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tender-rosiey · 3 months

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“OUR LOVE SHALL LIVE, AND LATER LIFE RENEW”

— domestic family moments with gojo, geto, nanami, toji and sukuna (f!reader)

a/n: i was on vacation my babes; my apologies </3 hope you yall enjoy this

GOJO SATORU:

it is no secret that your husband thrives off physical affection, so it surprises no one when he is latched onto you like a koala to a tree, especially at home.

the past couple of days were filled with more missions than gojo would’ve preferred, so to make up for lost time, he spent the entirety of last night cuddling you.

that cuddling session continued to the morning, and satoru couldn’t have been happier.

you, fast asleep and looking oh so pretty, and him, happily burying his face in your chest: the perfect combo.

your husband, however, failed to remember that there is somebody else who would fight day and night for your affection.

that someone comes in the shape of his grumpy little son who is currently standing at the door with a stance that is supposed to be intimidating.

the little boy pouts and is about to yell when satoru—reluctantly—detaches himself from you and stares at him.

“what do you want, s/n?”

your son makes his way to the bed and climbs it up with much struggle, but it doesn’t matter to him since he is satisfied he is finally face to face with his dad.

he crosses his arms and huffs, “I want to cuddle with mom.”

satoru quirks an eyebrow, and his fingers slowly card through your hair. your husband replies with a smirk, “well, I want to cuddle with her too. I miss her!”

“dad, don’t be mean!” your son argues, “you had her yesterday!”

satoru shrugs and lies back down, and you cuddle into his side.

he can’t help himself as he presses a kiss to your head first then looks at s/n, pleadingly, “but I was working a lot this past week; can’t you let me have her just a bit more?”

your son ponders a bit, before settling on a solution that should satisfy both ends. satoru has been away for quite the while lately.

so, s/n simply throws himself on satoru’s chest, making the older man groan. the boy buries his face into his dad’s chest and guides his hand into his hair.

satoru smiles, hand immediately getting to work, patting his son’s head. he sighs blissfully, “you really are my son.”

s/n nods slowly, and he starts drifting off to sleep. satoru is thankful that he closed the curtains yesterday and that he is granted another chance to sleep in with you and his son.

s/n murmurs a soft, “love you, dada.”

it makes satoru’s heart nearly burst as he looks at his son. he immediately replies softly, “I love you too, buddy.”

s/n slowly replies, “you better,” before falling asleep. your husband gently pulls you closer and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

satoru whispers a soft, “thank you.”

he starts rubbing your shoulder comfortingly and leaning his head more towards your own. it is a few moments that pass before he asks, “also babe, are you seriously still asleep?”

“no, I am awake, you silly buffon; you two have never heard of inside voices.”

GETO SUGURU:

the slow creak of the door signals to everybody in the house the arrival of suguru, long before his voice does. little hurried steps rush down the stairs as your husband takes off his shoes.

he looks up with a smile and chirps, “I am home!”

“daddy!” your two girls squeal as they tackle their dad in a big hug. he quickly hugs them back and picks them both up.

they each press a kiss to his cheek, and he returns them tenfold causing them to squeal yet again.

he finally relents before asking them, as he gently twirls around, “how are my pretty girls doing?”

the little girls look at each other then smirk. they both yank out the papers they kept hidden in their pockets before saying simultaneously, “we made drawings!”

suguru face noticeably lights up, and he coos, “these are so pretty! are those supposed to be us?”

the girls nod excitedly, and they each start explaining the details of their own respective drawings.

he listens to both of them intently then asks, “you made sure to make mommy extra pretty, so it can actually look like her, right?”

“yes yes!”

“mommy is the prettiest!”

“I gave her flowers!”

“daddy, daddy, I gave her flowers and a dress!”

your husband laughs lightly, “well, that’s good; both of your drawings are amazing,” he looks around.

with a confused tilt of his head, he looks down at his girls, “speaking of which, where is your mama?”

the girls yell out, “follow us!” then sprint towards where they last saw you, the living room. he quickly makes his way towards you, and he feels his heart soar when he finally sees you.

you see him in the corner of your eye, and as you turn to greet him, your girls throw themselves at you and squeal, “we missed you!”

“you girls just saw me 5 minutes ago!” you chuckle but, nonetheless, hug them back and pepper their faces with kisses.

you hear your husband huff before he picks up the girls by their shirts making them scream and thrash about.

“daddy, put us down!”

“mama, help!”

he throws them both on the fluffy beanbag and pulls you into a hug, “how’s my favorite girl?”

you giggle as he presses soft kisses across your face. his arms wrap around your waist and he squeezes you a little.

you hug him back and gently pat his back, “are you playing favorites, suguru?”

“very much so.”

you hear gasps from your dramatic girls, and you see each one of them arming herself.

your husband purposely ignores them and buries his face into the crook of your neck. you mumble to him, “you are going to get jumped.”

“I know.”

your eyes flit to the girls then to your husband again, “they seem really angry.”

“I know, but at least I am hugging you.”

you quirk an eyebrow, “you okay dying as long as I am hugging you?”

“that’s like the best way to die, love.”

your girls let out a battle cry.

“daddy, you meanie!”

“suffer!”

NANAMI KENTO:

your husband groans, and his hand rises to see what the weight on his chest is. his hand finds a head and a bed of hair that he is all too familiar with.

he slowly opens his eyes and sees your dear daughter laying soundly asleep on him.

a small smile appears on his face, and he lets out a small sigh of both content and relief. he turns his head slightly towards the nightstand and reaches for the alarm.

it reads eleven in the morning, which kento deems the proper time to finally wake up.

so, he looks back at d/n then at you. he remembers how hard you’ve been working the past few days and decides that leaving you to rest a bit more today.

he also decides to prepare breakfast for you but not without his little helper. he pats her head gently and tries to wake her up, “d/n.”

she doesn’t respond, so he calls out again, “d/n.”

she groans and buries her face deeper into his chest. he lets out a small chuckle then rubs her back and says, “come on; we have to make breakfast for mom.”

“but I am tired,” she argues, voice muffled.

“well, mama is tired too, so we need to be nice and make her breakfast. don’t you think so?”

she groans, “yes, but…”

“d/n?” he urges.

the little girl huffs and pushes herself up and looks her dad directly in the eyes—albeit her eyes are squinty and barely open.

it makes him think that she is going to huff then get up to wash her face, but she simply pushes herself off him so she can land in your embrace.

your arms wrap instinctively around her, and she immediately nuzzles into your chest. he stares at the two of you for a bit, rather dumb-founded. then his expression turns into one of fondness.

he turns his entire body towards you.

he is finally face to face with you, and he puts his arm around you to pull you closer. he hears his daughter’s whines and complains about how he is crushing her, but he only smiles.

he looks down at her and hums, “there is plenty of space on the other side of the bed, if you don’t like laying between us.”

she quickly backtracks, “no, no, no; I will stay.”

he nods before looking at you again. he presses a kiss to your forehead and feels his body relax. he murmurs, “just five more minutes, and nothing more.”

your daughter pouts, “not even ten?”

“not even ten,” he says, kissing her cheek, “but I will make it up to you by making pancakes; what do you think?”

she nods happily and mumbles, “we will make the best breakfast.”

“yeah,” he murmurs, joining you in your slumber.

you end up waking up before him but can’t escape your husband’s solid grip. you even look down to see your little angel—maybe—giggling and squealing, happy that you’re finally awake.

of course, it wakes up your husband. but oh well.

TOJI FUSHIGURO:

“stop being a brat and get me the flour.”

“stop being rude first then I will get it for you.”

“what part of what I said was rude, you—”

that’s how it has been for the past hour. toji and megumi had decided to put their differences aside to surprise you with something: breakfast in bed.

it’s quite simple.

they were supposed to make some sausages, eggs, pancakes, and everything they could find really. they wanted to make it a five-star breakfast.

despite their constant bickering, they managed to finish everything, save for the pancakes. it was finally getting closer to the—usual—time of you waking up, so toji was on edge.

he wanted to at least do this correctly.

he thinks of it as a little something to start repaying you for everything you gave him—which he thinks is impossible to actually repay but oh well.

he moves around the kitchen rather clumsily, partially because of his size and partially because of his absence in the kitchen, for good reason, though, megumi would argue.

“dad, the sausages are burnt.”

“shut up.”

“mom likes her eggs a little bit runny.”

“I know.”

with furrowed eyebrows, toji finally gets to mixing the batter. he hears megumi call out, “dad.”

he is a little irked, to be honest, but he responds anyway, “what do you want now?”

“is…”

toji immediately notes the shift in his son’s tone, causing him to give megumi his full attention.

the little boy fidgets with his shirt a little before speaking up, “is there a chance that mom would disappear?”

your husband looks down at the still batter in the bowl. he sighs. it’s a question that he thinks about, at least every week. this haven that he managed to be a part of, is it really permanent?

he has been unlucky all his life, and things are going way too well nowadays. is that the universe’s way of preparing him for the biggest scar of his life?

taking you away?

he closes his eyes for a brief moment, and he finds his hand resting on the top of his son’s head. the little boy’s eyes widen, and he looks up at his dad.

toji frowns slightly and looks away, gently ruffling megumi’s hair and finally saying, “no…I will make sure of that.”

toji locks eyes with megumi, and the two can tell that it’s a silent promise. the boy blushes a little red, embarrassed at the unusual display of affection by his father.

his father grumbles and goes back to making the pancakes.

“my oh my, never thought I would be lucky enough to see you in a kitchen apron,” you tease from the doorway.

megumi instantly runs to the door at the sound of your voice. your son hugs you tightly, mumbling a small, “good morning.”

“you ruined the surprise,” your husband complains as you walk towards him.

you press a kiss to his cheek, which he immediately reciprocates, “I am already plenty surprised.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

a giggle leaves your lips as your daughter carefully climbs her father and perches herself on his shoulders. it is amazing how much sukuna lets you and your daughter get away with.

some would argue that your husband has, overall, mellowed down, but then they would get sliced down instantly.

he is still the big, feared king of curses, and people cower in his presence now more than ever, but those—uraume and the servants—who see him with you two can see the difference, even if it is slight.

that can be evident right now considering your husband who is deliberately ignoring your little girl’s antics.

your girl takes it as the okay to what she is doing, so she continues her quiet laughter as she gently starts placing flowers from the basket on his hair.

feeling the movement, your husband groans then looks at you, “what is that brat doing?”

she spreads the flowers out a bit, so they can fill his hair, meanwhile your husband’s annoyance rises.

the assortment of flowers that she placed actually matches well with his hair, and you feel the need to commend her, “you’re doing amazing, d/n!”

she grins as you sit in front of your husband. you look at your little artist doing her thing then smile, “she is making you pretty.”

he scrunches his nose, “by putting flowers on me? I ought to teach her a lesson.”

one of his hands reach for her, and he grabs her by the back of her shirt. she starts squealing and kicking, “daddy, I was almost done!”

he dangles her in front of his face and frowns, “who gave you permission to put that stuff on my hair? who do you think you’re dealing with?”

her face softens, and she mumbles softly, “you’re my dad…”

you coo at her but are quickly silenced when sukuna pulls you to him and nestles you in his lap. he keeps glaring at your daughter—who is trying her best not to cry because he said that it’s for the weak—then he sighs.

he lets go of her, and she screams, flailing her arms around. however, she safely falls in your arms. she whimpers slightly and buries her face in your shoulder.

your husband looks down at her small form in your arms and slowly raises his hand and puts it on her head.

“good on you for not crying,” he lightly ruffles her hair, and your daughter slowly looks up at him, wide-eyed.

he grumbles and looks away, “don’t look at me like that.”

“you love me!” she squeals, and he simply grunts in return.

she quickly gets off your lap and goes to run around the garden. your little girl starts screaming about how her dad praised her, and you feel a grin slowly rise on your face.

but, you suddenly feel your husband’s head lower down and his lips brush against your ears slightly.

you can even hear the smirk in his voice as he says, “looks like you want another one.”

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do not copy or plagiarize or I will make my cousins jump you

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kyletogaz · 3 months

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poly!141 x plus-sized fem!reader

idk i was delirious when i wrote this, it’s terrible.

was thinking about therapist!reader who’s sleeping with four of her favorite patients, consequences be damned. :(

yes, you’re getting your back blown out by the boys. they don’t even know you’re sucking & fucking all four of them. and why would they??

the only person who needs to know the connection is you. the 141 does not discuss their therapy sessions with each other. it’s always, “how did therapy go?”

“it was shit.” of course it was kyle. he barely payed attention. he’s either staring at your tits or trying to catch a glimpse of your panties when you wear skirts.

they’ll get a gruff, “the usual,” from john and nothing more.

johnny, kyle, and john are lucky if they even get a grunt out of simon. he’s tight-lipped about his therapy sessions.

they’re all amused when they get a scowl from johnny, which is followed by an, “if i have tae talk about mah feelings one more time.”

they do know that they’ve been getting their dicks wet a lot lately, but not from each other (it makes johnny sad that he hasn’t sucked simon off or had kyle bouncing on his cock in a while).

johnny and kyle brag about you giving them the best and the sloppiest head every time they see you. simon likes to talk about how he always has you face down with your ass up, teary-eyed, and clawing at the sheets while he fucks you into oblivion. john tells stories about how you milk him dry whenever he makes you ride his cock. it’s a miracle none of them have run into each other while you were around.

but then simon asks you if you would join him for lunch. you like him a lot, more than you probably should, because there’s kyle, john, and johnny who you also like. it all comes to a head one day when you finally accept simon’s invitation. you almost have a damn heart attack when you spot him sitting at a table with johnny, kyle, and john.

shit.

since they haven’t spotted you yet, you think about making a run for it. as much as you hate lying, you’ll have to come up with some believable excuse for missing lunch. simon would understand, wouldn’t he? you’re already close to booking it, when a woman and her girlfriends kindly ask you to stop blocking the damn door. the moment you apologize and step aside to let them out, four sets of eyes are on you immediately, making you freeze.

it isn’t until johnny and simon are both saying your name in unison that it starts to register. they look at each other, then to john and kyle who are both staring at you like a lion eyeing its prey. you walk to the table, feeling anxious, like you’re being led to your death while you listen to them yap about how you’ve been fucking the whole task force this entire time.

the urge to run is getting stronger by the minute, but you ignore it and thank kyle for pulling out a chair for you instead. you sit between him and johnny, not even bothering to make eye contact with any of them. you’re too busy trying to figure out how the hell you were going to explain yourself.

the silence that follows is deafening. you stare at the table, while they stare at you. it’s kyle and simon who break first. they start laughing at the absurdity of it all, with kyle gasping out, “we’ve been sharing the same bird!”

you glare at him, before saying, “well none of you were supposed to find out.” you don’t find your situation funny at all. when you had arrived, you thought you’d only see simon sitting at the table, and not his entire team who fucks you six ways to sunday on a daily basis.

“are ye sayin’ ye knew we were on the same task force?” johnny asks. he’s eyeing you in disbelief, while his dick is getting hard at the thought of his bonnie girl fucking his team.

of course you knew. you’d received the task force’s files together in one big folder. when you started fucking them, you made sure their appointments weren’t on the same day, and that they never overlapped. “at the time, i was taking the necessary steps to keep any of you from finding out about each other.”

your eyes cut to john as he leans back in his seat, while stroking his beard with the same fingers he’d stuffed in your pussy the night before. he wore a thoughtful expression on his face. “how long did you think you could keep this up, dove?”

all you can do is shrug and say, “hell if i know.”

you eye john warily when he laughs. there’s no trace of humor in it. (he was definitely calling you a deceitful little minx in his head) you’re not given much time to dwell on it though, because kyle’s hand is squeezing your thigh. you’re not sure if he’s offering you comfort, or if he’s issuing a warning.

“didnae think it through did ye, hen?” johnny asks cooly, his pretty blue eyes full of mirth.

you don’t answer him. your eyes are on simon who’s watching you like a hawk, as he always does. this time though, it makes you feel a little guilty. but before it can fester, it vanishes completely. why should you feel guilty for getting dick from four different men every day of the week?

you deserve to have some fun. you can’t be a workaholic all the time.

you open your mouth to speak, but your waitress beats you to it when she stops by the table to take the group’s orders. you’re feeling grateful for it. the hell were you even supposed to say to them? no i didn’t think it through, the only thing on my mind was sex.

while the sex part was true, you really did like the entire task force. it’s not your fault your heart resides in your pussy :(

you relax a little when the spotlight isn’t shining on you anymore. everyone’s enjoying their lunch. the conversation is light and the food is good. you’ve had to smack johnny’s hand away from your plate several times already because he insists on stealing off your plate.

“let her eat in peace, johnny.”

johnny pouts at simon, but backs off. the waitress had taken his order after yours. john tells him that he should have just ordered the same thing you did. but none of them are even surprised when you cave and offer johnny some of your food in exchange for his. their chatter starts back up and john and simon are discussing something that you’re having a hard time keeping track of, because kyle’s hand is back on your thigh.

“you really weren’t going to tell us?” he asks in a low murmur, only made for you to hear.

“n-no,” you stutter, sounding a little breathless when he caresses your inner thigh. you slip a hand under the table to remove his, but he won’t budge. “we’re out in public, move your hand.”

kyle refuses and he tells you just as much while he rubs at your mound. your eyes then cut to johnny for help, but he’s ignoring both of you. he’s eating and happily yapping.

“don’t look at johnny, he can’t help you.”

you whimper softly when he slips a hand under your skirt and rubs your clit through your panties. the friction has you moaning loud enough for everyone at the table to hear. simon snorts when he sees your facial expression and kyle’s grin. johnny doesn’t even bother hiding his amusement when he looks down in your lap. john just sighs and gives kyle a stern look, before telling him to release you. his eyes dance with laughter at your whining when the hand holding you hostage finally retreats from between your plush thighs. you actually consider stabbing kyle with your fork when he coos at you mockingly and tells you not to pout. i’ll play with that fat pussy later, baby, i promise.

you don’t say another word until the plates are cleared and john is asking for the check.

“so what now?” you ask casually. no one says anything because they’re waiting for you to continue, but you don’t.

it’s simon who speaks first. “you giving us an out, dove?”

you nod.

“how sweet of you, but what makes you think we’ll ever let you go?” john asks patiently, waiting for you to come to your own conclusion.

it’s not hard at all. the way all four of them are staring at you makes tremble a little. what the hell have you gotten yourself into? “are you saying—but i’m not dating any of you!”

“is that so?” kyle chuckles.

“sweetheart you became ours the second you spread your legs and offered your cunt to us,” simon tells you. he says it with an air of finality, as if he dares you to disagree.

you couldn’t object when you’re the one who started all of this in the first place, knowing there are rules against fraternizing with your patients. morals and ethics went out of the window the day you let john bend you over your desk, and when you let kyle bury his tongue in your pussy in the couch your patients frequent. you didn’t have a care in the world when you buried your face in johnny’s lap and took his leaking cock down your throat, or when simon made you ride him while he sat in your chair. then there are the nights when they have you pressed into the mattress as they take their time worshiping every inch of your body, reveling in the sweet little whines and moans tumbling from those soft lips of yours.

there was no going back for you.

john pays the bill and leaves a tip for the waitress, while kyle and johnny leads you out the doors of the restaurant. when you step outside, johnny drapes an arm over your shoulder and tugs you into his side. he presses a kiss to your temple and says, “c’mon hen, i can’t wait to have yer cunt in mah mouth.” he looks over to kyle with a sly grin. “ye gonna ride mah cock too, garrick?”

oh.

kyle doesn’t answer johnny’s question because he’s too busy watching you to gauge your reaction. he relaxes and smiles softly when you link your fingers with his and pulls him closer to you and johnny.

the three of you are so caught up in your own little world, you miss the fond look shared between simon and john as they bring up the rear.

a/n: thanks for reading!

masterlist

#simon riley x reader #kyle garrick x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #john price x reader #141 x reader #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle garrick #john price #kyletogazwrites

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hannieehaee · 5 months

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18+ / mdi

content: loser!jungkook, sub!jungkook, softdom!reader, afab reader, loss of virginity, smut, dry humping, handjob, penetrative sex, etc.

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

wc: 1894

a/n: this wasnt proofread at all so pls excuse any mistakes</3

masterlist

"o-oh, i don't think we should-"

"you don't want to?", you pouted at the wide eyed boy under you, hand on his chin as you made him look straight into your eyes.

"it's not that- it's just that, uh, i- i wouldnt want to be disrespectful or anything," he stumbled over his words, bunny teeth biting into his bottom lip.

you chuckled patronizingly, readjusting yourself on his lap and making him let out a low hiss at the movement.

"it's okay, bunny. we're just having fun, right? nothing wrong with it if we both want it, hmm?", your hands went down to his dress shirt, playing with the collar, undoing the very top button, "plus, we did make a deal, didn't we, bunny?"

oh, right. the deal.

jungkook's eyes almost rolled back at the implication of the agreement you had unexpectedly dropped onto his lap a few days ago.

your grade for your statistics class had somehow dropped below average somewhere along the semester, which caused your professor to recommend some tutoring to you, claiming that you'd likely not be able to graduate if you failed this class, as it was a requirement.

being in your senior year of college, failing was not a risk you could take, so you pleaded with your professor to assign you a tutor, whomever he deemed the smartest. that's when jungkook came into the picture.

by all means, jungkook could easily be described as a loser. his only friends were fellow members of the anime club, taehyung and jimin, equally as virginal as himself. more than anything, jungkook was just incredibly socially awkward, leading him to a life of loserdom as he made no friends and zero good impressions in life. this led him to dedicate all his efforts to school and give up on any social endeavors.

when the professor had asked him to tutor one of his lower-graded students, jungkook had no issue with it. he was offered extra credit if he did so, so it just seemed like a win-win situation to him. it wasnt until jungkook was told it'd be you he'd be tutoring that he began to have a problem with it.

now, jungkook didn't know you, he simply knew of you. so what if he had a crush on you? he didn't need to know the ins and outs of your personality to be into you.

except he kind of did.

to be quite frank, jungkook had a slight obsession with you ever since meeting you at orientation a few years ago. his friends were aware of his crush on you, always teasing him for taking the same classes you did just to get a glimpse of you whenever he could.

how did he find out your schedule? as ashamed as he was to admit it, he had wrongfully used his power as an administrative assistant on campus. he knew he wasnt supposed to, but he couldnt help in looking up your name and saving your schedule for future use.

unfortunately, jungkook never did anything other than coordinate your schedules. he was far too shy to even make eye contact with you, having never even introduced himself to you.

and now he had to tutor you. alone in your room as you sat side by side.

at least that was what he had pictured, not this. not you catching onto his crush immediately and proposing you pay him back for his efforts in the form of taking his virginity.

he could've sworn he almost had a heart attack when you'd shamelessly suggested it, somehow clocking both his crush and his virginal state within twenty minutes of your first session.

that session had ended quickly after that, with jungkook sheepishly accepting with a desperate nod and receiving a chaste kiss on his cheek as a goodbye.

and now you straddled him while he sat on your bed, hands shyly holding onto your hips.

"y-yeah, the deal," he breathed through his nose, mentally preparing himself for whatever you'd do to him. he'd take anything you gave him.

you grinned at him, lowering your head to kiss at his neck, making him immediately sigh in pleasure. he could feel the stickiness of your lipgloss leaving its mark on his neck, but he didnt care. he wished the marks could stay forever.

nibbling at his neck, you made some longer-lasting marks, making him groan as his fingers dug into your pajama-clad hips. that's when your lips made their way back up, catching his own on his first kiss ever.

he knew he might've been awkward in how he kissed, but you didn't seem to mind it, taking his jaw in your hand and tilting his head so you could lick into his mouth. his soul left him at that moment, with his tongue far too desperate in its movement while yours remained slow and sensual. despite how messy he was, you still moaned against his lips, beginning to grind your hips into his own.

"a-ah, that's ... fuck," he breathed out.

"you like how that feels, bunny?" you whispered into his mouth, "just wait til you feel my pussy,"

this time his eyes did roll back. the mere thought of you wrapped around him made him want to rip his hair out in desperation, almost unable to wait until you have yourself to him.

you continued to suckle on his tongue, making him grow more and more frustrated by the second. your hands eventually came to fully unbutton his shirt, removing it before beginning to feel up his chest and arms, gasping into his mouth when his own arms wrapped around you and brought you closer.

jungkook felt his mind cloud as you ground against him, convinced that if he didn't get more from you, he'd lose his mind. fortunately for him, no begging was necessary for you to give him something that'd have his breath catching in his throat and his tent growing even harder.

he pathetically followed your lips when you pulled away, though he sat in complete awe upon realizing the reason why you'd pulled away in the first place. suddenly the sight of your breasts became the most pressing matter in jungkook's life. his breath stopped and his heart raced, making him feel like he'd pass out if he even dared make contact with the newly revealed skin.

yet his reaction did not prevent you from grabbing his hands and placing them on your breasts, guiding him so he'd squeeze and play with them.

"o-oh, fuck. they're so ... so fucking soft," he whimpered, "so pretty and ... shit, c-can i ... can- can i play with them?", he pleaded, eyes never leaving your swollen buds as his hands hesitantly ran over your breasts.

he hoped you knew what he meant by play, because he was far too embarrassed to properly word his desire.

luckily for him, you were just so nice and so pretty and so so smart that you understood, removing his hands and guiding his face to your breasts, pressing them together so he could rub his head against them, nuzzling his nose into the skin as be groaned a gruttal groan. his shy tongue came out to lick at them just moments later, licking over your nipples all while he whined and cried as if he was the one receiving the stimulation.

at some point your hands snuck between the two of you, sneaking beneath his pants and grabbing onto his cock. you jerked him as he lost himself to the supple skin of your breasts, letting out breathy whines into your skin while his hands tightly held onto you.

as pathetic as he knew he must've looked, he didn't care. he'd wanted you for years, and suddenly he had you in his arms, willing to let him do anything he wanted? any social filters within him left him, letting his unending desire for you take over no matter how embarrassed he would be at his desperate behavior after the fact.

you let him play with your tits for a while, letting out the prettiest sighs of pleasure as he got his fill of you, eventually pulling him away so you could kiss him again. despite being out of breath, he kissed you back with everything he had, now more able to match your pace.

"bunny, wanna ride you," you pulled away with a pretty pout, letting go of his dick.

