warnings: none really, its very light, one swear word
an: small drabble that came to mind the other day when i baked bc i really want to make leon some banana bread.
leon restlessly fidgeted with the pen he’d been given at the beginning of the meeting, as if he had anything to write about he hadn’t already retold at least thrice in the last two hours. he internally scoffed. there was no way in hell so many debriefings about the same mission were needed; he was thoroughly interrogated when he returned from spain, and a few days after, and a week after, and-
he honestly just wanted to stop thinking about it, at least while he was awake, there wasn’t much to do about the nightmares anyway. but no, god forbid he gets some peace of mind and rest, it was obviously much more important for him to narrate for the umpteenth time how he and ashley were chased and lynched by los iluminados, as it seems the higher ups didn’t quite catch it the previous seven times.
it seemed like a good moment to reach inside his pocket and discreetly check his phone, unlocking it underneath the solid wooden table while the people in the meeting yapped away, as expected, not even noticing his lack of attention and interest; once he’d reported what happened in the mission they didn’t care much for what he had to say anymore, or his opinions or feedback. ‘good thing i wasn’t planning on sharing any’ he thought. he rested his phone on his lap, where he could see the lit up screen, and he caught himself quickly before a smile made its way to his face as his eyes skimmed over the notifications on the screen, stopping on a specific one.
y/n <3
hiiii can’t wait to see you!! i’ve got smth waiting for you at home :p
suddenly he couldn’t wait for the debriefing to be over. the moment it wasn’t rude to do so anymore, he scurried out of the room, grabbing his jacket and making his way to the car.
20 minutes and four annoyingly slow redlights later, he arrived to your shared place. you’d argue it was more his than yours since he paid a bigger part of the rent, but he didn’t give a single fuck about who paid exactly how much, it was your home, and to him it was absurd to split it equally taking into account the salary difference and the amount of money he got paid. it was more than he could ever need, and there was nothing he’d rather spend it on, plus even rent as a whole was a small amount in comparison to his salary, but he didn’t talk about it unless necessary because he didn’t either see the point nor want to make you feel bad about it.
when he came through the door he immediately noticed the sweet, homey smell that filled the apartment.
“hi, baby, you’re home early.” you greeted him, poking your head out of the kitchen.
he hung his jacket on the hanger by the door and went straight to you, wrapping his arms around your midsection from behind, kissing your shoulder and replying a quiet “hi”.
you finished rinsing the bowl you were washing as you asked in a slightly cheekier manner, already being able to imagine what the answer to the question would be “did the meeting go well? did you have fun?”
a groan tore from his lips and he replied to your question by tightening his arms around you, burying his face in your hair and murmuring “don’t even.”
“sorry, sorry. it’s over now, try to get it off your mind. i don’t love the idea of those old, boring guys being what you think about when you’re holding me…” you let out a soft huff of laughter, drying one of your hands and placing it on top of his warmer one where it rested against your stomach.
“mhm, you’re right, you’re much nicer to look at. something smells amazing, by the way.”
you smiled and turned your head towards him as much as the position allowed it.
“right? it probably sounds kind of bad coming from me, but i honestly think so too. i tried making banana bread, and taking into account it's my first time doing it, i think i’ve been rather successful.”
you felt his involuntary content little exhale against the skin of your nape and he tugged lightly on the hand with which you were holding the bowl you'd been previously washing.
“forget about this now, we'll do them later together." he murmured, and you didn't think about it twice, you placed the bowl in the sink and dried your other hand. you could guess what he would reply to your next question, but he was a bit softer than usual and it was really cute so you still asked as you opened the oven and pulled the steaming loaf out.
"do you want some?”
“please.”
you had half a mind to laugh at how quickly he responded, but the way he was acting was a pretty clear indicator he was tired, not so much physically as mentally. his eyes followed your hands as you cut two pieces of banana bread, hissing at how hot it was (who would've guessed, you'd taken it out of the oven a minute ago) and set them on a small plate.
when you got to the bedroom, leon quickly took his shoes off, changed into some clothes that had… less metal and buckles, and sat up on the bed, resting his back on the headboard. when you were going to settle beside him, after leaving the plate on the bedside table, he snaked a hand around your waist and pulled you onto his lap.
"clingy…" you muttered, shifting to be even closer to him regardless. leon's hand came into contact with yours and he carefully caressed the tips of your fingers, where you'd kind of burnt yourself earlier.
"does it hurt?"
"barely, don't worry." you murmured, your stomach feeling warm with the way he cared for you. he'd gotten absurdly grave injuries during his missions (and he had the bad habit of not taking them as seriously as he should, tending to rush his recovery) yet he cared deeply about your wellbeing; despite not making a fuss or treating you like a child, he'd subtly check in on you whenever you seemed in pain, be it that you'd bumped into the living room table or burnt your tongue as a consequence of being impatient when eating hot food.
he brought your hand up to his face and pressed his lips against the tips of your fingers, not quite kissing, but overwhelmingly gentle nonetheless.
a few seconds later you were both accommodated, which is to say there wasn't even half an inch of space between your bodies.
it's not that you didn't expect the bread to be good, but the slight moan leon let out definitely caught you off guard.
“that good?" you asked against the hem of his shirt, where it met the skin of his neck.
