips, unbound yourself to the music and the alcohol that ran through your veins. It was a different kind of freedom, and though you’d once been wary of the watchful eyes, they no longer bothered you. You loved losing yourself in the rhythm, loved feeling transported to another realm.
The setlist for the evening included a few of your favorites, and you carried on until there was sweat on your forehead, a single bead trickling down your temple, one that you hastily wiped off. Breaths came to you more stiflingly, heaving inhales and exhales that paired with your thirst.
Finally, the tempo of the music slowed, just enough to snap you back into the present, and the energy zapped out of you as your mood darkened. The time of the evening had passed when you realized that it was no longer fun to dance alone.
You sighed, and with a frown, let your gaze trail across the room to find the cool brown eyes that you loved more than the music you spun in circles to. But Dazai was already in a conversation with someone else, tapping slender fingers against his glass full of amber liquid. He listened intently to a conversation between two men twice his age.
Beside him, Chuuya stood at the edge of the table like a loyal bloodhound, his arms crossed as he leaned back against the wall. You caught his eye instead and smiled to him, though not a single muscle in his face twitched. It seemed as though he was intent on keeping up the charade for the evening.
As much as you wanted to smile even more sweetly and taunt him mercilessly, you didn’t let yourself get too distracted. Instead, you refocused your sights on your other goal.
The stocky, tall man was right where Dazai said he’d be, sitting with a couple woman and a few empty glasses in front of him. He had a neatly trimmed, graying beard, sporting a watch that was, at least, a couple million yen.
You caught him watching you over the edge of the table, his smile slow as you bat your eyelashes at him, sauntering past him with a perfectly coy expression. Eyes lingered on the curves of your hips; the smooth skin of your legs revealed by the dress. The lust came in near waves off of him, thick and heavy as they reached you.
It made your job easier, the obvious attraction that they never tried to hide from you. You smiled to yourself, and felt a sense of satisfaction, despite his disgraceful leering.
The seats at the bar had been filled up when you returned, leaving no room for you and your new companion to retreat.
A younger regular, one with an overabundance of nerves and an awkward smile, spoke in hushed whispers to his friend, one that was dressed in a suit far too cheap to be in this club.
You tapped him on the shoulder, smiling at him in the way that had everyone bending over backwards for you. “Excuse me?”
He looked over, irritated for a fleeting second before realizing who it was that had approached him. Immediately, he was to his feet, stammering over a greeting while his friend gawked at him with incredulity.
“Sorry to bother you,” you said, softening your voice. “I was wondering if I could have those seats. I hate to—”
“No, no,” he said, practically shoving the other man away, pushing him out of the chair while he sputtered confused nonsense. “Take them! We’ll be out of your hair.”
You thanked them before placing yourself neatly back onto the stool you’d occupied before. It was far too easy.
The bartender sent you a knowing look, all too familiar with your games, before going back to mixing a drink.
Moments later, you felt the presence of another behind you, an overwhelming smell of tobacco and pine assaulting your senses. He was taller up close, taller than Dazai, at least, and older than you’d originally thought. Deep wrinkles weathered his skin, his eyes, and though there was still a hint of black in his dark hair, it was slowly being overtaken by the signs of a life that was twice as long as yours.
“Pretty dress.” That was the first thing he said to you, letting his eyes wander over your chest, lips curling into an ugly smirk. “It suits you nicely.”
You wouldn’t be won over so easily, so you merely smiled at him, nodding in thanks. Though, that had him coming on twice as strong, as if the simple eye contact that you’d made earlier had been a full invitation to fuck you. He took the seat next to you, signaling the bartender over.
“Let me buy you a drink,” he said, and though it was a kind proposition, it always made you laugh. You received a million free drinks from strangers here.
Still, you shrugged and let him, unsurprised that he knew what you’d been drinking earlier. It was a clear sign that he’d been watching you since before you even got up to dance.
“What’s your name?” 
“Should I give it away that easily?” Your voice was silky in your response, unimpressed, but luring him in, nonetheless.
He laughed, and offered you his own instead, Tanaka, as if you didn’t already know it. You’d been planning on springing him into this trap since the moment he’d arrived that evening. It was a target and a plan that had been set in motion for days.
His grin was uncomfortable, but he thought so highly of the way his lips curled, seemingly luring you in.
In reality, you weren’t sure how any woman could stand to get down on her knees for that.
Half an hour passed as you talked with him, preening under his endless string of compliments, wishing that you could string him on for a little bit longer. You enjoyed the words well enough, just another thing to stroke your ego, but the minute he moved closer, you inched away, placing distance between you before he could touch you.
It was obvious it frustrated him, but one look at the flash in his irises had you knowing that he enjoyed the chase.
He droned on, careless conversation about hobbies you didn’t want to understand, and though you smiled, pretending to be interested, your focus drifted to the table where Dazai sat.
His conversation had shifted to Chuuya, the two other men from earlier gone. It seemed strained between them, sharp words spoken as they glared at one another, visibly at odds about something.
Despite the clear dispute, anger cleared away from their expressions within seconds, Chuuya straightening like a board beside his boss once again.
Dazai looked up; it was less than a second that your eyes met, but your knees had weakened, heart stuttering in your chest as it skipped a pulse.
A soft exhale left you, and you longed for Dazai, craved the feeling of his strong palm on your skin, the kiss of his lips on your neck. You had half a mind to say fuck the mission and walk right over to the table and plant yourself on his lap.
It would certainly cause a scene, especially when there were so many new customers there who knew about Dazai but didn’t know about you.
Still, you knew Dazai wouldn’t object. He’d merely smile into your hair and curl his hand around your hip, continuing on with his conversation like nothing was out of the ordinary.
You looked away. If you were to make it through the rest of the night, you couldn’t get distracted by the beautiful man just feet away from you. “Sorry,” you said, turning back to Tanaka. “What were you saying?”
His interest in conversation had already waned, and he faced Dazai, displeased by the uptick of fascination within your expression. “Found someone more interesting already?”
You laughed, shaking your head as you pressed your palms into your thighs. You may have longed for Dazai, been so desperate that you couldn’t spare him another glimpse, but you could still play this role well. There couldn’t be another slip, every move had to be precise.
“I’m just curious,” you said, puckering your lips in a pout. “He looks important.”
Tanaka took a sip of his drink as you spoke, nearly spitting it back out when your sentence concluded. His eyes were hard, narrowing at the sight of Dazai just meters away, surrounded by a security of sorts, “You don’t know him?” He coughed.
You frowned, tilting your head. “Should I?”
“That’s Dazai Osamu. He owns this place.”
There was room for a theatrical pause. You took that moment to pretend to think. “Oh, of course. What a silly question,” you said, humming, and set your chin down on your hand to glance back over at the table of Port Mafia personnel. “I hear he owns a lot of things.” You tilted your head, gauging the man with siren eyes. “Is that true?”
Tanaka huffed, but he didn’t deny it, looking down at his two-million-yen watch like it was nothing more than a trinket. “A pretty girl like you shouldn’t worry about him.” He seemed irritated, though he didn’t let it show, his voice the only indicator that you had upset him. “But I can tell you it sure gets hard to run a business in Yokohama when the Port Mafia owns half the city.”
You widened your eyes, leaning forward. “You’re telling me the Port Mafia owns this place?”
Tanaka laughed, loud and haughty, looking at you like you were just a poor idiot from the countryside, even if the dress you wore cost just as much as his entire suit put together. “Oh, hon, if only you knew.”
The condescending tone sent a screech through your entire body, momentarily halting any proper responses in your current act. But he was unfazed, already moving onto the next topic of conversation, telling you all about the business dealings that you’d known about from the long list of jobs within his file.
There was, truly, nothing about him that you hadn’t already dug up. It was boring you immensely, but you smiled on, nodding enthusiastically as he spun the most lackluster story you’d ever heard.
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Dazai, across the room, stared at you as you conversed, clenching his jaw at the way the man eyed you, the gaze that scoured your body like you were nothing more than a piece of meat.
Oh, he would certainly enjoy tearing him apart later, even if he would be too easy of a case to break.  
“When are we leaving?”
Chuuya’s voice snapped him out of his onlooking, and Dazai leaned back in the chair, shedding the tension in his shoulders to resume a comfortable position.
“Not until they’re both in the car and I can confirm with Tachihara and Gin that she’s safe,” Dazai said, crossing his arms over the table. He couldn’t forget that there were others around him, those who would never say a word to him, but knew who he was, knew what he stood for. Even here, he couldn’t let his guard down.
“Safe?” Chuuya laughed, though it was without any humor. His irises flashed dangerously, steely grey darkening into a deep silver. “You trust that idiot not to lay a hand on her? He’s undressing her with his eyes.”
Chuuya seemed intent on irritating him that evening, as usual.
“I don’t trust anyone who comes here.” Dazai scowled. “Don’t be a fool.”
A moment of silence lapsed between them, and Dazai became sickened by the way the man was eyeing you. Though you took it all in stride, leaning just far enough away so his knee didn’t graze yours, and his palm didn’t brush against your own, it still lit a fire deep within him.
It was all the better, he supposed, to feel such deep hatred for his enemies. It made it easier to tear them apart without any guilt. 
“How long are you going to make her do this, huh?” Chuuya spoke up once more from beside him, his voice nothing more than a grumble as he whispered down to Dazai. “This charade you two are carrying on has lasted long enough. I mean, you’re whoring out your wife for fuck’s sake—”
Dazai reacted without a thought, despite not wanting to take his eyes off of you for even a second. He gritted his teeth and turned on Chuuya, his hand gripping the gun in his pocket, finger tight on the trigger. Enough of a warning for him to know how sincerely the simple comment irritated him.
“Don’t ever insinuate that I don’t love my wife, Chuuya, or it’ll be the last thing you ever say.” Dazai spat the words out carefully, just under his breath, holding Chuuya’s piercing gaze without blinking. “You may be a valuable asset to the Port Mafia, but I will not listen to your opinions on matters that don’t concern you.”
Chuuya stared, setting his jaw before turning away once more. The two of them looked back to where you were smiling, leading the other man out of the room, though still not touching, placing a respectable distance between you.
“I’m just surprised, Dazai.” Chuuya leaned back, crossing his arms as he titled his head, watching your figure fade into the shadows. “You love her so fiercely, and yet, you watch as this carries on time and time again. I don’t understand.”
Dazai stood from the booth, tucking the gun back into his waistbad, under his coat. He straightened his shoulders, inhaling deeply. “I think you’re underestimating her if you truly believe she doesn’t have a handle on the situation.” His hands slipped into his pockets as Chuuya followed, grumbling from just a few feet away. “Besides, I’ve never forced her into anything. It was her idea in the first place.”
“Why?”
Dazai sighed, though it was almost wistful, the mere thought of you enough to turn him into a lovesick fool. “Perhaps it is because there are many men that seem to think they can crawl into her bed so easily, and she enjoys their humiliation when they realize that they are so far beneath her.” Dazai shrugged, and smiled lightheartedly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Perhaps, she just wants to make everyone’s lives a little easier, including yours. You should thank her sometime.”
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Tanaka sat beside you in the car, his hand lingering in the leather seat between his thigh and your own. Night had fallen deep across the city, the sky a navy through the haze of streetlights. Though it was nearing one o’clock in the morning, there were crowds of people out and about, lines at all of the much more affordable clubs in the area.
It hadn’t taken much to get him to come with you. You’d batted your eyelashes, smiled at him from under them, and told him you had a car waiting out back.
That was enough. When you’d pulled yourself down from the barstool, he’d followed after you, eyes blown wide as you’d begun leading him out of the room.
All it took was a dress that hugged your curves and a small grin, and he was in the car with a man that worked for you, heading to a building that your husband owned.
“Do you live far?” Tanaka asked, itching to put his hands on you, even though you’d convinced him to hold off until you got back to your room.
You placed your chin on the inside of your palm, glancing out the window at your own reflection. “Not too far.” You turned back to him, offering him a shy smile. “Why? Are you getting impatient?”
He grinned wolfishly. Your stomach churned anxiously at the sight of it, even when he was no match for you, nor all the other, powerful individuals that surrounded you. “I don’t think I need to answer that.”
Through the rearview mirror, Tachihara met your eyes, and they softened, just barely, silently showing his support from the front of the vehicle.
It was, in a way, a relief. You relaxed, regained a sense of composure, and let your ruby red lips spread over your teeth, cocking your head as Tanaka indulged himself in whatever fantasy was milling about in his mind. His eyes were cruel, though the darkness in them was nothing compared to what you were used to.
Idly, he made comments in your ear of all the things he wanted to do to you, his unpleasant breath tickling the skin there as you tried your best not to recoil. The smell of him was growing heavy in the car, overwhelming and nauseating. You sat even more stiffly, pressing Tanaka away with a palm to his chest as you giggled to yourself, pretending to enjoy his vulgar words.
Tachihara pulled the car around to the back of the building, letting the two of you out as he put it into park.
Any fool should’ve known where they were, what the dark building in the middle of the city stood for, but Tanaka was all too focused on you, intoxicated and inattentive. The mafia headquarters loomed overhead, dark, and unassuming, a triad of buildings stacked perfectly against one another.
“Thank you,” you said to Tachihara, winking at him as Tanaka turned his back, too disoriented to take in anything but the sight of you right before him.
The car drove away, then, and you were left to guide your guest into the building, towards the room that you had already planned to meet Dazai in. When you reached the elevator, Gin was waiting for you, dressed in female attire, this time, charading as a worker instead of the trained assassin that she truly was.
“Impressive building,” Tanaka said, as if not noticing all the obvious signs of the mafia base. “You must come from quite a wealthy family.”
You smiled at him over your shoulder, curious as to why he didn’t assume you’d come into the riches on your own. “I suppose you could say that.”
Gin opened the elevator, then began typing a message to her boss, alerting him of your arrival. Tachihara had taken the longest route back, giving Dazai just enough time to arrive home before you.