"p-please. yes, i- yes," he stammered, hands coming down to touch at his clothed cock out of reflex.

giggling at his desperation, you attempted to get up, only to be stopped by jungkook's grabby hands as he whined at you not to let go. grabbing his arms, you reminded him you needed to take off your shorts, making him get an embarrassed look on his face at the realization.

he got up to take off his own pants, sitting back down and pulling you to him the moment you'd stripped. once more, you giggled at how badly he clearly wanted you, pulling him into yet another kiss.

"i'm gonna sit on it now, okay, bunny?", you breathed against him as you lifted yourself to line him up.

jungkook didn't trust his voice to not let out yet another string of desperate pleas, so he simply nodded, taking a deep breath to prepare himself.

but nothing could prepare him for the warmth of your cunt, nor for how tightly it wrapped around his cock, taking all air out of him. he couldnt help the whimpers of desperation that came out of his mouth when you first started bouncing against him, tightening every so often just to get a reaction out of him.

burying his head in your neck, he babbled nonsense against you, incapable of halting his pathetic noises enough to hear your own pretty moans.

after some time, you grabbed onto one of his hands, leading it between the two of you and guiding him, "play with my clit, bunny," you blindly guided him until he finally found your clit, following your instructions of rubbing it all while your bouncing never seized

and god, had that been a mistake.

you got impossibly tighter, dragging your nails down his back and crying his name in the prettiest gasps ever heard by man. he knew he'd meet his end like this, far sooner than he wanted. but he was comforted in knowing that your orgasm was close too, catching onto your pleas to cum with you.

muttering constant praise towards you, jungkook's orgasm took over him as your own arrived, making him deliver endless thank you's while your speed fastened and your rhythm lost all its sense.

"t-thank you, oh, fuck. thank you ... so fucking good, it's- it's so good. oh, thank you ..."

you immediately fell onto each other when your highs had gone down, equally out of breath. being the sweet girl jungkook always knew you to be, he hummed in contentment when you held onto him, cuddling into him in a loving manner and playing with his hair.

if you weren't careful, he'd probably fall in love with you even more than he already had.

he only broke the silence after a few minutes of cuddling, still slightly out of breath.

"do you- do you still wanna go over your statistics homework?"

you laughed, nuzzling further into him, "maybe tomorrow, bunny."

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts scenario #bts oneshot #bts smut #bts x reader #jungkook scenario #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook oneshot

2K notes · View notes

harrysfolklore · 1 month

Note

I’m cracking up at the thought of Oscar accidentally seeing a nude of his sister in Carlos’s phone

HELP I HAD TO ELABORATE ON THIS

read little bitch here

Hotel rooms are boring. There's nothing else to do other than lay in bed and shower.

You regret telling Carlos — because now he's your boyfriend, and you share hotel rooms with him, how wild — that you wanted to stay in bed all morning and not join him for practice sessions because now is nearly midday and he's not back yet. And you're bored.

Not finding anything else to do, you open your suitcase to put together your outfit for Quali tomorrow, you laugh when the first thing you see is a McLaren cap and a Ferrari one packed together. And to think that next year you'll be adding a Williams one to your suitcase for race weekends.

As you move a pair of jeans, you come into view with something you didn't even remember you packed — a red lacy set of lingerie.

You decide to put it on, after all, you don't have anything better to do.

Meanwhile at the Zandvoort Circuit, Oscar, Carlos, Lando and Max are lounging at a hospitality area. The sessions and meetings for the day were over, so they were just waiting for the call to head out.

"Lando, can I borrow your phone? Mine is dead and I want to check Lily's flight, it's supposed to land soon," Oscar says from his place on the couch.

"I can't mate, I'm sexting right now," Lando replies, making the group laugh and Oscar roll his eyes.

"Take mine, it's in the table," Carlos says, fixing himself a cup of coffee from the small station in the room.

"Thanks," Oscar grabs the device, failing when he tries to unlock it, "What's your pass code?"

"Your sister's birthday," Carlos says casually, stirring his coffee.

The room erupts in a chorus of groans and laughter.

"Oh my god, Carlos," Lando exclaims, barely containing his giggles. "That's so cheesy!"

"Seriously, mate?" Max joins in, "What are you, a teenager with his first crush?"

Oscar looks at Carlos with mock disgust on his face. "My sister's birthday? Really? I don't know whether to be touched or grossed out."

Carlos shrugs, a slight blush creeping up his neck. "What? It's easy to remember."

"Yeah, sure," Lando snorts. "I bet your wallpaper is a picture of you two as well."

Carlos doesn't respond, suddenly very interested in his coffee.

"Oh my god, it is!" Max howls with laughter. "You're such a sap, Sainz!"

Oscar shakes his head, chuckling. "I can't believe this. My sister's turned you into a lovesick puppy."

Just as Oscar is about to search for his girlfriend's flight information, a text notification pops up. Out of habit and muscle memory, he ends up tapping on it, opening the message.

Oscar's eyes widen, and he lets out a yelp, nearly dropping the phone. "Oh god, my eyes!" he exclaims, tossing the phone back to Carlos as if it were on fire.

The others look at him, confused and amused.

"What happened?" Lando asks, trying to peer at Carlos' phone.

Oscar covers his face with his hands, groaning. "I just saw something I really, really didn't need to see. Carlos, mate, you need to put a lock on those messages from my sister."

With a frown, Carlos opens his messages, tapping on your contact and finding what made Oscar scream in disgust.

A picture of you wearing the lacy red set, with the caption "we need to put these to good use before we throw all the ferrari red away"

Carlos glances at his phone, his eyes widening slightly before he quickly locks the screen. He clears his throat, trying to maintain his composure. "Ah, I see. Sorry about that, Oscar."

Oscar is still covering his eyes dramatically. "I'm going to need therapy after this. Seriously, Carlos, password protect those messages or something!"

"Come on, what was it?" Lando tries to sneak a peek at Carlos' phone. "It can't be that bad!"

"Trust me, you don't want to know," Oscar groans. "There are some things a brother should never see."

"Look on the bright side, at least you know your sister is happy?" Max pats Oscar on the back.

"Not helping, Verstappen!" Oscar throws a nearby cushion at Max, which only makes everyone laugh harder.

"Sorry, hermano. I'll be more careful next time," Carlos says, putting on an awkward smile.

"There better not be a next time," Oscar mumbles, still looking traumatized. "I'm going to need therapy after this."

Oscar makes a mental note to never, ever touch Carlos' phone again, and Carlos makes a mental note to lock his girlfriend's messages. And put those lacy red sets to good use later, too.

912 notes · View notes

finelinefae · 5 months

Text

match one [tennisplayer!harry x tennisplayer!y/n]

synopsis: y/n's struggling with harry's coaching before the first tournament and harry's feelings control him more than he controls them

word count: 10.2k

contains: enemies to lovers, set at a boarding school, slow burn, angst, tennis rivals, strict parents, fluff, harry being a boy and not being able control himself around y/n

this is part 2 of the game, read part 1 here

. . .

“Again,”

Y/N gritted her teeth and bounced the tennis ball on the ground before throwing it into the air with a straight arm and hitting it with the racket, watching as it pierced through the air to the opposite end of the court.

She heard a sigh come from the bench on the side of the court, “Again,”

She inhaled sharply through her nose to try and contain her temper as she repeated the same serve.

“Again,”

Y/N spun around on the heel of her New Balance trainers, her pleated, white skort twirling as she did. She crossed her arms and glared at the boy lying on his back in his school uniform which was now crinkled and unkempt after the school day. “You’re not even watching,” She replied for the first time after having done the same serve more than ten times already.

“I don’t need to, I know you’re not doing it correctly,” He replied, monotonously.

She clenched her jaw, “Well as my coach, aren’t you supposed to show me how I’m meant to do it correctly?”

“I can show you but it won’t change anything,” He said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighs and sits up, “You already know how to do a flat serve, I’ve seen you do it. You’re just not hitting it hard enough. I can hear it in the way the ball lands on the other end of the court.”

“You could have just told me to hit it harder,” She retorts.

“Am I meant to play the game for you as well?” He quips which makes her blood boil.

This was their third training session, and Y/N had reached her limit. With her first proper tournament just three weeks away, she had hoped that seeking help from the best tennis player at Crestwood would elevate her gameplay.

However, Y/N was getting frustrated with each session being a monotonous repetition of drills she had already learnt herself. It grated on her nerves and she felt as though she was back to square one.

She was beginning to regret having enlisted Harry for his mentoring in the first place. Whenever they’d try to talk mutually to each other, it would just end up in an argument of some kind where they’d end up needing ten minutes to cool off.

Y/N had already qualified for the Academy Slam before she even asked Harry to coach her. There had originally been sixteen academies from the surrounding counties competing in the games and now there were only half and Y/N was one of them. She’d passed the qualifiers all by herself and maybe she could pass the games that way too.

“Again,” He said that one word Y/N was beginning to hate.

Who knew what she was capable of if she had to hear that word one more time.

Feeling a surge of anger, Y/N tossed the ball into the air and hit it with all the strength she could possibly summon. She watched as the ball made a fast and straight trajectory towards her target area which just so happened to be right beside Harry’s place on the bench.

He jumped up, a look of surprise on his face. "What the fuck?" he exclaimed, eyes following the ball as it hit the fence.

Y/N's smirk wavered as he approached her, her surprise matching his when he spoke again. "Let's move on, shall we?"

By the end of the session, every inch of Y/N's body throbbed with exhaustion. She drained an entire water bottle in one go, her fitted polo shirt clinging to her damp skin. She had thought she'd engaged every muscle in her body, but the way her calves screamed at her with every step told a different story.

“Same time tomorrow?” Harry asked, standing above her and blocking the sunlight.

“I want to start training properly,” Y/N stated.

“We are training properly,” He argued.

“You realize you haven’t shown me a single tactic since you started coaching me right?”

“And?”

“How am I meant to win the first tournament if all I know how to do is basic drills?”

“Do you know how many times my coach made me practice flat serves before we could move on?” He asks but she doesn’t answer, “A month. I went home with blisters on my hands because I was doing them non-stop six hours a day.”

Y/N’s eyebrows raise, “You think tennis is just about being tactical then you’re not playing it properly. The only way you’ll ever be a good tennis player is if you master the techniques.” He explains, “I’ve seen you play Y/N. For someone who has never had professional coaching, you are one of the best players I’ve seen but you lack confidence in your technique. That flat serve you just aimed at me? One of the best flat serves I’ve seen in a while. If you can do that in every game, you’ll have no problem winning but if you want tactics? I can draw you a diagram and it’ll save two hours of my day no problem.”

Y/N tries not to show her surprise at his words. Instead, she takes them all in, “Shouldn’t we at least be analysing my opponent?”

She was playing against Vanya Maddison in her next game. She was tall which was a major advantage in the game but her spatial awareness wasn’t exactly on par.

“Do you know what your biggest strength is in this game?” Harry asked.

“My speed?” Y/N frowned.

“Your anger,” He replies, “Off the court, it’s a little annoying but on the court, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Use it.”

Y/N had no idea whether to take it as a compliment or not. She’d never heard Harry say anything good about her so was taken off guard by his words. “So are we still on for tomorrow because I have to meet Mitch in thirty minutes and if the answer is no at least I can actually plan on getting wasted tonight.”

Y/N took a moment to think. She had never expected him to say something positive about her, especially about her anger. It was a side of herself she often struggled to control, but hearing Harry acknowledge it as a strength left her feeling conflicted.

As much as she considered training on her own which would give her some peace and quiet, she wanted to see where her training with Harry would go. If he was right, maybe she’d actually have more of a chance of winning than she did on her own.

She stood up and put her gym bag over her shoulder, “See you tomorrow,” She walked past him, wanting to avoid the satisfied grin on his face.

“Y/N!” Harry called, she could hear him jogging towards her before she stepped out of the courts, “I wanted to give this to you.”

He placed in her hands a cassette tape with white masking tape on it with the words ‘Y/N’s theme songs’ scribbled onto it in black ink. “What is this?” She asked, looking up at him.

“When I was in Australia, I used music to help me get in the zone before a match. My coach told me to use a cassette tape because phones were too distracting,” He explained.

“You made this for me?” She frowned.

“What? You’ve never been given a gift before?” He chuckles.

Y/N looks down at the plastic in her hands. It’s not that she’d never been given a gift by anyone before- she and Sarah always exchanged gifts over Christmas and for each other’s birthdays- but it was rare for her to ever receive anything from anyone else. Her parents would often give her practical things at Christmas or transfer money into her bank account on birthdays.

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed at her lack of reply but she cleared her throat, “I don’t have a cassette player,” She said but Harry quickly removed his backpack and pulled out a walkman.

“You can borrow mine,” He handed it over to her, “I won’t be needing it anytime soon since I’m not playing,” She noticed the downcast look in his eyes as he mentioned the fact he wasn’t currently able to play with his injury.

“Um, t-thanks?” She said, unsure of how to respond to his sudden kindness. It felt unusual.

“I picked a few songs that reminded me of you,” He smirks, “Don’t worry, they’re not all about a girl with an attitude problem.” With that he turned back around and walked towards the other exit to head to the car park.

She felt ease on her chest as the usual teasing remarks returned, “Asshole,” She called out to him to which he just put his middle finger up in reply.

. . .

After taking a long shower in the girl’s shower rooms in her dorm block, Y/N headed back to her dorm after changing into a white shirt and sweatpants. She could feel the strain in her arms and legs as she flopped down onto her bed.

Luckily Sarah wasn’t back from spending time with Mitch, so she took in the peace and quiet which came rare to her these days as all her mind had been on recently was the Academy Slam.

Her mind wandered off to Harry and his words from earlier. Y/N knew she was a good tennis player but it was the first time she had heard someone else tell her that. She wasn’t expecting it, especially not from her tennis rival of the past ten years.

Her eyes glanced at the cassette tape and the walkman she had placed on her desk before she headed off to the shower. Sitting up, she grabbed it and stared down at it for a moment before putting the cassette into the player and putting the headphones on.

She laid back on her bed and looked up at the ceiling of her room. Her fingers hit the play button and the first song began to flood her ears. The first few beats of Nelly Furtado’s ‘Maneater’ began to play and she immediately rolled her eyes. Then afterwards, ‘Fergalicious’ by Fergie.

She wondered how many songs Harry had managed to put on the cassette and how many were female anthems of empowerment.

The next song seemed to catch her attention even further when Gorillaz ‘She’s my collar’ began to play. The beat now permanently injected into her bloodstream along with the rest of the album from the number of times she had listened to it.

She wondered if Harry had known he had included a song by one of her favourite bands and whether he knew the meaning behind the song too. Maybe it had been a coincidence which was a thought Y/N had decided to settle on as she listened to the rest of the song.

‘Nothing to be justified yet

She the first I'm running with

She the one that get my collar

She the one I'm running with (she's my collar)’

. . .

The next day at school, Y/N sat in the library during her study period to study for her biology exam at the end of the week. Even though she was set on the scholarship, she still needed something to fall back on if she lost out in the next few games so she made sure she was still getting the best grades she could. It had also been ingrained in her to be the best in every class and she didn’t think that trait of hers would ever leave her.

“Y/N!” Sarah called, her voice echoing within the silence of the library.

Ignoring the irritated glances she received, she paced towards Y/N and sat in the empty seat beside her. Y/N smiled at her friend’s excitement. They were foils to each other and that’s what made them get on so well. Whilst Y/N had a black cat personality, Sarah was sunshine in a person which was probably why she was so perfect for Mitch who was equally as bright. “What’s up?”

“I need to ask you something and you’re probably going to hate me but Harry’s already said yes and-”

“Sarah,” Y/N placed her hands on her shoulders, “Breathe.”

Sarah did exactly that before continuing, “Would you do a feature with Harry for the school newspaper?”

Y/N frowned, “What?”

“The school newspaper? You know the club I’ve been part of for the past two years? They want to do a feature on your training for the sports section and I told them I would ask you.” Sarah explained.

“Oh I don’t know about that-”

“Pleeeassseee,” Sarah gripped her arm that was resting on the desk and batted her eyelashes.

“You know I’d do anything for you Sarah but I don’t know if I have the time and my focus is on my next game,” Y/N replied.

“Harry’s already said yes to it,” Sarah interjected.

“You asked him before me?”

“Well actually,” Sarah hesitated, “Luke, the boy who’s writing the article, asked him this morning,”

“Why didn’t he ask me?”

Sarah gave her a pointed look, “You’re not exactly the most approachable,” Y/N’s frown deepened at her words, “So will you do it?”

Y/N sighed, considering it before giving Sarah an answer. The last thing she wanted was for someone to be asking unnecessary questions in time that could be used to train for the first round of the competition but Sarah was her best friend and she knew how much the school newspaper meant to her and her university applications too.

“Alright,” She relented, “I’ll do it.”

Sarah squealed, receiving another round of vicious glares from other students in the library. Her arms wrapped around her in a tight hug, “Thank you,” She pulled away, “They’ll come by tomorrow afternoon during practice, is that okay?” Y/N nodded a response.

. . .

It was raining outside.

Y/N’s eyes stared out the window as she bounced a tennis ball on the hard floor of the gymnasium and wondered if the weather foreshadowed the next hour.

“Will you sit down?” Harry muttered, “You’re giving me a headache,”

“He’s late,” Y/N says, “We could have been practising,”

“Do you ever just do anything else?” Y/N shot him a glare at his sarcasm, “I get this is important to you but don’t you just want to, I don’t know, have fun?”

Y/N walked over to her seat right next to his and straightened herself for the interview the school newspaper had organised for them. Sarah had told both her and Harry to dress smartly for the occasion which, according to Harry meant a designer sweatshirt and trousers whilst Y/N had gone for a dress and pumps. It wasn’t overly smart for either of them but enough to make it seem like they had made an effort.

“The fact that you’re even suggesting that tells me you have no idea how important this is to me,” Y/N responds, monotonously.

She hears a scoff from beside her, “What?”

He turns to face her, his face rather too close, she notices three moles on his right cheek that she hadn’t ever seen before, “I think I know better than anyone how important this is to you but I also know from experience how important being in high school is with people your own age.” She forgets sometimes that even though he was whisked away to fulfil his place in the Australian Open, that his time of being a kid was cut short, “I don’t go out of my way to coach just anybody,”

“What do you mean?” She frowns but before Harry could reply, the doors to the gym open and in scrambles a sixth year with a messenger bag and a tripod with a camera dangling from his neck.

“It means,” he leans forward, murmuring, “if you had half the belief in yourself as I have in you then you wouldn’t need me at all.”

“Sorry I’m late,” Luke’s voice echoes as he steps towards them and places all three legs of the tripod on the ground and scrambles to screw his camera to it.

“What’s with the camera?” Y/N asked.

“O-oh, we’re recording the interview so I can write everything up later and we’re going to need your pictures together afterwards,” Luke explained.

“You want us to take a photo together?” Y/N frowned.

“Did Sarah not tell you?” Luke replied.

“Calm down, love. It’s just a photo,” Harry murmured and she tried not to react to the nickname he had used for her.

Once everything was set up, Luke sat across from them with his laptop on his thighs, questions already typed out, “So, you two have known each other for a while now?” Luke asked as he sat across from them.

As Y/N was about to tell him how they didn’t exactly know each other on a personal level but knew each other through tennis, Harry spoke up, “Since we were both in third year. I was eight and Y/N was seven but we’ve been in the same class since we were infants.”

Luke nodded, “That must help a lot in your partnership,”

Harry chuckled lowly, “Something like that,”

Luke types a few things down in his computer before turning his attention to Y/N, “Um, Y/N what made you turn to Harry for his coaching other than the fact he won the Australian Open?”

Y/N frowned, what more reason did she need to give? “Well, the fact he won is a big reason as to why I approached him,”

“But isn’t he injured?” Harry stiffened beside her. The way he asked made it sound like he was defective, unusable.

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, “Yes but I’ve seen Harry play games with a dislocated shoulder. He’d just pop it right back in and start playing again. His current injury doesn’t take away from the fact that he’s one of the best tennis players I’ve seen at Crestwood.” Y/N ignored the looks from the two boys. She knew she’d have to compliment Harry at some point during this interview, especially if they needed to show a united front for the games.

“And do think the same about Y/N?” Luke asked Harry who now seemed irritated by him.

“I think,” Y/N was prepared for a backhanded compliment but what she got was something entirely different, “Y/N has all the potential in the world to go for what she dreams of and I hope to watch her do it all even if that means I’m watching from the sidelines.” This time it was Y/N’s turn to glance at Harry, taken aback by his words.

Luke spoke again, “You know some people are calling you the underdog in this tournament?” Y/N froze, it was the first time she had heard of it, “all the other women competing have had professional coaching and the school invests heavily in their tennis players.”

Y/N cleared her throat, “I didn’t know that but I have every intention of proving them wrong,” Harry bumped his knee with hers but she ignored it.

“And What do your parents think about you doing this before leaving exams?” Luke asked.

Y/N ignored the sting she felt at the thought of telling her parents what she was doing and the looks of disappointment she envisioned, which had been gnawing at the back of her head since she qualified. She answered confidently, "They're happy for me and excited to see me in the final."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows as Luke leaned in, his expression curious. "You think you'll get to the final?"

Harry scoffed, “Are you insinuating she won’t?”

Luke backpedalled slightly, sensing he’d struck a nerve. "I didn't mean to suggest that at all. It's just that some people doubt the capabilities of those who haven't had professional coaching."

"Hey Luke, do me a favour and invite those people to the first game in three weeks' time. Let them witness firsthand what it's like watching a player as skilled as Y/N, without any professional coaching," Harry's frustration was palpable, catching Y/N off guard with his assertiveness. Typically, she would be the first to break in such situations but it seemed Harry already had.

Luke’s face warmed as he realised he overstepped, “R-right, let’s move on.” He scanned through his list of questions to find something more light-hearted to break up the mood, whilst Y/N straightened her shoulders, thankful they’d gotten to the final round of questions. “What do you both like to do outside of training?”

“Together?” Y/N cringed, trying to picture spending time with Harry in a normal setting.

“Not necessarily,” Luke shrugged.

“My best friend is dating her best friend so we’ve been spending a lot more time together recently. Normally, I play guitar or recite poetry whenever I’m not coaching Y/N to volley properly,” Y/N rolled her eyes at the lies that left his mouth.

“I study,” Y/N stated.

“That’s it?” Luke’s eyebrows creased.

Her cheeks turned slightly pink, “I’m top of the class in all of my classes, that doesn’t just happen without hard work.”

She could feel Harry’s eyes on her and for the first time, she turned her head to catch his eyes. She noticed the frown on his lips and something in his eye that looked a lot more like concern or sympathy than the desire to tease her about her lack of social life.

“Well, I think that will be enough,” Luke stood up and grabbed his camera, “Do you mind if we take a few photos now?”

Y/N and Harry stood from their seats, side by side and looked into the lens of the camera. Y/N’s cheeks hurt from forcing a smile as Harry did the same, “You’re standing too close to me,” Y/N spoke through her teeth as the camera flashed.

"Look who's talking with their giant foot squashing my shoe," Harry retorts, a playful glint in his eyes. Y/N inhales sharply, her gaze dropping to her foot to see what he's referring to. But before she can react, Harry smoothly slides his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side with practised ease. Their eyes meet, and just as the camera flashes, capturing the moment, Y/N side steps out of his grip with an annoyed huff.

“Okay, that will be all,” Luke smiled.

As Luke packed his things away, Y/N and Harry stood awkwardly side by side without saying a word. Y/N glanced out the window and saw the sky had cleared up and the sun was setting. She needed to get back to her dorm to study for her French exam tomorrow as well as binge-watch tennis matches on YouTube which she’d been doing a lot recently.

“Did you really mean that?” Harry asked, catching her attention, “All you do is study outside of school?”

Y/N looked at him, “I hang out with Sarah some days but yeah, I mostly study. I don’t really have a lot of choice and I’m not naturally smart.” Harry’s head tilted to the side like he was secretly questioning her in his head, “What? Aren’t you meant to crack a joke about me being stupid or something?”

Harry's eyes softened, his voice gentle. "I could never think you're stupid, love," he said, the nickname slipping from his lips with a tenderness that caught Y/N off guard. She found herself speechless, unable to figure out what had gotten into him recently.

He pulled out his car keys from his back pocket and motioned his head towards the gymnasium exit, “C’mon,” He urged, “I wanna try something out and before you ask, it’s nothing to do with tennis or studying.”

Y/N’s feet stayed glued to the ground as he walked away and expected her to follow. She furrowed her brows and crossed her arms, wanting to refuse his invitation so she could get back to her dorm. But curiosity got the better of her and she followed a few paces behind him as he led her to the empty car park.

Harry pressed the button on the car keys and the lights flashed on a black Audi hiding in the corner, “What are we doing?” She asked.

“Have you ever driven a car before?” He wondered, looking at her with a hint of mischief.

“Never,” She replied and was bewildered to see him open the door to the passenger seat instead of the driver’s seat.

“Looks like it’s your lucky day, love,” He smirked.

Y/N’s eyes widened, “N-no! Harry, I'm not driving your stupidly expensive car.”

“C’mon,” Harry chuckled, “Don’t be chicken.”

She scoffed, “I’m not being chicken, I’m being sensible. If I crash that car, I don’t even think my parents will have enough money to fix it.”

“My parent’s will,” He grinned, cockily, “Get in,”

“No, I’m not driving that car.” She insisted.

Five minutes later, Y/N sat in the driver’s seat of Harry’s Audi with her fingers over her eyes as he instructed her on how to start. “Are you crazy?” She whimpers as he switches the engine on.

“Stop worrying, I’ve got my hand on the break.” She looks down to see his hand already wrapped around the hand break, “Just stay calm and do what I told you to do. Clutch down, first gear and then ease your foot gently off the clutch.”

“You’re supposed to be teaching me tennis, not driving laps around the school parking lot,” Y/N argued.

“Think of this as a team bonding exercise,” He shrugged, “Okay now foot down on the clutch,”

“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” She strangled out, placing her shaky hands on the wheel.

“Relax,” Harry chuckled, “You’re being dramatic.”

“It won’t be so dramatic when we end up in a tree,” Y/N retorted as she carefully felt the pedals and pressed down slowly on the clutch. Feeling the car rise, Y/N gasped and removed her foot.

“Calm down, it’s just because you put your foot on the clutch,” Harry was trying his best not to laugh at her, “Okay, now do it again.”

Y/N squeezed her hands on the wheel and repeated her actions, moving the gear stick “Okay, now carefully raise the clutch,” Harry instructed and as she did, he lowered the handbrake and the car slowly began to move forward.