"yeah, it really is. you should write down the recipe. i doubt i can get it to taste as good as yours but i’d like to try baking it either way.” he replied after the few seconds it took him to finish the sweet. you felt his hand come to rest on the back of your head, caressing your hair slightly, and before you could even get any words out, he spoke, a bit amused and with a hint of fake annoyance and offense.
“i know, i know, i was holding it with my other hand, i wouldn't touch your hair like this if my hand wasn't clean. do you think that lowly of me? actually, you know what, don't answer that; i’m sure you'd manage to find a way to be a brat about it. let's just stay like this for a bit.”
you smiled, staying still where you were sat despite your playful tone.
“as you wish”
leon tightened his hold around you and murmured against the top of your head, right before pressing a tender kiss on your forehead, “thanks for the treat, love, it was delicious.”
i love leon so much ... anyway take care my guys (gn) !!!
aiden ✪
bonus pics of the banana bread i made, i added some dates as well :3
ART froze for an agonizing 1.7 seconds. There was a buzz beneath my organic skin, like standing at the top of a mining rig as a thunderstorm rolled in. I could feel my internal temperature rising — I didn’t need the warning message diagnostics threw at me about it to know.
I hadn’t accessed the cameras or my visual inputs yet, and now I pulled them into focus, zooming in on ART’s MedSys’ long, spidery limbs. It had five of them within my abdominal cavity, the plate missing — likely being repaired elsewhere while ART devoted 89% of its attention right here with me.
I didn’t know what I was feeling, but it wasn’t… bad.
---
After Murderbot is injured on a mission-gone-wrong, ART puts it back together in its MedSys, and the two discover an oddly sensitive place in Murderbot's core that requires further investigation.
James Potter is very well acquainted with every single part of his house, though rather few things serve a multitude of functions.
The sink in their en-suite bathroom has served them well for years. From being bent over to puke, to bending others over, there's not a single experience the basin has remained privy of.
From what was once only littered with James’s scarce skin and hair care, the marble around the basin has now found itself regularly covered by Regulus’s items, often enough Sirius’s, Remus’s, or Peter’s too.
It is a thing well beloved, and fully purposed.
So, one can easily imagine their surprise when they get home from the boring and mischief-draining office only to hear frantic shouting which then quiets down into rushed whispers.
“Shit. They’re here.” The voice carries through the house, followed by some loud bang.
“Already?” Ah. The voice of their beloved.
As James enters their bedroom, making their way to the bathroom, too mentally drained to register the worried whispers coming from the bathroom.
Just as they're about to enter, Regulus comes to stand in front of them, trying to slyly close the door behind himself.
“Hi, baby.” He says, and immediately the sickeningly sweet voice and the too wide smile on his face makes James come out of whatever post-work haze they were in.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, James asks, “Hi, love. What'd you guys do now?”
Regulus opens his mouth to immediately decline having taken any part in, or having done anything, uncomely.
“Noth–”
“I swear it wasn't my fault!” Sirius exclaims, quick to deny responsibility.
How alike, yet different are the brothers.
Taking a deep breath, James gently coaxes Regulus out of the way by a well-placed hand on the waist, and makes their way into the bathroom to–
“What the fuck?” yells James, both brothers share a troubled look.
James takes in another deep breath and follows their earlier question by, “No, because actually, what the fuck?” They ask, finger pointing to the basin where it stands, somehow broken in half.
Lizard brain: But medieval AU with arranged marriage!Mike x Eleven and she comes to the capital city of Hawkins and Maxine is one of her ladies in waiting and thus Eleven meets Max’s wild and generally not well-viewed brother, the knight William Hargrove. 👀
heyheyhey!! i saw youre a new writing blog, hope tumblr treats you well !! ^_^
could we get tooth rotting fluff of 15zai just developing a big fat teenage crush on a fem or gn!reader (his age)?
take care and rest well!
a/n: hi!! thank you so much, and thanks for the request!
a small clarification i wanted to make is that i wrote this as PM!dazai and didn't make any explicit references to his age, so you can read it as 15zai, 18zai, or anything in between. i just felt a bit weird trying to write thinking about him as a 15 year old lol ( ik in my rules i initially said i was okay w writing sfw for characters under 18 but i stand corrected, I'll update the rules ).
soooo unspecified age, young PM!dazai it is! (same goes for reader, they're a hs student so 15-18 too)
not so articulate...
pm!dazai osamu x gn!reader
word count: 2,4k
warnings: i tried to keep it light but its hard to do that w dazai (especially port mafia dazai) so canon typical heavy subtones surrounding dazai (not explicit), dazai tweaking slightly, a bit of existential dread, dazai being kinda mean to reader in his head at first (baby's first crush, he's js confused and emotionally incompetent), mentions of depression, few swear words
content tags: fluff, pre-relationship, first meeting, developing crush, lovesickness
the twig that snapped under his sole wasn't at fault for any of his problems, he was aware of that, of course he was. but it was easier to take his frustrations out on it than to actually address them and wallow in how unsolvable they all were, so dazai stepped harder on the small stick, twisting his shoe to crush it into smithereens.
he then blinked and discreetly looked around, as if becoming aware of the fact that he was in public and in the middle of the street, and embarrassedly kept walking forward, leaving the remains of the twig behind after realizing how childish and cringe he probably looked while doing that. so much for priding himself in his maturity and how different he was from other people his age, as much as he wouldn't admit he did.