“Are you a renter?” he asked, staring as the numbers on the elevator increased, climbed higher while you went towards a floor that was only two below the penthouse.
“We own it.”
Tanaka turned towards you, eyes wide with surprise, perplexed even further by the alcohol running through his veins. “You didn’t say—”
Abruptly, he cut himself off. Whatever comment he was about to make was overshadowed by the fact that he’d met you at the Port Mafia’s night club. That was certainly no place for anyone that didn’t have a million yen to spare in their pockets.
Finally, the elevator dinged, and you relaxed at the sight of the familiar hall, the carpet that had recently been replaced, the paintings that you’d personally added, ones that had been purchased at an auction. There were traces of you everywhere, and though it belonged to many members of the mafia, it was, inherently, your home.
You grabbed Tanaka’s hand, realizing just how cold it was, wrinkled with calluses and dirtied nails. It took everything in you not to grimace as you pulled him towards the fourth door on the right, the one that had been used for every interrogation over the past two years.
It had become something of a holding cell for the mafia’s enemies, and most didn’t remain here long. You doubted that this man would be of any exception.
Tugging him along, you increased your speed, an invisible string guiding you right back to Dazai. He was your fiery beacon, and though you were still separated by walls, your heart thumped at being so near to him.
“Eager, are we?” Tanaka asked, and when he grinned in the lights, you realized how slimy it was, a hunger dripping off the edges of his yellowed teeth.
You smiled right back, but it was forceful, painful as it etched its way onto your cheeks. An itch started in the cracks of your palm, willing you to snatch it out of Tanaka’s hand and scrub it clean. Still, you held on, remembering that this was for the Port Mafia, this was for Dazai and everything you’d worked for over the years.Your determination increased tenfold. “It’s just around the corner.”
Finally, you reached the room where you knew Dazai would be waiting, and just like every other time you’d done this, every time you’d brought another willing victim into a den of wolves, you could finally relax.
You entered the room, not bothering to flip on any of the light switches. There was furniture, but it was dusty, bloody, and it would make it far too obvious that you were not leading Tanaka back to your bedroom. You didn’t want him turning tail too quickly, running when he discovered you had no intention of rolling around in the sheets with him.
He shut the door behind him with a quiet click, advancing on you like a hunter. It would’ve been threatening, intimidating perhaps, if you had not been able to sense Dazai on the other side of the wall. You knew that whatever control Tanaka thought he had on the situation had quickly evaporated, and it was only a false blanket of security that he’d wrapped himself up in.
“Can I get you anything? Maybe a drink?” you asked, stopping Tanaka with a flat palm to his chest, not allowing him to come any closer. “The alcohol in me is starting to wear off.”
He ignored your wishes entirely, upon you once more. One larger hand ripped yours from his chest, pulling you just another inch closer. “I’ve had enough tonight,” Tanaka said, teeth flashing in the dim starlight. “I’m dying to fuck you.”
You frowned, eyebrows wrinkling. “Well, I’d like a drink first.”
“I’m not in the mood.” He yanked on your hand again, and this time, you knew he’d kiss you, knew he’d plant the cracking pale lips of his own on yours. The thought of it made you ill.
Without thinking, you slung a fist across his face, a crunch sounding from his nose at the force of your hit. Blood trickled from one nostril, flowing in a fast stream over his lips, into his teeth.
He bent over, and you stood, straighter, staring over him as he cursed. The punch had been much more forceful than you’d intended.
“What the fuck.” He was angrier than before, and though his pain was immense, it did little to dissuade him. You kept your face hard, inching backwards as he stood tall, so much bigger than you’d remembered. It wouldn’t take much for him to lift you, throw you onto any surface he wanted.
You’d use your ability if you had to, kill the man if it was necessary, but that would mean the entire plan had gone to waste.
“You bitch—”
Without letting any fear cloud your face, you took a step back and bumped into something solid and warm. A cologne more familiar than Tanaka’s enveloped you in a safety net. 
The older man made it one step further, aggressively, before every ounce of determination waned from his eyes. He staggered, tripping over himself and stared back at the man that had slowly come up behind you. The one that was brushing soft fingertips between your shoulder blades, his steady breath tickling the crown of your head.
Dazai smiled, in a way that was so menacing that your heart thumped twice in its chest before resuming its natural melody. Tanaka took a step back, scrambling away, nearly tripping over himself in the process, eyes dilated in fear.
“You,” he breathed. “Dazai—” Tanaka didn’t finish his sentence, too stunned as he stared between the two of you. “What’s going on?”
Dazai stepped forward, letting his hands fall away from you as he cornered the newest addition to his long list of enemies. Already, you missed the warmth of Dazai’s touch, the security that came with his proximity.
Tanaka cowered before him, suddenly so small, weak under the breadth of Dazai’s power. A sense of twisted satisfaction curled within you, lightning up every pore under your cold skin.
“I believe you owe my wife an apology,” Dazai said, and his tone was even, hard, not a hint of amusement laced within the words. Tanaka’s eyes darted to you, where you stood with your arms loose at your sides, eyes softer, every inch of you more delicate now that Dazai was in the room. 
“Wife—” The word tumbled from his mouth before he could stop it, hesitant. “You said you didn’t know him. You asked me questions about him.”
You slid the ring back onto your finger, the one that you’d kept tucked away in the pocket of your bag. It glimmered in the beams of the moon, the diamond and rubies sparkling. “I can lie just as easily as a man can.” Crossing your arms, you sighed, and stared at Dazai’s taut back, the strained muscles in his shoulders as he stood over Tanaka. “You’re all so stupid sometimes. It only takes a simple question, and you never ask it. Anyone in that club could’ve told you who I am.”
He balked, considering his own ignorance, and followed your eyes back to Dazai, who had gone just a few steps behind you, to the small storage of top-shelf alcohol that you kept locked up in the room. “What is this about?” he asked, shaking his head to clear away his distress. “You’ve obviously brought me here for a reason. What is it?”
“I find it funny that you think you’re the one in control of the situation,” Dazai said, turning his back to fix himself a drink. He didn’t doubt that you would watch Tanaka for him with careful eyes. Even the smallest twitch of his eyebrows would be telling. “You don’t get to ask questions.”
“I haven’t done anything,” he said, and though his voice was hard, there was underlying panic. “I’ve stayed well out of the Mafia’s business, as promised—”
“Perhaps.” Dazai interrupted smoothly, coolly. “Our agreement wasn’t broken, per se. I just happen to think that working with outsiders is an act of much higher treason.”
Tanaka blinked, faltering. His jaw went slack, a mere second ticking before he replied. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t try to lie to me.” Dazai glanced over his shoulder, dark eyes narrowing. “I’m talking about Dostoevsky. The rats that are trying to take over my city.” He tsked, rolling the glass around on the counter, clinking it against the granite. Then, he popped a crystal bottle open, letting it fill a quarter of the glass.  “Such a shame. You’ve built quite a name for yourself in Yokohama. Is this really worth losing all that?”
Tanaka stuck both hands in his pocket, shaking his head vigorously. His fingers flexed against his sides. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know who that is, I’ve never crossed anyone by that name.”
Seeing an opportunity while Dazai’s back was turned, Tanaka began to pull out a pistol from his coat; one you had, stupidly, forgotten to check for. It seemed he doubted that you were a threat, and if he could just kill Dazai, you’d be an easy target.
You moved without thinking, making the single-step distance between you and Dazai. There was a gun relaxed at his waistband, and you stole it, knowing exactly where he kept it hidden. Before Tanaka could point his own at the head of your lover, you’d acted first, aiming Dazai’s gun, your jaw tense and back straight. “Put it down.”
Tanaka, caught off guard, locked his jaw, and his fingers twisted tighter around the handle of the gun, inching towards the trigger. For a moment, he contemplated, but even without knowing the thoughts in his mind, you could read his actions.
You wouldn’t give him the opportunity to do as he wanted. Instead, you fired your own gun, digging the bullet into his fingers, shattering them, blood spattering as Tanaka dropped the pistol to the floor in a ghoulish scream.
For a second more, he writhed in pain at your own hand, once again. You held your arm taut, before letting the gun drop to your side as Dazai hummed behind you. Tanaka had fallen to his knees, tears welling up, his vision glossy as he dropped the maimed hand to his thighs.
Dazai came up beside you, smiling at you, and brushed his fingers down your arm. Slowly, he took the gun, placing it back into his waistband, his touch electric on every centimeter of your skin. “You’ve handled it beautifully, my love.” Dazai squeezed your hand, tilting his head so dark hair cleared away from his eyes. “I can take it from here.”
You nodded, and though Dazai was, by no means, pushing you out of the room, he could see how exhausted you’d become by the whole ordeal. If you wanted to leave—and you did—he wouldn’t object.
“Will you be long?” you asked, just a whisper over Tanaka’s heavy breaths of pain.
Dazai laughed easily, his breath ghosting the bridge of your nose. “Akutagawa will be here soon.” A touch lingered on your hands for a minute longer before he pulled away completely. “Then, I’m yours for the rest of the night.”
It was already late, but you’d take whatever time you could get with Dazai, even if you were drained. You nodded, and he turned away, going back towards his enemy, pulling Tanaka up roughly by his collar. Dazai’s expression changed into a man you almost didn’t recognize, if it hadn’t been for the moments that you’d had to see him shift into the underworld’s fearsome demon.
You left the room, yawning, Dazai’s voice the last thing you heard before you shut the door silently.
“Now that you’ve learned your lesson, perhaps you’ll be more willing to tell me everything you know,” he said.
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Despite Dazai promising to leave once Akutagawa arrived, he’d been gone for nearly two hours, with no indication that he’d be returning anytime soon.
You waited for him in the penthouse of the Port Mafia headquarters, the home you’d come to know well in the past few years. A glass of imported wine was beside you on the nightstand, resting between a book you’d been too tired to read before bed.
You sat up, unable to fall asleep, and chewed your lip thoughtfully. It seemed ridiculous, really, for you to already miss a man that you woke up next to and fell asleep beside every night.
Still, you couldn’t help the desperation in your chest, the need to see him, to brush the mask of the Port Mafia boss away so Osamu could take his place.  
You finished the wine, then headed towards the door. The room felt cold and lonely, and if Dazai wasn’t going to return soon, you’d just find someone else to bother on the lower levels of the building.
Though, just as you were about to slip on a pair of shoes, the door unlocked, swung on its hinges, and Dazai stepped through the threshold, a vision of gore and violence and every ounce the man you adored.
“Osamu,” you said, and even when you’d said his name a thousand times before, it still left your lips like a prayer. A smile formed, and you dropped your shoes, eyes sparkling, as you regarded the mess that he was in.
Dazai took one look at you and relaxed, shoulders falling as you closed the distance between the two of you. “Sorry it took so long, sweetheart,” he said, craning his taller frame down to kiss you.
You gripped the lapels of his coat, holding on tight as you pressed into him, deepening the kiss. Dazai’s bloody fingers cupped your cheeks, smearing red along your jaw, ruining your clean skin. Though, as you exhaled a sigh deep into his mouth, you couldn’t have cared less.
“I thought you said Akutagawa was going to take care of it?” you asked as Dazai released you, offering you a small, almost defeated smile.
He walked past you, towards the bathroom, feet dragging as he shrugged off his dark coat. Under the crisp top, his muscles were stiff, strained from all the stress. He wiped another hand over his face, doing little to clean up the mess of red that remained on his cheeks.
You followed him, trailing a few feet behind, feeling silly for wanting to cling to him so tightly. Yet, you couldn’t get enough of him, and you watched as Dazai remained silent, pausing in front of the mirror to regard his own appearance. He made a face in the glass as he gazed back into his own expression, sticking his hands under the faucet. The water ran in a steady stream, staining the sink a rose color as he scrubbed the blood from his fingers, his nails. There were parts of his bandages that had been soiled, and he ripped them right off, exposing pale wrists that hadn’t seen the sun in ages.
You mimicked his action, washing your hands in the second sink before scrubbing the blood from your face, clearing away the smear of maroon that he’d put there. The water shut off, briefly, and Dazai regarded you, frowning as you rid the evidence of his crime from yourself.
“I sent Akutagawa home.” Dazai finally answered your previous question and sighed, frustration evident. He stretched his hands over his head, the bones popping in one fell swoop. “Tanaka cracked right open; he really didn’t know anything.” He blinked at himself in the mirror once more, tidied his hair, then scowled. “He’s just a low man on the totem pole, and he paid for it with his life.”
Dazai seemed at odds with himself, and he drummed his nails against the countertop before patting his hands dry. The blood had been cleaned from his skin, and even though his hair was still unkempt, it was the only evidence that any wrongdoing had happened at all. Nothing but a speck of blood remained on his collar, the rest garnishing his coat instead.
You shifted, leaning against the counter. “Did you get anything out of him?”
“Names, a location.” Dazai clenched his jaw, fists tight at his sides. “He wasn’t lying, but who knows if they’re real or not. He could’ve been given fake locations. I’ve asked Ango to check on it.”
Dazai, once again, left you standing, contemplative, in the bathroom. You could hear him shuffle around in the other room; he released a small sound of relief as he stretched out his sore muscles.
When he’d finished moving around, you returned to the other room, and he was settled in the red armchair, legs spread out in front of him. Dazai rested his head against the back cushion, his eyes closed in serenity, a deep exhale expelling the tightness in his body.
It was almost a sight too serene to spoil.
“Do you want some space?” you asked, and though you’d always respect his wishes, that was the last thing you wanted to give him. You wanted to consume him completely, to press yourself against every crevice of his being and swallow him whole.
Dazai opened his eyes and blinked at you. Instead of replying, he smiled, slowly, and gestured to his thighs, sparing a glance at his knees.
Your heart pounded, launching its way up your throat, and you scrambled over yourself to crawl into his lap, straddling his thighs, the muscle strong beneath you.