“Holy shit,” Y/N wailed, “We’re moving,”

This time, Harry did laugh unable to stop himself after seeing her reaction, “Make sure you turn the wheel or we really will end up in a tree,”

Y/N did as she was told and turned the wheel slowly, “Okay, I’ll move into second,”

“Harry no!” She gasped but put the clutch down so he could move gears.

“Atta girl,” He beamed.

Y/N’s worried expression soon turned into shock and then excitement as she moved slowly around the car park, “I’m driving Harry!” Y/N grinned and Harry swore it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“You are,” He praised, “There’s nothing you can’t do.”

After switching between first and second gear and Y/N complaining that her feet were aching from how tense she was using the pedals, Harry offered to swap places and show her what it was really like to go out on an evening drive.

“Harry!” Y/N choked on a laugh as he went all the way up to sixth gear down the empty streets in the middle of nowhere, “Slow down,” She squealed.

Harry glanced at her, grinning when he saw how wide the smile was on her face. He pressed his finger on the button to wind down all the windows, “Oh shit I love this song,” He turned the volume up on the stereo as Beyonce’s ‘Love on Top’ started playing, blaring loudly through the speakers of his car.

“Baby it’s you! You’re the one I love! You’re the one I need!” Harry screamed the lyrics of the song and Y/N’s laughter sounded through the entire car as her hair blew behind her. “Sing it, baby!” He cheered, neither of them realising what he had called her.

“I’m not gonna sing it,” She shook her head, her eyes squeezing shut as the engine revved.

“It’s the only way I’m gonna slow down,” He teased as the build-up to the chorus played.

Y/N giggled as Harry began to sing solo to the chorus again, giving her a look that had her rolling her eyes before she screamed out the lyrics alongside him, “When I need you, make everything stop! Finally, you put my love on top!”

Their laughter merged together as the song played out. Harry slowed down the closer they got back to town and cast a sideways glance at Y/N who was brushing her wind-swept hair with her fingers. “You okay?” He asked, seeing the glow on her face.

“Yeah,” She bit her lip, “I’m okay. I just don’t get to do stuff like this… ever really.”

He nodded in understanding. Harry had met Y/N’s parents a few times before. His parents were frequent visitors to their country club so he knew what they were like but he had no idea of the extent of the pressures they had put on Y/N to do well. It reminded him of his own parents and the last thing he wanted to do was allow someone to feel the same way he did whenever his parents were too hard on him.

“Wanna pull in somewhere to get something to eat?” Harry asked. It was getting late and they both had school tomorrow but he couldn’t seem to allow himself to let her go- not when she was having so much fun.

“Okay,” Y/N nodded.

He pulled into a dessert shop that was still open. Y/N followed him inside and to a booth in the corner. Harry ordered both of them bowls of soft-serve ice cream and Y/N even asked if she could have a strawberry milkshake to go with it. “I shouldn’t really be eating,” She told him.

“Hmm I heard drinking strawberry milkshakes improves your footwork. They served them all the time in Australia,” Y/N shot him a look that told him she knew he was bullshitting her but it made him smile.

“Are you nervous about the game coming up?” They’d been training non-stop every evening and Y/N was quickly improving everything she had already learnt on her own. After considering Harry’s words a few days ago, she knew Harry was right. He had been good for her technique and she felt even more sure of herself than she did at the beginning.

“No,” She said coolly, “I don’t have time to be nervous.”

Harry scoffed, “I don’t believe that for a second.”

The waitress came over and placed their desserts in front of them, along with a strawberry milkshake with whipped cream and a cherry on top. “Mitch says he’s going to throw a party at my place if you make it through to the semi-finals.”

“A party at your place?” Y/N quirked a brow.

Harry sighs, “He came up with the idea of throwing a party and then just kind of decided it would be at mine.” He explained.

Y/N nodded and took a sip of her milkshake. It had been so long since she had had something so sugary and sweet. She hummed before realizing she was being watched by the boy opposite her, “Just so you know, even though you bought these desserts and taught me how to drive, doesn’t mean I like you.”

Harry laughed, his eyes crinkling and dimples carving into his cheeks. Y/N’s heart stuttered but she pushed the feeling down, “Okay, tomorrow you can go back to hating me again and we’ll pretend today didn’t happen.”

“And you can do the same,” She says.

Harry gives her a look, his eyes flashing with something she couldn’t put a label on, “I don’t hate you Y/N.”

She frowns, “You’ve always hated me,”

“No,” He shook his head, “Never.”

“But you’re always making fun of me,” And she always did the same.

“Because it’s the only way I get to speak to you.” He admits.

Y/N’s lips parted in surprise, unable to believe what she was hearing. She had always assumed Harry had hated her since their rivalry had gone on for so long. She didn’t know what to say, confused by the sudden revelation.

“Ew,” It came out before she even had time to think, “Don’t be nice to me, it’s making me uncomfortable.”

Harry seemed to deflate but quickly placed a smile on his face, “You make me uncomfortable and you’re singing, by the way, is awful.”

Y/N scoffed, "At least I don't sound like a dying goat." Despite the return of their familiar banter, her heart seemed to continue to flutter under Harry's earnest gaze, stirring a mix of emotions within her that she’d never felt before.

She didn’t know what was going on with her but the last thing she needed to think about was her emotions when her biggest goal to date was right before her.

. . .

Three weeks had gone by far too quickly for Y/N’s liking.

“Again,” Harry drawled.

Y/N gritted her teeth and repeated the backswing technique Harry had shown her but the angle was all wrong and the ball ended up going completely off court.

“Fuck,” Y/N spat, throwing her tennis racket on the floor and squatting, balling her hands into fists on her head.

Harry sighed, walking over. “You’re nervous about tomorrow,” He stated like he didn’t need her to confirm despite the fact she had constantly told everyone she wasn’t nervous about anything.

“I just need to win,” She mumbled.

“Get up,” Harry ordered.

Y/N did as she was told and stood up. He grabbed the racket from the floor that she’d thrown across the court like a toddler throwing their toys out a pushchair and flipped the racket between both of his hands. He handed it back to her and grabbed his own.

“I want you to mirror my actions,” He says and stands a few steps away from her.

He steps forward, tossing the tennis ball into the air before swinging his racket with both hands, expertly landing it in the left corner of the opposing court. Y/N tracks his every move, mimicking his actions as if she were his shadow.

Y/N’s ball lands slightly off target and Harry bites his lip to stop himself from smiling at the scowl on her face. He walks towards her and comes up behind her. Y/N’s breathing hitches when she feels his fingertips press gently on her arm.

“You need to straighten this arm more,” He advises, his fingertips sliding down her arm and leaving a trail of goosebumps as he straightens her arm out. “Calm down,” he murmurs, his mouth near her ear, “I can feel your heart beating.”

Y/N seems to lose every ounce of oxygen when he places his hand flat against her back where he can feel her heart beating, “Breathe,” He says, “You will win tomorrow, I will make sure of it.”

The warmth that flooded Y/N’s body quickly left as Harry took a step back, “Try it again,” He nodded towards her racket.

Y/N sighed, tensing her muscles again after Harry had practically managed to turn them into liquid. She tried to ignore the flutter in all of the pulse points in her body that were screaming to make contact with that new presence and swung her racket, landing the ball exactly where she wanted.

“There y’ go,” He murmurs, almost as if he was saying it to himself. “I think we should call that it for today,”

“What?” Y/N frowned, “The game is tomorrow, I need to practice.”

“Y/N, we’ve been practising for half the day already. You’re going to wear yourself out if you carry on,” Harry tells her.

“Fine,” She huffed but Harry gave her a knowing look.

“Come to my place,” He offers.

“Why would I do that?” She goes to grab her sweatshirt on the bench and pulls it over her head. It was getting colder now that the sun was going down.

“Because I know you’re just going to come back here once I leave and trust me, you don’t want to do that.” She opened her mouth to refuse but he continued, “We can watch Wimbledon on TV and order pizza.”

She wondered how he knew that Wimbledon was one of her favourite movies and pizza was her favourite food. “Is it the DVD exclusive?” Y/N asked.

Harry’s lips tilted upwards, “Of course,” Y/N nodded, following him to his car so he could drive them to his apartment.

Y/N remembered the last time she was in Harry's car three weeks ago. It was the first time Y/N truly enjoyed being in his company and the first time she had allowed herself to have fun and relax.

The day after, they resumed their usual arguing as if the previous night hadn't occurred. However, Y/N found herself overwhelmed by a surge of unfamiliar emotions swirling within her.

Despite the bickering, she kept noticing things about Harry—like the way he smiled and talked. It made her feel weird like there was something more between them that she hadn't noticed before.

The air was silent between them as the radio played lowly in the background. Harry turned into a block of apartments that looked far too expensive for a student to afford all by themself. “This is where you live?” Y/N asked, her eyes widening as he pulled into a spot.

“For now,” He says.

Y/N trailed behind Harry as they rode the elevator to the fifth floor and made their way to his apartment. When he swung open the door, flooding the space with light, Y/N couldn't help but notice the spaciousness of the apartment, as well as its emptiness.

“I haven’t had time to unpack,” Harry said, walking to the kitchen after kicking his shoes off, “Do you want anything to drink?”

“I’ll just take a glass of water,” Y/N’s eyes darted to all of the boxes that covered the floor.

She walked to the kitchen area and leaned against the counter, “Are those your trophies?” She asked, seeing the metal cups in an open box.

Harry smiled, “Yeah, I’ve kept all of mine even the ones that didn’t count.”

“They all count,” Y/N grins, walking over and pulling one out, “The battle of the sexes trophy.”

Harry smirked, walking round to stand beside her, “I still remember the look on your face when they handed me that trophy. If looks could kill, love, I don’t think I would be here.”

“It was a big deal to me okay?” Y/N replies, “I seemed to blame you for all my losses when I was a kid.”

Harry’s expression softens and his head turns to look at her, “Will you blame me if you don’t win tomorrow?”

Y/N’s smile falters, “No, I’d blame myself. I think if I lost this, I don’t know who I would be anymore. Tennis is my life.”

Harry’s eyes glint underneath the soft lighting of the kitchen, “God,” He whispers, “You drive me crazy y’ know that?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you think you could love anything more?” He asks, ignoring her question.

“I can’t think of anything, if I did I’d have to love it an awful lot.”

“Okay,” He nods like he’s accepting a challenge.

Y/N narrows her eyes, “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing,” He shrugs, “But I want you to know-”

Before Harry could finish his sentence, the door swings open and the shrill sound of his mother’s voice fills the air. Y/N stands straight and she notices Harry tense up, taking a step in front of her, he pushes her behind him.

“Harry,” His mother sighs, “How are you darling?”

“Mum,” He replies, curtly, “What are you doing here?”

“Your father’s running late home so I thought I would come by to see how you were,” She says and then looks behind him.

Y/N doesn’t need Harry to introduce her as she steps forward and holds out a hand, “Hi Mrs Styles, it’s nice to see you again.”

"Y/N?" Anne gasped, her eyes widening in surprise. "You've grown so much, you're beautiful." She reached out, taking both of Y/N's hands in hers and giving her an appraising look.

Y/N's cheeks flushed at the compliment. "Thank you, Mrs. Styles," she stammered, feeling a mixture of nerves and warmth.

Anne smiled warmly. "Oh, call me Anne," she insisted before turning her attention to Harry. "I didn't know you two were such good friends."

Y/N and Harry exchanged a quick glance, both unsure of how to respond.

"I'm her coach," they both blurted out simultaneously, the words tumbling out in a rush.

Anne's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What?" she exclaimed, her gaze flitting between them. "You're coaching?"

Harry nodded, his expression serious. "Yes," he confirmed quietly.

"But Harry, your injury," Anne interjected, concern evident in her voice as she glanced down at his leg. "You're not meant to be—"

"I'm fine, Mum," Harry interrupted sharply, his tone making no room for argument.

"Harry, you know you can’t be playing-"

"I said I'm fine," Harry's voice rose, his frustration evident as he cut her off, causing Y/N to jump at the sudden outburst.

Anne's concern softened into a resigned sigh, her eyes reflecting a mixture of worry and understanding. "Alright, Harry," she relented, her tone gentler now. "Just promise me you're taking care of yourself."

Harry's features softened, a hint of remorse flickering in his eyes. "I promise, Mum," he said, his voice softer now, more subdued.

Anne nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Good. That's all I ask."

As the atmosphere relaxed, Anne turned her attention back to Y/N, her smile warm and welcoming. "Well, it's lovely to see you again, Y/N," she said kindly. “Tell your parents we’ll be stopping by in the spring.”

Y/N returned the smile, her earlier nervousness dissipating in the warmth of Anne's acceptance. "It was nice to see you too, " she replied sincerely.

Harry glanced at Y/N, a softness in his gaze that made her heart skip a beat. After seeing his mother out following her very brief visit, Y/N finally mustered the courage to ask, "What was she talking about?"

Harry's expression turned grave, his features shadowed by a sense of burden. "It was nothing," he replied.

"Why can't you play?" Y/N pushed, her concern evident in her voice.

"Y/N, I'm telling you to leave it alone," Harry warned, his tone firm.

But Y/N couldn't let it go. "If it's nothing, then why can't you tell me?" she insisted, her frustration bubbling to the surface.

"Because it's none of your business, that's why," Harry snapped, his words cutting like a knife.

"Nothing I do or say has anything to do with you, so go back to hating me because it's a hell of a lot easier than what I have to deal with."

Y/N's heart sank at his harsh words. With a deep breath, she crossed her arms, her resolve hardening. "You know, now I remember why we never got along in the first place," she retorted, her voice laced with bitterness. With a sharp turn on her heel, she made her way to the front door. "You're such an asshole, Harry."

"Y/N," Harry called out, his voice tinged with regret as she stormed out of his apartment towards the elevator. "Y/N, come on, don't be like that."

"Go suck a dick," she shot back, stepping into the elevator before Harry could stop her.

As the doors closed, Harry's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Let me drive you back, at least," he pleaded, his voice barely audible over the sound of the closing doors.

"Fine," Y/N huffed, her tone clipped with annoyance.

The car ride back to her dorm was tense and silent. When Harry pulled into the front of her dormitory, Y/N moved to open the door finding the silence far too uncomfortable. Then, out of nowhere, Harry's voice broke the silence. "I can't play tennis anymore," he confessed, his words heavy.

Y/N's heart stopped, her breath catching in her throat. "What do you mean you can't play anymore? That's ridiculous," she exclaimed, her disbelief evident in her voice.

Harry's hands tightened on the wheel, his knuckles turning white. "I mean I can't ever play tennis again," he admitted, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Are you serious?" Y/N asked, her voice trembling with shock.

"I tore my ACL during practice for the French Open. I—" Harry's voice trailed off, unable to continue, “It was so bad Y/N and I was in so much fucking pain and no one would listen to me. I went through multiple surgeries and rehab but the doctors sat me down and said I couldn’t play unless I wanted to fuck up my leg for the rest of my life.”

“Harry…” Y/N’s eyes glistened with tears.

Her breath caught in her throat as the weight of Harry's words sank in. She glanced over at him, seeing the pain etched in his features, and felt a surge of empathy wash over her. It was a devastating blow for someone who had dedicated their life to the sport they loved.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Y/N whispered, her voice filled with genuine sadness for the boy beside her.

Harry managed a small nod, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, “That’s why I had to come back here. My father can barely look at me and my mother won’t leave me alone. At least here I can be around people my own age but when I’m at home, it’s fucking suffocating Y/N.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t imagine losing the one thing she loved above anything else in the world and have to re-construct everything she had ever known to find something else to love just as much.

“I don’t expect you to say anything but I’d appreciate it if you showed me a little mercy,” He spoke.

“Why would you offer to coach me then? Would that not make things worse?” She asked.

He looks at her, really looks at her, like there was something on the tip of his tongue he wanted to say but couldn’t, “I figured it would alleviate the pain.”

“But I saw you play, I watched you and you beat me,” She exclaimed.

“Yeah and it hurt like a bitch afterwards,” He shook his head.

Y/N couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She wondered why Harry had been unwilling to play against her during the training sessions and now she knew why. She felt awful, her heart was hurting for him.

“I don’t want you to feel pity for me and I don’t want this to change anything between us. I’m tired of being treated like a broken toy and I think it would kill me inside if you looked at me differently.”

Y/N stayed quiet, facing forward and collecting her thoughts before saying, “Thank you for telling me,” She murmured, “And it doesn’t change anything. You’re still an asshole,”

Harry laughed and then his pinky brushed the side of her hand, “You will be everything tomorrow.” He whispered.

Y/N’s heart fluttered at the soft edge of his words, “You think so?”

His eyes softened, “I believe in you, more than anyone in the entire world.”

She nodded, taking a deep breath and looking out the window. The tension had settled and now a newfound respect lingered between them.

She would win tomorrow, for herself and for him.

. . .

It had been a while since Harry had been to a tennis tournament. The last time he was on a court for an official match was well over six months ago, it was a challenger match he participated in during his training for the French Open before his life took a vast turn.

He sat in the stands with everyone else from Crestwood who had come to watch the first game. Although Crestwood Academy invested more in the football team than any other sport, the turnout had been pretty good and nearly every seat was occupied by a student or teacher.

On the opposite side was Eaststone Academy who seemed to have invested heavily in their merchandise for Y/N’s opponent. Everyone was either wearing a t-shirt with Vanya’s name on it or carrying a sign with supportive catchphrases written in bold marker.

Harry craned his neck in hopes of seeing Y/N preparing herself somewhere outside of the court but couldn’t find her anywhere. He’d sent her a quick message this morning and asked her if she needed anything but she insisted she wanted to be alone.

“Fuck, it’s good we got in the queue early,” Mitch came by with an anxious Sarah, holding two cokes in his hand. They were both wearing navy shirts and sweatbands around their heads, Sarah was holding a sign that had Y/N’s name on it.

“She’s gonna hate you for that,” Harry tried not to smile.

“Oh I already know,” Sarah said, “She watched me make it last night and then almost ripped in half when I asked her if I should bedazzle it.”

Harry’s expression changed into one of concern, “How was she?”

“She’s nervous but she insisted she was okay,” Sarah rolled her eyes, “You know how she is.”

He did, which was why he was willing to accept the fact she wanted to be by herself even though he was desperate to drive over there with strawberry milkshakes just so he could see that smile he had been dreaming about for the past three weeks.

Suddenly, Eaststone Academy stood from their seats and cheered as Vanya Maddison came onto the court. “I’ve never seen such long legs,” Sarah gasped, saying what both Harry and Mitch were thinking.

Harry’s heart pounded in his chest as the people around him stood on their feet. He glanced down to the court and his eyes fell on Y/N as she walked onto the court with a dip between her brows and her tennis bag over her shoulder.

She was wearing a white, pleated skort and a Ralph Lauren polo shirt. Her hair was slicked back as tightly as possible into a braid and her white runners were tied up on her feet. He noticed she was wearing earbuds in her ears and then found the walkman he had given her clipped to her skort. He smiled at that, wondering which of the many songs he had put together she was listening to.

“There she is,” Sarah pointed and then waved to get her attention.

Y/N held a hand over her face to block the sun and looked up at the crowd. When she caught sight of Sarah, she offered a friendly wave before her eyes landed on Harry. She gave him a nod of acknowledgement and then walked to her seat on the other side of the umpire.

“C’mon,” Harry murmured, feeling his palms sweating at the sight of her.

“She’s got this in the bag, H.” Mitch puts a hand on his shoulder.

Through the speakers, the umpire calls out the start of the match and everyone falls silent as both players walk to opposing sides of the court. Y/N bounces on her feet and swings her racket backwards and forwards as though warming herself up before the match starts.

When the first serve came, Y/N's reflexes kicked in. She returned the ball swiftly, keeping the rally going with her quick movements, remembering what Harry had taught her. Each exchange became more intense, but Y/N stayed determined, chasing down every ball.

When Vanya hit the ball for the other corner, Y/N ran towards it and returned the ball swiftly, earning the first point with a well-placed shot. The crowd erupted into cheers as Y/N gained an early lead.

“That’s my girl!” Harry clapped his heart in his throat.

But Vanya wasn't about to let up. With determination in her eyes, she fought back, winning the next two points with powerful serves and precise shots. The score was now in Vanya's favor, and the pressure was on for Y/N.

“Fuck!” Y/N released a growl and hit her racket against the floor before storming off to her seat. Harry was tempted to walk down and help her but he needed to let her see what she was capable of on her own.

Her anger was radiating from her, “I’d hate to get on her bad side,” Mitch said.

Harry couldn’t seem to reply as he leant forward with both his elbows on his knees. “C’mon, c’mon, you can do it.” He mutters, thinking of the first bit of advice he had given her.

“Do you know what your biggest strength is in this game?” Harry asked.

“My speed?” Y/N frowned.

“Your anger,” He replies, “Off the court, it’s a little annoying but on the court, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Use it.”

Y/N rolled her shoulders back and stood on her feet. She walked back to her line on the court and bounced the ball up and down on the ground before throwing it up in the air and hitting it with a flat serve, exactly the way Harry had taught her. Her anger radiated from her as she slammed the ball with her racket and hit it with such force it went flying to the other end of the court but not before bouncing inside the square right by Vanya’s foot.

Harry stood to his feet and pumped his fist into the air, “Holy shit!” Mitch exclaimed as Sarah cheered beside him.

They were now at match point and Y/N had to win this next round if she wanted to win the entire game.

The tension thickened in the air as people sat on the edge of their seats to see who would come out on top. This time, it was Vanya’s turn to serve as she launched the ball into the air and hit it with her racket to Y/N’s side of the court.

As Y/N unleashed powerful serves and precise shots, Harry found himself captivated by her every move. With each grunt of exertion, each flex of her muscles, he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. Despite the shifting heads of the spectators around him as they followed the ball back and forth, his gaze remained fixed solely on her.

Every aspect of Y/N's play had him in a trance—the way her muscles rippled as she sprinted across the court, the intensity in her expression as she anticipated Vanya’s next move, the graceful sway of her hair with each swing of her racket.

But as Harry watched, something stirred within him. A warmth spread through his veins, igniting a fire deep within him. Suddenly, he felt a tightness in his shorts, a physical reaction to the raw power and determination radiating from Y/N on the court.

"Oh, fuck," Harry muttered under his breath, his heart racing as he glanced down and saw the undeniable bulge in his shorts. Panic surged through him, his mind reeling with embarrassment.

"What's wrong?" Mitch's voice cut through his thoughts, and Harry quickly lowered his drink to conceal his arousal.

“N-Nothing,” Harry forces a smile, “I need to use the bathroom.” He doesn’t wait for Mitch to respond as she pushes past everyone to get away from the crowd.

He walks quickly over to his car and jumps into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” He didn’t know what to do. He felt like he was thirteen years old after experiencing girls for the first time again. Was it wrong to rub himself off in the middle of a tennis match when all he was looking at was the girl who played his favourite sport better than anyone he had ever seen, dominating the game with her anger and intensity like she was a complete animal?

He couldn’t shake the image of her from his mind and his cock seemed to ache the more he thought about how beautiful she was on the court, completely in her element, anger and passion emitting from her. Every grunt and groan she made as she hit the ball with so much fervor had his head spiralling.

He looked down and tried to will it away, he needed to get back out there to see her win the game. He thought of every disturbing thing he could possibly think of and even took out his phone to google the quickest way to get rid of an erection.

The excited yells of the crowd told him someone had won and he prayed he would return and see Y/N with the medal around her neck.

After about ten minutes of taking deep breaths, he finally felt composed enough to leave his car. With a flustered face, he made his way back toward the court, silently praying for some kind of cosmic intervention to erase the embarrassing moment from his memory.

As he turned the corner, he spotted Mitch and Sarah engaged in conversation with Y/N, who was proudly wearing the gold medal around her neck. She had won - he knew she would.

Y/N's eyes lit up as she noticed him, a wide smile spreading across her face as she proudly displayed her medal. Unable to resist, he grinned back in response.

Sweat glistened on her skin, her cheeks flushed with exertion, and delicate strands of hair framed her face. At that moment, she radiated beauty, and he couldn't deny the sudden surge of emotions that had slowly been weaving themselves into the fabric of his feelings ever since he had returned to Crestwood.

If the past fifteen minutes were anything to go by, Harry knew this was more than just a game of tennis.

He was in trouble.

. . .

People cheered as Y/N entered Harry’s apartment with Sarah at her side, holding beer cans in the air and patting her on the shoulder as she sifted through the crowds of people. S&M by Rhianna played over the speakers as the apartment that was previously empty was now filled up with student’s from Crestwood.

“There she is,” Mitch’s voice yelled over the music, “Crestwood’s very own Serena Williams,”

“I wouldn’t go that far Mitch,” She chuckled, unable to stop herself from smiling so hard after the excitement of her first win.

Y/N’s eyes scanned the room as she went in search of the one person she wanted to see whilst everyone fell into conversation around her.

That’s when she saw him, leaning against the wall with a red solo cup in his hand. His hair was a tangled mess, and his body was adorned in a loose, white shirt, its u-neck revealing the inked pair of swallows beneath his collarbones and gold chain around his neck. On his legs, he wore a loose pair of black trousers.

Y/N held back a smile as she made her way over to him until she realised who he was talking to.

Her face fell as she saw the angelic blonde, tanned and glowing like she’d just come back from a holiday somewhere south of the equator.

Harry’s face lit up as Y/N approached until he realised what was going on.

“Hey,” He smiled, trying to distract her.

“Where were you?” Y/N snapped her gaze towards him.

“What do y’ mean? M right here,” He spoke, “You were incredible out there.”

“Who’s this?” Y/N ignored him, folding her arms and looking at the girl he was speaking to. Y/N knew exactly who she was but felt the need to act as though she had never seen her before.

Harry hesitated for a moment before introducing her. “Y/N, this is Astrid.”

Astrid flashed a dazzling smile at Y/N, her demeanour friendly yet confident. “Congratulations on the win today, Y/N. I’m looking forward to our match in the semifinals.”

Harry's reaction was immediate. “What?” he stammered, clearly taken aback.

“You didn’t know?” Astrid asked, surprised. “Y/N and I will be facing off in the semifinals.”

Y/N grit her teeth and forced a smile, the two girls eyeing each other up and down as Harry’s eyes darted anxiously between them.

Now that Y/N was into the semi-finals her next opponent was Astrid Anderson, one of the best junior, female tennis players in the county.