it was hard to imagine a life different from the one he had; to imagine high school, saving up to move out, chores, worrying about grades and crushes. honestly, if he said he envied the rest of the people his age, he would be lying. their existence seemed so dull and banal to him; in his mind, he looked down on them all with condescension, mockery and fake, patronizing pity from his high throne.
he hoped laughing at them hard enough would drown out the constant static underneath his skull and distract him from what was actually wrong, not that he knew what that was, anyway. at the end of the day, their lives being inconsequential and not too meaningful didn't make his better. he knew that, he wasn't stupid.
that's why he didn't like thinking about all this too much, it wasn't productive, or dignified. if he was going to wallow in his own lack of meaning, he could at least make something more productive and material out of it.
just as that myriad of thoughts crossed his mind, his gaze lifted to find a large group of teens, probably around his age, gathered on the street, just a few meters away from him. when he turned his head and realized he was passing by the local public high school, the agglomeration made sense to him. was it already class-finishing time, though? had he really lost track of time like that?
as he walked past the group of students, a few of them stared at him. he logically knew it made sense, his clothes looked way too serious and adult, he was bandaged and patched up all over and he looked just as young as them, if not more (his constitution had never been particularly robust, or virile). knowing that didn't make being constantly observed any less annoying, though. sparing them a quick glance, his eyes scanned over the small crowd, and momentarily stopped when they skimmed over you.
he blinked twice, and quickly regained his composure, continuing to make his way to his original destination now that he'd found out it was around 2 or 3pm, the arcade.
but he couldn't help the way his pupils locked back onto your side profile and the way the sunlight hugged your features. suddenly, the cloud of self-imposed, artificial superiority that had been looming over him just now shifted into a slow trickle of self-consciousness.
after nearly tripping on a stone because of his lack of attention to where he was stepping, he turned around swiftly and walked away from that weird, non-verbal interaction, feeling strangely flustered.
that encounter left him in an odd mood, and he was unsettled enough by it that he decided to forego the arcade and just head to his place. he kept mulling it over, trying to figure out why it had hit him so hard since nothing actually happened, he didn't even exchange a word with them, it was like every other interaction he'd had with other people his age. it wasn't really the group as a whole that bugged him, it was one specific person; you.
why did you look at him like that? not fear, nor discomfort, nor pity, nothing like what he was used to. you simply seemed curious, staring at him with those big, dumb eyes. he felt like if you were to ask him a question, it would've been something painfully normal, like what time it was, or whether the 093 bus stopped by the municipal library.
he opened the makeshift door on the shipping container’s side with more force than necessary, and closed it even harder once he'd stepped inside. only when the blinds were lowered and the room felt more like a den than a home did he take off his shoes and flop dramatically onto the worn out mattress on the floor. he fell asleep before he could even register he was tired, and despite the fact it wasn't even 4pm yet.
throughout the next few days he did his best to avoid thinking about it, despite realizing halfway through the first one that it wouldn't be possible to do so. while he worked, on the street, at home, his thoughts revolved around you. he was obsessive by nature, he knew that, but still, the intensity with which he wanted to walk past the high school building again was honestly embarrassing.
what bothered him most, though, was undoubtedly how much he was thinking about you specifically after two seconds of mere eye contact. he was drawn to you, that much was clear, but the sensation was unfamiliar and uncomfortable in its uncertainty. the brief, unimportant feelings of attraction he might have harboured in the past felt very different from this. not because he'd fallen in love at first sight, or felt you were the one and the love of his life, or any bullshit like that.
it was different because it felt attainable, realistic, like something he was allowed to want. he was finally able to admit to himself that the air of normalcy that surrounded you, and your friends, was something he wanted a taste of, he wanted to get closer and feel how it'd be like to become a real teenager, a real person, even if just for a small while.
he sighed, staring at the reports in front of him and already feeling tired from all the introspection and mental gymnastics he'd been doing, he picked up an ugly, chewed out pen he had laying around his desk, trying to at least sign the papers that required it.
two days later, the denial and anger phases were officially over and he was moving forward in the stages of grief. grief over what, you say? well, over the cool, nonchalant and unattached guy he was before all of this. if he had to guess, he'd say he was in the depression phase, but it was hard to tell, not because he was used to that mental state (which he was), but because he was so absurdly giddy he barely even noticed anything else.
it took him days to finally gather the courage to do something he'd been dying to do since that afternoon; pass by the school building again, at the same time as the first and only time he'd seen you.
the days before that were blissful and agonizing at the same time, being infatuated with someone you know nothing about is frustrating to say the least. he was so excited to know more about you. what was your name? and your favourite colour? what did you want to do for a living? what would you think if you knew what he did for a living? the questions he had were infinite and barely left any mental space for him to focus on other things, no matter how much he needed to.
so when he saw you again outside the school gates, even if you didn't notice him (or so he thought), he was over the moon. his focus was immediately directed towards trying to memorize every single feature on you; your eyes, nose, lips, your school backpack, even. he paid special attention to your skin, to any marks, moles and scars on it, taking in how it looked beneath the sun, wondering how it'd look like in the shade, whether the hue would change or remain as he saw it now.
of course, he didn't dare approach you that time. nor the next one, nor the following six ones. however, after a week of furtive observation and failed attempts to walk up to you and strike conversation, it happened. he'd gotten careless with where exactly he was lingering, stood a bit too close to the gate, and finally found himself face to face with you. it wasn't what he'd planned, and he still didn't feel quite ready to talk to you, he had yet to observe and figure out many things, he'd been so close to catching your name the last time he came when he heard you talking to a friend. but regardless, there you stood, radiant and gorgeous, and there he stood, with sweaty palms and pink cheeks.
to you, he was a stranger, but not unfamiliar; you'd seen him around, a bunch of times actually, now that you thought about it. you held his gaze for a good thirty seconds before finally speaking up.