Gently, he smiled at you, and brushed your hair over your shoulder to rub your neck. You let your arms rest on his shoulders, and slowly, you removed the bandage from his eye, hating whenever he tried to hide any part of himself from you.
You waited for him to protest, but he relented, and let you kiss his forehead, the very darkest parts of himself on display for you alone. It was hard not to collapse under the weight of your love for him.
You discarded the bandages, tossing them onto the table as Dazai tapped a pattern in the crevices of your skin.
For a moment, neither of you said a word. You noted every feature of his that you loved so dearly, and Dazai just watched you study him, tried hard not to smile against your lips when you kissed him.
If only he could see how beautiful he was, surely, he would understand that he deserved a life so much better than the one he’d been dealt. That someone with a smile brighter than a dying star shouldn’t have it taken away by years of endless anguish.
Finally, Dazai spoke, whispering your name in a tone he never used on any word but that one. “You don’t have to do this anymore if you don’t want to.”
“Hm?” you asked, tilting your head, so distracted by the endless galaxy within his eyes.
Dazai huffed, placing a possessive hand on your hip. His thumb grazed the bone and you shivered, smiling at him in confusion.
“Sweetheart, I don’t ever want you to feel like you’re obligated to do something just because you’re my wife.” He looked past you, an uncertainty beneath his words that he was ashamed of. “If you don’t want to take on any more assignments—"
“I told you already, Osamu,” you began, brushing the hair at the back of his neck that was hidden beneath the collar. “I don’t mind.”
“I know, but—” Dazai hesitated, his gaze steady on the doors behind you, the ones that led to your bedroom. Somehow, he seemed to think all the answers would be there, a script written out for him to recite to you. “Chuuya brought it up to me earlier. He said that I’m…” Dazai swallowed the words, shaking his head. “Look, it doesn’t matter. I just want you to promise me that you know if you want to stop, you can stop. Even if you wanted to quit the Port Mafia altogether, I’m happy to give you whatever you need.”
You smiled, kissing the wrinkle between his eyebrows in the hope that it would ease the anxiety in his expression. The tension was such an unusual thing for anyone but you to see, as Dazai had such trouble revealing his vulnerabilities to the world.
“I promise.” You swept your thumb over his lip, watching as it bounced right back into place, so soft and lovely. “I just don’t want to quit.” You leaned back on his lap, so you were able to see the entirety of his face.  
Dazai’s eyebrows drew together once more, putting that worry right back on his appearance, and a part of you hated that of all the things he had to be stressed about, it was something as silly as you not wanting to quit your job.
“Why?” Dazai asked, tilting his chin, searching the depths of your soul for an answer that would appease him. “I don’t understand. You hate them; you tell me you hate them every time they try and lay a finger on you.”
He wasn’t wrong, certainly not about something like that. You loathed that men looked at you like you were something that they could just steal away, like they were entitled to the subtle way that they brushed your hip in passing, caressed your back when they walked behind you.
You just didn’t hate everything about the work you’d been doing. After all, it was your idea.
“I just don’t want to,” you said, looking over his shoulder to the open curtains, the bright expanse of Yokohama laid out before you. Twinkling star lights from skyscrapers and the port in the distance. “It doesn’t matter.”
It was your home, your city, and it always would be. You wouldn’t let Dazai die, wouldn’t let anyone take him from you—including himself. You’d continue to do whatever it took to protect that. Whether or not you used your appearance to achieve those ends didn’t matter. When it was all said and done, Dazai’s enemies would be dead, and you’d still have him to come home to.
“It matters to me.”
You shook your head, chewing on your lip thoughtfully. There were a million different ways you could’ve explained it, but none that were intelligent. “It’s embarrassing, ‘samu.”
Dazai laughed, a genuine noise, and kissed your shoulder as you sighed, relaxing into him once more. “I can’t think of anything about you that could possibly be embarrassing.”
You held his gaze, wishing for him to relent, to just give up and let you have this one. Instead, he just smiled back patiently, hoping you’d reveal another part of yourself to him as he slowly traced your hard collarbone.
Those pools behind his eyes were too distracting, the thumb on your neck dangerously close to your throbbing pulse. You swallowed, letting him feel every movement as your throat bobbed up and down.
“I guess,” you said shyly, “I like it. I like leading on your enemies, letting them think that they could possibly have a chance with someone like me. I like the look on their faces when they realize they’ve been made a fool of, that the girl who they wanted so badly belongs so completely to the boss of the Port Mafia.”
Dazai studied you for a moment as you shrugged the revelation off, his deep brown eyes darting over every crevice of your face. “You want to make them jealous of me?”
“Maybe.” Your cheeks heated, and though you’d been together for years, loved him for even longer, you still shied under the weight of your own desire for him. “I don’t know. Maybe I just want them all to know that I’m as much the boss of the Port Mafia as you.” You wound your arms around his neck, anchoring yourself to him, the only person you’d ever need in the dangerous world. “They’re blind to their desire, and they refuse to see that I have complete control over them.” You smiled, lazily, fondly. “Don’t they know that this is my city, too?”
Dazai’s strength made an appearance then, and he gripped your cheeks, holding you with a spiraled mix of possession and affection. “It is,” he whispered, ghosting his lips across your own, “and I’d burn it all down before I let anyone take it from you.”
Your heart stuttered in your chest at his deepened tone, the seriousness that drew on his normally playful inflection. You grew hot, and a twist of desire started deep within you, spreading down easily, slowly turning your thoughts into a muddled mess.
“I know,” you said, trying to keep your words steady as Dazai drew lazy circles up and down your sides. “Everyone knows.” You met his eyes, soft, yet dark, clouded with a longing you weren’t unfamiliar to. “The woman who brought them to their knees is still nothing more than a simple fool for Osamu Dazai.” You inhaled drawing your fingers to his open collar, the crisp bandages around his chest. “What could they ever do to deserve that kind of devotion?”
Dazai waited, watched your smaller hand run across his neck, his smirk slowly growing on his lips. “I’m a lucky man, indeed,” he said, drawing the words out slow and lazily. He tipped your chin down to him, his smile displaying the almost sharpened points of his canines. Slender fingers caressed your hipbone, pressing you farther down onto his thigh.
You let out a small sound, not taking your eyes off of his as his expression grew wily, and the slip you wore slowly began to rise up your thighs, exposing the softer skin of your leg.
“I admit, I can’t stand that everyone in this city wants you so fucking bad.” Dazai sunk his lips to your neck, kissing the space between your shoulder and jaw. “But I can’t blame them. My beautiful angel.” He smiled under your jaw, gripping your hips harder, forcing you to drag against his thigh. A puff of air left your throat as Dazai grinned, spiking your arousal. “It’s for the best, isn’t it? I’ve ruined you for anyone else.”
Your eyes flashed; Dazai bounched his leg, just once, his eyes shining, every move calculated. He’d always known exactly how to touch you, and he’d never forget, never stop enjoying the way you jerked so easily under his palm, the way you were already trying to rub yourself against him.
“Osamu,” you began, desperate for just a moment of friction, to feel his rigid muscle drag against your cunt. You wanted him so badly that your heart stumbled over itself, all the love you held, locked up there and looking for a way out.
He made a sound of disapproval, holding you still with a tight grip on your hips. His fingers dug into the bone, but it did little to ease your aching need for him.
“See?” Dazai’s kisses were light as he whispered against the shell of your ear, the sound nothing more than a breath of air. “I barely have to touch you and you’re a whimpering mess.”
You swallowed, tugging at the hair at the base of his scalp, trying to remain steady, if only for him to give you what you wanted.
Dazai seemed to be in a generous mood, worn from the previous mission, and he was grinning lazily, two fingers slipping under your dress.
His grip loosened, and you shifted, letting him pull on the strap of your panties, drag them down your thighs, over your knees, to discard beside the chair. Already, there was evidence of your desire, a spot of wetness obvious against the red satin.
He let the garment hang between his fingers before he looked back at you, watching as it softly fell to the floor. “If only they knew how easy it was to get you wet,” he said, shrewdly, “they’d want you twice as much as they did before.”
You let out a soft whimper, trying to direct his beautiful hands back between your thighs. Though, Dazai kept his fingers away, and in an act of desperation, you pressed your forehead to his, conveying every ounce of your affection for him.
“Osamu,” you breathed, blinking into his warm irises, a shade of brown that had easily become your favorite. “I’m so crazy about you.” You kissed his cheeks, smearing your lip gloss all over the skin he’d just wiped clean. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you all night. Everyone in Yokohama watches me, but I ache for you.”
His eyes flashed, pleased, and he relented, nudging his thumb to the inner most part of your thigh. The smile was still mocking, but he gave you at least some relief; Dazai let you sink back down on his thigh, the pressure just enough to have you clawing your nails into his chest.
He kissed your nose, but kept you where you were, perched on the middle of his leg and much too far from his cock. “What would you ever do if I wasn’t here to take care of you, hm, darling?"
You softened; even if his gaze was taunting, there was utter devotion between his dilated pupils.
All those men who fell for your act may have been complete fools, but Dazai was even worse off than them: he was a fool in love.
“It’s so hard not to crawl into your arms every time you’re around,” you admitted, grabbing the buckle of his belt to undo it with a clank. The mere sound, the feel of the leather between your fingers, nearly had you salivating. “I’m stronger than a lot of men in Yokohama.” Your features contorted then, eyes vulnerable as you looked up at him through delicate lashes, no longer a vision of authority, but of someone who desperately wanted to be taken care of. “Not you, though.”
Dazai’s grip on you relaxed, and something in his eyes shifted, lips parting as an exhale left them. He said nothing as you removed the belt, and instead, let himself sink deeper into the cushion, bearing your weight.
Hastily, you pulled down the zipper of his slacks. The weight of his heavy cock in your hands was so familiar. You stroked him gently, watching for any reaction, and while his face remained steady, you could sense the change in his heartbeat.
“I don’t need you to be strong around me,” Dazai said. His voice had deepened, your name leaving his lips, raspy by the end of his sentence. “You can fall apart if you want to, my love.” His erection grew slowly in your palm, and he brought you closer, your bare, soaked cunt dragging against his thigh. “I’ll always be here to put you back together.”
You smiled, flushing as he hardened, his breath growing uneven. When you had him leaking within your palm, you shifted forward on your knees, grinning at his reddened cheeks. Dazai’s eyes drifted towards your chest, just inches from his face.  
Uncertain, you hesitated, even though you wanted him, needed him with every fiber of your being. It was an unfamiliar position. He could take control of the situation at any moment, but you weren’t usually the one looming over him.
“Osamu—”
“What?” he released with a sigh, and in one swift motion, lifted your hips so he was positioned at your entrance. “You walk around my nightclub in those dresses I buy you, force those pretty tits into other men’s faces, but now you’re too shy to fuck your husband?”
You made a face, knowing he was just trying to get a rise out of you, and if only to prove a point, you sunk down on him, your folds slick. Dazai slid into you easily, a sinful noise breaking the silence between you as he grinned. “I’ll f-fuck you,” you stuttered, swallowing under the heat of his watchful eyes. “It’s just…” Your words failed again as his cock went deeper in you, your focus entirely on your own pleasure.
“Just what?” He stopped you for a moment, planting you on his thighs, his cock still straining, filling you. Glaring, vibrating with need, you opened your eyes, lips parting as he whispered against your mouth “Finish your sentence, sweetheart.”  
“It’s not my fault, Osamu,” you said, on the edge of a whine, squirming within his hold. “I can’t help that they stare.”
He laughed, then, and it was just a brush against your swollen mouth, the one he kept coming back to. “They can stare all they want,” Dazai said, tilting your chin up. “As long as they know who you belong to.”
Finally, he let you go, his hands tracing the edges of your knees, and you started a slow, steady pace, gasping as you held onto his neck tightly. He bowed his head into your collarbone, and kissed you once, before leaning back lazily, watching you take and take and take.
“Doing so good, angel,” he said, watching you with such a passion that it was distracting, as he let his palms rest simply on your thighs. “You always look so pretty stuffed full of my cock, don’t you?”
“Feels so good,” you muttered.
“I know.” Dazai seemed too devilish with his dark hair fanned out against the red chair, grinning in a way that twisted up your insides, sweat beading down your forehead as you tried to reach your orgasm.
You were hot with his piercing gaze upon you, but he didn’t bother to move his hands, did nothing to even pretend like he was fazed. You sunk down faster, heart racing, as the muscles of your hips strained, burned. Already, you were growing tired, sleepy from a full evening, but still so desperate to come around him.
You leaned forward, trying to angle your body, gain some relief from the position. Though it did little, and instead you were left sighing in frustration, wishing that he would do anything, instead of just look at you with a lust blown smile.
With every moment, the pain began to grow, the ache in your legs far too much to give way to pleasure. You started back at Dazai, frustrated, eyes glossy with need.
Dazai laughed at you then; it wasn’t quite mocking, but it wasn’t kind either. “Don’t tell me you’re already tired.”
Frustrated and impatient as you dripped down your own thighs, you grabbed his throat, thrusting his head into the back of the chair.
Dazai, eyes wide with surprise, stopped smiling as you curled your hand around his neck, his fingers digging into your thighs.
“Are you just going to sit there, Osamu?” you said, your words high-pitched and desperate. “Or are you going to—”
The end of your sentence was cut off by him gripping the back of your hair, smashing your lips into his own. The hand on his neck fell away, drifting to the lapels of his bloodstained collar, as he brought you down hard on his cock, hitting a place deep inside you that you hadn’t been able to reach with your own strength.
Dazai’s fingertips left bruises on your skin as he devoured the inside of your mouth, bringing you down over and over, stretching your walls with each movement.
“So pretty and desperate for me,” Dazai laughed, but he was breathless, his own tenacity crumbling from adoration. “Can’t do anything by yourself, can you, baby?” His kisses were sloppy as he dragged them across your neck, tongue grazing the sharp vein under your ear.
“No, but you said—” you were losing your breath and your words. “You said you’d take care of me. I don’t want to cum all on my own, ‘samu.”