Who just so happened to be Harry’s ex-girlfriend.

1K notes · View notes

azziesbattybaddie · 2 months

Text

You are my survival

Azriel x reader

You and Azriel are mates. Az knows it, you don't, that is until a particularly hard training session when the truth finally come out.

Word count: 5k

Requested: no

Warnings: fem reader, shadow play, smut, swearing, choking kink, praise, Azriel's wingspan, oral F and M receiving, Az is a Dom, PinV, we die like men

🔥 means smut will follow

Authors note: this is the first WIP I've finished in like 2 or 3 years so be gentle on me I also wrote this with one of my friends on discord and she is absolutely amazing, constructive criticism is welcome and plz let me know if I missed any tags. Enjoy!

"Pay attention."

His words weren't harsh by any means. No, Azriel would never raise his voice at you, but he'd be lying if he said training you was easy. He watched as you breathed heavily, body glistening with sweat. You'd been at this for hours. Clearly, you'd underestimated just how difficult swordplay was.

"I'm trying my best"

He let out a small chuckle, watching your brows furrow with frustration as he managed to point his sword at your neck, Again.

"Gotcha."

"dammit!"

You threw your sword down in frustration and slinked over to the corner of the ring. Before hugging your knees to your chest and sulking.

"I'm done, I'm quit!"

Sheathing his sword, Azriel approached you slowly, his footsteps silent on the straw-covered floor. He stopped a few feet away, giving you space but close enough to offer comfort.

"Hey, hey now," he murmured softly.

"Don't give up just yet."

He hesitated for a moment before sitting down beside you, keeping a respectful distance.

"Training is hard, y/n. It's supposed to push you, make you stronger. It's okay to feel frustrated, but don't let it consume you."

He glanced at you, his eyes reflecting genuine concern.

"You're doing better than you think. You've improved so much since we started. It's just... progress takes time. And patience." He offered you a small, encouraging smile.

"And maybe some water? You've been at it all day."

"yeah well maybe I should train with someone else because your a thousand times better than me and you have 400 years of experience on me so even if I am getting better your skill just dwarfs mine..."

Azriel looked at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. He had expected such a reaction from you, and he couldn't say that he blamed you either.

"You underestimate yourself," he told you gently, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"It may take time, but you will get there. Just keep practicing and if you can't believe in yourself, believe in the fact that I'm starting to feel your progress in your punches." As always tried to joke with you slightly but seeing as he got nothing but a half earned smile he let himself fall quiet.

He sighed deeply, his gaze drifting down to his scarred hands fiddling with them idly. There were things he wanted to tell you, things he wanted to share about his past, but he knew you weren't ready for them yet. Maybe one day, when you were strong enough, he could tell you everything.

Following his gaze, you watched as he picked at his nails and cuticles. You had known Az for a few hundred years now and as long as you had known him he had never shared the story of his warped skin and you had never worked up the courage to ask, that was until now.

"can I ask you a question without you getting upset? You can tell me to screw off if you don't want to answer, I won't push." You said in a timid, whispered voice. Azriel turned to look at you, his expression curious.

"Of course, y/n. What is it?"

He kept his tone calm and non-threatening, not wanting to scare you off. Whatever it was, he would do his best to answer honestly.

"what happened to your hands?"

Azriel's expression softened, and he looked down at his hands, his fingers curling slightly as he remembered.

"My hands... They were burned by-" he let out a heavy sigh, flexing his hands under your gaze before continuing.

"they were burned by my brothers, many years ago. I was born a bastard like Cassian so I was treated differently, even by my so-called family. They it left me with these scars."

He lifted his hands, showing you the intricate network of burn scars that covered his palms and fingers. They were a constant reminder of his past, a painful chapter he would rather forget.

"what brings that question to mind?"

you reach to grab his hand but hesitated before touching him.

"I just always wondered if they were painful they still look painful..."He noticed your hesitation and gave you a reassuring nod, encouraging you to continue.

"It doesn't hurt anymore, physically at least. But sometimes, the memories can still be quite painful." He lowered his hands, his gaze returning to yours staying quiet for a beat.

"It's alright, y/n. You won't hurt me by touching them. I won't bite or as Cass would say 'i won't bite unless you want me too'" he says with a half honest grin trying to lift the mood slightly.

He held out his hand, palm facing up, waiting for you to make the first move. He wanted to show you that he trusted you, that he was comfortable with you touching him. "Go ahead, y/n."

you gingerly brushed your fingers over his scarred hand before taking one of his hands in both of your running your thumbs over the back before smile and saying softly

"They always looked soft still..."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he felt his face heat slightly at the praise. He never wanted to feel anything other than your gentle touch on his scarred hand.

"Because of the burns, my skin never calloused so yeah I guess they are."

He turned his hand over, intertwining his fingers with yours. The warmth of your touch seeped into his skin, soothing the old wounds in ways he hadn't experienced in centuries.

"I never associated touch with comfort before. It feels like home." ' you feel like home' is what he would have said if he had the nerve but kept that thought to himself, thinking it to cheesey to say out loud.

His thumb stroked the back of your hand, a tender gesture that spoke volumes about the unspoken bond between you two. In that moment, the weight of his secrets and the darkness of his past seemed to fade away, replaced by a simple, pure connection with you.

you lifted your head to look at him only to find him already looking at you, your faces close enough to feel each others baited breaths.

Azriel's gaze locked onto yours, his heart pounding against his ribcage like a wild drum. The intensity of your stare was almost overwhelming, stirring feelings within him that he thought long buried.

He leaned closer, his lips inches away from yours. He could smell your scent, a mix of sweat and something uniquely you. It was intoxicating, making his pulse race and his resolve weaken.

For a moment, he considered closing the gap, pressing his lips against yours and losing himself in the warmth of your embrace. But he pulled back, breaking eye contact, reminding himself of the danger in such actions.

without thinking of the consequences of your actions you shot your hand out to cradle the side of his face turning him back to look at you and meet him with pleading look, begging him not to turn away.

Azriel's breath caught in his throat as he felt your hand cup his cheek, turning his face back towards you. He met your pleading gaze, his own eyes filled with a mix of longing and fear.

He wanted nothing more than to surrender to the desire burning within him, to lose himself in your embrace and forget about his past, his fears, and his responsibilities. But he knew he couldn't. Not yet, at least.

With a heavy sigh, he gently removed your hand from his face, his fingertips trailing along your skin as he did so.

"y/n, we can't," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"I care for you too much to risk putting you in danger. We need to focus on our training, on becoming stronger, you need to be ready for when hyburn attacks."

your pout deepened as you moved back slowly pulling your hand away from his reluctantly as you bit your lip trying to think of something to say to make him change his mind.

"Az we can still train and I've been getting stronger for years, why can't we just," you trail off, not knowing that words for the feeling you felt for him.

Azriel's chest tightened at your pout, a pang of guilt slicing through him as he cut you off. He hated seeing you upset, especially over something he had done.

"It's not because I don't want to," he assured you, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

"It's because I care about you too much. If I give in to these feelings now, it might lead to something neither of us is prepared for, not with so much at stake with war coming."

He paused, his gaze dropping to your lips before lifting back to meet your eyes.

"We're mates. I've known for a while but even though we were designed for each other. And right now with hyburn threatening to breach our borders, our lives and decisions can't be about love or passion-it's about survival"

you pull his face back to you for a last time before running the pads of your thumbs over his cheeks lovingly

"I know that az, but you are my survival. you said it yourself that your my mate, do you really think that I can live without my mate, without you?" You plead tears starting to form in your eyes.

The words hit him like a physical blow, leaving him momentarily speechless. Your admission cut straight to the core of his being, striking a chord within him that resonated with a depth of longing he didn't fully understand.

"You need my love..." he echoed, the words sounding foreign even to his ears. He'd never been loved, let alone needed. The idea was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"I... I don't know if I can give you that. I've never been loved, and I've never loved anyone the way I think I should. you deserve all the love there is in this world, and I don't think I can give you that."

His voice cracked with emotion, betraying the turmoil of feelings welling up inside him.

"you can,"

You step closer still holding his face you pull a hand away to grab his scarred one and place it on your waist and putting your hand on his chest over his heart gingerly.

"You have so much love in your heart that you can't help but let it spill over. You try to act so cold and calloused to everyone but we all feel you how much you love us. "

At your touch, Azriel felt a surge of emotion course through him, his heart pounding wildly against your palm. He stared down at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of deception or manipulation, but found only sincerity and vulnerability.

"You really believe that, don't you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"That I have love to give?"

He hesitated for a moment, then placed his other hand tentatively on your waist. The warmth of your body seeped into his chilled skin, melting some of the ice that had encased his heart for so long.

"I want to believe it," he admitted, his gaze dropping to your lips once more.

"But I'm afraid of putting you in a dangerous situation that you never need to be in. Afraid of losing control and doing something that could harm you. We both know that my work is extremely dangerous and if you got pulled into that I would never fucking forgive myself"

"Azriel... Your the bravest male I've ever met, please don't stop being brave." You take a final step faces inches apart

Azriel's breath hitched as you closed the remaining distance between you, your bodies nearly touching. He could feel the heat radiating off you, drawing him in like a moth to flame.

"Brave doesn't mean fearless, y/n," he said, his voice low and husky.

"Sometimes bravery means facing your deepest fears, even when every instinct tells you to run." You whisper gingerly brushing you fingers over his leathers laying over his heart.

He reached up, his fingers curling around the nape of your neck as he tilted your head back slightly. His thumb brushed against your lower lip, sending shivers down your spine.

"I'm just scared of failing you, of not being able to protect you. But I'm also scared of missing this chance, of letting my fears hold me back from trying to give us the life the cauldron has laid out for us."

"Then don't let your fears hold you back Az, let me hold them instead." You hold his hand over your cheek and guide his thumb over your lip again gently.

Azriel's resistance crumbled under your gentle guidance, his thumb gliding over your soft, plump lips with a tenderness that surprised even him. He leaned in closer, his nose brushing against yours as he savored the scent of your skin, the warmth of your breath.

"cauldron..." he murmured, his voice thick with longing.

he closed the final inch of distance, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was both tentative and desperate, holding your sides as delicately as fine china.

🔥🔥🔥

you surge you hand up to tangle in his hair and let out an audible cry of relief into his mouth.

Azriel groaned softly into the kiss as your hand tangled in his hair, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through him. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his body as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping across your lips to explore the warm cavern of your mouth.

As he kissed you, Azriel felt a weight lift from his shoulders, a burden he hadn't realized he carried until it was gone. In your embrace, he found a sense of peace, of belonging, that he had never known before.

Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, panting lightly as he struggled to catch his breath. "Y/n, I've wanted this for so long," he confessed, his voice rough with emotion.

"Wanted to hold you, touch you, taste you now."

"then don't fucking stop now." You practically begged, chasing his lips.

Your impassioned plea sent a jolt of desire through Azriel, his grip on you tightening as he ground his hips against yours, the hard length of his arousal pressing insistently against your belly.

"Oh, god, baby," he gasped, his breath hot against your skin.

"I won't stop, not now, not ever again." His hands trailing down to your ass, gently kneading the flesh under your fighting leathers.

"You're mine, and I'm going to fuck you so hard, make you scream my name until you forget everyone else exists."With that declaration, Azriel swept you up into his arms and winnowed you back to the house of wind before.

carrying you towards his bedroom as he devoured your mouth in a frenzy of kisses, his hands roaming your curves with a hunger that bordered on desperation. your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you and you press your breasts against his chest, mewl desperately against his lips.

The sound of your moans vibrating against his lips was music to Azriel's ears, fueling his already raging desire. He kicked open the door to his bedroom, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity as he laid you down onto the plush mattress.

"Gods, babygirl," he growled, his hands tracing the outline of your curves as he knelt beside you, his eyes devouring every inch of your exposed flesh. "You're so beautiful, so perfect..."

Without another word, he began to undress you, peeling away each layer of your leathers with a reverence that belied his usual cool demeanor. As he revealed your skin to his hungry gaze, he marveled at the sight, at the swell of your breasts, the curve of your hips, the sweet dip of your navel.

"And you smell divine,"

Azriel couldn't help but lean down, his tongue darting out to trace a path along the delicate line of your collarbone, savoring the taste of your skin. He licked and nibbled his way down your body, pausing to lavish attention on each breast, his tongue swirling around your nipples before taking them into his mouth, sucking gently.

His hands weren't idle either, slipping down to cup your ass, squeezing the firm flesh as he continued his descent. His shadows hooked around the sides of your panties, dragging them down your thighs with a teasing slowness that left you squirming beneath him.

"Tell me what you want, baby," he whispered against your skin, his voice a husky murmur.

"What do you crave? Tell me how to make you come undone?"

you reached down to Palm the tent in his fighting leathers at the words and using your other hand to wrap the scared flesh of his hand around your throat.

"I want you to use me, own me Azriel."

At your command, Azriel's heart pounded with a wild rhythm, his cock throbbing in your grasp. He allowed you to control his movements, his hand tightening around your throat in a gesture that was both possessive and protective while one of his larger shadows gently brushed against the side of your face in stark contrast.

"You're mine now, babygirl," he breathed, his voice laced with raw need.

"And I plan to worship every gods-damned inch of you."

With that promise, he slid down further, his lips trailing kisses along your inner thigh, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. He paused just above where you needed him most, his eyes locking with yours as he teased you mercilessly.

"Do you want more?" he asked, his voice a seductive whisper. "Do you want my mouth on you, tasting you?"

"gods yes please!" You hold his hand tightly around his throat encouraging him to squeeze harder what you arch your back of the bed in hopes of inching your cunt closer to his mouth.

Azriel's grip around your throat tightened slightly at your eager response, his thumb applying just enough pressure to send a thrill of excitement through you. With a low growl, he finally gave in to your pleas, his mouth descending upon your dripping folds.

He lavished your pussy with attention, his tongue delving deep inside you as he fucked you with slow, deliberate strokes while flicks of dark swirl around your clit. He explored every inch of your sex, savoring the taste of your arousal, the feel of your slick walls clenching around his tongue.

As he ate you out, Azriel's free hand roamed your body, palming your breasts, pinching your nipples, leaving trails of fire and cold in its wake. He could feel your climax building, could taste your sweet submission on his tongue, and it only fueled his own desire.

"come on babygirl, ride my face while you come."

He brought one of your hands to tangle in his hair and wrapped his arms around the tops of your thighs encouraging you to buck into his tongue.

Your hips bucked off the bed as you came hard on his tongue, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave, your juices flowing freely as you cried out his name, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close.

Azriel drank in your release, his tongue lapping up every drop of your essence as he savored the taste of your pleasure. He held you tight, his mouth never leaving your pussy as you rode out the waves of your orgasm, your cries of ecstasy music to his ears.

Only when you finally went limp did he release you, his face glistening with your arousal. He crawled up your body, his chocolate eyes blazing with a fierce possessiveness as he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss.

"Now it's my turn," he growled against your lips, his hands tearing at his leathers to free his straining cock.

"Get on your knees, baby, I want to fuck that pretty mouth of yours."

You eagerly roll onto your stomach and push yourself off the bed and onto your knees Infront of him batting your lashes and staring up at him with lust filled eyes.

Azriel watched you move, his heart pounding with a mix of desire and admiration. Your eagerness was intoxicating, fueling his own need even further. He discarded his leathers completely, revealing his veined cock, throbbing with need.

Azriel's breath caught in his throat at the sight of you kneeling before him, your eyes filled with hunger and desire. He ran a hand through your disheveled hair, his fingers tangling in your locks as he guided your head towards his aching cock.

"Open wide, love," *he murmured, his voice thick with need.

"Show me how much you need me."

you took him into your mouth, Azriel let out a low groan, his hips bucking involuntarily. Your warm, wet mouth felt like heaven, and he had to fight the urge to thrust too hard, too fast. Instead, he set a steady pace, his hands guiding your head as you sucked the tip every time he pulled out.

"Fuck, good girl," he gasped, his grip tightening in your hair. "You fucking feel incredible..."You moaned softly as you took him deeper into your mouth working your tongue over his cock, your hands reaching up to cup his balls as you continue to suckle on his cock.

The sensation of your tongue working over his length, coupled with the feeling of your hands on his balls, sent jolts of pleasure coursing through Azriel's body. He watched you, entranced by the sight of your lips stretched around his cock, the sound of your soft moans vibrating against him.

"That's right, baby," he purred, his voice heavy with lust.

"Take all of me... Show me how much you want this..."

He began to move faster, his hips rocking into your mouth, setting a rhythm that had him teetering on the brink of release. His fingers threaded through your hair, urging you on, pushing you to take him even deeper.

"fuck yes! Good girl, just like tha- oh such fucking good girl!"

You moan louder now sending subtle vibrations down his shaft, your cheeks hollowing out as you suck harder on his cock, taking him deeper each time until he hits the back of your throat. You gag softly but quickly recover and continue sucking him off as if your life depends on it.

The feeling of your throat constricting around his cock was almost too much for Azriel to bear. He grunted, his hands gripping your hair tighter as he fucked your mouth with abandon, his hips snapping forward with each thrust.

"Oh gods, baby..." he groaned, his voice ragged with need.

"You're going to make me come so fucking hard..."

His cock throbbed in your mouth, signaling his imminent release. With a final, powerful thrust, he spilled his seed into your willing mouth, his cum coating your tongue and spilling down your chin.

"That's it... Swallow it all..."

Swiping your fingers over your chin you collect the molten cream and swallow every last drop of his cum, your throat working to milk him dry, your eyes locked on his as you gaze up at him with a look of complete satisfaction and devotion.

Azriel watched, transfixed, as your throat bobbed swallowing his cum, your tongue working to milk him dry. He let out a satisfied sigh, his fingers gently stroking through your hair as he admired the look of complete satisfaction on your face.

"You're amazing," he murmured, pulling out of your mouth and offering you a hand up.

"I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did."

With a smile, he pulled you into his arms for a deep, passionate kiss, his hands roaming over your body as he savored the taste of you still lingering on his tongue.

You lean into his touch, your body pressed tightly against his as you kiss him back just as passionately, your hands running over his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his skin.

Azriel dominated you mouth with a throaty moan, his hands exploring your curves with a growing urgency. He broke away from the kiss only long enough to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, savoring the taste of your skin.

"I want more," he whispered huskily,

"but I think we should save some energy for later."With that, he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you back to the bed where he laid you down, his eyes darkening with desire as he looked down at you.

You giggle lightly as he lays you back down on the bed, your legs parting slightly as you invite him closer.

Azriel's gaze followed the movement of your legs, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he saw the invitation in your eyes. He climbed onto the bed, settling between your thighs, his weight supported on his elbows as he gazed down at you.

"Impatient little thing, aren't you?" he teased, his voice low and playful.

He leaned down, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened peak before giving it a gentle bite.

"But don't worry, love. I plan to take full advantage of that"

Feeling your hands in his hair, Azriel gave a low chuckle, the vibration of his laughter traveling straight to your breasts. He continued his attentions, alternating between teasing your nipples and tracing patterns across your skin with his tongue.

"Hmm, sounds like someone wants more," he murmured, his voice muffled against your flesh.

Pulling back slightly, he shifted his position, aligning his cock with your slick entrance. Without another word, he pushed inside you, filling you completely with a single, smooth stroke.

You arch your back, pressing your breasts back into his waiting mouth as he teases and bites at your sensitive nipples, a soft moan escaping your lips. Your hands find their way to his hair, tangling in the strands as you pull him closer, desperate for more of his touch.

"Fucking hell, babygirl..." he groaned, his hips beginning to rock slowly as he adjusted to your tight warmth. impatience."

He moved to your other breast, lavishing the same attention upon it, all while grinding his hardening cock against your core. Your back arches off the bed as he fills you, a sharp gasp leaving your lips at the sudden intrusion. But as he begins to move, slow and deliberate, you relax into him, your inner walls clenching around his thickness.

"Ah... yes..." you breathe out, your hands tightening in his hair.

"Just like that... Don't stop..."

Hearing your plea, Azriel picked up the pace, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency. Each thrust drove him deeper into your welcoming heat, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

"Gods, you feel incredible," he growled, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue dueling with yours as he fucked you relentlessly.

His hands roamed your body, squeezing your ass cheeks, tracing the curve of your waist, and finally, cupping your breasts once again, thumbing your nipples into stiff peaks.

You meet his kiss with equal fervor, your tongue dancing with his as you lose yourself in the sensation of being filled so completely. Your legs wrap around his ass, pulling him even deeper within you, urging him on.

"Oh god, Azriel!" you cry out, your walls spasming around him, milking him for all he's worth.

Feeling your orgasm ripple through you, Azriel let out a guttural roar, burying himself as deep as he could go as he found his own release. He came hard, pulsing streams of hot cum inside you, his body shuddering with the force of it.

"baby Fuck, y/n-" he gasped, collapsing forward, catching himself on his elbows to keep from crushing you before pulling out and gently resting himself on top of you, his hips still between your legs and his head resting on your breasts.

He stayed there for a moment, panting, his heart pounding against your chest, before slowly rolling to the side, taking you with him so you were draped across his chest.

"That was... intense," he panted, his fingers trailing lazily up and down your spine.

"Are you okay, baby?"

"Yeah... That was amazing." you murmur, snuggling closer to him, enjoying the afterglow of their lovemaking.

As you lay there, spent and satisfied, your the aftershocks of your orgasm. You nod weakly, a contented smile tugging at your lips.

Azriel smiled, his fingers gently stroking through your hair as you nestled against him. He could feel the warmth of your body pressed to his, the steady beat of your heart against his chest.

"I know, baby," he said softly, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your forehead.

"And it's only going to get better from here."

His hand trailed lower, his fingers finding your hip, where he gave a gentle squeeze.

"Now rest, we've got plenty of time to explore more later when you can feel your legs again." He taunted with a tired grin.

You sigh contentedly with a fucked out smile on your face, feeling utterly relaxed and loved. You close your eyes, letting the warmth of his body envelope you, and drift off to sleep in his arms.

Watching you drift off to sleep, Azriel couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of the moment. Here, in his embrace, safe and protected, with his beautiful mate, it was everything he could ever want. And now, it seemed, he had it all.

With a final lingering look, he allowed himself to relax fully, his breathing evening out to match yours. As he drifted toward sleep, he knew one thing for certain - this was just the beginning.

#acotar men x reader #azriel x plus size reader #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel smut #acotar smut #acomaf #rhysand #rhysand x reader #cassian x reader #lucien x reader

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phant0mth1ef · 2 months

Text

are we still friends? can we be friends? are we still friends? i’ve got to… know. (pt. 2 to the feeling that i’m losing her, forever). part 3

to say you didn’t expect to see a pair of bright red eyes staring you down as you walked into the facility was an understatement, you hadn’t made eye contact with those eyes in over a year, and you flinched the moment you realized just who you were looking at.

you’d stumbled into inasa once you snapped out of your daze, catching yourself quickly as your cap hit the floor, the boy using his wind in order to float it back onto your head.

“thank you.” you mumbled before going to take your spot in line, coincidentally right next to your former best friend.

“why haven’t you called me?!” so now he wants to begin a conversation.

“been busy.” you shrugged, refusing to even look at him because you knew you’d start crying the moment you met his eyes again.

“okay? you could’ve texted me or some shit!”

“my phone stopped working.” you were competing for the title of nonchalant final boss at this point with how casual you were being.

“bullshit. i saw you with it at the exam! just tell me why you’re avoiding me like the plague.” it may not have looked like it, but bakugou was scared out of his mind. you’d changed since the licensing exam, he could sense it in the way you carried yourself. you were being cold.

“what the hell happened to you?? you used to always call me, always text me. what happened?” did he seriously not know what happened?

“you happened.” and that was all you were able to say before the proctors for the training session entered the room, quickly commanding you all to stand in line as your face changed to a softer expression.

it was a casual sparring session, so why were you sending rocks the size of boulders his way? his mind was too clouded to even dodge them effectively, the words you said still playing out in his mind as he mindlessly sent out explosive attacks.

you’d tried to pack up as quickly as possible afterwards to avoid a confrontation with your former best friend, but you heard the clanking of his boots hitting the ground and just let out a sigh.

“what?” you snapped.

“what me? what you!” he was starting to get angry, the way he would get angry back in middle school.

“what about me?! you’re also at fault here. i was the one always trying to get in contact with you! i just grew up and realized that if you wanted to, you would.” you begun to shove all your things into your duffel bag, accidentally smashing your fist into the ground.

“what the hell does that even mean?! you’re the one who stopped calling me outta nowhere. i didn’t tell you to do that.”

“don’t you get it?! i was the one always calling!” you shoved your bag to the floor as you stood up straight, your voice getting strained as you finally made eye contact with bakugou.

“i was the one who always had to start talking to you first! it made me feel like a nuisance. and then one day i hear you telling your new friends that you think i’m annoying? like what the fuck, katsuki. none of this is my fault. if you’d just been a man and picked up the phone, this could’ve been avoided.” you had a habit of crying once you got frustrated, so naturally the tears were threatening to fall from your eyes.

he didn’t have any words, letting out a scoff as you picked up your bag and shoulder checked him on your way out, sending him stumbling back as he just stared at the ghost of your presence.

later that night he sat in his dorm room, his finger hovering over your contact but never once pressing on it, unsure of what he’d even say if you decided to pick up.

“i mean how the hell am i supposed to apologize? she’s so confusing. like damn sorry i called you annoying but it isn’t even that big of a deal anymore that was months ago!” bakugou was ranting to his little group of friends that were huddled on his floor, suprised that the boy would even invite them, let alone drone on about his issues with the friend that none of them even knew about.

“so you called her annoying but you didn’t know she was listening?” mina spoke up.

“yes but that was months ago! i don’t even know how to talk to her anymore because she won’t listen to me.” he sprawled flat on his bed.

“sounds like you’ve dug yourself a deep hole bakugou.” kirishima said, a hint of disappointment in his tone.

meanwhile, back at shiketsu, your group was currently huddled in camie’s dorm, and you sat on the bed while they formed a circle around you.

“i don’t know who he thinks he is but i am not going to beg for him to be my friend, i am not going to be as pathetic as i used to be!” slow teardrops fell from your eyes as you recalled back in middle school when bakugou found more friends and slowly begun to leave you behind.

“i know, and i get that, but you should at least try to give him a chance. he’s making an effort.” she tossed you your phone that was sitting on the desk, a notification on the lock screen.