“your school must have the strangest schedules."
“huh?" was all he managed, dumbfounded by the fact that he was actually speaking to the person he'd been yearning for for weeks, and a bit caught off guard by your comment.
“you're always around here at this hour, which means you get out of class earlier than we do. that doesn't usually change depending on the school, so i think it's odd.” you shrugged.
"... i actually don't go to school.” it didn't come out as mysterious and cool as he wanted it to, he just sounded kind of… embarrassed?
"oh, well, my bad for assuming. people who drop out are cool, honestly.” you replied, still not seeming particularly excited about talking to him. but you were the one who started the conversation, and you kept it going, so surely you must've been at least a bit interested, right? he held onto that as he thought about what to say. he almost told you he didn't drop out, he hadn't been to school in a long time, he worked, doing something dangerous actually… but he ended up nodding awkwardly and murmuring a quiet "yeah.”
whatever it was you were doing to him should be studied; why did his conversational skills suddenly become those of a stone slab? where was his charm?
before he could come up with something else, your voice broke the tension.
"welllll,” you spoke, drawing out the ‘l’ sound "i guess i'll see you around, um…"
“dazai. it's dazai.” he eagerly interjected, subtly taking a deep breath right after to regain a bit of his composure.
“oh, like the author?" you asked, smiling slightly, probably in amusement, and at that moment dazai’s head started working on overdrive, trying to come up with funny stuff he could say to you the next time you met. funny wasn't really his thing, but he didn't even care, it'd been a long time since he'd felt as good about himself as just now, knowing he had (although pretty meritlessly) been the cause of your smile.
“yep, like the author. weird last name, huh?" he chuckled awkwardly.
“it has a nice sonority." you shrugged, then with a smile, waved him goodbye “well, see you, ‘dazai like the author’."
it took him three minutes of standing there in the street like a lamppost to realize he didn't get your name, or last name, or anything except for three minutes of conversation and two smiles. he'd be lying if he said he was dissatisfied, though.
his steps were lighter than usual as he headed home and a boyish grin lit his features up notably. he thought about the nice little park near the port mafia’s headquarters, and about the bed of flowers that adorned one of its corners. you looked like you'd like the blue ones, so he'd pick up a couple, and ask you to go for a walk, or whatever he could improvise when he talked to you again, in the hypothetical case this time his brain didn't turn into mush in your presence, that is.
at risk of seeming overeager, he waltzed up to the school gate again the following day, excited and feeling more confident than before. the flowers in his pocket were probably getting a bit squished, hopefully they'd still look pretty when he pulled them out later. this time, he did manage to keep his cool, he greeted you and you had a nice five minute chat about something he wouldn't be able to recall even if he tried.
“hey, um, do you want to go for a walk? i know this cool spot deep in the docks, we might be able to see a ray if we're lucky.” he offered, shifting on the balls of his feet.
“sure, that sounds fun. would you mind if i go home and leave my backpack first, though? we could meet here again in half an hour.”
dazai quickly nodded and waved at you as you walked away, flabbergasted with the fact that not only you'd agreed, but you wanting to take your backpack off and meet up later meant you actually wanted to hang out and you weren't just going along with him and taking a quick walk before heading home. he couldn't believe his luck. he walked seven laps around the block while he waited for you to come back, and when you did, he waited a few minutes of courtesy after you started walking together before he sheepishly handed you the two flattened blue flowers he'd picked up earlier. it was probably a weird thing to do, but he didn't really know how to do it in a non-weird way.
“oh, they're for me? that's so sweet, no one has ever given me flowers, thank you, dazai!" you smiled even more than last time, so he figured he was on the right path.
when you gently placed one of the flowers behind your ear, he nearly combusted on the spot.
‘fuck, have i gotten lucky.’ he thought to himself as he happily trotted alongside you; he didn't even notice he still hadn't found out your name.
i'm not super happy with some parts but it is what it is. i hope you liked it despite the small tweak to the request! :)
take care as well , xx
aiden ✪
@/t4tilll on tumblr , t4tilll on ao3. do not cross post, translate, copy or plagiarize my work !
content warnings: NSFW, dry humping, fingering (reader receiving), they switch, reader is implied to be on T but you can read them as pre-T as well, biting, marking, slight praise, a bit rough, kinda dirty talk (?), a lot of whining and whimpering, both fem and masc terms used to describe genitalia (dick, cunt, core)
a/n: this had been on my mind for months and i finally sat down and got it done yay!! lowkey the first nsfw drabble i post ... gulps ... hope you like it!