Dazai groaned, his gaze drifting down to the space between your bodies, where you were sucking him back in, your own body aligned with your heart, never wanting to let him go.
“Fuck,” he said, slamming you back down on his thighs, his eyes hazy with love. “Of course I’ll take care of you.” One hand guided your hips as the other curled around your jaw, setting the pace with half his strength. “You’re my whole world.” His words stuttered, aching cock twitching inside you. “I’m nothing without you, understand?”
You nodded, but you weren’t quite thinking straight, the words a jumbled mess when they entered your mind. “I love you,” you said, gasping the end of his name. “I love you, Osamu, need more.”
Dazai breathed, just as heavily, softening as he regarded you. He’d always loved the look on your face as you came apart. “You take it so well,” he said eyelids fluttering over hazy eyes, and he kissed your forehead. You dragged your hands all over his chest, just wanting to touch any part of him. “Wish you could see yourself. You’re so beautiful.”
You groaned, pulling him closer, until there was nowhere left to go, surrounded completely by Dazai; the smell of him, the taste of him. “Say it back,” you muttered, “say you love me too.”
He choked on a laugh, and the lewd sounds of your wet arousal were loud as he came in and out of you. “I love you, angel, you know how much I love you.” Dazai kissed you, then, and your heart sped at how hoarse his voice had become, how easily it was for you to make the most powerful man in Yokohama fall apart at the seams. “You’ve got a pretty ring to prove it, don’t you? I don’t want anyone but you. I never will.”
“Come inside me.” Your eyes squeezed shut as his cock reached impossibly deep within you, stretching you, your legs shaking as you tried to ignore the dull ache within your tense muscles. Tears sprang to your eyes, coating your lashes; it was almost devastating how much you loved him. “Please. Feel so full, ‘samu.”
“Yeah?” He reached between you to play with your clit, and you were so close, crying out a broken moan as he touched you. “Need to remind everyone that you’re my girl, hm?” He knew just how you liked to be touched, how easy it was to get you to come when he fucked you like you needed. “Want me to put a baby in you next, sweetheart? Shit.” He curled his fingers, bruising your mouth as he stole the oxygen from your chest. “Everyone would know then, wouldn’t they? How could they doubt you’re mine when you’re carrying my child.”
You cried out, then, breaking, spasming around his cock as you fell onto his chest. Dazai said your name, kissed the top of your head, but you were too full of love for him. You breathed heavily as he brought you down once more, twitching against him from the ache in your sensitive cunt.
A moment later, Dazai jerked, then came inside you, spilling his warm cum against your folds, the white ropes dripping down your thighs, staining his dark, wrinkled slacks. Slowly, he pulled out of you, letting you rest on his chest as you breathed, your legs sore. A gentle touch ran up and down your spine as Dazai wrapped his arms tight around you, his cheek resting against the top of your head.
“God, you’re perfect,” Dazai said, and his voice sounded almost broken, devastatingly emotional. “You can’t ever leave me, okay, angel? I need you right here by my side.” Lips grazed your temple, so sweetly, gently. “What’s the point of all this if I can’t share it with you?”
You smiled, resting your head in the crook of his neck, eyes full of tears as you kissed him. “I’m not going anywhere, Osamu. I promise.”
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OCTOBER MASTERLIST - leave a comment on this post if you'd like to be added to the tag list
tag list: @satohruu (hannah i planned this one bc of your tags on my last pm dazai fic HDSFHSFH) @cha0thicpisces
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3K notes · View notes
yunymphs · 4 months
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𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 ✘ 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮
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❤︎ synopsis: your arranged husband is only clingy at night ❤︎ pairing: arranged husband!gojo satoru x fem!reader ❤︎ warnings: mentions of love less marriage, divorce ❤︎ wc: 1.5k ❤︎ authors note: not self indulgent at all . its not like i like this trope or satoru or anything . i dont even know why i wrote this . stop looking at me funny /s tagging: @i-likebread @driaswrld @luv-gin @osaemu @darlingimawitch @sad-darksoul @r0ckst4rjk
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the last month had been hell on earth for you.
those dreams of getting married for love had turned into nothing but childish fantasies with the type of predicament you had been born into.
your parents were always over obnoxious with their big crystal ballrooms and tens upon thousands of office buildings around the country that operate business revenue to serve your parents. bubbly strawberry champagne, clacking heels, and business talk made up half of your life and to think you may have been free from it when you became an adult was a goddamn delusion. it was inevitable that one day you would've gotten into an arranged marriage to meet their needs, an arranged marriage with an opposing company because surely, if you can't beat them, join them.
growing up was difficult.
nobody wanted to befriend the heir to one of the richest companies that has ever graced this world, and even if they did, it was because they wanted a leg up in being business friendly. as a child, you learned that connections never last and mutual agreements only exist to benefit two parties that need the other in order to pursue their own goals.
you were always the wing woman and never the prize.
the dainty diamond ring adorning your left ring finger doesn't mean anything other than that the business will generate two times more revenue. any concept of love that you ever thought you could grasp now flutters away in the wind, entirely out of reach. it's hard being a romantic, and it's too difficult trying to fill your life with a cup half full mentality when there was a hole in the bottom of the damn thing. love felt so foreign in this life, and even more foreign when you married your business enemy gojo satoru last month.
things with your new husband felt all the more awkward too... needless to say, gojo is like a mountain in the presence of your boulder mentality.
he's forward, direct, and determined to shake the market with his charming smile and effective communication that woos those purchasing what his family has to offer. on the outside, he's very approachable. his smile is easygoing and reassuring as he travels through power points and business-related documents, but that facade instantly fades away when he steps foot in your shared home.
he doesn't feel like a husband, but rather someone that shares the same house as you. with that in mind, it also feels impossible to ever fall for someone like him. gojo seems to business oriented, not to mention he's a pain in the ass of a husband.
that charming mask of his is immediately slipped off as his left foot comes through the door, eyes becoming a bit sterner and more withdrawn. you wonder if someone like him could ever feel the effects of this life, a life characterized by price tags, a half assed smile, and keeping appearances. lucky for you, you only have to endure ten more years of this loveless marriage until your parents figure it's best to divorce and move onto the next test subject.
fairytales were unrealistic, but at least it's better than this bullshit. even that beast taming disney princess was living her happily ever after.
"excuse me."
you perk your head up from your laptop, taking in the sight of your arranged husband in a loose tank top and sweatpants. he's holding two jars of jam, a knife tucked between the right glass jar and his ring finger.
you try to miss the way his wedding band catches in the light and the handsome silver glimmers.
"sorry, what?" you ask, giving him your undivided attention. he never speaks to you, maybe he needed something.
"i said, do you want toast?" gojo asks again, clearly a bit confused with your mannerisms.
he knew you were aloof, but you really looked lost in thought just now.
"oh! no, i'm fine," you stammer, turning back to the laptop in an attempt to gain a neutral face.
after an exasperated sigh, you close the laptop. why was this loser making toast at 10pm anyways? there was no denying he looked hot as hell doing it though... tank top displaying his toned body and sweatpants hanging dangerously low to his hips.
you're convinced he's out to get you.
"i'm gonna go to bed now," you mutter, tucking your laptop under your arm as he takes a massive bite into the toast.
"ghoofnighf," gojo responds with his mouth stuffed, not sparing you a second glance.
it's obvious a slice of bread seemed to be more interesting than you.
beginning the ascend up the stairs seemed to be a wakeup call. things definitely could've been worse, but at least the both of you were getting somewhere. what used to be sleeping in different rooms became coming to an agreement to sleep together in the master bedroom. what used to be awkward silence is now filled with somewhat of a conversation.
you settle into the right side of the king bed, your side of the bed, scooting to the edge and snuggling into the fleece blanket. the nights feel colder and longer now that the bed is occupied with another body. sleeping with gojo however, he makes the bed feel so much warmer with his radiating body heat and long limbs that have a tendency to reach for you in the night.
the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the upstairs hallway breaks your train of thought.
"i know you're awake," gojo hums.
"i'm aware," you quip, shaking your head at his ridiculousness.
the bed dips and he shuffles into the blanket. you shift a bit in response. your back faces him, and you feel gojo poke a bony finger into your shoulder, as if to childishly get your attention.
you can't really seem to gauge his character. sometimes your husband seems more distant than usual, and some nights it's almost like he's as playful as a cat.
"what...?" you sit up a bit, looking at him from over your shoulder.
gojo rests his head on the soft pillow, gazing up at you with twinkling eyes. his snowy tufts of hair lay crookedly.
it feels... oddly endearing.
time and time again, he can't really explain how you make him feel. for one, you get on his damn nerves. gojo hates your parent's company by nature simply because his parents and yours have been rival businesses for years now. he hates your unnecessary faces, which you would argue are incredibly necessary, and he hates your witty comments. gojo hates how you stack the spoons on the left side of the dishwasher instead of the right side, and he definitely hates that you like your bread lightly toasted instead of charred to a crisp like he does.
needless to say, he simply doesn't understand you, but part of him hopes to one day, even if this marriage is to keep appearances. you're quite lovely... not exactly his type but enough to make him keep chasing even after witnessing your ridiculous antics. that's why he doesn't question why you bring home two deli sandwiches, one for him and one for you, on the weekends. he doesn't question how or why he always wakes up with an arm slung around your waist.
it just feels right.
despite this, he knows better. arranged marriages are everything but permanent, and it's never smart to get emotionally involved with someone who serves no other purpose than to bring his company a leg up in the industry. the two of you miraculously live the same story, and yet it feels too difficult to try to understand the other person.
"i want to hold your hand," gojo leans over to you, "can i do that?"
"there aren't any cameras around."
"i'm aware," he parrots, mimicking your words earlier.
he genuinely wants to be close to you.
you offer him your hand, palm facing up. he takes it slowly, as if testing the waters to see how far you'll let him go before you shove him away and scurry off to sleep.
to his surprise, he waits for the shove that never comes.
gojo's hand is so much larger than yours. his hands are pretty, nails trimmed short while his fingers are long and slender. he gently intertwines your hand in his own before placing it on the pillow next to him and settling into the bed again.
this is very unprofessional.
if your parents saw the two of you like this right now, all hell would break loose. thank goodness the room is dark, and nobody has to see how embarrassed you look right about now.
gojo chuckles deeply, his white lashes fluttering as he gives a satisfied exhale. this is one step closer to hopefully making your walls come down, and to your surprise: it's working.
"goodnight, princess," your husband tuts, using that nickname in a derogatory sense to poke at your business status.
"goodnight, asshole."
gojo also doesn't question the fact both of your hands remained linked throughout the night, waking up to the sight of your small hand still loosely clasped with his. it's like even in sleep, the two of you still search for one another. you look so peaceful like this... you're still fast asleep next to him, lips parted as you rest soundly.
your hand unconsciously squeezes his own in your sleep, as if making sure that you're still linked to him in some sort of way.
know that gojo will definitely give you hell for it when you wake up.
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© YUNYMPHS 2023 do not repost/edit/copy my works.
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fever-fluff · 4 months
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Cat's Out of the Bag, Claws and All
Synopsis: You’re sick of Cassian and Rhysand sticking their noses where it doesn’t belong. And Azriel’s tendency to let things slide when it comes to himself isn’t helping. Word Count: 4k (not proof read)
“I just think you’re becoming a bit…”
“A bit what, Cass?” Azriel was not in the mood for this. Sitting in Rita’s, in a booth right to the back while his two brothers pestered him on his love life was not how he wanted to spend the night after he’d returned to Velaris. You had been absent from his bed when he’d finally made it back in the early hours of the morning. Though he wasn’t worried. You had duties to attend to for Rhys as one of his foreign relations advisors, normally starting as soon as you woke in order to enjoy your evenings free of work to spend with him- even if he was the one still doing paperwork.
“Don’t you think she’s a bit too… extreme?” Azriel snarled at Cass’ blatant insult to you. But he held his hands up in peace, Rhys cutting in before he could do more damage. “What we’re trying to say, Azriel, is that it seems like you aren’t yourself lately. You’ve been showing up more recently, which is not a bad thing and we’re happy to see more of you. But it’s the reason of these increased showings that has us worried.”
Azriel supposed it was true. He had been showing up more – to social events that is. He was always present when it was just their inner circle, but the regular accepting of invitations to social events that didn’t need his presence was a new thing, something that you had gently insisted on since the two of you had become so close.
He was never one for meaningless interactions and had been pushing himself outside of his comfort zone for quite some time now by giving in every time you looked at him, pleading with those eyes of yours. He could never quite say no when you asked, and begged him, so nicely. But he nodded all the same to the two that he understood what they were trying to say, “I guess. I honestly didn’t think it was such a big deal. It makes her happy.”
“That’s the thing Az. Sure, it makes her happy. But does it make you?” Cass was trying, really trying not to say the wrong words and have this blow up in his face. Azriel thought for a moment, of all the times he’d watch you interact with others he didn’t even know the name of, never mind their importance to your work, while you linked your arm around his and had him trail along. He was always uncomfortable in the light, always wanting to slink back to the shadows. But you were the opposite, always blooming so lovely in the presence of everyone you deigned to offer your time to. He sometimes wished he could coddle you away from all their adoring eyes and have you all to himself. But he would never cage you like that.
“Not particularly. I do it for her, but sometimes I would rather sit at home while she goes about her work.” His admission was quiet, feeling that if he said it too loud it would carry on the wind and into your ear as you slept.
“What we’re trying to say, brother, is that spending your life with someone is all about compromise. You need to tell her when you don’t want to do something that makes you uncomfortable.” Since when has Cassian ever been so wise and all-knowing? He’d bet five gold marks Nesta had whipped that piece of sense into him after he’d thrown another of her books out the window, insisting on ‘a lovely stroll through Velaris’ instead. Azriel knew he was just jealous of the new male protagonist in her recent book series, garnering all her attention throughout the day.