[kats 💥🫂]

Meet me at the spot tomorrow. Please. 4 PM.

tags; @riverozada @lupitalove @msjaeger @aintseennothinyet @wendeeeee ask and you shall receive sorry if its kinda bad 😢😢

#mha #myheroacademia #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #bnha bakugou #mha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou angst

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abbyshands · 8 months

Note

Good nigth darling,you're okay?can we have more nerdy!abby pleaase i beg you 🙏🙏🙏(srry for my inglish)

teach me

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

a/n; hello, my love! i’m good, and i hope you are too! of course EEK i was going to write more for her anyway, i love a nerdy girl. also this is cut off asf I’M SORRY i’m tired, maybe i’ll do a part 2 if y’all ask <3

synopsis; you’ve never been good at science, let alone college biology. when your professor all but forced you to get a tutor, who should you end up with but your nerdy girlfriend, who has a very unique way of getting you to study?

pairing; dom!abby anderson x sub!fem!reader

warnings; abby uses baby/princess, use of a strap-on, cockwarming + edging (kinda), abby refers to the strap as her dick and it’s referred to as her dick/cock, choking, spanking, degradation (ish. abby’s tone is just mean), anddd i prob missed smt so lmk <3

wc; 2.2k

p.s.; ALSO this is was ib an ellie fic i saw bro idk where tf it is 😭 searching for it tho. i js remember it was nerdy ellie. it was so good BUT LIKE WHERE IS ITTT idk i’ll link it here if i find it

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

you’ve always sucked at science. biology, chemistry, whatever the hell it was, it had never been your cup of tea.

your professor had not so kindly recommended you get a tutor. otherwise, your grades would decline (more than they already were, that is). you didn't want a tutor, let alone for it to be someone you didn't know. you were already feeling awkward enough having to have someone tutor you at all—you couldn't imagine if it was by an unfamiliar.

that's where abby came in.

abby anderson was your girlfriend, and she was a nerd. like, cliche movie nerd. if you couldn't find her in her dorm, with you, or in class, she was at the library, doing homework until she couldn't anymore. she was a coffee addict with how late she was up each evening, study sessions, unnecessarily reviewing, and, again, homework.

let's just say, abby anderson would do crazy things for an a.

you didn't necessarily want to have abby as your tutor. for some reason, it was embarrassing to you. you had already felt that way when you told her you needed one at all. it would be 10x worse if she would be the one doing it.

not only that, the focus.

how the fuck were you going to focus when you have abby fucking anderson in front of you? when your mind races with memories of her fucking you from behind, or kissing down your neck, or making you the wettest you've ever been, just by being alive?

you weren't.

but abby was persistent. you had originally said no when she first asked to tutor you, but when the guy who was supposed to tutor you didn't even show for your first session, it was no longer a request.

it was a demand.

you were sitting beside abby in her dorm, working on an assignment for your biology class that was due the following day. you had taken up to ten breaks by now, and it had only been an hour and a half or so.

abby pushed her glasses up on her face as she looked over at you, eyebrow raised. you had been dozing off, elbow on the desk and chin on your palm as your eyes began to fall shut.

"hey," abby snapped her large hand in front of your face, making your eyes open again just as quickly as it had happened. "are you listening to me?"

no.

"yeah. yeah, sorry, i just, um—dna and rna. that's what we're learning now, right?" you ask confusedly, doing your best to make it seem like you know what you’re talking about.

but the look on abby's face tells you all you need to know.

"mhm, like, ten minutes ago," abby hums a bit annoyedly, and you can't help but let out a sigh. it's bad enough you have to be here at all, but letting abby down, or worse, pissing her off, was the last thing you wanted to do. “you're never going to learn if you don't put any effort in," she sighs.

“c’mon, abs,” you whined as you set your pencil aside, putting your head down on the desk, eyes on abby. the blonde set her own pen down with a small shake of the head, expression unreadable. “i can’t do this anymore,” you said dramatically. abby rolled her eyes.

“what’s wrong now?” abby asked, but it’s not like she really wanted to know the answer. you knew how seriously abby took her own schoolwork, which may be the reason she was annoyed that you didn’t. but you just weren’t like that.

“none of this makes sense. i can’t remember a thing we go over. god, i hate biology,” you complained once more, looking away from abby.

abby sighed as she put a hand on your shoulder. as much as she wanted to be annoyed, she loved you, and she knew full well that even if you were smart, biology was your worst class.

“what can i do to help, baby? flashcards, d’you want me to quiz you? what do you need?” abby asked as she moved her hand to your back, rubbing it. you shrugged.

“i dunno. i don’t think any of that stuff is going to help me, abby. my memory’s—not that good,” you lamely huffed, but it was true. your memory was best when it came down to the things you cared for. college biology was not one of them.

“hm,” abby hummed. it took a beat, a small pause. but then, abby’s perked eyebrows told you that she had just gotten an idea, and so did the way her plump lips curled into a grin.

“i think i know what’ll do the trick.”

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

that’s how you ended up on abby’s lap, her cock buried deep inside of you as she gripped you by the bottom. abby’s way of bettering your sour memory came in the form of one of the most agonizing experiences you had ever had.

“how does dna differ from rna?” abby asks you casually, as if she isn’t filling you to the brim. you feel your face getting hot, bottom lip bitten down on as you look at her nervously.

“u- uhm. d- dna has a d- double helix model, fuck,” you whine. you must be at least a little correct, because abby bucks her hips up into you, causing the silicone dildo to move inside of you. “rna’s single, a- and involved in a different process than dna.”

“attagirl,” abby praised. it’s then that she grabbed you by the ass, hard, and forced you to ride up to the top of her dick, just before she’s slamming you back down. for only a few seconds, you gain some pleasure by moving your body like that, or abby doing it for you, that is.

but then, she’s robbing it away from you, just like that.

“a- abby, please, c’mon,” you whimper. this had been going on for a third of an hour or so. abby would ask you a question from the deck of index cards she had made for you, and you would answer. simple, right?

wrong.

because here's the thing: she wouldn’t move unless you answered her, and it had to be correct. and if not?

smack.

abby's large hand comes down on your ass as if to shut you up. really, it doesn't. you let out a moan as she then grabs your ass again, not giving a care to how sore you may be.

because she's already slapped you way too many times to count.

“don't act like this isn't for your own good," she says firmly, reprimanding you. "you got that one wrong last time. and we’re not going to stop until you’ve got that whole fucking deck memorized, you got that?” she asks, signaling to the forgotten pile of index cards on the desk behind you. you whine, body too achy for abby to deny her.

“f- fine," you whine, because who the hell would you be to say no?

“good girl," abby praises as she rubs her hands over your bottom, caressing you in a loving manner, a wide difference to the way she was addressing you mere seconds before. "now, can you tell me what a neuron is?”

doing your best to not focus on the feeling inside you, you nod, and easily answer. “a- a neuron—" you huff. "is a specialized cell.”

abby moves her hands to your hips and pushed you up, so that you're around halfway down on her cock. you let out a small shudder, but it must mean you're correct. “and what’s it do?” abby then asks.

to some degree.

but you know this one. after all, it was one of the last cards you looked at in the deck. so, you respond, “transmit.”

abby moves you up more, and this time, she brings one of her hands up to cup your tit. she plays with your nipple if only for a second, causing you to let out a low moan. but just when you think she's going to keep going, of course, she doesn't.

“transmit what?” she asks firmly as her fingers caress your rib cage, and it's all you can do not to roll your eyes.

“nerve impulses," you say a bit too fast, eager to have her hands back on you. your neediness helped you on that one. "i- it’s the basic unit of the nervous system," you add, for good measure.

"that's right, princess," abby smirked, course she did. she had always had way too much fun when she was driving you crazy during sex. this was no different.

but you're pleased to find yourself rewarded, because abby allows you to ride her again. you move up and down a little quickly, scared that your girlfriend will rob you of the feeling before it's even begun. abby begins to rub your clit as she gazes at you fucking yourself on her dick, way too needy for her touch.

"eager girl," abby cooed, rubbing her index on your clit in quick circles. "so needy for my cock, aren't you?"

"yes," you huff out fast, eyes closing shut at the feeling under you.

"too bad."

abby shoves you all the way back down her dick, so that you're all the way back down at the base. it pleasures you for only a second, before the feeling vanishes, just like that.

"abby, f- fuck," you groan annoyedly, body begging for a release you know abby won't give you unless you do what she tells you to do.

and she doesn't like your words.

abby grabs you by the neck, forcing you to look at her as you roll your eyes in the brattiest manner she's ever seen from you. "look at me. look at me when i'm talking to you," and she uses that tone you know she only uses when she's not playing games, barking your full name out at the end like the word pains her tongue.

once she's got your eyes on her, she speaks once more. "if you really want this dick, and i know you do, you're gonna take what i give you like the good girl you are. that clear?"

you keep your eyes on her, scared of what will happen if you don't, face hot as you answer. "y- yes, ma'am."

"primary use of the kidneys?" abby asks, not even giving you praise for obeying her. but you're not at all surprised by that: if there was one thing about abby, she did not like your bratty side.

this time, unlike what abby's asked you before, you can't remember the answer to this. like, at all. you fumble with it for a second, digging through your head for what it could be. but you don't get a response.

"i- i don't know," you dumbly stutter, genuinely unsure of what to say. abby isn't having it, obviously, because one mlre spank is coming down onto your ass before you know it.

"f- fuck!" you whine brokenly, head rocking back, and bottom sore from each hit abby's given you. she doesn't seem to care.

"yes, you do," she all but growls at you, and you think of your real class all too quickly, like she's your professor. "we went over this. so fucking tell me," she says, and it only makes your abdomen churn more.

and fill with butterflies.

“s- something to do with b- blood pressure, right? c- controlling it? please say yes," you were begging more to yourself than to abby, not even sure where that answer came from.

“mhm, and what else?" she coos, doing what she's done a million times before: moving you halfway up her cock.

"i- i don't know, abs. can't remember," you mutter, and really, how could you by now?

it looks like abby is feeling a little generous this time, because she helps you along. "what’s it do to your body, princess? begins with an 'r',” she asked.

even when your brain begins to fog up with all of the questions in your head, and what's happening besides that, it seems to click for you when abby says the letter 'r.' “r- regulates it? th- the fluid balance?”

“mhm," abby says with a small nod of approval, even kissing your chest this time as a reward.

"there’s my smart girl.”

and it goes on like that forever, question, answer, question, answer. sometimes, you got abby's cock easily. most times, you weren't so lucky.

your eyes are drooping, body aching and face hot as you stutter out the answer to the final card in the deck. once you do, you let out a deep, long exhale, which makes abby chuckle.

"see, pretty girl? wasn't that bad, was it?" abby coos, putting her hand up to cup your cheek. obviously, you want to say no. but after all of this, it was too risky to be bratty to abby. so you shake your head.

and you hadn’t even finished yet.

"n- no, it was—fine," you lie, and abby knows you are. but she doesn't ask about it, knowing full well how much she's done to you already.

"look on the good side.”

“you'll remember better now, won't you?"

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

reblogs are very much welcomed <3

———

#abby anderson #abby anderson fic #abby anderson fan fiction #abby anderson smut #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson the last of us 2 #abby tlou #the last of us smut #wlw ns/fw #wlw smut #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x y/n #tlou2 smut #ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ kit’s works

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burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 1 year

Text

FOLIE Á DEUX ─── jonathan crane ✧

ೃ⁀➷ “Not all love is gentle. Sometimes it's gritty and dirty and possessive, sometimes it's not supposed to be careful or soft at all. Sometimes it feels like teeth.” - Azra T.

pairing. professor!jonathan crane x stalker!reader

summary. you’ve been stalking your professor for 8 months, keeping track of his movements with your diary. one day, said professor informs that you left something of yours behind in his office…

warnings. swearing, choking, p in v, dacryphilia, oral sex (f), dubcon (if u squint), stalking, breeding, orgasm delay/denial, unprotected sex, hair pulling, student-teacher relationship, SMUT UNDER THE CUT

word count. 4.5k

a/n. this is my first ever smut, so if it sucks i really do apologize. also, im kinda unsure where the plot on this one went, but whatever! lastly, i do try to keep all my fics gender-neutral, but seeing as this is smut, i had to choose, and the reader is afab.

“Miss [Name], please stay behind after class. I need just a moment's worth of your time.” Your professor said absently, not looking at you, when he handed back your essay on the human id.

You hummed, nodding your head carefully. “Yes, Professor Crane.”

Inwardly, you swooned at his choice of words: “I need just a moment's worth of your time.” He’d highlighted the existence of both you and him in the sentence, as if coexisting together, with one another, was plausible.

Later, when class ended, you’d packed up all your things, and walked into Professor Crane’s office off to the side, where he was tidying up.

“You asked me to stay behind, sir?”

“Yes,” Crane acknowledged your presence, looking at you squarely. “You forgot something in my office during our last tutoring session.”

Your eyes widened slightly, both at the fact you’d left one of your items behind, and that your Professor had seen the item, and knew it belonged to you. He hadn’t mistaken it as his own, or anyone else's - he knew it was yours.

“Oh!” You said, a beat later. “Thank you for telling me. Where is it, exactly?”

“Before we get to that matter - do take a seat - I believe we need to have a, ah, talk.” He gestured to the seat in front of his office desk, the same seat you sat on every Wednesday at 6:30 for the past few months.

“A talk, sir?” You pried, but sat down anyway, reveling in the one-on-one time you were experiencing with your favorite professor.

That was the main motivator for getting tutored by the man - you adored going in, having an entire hour of him all to yourself.

Prior, you pretended not to get some of his lessons, let your grade in his psychology class slip to a pitiful mark so low he couldn’t ignore it. You’d started the semester with a stellar grade, so he took it upon himself to offer tutoring - he knew you could understand his method of teaching, and theorized that you hadn’t been able to pay attention in class because of the sheer size of people attending.

In actuality, however, you understood everything completely - it was merely your obsessive attraction following him like the sound of thunder trailing behind lightning.

Crane scrubbed his face when you sat, thinking intently on what he wanted to say. “I need you to understand, Miss [Name], that a student-teacher relationship is completely taboo. Such a thing can never - should never, occur.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, and suddenly, you were reminded how you hadn’t seen that book in a while, you hadn’t read it when you woke up, when you went for lunch, you hadn’t even written anything about him for the day—

Your professor slid open one of his desk drawers, and pulled out the familiar pocket notebook you kept with yourself at all times.

“I’m telling you about rules, Miss [Name], because you forgot this.” He said, voice low. “And, pardon my intrusion, but the stuff you have written here is quite… intriguing.”

Your heart began racing in your chest, a cold sweat trailing down your back. “Professor, I- whatever you read in there—“ You began, but froze when he opened the notebook, thumbing through the pages.

Crane cleared his throat, looking intently at the words. His expression changed several times as his eyes flitted over your writing, and you felt your body burn with shame.

“January 26th. Professor's gloves were found in the nook of his podium. I was looking for the green apple he’d forgo from finishing, his teeth tracks fresh on the alabaster flesh, but found his winter wear instead. Gloves were brought home - I imagined he’d come over to mine, undressed his biting winter clothing, and forgot his sweet mittens here.” Your professor read your diary out loud. Crane looked like he enjoyed your shame being laid out bare, but you were too absorbed in a whirlwind of emotion to notice.

“P—Professor, please, I - I can explain, I didn’t mean anything—“

“April 17th. Professor came down with a flu, like I expected. I saw him walking in last week’s evening downpour and waited for what day this week he’d call in. Later, he bought cough syrup and aspirin at the convenience store. I watched him struggle to care for himself, covered head to toe in blankets, missing meals, barely able to keep upright. I wish professor knew how well I could care for him, how I fulfill his every request and need. I saw how touchy he was, how he fidgeted, that feverish want — I could satiate him like no-one else.”

His lips enunciated every word, and the longer he went on reading, the dizzier you felt; your professor, your darling, had found out - he had found out - he had found fucking out -

“Be honest with me, Miss [Name]. Do you stalk me?” Your professor said, slipping off his wire-framed glasses. The man leaned in closer now, elbows resting on the wooden desk.

Your eyes darted away from him, looking anywhere but forwards. You felt like you had been stripped away, so bare your professor could count how many ribs you had, how many minor hairline fractures your tattered bones had collected over the years. You tried to analyze the man’s reaction through your peripheral, but it was to no avail - he was as cold as he had been during class, during your entire time knowing the professor.

You breathed, in and out, analyzing the situation tenfold, precisely, trying to find a way out of this place alive, dignity intact. Then, you found it.

This man had ensnared you, entranced you with his delicious charm and carefully spoken words. You repeat inwardly to yourself: Crane knew all the right words, all the right places to touch. If he dared press charges, you would tell the world he hurt you first.

“Yes, Professor Crane.” You nodded, unabashed after deciding how to deal with everything. He can’t touch me with this. I’ll just go first: please, he took advantage of me! I needed to pass his class… and he offered a solution to me. He’s lying! Lying to you all. He just wants to destroy me… and hide his sin.

“The human body knows when someone’s watching them, but you haven’t noticed, not once in the 8 months I’ve watched you. You didn’t notice, even when I followed you home, even to Arkham. Every obscure outing you’ve had, I’ve been there.”

“I’m quite alarmed by this information, Miss [Name]. Moreso by the absence of your remorse.” Crane said, but mere seconds later a low laugh was drawn out of him, looking more amused than alarmed if anything.

Crane’s tone was husky, nearing a purr, and he clasped his large, calloused hands together contemplatively. “What were you going to do to me, Miss [Name]? Or were you just going to watch, standby my life?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, unable to respond to his provocations. You didn’t want to alarm him further, tell him you’d been planning to finally have him, once and for all, as soon as you got a hold of his house keys and got the chance to replicate your own pair. You didn’t tell him that you were barely restraining yourself from knocking him out during your tutoring sessions, wanting your darling all for yourself for more than an hour a week.

“Are you not afraid, Miss [Name]? What I can do to your life with this information? How I can ruin you, paint you mad enough to be admitted to Arkham?” he continued, closer than ever before and whispering in your ear. His plush lips brushed past the shell of your ear, making your heart skip a beat.

You winced, both from the feeling of him near you and his sweet voice spewing poison in your ear, but quickly composed yourself, for you knew things he didn’t know you knew.

Then - you weren’t quite sure what possessed you, but - your hand came up to his hair, tugging so he could hear you, “Professor - or, should I say… Scarecrow, what would you do, if I told the police what Gotham University’s psychology professor did in his spare time?”

“What would you do, if I plastered pictures of the renowned Doctor Jonathan Crane wearing the familiar burlap sack mask all over Gotham - especially in places the Batman frequented?”

“I can destroy you, sir.” Your voice was quiet, but dangerous, a terribly alluring thing, like a melody Crane heard a long time ago and remembered every time he smelt the must of an old piano. “Don’t push me.”

This time, Crane stilled, turning to face you fully. His gaze had darkened, looking at you through his long lashes. “My dear, you should’ve just told me how bad you wanted to find out how this fear-toxin of mine can break you.” He whispered, so quiet you had to strain yourself to hear.

With your professor's warm breath fanning on the nape of your neck, you couldn’t help how you squirmed, clenched your thighs together - especially when you had been dreaming of something like this for the past eight months. You couldn’t count how many times you found yourself with your hands down your pants at the thought of your darling professor having his way with you… controlling you completely.

You didn’t answer the man for a moment, gulping down the dryness in your throat. “Would you, sir? Would you let fear dominate me like those tortured souls in the Narrows?”

Crane’s eyes trailed across your face, then he pulled back, leaning in his chair, a grin all teeth and no tongue spreading across his lips. There was something there, you realized, something he noticed in the intone of your voice - had he noticed the neediness, the warble as your thoughts went elsewhere? The arch in your back, your body desperate to be as close to him as possible?

“Can I tell you what I think?” said Crane, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “I think you want me to. I think you want me to see you tremble… shake in fear… you want me to hear you beg. I think you want to be utterly consumed by me.”

The deep timbre of his voice, the suggestion in his words, how he stared you down with each syllable, sent electric shivers down your spine. You took in a sharp breath, leaning your head back to look at the ceiling, compose yourself, when—

Crane’s rough hand gripped at your throat, thumb caressing the little notch at the center, and your heart fluttered, jumping at his touch.

“Fear is an addicting, beautiful thing, is it not? You’re afraid of me, but you can’t help how fucking needy you are.” Your professor spoke, pressing down further on your neck. He had noticed.

His touch made your skin feel like it was on fire, the rough pads of his fingertips digging bruises into your delicate skin. It was the most delicious thing you had ever felt, and you leaned into it, despite the connotations of death by asphyxiation looming over your shoulder.

Your professor manhandled you, dragging your weak body over to his side of the desk, hand still curved neatly around your throat. You were growing dizzy, a fearful, pleasure-filled fog slowly clouding your mind, and you couldn’t speak. All you could do was let out little squeaks of surprise & pleasure, a moan rumbling out of you as he pressed down further.

Crane was saying something, but you couldn’t tell under the pressure. His facial expression was all you needed, however; his eyes were bloodshot, lustful, so laser-focused that, if looks could kill, you’d have been long gone, while a feral grin replaced his emotionless facade. Crane’s usually well-kept appearance had dissolved, and his hair was askew, tie loose, buttons haphazardly undone.

Suddenly, the man pressed himself flush against you, pressing his face into your hair, your neck - losing himself in you. His tongue flicked out, dragging a long stripe down the side of your neck, and you jumped, a startled whine tearing out of your choked-up throat.

His grip on you tightened. “What? I’m just having a taste. Is that so wrong?” At your wide eyes, and silent response, he let out a fitful laugh. “You’re coated in shame, darling. You’re sour.”

You squirmed - not because you didn’t enjoy it - you just couldn’t breathe, but Crane didn’t care. His fingernails were sharp, maybe even drawing some of your blood.

“Plea— sir, I can’t breathe,” you stuttered out raspily. His face remained unchanged while listening to your pathetic pleas, before he leaned in close.

“Beg for it. Beg like you’re terrified for your life. You might as well be,” he said, and he began pressing his thumb into the center of your throat, choking you fully now.

You nodded - as much as the allowance between his hand and your head allowed, anyway. “Professor, please,” you said breathily, “please let me go. I’ll do any- anything, just puh— please stop.”

“Ah, there it is,” Your professor cooed, eyes shutting at the sweet intone of your pleaing, distressed voice. He was losing himself in your words. “Keep going… and don’t forget the crying. It's my favorite part.”

“Let - me go! Please,” you whimpered helplessly, mustering thick, heavy tears to form at the corners of your eyes as you saw black spots dotting your vision.

A lump formed in your throat, choking your words. “Please… stop! Let me - breathe,” You said, leaning delightedly into his touch. His other hand was now digging painfully into your hip, as if the professor were focussing intensely on holding back.

“Look at you go,” Crane clicked his tongue, eyes opening and gazing deep into you. He pulled you in closer to him, letting go of your abused throat.

You finally breathed, taking in such large bouts of air you might’ve choked and keeled over right there. But then, Crane’s hands at your side crawed carefully to your rear, while the other hand came up to the crown of your head to pet you.

He whispered into the top of your head, “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” You said raspily, your face pressed flat against his bandy chest.

His hand found the swell of your ass, fingers grabbing hold and squeezing so tight you were sure there’d be a bruise later, “About doing anything. For me.”

You nodded, still not looking at him. This answer didn’t please him, however, and the hand that had been petting you tangled through your hair and roughly pulled you away, to look up at him. “In words.”

“Y— yes. I’ll do anything for you.” You rattled off, prickling pain twisting in your scalp.

“You’ll be a good girl for me?”

“The best.”

A grin twisted his pink, plush lips, and he promptly pushed you face down flat against his cold, wooden desk. It was rough, and sudden, pain blooming in your side. But there was a tug in your lower stomach at the way he handled you, all selfish and touchy and focused solely on chasing after his own pleasure.

Crane’s hands roamed all over your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. His touch was insatiable, rubbing and petting and kneading at every part of your body.

His hands found your thighs, squeezing at the flesh, before hiking up your skirt and inspecting your panties. “Oh, you’re fucking soaked,” Crane rumbled out, voice like gravel. “You liked it, didn’t you? When I said I’d admit you to Arkham.”

Then, you heard him kneel down, and begin to press sloppy, wet kisses on your legs. “Be honest,” he said between kisses, “you want me to admit you, have you all to myself in isolation.”

You didn’t respond, instead whimpering and bucking forward when you could feel Crane’s sharp teeth brush over your sensitive skin. He noticed the effect he had on you, and you felt him smile against you.

“Please,” you keened out, not dissimilar to how you begged him just moments ago, “stop teasing, Professor.”

You felt Crane’s hot breath fan over your clothed mound, pausing for a moment to catch his breath. “Stop teasing, how?” he said at last, before suddenly pushing your panties to the side and licking a stripe up your cunt. He lapped at your lips, collecting your wetness on his tongue, but he didn’t go further.

“Pro - Professor,” you whined, grounding out a low moan. It wasn’t enough, and he knew it. He liked playing with you, making you squirm and shake and beg for more.

“What? This not enough for you?” He pulled away, and you hissed at the cold that hit you. Then, he tugged, hard, pulling both your underwear and your skirt down to your knees.

“You want me to eat you out till you’re a trembling fucking mess, don’t you?” He buried himself between your legs, “I knew you were a horny little slut.”

Finally, his tongue found you once more, and pushed deep into your folds. Crane’s tongue ran across every rivet your pussy had, before darting out to your clit, suckling at the velvet bundle of nerves. His touch drew out a high-pitched keen, your back arching.

You couldn’t see him, face still pressed against the wooden desk, but you could hear him, the filthy squelching of your pussy and his tongue making your knees buckle.

“Fuck, Jonathan,” you choked out, when he went deeper into your quivering hole, your body tingling like nothing you’d ever felt before. At your reaction, his name curling around your pretty little lips, he went faster, wet mouth brushing against you, licking you up and down, animalistic, following his instinct to a tee.

“Please, wait -“ You said, feeling the knot in your insides grow tighter, the heat washing over you like a steaming shower, toes curling in your flats.

“What?” He growled out beneath you, not letting up his assault on your cunt.

“I don’t - don’t wanna come on your tongue…” You said, shaking your head weakly against the desk. “Wanna - wanna feel you in me.”

Jonathan snorted, and continued to lap up your insides, “D’you think you have a fucking choice? Huh? I know you’re a whore, you could do this all day. I’ll just make you come again on my cock.”