______
you'd think till is a virgin the way he’s panting against your lips, trying to close his legs around your hips and pawing at your torso, your arms. he definitely isn't, though, he's this intense and needy every time you two fuck.
his hips grind against yours, and you'd tell him to take off his jeans because it'll be more comfortable if you didn't know him well enough to be aware if he's keeping them on it's because the friction against the denim fabric feels good. his lips press against yours sloppily and when you bring your hand up to the back of his head, whether it is to pull on his hair a bit or bring him closer you're not sure, he full on whines into your mouth and his back arches in pleasure, leaving absolutely no space between your torsos.
even the weight of him on your lap feels pleasurable, and the subtle ways in which both of you’d tried to out-freak as well as out-dom one another in the past have stayed as small things you know make the other weak and you use strategically. till knows if he slips a hand inside your pants and presses it between your legs and then kisses your neck, he’d physically feel on his hand how much wetter you got. you're aware grabbing till’s ass with both hands makes him grind against you faster. it's just the way things go.
the attempt you make at shifting his position on your lap and moving him slightly to the side so that your leg slots between his and vice versa is immediately rejected with a quiet groan of protest from till, and he returns exactly where he was before.
“don't do that, i wanna grind on your dick." he murmurs, sure but not so confident as to look you in the eye while being so needy, choosing instead to bury his face in the crook of your neck and nibble on the area where your neck and collarbone meet.
"mhm, you're right, i wanna grind on yours too. but i can barely feel you through the fabric.” you reply.
he doesn't waste any time slipping your pants off while he palms you through your underwear, grinning when you roll your hips against his hand. settling back on your thighs, he grinds against the damp fabric of your boxers experimentally, a wordless question in the air as he looks you in the eye; ‘too much?’
the way you grab his hips and press him down onto you harshly doesn't leave much room to doubt, but just in case, before kissing him once again you murmur lowly against his lips "harder.”
till’s way of fucking you is at the same time dominant enough to leave you boneless where you’re sat on the couch, and desperate to the point of submissiveness. it's hard to describe, but he makes you feel so wanted.
without the additional layer of your pants, the grind feels much more intense and you can't help but let out small moans and pants as you push back up into till’s hips, and into the black, rough, and not entirely dry fabric of his jeans. you can't last more than a few minutes before nearly whining "fuck, till, ‘m so close, need you so bad-”
to which he pulls away, not in a teasing or edging manner, but to fumble his way out of his pants, chest heaving with every breath as he nearly pounces down on you, humping your cunt just as aggressively as before. the moment is so raw, so intimate it only manages to make you twice as horny as you were a couple of minutes ago, and you feel the way slick is slowly seeping into your underwear even before starting to hear the obscene, wet noise the two pieces of fabric you're wearing are making.
“we're gonna- mhm make a mess on the couch" you manage to get out even as till’s kisses alternate between your neck, making you keen, and your mouth, directly rendering you unable to speak.
"i don't know about the couch, but what i’m surely gonna make a mess of is you. probably on you too.” he smiles despite the heavy flush on his cheeks, pulling away from you only enough to slip his shirt off and immediately pant heavily as your hands trace over his chest, and the outline of the pieces of tape he uses to bind. you lean forward and kiss down his neck, pausing below the area between his collarbones, over his sternum. the sweat makes his skin a bit salty when you lick it, and a full body shudder goes through him as you start sucking marks onto the skin of his upper chest. till momentarily stops grinding, nearly forgetting about what he was doing as he tries not to cum on the spot. ten seconds and an encouraging squeeze from your hand to his hip later he resumes his motions, and now it looks a lot less like he's railing you against the couch and much more like he's riding the fuck out of you, bouncing on you, only barely managing to avoid letting his head drop back in pleasure.
“f-fuck, ____, feels so good" he pants out, leaning closer to you and hugging your neck as his hips move against yours clearly less rhythmically and methodically than before. a quiet, nearly babbled litany of “i love you"s, “you're so beautiful"s, “‘m so glad you're my boyfriend"s and others soon starts leaving his lips, and that lets you know unequivocally that he's really close. not that he doesn't usually say those things, but the intimacy and intensity of moments like these during sex often make him emotional and needy. you hold him closer, and run your fingers through his hair, murmuring against his shoulder “what do you need, baby?".
“... off, please" he whimpers, and you swiftly pull his soaked boxers down, automatically swallowing once you see the way slick connects them to his cunt. you stop for a moment to take him in, how stunning he looks in all his naked glory, his happy trail, the grey fuzz on his inner thighs that gradually morphs into pubic hair, slightly trimmed but definitely not shaved, and his flushed face and blown wide pupils, the teal in his eyes nearly invisible. when you roughly pull him closer again, he automatically moans and you kiss him like you want to bruise his lips, to which he opens his mouth wider, whines and digs his fingers into your side, where his hand was placed.
as you keep grinding into each other, increasingly desperate, he wiggles his hips while they're pressed against yours and murmurs against your neck “fuck, you're getting big-" before biting down on it, nearly making you sob in pleasure.
"shit, i don't wanna cum before you.” he groans, halting his movements momentarily, as his voice tightens with the effort he's making to avoid doing so.