But Cassian’s words had stuck in the back of his mind and refused to leave. Had he been compromising on his comfort for your own? You’d never pressed the issue with him, but he supposed he’d not put much of a front up against it in the past, agreeing almost immediately every time you’d asked for his company.
“You know I respect her and the work she does” Rhys had ordered another round as they settled in for the night of drinking ahead, “she’s one of the best at her job that I’ve ever seen, placating Eris is a testament to that. But she is intense, she has to be. I don’t want that to jeopardise you or your happiness with her in any way in the future. Putting up boundaries with her now is the best way to do that.”
Azriel knew his brothers had always had his best interest in their hearts when it came to things like this. Rhys’ intervention between him and Elain on Solstice years ago was a testament to that. He would have been hurt in a way he would never have come back from. Elain and Lucien’s bond was one of the strongest he’d ever seen – even rivalling that of Rhys and Feyre’s once given the chance. Then he’d met you. You had courted him from the minute you’d met, and he’d preened under the attention he’d longer centuries for. You weren’t his mate; no bond had snapped for him in the time he’d gotten to know you. But he’d worked past that and found that someone choosing to be with him purely of their own volition made it much harder to doubt whether he was worthy of you or not.
So, as they drank on, Azriel let their words mill over in his mind, finally agreeing with their concerns, and decided tomorrow he’d tell you how he really felt about all the parties you were asking him to attend.
Waking up to a hungover Azriel was a rare sight, but an amusing one none the less. You’d gone to bed last night early after reading a note he’d left, saying Rhys and Cass had asked him to drinks to catch up after being away for three months. You were upset, naturally, as you hadn’t seen him either during that time. But Azriel was a people pleaser, and he’d accepted their invitation with no qualms. So instead of wallowing in self-pity of not spending the first night with him back falling asleep in his arms, you had invited Mor and Feyre over to take your mind off it.
They’d left soon after midnight, Feyre wanting to get back to Nyx seeing as his father would be away most of the night. But all those sour feelings had left the second you’d awoken curled into his strong, tanned arms this morning.
Trying to shift in his hold, you’d felt him curl further into you with a groan, wing casting over the two of you to block the ray of sun peering in between the curtains. You laughed, sending a small gush of magic to pull it closed, cutting the bright light off. His hum of appreciation vibrated against your neck while you reached to play with the tresses of dark hair falling in front of his eyes. It was getting long again – which you preferred on him – but he’d cut it soon now that he was home.
“Good morning, love” you’d never tire of the purr the name elicited from the Illyrian warrior beside you, and it rumbled lowly as he reached into your touches further. “How were drinks with Cass and Rhys?”
“Long. Too long. Wanted to come home to you.” his voice, gods his voice. You loved it, the deep tones in the morning unlike anything else you’d ever heard.
“Yeah? I should have realised I’d need to rescue you, nab you back to have you all to myself.” One thing you’d realised in pursuing the Shadowsinger was his need for directness. His heart had been torn so many times that it wouldn’t beat for anything else. And you’d been more than happy to provide.
The morning was slow, full of sweetness and adoration you’d both been missing in his absence. Neither of you had been pressed to rise before noon until your stomach had grumbled its dislike of the lack of food. And so, you’d found yourselves sat at the small table in front of the windows overlooking Velaris, coffee and pastries in hand.
Azriel had woken from his drunken haze, and appeared caught in his own world, more so than usual as you noticed him missing the handle of his mug, for the second time. “Something on your mind, my love.”
His sigh was enough to know you wouldn’t like what he had to say, and your mind wandered to unpleasant thoughts of Rhys already assigning him to another mission far from home. “I swear on all that is good if that High Lord of yours assigned something else to you last nigh-”
“He hasn’t. And don’t forget he’s your High Lord also.” Azriel hated when you spoke against any decisions made by his family, which was rare. You were on the same page as them, mostly. But there were some things you disagreed strongly on. Not always living in Velaris had given you another taste of the world, and it faired well for you in your work here. But there were times when it caused temporary rifts between you and your friends, and you weren’t inclined to change if it could be solved with words instead of blades. But when it involved Azriel, you found yourself more and more inclined to picking up something sharp and slicing it into anything that wanted to steal him from you.
“We were… talking. Last night. About a couple things.” Azriel was not as sweet with words as his brother, but to see him lose them completely was new altogether. Putting the pieces together from the non-existent puzzle he’d left for you, you felt your breath hitch slightly, “About us?”
“Yeah…” you didn’t like this Azriel. The unsure and unconfident kind. He had a silent strength you’d admired since the first time you’d met. You’d fallen in love with the male that wasn’t this, and you hated seeing him act like anything lesser than he was.
“Azriel. Whatever it is, please speak to me about it. I want to know.” You’d moved from your chair, coming to sit on the side of his as you laid your hand next to his, letting him decide whether or not he wanted to take it. But the warmth that encased yours was comfort enough to know it wasn’t something that would break the two of you.  
“I – don’t want to go to the – social events anymore.” Your brows pinched in confusion, where was this coming from? “Care to tell me why?”
“I’m not a fan of them. At all really. And I realised I was doing something that wasn’t making me happy. It made you happy, which I’m glad, but I can’t do it anymore. S’ too much.”
You watched Azriel retreat into himself at the admission, but you said nothing as you saw his gaze flicker over the room until it finally landed on you, searching for any anger, or hurt. “If you think I’m angry, I’m not. I understand what you mean, and I’m glad you could tell me.”
“You are?”
You huffed a laugh, “Yea, I am. So long as they’re your thoughts and not your brothers, right?” he nodded, “They are.”
“Okay, no more unnecessary social outings, for you at least. I’ll still have to attend them, considering.” He nodded again, “of course, I wouldn’t assume otherwise.”
You kissed him lightly as you made to get ready for the day, the conversation ending quicker then it began. These mornings were all you really had alone with him, both your professions taking up the rest of your days and swallowing the majority of the daylight- and twilight.
He’d winnowed soon after from the garden after kissing you goodbye, seeming lighter now that he’d voiced his discomfort, and you released a sigh you’d been holding since.
There was a party in three days, one you’d assumed Azriel would attend with you. But now that he’d expressed his feelings about them, you couldn’t bring yourself to ask. Instead, you’d prepare yourself for the emotional and verbal onslaught to come without the Shadowsinger by your side.
You hated these things. Really, really hated them. being in a room full of fae looking to raise their status, their family name in the long list of nobles was always a tiring feet to be around, but it was a necessary evil to your work. Mor stood beside you in all her ethereal glory, and the pair of you looked nothing more than astounding. Emerie was somewhere in the crowd of people, charming her way through each table she rounded. You were sometimes envious of the support she lends to Mor at these times, the two made a good pair in these places, balancing the other out that lead to progress you would only dream of making in such short time.
But it seemed tonight all you would find for yourself was concealed and blatant admissions of fae asking about your seemingly juicy availability.
“Ladies, it’s an honour to have received an invitation to such a grand celebration, pray tell” the male who’d sauntered his way over to the two of you leered in you direction, “has the lovely lady finally been freed from her cage? Should I thank the Shadowsinger for his decision to set you free from you confines that is the Court of Nightmares?” You blanched at his obvious attempt but concealed it under a smile too easy that it felt tight, “I believe you’ve been fed the wrong fruit from the vine my lord, Azriel and I are still quite the pair. I do hope you don’t mean to sully his name when he is not here to defend himself?” your sinister pout had the blood leeching from the males cheeks, and he stuttered himself into a stupor until he could find his feet to walk quickly away.
Sighing, you grabbed a fresh glass of wine, the last going sour from the interaction. Mor’s head leaned to yours unceremoniously, “Mother, that’s the fifth one in the last hour! How often does this happen?”
“Any time Azriel isn’t with me. When he’s accompanied me in the past it stopped a lot of this for the most part. But with my reputation among the courts here and abroad, anyone will try to get their claws into the person holding the most honey pots.” You were feeling the effect of it much sooner than ever before, the mental strain making your mind lag. You’d really hoped Azriel would have been here tonight, but you couldn’t lean on his strength every time.
“That’s why you’ve been bringing him along…” something seemed to click with her. “You know he hates these things. But you wanted him here for support, for you.” You nodded without hesitation, confused as to why her face seemed so stricken by the knowledge.
“There’s something I have to tell you” Mor’s tone was sullen. As she explained, you listened and felt anger wash over you in gulfs. Oh, you were going to murder someone, and soon.
The following weeks after Azriel had admitted his feelings to you were…odd, to say the least. He wasn’t sure what to make of them. you had been the same as ever to him, loving and oh so understanding when it came to his every need. You didn’t press him to attend the gatherings you had to, opting to inform him instead of your departure. While you were gone, he would catch up on all the paperwork he had waiting, and by the time you came home, his arms would be open and waiting for you to fall into.
But something was still off. He felt it in the way your shoulders slumped more than they usually would after socialising all night. It was still taxing to you, but you had always smiled after when he had attended them with you. Now, you barely had enough energy to lift yourself from his hold, falling straight to sleep once he’d guided you to bed.
Those nights, when you’re too tired to tell him about your day, and instead just curl up against his side, Azriel thinks about the moments of when you’d first met.
Your connection to him was almost instantaneous, you’d follow him everywhere you could. The idle chatter you started with had eventually turned to long and deep conversations, sweeping him along into the early hours of the morning.
Your first kiss, when you’d found him after a more draining mission. You’d helped him bathe, nursing the tension from his back and mind with loving but firm touches to his skin. He’d turned to you in a burst of confidence and captured your mouth with his before he had anytime to think himself out of it. You’d melted into him almost instantly, and the rest had been a blur of tangled limbs and sheets.
The weeks after had been full of secret touches and longing looks, until Cassian had caught the two of you in a heated kiss after venturing to the kitchen for some late night tea. Always the one known for having loose lips, the whole house had known before Azriel could’ve knocked him unconscious, but you had laughed and squeezed his hand in reassurance, letting him know that you didn’t mind being claimed by him, if he were okay with you claiming him. No, he didn’t mind that at all.
Gods, he had been in heaven ever since. Having someone to come home to, to reach for in the long family dinner when before he had to watch the mated couples around him stare adoringly at one another. He now had someone to call his own, and he was so glad it was you.
But you seemed to be getting worse as the weeks rolled on, and he couldn’t quite understand why, until Rhysand pulled him into his office.
“She’s taking a leave of absence from her position.” Azriel’s world spun on the wrong axis as he processed the words coming from his brother’s mouth.
“She hasn’t spoken to you about this?” he shook his head, mind spiralling as to why you’d do something like this. You loved your job, more than anything. It gave you a purpose, something to give back to the world.
Cassian ventured in not long after, seeming to already know what was going on, “you’re not communicating again. Azriel, this is gonna really affect your-”
“Affect his what, Cassian?”
The three of the bristled at the sharpness of your tone. Azriel cast his gaze over you. Your eyes seemed darkened by a tiredness that hadn’t been there until a few weeks ago. Even your posture, always one to hold your head high, looked slumped against Mor and Feyre, who stood behind you.
“I was just saying that you both should talk a bit more about-”
“Oh, I’m sure you have a lot of comments on what me and my mate should talk about.”
Azriel stopped.
Everything stopped.
Your- your what?
You sighed, your admission seeming to go amiss amongst the thoughts swirling in you mind, but Azriel couldn’t comprehend how you’d said something like that so…so… casually.
“Azriel, Can I speak to Rhysand and Cassian – alone?” he didn’t feel himself answer, but Mor and Feyre seemed to understand and guided him into the hallway, where the three of them waited with baited breath to hear the onslaught you’d ensue. It wasn’t a secret, how much you detested some of the decisions they made in this court. Hels, you had even come to Eris’ defense more than once during the time of the alliance to put him on the Autumn throne. But this was different, and he knew it deep in his bones.
Mate. You’d called him your mate. But there was no bond. Nothing had snapped in all the time you had known each other. He loved you, infinitely. but that had been a choice you had both made in all that you had gone through, not for some fate woven between you.
“I know, it’s a lot to take in” it was Feyre, “I think we should sit down, get some tea while we wait until they’re finished.”  
So the three of them walked away from the voices on the other side of the door, and made for Feyre’s studio.
“You two need to butt out, now.” You were fuming, white hot rage consumed you as you looked to the grown males in front of you. But they weren’t acting like that, not in all the time you’d known them.
“You-you called Az your mate?”
Shit. Had you? Oh gods he was probably going insane with the thoughts in his head. No wonder he hadn’t answered you. How were you going to explain hiding something so profound from him for as long as you’d known each other.
“What of it.” you were snapping now. You don’t ever snap. That was your charm, ever the collected one, no matter what. But gods they had stuck their noses where it didn’t belong. And you detested it.
 The statement had seemed to shut the two of the up quite quickly, so you continued, happy for the lack of interruption. “I understand you’re looking out for Az; I do. But this is getting to the point where it’s ridiculous. Have you ever considered the weight in which Az holds your words? They’re like gospel to him.”
“We were just trying to help, nothing more.” You snorted as the High Lord’s words. Feyre and Mor have known of your secret since you met Azriel, but it seemed the two of them have truly kept it privy to your circle of three.
“Have you ever thought, for a second, that maybe sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong does more damage than good?” you were breaking now, the emotions you had welled up the past while cresting. “I wasn’t asking Azriel to those gatherings because I wanted him out of his comfort zone. Gods, I know he detests them.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because I needed him. It’s not easy listening to fae ask about your hand in marriage while your mate sits happily at home.”
You took a breath as the two said nothing more. “I came here to tell you that my leave was because I was overwhelmed. It’s a lot sometimes, even for me. And I hadn’t gotten a lot of time with Az without interruption since we met. I was going to tell you both today, about… the predicament. But it seems I’ve let the cat out of the bag, claws and all.”
Gods, how were you going to explain this to him? You’ve kept him in the dark for months. He’ll never forgive you.