Before you could protest, or even just whine at his words, you shut your eyes, feeling yourself come undone, your legs barely able to keep you upright. His hands had reached away from your thighs, rough fingers toying with your fleshy button, maximizing the climax washing over you tenfold.

“Jonathan, Jonathan!” You practically screamed out, heat in your stomach pulsing rapidly.

“Ugh, fuck,” You heard him say, “you’re creaming all over my fucking face.”

You were a complete mess by the time he pulled away from you, your high washing away as Crane wiped the come and wetness off his face.

“You came that hard, just on my tongue?” He mocked, fingers spreading your lips and observing your swollen pussy as you laid flat, weakly gripping the edge of the desk so you’d stay standing.

“Well,” he said, reaching down to his pants and undoing his belt buckle and fly, “M’not done with this sweet little cunt just yet.”

Your eyes widened, “I’m - I’m still sensitive, wait-“

Jonathan didn’t listen, however, letting his pants and boxers pool at his feet, stroking himself in the artificial light of his office, which smelt like sweat and sex.

He spat on his hand, first coating his cock in it, then your parted lips (which you theorized was just because he wanted to feel you up again), before lining up his thick head at your entrance. “God,” he groaned, “you’re so fucking wet.”

You keened at the intrusion you felt between your legs, “Jonathan, please, jus’ - give me a sec to rest —“ You were interrupted however, by the shock of how big he felt.

You hadn’t gotten a look at him, but as he let himself slowly enter you, you could tell it was bigger than anything you’d ever taken before. “You’re - you’re too big!” you squeaked out, “You won’t fit.”

He laughed, hands resting on your hips as he held you upright. “I’ll make it fit,” he said, before roughly pounding the rest of himself into you, stretching out your inexperienced cunt.

You choked, his fat cock pushing you wider than you’d ever been before, the pain biting at you, a burning feeling spreading within your lower body. “Jon- Jonathan,” was all you could say, as he slowly pulled out, pure relief written on your face, until he sank right back into you, somehow deeper than before.

Tears welled in your eyes, as he gripped harshly on the flesh of your hips, making you pound back and forth on him. His cock was hard, and thick, and he was forcing the thing deep within you at an excruciatingly quick pace. Your sensitivity was the cherry on top to this whole situation - you were trembling, body weak, shallow breaths and teary moans tearing out of you at the overstimulation.

Soon, however, the pain slowly dissolved into a filthy, exquisite pleasure that echoed throughout your entire body. The rhythm your professor had gotten to was downright perfect, filling you completely and making you clench in all the right places. Crane made your brain go foggy, focussing solely on the sound of your skin slapping against each other in the quiet, after-hours office, his taller frame encapsulating you completely.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he cooed, hands moving to splay across your ass and spread you open further. “How many cocks have taken this sweet pussy, huh?”

You gulped. “Just,” you started, but then your eyes rolled to the back of your head, stopping you mid-sentence as his length brushed up to your most sensitive spot.

“How,” he gripped you tighter, “many,” slipped out, “cocks!” then thrust into you roughly, rougher than before and making the desk screech forward a few inches.

“Just one!” You said at last, words choked up as his long cock pierced you.

“Just one, huh?” He said and began pounding in and out of you faster, rougher, needier, “I bet you didn’t even fucking come, you’re so tight. This pretty pussy of yours is practically virgin.”

“Uh-huh,” you said incoherently, thoughts blending together. “Jus’ a - a fucking virgin for you,” you babbled out, losing yourself in the fast-paced pleasure he was serving on a silver platter.

“That you are,” Jonathan growled, “you’re just my horny virgin. Mine.” Every thrust he plunged into you brushed up against that plush spot deep within you, making you drool, body going slack.

“Oh, jesus, you’re so fucked out,” he murmured, looking down at your limp, trembling form. “Drunk on my thick fucking cock.”

The ecstasy was becoming too much for you now, controlling you completely, like if he stopped fucking you right now you’d be so fucking needy, going slowly insane until he touched you again. You knew you wouldn’t be able to fuck anyone else and feel the same; he made you feel fucking feral, instinctual, your id going into drive and controlling you instead of logic. Your darling was the only one you wanted to offer yourself up completely to. He could do anything he fucking wanted to you, and you’d take it in stride.

“Jonathan,” you keened, feeling your walls clench around him tighter, “m’close.”

“No, you’re not,” he said, voice deep and dangerous, “keep that orgasm in, whore, till I tell you to.”

Your cheeks burned, distraught at the denial of your release, especially when his cock slipped out of you as he flipped you over. Quickly, however, he rammed his cock back into you. You were facing each other now, and you could see how hot and bothered he looked, despite how confident and careless his words had been as he fucked you.

His lips were bitten between his teeth, hair sticking to the sweat on his face, cheeks flushed. He was focussed entirely on getting back that rhythm, and you let him, watching how his gorgeous features contorted as your hot cunt sucked him in.

Your arms reached around his neck, and he promptly lifted your legs up to hook around his back, making him fill you even further.

“Fuck me!” You squealed, his shaft reaching places you didn’t know could be reached. It was getting harder to stop your impending orgasm, and your felt fucking sick at how sweetly he was stretching you, how you knew you couldn’t let go no matter what despite the delicious pleasure.

“Already am, baby,” he grumbled, rutting in and out of you at a dizzying pace. You felt his pace stutter, slightly, and you heard his small, revealing whines of pleasure as his head was nestled in the nook of your neck, and you knew he was close.

The thought of him coming in you made you tighten and tense, and he felt it, your back lifting off the desk in an arch.

“Fuck, how’d you get even tighter?” he said shakily, before sliding out of you so far he almost pulled out completely, then let his cock thrust into you so hard you saw stars dancing across your vision.

You merely mewled back at him in response.

“Come,” he said breathily, “come all over my thick— ugh, fuuuck, just like that, yes,” his sentence was cut off as you let go, letting the waves of pleasure surge through your body like electricity.

Your body shook, your knees trembled, and an animalistic whine slipped out of your bruise throat as he thrust into you jerkily. Just as quickly as you camez, he did too, and you felt Jonathan’s load shoot straight up into your worn-out cunt, not impeded by a condom of any sorts. Crane’s head cocked back as he did so, jaw clenching as he released his sweet and sticky liquid deep within you, warm and coating your walls completely.

For a moment, he laid atop of you, and you both kept silent, the office filled with nothing but your breathing and the sweet smell of come. Then, he pulled away, both of you wincing as his cock left you, his come dripping out of your weeping hole onto his office floors.

He pulled his underwear and pants back on, but revelled in your own crumpled form on his desk, your shirt hiked up, your skirt and panties hanging off your ankles, barely there. It was a shame he couldn’t have explored further up your body, groped those tits he loved seeing bounce during tutoring, but his need to fill your pussy up took precedent.

Jonathan swiped a finger into your cunt, collecting some of your combined liquid, and you flinched at the feeling. Then, he licked at his dirty finger. “Oh, baby,” he heaved, “we taste delectable mixed together.”

You raised a brow, then weakly lifted yourself off the desk, pulling up your panties and skirt (not without adoring the feeling of Jonathan’s fresh, wet come smearing all over your panties and sensitive cunt) before reaching for his hand. He leaned in towards you, and you lapped up the juice on his finger, grinning up at him.

Jonathan looked completely lost in your performance, brows knitted. “Jesus fucking christ,” he whispered under his breath, “where has a perfect little fucktoy like you been hiding from me?”

“Oh,” you said, nonchalant, “just stalking you.”

#jonathan crane x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #batman begins #scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane #scarecrow #jonathan crane smut #cillian murphy smut

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years

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Netflix wants to chop down your family tree

Netflix has unveiled the details of its new anti-password-sharing policy, detailing a suite of complex gymnastics that customers will be expected to undergo if their living arrangements trigger Netflix’s automated enforcement mechanisms:

https://thestreamable.com/news/confirmed-netflix-unveils-first-details-of-new-anti-password-sharing-measures

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/02/nonbinary-families/#red-envelopes

Netflix says that its new policy allows members of the same “household” to share an account. This policy comes with an assumption: that there is a commonly understood, universal meaning of “household,” and that software can determine who is and is not a member of your household.

This is a very old corporate delusion in the world of technology. In the early 2000s, I spent years trying to bring some balance to an effort at DVB, whose digital television standards are used in most of the world (but not the USA) when they rolled out CPCM, a DRM system that was supposed to limit video-sharing to a single household.

Their term of art for this was the “authorized domain”: a software-defined family unit whose borders were privately negotiated by corporate executives from media companies, broadcasters, tech and consumer electronics companies in closed-door sessions all around the world, with no public minutes or proceedings.

https://onezero.medium.com/the-internet-heist-part-iii-8561f6d5a4dc

These guys (they were nearly all guys) were proud of how much “flexibility” they’d built into their definition of “household.” For example, if you owned a houseboat, or a luxury car with seatback displays, or a summer villa in another country, the Authorized Domain would be able to figure out how to get the video onto all those screens.

But what about other kinds of families? I suggested that one of our test cases should be a family based in Manila: where the dad travels to remote provinces to do agricultural labor; the daughter is a nanny in California; and the son is doing construction work in the UAE. This suggestion was roundly rejected as an “edge case.”

Of course, this isn’t an edge case. There are orders of magnitude more people whose family looks like this than there are people whose family owns a villa in another country. Owning a houseboat or a luxury car makes you an outlier. Having an itinerant agricultural breadwinner in your family does not.

But everyone who is in the room when a cartel draws up a standard definition of what constitutes a household is almost certainly drawn from a pool that is more likely to have a summer villa than a child doing domestic work or construction labor half a world away. These weirdos, so dissimilar from the global majority, get to define the boxes that computers will shove the rest of the world into. If your family doesn’t look like their family, that’s tough: “Computer says no.”

One day at a CPCM meeting, we got to talking about the problem of “content laundering” and how the way to prevent it would be to put limits on how often someone could leave a household and join another one. No one, they argued, would ever have to change households every week.

I put my hand up and said, “What about a child whose divorced parents share custody of her? She’s absolutely going to change households every week.” They thought about it for a moment, then the rep from a giant IT company that had recently been convicted of criminal antitrust violations said, “Oh, we can solve that: we’ll give her a toll-free number to call when she gets locked out of her account.”

That was the solution they went with. If you are a child coping with the dissolution of your parents’ marriage, you will have the obligation to call up a media company every month — or more often — and explain that Mummy and Daddy don’t love each other any more, but can I please have my TV back?

I never forgot that day. I even wrote a science fiction story about it called (what else?) “Authorized Domain”:

https://craphound.com/news/2011/10/31/authorised-domain/

I think everyone understood that this was an absurd “solution,” but they had already decided that they were going to complete the seemingly straightforward business of defining a category like “household” using software, and once that train left the station, nothing was going to stop it.

This is a recurring form of techno-hubris: the idea that baseline concepts like “family” have crisp definitions and that any exceptions are outliers that would never swallow the rule. It’s such a common misstep that there’s a whole enre* called “Falsehoods Programmers Believe About ______”:

https://github.com/kdeldycke/awesome-falsehood

In that list: names, time, currency, birthdays, timezones, email addresses, national borders, nations, biometrics, gender, language, alphabets, phone numbers, addresses, systems of measurement, and, of course, families. These categories are touchstones in our everyday life, and we think we know what they mean — but then we try to define them, and the list of exceptions spirals out into a hairy, fractal infinity.

Historically, these fuzzy categorical edges didn’t matter so much, because they were usually interpreted by humans using common sense. My grandfather was born “Avrom Doctorovitch” (or at least, that’s one way to transliterate his name, which was spelled in a different alphabet, but which was also transliterating his first name from yet another alphabet). When he came to Canada as a refugee, his surname was anglicized to “Doctorow.” Other cousins are “Doctorov,” “Doctoroff,” and “Doktorovitch.”

Naturally, his first name could have been “Abraham” or “Abe,” but his first employer (a fellow Eastern European emigre) decided that was too ethnic and in sincere effort to help him fit in, he called my grandfather “Bill.” When my grandfather attained citizenship, his papers read “Abraham William Doctorow.” He went by “Abe,” “Billy,” “Bill,” “William,” “Abraham” and “Avrom.”

Practically, it didn’t matter that variations on all of these appeared on various forms of ID, contracts, and paperwork. His reparations check from the German government had a different variation from the name on the papers he used to open his bank account, but the bank still let him deposit it.

All of my relatives from his generation have more than one name. Another grandfather of mine was born “Aleksander,” and called “Sasha” by friends, but had his name changed to “Seymour” when he got to Canada. His ID was also a mismatched grab-bag of variations on that theme.

None of this mattered to him, either. Airlines would sell him tickets and border guards would stamp his passport and rental agencies would let him drive away in cars despite the minor variations on all his ID.

But after 9/11, all that changed, for everyone who had blithely trundled along with semi-matching names across their official papers and database entries. Suddenly, it was “computer says no” everywhere you turned, unless everything matched perfectly. There was a global rush for legal name-changes after 9/11 — not because people changed their names, but because people needed to perform the bureaucratic ritual necessary to have the name they’d used all along be recognized in these new, brittle, ambiguity-incinerating machines.

For important categories, ambiguity is a feature, not a bug. The fact that you can write anything on an envelope (including a direction to deliver the letter to the granny flat over the garage, not the front door) means that we don’t have to define “address” — we can leave it usefully hairy around the edges.

Once the database schema is formalized, then “address” gets defined too — the number of lines it can have, the number of characters each line can have, the kinds of characters and even words (woe betide anyone who lives in Scunthorpe).

If you have a “real” address, a “real” name, a “real” date of birth, all of this might seem distant to you. These “edge” cases — seasonal agricultural workers, refugees with randomly assigned “English” names — are very far from your experience.

That’s true — for now (but not forever). The “Shitty Technology Adoption Curve” describes the process by which abusive technologies work their way up the privilege gradient. Every bad technological idea is first rolled out on poor people, refugees, prisoners, kids, mental patients and other people who can’t push back.

Their bodies are used to sand the rough edges and sharp corners off the technology, to normalize it so that it can climb up through the social ranks, imposed on people with more and more power and influence. 20 years ago, if you ate your dinner under an always-on #CCTV, it was because you were in a supermax prison. Today, it’s because you bought a premium home surveillance system from Google, Amazon or Apple.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/29/impunity-corrodes/#arise-ye-prisoners

The Netflix anti-sharing tools are designed for rich people. If you travel for business and stay in the kind of hotel where the TV has its own Netflix client that you can plug your username and password into, Netflix will give you a seven-day temporary code to use.

But for the most hardcore road-warriors, Netflix has thin gruel. Unless you connect to your home wifi network every 31 days and stream a show, Netflix will lock out your devices. Once blocked, you have to “contact Netflix” (laughs in Big Tech customer service).

Why is Netflix putting the screws to its customers? It’s part of the enshittification cycle, where platform companies first allocate surpluses to their customers, luring them in and using them as bait for business customers. Once they turn up, the companies reallocate surpluses to businesses, lavishing them with low commissions and lots of revenue opportunities. And once they’re locked in, the company starts to claw back the surpluses for itself.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

Remember when Netflix was in the business of mailing red envelopes full of DVDs around the country? That was allocating surpluses to users. The movie companies hated this, viewed it as theft — a proposition that was at least as valid as Netflix’s complaints about password sharing, but every pirate wants to be an admiral, and when Netflix did it to the studios, that was “progress,” but when you do it to Netflix, that’s theft.

Then, once Netflix had users locked in and migrated to the web (and later, apps), it shifted surpluses to studios, paying fat licensing fees to stream their movies and connect them to a huge audience.

Finally, once the studios were locked in, Netflix started to harvest the surplus for its shareholders: raising prices, lowering streaming rates, knocking off other studios’ best performing shows with in-house clones, etc. Users’ surpluses are also on the menu: the password “sharing” that let you define a household according to your family’s own idiosyncratic contours is unilaterally abolished in a quest to punish feckless Gen Z kids for buying avocado toast instead of their own Netflix subscriptions.

Netflix was able to ignore the studios’ outraged howls when it built a business by nonconsenually distributing their products in red envelopes. But now that Netflix has come for your family, don’t even think about giving Netfix some of what it gave to the MPAA.

As a technical matter, it’s not really that hard to modify Netflix’s app so that every stream you pull seems to come from your house, no matter where you are. But doing so would require reverse-engineering Netflix’s app, and that would violate Section 1201 of the DMCA, the CFAA, and eleventy-seven other horrible laws. Netflix’s lawyers would nuke you until the rubble bounced.

When Netflix was getting started, it could freely interoperate with the DVDs that the studios had put on the market. It could repurpose those DVDs in ways that the studios strenuously objected to. In other words, Netfix used adversarial interoperability (AKA Competitive Compatibility or ComCom) to launch its business:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

Today, Netflix is on the vanguard of the war to abolish adversarial interop. They helped lead the charge to pervert W3C web-standards, creating a DRM video standard called EME that made it a crime to build a full-featured browser without getting permission from media companies and restricting its functionality to their specifications:

https://blog.samuelmaddock.com/posts/the-end-of-indie-web-browsers/

When they used adversarial interoperability to build a multi-billion-dollar global company using the movie studios’ products in ways the studios hated, that was progress. When you define “family” in ways that makes Netflix less money, that’s felony contempt of business model.

[Image ID: A Victorian family tree template populated by tintypes of old-timey people. In the foreground stands a menacing, chainsaw-wielding figure, his face obscured by a hoodie. The blade of the chainsaw is poised to chop down the family tree. A Netflix 'N' logo has been superimposed over the man's face.]

#pluralistic #enshittification #shitty technology adoption curve #cpcm #interoperabiltiy #comcom #adversarial interoperability #interop #netflix #family #ambiguity #digitizatio #nym wars #authorized domain #dvb #dvds #password sharing

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hoshinasblade · 1 month

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hoshina soshiro is very she-fell-first-but-he-fell-harder trope coded.

i think we can reach a consensus here that hoshina is not difficult to like and in this case, to romantically have feelings for - one way or the other i think the officers of the third division harbor some form of admiration for the guy. and you are no exception.

but hoshina did not get recruited as a defense officer to fall in love. he doesn't mind that people develop a crush on him, but when he started noticing you being a bit weird and awkward around him, he gets slightly annoyed. he's the vice-captain and he needs all of his subordinates to be thinking straight around him. he cannot deny you are one of, if not the best, in your batch - you can even get promoted to platoon leader if you want to. hoshina doesn't want your potential to be dampened by your infatuation, so he tells you to stop feeling whatever feeling you have towards him. "is that an order from my vice-captain?" you asked. he gave a one-word reply to you in a firm tone, "yes, it is".

he drove himself crazy the next days and weeks because you did not only follow his instruction, you also went above and beyond by completely avoiding him like he carries the plague. this says a lot considering it's hard to hide from a man who leads the training sessions you are supposed to attend. time passed, and he learned to miss your presence - he started to reminisce about how different it is when you were a constant inclusion in his everyday life, and how dull things are for him now that you have effectively ghosted him.

but you weren't really gone - you are a third division defense officer so you are still beholden to your sworn duties and obligations to protect your country from kaiju threats. but in an attempt to neutralise a kaiju one time, you have hurt yourself - injured to the point that even vice-captain hoshina soshiro himself got scared he was going to lose you.

"don't get attached to any of your teammates," is something he would tell the new recruits during their initiation as members of the division. hoshina soshiro wished he could have listened to himself.

when you regained your consciousness at the hospital, hoshina was the first person you laid your eyes on. he's fallen asleep while sitting uncomfortably in a chair beside your bed, his hand holding yours, your fingers intertwined with his.

#i hate that my brain is overflowing with stuff like this and then i try to write and it's just crickets lol #filed under: things to elaborate on very soon #hoshina soshiro #soshiro hoshina #hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #soshiro hoshina x reader #kaiju no. 8 #kn8 x reader #hoshina soshiro fic

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sweetpascal · 2 months

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𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 — 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

gif: @andrew-lincoln

pairing: perv!stepdad!joel x fem!reader

summary: there are four more days remaining in the week before your mom returns. joel observes how easy it is for him to get into your head, thus creating a strict routine that makes it easy to break you down and put you back together again.

warnings: MINOR DNI. BIG AGE GAP [18/52], manipulation, gaslighting, dumbification, one slap to the face, sloppy make-out session, TW: isolation, oral [f receiving], hella pussy eating, multiple orgasms, joel fucking loves to eat pussy, joel is mean and condescending, squirtiinngggg

wc: 6.2k (are you really not surprised that i go overboard with what are supposed to be short chapters ???)

notes: i have really bad daddy issues and trauma if you couldn't tell already. i didn't know i needed perv!stepdad!joel that badly until i wrote him out and saw the swarm of attention he's been getting by all y'all depraved nasties out there (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

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Upon waking in the morning, you found your head throbbing and your mouth as dry as the Sahara. An unswallowable aftertaste lingered, repulsive, reminiscent of vomit mixed with glue. You winced at the bright sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains, groaned drowsily, and buried your head back into the pillow, pulling the fluffy blanket over your head.

A knock at the door was followed by Joel's voice asking, "Babydoll, are you awake?" Then the door swung open, and the sound of his boots echoed as he walked towards your bed. You responded with a groan, swallowing hard and stifling a hiccup.

Reflecting on the previous night felt like a nightmare. The only memories that lingered were informing your stepdad about the lake, spending time there with your friend, returning home, and vaguely recalling sharing a drink with Joel. Beyond that, everything was a hazy blur.

The bed sags beneath you as you curl up under the covers. Joel's husky laughter fills the air as he rubs your back, his hand's warmth seeping through the thick blanket, causing a delightful shiver. Then, in a jolt as if a shock to your frontal lobe, you recall everything. The shared alcohol, the kissing, Joel's deep voice as thick as honey in your ears, the throbbing in your lower half--all of it.

Jerking upright hastily, you grimaced as the intense sunlight dazzled you once more. You narrowed your eyes as much as possible, attempting to focus on Joel. He grins at your disheveled appearance, taking note of the little love bites all over your throat and the sides of your neck. You wiped away the blurriness that lingered in your eyes.

"I-I remember... what we did last night," you whispered the last part and covered your mouth with both hands, suddenly too shy to look at your stepdad and worried that he would reprimand you for getting too carried away. "Joel-" Your sentence stops because of the warning glare he sends your way. "Daddy," you try again, feeling warm inside when he gives you a nod. "I-I think I acted very... all over the place... and-and I did some naughty, dirty things with you and-and I'm so, so sorry."

Last night was erotic, dirty, and didn't ease his perversion. When you could barely hold yourself up and kept burping in his mouth, Joel decided to call it a night. He had picked you up effortlessly in his arms and stomped up the stairs, not even breaking a sweat. He undressed you, slowly and meticulous. He left on your bikini, not wanting his first view of your cunt being when you're unaware and unconscious--which was a lot fucking harder than he thought, and also ironic considering what he had done days ago. He couldn't help himself, however, when he buried his nose between your thighs and inhaled deeply, the heady scent of your pussy making his jaw ache and his mouth water.

Now, as he sits before you while looking into those pretty eyes of yours, Joel's hunger is nearly beastly, even fucking demonic. He wants to sink his sharp teeth into your delicate flesh and leave you broken and bruised with no other choice but to beg him for mercy, beg him to stop, beg him to put you back together again.

"Remember when I told you what adults do to feel good?" He asks you, his voice sweet enough to cause a toothache. When you give him a nod, he grips your thigh just enough to make you squirm. "Well, what we did last night is just that. You and I are adults, and we did somethin' that made us both feel good, right?" When he raised his brows at you, expecting you to agree with him, you immediately nodded as you processed his words.

"Good," he continues, sliding his hand further up your leg until he's gripping the meat of your inner thigh. "Daddy has a lot to teach you, sweetheart."

The sun was shining high and blazing down. Since you didn't get time to really enjoy it at the lake--your friend was too handsy for comfort--you decided to enjoy it in the backyard. Wearing the same bikini as yesterday, you laid on the grass on top of your polka dot towel with your sunglasses perched on your nose. Joel had prepared a drink for you: strawberry kiwi juice with a splash of passion fruit rum. It was delightful, striking the perfect balance between fruitiness, sweetness, and a subtle hint of alcohol.

As you laid out in the sun, you think back to the series of events that occurred after your mom's departure. There's a lingering feeling in the back of your mind that can't let you ignore the inappropriate relationship you and Joel now have. This is the same man that has been in your life since you were a child. This is the same man that has watched you grow into the beautiful, young woman you are now. This is the same man that is still married to your mother.

Each touch he lays upon your pliant body left a trail of fire. It was all so confusing and wrong. It's your stepdad, for goodness' sake. He's three times your age. But he also knows so much about the world and how to navigate through it. He knows everything and anything, and you'll be damned if you don't accept all the help that you can get from him.

A series of bangs from within the house jolted you upright. You pushed your glasses up and peered toward the backdoor. Silence ensued for a few seconds before the banging resumed. With a puzzled frown and concern etching your brow, you wrapped your towel tighter and hastened inside. Joel was nowhere in the kitchen, living room, or guest bathroom. As you reached for the basement door, the banging echoed from upstairs, punctuated by a loud curse and an even louder bang.

Following the noise, you hurry up the stairs, towel still tightly wrapped around your body. Upon noticing that your bedroom door was opened, you weakly called out, "Uh, Daddy?"

"In here, babydoll," you hear his voice coming from your bedroom, further easing the anxiety that settled in the pit of your stomach.

As you entered your room, your eyes widened, and an involuntary gasp escaped your lips. There stood Joel by the windows, wielding a hammer in one hand and clutching long, thick nails in the other. Unmoved by your gasp, he persisted in hammering the nails into the window frame, each blow forceful enough to send tremors through the floorboards. He was sealing you inside.

"What are you doing?!" you exclaimed, rushing to his side and frantically seizing his forearm to prevent him from driving another thick nail into the window frame.

Joel sighs deeply with frustration and merely shakes you off. He stares down at you, your eyes wide and frightful, tears brimming along your waterline. The sight stirs something deep in his gut. He wonders if this is what you'd look like if he shoved his dick so far down your throat that you pass out from the lack of oxygen, slobbering and crying all over his thighs and heavy balls.

"Sweetheart, we talked about this last night," he tells you gently, wiping away one of the tears that managed to slide down your cheek. "Don't you remember?"

He knows you don't remember because he made it up. He never told you about this. Seeing you getting caught off guard, falling for his rotten lies was a comical sight. He wants to laugh in your face to further drive the embarrassment deep in your heart and make you feel really stupid.