“till, you know i don't care about that, don't be stupid" you cut off his rumination before he's even finished the sentence, placing your hands on his hips and guiding him to start moving again, to which he opposes zero resistance. the moment you hear him start to let out short, soft moans you cradle the back of his head with your hand, grabbing his hair without pulling, and kiss him hard, hot and heavy. the noise he makes as his body tenses up is a mix between a sob, a whine and a loud moan, and he turns his face just enough to change the surface available to bite down on from your lips to your cheek. he doesn't think much about how difficult to explain a hard bite mark on your cheek is; right now he isn't thinking much at all. he rests his forehead against the tender area where you now sport the red imprint of your boyfriend's teeth as the pulsating sensation between his legs subsides, and a minute later he asks quietly, his words nearly slurred with exhaustion “finish you off in bed?".
you simply nod; telling him it's not necessary if he's too tired is always useless, he refuses to come himself and then not have you finish as well, unless you don't want to keep going. he argues that would be leaving you ‘un-taken care of’.
once you've made your way to the bedroom on wobbly legs, he takes your hands in his and pulls you towards the bed, where he lays down and taps his thigh softly in invitation, watching mesmerized as you finally slip off your own underwear as well. when you settle on his thigh, the feeling of slickness against his skin is immediate and very evident. he barely even comprehends how you can be this wet but he's so into it. leaning forward, he gently cups your face with one hand as the other snakes around your lower back, helping you grind on his leg. the tingling feeling that goes from your lower tummy all the way through your legs and up your chest builds quickly, and a couple of minutes later it unwinds and you come so hard it nearly hurts. it's one of those orgasms that knock the air out of your chest and leave your ears ringing and you let out a choked noise before biting down on his shoulder for a few seconds, nearly drawing blood, and then whimpering his name pathetically. it's embarrassing, really, there isn't much justification for it to be this intense, but you attribute it to the slow and prolonged build-up and the fact that you're down horrendous for till, as those arguments also account for the intensity of his own climax. he patiently lets you come down, soothing you with soft kisses and affectionate whispers and caressing your sides. when you've finally regained your breath and look lucid enough to make decisions on your own again, he asks, as per usual, “want me to finger you?" and the most eager nod one can manage when utterly exhausted is what you give him in response.
he sits you on his lap, over both legs now for better stability, and kisses you once, twice, thrice, you lose count. his fingers trail down your tummy, grazing your dick until they finally reach your core.
“you tell me if it hurts, yeah?" the small mumble of ‘good boy’ he gives you after you nod gets you even wetter than you already were. he carefully slips his middle finger inside you, little by little and stretching you open as gently as he can. at your lack of protest, he starts easing his ring finger in as well, slowing down and making sure they're both lubricated enough when you shift in slight discomfort.
once both of his fingers are entirely inside you, he curls them upwards once and your eyes go glassy. you muffle a whine into the hot skin of his shoulder, where you're resting your head, and finally give up on your pride.
“more, faster, please."
he's never mean when it comes to this, he wordlessly complies and speeds up the presses of his finger pads against that spot inside you. he can keep going fast like this for at least a few minutes, he hasn't done all that guitar practice for nothing after all. but after thirty seconds or so, when you squeeze his thigh, he stops and pulls out. he knows you won't cum from this, nor intend to do it, you explained it to him pretty early into when you two started having sex; you like to do it simply because it feels really good and he's been more than willing to lend you a hand, even more so when he saw how reactive you were to just a few curls of his fingers inside you. he's not a selfish lover by any means, but you were still surprised at the eagerness he showed to doing it again after the first time. and you don't address it unless you want to tease him, but more than once you’ve caught a glimpse of his other hand between his own legs as he fingerfucked you. he brings you back to the present by kissing your face thrice (one on each cheek, and one on your lips) and then taking his hand, completely covered in your arousal, to his mouth, and sucking each finger clean without breaking eye contact.
"god, if i wasn't so tired i’d fuck you again.” you murmur, looking at him completely smitten.
he chuckles and sweeps any strands of hair out of your sweaty forehead in a fond gesture, replying "easy, tiger, we should get cleaned up. we'll see about that tomorrow.”
afterwards, you shower together and end up turning the water off when you're done to cuddle in the tub under the accumulated steam, huddled close. sat between his thighs and leaning back on his chest, you think you could die happy. neither of you know how much time you spend like this, letting your hands wander over the available skin without any further intention than to feel each other’s presence and warmth.
could've worked harder on it but whatever, i like it. and i even got my philology major best friend to beta read it so that effort's gotta count for something right
cross posted on ao3 here
take care xx
aiden ✪
@/t4tilll on tumblr , t4tilll on ao3. do not cross post, translate, copy or plagiarize my work !
hi!!! for being my first request, you've won a prize of uh... *checks notes* ... the satisfaction of knowing you've helped a new writing blog get started! yay!!
sorry for the delay, these days were busier than expected and inspiration wasn't super constant. since the request wasn't very specific i just rolled with what i came up with. buuuuut i hope you like it :)
this was beta read by my lesbian, akutagawa enjoyer best friend so shout out to them ❗
more than you think.
akutagawa ryuunosuke x gn! reader
word count: 2.3k
warnings: mentions of food, a bit of insecurity, references to akutagawa's job being a bit dangerous, like one swear word
content/tags: established (but developing) relationship, fluff, domesticity
same as the last four thursdays, you'd just gotten to your place after a tiring and tedious day and managed to scrape some leftovers together, just enough for two people, because you knew your boyfriend would come over later, at some point.