“We-acknowledge our misstep. We truly didn’t mean to hurt you, or Azriel. And for that I apologise, for us both.” Rhys’ face was sullen enough for your anger towards the two wash away, and you nodded. “Believe me, you’re not the one who’s hurt him.”
With nothing else to say, you made for the door. Cassian’s voice stopping you just as you reached for the handle, “Just, make sure you get him to listen. He’ll go into his head, and its not a good place.”
You nodded.
 “I know.”
There will be a Part II
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kizoken · 20 days
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❝𝐈 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈𝐌 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐀 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊
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𝐆. 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 ❞
✶ smut ; afab!reader , jealous ex suguru , rich girl!reader , oral , little angst , suguru jerks off with reader's panties , alcohol , make up sex , toxic relationship , biker!suguru .
✶ word count ; 1.4k
✶ m.list & request
✶ ❝took me fifteen centuries to get back on the grind but, whatever.❞
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"he's staring at you...again." your friend yelled to you through the booming music. you frowned and stopped kissing the random cute guy that approached you. wiping your mouth, you asked her where he was.
"sitting by the bar." lo and behold, a daring and deathly stare was directed your way. but not to you precisely, to the random man that was taking advantage of your generosity. or that is what he thought. his gaze then set on yours and he smiled.
your face contorted at the sight of your ex-boyfriend's lurking eyes and shifted your attention to where you previously were. but the man you were making out was nowhere to be seen.
"suguru!" you cursed to yourself; it was clear this disappearance was orchestrated by him. "you called angel." his voice soft and tantalizing in your ear made you jolt back in disdain.
"you fucking asshole!" you looked at him, dead in the eye. "what did you do?!" he does this all the time, scaring your hook-ups away efficiently like a wonder pesticide. every move of his were foreign to your understanding, nevertheless, deep in the psyche of your mind you found this behavior cute.
"just watching out for the prettiest girl here...can't i?" he smiled and placed a hand at the side of your neck. the friend that announced you suguru geto was prowling around, swiftly began to intervene before you settled her down.
"love the thought! though worry about yourself and your people rather than you ex. it's not a good look on you." you give him a sour smile. "makes you look like a stalker."
"don't call me that angel!" he pouted, "i can't help that every day i spend without your company is misery; how could i not miss you?" you despised how he tugged at your heart strings the way that he did. his deep voice purring how much he wanted you back, needed you or missed you. shame on you if you were going to get fooled a second time, you were not going to let yourself be with a man that had any woman at his disposition at his back and call. even when he had you.
but lord, did he make you feel like the only girl his eyes have ever seen, whose touch he's ever felt, whose lips he's ever kissed. you had everything at your beck and call, nothing was out of your grasp, except suguru geto and his fickle heart.
even if your fiery feelings were creeping back, rationality has yet to abandon you. "suguru; i am so not falling for your dirty, empty words— go and mind torture some other girl than me. i've had enough of you."
suguru was completely taken aback by your words. the last thing he wanted was to make you too uncomfortable, just a little tease here and there. but his intentions of going back to you were in his capabilities, sincere. "oh-i, i apologize," he took a deep breath, "let me make it up to you, yeah?"
"...fine." you conceded, too mentally drained by him, and you might as well take him for his money's worth, even when you could pay our own drinks. the booming music from the club was making you sick at this point, and you really wanted to go home. "don't try a thing."
you would regret not fighting enough to keep those words as they were. it was a terrible idea to take him up on his proposal to take you back to your parent's place. the terrible decisions began to pile up as you clutched yourself around his toned torse in the bike you knew all too well. arriving to your parents' and offering him a drink at their bar. the alcohol mixed with undying feelings for your ex-boyfriend led you to seek the comfort of his lips once again.
suguru happily obliged to your necessities, he was obviously subduing his as well. "i missed you so much..." you say between desperate kisses, halting yourself and placing your hand onto his chin gaining his full attention, "i fucking hate it; i hate you."
"don't say that beautiful...let me make you love me again, hmm?" he pouted, his sneaky hands trailed to settle on your ass, squeezing lightly but as a sign of him wanting more and masking his disdain by your words with his cheekiness. geto's drunken lips placed themselves around the cervices of your neck, making you remember how good he made you feel, no matter what.
you fell headfirst to his charming touch and began to let those barriers you have set up so high up to crumble, and just let yourself go. geto held on to your body, gripping it like the most coveted prize he's been fighting for. you both stumble up through the stairs, never leaving each other's lips.
geto knew exactly where you were taking him, your old room. as he stepped in deeper, memories of sneaking in from the window in his youth flashed through his mind. he laughed reminiscing about it, sweeping off your feet to hold you in the air he said; "remember the countless times i ran out the window without pants?"
"how could i forget," you giggled, "you always looked ridiculous." geto grumbled in playful annoyance as he threw you into the queen-sized bed.
"was i?" you nod.
he could not contain his smile, "anything to make you smile princess, even if i'm a fucking joke."
and so, it was mere seconds before your ex-lover was making you scream his name in ecstasy. geto delighted himself by how your pussy sucked him in vigorously.
the wet, sloppy noises of your cunt and geto's thighs slapping against yours echoed through your former bedroom. "yes~ sugu~ ah! moreee~!"
you loved that about him, how filthy he was in his pounding. your mewls hit a higher pitch as he began to play with your left nipple and your clit with his fingers. his thrusting never ceased, hitting every sweet spot there is to his knowledge.
"sugu~ your mouth...i-i ah" geto let out a moan, knowing exactly what you desired from him, and clamped harder on your bud. "fuck me with your mouth!"
"i need it hgn~ please, please, love!" your ex melted at your words; it was something he's been missing to hear. and none other girl could say to make him oblige to every word the way that you did.
"is that so pretty girl, you want my tongue inside your cunt?" he teased, loving the way you panted and twitched in desperation.
"yes! suguru, my pussy, use it, it's hgn~ ah! all yours..." your fingernails and tips dug around the muscular flesh of his arms, "always been."
the electric feeling induced you to keep your eyes shut during your plead. however you would instantly jolt, and your eyes opened fully as you sensed geto's skillful tongue tease a swipe all around your pussy.
"oh, yes!" you squeal, taking in every inch of his wet muscle's feel. geto's hands held on tightly around your thighs, caressing the plump skin of your legs. but he wanted to further feel your body, eager to reminisce how it used to feel.
relishing in the ensuring pleasure, you were surprised to feel geto's sturdy hand reach out for your own as it laid clench on your chest. you loosen your grip once you feel his touch.
your moans never failed to vibrate in the spacious room, inciting your ex-lover to grant a generous relief to his shaft. though in his mind it was not enough, so he rummaged throughout the messy sheets into finding a thin, small fabric you own.
geto unfolded the scrunched underwear and placed it on his cock, he began to caress himself around with the help of your panties. he stuttered as he pumped his relief while using something only of your own usage, as well as being one of the most private things a person could possess. his oral performance rallied all over your pussy.
the soft fabric of your panties made your ex moan, whimper and lap at your pussy with his tongue like a starved man, it sent you to overdrive, cumming all over his face.
"sugu, fuck, so good...keep it up." and those heavenly squeals of yours mixed with alcohol and tiredness, shoot heavy strings of his cum into your underwear with no remorse. taking a few, heavy breaths in, he calmed himself down and began to trail kisses around your body until it fell on your lips.
"can i stay?" he said with a cheeky tone and a full grin as he placed himself beside you. geto trails his arms on your naked torso, embracing you while waiting for your answer.
still panting and exhausted, though enjoying his comfort, you say, "fine."
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sinofwriting · 5 months
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Wait - Ollie Bearman
Words: 4,936 Summary: Ollie Bearman doesn’t wear necklaces, it’s just not his thing. So why during the 2023 Mexico GP is he spotted wearing a necklace with a familiar ring hanging from the chain Note(s)/Warning(s): This is in fact the purity ring fic. It’s a bit NSFW. Reader is Max Verstappen’s little sister. I nearly included lestappen because the idea of both Verstappen siblings dating a Ferrari (or Ferrari adjacent) driver was funny to me, but I didn’t. Also, thank you to all the people who told me to write this. I’m going to go somewhere, but I’m glad I did!
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A ring sits on her finger. The same finger that will one day have an engagement ring then a wedding band to join. The band is thin with two knots and between both knots are four tiny pearls, barely the size of a grain of rice and in the middle of those four pearls is a mix of her birthstone and Max’s. She had gotten it when she was eleven shortly after she had heard Max joking with some of his friends about sex and she went to their mom asking what exactly they meant and for the past six years it had sat there.
It was the first big purchase Max had made with his F1 paycheck. The seventeen year old had felt ashamed and horrified at his baby sister overhearing the things him and friends were joking about. And even worse when their mom had to give her the talk. It had been nothing however compared to what their father had thought when learning of it. Max had swore his ears were ringing as Jos had yelled at him for first having his friends around her and second talking about sex when he knew that she was in the house and liked to randomly join them.
The ring had been a nice way to ease the tension and though he had been a bit red as he explained what it was to her, she had nodded along with his explanation, looking serious before putting it on and then smiling at him and hugging him.
At eleven it hadn’t really been an issue, wearing a purity ring, promising that she’d wait to be married before having sex. It hadn’t been a problem when she was fifteen and her first spike of hormones hit and suddenly sex wasn’t something that felt so far away or like a weird foreign concept. It hadn’t been a problem at sixteen either when she got her first boyfriend, who Max had quickly run off.
It had started to be a problem after she turned seventeen and got together with Ollie.
Ollie who she was never supposed to meet. Was only supposed to know of because she followed F2 and F3. But then she joined Max for the remainder of the 2022 season in July. Done with school and unsure if she wanted to go to Uni, unsure really of what she wanted to do.
She had planned to stay home with her mom, putter about the house, maybe do some small writing for Redline and Verstappen.com that she’d email to Kris, who would send her the money that they got paid for them instead of submitting them herself where Max would be sure to give her a stupid amount of money for something that took maybe thirty minutes to write.
But then Max had heard about her plans and she was officially employed by her brother. Managing his website, instagram, and Redline’s social media, going with him to every race, which meant that she had far too much free time and meant that she found herself following around Jack Crawford as he finished up his F3 season which meant running into Ollie Bearman.
Ollie, who was so unexpectedly sweet and cute, who made all the blood rush to her face as her heart worked overtime, made butterflies appear in her stomach.
It had been the second time that they saw each other that he had asked her on a date and now a year later, the two are now both eighteen and head over heels in love, and the ring that rests on her left ring finger feels more like a nuisance.
She had never had sex, hadn’t even really touched or been touched until Ollie but as the F2 season had grown to a close it felt like that was all that was on her mind and Ollie’s.
The kisses they shared when alone quickly grew into heated make out sessions and when they had time, they found themselves in his hotel room under the covers, underwear still on but hands exploring each other's bodies.
She falls in love with the pattern of freckles on his back and the way he shivers when she traces them with her fingers. The spot above his heart that always makes his breath hitch when she kisses it. His strong calves that always tense right after his thighs when she settles on his lap. His hands and how much bigger than hers they are. And his fingers that he lets her play with, kiss and nibble at just to see and hear the stuttered breath he gives as his cheeks turn red.
He falls in love with the small tattoo that still only he knows she has, it’s small enough to just barely be hidden by even her more risqué bikinis. The scar she has on her knee that makes her shiver when his fingers or lips touch it. The soft skin of the underside of her breasts, because it feels nice to stroke when he gets the chance to dip his hands underneath her bra. The moan she gives when he settles in between her thighs and rests his weight on top of her as they kiss.
Ollie knows what the ring is, what it means, what she promised Max. It’s the one thing that always reminds him to stop, that pulls him back when he’s about to dip his fingers beneath her underwear to feel her wetness against his fingers or about to ask her to take her bra off, to let him see more of her. The feeling of her ring always draws him back. Makes him refocus on just kissing her and not getting ahead of himself before he makes another mess of himself.
He sees it every time he sees her, he kisses it every time he lifts her hand to his lips, first kissing the ring, a silent promise to himself that one day he’ll replace it with a ring of his own, before kissing her hand.
So Ollie doesn’t think anything when he comes home from simulator work to his flat in Maranello smelling like brownies. It had taken a bit to convince Max that she didn’t want to go home but rather wanted to go on a little trip with her friends. She just neglected to mention that there was no trip, and by friends she meant boyfriend, and really she meant during the week break they’d have she’d be going to Italy to stay with Ollie.
“That smells so good.” Ollie groans, kicking his shoes off before moving further into the flat. She beams at him, accepting the kiss he presses to her cheek. “I know you had dinner there so I made brownies. And not a whole pan.” She adds. “I know you can’t indulge too much.” “Thank you.” He murmurs, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back into him.
He starts to sway them both as he stares at the small pan of brownies, the smell of them mouthwatering.
“Can I have one?” “They like just got out of the oven.” He pouts, bending his neck and pressing his face into her neck. “Please?” “You're going to burn your fingers and mouth.” She laughs. “Pretty please?” He tries. She makes a humming noise, one he feels more than hears. “Only if you give me a kiss first.” “Deal.”
She giggles as he quickly turns her in his arms. “Hi.” She greets as she wraps her arms around his neck. “Hi.” He parrots back and the thought of the brownies are gone from his mind as he looks at her.
She’s got a piece of his merch on, one of the sample sweatshirts, but also a pair of his boxer briefs. It’s like she’s drowning in him and he just wants to add to it.
Pressing their lips together, he grunts when her nails dig lightly into the back of his neck.
“Sorry.” She murmurs against his lips. He shakes his head, “it’s fine.”
They stand there for a while just kissing, but then his hands are moving underneath the top she’s wearing, grasping at her hips before fingers trail up her sides before back down and she’s pulling him to his bedroom.
They’ve done this so much that it takes barely any time for him to take his FDA polo off and then his jeans before joining her in bed, settling between her thighs. It doesn’t however stop him from rocking his hips into hers a couple of times before he can stop himself, hunger only growing when her hips hitch upwards and she’s wrapping a leg around him, pulling him closer.