Your brows furrowed and you looked off to the side, wracking through your mind to try and remember the conversation you and your stepdad had last night. All you can see are images flashing through your mind of the two of you kissing and touching, but nothing of Joel mentioning nailing your windows shut.

"I-I... don't remember," you whispered up to him, eyes glancing up to look into his own. "Did I really agree to this?" You couldn't remember a damn thing.

Joel grins and lets out a gruff laugh. "Of course you did, silly girl. You don't remember 'cause you were a goddamn mess all over me." He can see that his crude choice of wording made you shrink in on yourself. He continues, "It's for your own good, babydoll. I'm only doin' this to protect you from the dangerous people out there that wanna separate us. That's why I can't have you goin' out with those bad influence friends o' yours anymore."

Everything is becoming clear now. The pieces are falling into place. Joel is acting this way because he loves you and wants to keep you safe. The reality that there are people who wish to tear you apart is genuinely frightening. Even if it means cutting all of your friends out of your life and only following Joel, you'd do so without hesitation. You no longer have your own voice. Now, when you think, Joel's is the only voice you hear in your head.

Lying in bed freshly showered, you hold onto one of your stuffed animals and look up at the ceiling. Shortly after hammering your windows shut, Joel had taken your phone and pocketed it, informing you that it was also for your own good and that media consumption will influence you to do things only a bad girl would do. And you're not a bad girl. You'd never want to give off that impression to Joel. All you wanted was to be good for him, to hear his praises fall from his plush lips.

But then, your mind started racing at the thoughts of him. His broad shoulders and strong arms, muscles that ripple with effort and exertion. There have been many instances where you caught yourself staring at the muscles of his back when he would be working on his truck. Your stepdad was a handsome man--there's no lie in that. You were just too young to really understand the intricacies of finding someone attractive.

But now at your adult age, feeling his lips and hands on your pure body, you needed more. You needed to hear his gravelly voice in your ear and his hot breath sweeping across your skin in a way that makes you shiver deliciously. You needed to feel him touch you everywhere, mainly focusing on your lower half. That feeling was still confusing. You didn't understand why it throbbed and why it'd get so wet and why you would feel butterflies in your tummy.

A knock came at your door. As it gradually swung open, it revealed the man who had been on your mind incessantly. Joel was there, clad in his day-long attire: a dark green flannel shirt, dirt-stained dark blue jeans, and his well-worn work boots. When he fully enters your room and closes the door behind him, you're left with a throbbing ache that settles deep in your core. There's an insinuation in the way he begins to unbutton his flannel, revealing the forest green t-shirt underneath. With parted lips, you shakily exhale and lean up further against the headboard.

"Barely had time to spend with my favorite girl," Joel remarks, perched on the edge of your bed, unlacing his boots. It's quite the contrast—his attire against the backdrop of your room's pastel hues and the pretty pink bed adorned with vintage floral bedding. "But now that I'm finished with grown-up stuff, I can finally give you some attention, huh?"

When he turns his head to look at you, he wolfishly grins at the sight of your labored breathing and dilated pupils. He hasn't even touched you yet and you're already affected by his close proximity. Then, the grin slowly vanishes, and the air grows thicker. The two of you stare at one another, neither of you speaking, but more so observing. You fear that Joel can hear just how fast and hard your heart was thumping in your ribcage. You wonder if he can even see it through your thin tank top.

Mustering up the courage to speak, you licked your lips and shyly look away from him as you say, "Stop looking at me like that." You fiddle with the hem of your tank top, slowly bringing your knees up to your chest to shield your nipples that are now poking through your top.

Joel had seen them the second he walked in. You knew he did. You saw his eyes scan your entire form when he shut the door behind him. He's not stupid. He bites down on his plump bottom lip and releases it as he sits closer. When he looks into your eyes, he can see that you really don't want him to stop.

"How do you want me to look at you?" He asks in a husky voice, so low and deep and thick with that glorious southern accent of his.

As you look at him, you feel a warmth spread under his intense, fiery gaze. His face, aged yet ruggedly handsome, is highlighted by the dimly lit shadows that play across the contours of his visage. It's clear why your mother chose him. His skin is a beautiful golden hue, complemented by thick curls of dark brown hair, lightly spotted with grays. Joel Miller stands before you, the very image of a Greek deity.

A hand on your ankle grounds you once again. Your body trembles, and goosebumps emerge along your arms and legs beneath the warmth of Joel's palm. He hums, lost in contemplation, watching the deliberate motions of his hand.

"You don't... You look at me in a way you're supposed to look at mom. And... And you don't look at me the same way stepdads are supposed to look at their stepdaughters," you murmur the confession to him, the cute curiosity in your voice making Joel smile.

His hand slides further up your leg until it reaches your knee. Then, he very slowly coaxes your legs to open. His eyes track where his hand is leading to. Your feet part to allow his arm to rest comfortably between your legs. Just as his large hand reaches your inner thigh, middle finger just barely skimming the hem of your shorts, you elicit a delicate gasp that has Joel looking up at you.

"You're a very special girl, babydoll," Joel speaks quietly and slowly, allowing you to hear and feel every word that leaves his lips. "Your momma... Well, she can be a bit difficult, ya know?" His hand very slowly rubs up and down your inner thigh, both of you now looking between your legs to watch his careful movements. "But you? Well, you're one of a kind, sweetheart. You're so different from your momma. You're so soft, so supple, so... easy to get in that little head o' yours."

Your hands tighten into fists on either side of your hips. Fighting back the urge to clamp your thighs shut around Joel's forearm, you keep watching, eager and curious to see what happens next. The closer his fingers get to your covered pussy, the more warmth he feels radiating from it. He feels the subtle tremble of your thighs against his palm, causing his fingers to dig deeper into your virgin skin.

"Joel...?" You breathe out heavily, your chest rising and falling quickly as the throbbing in your core only increases. This whole cat-and-mouse game is driving you crazy. The ache you feel is borderline painful, just begging to be relieved. "What... What're you...?"

Joel hushes you softly, his own lips parting as he rests his palm against your mound, slowly trailing his thumb down to rest over your covered, swelling clit. As he gently presses down, your hips jolt and you release a wanton whimper.

"Oh!" You exclaimed, your eyes so wide and mouth all open from the pool of warmth that briefly intensified in the pit of your tummy. "I felt something!" He lets out a low chuckle from your reaction.

He pressed his thumb down again, loving the little tremors he feels in your thighs. This time, he starts to rub slow, deliberate circles. You begin to feel the throbbing ache go away. It was now replaced with a tingly sensation you can feel all over your lower half. It was a liquid warmth that made your hips wiggle.

"Tha' feel good?" Joel asks, his breath calling across your knee as he presses a kiss to it. He trails the fingers on your mound further down to swipe up and down your pussy, just barely pressing against your hole. "Can Daddy take these off, babydoll?"

Barely registering what he asks, you still nod. You're in a hazy state, almost drunk and dizzy from what you're feeling. Joel kisses your knee once more before tucking his fingers underneath the waistband of both your shorts and panties and pulling them down agonizingly slowly. He briefly turns around to throw both articles of clothing aside. When he turns back to face you, almost all of the air is almost punched out of him.

With your thighs now comfortably spread open, you watch his reaction to your exposed pussy now on display for him to see for the very first time. You see his eyes darken and his jaw clench so tight that you're surprised his teeth didn't shatter from the pressure. Joel could barely think. All of his thoughts are clouded with permanent images of your virgin pussy. A soft dusting of hair covers your mound and pussy lips. Your clit was so swollen and pink, almost pulsating in time with your heartbeat. There was a sticky mess of slick leaking out of your tight hole. Joel's mouth waters. No matter how many times he swallows, it builds back up.

"Jesus Christ, sweetheart," he croaks, almost sounding in pain. "Your little pussy is the prettiest I have ever seen in my goddamn life."

Glancing down between your legs, your brows furrow at the wetness that keeps leaking out of you, now pooling onto the sheets. "What is that stuff coming out?" Your question came out embarrassed and shy, and Joel silently pats himself on the back for not groaning aloud.

"That's what happens when you're feelin' good, silly girl," Joel grins from ear to ear. His fingers touch your bare pussy for the first time, so soft and fucking wet under his fingertips. When he parts your pussy lips, spreading them wide like succulent flower petals, he can hear the faint wet noise, along with strings of your arousal connecting from one lip to another.

"Is... Is that normal?" Shyly asking him, your hips couldn't stop shifting. Having Joel play with your pussy like this was so foreign and weirdly not uncomfortable. It felt natural with him. You felt safe under his experienced, calloused hands.

Joel hums affirmatively. His attention was more focused on the wetness pooling on his middle finger. He fucking aches to sink his finger deep inside your cunt to feel your tight walls sucking him in. As he pulls his finger away, a string of slick follows and is shown to you.

" You see how messy you are, babydoll?" He smirks at the expression on your face. "Now, when you get like this, the only way for it to go away is for Daddy to clean it up with his tongue."

That makes sense. Joel knows more about this than you do. If he says one thing that might not be factual, you'll believe him with all of your heart. Also, the idea of your stepdad cleaning up your stickiness with his warm, wet tongue was exciting and you were curious to know what it feels like. He can see the realization settle on your face.

When you look back and forth from his finger and his mouth, the words spill out before you could stop them, "Will you clean me up?"

Joel's smirk widens, and he pops his finger into his mouth before he moves onto his knees. The taste of your tangy sweetness on his tongue made him go fucking insane. To know that he's the first man to touch you like this, to taste you on his desperate tongue made the ferocious beast within him thrash in its crate.

"Lie back, babydoll," he instructs you by gently pulling your body down, so you rest comfortably against the pillows. "Attagirl."

Joel's hands then gently slide under the crook of your knees, delicately parting your thighs and bringing your knees closer to your chest. This movement results in your labia spreading further apart, your engorged clit peeking out cutely while your empty opening quivers needlessly--so intensely pink and dripping with arousal. A soft groan escapes Joel's lips as he settles on his stomach, gradually moving his head closer until it rests snugly between your thighs. Lowering his head, his nose barely brushes against your clit as he takes a deep breath in. The aroma of your arousal causes him to see stars dancing behind his closed eyelids.

"Goddamn, you smell so fuckin' good, sweetheart," he sounds so wrecked and already fucked out. The fact that you have such a hold on him was catastrophic. This was a dangerous game he was playing. He knew there was no going back.

Opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out, he glides the warm muscle from your leaking hole all the way up to your clit. Upon feeling his tongue licking your pussy up and down, you let out a soft yelp that was quickly muffled from the palm of your hand. Your eyebrows twitch and your eyes flutter as Joel's tongue leisurely moves in circles around your clit before the swollen button is pulled between his lips and sucked on. The ceiling became blurry, your vision spotted with squiggly lines and black dots.

"Mmmm," Joel hums around your clit, the vibrations forcing another yelp from your covered mouth. He pulls his lips off with a wet pop before lowering his tongue to slurp up your slick messily and sloppily. "Tha's my girl. Jus' lie back 'n let Daddy clean up your mess."

Then, he starts ravishing your cunt. His hooked nose, his long tongue, his plump lips, his scruffy chin, his fucking sharp jaw were all covered in a concoction of your slick and his saliva. Joel's a messy eater, for sure. His big hands tighten in the crook of your knees, forcing your legs to spread wider apart and pinning you down further into the bed when you start squirming under his working mouth.

The wet sounds of Joel eating your cunt had you blushing from the top of your head to the painted tips of your toes. He flicks his tongue against your clit, leaning his head up briefly to spit onto your clit before eagerly licking it all the way down to your fluttering hole. The sounds you released are music to his ears. He's groaning and humming pleasantly against your soaking pussy. When he pulls away for a third time, strings of your slick are stuck to his chin and bottom lip. You glanced down at him with parted lips and unfocused eyes.

"Keep going!" You nearly wailed, hips trying to buck into his mouth, which he pulls away each time you buck up. "Please, Daddy. Oh, please, please, please keep going. I'm-I'm starting to feel so tingly."

Joel sits up suddenly, using one hand to go behind his neck to pull his shirt over his head. He yanks the clothing from his broad shoulders and throws it carelessly to the ground. Then, he pops open the button of his jeans, sighing heavily with relief as the tightness around his hard cock disappears. As he slides down his jeans, he sees your eyes almost bug out of your head. He laughs at that.

"Easy there, little girl," he mutters and fully slides off his jeans, once again tossing the article of clothing blindly across the room. "Ain't gonna fuck you jus' yet, babydoll. You still got a lot to learn before I think you're smart 'nough to handle me."

Your shoulders deflate when you hear that. Part of you was hoping Joel would go all the way with you, but he's right. There's still so much to learn and without his guidance, you'd be clueless and stuck. But that also means there is definitely going to be a sooner time until he takes your virginity. The thought casts a delightful shiver across your body; your stepdad taking your virginity--your mom's husband for crying out loud. It was better this way. If Joel thinks this is a good, sure thing, then so do you. Who are you to question his methods?

When Joel's head lowers back down between your thighs, you find the courage to gently curl your fingers through his hair. It was messy when he walked into your room, and you know you're only going to be messing it up even further when his mouth goes back onto your weeping cunt.

"Attagirl, babydoll," Joel murmurs against your cunt, his hot breath seeping across the throbbing bud and causing your hole to flutter. "Hold onto Daddy while he cleans her up." Her meaning your pussy.

Your mouth opens once his tongue grinds against your clit. Eyebrows twitching and eyes shutting, your head falls back and your fingers tighten in his hair as he licks, sucks, slurps, and swallows. Your thighs begin to twitch on either side of his head. Joel's fingers dig into your plush skin, gripping the meat and holding you steady. Moans start spilling from your lips when his tongue licks all around your hole before focusing on your clit again.

The tingling warmth comes back, now settling deep in the pit of your tummy and spreading along your upper thighs and clit. It's almost equivalent to peeing. And so, with a worried shout, you frantically try to push Joel's head away, but he doesn't budge an inch.

"I'm-I'm gonna... I'm gonna pee! Daddy, move!"

Your frantic whines are ignored. Joel only licks harder and faster, moving his head around in a circle to gather up as much slick as he can. He grabs both of your wrists and tightens his hands around them, pulling them away from his head and pressing them down on either side of your hips on the bed. His broad shoulders are doing a perfect job at keeping your legs from shutting completely. With your feet kicking at his back and your hips grinding towards and away from his mouth, you have no other choice but to lie there, like he said, and take it.

"Oh, my God," your voice was unrecognizable--breathy, high pitched, and slurred. The knot gets tighter and tighter. The warmth was nearly burning your gut. Your hole fluttered and began to tighten on its own. And with an arched back, you simply let go.

Joel can feel it before you do. As your back arched beautifully, your entire body tensed and your pussy spasmed against his chin. Your moans were stuttering and confused and so, so cute. Your words were slurring together--Daddyohmygodohplease. He shakes his head back and forth to further rub your clit without removing his tongue from the needy little bud. The action caused your body to shake.

Does he stop? Absolutely fucking not. He only grips your wrists tighter, most likely leaving bruises, and eats your pussy like a starved man at an All-You-Can-Eat buffet.

At this point, you're on cloud nine. It feels like you're submerged deep underwater, your sights blurry and your hearing muffled. You can't see or think, only feel. And what you feel is electrifying. Your nerves are buzzing all over, almost like static electricity running through your veins. The only thing that made you come back down to earth was the distinct and distant voice of Joel. He's saying something, but you're not sure what. You can only make out the words like that and good.

Panting heavily, your hips shift, and you feel a sudden surge of tingles spreading like wildfire along your lower half. It was addicting. Intoxicating, even. You can almost taste it on your tongue.

Joel observes you from between your thighs as you're coming back down from your first orgasm ever. The intensity nearly made you blackout. Your mom had never looked that pretty cumming from his mouth for the first time, ever. Seeing her daughter doing it because of his tongue made him want to whip his dick out right then and there and shove it so deep inside your needy pussy. But he won't do that. He's a patient man--for the most part.

His thick tongue sloppily eats you out. The taste and heady scent made him pussydrunk. His eyes were half-lidded as he swallowed down the combination of pussy juice and his saliva. He's so sure that after he wipes your wetness off his nose and mouth, he's still going to be smelling and tasting you for days.

Your speech is still slurred by the time you glance down at what he's doing to you. The pupils in your eyes are so wide that your irises are nearly black. Your baby hairs are matted to your forehead from sweat. There's a pretty glow on your skin from your first orgasm. You wondered just how much more you could take before you have to tap out--if Joel even allows that.

Speaking of which, he still doesn't stop. His jaw works tirelessly to scoop up your wetness. He's practically drowning between your thighs, a specific type of death that sounds like heaven on earth. Your labia are puffy under his tongue and your clit throbs rhythmically between his lips. The wet, sloppy sounds of his mouth working against your pussy made you blush fiercely.

"I... I... mmph," you could barely speak as you fell back again, desperately trying to pull your wrists free from Joel's tight hold on them. Your feet weakly kick at his muscled back, but he makes no point in stopping.

He laughs against you. He fucking laughs. The vibrations make your thighs almost clamp around his head if it weren't for his wide shoulders keeping you spread open for him. Joel pulls up for a split second to spit on your clit once again before going back down to lick you all over again. Your eyes cross and roll into the back of your head. Your hips are now mindlessly grinding up and down against his tongue.

"Tha's it," his response is muffled.

When he glances up at you, seeing your chest arched to the ceiling again, he releases your wrists and slides his hands up your arms. Both hands yank down your top with enough force that it causes one of the straps to snap off. You barely register the pain of your tank top rubbing your skin like a rug burn as you're so deep into cloud nine again.

Joel's hands cup and caress your tits, his fingers squeezing and grabbing them eagerly. His thumbs rub your nipples until they harden. Then, he's back to slurping and eating pussy like tomorrow is the end of the world and he only has tonight to show you what he can really do with his mouth. The feeling of his hands on your tits, pinching your nipples and fondling your sensitive flesh has the tingling sensation come back. This time it was a lot sharper and stronger.

Joel knows what's about to happen. It's only happened once with your mom, in all the years of being with her. And now it's going to happen with you. Like mother, like daughter. He removes his hands from your tits and places them back under your knees, further spreading your thighs to get better access to your sweet nectar hidden between your pussy lips. He doesn't even care if his jaw is on fire right now.

"I-I... Da-... aaahh-haaahh!"

Your little squeal comes first, then a steady stream of wetness splashes against his chin and chest as he ferociously sucks your clit and flicks his tongue fast and hard, just how you liked it. He fucking did it. He made you squirt for the first time. And god-fucking-damn, it was the sweetest thing he has ever tasted. It was better than any whiskey that ever touched his tongue. Now, your body can't stop shaking. Your thighs are trembling terribly, and Joel has to pull away to gently close them shut. Your breathing is labored and unsteady, your eyes shut tightly and body tense.

"Breathe for me, sweetheart," Joel murmurs gently, brushing your hair from your sweaty face and blowing cold air on your skin. "Jus' like that. C'mon, pretty girl. There we go."

The aftershocks coursing through your body are unmanageable, no matter how hard you tensed your body to stop them. Joel leans over your shaking body and kisses up and down your neck, humming quietly against your skin and lowering further down to kiss and suck at your chest. He glances up and sees your eyes are still shut as you try to relax. He takes advantage of this opportunity to suck one of your puffy nipples into his mouth and licks all around the erect bud, no doubt spreading your pussy juice that he still hasn't wiped from his nose, mouth, cheeks, and chin.

"Daddy?" You weakly asked, your thighs still shaking, but not as much as before. "That felt... That felt so, so good." Letting out a drowsy giggle, you covered your face and wiggled excitedly. You had came so hard. Not once, but twice. And the second time you squirted. You would often hear about squirting from your experienced friends. They described it as peeing, but it's not really pee, but it feels and looks like pee, but it's completely different, but also the same.

Smiling at your reaction, Joel removes your hands from your face, further leaning into your space with his head aligned with your own. The two of you share eye contact for a brief moment before he starts to kiss you. The groan he lets out when your lips touch has you grinding your hips again, desperately chasing something--you don't know what. When your tongues touch, you catch the faint tracings of what you taste like, and it's pretty yummy. It's almost sweet with a hint of tanginess. It almost tastes like your strawberry kiwi juice. Joel opens your mouth wider with his jaw to suck your tongue into his mouth before he coaxes you to do the same. The kiss was so dirty and frantic, drool pooling at the corners of your lips before sliding down your chin.

Joel pulls away to lick it up before shoving his tongue back inside your mouth. When he pulls away again, your eyes are still shut. "Open your mouth," he commands, his voice rough and gravely as he tries to hold back the beast within him. When you don't do what he says quick enough, he pops your cheek with the palm of his hand a little harder than intended. You yelped and your eyes flew open from the smack. Your cheek was burning, no doubt blooming pink from the force. "I said, open your fuckin' mouth." Joel squeezes your jaw roughly and forces your mouth open. You know what's going to come, so you stick out your tongue without being asked to and that pleases him.

A wad of spit lands on your tongue before Joel goes back to licking his way into your mouth, further spreading your slick from his face onto yours and your shared saliva dripping down your chin. Everything about this kiss was so dirty and filthy and represents your relationship with him. When you pull away from air, Joel sucks your bottom lip into his mouth before releasing it with a wet pop. He attacks your neck in biting kisses again.

The sensation of his beard tickled, thus causing you to giggle under his partially hovering body. Joel's shoulders shake as he chuckles against your marked skin. He flops down next to you, propping his head up with one hand while his arm rests on the bed. With his other hand, he draws you close to his chest. You hum gently and snuggle into him with ease.

"Daddy?" Softly speaking, you play with the collar of his shirt and shyly look up at him. "Do you think tomorrow... maybe you could show me how to... do stuff with my mouth, uh, on you?"

The unexpected question made Joel smile from ear to ear. He didn't even have to ask, or even tell you. This was something you thought about all on your own. There's a certain glint in his eyes as he looks at you. It's predatory and dark, and it makes you uncomfortable. His arm tightens around your waist to keep you from moving away.

"I don't know, babydoll," he says with mock sympathy, pushing a few strands of hair away from your hands. "You're not smart enough yet. You know that, you silly girl." As he pokes your nose, he almost wants to laugh at the sight of your pout. "Don't give me that pout." He pats your cheek with a little force again, forcing the pout to leave your lips when he glares at you.

As he lays back on the bed and pulls you into his side, Joel stares up at the ceiling. A plan forms in his head: do whatever you can to make her need you and no one else. A sadistic smile slowly makes its way onto his face. He's close. Just one more day until he can permanently get into your head and fucking tear you apart with his bare hands.

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kiesbrainjuice · 2 months

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— ITS VOLLEYBALL OR ME ! tobio kageyama

➥ syn : too obsessed with volleyball make you nearly loose your wife!

➥ wc : 3.5k

➥ tw : angst to fluff, heated argument, reader cry a lot, comfort

As I sat alone in our quiet apartment, I couldn't help but reflect on the life I shared with my husband, Tobio Kageyama. We'd been married for three years now, and while I loved him deeply, his obsession with volleyball was starting to take its toll on our relationship.

Tobio had always been passionate about the sport, even back in high school when we first met. I found his dedication admirable then, and it was one of the things that drew me to him. But now, as a professional player, his commitment had reached new heights – often at the expense of our time together.

Our days followed a predictable pattern. Tobio would wake up at dawn, go for a run, then head to practice. He'd return home late in the evening, exhausted but still buzzing with energy as he analyzed his performance or watched recordings of matches. Even during meals, his mind was on the court, discussing strategies or areas he wanted to improve.

At first, I tried to involve myself in his world. I attended his matches, learned the intricacies of the game, and even attempted to play a bit myself. But as time went on, I found myself feeling more and more like a spectator in my own marriage.

The loneliness crept in slowly. Weekends that should have been ours were filled with extra training sessions or team-building exercises. Holidays were planned around his tournament schedule. Even on the rare occasions when we did have time together, Tobio's thoughts were often elsewhere, replaying moments from recent games or strategizing for upcoming ones.

I'd tried talking to him about it, of course. Tobio would always apologize, promise to do better, to make more time for us. And for a while, things would improve. But inevitably, the siren call of the volleyball court would draw him back, leaving me alone once again.

Tonight was supposed to be different. We had plans – actual plans – for a date night. Dinner at the new restaurant downtown, followed by a walk in the park. It wasn't much, but I had been looking forward to it all week. A chance to reconnect, to remember why we fell in love in the first place.

But as the hours ticked by and Tobio didn't show up, I felt the familiar ache of disappointment settling in my chest. I knew, without having to call or text, exactly where he was. The gym. Always the gym.

As I sat there, dressed up with nowhere to go, I couldn't help but wonder: was this what the rest of my life would look like? Always coming second to a sport? Always waiting for a man who was more committed to his team than to his wife?

The anger began to build, a slow simmer that gradually rose to a boil. I'd had enough. It was time to go home and have a serious conversation with my husband – whenever he decided to show up.

I stormed into our apartment, tears streaming down my face. The silence that greeted me only fueled my anger and hurt. I slammed the door behind me, not caring about the noise.

With shaking hands, I unzipped my dress - the one I'd carefully chosen for our date - and let it fall to the floor. I didn't bother hanging it up, instead leaving it in a crumpled heap as I made my way to the bathroom.

The hot water of the shower mingled with my tears. I stood there, letting it wash over me, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside. Disappointment, frustration, loneliness - they all swirled together, threatening to overwhelm me.

After what felt like hours, I finally stepped out, wrapping myself in a towel. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for another night alone.

But as I walked into the kitchen, I froze. There was Tobio, still in his practice clothes, sweat glistening on his forehead. He was rummaging through the fridge, completely oblivious to the turmoil he'd caused.

"Oh, you're home," he said, glancing up at me with a casual smile. "Practice ran late. Did you eat yet?"

I stared at him, my jaw clenched. The familiar rage bubbled up inside me, but this time, I pushed it down. Instead, I felt a cold detachment settling over me.

"No," I replied, my voice flat. "I haven't eaten."

Tobio raised an eyebrow at my tone but didn't seem to pick up on the tension. "Great, I'm starving. Want to order in?"

I shrugged, not meeting his eyes. "Whatever you want."

He paused, finally seeming to notice something was off. "Are you okay?"

I didn't answer, simply turning away to head to the bedroom. "I'm tired. Order what you like."

As I walked away, I could feel his confused gaze on my back. But for once, I didn't care about explaining or smoothing things over. Let him wonder. Let him figure it out for himself.