well, you were pretty sure. maybe you hoped.
he'd never been great in the communication department, but you could tell he really was trying, and you honestly couldn't say you were dissatisfied with the relationship, even though you knew he did think you were, to some extent. it was true he couldn't spend as much time with you as both of you would like, but it was also understandable; until he met you and eventually got attached to you, his work was pretty much his life, aside from his sister, who was basically in the same situation as him.
that being said, you had now been dating for three months, and you found out about said sister’s existence last month. his expressiveness sure has room for improvement, but even like this you can tell he's very grateful for your patience, and respectfulness of how private he tends to be. because he feeds you information about himself with a dropper, you still don't know where he lives, or just what exactly his job is (he just told you it was mildly dangerous, that you'd be better off not knowing, at least for now).
but akutagawa is nothing if not reliable, and since you invited him over to yours four weeks ago and he showed up, at 10 pm, practically dripping wet, and umbrella-less in the downpour that was the weather at the moment, he hasn't failed to come over a single thursday. that night, his cheeks were slightly flushed with embarrassment, as he is self-aware to the point of self-consciousness and knew he looked like a wet bat. but you were so happy to see him, you ushered him inside, handed him a towel and indicated where the bathroom was so he could dry off. when you left some pyjama pants, and an old, ugly shirt you thought was funny when you thrifted it four years ago, you were not expecting him to change into the dry clothes, much too proud and averse to vulnerability and intimacy in such sudden steps, but you wanted to give him the chance. and you were partly right, his pants stayed on, but he walked out of the bathroom in your yellow graphic tee muttering a quiet "thanks".
the next three thursdays after that went similarly, thankfully excluding the part where he shivered for half an hour and almost got pneumonia. he came over late, when he got out of work, and either you'd made something for the both of you or you'd make something together when he got there. so, there you were, with two plates of whatever was in the fridge at the time, probably a bit lacking in vitamins, but you were too tired to bring yourself to care.
time passed, you lingered around idly, trying to distract yourself and come to terms with the fact that he might not come, maybe something came up and he couldn't make it. a small, insecure part of you often doubted he'd show up, but he'd never stood you up until now, so stressing over that would most likely not do you any good.
finally, at 11 pm, there was a knock on your door, and you strode towards it faster than you'd like to admit, half-expecting to find him roughed up, or looking unwell. yet nothing was further from the truth, he seemed pretty normal, and he had a small plastic bag in his right hand. you smiled tentatively, stepping forward and greeting him fondly.
"hey, you. thought you wouldn't come."
"hi, yeah, sorry about that, something kind of came up after work and i had to swing by my place."
he seemed a bit nervous, but you paid it no mind, ever so gently (as you almost always handled him) grasping his wrist and pulling him into the apartment and into a hug at the same time. he immediately wrapped his arms around you as well, letting out a soft exhale once you were tangled with each other. your attempt to pull away after a few seconds was met with akutagawa's weak protest of "not yet, please", as his arms tightened a bit more around your back. and even if you really did want to pull away, who would've been able to bring themselves to push him away when he acted like this?
you relaxed against his hold without a second thought, and basked in his presence, and the feeling of his body against yours. his torso felt warm against yours through the clothes, and so did the skin on his neck, despite his hands feeling considerably lower in temperature. his body always seemed to be running on energetic efficiency mode and keeping the heat where it mattered. you didn't like to think much about that.
after he finally pulled away, you were about to head to the kitchen and fetch dinner, but he spoke up.
"wait, uh... i brought something."
"oh, what is it?"
he reached inside the white, translucent plastic bag that was starting to leave a red mark on his fingers from its weight and how it pressed against his skin, and pulled out a tupperware. your mouth opened slightly in surprise; since when does he actually cook...?
as he set it on the table and opened it, you could see it was full of about two plates worth of pasta, with its sauce and everything, still warm and looking honestly really appetising.
"i wanted to make something for you. you've made me dinner a bunch of times, and i just thought you deserved to eat something nice without having to cook it yourself for once." he said, his low, quiet voice feeling slightly too loud for his own ears, but just right in yours, enveloping and soothing in a way he'd be surprised to hear you perceive him.
"oh, that's so sweet... thank you, babe, it looks great."
you couldn't stop the smile blooming in your face, the way your features lit up with pleasant surprise, appreciation and anticipation; he felt the hammering inside his chest getting stronger, but in a way that truly didn't (and doesn't think would ever) bother him. if right now his heart started to beat so fast it burst out of fondness for you, he wouldn't be surprised nor discontent, it would be a much better way to go than what he realistically considers could happen, considering all of the factors in his life. he would've liked to say that, to make an attempt at expressing how much he cared about you, but he was aware his words wouldn’t have had that effect, though touching, they would have probably saddened you, worried you or come out sounding a bit too bittersweet, and upsetting you was the last thing he wanted, especially tonight. so he smiled a bit and darted his gaze away after a couple of seconds of maintaining eye contact with you.
you sat down on the small kitchen table, your fingers interlocked with each other's as you ate directly from the tupperware he brought in comfortable silence, only a few words being exchanged throughout the time-lapse of around half an hour.