“Fuck, darling.” He gasps, pressing kisses to her exposed throat. She moans, her hands resting on his bare back and it’s the feeling of her ring that makes him stop. Hips nearly thrusting again when she whines, but he tenses his whole body, not letting it loosen even when he kisses her again, swallowing the next whine she lets out.
His right hand makes his way underneath her top as they continue to kiss, his body relaxing into hers as he gets control of himself again.
As his fingers creep up her side, he wonders what they’ll feel. The spandex of her sports bra? The cotton or whatever it is of the one bra she likes to wear to media days? Maybe lace? His mind spins at the last option and he gulps.
She’s only worn lace once and it was on their year anniversary, their first approved sleepover. Though Max had made sure to get her from his hotel room at 11 am. But he considers they have the rest of the week just them together and he doesn’t have to go into the factory anymore. And she made him brownies, homemade. He knows because of the way she had been standing at the kitchen counter, carefully looking at them. So, maybe another treat for him was her wearing lace.
But as fingers reach where he’d normally feel the edge of something there is nothing. He goes to frown but before he can, her chest rises, his fingers graze the underside of her left breast and his hips are snapping into her again.
“Oh my god.” She moans at the feeling. “Fuck.” He curses and he feels out of breath as he feels more of her. “You’re not,” he mutters. “You’re not wearing anything.” She shakes her head, bucking her hips wanting more friction. “Please, Ollie. Want more, want it off.” He should be saying no, he can already feel his control hanging by thread at the knowledge that she’s not wearing a bra, he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he sees her boobs for the first time, but he’s backing away, letting her sit up, and she’s flinging his sweatshirt off.
His jaw drops at the sight, eyes wide and his dick twitches. He sees the way she bites at her lips, arms starting to come up and he’s quick to react. Fingers touching the soft skin, thumbs rubbing at her nipples as he sort of holds them.
“Pretty.” He manages to get out and feels himself blush. “Can we kiss again?” Ollie nods, eager.
He carefully lays next to her, drawing her on top of him, the two both gasping at the feeling of her bare breasts resting on his bare chest.
His hands dance up and down her back, sometimes his pinky fingers dipping below the waistband of his boxer briefs that she’s wearing before moving back up again as they kiss, hips still moving together.
When she shifts a little on top of him, moaning, he grasps at her hips, stopping her from moving as he feels himself twitch and he just knows that he has to be leaking, creating a wet spot in his underwear.
“We have to stop.” “I’m close though.” His head falls back and he groans. “I am too.” “I,” She stops, thinking of the lingerie she had brought with her, the dinner reservation she had made for herself and Ollie tomorrow night, the necklace chain also in her suitcase. “I want more.” She says, before taking a deep breath and meeting his eyes. “I want to have sex with you.” He’s looking at her wide eyes and she’d think that he didn’t want her back if she couldn’t feel how hard he was underneath her. “But,” his eyes dart to her left hand. “I thought we were waiting.” She feels blood rush to her cheeks at his whisper, at the promise he made for and to her.
She had been nervous when telling Ollie about her purity ring and about she would like to wait awhile, maybe even till marriage to have sex, especially after he shared that he had already had sex before. But he had been surprisingly okay with it after he had a few days to think and wrap his head around it, and not that she knew but to talk to his dad about it, before he came back said that he’d wait as long as she wanted.
“I mean, we did.” She whispers back. “I just, I think you’re the one, ya’know. And even if you aren’t, I can’t see myself ever regretting you.” There’s a stinging in his eyes and he clears his throat. “Okay.” He shifts her down a bit so he can sit up, pressing their lips together. “Okay.”
Her hands cup his cheeks as they kiss while his hands stay on her hips. Not moving or doing anything despite the fact that she’s given the all clear. It’s one of her hands dropping from his face to trail down his body, that makes his hands move, grabbing her ass, pressing her down and closer. It makes her gasp.
“Ollie.” He groans at the sound of her moaning his name. His eyes dart to his nightstand, where there should be some condoms in the drawer with lube as well and then he’s cursing, hands falling away from her. “We have to stop, darling. I’m sorry.” “But,” She shifts on top of him and he swears again when he looks down and sees a wet patch peeking out from where she’s sitting on top of him. “I know, but I don’t have any condoms.” He feels himself flush, “I threw them away after we got serious since I figured it wouldn’t happen for a few years.” “No.” She whines, heading dropping onto his shoulder as her whole body sags.
She hadn’t thought about buying condoms, mainly because despite the lingerie she packed and the dinner reservation, she hadn’t actually planned on them having sex. She just wanted more, even some dry humping or at the very least to feel fingers against her that weren’t her own.
“I could pull out.” The words are weak to his own ears. She lifts her head slightly to look at him. “Do you really think you could?” “I could run and get some condoms.” He really doesn’t feel like getting back in the car, doesn’t feel like leaving her, but he’d do it. "No,” she shakes her head. She didn’t like the idea of being alone, waiting for him to come back with condoms. Or him putting clothes back on, the idea makes her nose wrinkle. She then pauses as something comes to mind. “How’s your Italian?” His brows furrow at the question. “It’s decent. Basic and more strategy and car related. But I get by, why?” “I was thinking of Plan B.” “Plan B?” His brows furrow more before it clicks and his eyes widen, “oh, Plan B.” “Yeah, I’d still want it even if you do end up pulling out, but I don’t think that will happen.” He wants to protest, deny, argue that he absolutely could pull out, but it’d be a lie.
“Ollie.” She whines nearly an hour later as he tries to get her to separate her thighs. “You’re all sticky.” He tells her. “I need to clean you up before it dries.” And god was it a bitch to clean up dried cum. “I’ll be quick.” He promises. She pouts, but lets her thighs fall apart, wincing at the burning muscles. He swallows at the sight of their mixed release. He hadn’t managed to pull out the first time, but the second he had managed to, only to finish practically in her anyways. And it was worse because of her own two orgasms that added to the mess. Taking the damp cloth, he carefully cleans her up, apologizing when she whines when he presses a bit too much on her clit.
“Much better.” He grins, when he’s done. Throwing the cloth in the direction of his laundry hamper. “Cuddle?” She asks, making grabby hands at him and eagerly joins her again in bed, slipping the covers over both of them. “That’s better.” She mumbles, when they settle together and he laughs, pressing a kiss to her head.
It’s hard for him to leave when he wakes up in the morning. They’re still both naked and she’s sleeping peacefully beside him. But he’d rather go and get her the Plan B now, then put it off until later when she’ll be fully awake.
Rolling to his side, he presses a series of light kisses to her face. She mumbles a bit and he chuckles. “I’ve got to go, darling.” She mumbles again, turning to lay on her side as well. “I’ve got to go. I’ll be right back.” “Where are you going?” Her voice is low, thick with sleep. “I need to get some things real quickly. I’ll be back in thirty minutes, okay?” “Do you have to?” She pouts. “I’ll be quick.” He promises, bending to kiss her.
It takes him barely any time to get the Plan B and condoms, though he had stumbled his way through Italian to get the Plan B before just pulling up a picture of it.
“Darling?” He calls when he gets back. “Kitchen.” She calls back, a hint of sleep still in her voice. With the bag hanging from his finger, he walks to the kitchen. “I got you plan b and condoms for me, just in case.” “No, just in case. I’d like a repeat.” He grins at her, setting the bag on the counter. “Yeah?” She nods, bottom lip between her teeth. “Yeah.” Bending, he captures her lips in a quick kiss, humming.
“Want to do brownies for breakfast?” His eyes widen and they dart to the counter. “I completely forgot you even made those!” “I’ll take that a yes?” “Please!”
Cutting him a piece and then one of herself, she puts them on a plate as Ollie gets them both something to drink before they both go to the living room and sit on the couch.
“These are so good.” He mumbles, catching a crumb before it can fall. “You say that everytime.” “Because it’s true! These are really good.” Her brownie was a good bit smaller than his so as soon as she finishes her, she’s standing up and retrieving something from her suitcase, ignoring him asking where she’s going.
Sitting back down, she places a box in his lap.
“What is this?” He asks, setting the plate on the coffee table, only a few crumbs on it. “I bought it for you a while ago and have been carrying it around since, just wasn’t sure when exactly I’d give it to you.” He looks at her intrigued, before looking back at the box and carefully opening it.
Ollie’s brows furrow at the thin chain that rests inside. It was nice, very nice, though not by a brand that he recognized. It was also a weird gift considering he didn’t wear necklaces, though if he was going to wear one, it would be this one.
“What’s it for?” He asks. “I, uh,” she stutters a bit over her words, playing her ring before carefully pulling it off, flexing her fingers at the odd sensation of it not being there. “It’s for this.” And she drops the ring she’s worn since she was eleven into his palm. “But this is yours.” “And I can’t wear it anymore.” She tells him. “I intended to wait longer to have sex, but I don’t regret last night and I won’t regret anything we do in the future. It’s yours now and I kind of liked the idea of you carrying it with you wherever you go.” He stares at the ring, tries to ignore the pulse of want and smugness, because he got to have her first and he was fairly certain he’d be her only and last.
Lifting the chain out of the box, he carefully unclasps it, threading the ring on, before clasping it around his neck, the ring resting just below the hollow of his neck, easily hidden behind any shirt he wears if he has it tucked in.
Turning his neck, the sensation of something there is odd and he says that. “It’ll take some getting used to, but I like it.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.”
It doesn’t take him long to get used to the necklace and he practically never takes it off, only in the shower or when doing certain training sessions and it hasn't happened yet but when he has to get into the F1 car and then his F2 car, he’ll be taking it off then as well.
No one really notices his new accessory, he’s not doing much on social media, his mum and dad had asked him about it and he had flushed but just said that it was something she had gotten for him and lucky they didn’t press for more. It gives a false sense of security that comes crashing down in Mexico.
He’s on a bit of a high for doing his first free practice and not placing dead last even though it’s only free practice and placing doesn’t really matter. He’s out of his race suit, having been able to not shower but wipe himself down with a damp towel before getting back into the Haas polo and jumping in to do more media. And as he does some interviews he doesn’t notice the way her ring that’s kept underneath his shirt is on full display.
But it does come to his attention when he finally gets his phone and sees so many mentions and a strange text full of exclamation marks that has him quickly hitting the call button.
“Is everything okay? I got a weird text from you.” “Ollie.” “What’s wrong?” He’s about to exit the Haas hospitality, he could be at Red Bull’s in about a minute at the strained sound of her voice. “My ring, everyone saw my ring.” His eyes widen and he’s cursing. “Oh no.” “Yeah.” “And they all know.” “Yeah.” She confirms again. “Because Max had to make it clear what the ring was.” She laughs, but it’s clear that she’s on the verge of tears, her voice tight. The sound has him wanting to wrap in his arms, shield her away, but it also has him confused. She never cared about what fans thought of her. She was very much like her brother in that matter. It was all water off a duck’s back. “What’s wrong, darling?” He asks, dropping his voice as someone looks at him weirdly. “I just, Max hadn’t noticed, no one has really. And I don’t regret it Ollie, but that was a promise I made to Max, to save myself.” The last three words come out as a whisper. “And now he’s going to find out because the whole of F1 twitter is talking about it. I should’ve told him.” “It’ll be okay.” He reassures her, but now the realization has hit that he’s going to have deal with Max and not just Max, but Daniel and Charles and fucking Arthur, which is a bit insulting because it’s Arthur of all people, but the Leclerc’s liked her a lot, Charles liked to argue with Max that she was actually their younger sister and not Max’s, which lead to a headache of bickering between the two drivers.
“Can I come to you?” He looks down at his watch even though he knows that he doesn’t have any more interviews, just needs to stay to watch the last session play out since he already did his debriefing as well. “Yeah, do you want me to walk you over?” “No, I’ll be there in a second.”
Meeting her at the doors of the hospitality, he quickly ushers her in before leading her to a back corner, the both of them sinking to the floor, somewhat hidden from view by a couch.
“You alright?” “Yeah.” She breathes, pressing close to him. “I just should’ve said something to Max. I just didn’t want to say anything y’know?” And he can feel her nose wrinkle at the idea and his does the same. Because yeah it was a bit gross to think about telling your sibling that you’ve had sex just so they won’t be blindsided by the media. “He’s gonna hate me again.” She doesn’t say anything and he groans, throwing his head back against the wall. “I just made some progress with him.” “I know, bear.” She murmurs, kissing his cheek. “I could put it back on? Say that I gave it to you as a good luck charm.”
It’s a good idea, a perfect solution for their problem, but it’s clear that she doesn’t like the idea and he doesn’t like the idea either. He’s grown used to the small weight of the ring resting below the hollow of his throat and he’s not fond of the idea of seeing a ring that’s not his on her ring finger again.
“Maybe I should propose.” She jerks away from him like she’s been burned. “Fuck, that’s not what I meant.” He quickly says. “I just I don’t want to give it back. I don't want to see you wearing it again and I just,” he waves his hands around. “My brain was running. I’m sorry.” Her eyes are focused on his and she slowly presses back into him, though she keeps her head pulled back so they can look at each other. “Is that something you really want in the future? To be married to me?” “One hundred percent.” She blinks at the quick response, a smile starting to bloom on her face. “Not now, just because I don’t want to rely on nothing but sponsors and my dad for money, but maybe once I got an F1 seat and then got a contract extension or new seat. I’d have money to help support us, to buy you a nice ring, house.” He hopes that she can’t tell how much he’s thought about this, how much he’s rambled to both Jak and Fred about this even though if either of them got the chance they’d happily rat him out for being such a preteen girl, and he just knows that Jak told Fred what that means. “I want that too.”
Ollie wonders if him intending on marrying her, on putting a ring on her finger will lessen the brunt of anger he’s sure to receive and it doesn’t.