I closed the bedroom door behind me, leaving Tobio alone in the kitchen. The wall of silence between us felt impenetrable, and for the first time, I wasn't sure I wanted to break it down.

I slipped into my pajamas mechanically, my movements slow and deliberate. The soft fabric offered little comfort as I climbed into bed, pulling the sheets up to my chin and turning to face the wall. I could hear Tobio moving around in the kitchen, the familiar sounds of his evening routine doing nothing to soothe the ache in my chest.

Minutes later, I heard his footsteps approaching the bedroom. The door creaked open, and I felt the bed dip as he settled in beside me. His arm snaked around my waist, pulling me close. His breath was warm against my neck as he nuzzled into me.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice soft. "Is everything okay? You seem upset."

For a moment, I said nothing, my body rigid in his embrace. Then, something inside me snapped. I took a deep, shuddering breath and spoke, my voice eerily calm despite the storm raging within.

"No, Tobio. Everything is not okay." I didn't turn to face him, keeping my gaze fixed on the wall. "Do you know where I was tonight?"

I felt him tense behind me. "What do you mean?"

"I was at Ristorante Bella. Sitting at a table for two, all alone." My voice remained steady, but each word was laced with hurt. "I waited for you for two hours, Tobio. Two hours of watching other couples enjoy their meals, of pitying glances from the waitstaff, of making excuses for why my husband wasn't there."

I paused, letting the words sink in. "We had plans tonight. Plans we made a week ago. But once again, volleyball took priority."

Tobio's arm loosened around me. "I... I forgot. Practice ran late, and I-"

"You didn't even text," I interrupted, finally rolling over to face him. In the dim light, I could see the shock and guilt etched across his features. "You didn't call. You just... forgot about me. About us."

I watched as realization dawned on his face. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, reaching out to touch my cheek. "I didn't mean to-"

I pulled away from his touch. "That's the problem, Tobio. You never mean to. But it keeps happening. Over and over again." I sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted. "I can't keep doing this. I can't keep coming second to volleyball."

Tobio sat up, running a hand through his hair. "What are you saying?"

I met his gaze, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm saying that something needs to change. Because right now, I feel like I'm losing you... and I'm not sure how much longer I can hold on."

The silence that fell between us was heavy with unspoken words and uncertain futures. As I turned away from him once more, I wondered if this would be the wake-up call we needed, or if it was the beginning of the end.

I couldn't stand lying there anymore, the tension thick in the air. I abruptly sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed, standing up.

"Where are you going?" Tobio asked, his voice tinged with confusion and worry.

"I can't do this here," I said, walking out of the bedroom. I heard him scramble to follow me.

In the living room, I whirled to face him. "Do you have any idea how it feels, Tobio? To constantly be an afterthought in your own marriage?"

His face contorted with guilt. "You're not an afterthought. I just got caught up in practice-"

"It's always practice!" I interrupted, my voice rising. "Or a game, or watching tapes, or team bonding. When was the last time we had a real conversation that didn't revolve around volleyball?"

Tobio ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his posture. "Volleyball is my career. You knew that when you married me."

"I married a man, not a sport!" I shot back. "I love that you're passionate about volleyball, Tobio. I really do. But sometimes it's just... it's too much."

My voice cracked on the last word, and suddenly the tears I'd been holding back spilled over. "Do you know how many nights I spend alone in this apartment? How many dinners I eat by myself? How many times I've had to make excuses to our friends about why you couldn't make it to their events?"

Tobio took a step towards me, his hand outstretched, but I backed away. "I'm trying to support your dreams, but I feel like I'm disappearing. Like I'm fading away, and you don't even notice."

My next words came out as a choked whisper, "Do you even still love me, Tobio? Or am I just... convenient? Someone to come home to when volleyball is done with you for the day?"

Tobio's eyes widened in shock. "Of course I love you! How can you even ask that?"

"Because I don't feel it!" I cried, the dam finally breaking. "I don't feel loved when you forget our plans. I don't feel loved when you'd rather stay late at practice than spend time with me. I don't feel loved when I'm always, always second to volleyball."

I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly feeling very small. "I'm tired, Tobio. I'm so tired of competing with a sport for my husband's attention. And I don't know how much longer I can do this."

The silence that followed was deafening. We stood there, meters apart but feeling like miles, as the weight of my words hung in the air between us.

Tobio's face contorted, a mix of hurt and anger flashing in his eyes. "You think I don't care about you? Everything I do, all the practice, all the games - it's for us! For our future!"

"Our future?" I scoffed, my voice rising. "What future, Tobio? The one where I'm always alone, always waiting for you to remember I exist?"

He took a step forward, his fists clenched at his sides. "That's not fair! You knew how important volleyball was to me when we got married. You can't just decide now that it's too much!"

"I'm not asking you to quit!" I shouted back, my frustration boiling over. "I'm asking you to remember that you have a wife, that you have a life outside of that gym!"

Tobio ran his hands through his hair, tugging at it in frustration. "You don't understand. This is my dream, my passion-"

"And what about my dreams?" I interjected, my voice cracking. "What about my passion for having a real marriage, a real partnership?"

He threw his hands up in exasperation. "What do you want from me? To give up everything I've worked for?"

"I want you to care!" I screamed, tears streaming down my face. "I want you to show up when we have plans! I want you to text me when you're going to be late! Is that really too much to ask?"

Tobio's jaw clenched. "You're being selfish. You knew what you were getting into-"

"Selfish?" I repeated, incredulous. "Selfish is forgetting your wife exists the moment you step onto that court. Selfish is making me feel like I don't matter in my own marriage!"

We stood there, chests heaving, glaring at each other. The silence was deafening, filled with all the hurt and resentment that had been building for months.

"Maybe..." Tobio started, his voice low and dangerous. "Maybe you just don't understand what it takes to be the best. Maybe you never will."

His words hit me like a physical blow. I stumbled back, feeling as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. "Maybe I don't," I whispered, my anger suddenly deflating into a bone-deep weariness. "And maybe that's the problem."

I turned away, unable to look at him anymore. "I can't do this right now. I need... I need some space."

Without waiting for a response, I grabbed my keys and headed for the door, leaving Tobio standing alone in the middle of our living room.

Days had passed since our explosive argument. I'd retreated to our second apartment, a small place we kept for when either of us needed space. The solitude had given me time to think, to process my emotions, and to consider our future.

I was in the kitchen, absently stirring a pot of pasta, when the doorbell rang. Wiping my hands on a dish towel, I made my way to the door, wondering who it could be.

As I opened it, my breath caught in my throat. There stood Tobio, looking more disheveled than I'd ever seen him. His eyes were red and puffy, clear evidence that he'd been crying. In his hands, he clutched a bouquet of my favorite flowers.

Before I could ask why he wasn't at practice, Tobio spoke, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry."

Those two words, filled with such raw emotion, made my heart clench. I stepped back wordlessly, allowing him to enter.

Tobio shuffled in, his usual confident posture replaced by a slump of defeat. He placed the flowers on the nearby table and turned to face me, his eyes filled with guilt and remorse.

"I've been an idiot," he began, his voice shaky. "These past few days... they've been hell. I couldn't focus on practice, couldn't sleep. All I could think about was how much I've hurt you."

I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms protectively over my chest. "Tobio..."

He held up a hand, asking me to let him continue. "You were right. About everything. I've been so caught up in volleyball that I forgot what's truly important. You. Us."

Tobio took a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine. "I love you. More than volleyball, more than anything. And I'm sorry it took me so long to realize how much I've been neglecting you."

Tears welled up in my eyes as he continued. "I've talked to my coach. I'm cutting back on extra practices. I'm going to be home more, be present more. I want to be the husband you deserve."

He reached out, gently taking my hands in his. "I can't promise I'll be perfect. But I can promise that from now on, you'll always come first. No more forgotten dates, no more nights alone. I want to make this work. I need to make this work."

The sincerity in his voice, the pain in his eyes - it was all too much. I felt my resolve crumbling as tears spilled down my cheeks.

"Oh, Tobio," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.

He pulled me into his arms, holding me tight against his chest. I could feel his heart racing, matching the rapid beat of my own.

"I love you," he murmured into my hair. "Please, give me another chance. Let me show you how much you mean to me."

I pulled back slightly, looking up into his face. The Tobio I saw there wasn't the volleyball-obsessed athlete, but the man I fell in love with - vulnerable, caring, and completely devoted.

"Okay," I said softly, a small smile tugging at my lips. "We'll try again. Together."

Tobio's face lit up with relief and joy. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against mine. "Together," he agreed.

As we stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, I felt hope blooming in my chest. We had a long way to go, but this was a start. A new beginning for us both.

Tobio held me close, his strong arms enveloping me in a comforting embrace. I could feel his chest rise and fall with each deep breath, as if he was trying to memorize this moment.

"I've missed you so much," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His hands gently stroked my back, soothing away the tension I'd been carrying for days.

I burrowed deeper into his chest, inhaling his familiar scent. "I missed you too," I whispered back, my fingers clutching at his shirt.

We stood like that for a long while, just holding each other, reconnecting without words. Eventually, the timer in the kitchen beeped, reminding me of the dinner I'd been preparing.

"I should check on the pasta," I said, reluctantly starting to pull away.

But Tobio's arms tightened around me. "Let me help," he said, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. "I want to do this together."

Hand in hand, we walked to the kitchen. As I stirred the pasta, Tobio stood behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. It was as if he couldn't bear to lose physical contact with me, even for a moment.

We moved around the small kitchen, working in tandem to finish preparing the meal. Tobio insisted on helping with every task, from chopping vegetables for the salad to setting the table. All the while, he kept finding excuses to touch me - a gentle hand on my lower back as he reached for plates, fingers brushing mine as he passed me utensils, a quick kiss on my cheek as I plated the food.

As we sat down to eat, Tobio pulled his chair closer to mine, our knees touching under the table. He reached out, taking my hand in his, his thumb gently caressing my knuckles.

"Thank you," he said softly, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that took my breath away.

"For what?" I asked, squeezing his hand.

"For giving me another chance. For being patient with me. For loving me, even when I didn't deserve it." His voice was low, filled with sincerity.

I felt tears prick at my eyes again, but this time they were tears of happiness. "We're in this together, remember?" I reminded him with a small smile.

Tobio nodded, bringing my hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to my palm. "Together," he agreed.

Throughout dinner, Tobio kept finding ways to maintain physical contact - his foot hooked around my ankle, his hand resting on my knee, our shoulders brushing as we ate. It was as if he was trying to make up for all the lost time, all the moments of disconnection.

After we finished eating, Tobio insisted on doing the dishes, pulling me along with him to the sink. We washed and dried in comfortable silence, stealing glances and soft smiles.

As we finished up, Tobio pulled me into another embrace, nuzzling his face into my neck. "Can we just stay like this for a while?" he murmured against my skin.

I nodded, wrapping my arms around him tightly. "As long as you want," I whispered back.

We stood there in the kitchen, holding each other close, the gentle ticking of the clock the only sound in the apartment.

tag : @haechansbbg

#haikyu fluff #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x you #hq fluff #hq x reader #hq kageyama #hq tobio #kageyama tobio x reader #haikyuu tobio #kageyama tobio #tobio kageyama x reader #kegayama tobio #kageyama x reader #kageyama #haikyuu kageyama #kageyama fluff

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lizthewriter · 1 year

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i think there's been a glitch / theodore nott

PAIRING Theodore Nott x studious!shy!Reader

SUMMARY Theodore Nott was well known for the sort of happenstances that occurred in his dorm. However, the new transfer student seems to catch his eye in particular - that transfer student is you. His friends think that, at first, he has his eyes set on you for more sinful reasons, but he soon proves that his intentions are more romantic than anyone ever thought.

TAGS Theodore Nott x Reader, angst, if you squint, idiots in love, cursing, kissing, study buddies, friends to wtf is this to friends with benefits but also wtf is this to lovers, theo is a simp, reader is not slytherin, can be any other house, reader has social anxiety, references to sex, underage drinking, headmaster's list = dean's list, gender neutral reader

"We were supposed be just friends, / you don't live in my part of town, but maybe I'll see you out some weekend, / depending on what type of mood and situationship I'm in, / and what's in my system," - Glitch by Taylor Swift

WORD COUNT 3.2K

WRITTEN 27.08.2023

A/N This came as a burst of inspiration during calc class when I realized I was really the only person answering my professor's questions in my classes, lmaoo 😭😭 so this is purely self-induglent. i hope you guys enjoy <333

When you had transferred to Hogwarts, you hadn't made very many friends. All right, you hadn't made any friends. Because you had transferred to Hogwarts so late in your academic career, everyone had already formed their own friend groups. No one had any real interest in you - that was, they were interested in why you transferred, but not in assimilating you into their social circles. Your professors, however, had grown quite fond of you, most likely due to your dedication to your studies. And eventually, around midway through the fall semester, you were called into the Headmaster's office. It had kept you on your toes all day - had you done something wrong? Gotten in trouble? Your mind had come up with most elaborate and unlikely scenarios that might have cause you to get called into the Headmaster's office.

You were awarded the honor of being added to the Headmaster's list. Only two others in your year were granted the same honor - Hermione Granger and Theodore Nott. All three of you were maintaining straight O's. You and Hermione had never gotten the opportunity to grow close - it might have been the fact that she was much more close-mindrd than you, or the fact that she didn't have the time to spare to make new friends between her studies and all the "Chosen One" stuff going on. You wanted to at least make one friend, instead of an academic rival, which you made the mistake of creating at your previous school.

So, you approached Theo after the meeting, your hands clamy and shaking while you stuttered out your request to study together. Theo simply watched you with those dead eyes of his before nodding. It had unnerved you but you pushed yourself to confirm a date and time with him. And so began your little friendship.

You were never meant to be more than study partners. Weekly study sessions in the library grew into bi-weekly gatherings, which then grew into daily meetings. And then you were meeting each other after class, making inside jokes, hanging out just because. Slowly, but surely, you and Theo grew close. You weren't sure you had ever been this close with anyone before. It was like he just knew you, not only like the back of his hand, but like every square inch of his body.

And Theo? Theo had never saw you coming. He didn't know that he wanted to be friends with you until you were friends, and then he couldn't stop coming back. You were like a drug. He needed another hit each and every time he saw you. Soon enough, he was aching to spend every waking moment with you. It had started as nothing more than a mutually beneficial partnership, but it grew to be much more than that.

It took him a while to realize he loved you. Cared for you. He was well reputed for sleeping around and having a general devil-may-care attitude. He knew that he loved you when he began to grow tired of the constant flings and one-night stands. When he called off the on-and-off relationship he'd had with a particularly vivacious Slytherin girl. He hated the way girls threw themselves at him, vying for his attention like wildcats fighting over a piece of meat. You weren't like that. You were perfect.

He knew he wanted to ask you out. His friends scoffed at the idea, thinking he was joking. They were shocked when they realized he was serious. Mattheo had even knocked on his head, asking if Theo was really in there. It had to be perfect, so he went to the only people he knew who had ever been in serious relationships. Mostly everyone had told him the same thing - find out what you liked. Woo you. It was rather simple. "For someone who is so smart, you're rather stupid, you know," Blaise had told him. He secretly agreed.

First, he had bought a collection of muggle novels for you at a book store on a forgotten. It had beautifully decorated covers, guilded with golden etchings. When you had sat down to study one day, Theodore had dropped it on the table in front of you while he pulled out his books.

"What's this?" You had asked in confusion.

"It reminded me of you," he said simply, pulling out his spellbook and flipping through it to find where he had last left off.

You furrowed your brows as you pulled the box towards you, unclasping the front of it and pushing it open. You let out the small gasp at the gorgeous hardcovers resting inside, hands trailing along the sturdy spines. Five Muggle Classics, the interior of the box cover said. "Theo . . . " Your voice trailed off at the thoughtfullness of the gift - you were left utterly speechless. "I can't take this. I can't imagine how expensive how this was." You slid the case of books back to Theo. He stopped it, pushing it back towards you.

"Take it. I can't return it. Besides, I got it for you. I would hate to see these go to waste."

You bit your bottom lip before pulling the box back towards you, a smile spreading across your face as you pulled out one of your favorite muggle classics. You flipped through the pages, allowing that paticular new-book smell to wash over you like the waves on a shore. "Thank you," you mumbled softly.

You never came to parties. Mostly because you hated all the drinking and crowds and the mixture of stroking lights and booming music that made you dizzy. But you had started to develop feelings for a particular friend of yours. He was tall, devilishly handsome, and more intelligent that anyone you'd ever met. He smelled of evergreen trees, cigarettes, and lilac. You felt for him in a way that you had never felt for anyone else. You were always so laser-focused on you studies, but you realized that your attention had been straying towards a paticular someone as of recently.

You knew he hung around these sort of parties, finding pretty girls to have a fun night with. You wore the most insanely inappropriate dress you could find, hoping to catch his attention. You weren't exactly sure what your goal for that night was, but you were certain you wanted it to end with you and Theo, alone.

Of course, Theo was shocked to see you there. Even more shocked to see you out of the jeans and sweaters you usually wore, standing in a tight little number that had him practically frothing at the mouth. Not that you weren't always stunning, but you were stunning stunning. He wouldn't have approached you normally, but with the alcohol currently coursing through his system, he had a boost of courage and stupidity.

Five seconds later, he was standing right behind you, calling your name. You turned around to face him with a grin. "Hey, there you are."

"What are you doing here?" It sounded much more like a statement than a question - he was seemingly distracted by something else about you.

"I came to see you, silly. And to see what all the rage is about."

"And?"

"I've come to the conclusion that parties suck."

Theo laughed, something hearty that rumbled through his chest. "Want to go somewhere else?"

"Please," you responded with a role of your eyes. "I'm starting to get a headache." You had stupidly accepted a drink and chugged down the bitter alcohol earlier - that didn't bode well for your head when you were already bothered by loud music sober.

Theo's eyes searched the room for somehwere that might be a little quieter - his eyes landed on the staircase to his dorm. Well, where else was there to go? He lead you up the steps, the two of you laughing as he kept you from stumbling down the stairs, and guided you to his dorm. He sat you down on the bed, grabbing a glass on his bedside table, and filled it up with the spell Aguamenti.

"Thanks," you said sweetly, taking it from his hand and taking a long sip. You took a good look at the room, easily able to tell whose area of the roo. was whose. Mattheo's was messy - clothes strewn across the bed and floor. Draco's was neat and filled with a variety of potions book, his bedside table cluttered with potions of a variety of colors, lined up in orderly rows. Blaise had a poster of his favorite Quidditch team plastered on the wall, as well as a family photo filled with all his siblings. Theo's, however, was minimal and tidy aside from the piles of books. His bed was neatly made, the corners of the covers tucked under the mattress.

You finally met Theo's eyes and finally saw some sort of emotion - it took you a moment to identify it as hunger. You glanced down at the outfit you were wearing and flushed, your eyes staying firmly on the ground.

"You look very pretty."

You felt your heart stop in your chest. Had Theo called you . . . pretty? You were in shock - sure, you had come to the party with more than friendly intent, but you had never expected that he would actually notice you the way he had noticed other girls.

"Y-you - you look very handsome."

Theo watched you for a moment - he was standing only a foot away with arm wrapped around the four-poster, hanging off from it slightly. There was an odd sort of tension in the room - you both knew what you wanted and you both knew you wanted it now. Both of your inhibitions were lowered because of the alcohol, so it was that one split desicion that changed everything. Soon enough, his lips were planted into yours, one hand cupping your cheek and the other trailing along the side of your body. Everything had happened so fast - it went from the hand on your hips guiding you down onto the mattress to clothes strewn on the floor to sleeping heavily within each other's arms. It was hours before you woke again, and you were grateful that none of his friends had come up from the party yet. He helped you get dressed, a look of almost disbelief settled into his features as you left, sending him an awkward smile before you closed the door. What had he done?

The next day you had studied together like nothing happened. You cracked a joke. He laughed. You helped him with Transfiguration, he helped you with Ancient Runes. Another day passed. And another. And another. Theo was going beyond mad - what were you two now? Were you still friends? Were you dating? He felt like he wanted to yank all his hair out of his head.

That was, until about a week later. Late at night, the two of you were studying in the library. He was huddled next to you, embarrassingly distracted by your beauty while you were trying to help him with a homework problem he got stuck on. He finally snapped back to attention as you pointed to something on his parchment, leaning downwards to see exactly what you were pointing at. At the same time, you had turned your head to see what had him so distracted. The resultant situation: your noses bumped together and he could feel your heavy, hot breath on his lips.

Flashbacks to the night you shared soared through both of your minds. And it was you, this time, who had made the stupid desicion. You lunged for his lips with desperation, fingers snaking through his hair, a hand planted on his chest. He had tensed in surprise before returning the kiss with equal fervor. It wasn't long before you were quickly packing your things and Theo was dragging you to some abandoned room, your lips entangled as he pressed you up against the wall. The moonlight seeped in through the red glass-stained windows, dancing deliciously on your skin. Forever engraved in his memory was the picture of you, the only word on your lips being his name, grasping his shoulders with need.

Neither of you knew what kind of relationship you had descended into. It involved rather intimate gatherings from time to time, but for the most part, you were just friends. It was an almost seamless friendship between you two - except for the nagging thoughts at the back of both of your minds that kept you wondering if the other really felt the same way.

Theo buried his face into his hands, surrounded by a group of friends who had utterly no idea what to do. Their eyes watched him with trepidation and worry. It was oddly concerning how much he was stressing over this. Theo never seemed to stress about anything. But here he was, hands fisted in his hair, staring down at the ground in utter disillusionment.

"I've ruined everything. All cause I couldn't keep it in my fucking pants."

"That can't be it, mate," Mattheo tried reassuring him. "Look, you said they're different, yeah? All the other girls you've slept with found someone else after you. But they keep coming back for more. That has to mean something, right?"

"Yeah, you've just got to romance them," Blaise said. Theo groaned.

"Please never open your mouth again."

"I'm serious. Take her to Hogsmeade, that'll show them."

Theo leaned his face upwards, staring at Blaise. He was right - taking someone to Hogsmeade virtually meant asking them out on a date. You had to know the innuendo by now, being at Hogwarts as long as you have. "Blaise, you're brilliant." He clapped his friend on the back, rushing out of the dorm to find you.

You scanned the bookshelves for books with more information on Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration. The idea fascinated you - how come you could conjure any sort of non-edible object from nothing, but with food you couldn't? At the root of it, everything was made of subatomic particles, then atoms, then particles, and so on. So, theoretically, anything could be created from nothing, correct?

You were so enraptured by your own thoughts that you had no conception of your surroundings and bumped right into someone walking straight towards you. The books in your arms tumbled onto the floor and you flushed a bright red, bending down to pick them up.

"Gosh, I'm so sorry!" you exclaimed, hastily collecting the books from the ground. The boy, who you hadn't really looked at yet, bent down to help you collect them as well. "I wasn't looking where I was going, I'm really -"

As you stood up, you finally got to look at his face - and it turned out to be Theo. His face was just barely flushed, and the emotion in his eyes held a deep meaning that you couldn't quite decrypt. You didn't have a chance to ask him what he was doing, because he beat you to it.

"Go to Hogsmeade with me."

"I'm sorry?"

"Hogsmeade. You and I. Interested?" His tone was strained, and you realized what emotion finally lay beyond those dead eyes. Fear.

You knew what he was insinuating. Was he - asking you out on a date? Did that mean he really did like you? More than just as someone he could have a little fun with time and again, someone who was just a friend. You stared up at him for quite a while, not realising how silent you were as you sunk into the rabbit hole of your own thoughts.

"I - erm - all right, then." You were still quite in a bit of shock. "Will you -"

"Yeah, I'll wait for you outside your common room." The fear in his eyes seemed to dissipate, his shoulders sagging in relief.

"Right. Yeah, sounds good. Great."

You had bundled up for the cold weather, a thick scarf wrapped around your neck and a hat with your house emblem on your head. You tried to dress in something nice underneath the layers of warmth - it had taken you a long time to decide what exactly you wanted to wear, but you had eventually come to a conclusion.

When you exited the dormitory, you found Theo bundled up with an equal amount of layers, yet he looked just as attractive as he always did. In his hands, he held a single rose. You flushed a bright red, especially as a group of first year girls giggled as they exited the dorm behind you.

"Hello," Theo said simply, handing you the rose.

"Hello," you responded shyly, taking it gratefully and holding it in your hands. You smiled nervously, rocking back and forth on your feet. "So."

"So. Are you ready?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." Theo grabbed your hand, holding it gently. You hid your face from his view, not wanting him to know the kind of affect he had on you as he lead you through the castle. "What do you want to do first?"

You had weaved your hand through his arm, resting your head on the edge of his shoulder. "Hm. I need some more quills. But we should definitely stop at the bookshop first. I want to see if they've gotten anything new."

"Okay."

Theo had never been a talkative person - and you had never really minded it, not until now. You wish that maybe he might just tell you he had feelings for you, more than feelings that only arose every once in a while. It would make this so much easier on you. But you were nervous and shy and had a hard time talking to people, even one's you've been friends with. So you remained silent on the walk there.

Theo could tell it was an uncomfortable silence. Not only did being the quiet one meant he could read a room easily, he had also been around you long enough to know when you felt uncomfortable. He stopped the two of you from walking - you were already walking the path to Hogsmeade, snow lightly covered both of your heads.

"What's wrong?"

"N-nothing."

"You don't have to lie to me."

You bit the interior of your cheek nervously. Did you really want to destroy what you had with him? You were content with keeping your relationship the way it was. At least, that's what you convinced yourself.

You felt your gaze being drawn back to Theo, his fingers resting under your chin. "Don't hide from me, love, tell me what's on your mind."

"Love." You felt your heart melt into a puddle of hope and embarrassment. "Theo . . . what are we?"

Theo grabbed your hand and held it up, intertwining your fingers together. He looked at them, with something akin to fascination, and muttered, "What do you want us to be?"

You paused. "I want us to be together," you whispered, looking up at him with eyes of despair. Theo felt his heart wrench at the sight of it. He raised his other hand, brushing it lightly against your cheek.

"Then let's be together," he whispered back. He leaned downwards, meeting your lips in a soft kiss. It wasn't like any of the kisses before that - no, those were passionate, desperate, lust-filled kisses. This was loving, caring, blossoming. He dropped your hand to cup both of your cheeks in his hand, his nose biting into your cheek. "You and I. I like the sound of that."

tags: @plants-are-pretty-cool @annaisabookworm @maricardigan

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