later, as you rested against him on the couch, you felt your body draining of almost all of its tension, more than it usually did when you relaxed and went to bed. it was nice to remember you could reach this state of relaxation, you tend to forget. your leg snaked underneath his as they dangled off the edge of the couch, and akutagawa quietly pulled his face away from the crook of your neck just enough to press his lips against the upper part of your cheekbone. his hand that was not holding yours reached for the opposite side of your face, gently turning you to face him as his lips smoothly traveled to the spot beside your nose, and finally to your own.
you absentmindedly wondered how he could taste so much like himself, so distinctively, after you both ate all of that pasta, and had not yet brushed your teeth. in your haze of relaxation, comfort, and slight sleepiness from the late hour you find yourselves in, your inhibitions are rather absent, for better or for worse.
"i like how you taste." you muttered as a yawn bubbled up your throat before you could even think to suppress it. once you registered what had just happened, you immediately groaned internally at the corny, senseless comment you just blurted out, and hoped he wouldn't have caught it, he was tired and relaxed too, right? hopefully he was already dozing off, and hadn't heard your smitten, involuntary confession. but of course, he wasn't, it was just wishful thinking, he'd always had trouble sleeping.
"is that so?"
the corners of his lips lifted slightly and though you could discern the slightest tinge of smugness in that grin, it was eclipsed by affection and fondness.
“and how do i taste?” he added, slightly amused.
“oh, come on now, don’t be an asshole.” you whined, the sound coming out more childish than you would’ve wanted it to.
he then felt the gentle thread of your fingers through the hair in the back of his head, just above the nape. it was a dirty trick, you knew how weak that gesture made him. he couldn’t help the undignified little sound that left his lips as he let your hand guide his head to rest in the crook of your neck, his cheek against your collarbone. after a few minutes of silence, he murmured “you know, my sister said she wants to meet you.”
you froze slightly; you were pretty sure his secrecy and reticence to let you in further most likely stemmed from either trust or abandonment issues, maybe a bad childhood, or a traumatic event. in any case you knew him well enough by now to be aware that it was something that meant a lot to him, so this felt significant.
“your sister knows about me?”
“she does, i told her a couple of days ago. she was a bit surprised, but i think she was pleased. she said if i had a relationship serious enough to tell her about it, she'd like to meet my partner."
“... you told your sister about me?” you asked softly again, touched by the implications of how wide akutagawa was opening the door for you into the most private aspects of his life. you knew he really liked you, of course you did, but still, this was big.
"should i not have?"
“no, it's not that, i just didn't expect it. but of course i'd like to meet her.” you couldn't help but smile giddily.
"you better not scare her off” he warned jokingly.
you raised an eyebrow skeptically and pulled away just enough to look him in the eye, asking with amusement "isn't that supposed to be the other way around? you know, asking your family not to do that. how on earth am i going to scare your sister off?”
he scoffed slightly and replied “i know that, she's just not the biggest people person.”
"oh man, and here i thought she'd be a carbon copy of her brother, mr extrovert here.” you retorted, looking him dead in the eye.
he sighed in a show of exasperation you knew held no real weight, and murmured " you know what i mean. and for that matter, i don't really think you'll scare her off, you're not that intense and she's not that shy. i just want it to work out."
you smile and your expression softened as you pulled him in for a kiss, stopping right before his lips met yours and whispering against them “it will go just fine. i promise."
he sighed into the kiss, now in relief and surrender, and relaxed noticeably. the next hour was spent on the couch, tangled in each other's arms and sharing a few kisses here and there. that was, until you started to doze off. he felt a bit bad about waking you, and it didn't actually annoy him, but your back would make you pay the price the following day if you did fall asleep in this position, so he grumbled a half-hearted complaint, gently shaking you awake with a hand on your shoulder.
"c'mon, y/n, you're falling asleep on me”
you blinked owlishly and leaned back from where you were slumped against akutagawa’s side, and sheepishly replied “ah, sorry, ryuu."
you sat up, your expression remaining slightly bashful as you realized it was probably very late and you were keeping him from leaving. because that was how the last nights he'd come over had gone, you spent a while together, had dinner, cuddled, talked, and eventually you said your goodnights and he left.
“don't apologize, let's go, you're clearly tired." his voice snapped you out of your thoughts as he got up from the couch, took your hand and gently tugged you up and onto your feet.
“huh?"
he let go of your hand and started walking towards the hallway, where your bedroom was. he couldn't help but smile a bit at your expression when he turned around and held out his hand, beckoning you to follow him. you happily did, walking over to him and hugging him tightly.
“this is okay, right?" came his voice quietly near your ear, his arms still around you.
as a response, you just took hold of his hand and led him towards the room.
"yeah, it's more than okay."
“alright, all good then.” he nodded, then went quiet for a bit.
“… could i borrow some sweatpants?”
for once, he actually got a good night's sleep. he wasn't prepared for how scarily nice it felt to have your face be the first thing he saw when he woke up, though.
well i hope that was enjoyable! and requests are welcome; i really feel like writing more stuff but don't have many ideas myself
take care , xx
aiden ✪
@/t4tilll on tumblr , t4tilll on ao3. do not cross post, translate, copy or plagiarize my work !