“You defiled my sister!” The eighteen years old both make a face at the Dutch man’s words. “No one defiled anyone.” Max ignores her, glaring at the British driver. “You touched her.” Ollie nearly reaches out for her hand, but keeps his hands to himself, as he gives a tiny nod. “Max, it’s alright. I wanted it.” Max and Daniel both make a face at her words. “Ew. You shouldn’t even know what it is.” “Well, Max kind of ruined that for me when I was eleven.” She snarks and her brother flushes. “Which is why I gave you the ring! You were supposed to save yourself for marriage! Keep yourself away from boys like Ollie!” “What’s wrong with me?” He asks, offended. “You’re a teenager.” Daniel tells him with a shrug. “And you’ve got a dick. That’s all it really takes.”
“What happened to waiting?” Max asks, voice a little quieter as he looks at her. “Max,” she starts and then includes the Alpha Tauri driver who’s inched closer. “Daniel. I thought I was going to wait for marriage, or at least a few more years, but Ollie,” she pauses, feeling blood rush to her cheeks. “Ollie feels like the one.” She reaches out for his hand, intertwining their fingers. “And even if he isn’t, I won’t regret what we did.”
The two older men stare at her, at them. One who can remember holding her just hours after she was born, and the other who got to know her shortly after Max’s fuck up when she was eleven. Both her brothers, one just a bit longer than the other.
Max swallows harshly, the full realization hitting him that his baby sister isn’t a baby anymore. She’s an adult and he’s never really had the right to get mad at her for things she does but he really doesn’t now. He can feel Daniel standing behind him, and knows that the older man will go with him whatever way he chooses.
Stepping forward, he pulls her into a hug and wonders where the time has gone. “As long as you don’t regret it, yeah?” She hugs him back tighter, tension in her shoulders loosening at his acceptance. “Yeah. Love you, Maxy.” He laughs, a quiet thing. “Love you too.”
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@arshiyuh @mangotaitai @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @copper-boom @topguncultleader @iloveyou3000morgan @benstormy
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thatsdemko · 2 months
Text
don’t go - c.leclerc
masterlist | pairing: Charles Leclerc x gasly!reader
summary: a bad date leads you to a certain asshole in your brothers living room…
warnings: NOT intended for minors(18+) + oral (m receiving) + angst + slightly unedited (potential grammatical errors)
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it didn’t have to be so hard to have one successful date, but somehow in the country of Monaco, it was damn near impossible without having to hear some sort of brag about fancy cars and formula one drivers. which funny enough, all of that is what you wanted an escape from. having a brother in the Motorsport meant your whole life revolved around it, and all you wanted was evening where you didn’t have to talk about cars.
“I’m so sorry,” kika softly mutters, her fingers dragging through your hair as you lay your head in her lap, “he sounds like such an asshole.”
you sit up from her lap, taking in the three who sat and listened to your horrific date night: Pierre, your brother—who looks about ready to beat someone up—, kika, who instantly wrapped her arms around you when your stormed in, and Charles. the Ferrari driver who sat silently listening.
“he wasn’t though. he just didn’t need to bring up max verstappen.” you say, the name feeling foreign against your lips. looking across the room, you lock eyes with Charles who shifts rather uncomfortably in his seat, “maybe dating in Monaco is a bad idea.” he suggests.
Pierre barks out a laugh, “and what? just move solely for the men? that’s ridiculous.”
Charles replies with the shrug of his shoulders, “Monaco is all about cars and racing drivers. I’m sorry, y/n, you should expect that.”
“what you should expect is not everyone to want to be involved in this silly little sport, Charles. Monaco doesn’t have to always be about cars and your sport.” kika huffs out rather annoyed at how the conversation has shifted. you would be too, if you weren’t already annoyed about other things— ie: your date.
“he’s being overly dramatic, y/n,” Pierre hisses, his eyes volleying back and forth between his friend and you, “ignore him.”
Charles rolls his eyes mumbling words under his breath no one can make out. the conversation shifted back to you, your brother and his girlfriend consoling you while Charles sits in the corner bored. he’d come over due to Pierre’s invite for dinner, but what he didn’t expect to see was you.
for months you and Charles snuck around sleeping together until one day Charles started publicly dating. you were heartbroken, truly, but you could never show or say why and who had done it to you. the evidence was right under their noses, they just never took the time to look.
“I’m not being overly dramatic,” Charles says rolling his eyes, “I’m being reasonable. I’m sure there are men in Milan for you.”
“what’s up your ass today? seriously, just because she broke up with you doesn’t mean you have to take it out on y/n.”
a smile threatens to tug against your lips. it takes everything in you to turn away from Charles so he doesn’t see your reaction, but he can tell by the crinkles by your eyes. you’re finding this humorous.
“I didn’t come here to get chewed out.”
“well neither did I.” you turn your head back in his direction, eyes sinking in on him, he finds himself back in the uncomfortable gaze.
he hates how intense and blue your eyes get when you narrow in on someone. those ocean blue eyes you have carry a heavy amount of emotion without even having to bat an eyelash.
“let’s just have some more wine.” kika offers rising up off the couch and breaking the growing tension in the room.
“that sounds fine to me.”
the night air of Monaco whips your hair around off your shoulders. standing outside, you needed air from Charles and the tension, but it’s seemed to follow you despite your attempts.
“you know, I didn’t mean to behave the way I did,” he starts, closing the gap between you two, standing beside you, “you should be allowed to date someone who knows nothing about max verstappen or even me.”
“but you’re right,” you say. shifting your gaze from the cars that drive the twist and turns of Monaco, you look up at him and into his chocolate brown eyes, “I should expect that here. Monaco is full of drivers and driver wannabes.”
he snorts replaying the words ‘driver wannabes’ in his head, he remembers the days where he was one of those wannabes. time flew for him, and looking at you is the indication of that for him sometimes. your beauty flourished with age, and only seemed to take his full attention more and more as you grew up, and he wished maybe you weren’t trying to avoid the racing scene because he knows you’d be a great couple.
“don’t move to Milan,” he says moving an inch closer, arms brushing against one another. the action is just enough to erupt butterflies in your stomach, “what would I do without you here?” his face inches closer to yours, and he doesn’t realize he’s doing it but his eyes close and his lips softly land agains yours.
pulling away, you wrap your fingers around the curls in his hair and pull him closer to your body, “tell me, what would you do?” you ask, fingers trailing down the length of his body before undoing the button of his jeans, “would you be doing this?” you yank the zipper, take your fingers against the waistband and sink down to the cement while pulling his jeans to his ankles.
“n-no.” he hesitates, eyes flickering over the light inside the apartment for a brief second, but his thoughts vanish feeling your fingers gently graze his cock.
“fuck, y/n.” he whimpers and it’s pathetic but boosts your ego as your lips wrap around his tip.
his body shivers, knees stiff in place feeling your tongue swivel, lips suck him, and teeth gnaw him. how could he ever have thought someone else could do this to him? how could he ever imagine another woman when you’re on your brothers balcony sucking him off.
your nails dug deep into the skin of his hips, you feel him buckle, hips jutting outward. you can’t hear much of him, ears too red at the tips you only hear the sound of the blood rushing, but you know Charles. you know his weakness is you on your knees in front of him.
coming was quick— as he hadn’t been touched in ages like that— it was almost embarrassing for him, but you don’t mind. dusting yourself off, you take the glass of red wine that was sitting on the ledge of the balcony and watch Charles collect himself back to normal, “maybe I won’t go. you’ll miss me too much.” you press a kiss to his cheek before heading inside to find a movie playing.
“what are we watching?” you ask sinking into the cushion beside your big brother.
Charles rejoins, taking a seat beside kika, far enough distance between you. if that was how you were going to play him, like nothing happened, he could do that too.
tags: @monzabee @lovelytsunoda @burberryfilms @imsorare @leclerc13 @smoothopz @lunnnix (sorry I didn’t tag everyone if you want to be tagged in future posts please let me know!)
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wileys-russo · 4 months
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ooo, how about a bf alexia fic or blurb where they go out to celebrate a win and reader's just making small talk with a stranger while alexia's off somewhere else and then alexia just shows up at your side and quietly asserts that she's there and your hers. and after the stranger leaves, she gets all touchy and pouty because she just wants the readers attention
sixth sense II a.putellas
you smiled seeing alexia being pulled away to dance by jenni and laia very much so against her will, watching her head of pink hair dissapear into the crowd as you excused yourself from your conversation with alba and a few of the other girls to get another drink.
the small bar in sydney was packed out, spaniards, catalans and australians all dancing and cheering and celebrating spains world cup victory just two days prior.
it was the final night before the team flew back to spain for their welcome home ceremony and after a big group dinner with family and friends the majority of the team had moved on, eager to spend the final night they could celebrating in the foreign country.
you waited patiently for your turn, the poor barkeepers run off their feet by the very busy night, drumming your fingers against the wooden top of the bar, somewhat lost in your own world.
"so, family or friend?" you looked up hearing someone speak near you, meeting the amused eyes of a tall dark haired woman with a thick australian accent. "sorry?" you questioned with a surprised frown, unsure if you'd heard her correctly.
"you don't strike me as a footballer, you're not from around here because i'd have remembered your face and half of spain is in here right now. so, family or friend of the team?" the woman grinned, making a gesture toward the bartender who nodded and held up two fingers.
"are all australians so forward?" you laughed, a little taken aback by the womans reading of you. "only those who run and own bars." the woman grinned, the bartender dropping two drinks beside you as she grabbed one, holding it up and motioning you do the same.
"you own this?" you asked with wide eyes as she shrugged. "co-own if you ask the right person. like i said, i don't forget a face and i haven't seen most of them in here tonight before!" the woman grinned, again motioning you to pick up the drink beside you.
"to australia losing their home world cup and spain winning their first!" she cheered making you laugh again, clinking your glass against hers, not even entirely sure what you were about to drink but a little too tipsy already to think much of it.
alexia's friends would often tease she had a sixth sense and that it centered entirely around you, like a spidey sense but reserved for her girlfriend.
cold? she was offering you her jacket before you'd even shivered once. hungry? she'd already ordered extra food despite you saying you didn't want anything. stressed? your favourite movie was loaded and her arms were open and ready for you to take refuge in them.
which is why a strange sense settled over her on the dancefloor and alexia looked around, suddenly realising she couldn't see you anywhere as her brows furrowed. she ignored the teasing remarks from her team mates as she broke free from the pack of dancing bodies, her sister pointing her toward the bar where you'd wandered off to get a new drink.
alexia's jaw clenched as her eyes finally sought you out, laughing and speaking with a stranger who was a little too close to you for the spanish captains comfort.
you broke your attention away from your conversation feeling something settle around your neck, glancing down you saw your girlfriends world cup medal dangling by your chest.
her arm was next, toned and tanned it wrapped around your neck from behind and settled across your collar bones pulling your body into hers as she leaned across the bar, waving over the bartender and ordering a drink.
"hola mi vida." she murmured, kissing your cheek and trying to wave the bartender back over to pay, each subtle touch of hers screaming that you were taken.
her possesive nature was not lost on you or your new friend it seemed who smiled in amusement at the tall womans refusal to even acknowledge her, seeming as if she was unbothered though her body language said the complete opposite.
"not quite family and more than a friend then. enjoy the rest of your trip, on me!" the woman whose name you never even got smiled kindly, clinking her drink against alexia's who finally looked up and over toward her, too late now as the blonde melted away into the crowd.
"who was that?" your girlfriend asked with a frown, hold on you tightening as you managed to turn around and face her. "i never caught her name, she owns this though." you gestured around you as alexia hummed, sipping on her drink.
"you left me alone on the dance floor hermosa." the midfielder pouted making you smile. "you had plenty of people to dance with ale." you laughed, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"none of them are you though." she smiled charmingly as you sipped your drink with a small shake of your head. "you know she was just a stranger, si? i didn't even get her name, i did not want to." you assured, gently squeezing her bicep still seeing a far off look in her eyes you knew too well.
"she was a little too close to you mi amor. just because you did not want her name did not mean she did not want yours." alexia warned, pout yet again forming on her lips as a slight veil of jealously clouded her features.
"i think you made it very well known i was taken bonita." you smiled, toying with the medal around your neck as alexia shrugged innocently.
"it was just heavy princesa, it was your turn to wear it." the pink haired woman dismissed with a flirty grin as you playfully shoved her shoulder and she guided you back to the group, hand securely on the small of your back.
cheers greeted the two of you as you returned, alexia's attention immediately commanded again by her team mates who once more tried to twirl her off for a dance. but the catalan woman brushed them all off with ease, taking her seat and pulling you to sit on her lap before you could take yours.
alba's teasing not lost on your ears you smiled knowingly as your girlfriend became increasingly touchy, clearly a response to your attention being granted to someone else that evening if platonic or not.
"alexia!" you laughed as you reached for your drink, only for her hand to shoot out and grab it for you, moving it toward your mouth. "just looking after you mi corazón." she pouted, amusement clear in both of your eyes as yours rolled but you gave in, allowing her to bring the glass to your lips as the teasing remarks around you escalated.
for the rest of the night there wasn't a single moment that at least a few inches of your skin weren't touching alexia's, a moody pout or a kiss behind your ear from her all it took for you to deny someones offer to join them on the dance floor.
"ale, baby i have to pee." you chuckled as you tried to get up but she tugged you back down, arms circling your waist. "okay, i come with you." the girl decided as you stood and pushed her back down.
"i will be five minutes top mi amor. stay here with everyone!" you laughed, though of course she didn't listen, linking her hand with yours and nodding for you to walk.
"clingy." you teased as the door swung shut on the two of you. "do you want to hold my hand while i use the toilet too?" you mocked, your girlfriend shaking her head and dropping your hand, shooing for you to hurry up.
but before you could even step into the cubicle suddenly she'd grabbed you again, pulling you into a feverish kiss sending your head spinning before she was pushing you back toward the toilet with a happy grin on her face.
"hurry princessa, my hand is getting heavy and i need you to hold it."
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