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gojoed · 1 year

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A HOUSE THAT SMELLS LIKE HOME. | gojo x reader. | 2k words

He was a hard working man.

Following the words of the elder people he disliked immensely, and doing their bidding. They had been running him down to the bone even more these past few weeks. Gojo was a person who didn’t like showing his fatigue but it couldn’t help but show itself without his permission.

His usual quick and irritating quips were slowing down, only offering a smile at times. The bags under his eyes had grown increasingly more apparent with each night, barely a few hours of sleep before the sounds of his phone waking him up and demanding him to go to work.

And Gojo has been living off of sweets for the past few days. Not that he normally doesn’t do that but the time saved for lunch with you or his students were cut short as he was yet again sent off. And dinner was no exception. A half eaten plate would become more of an occurrence with him rushing through the door.

You decided enough was enough when you came home one day. All the lights were off, the structure was silent on the inside just as it was on the outside (you lived in a calm neighborhood close to the school.)

The only light source were the streaks of sunlight peeking through the slits of the curtains, most of them closed; some of them were left open to let the house get air. And one of those streaks of light seemed to land on a head of white hair.

Gojo was sleeping, if you could really call it that. His whole body took up the entire couch, with a blanket roughly thrown on himself. His work jacket was left laying on the floor, he must have gotten home not too long ago then.

His snores were clear and loud, he only ever did when he really was tired. Getting closer to him and leaving your things behind at the door, you could now see that not only was he snoring but also drooling onto the cushions. Poor thing was exhausted.

You ran a single finger across his forehead, lightly removing his hair from his face and tucking it as best you could behind his ear. You let another finger join the other, running them along his jawline to down his neck. He didn’t stir from his sleep. Gojo never settled as a light or deep sleeper. At night it varied, where one night a single creak could make his eyes snap open or where even the loudest of shouts couldn’t wake him up.

And the tired Gojo Satoru that was left at your kind mercy was deep in sleep, off in dreamland. You worried for him, not that a curse could leave him for dead but that his own disregard for his own wellbeing could end up killing him. He always put others before himself, taking care of his own; even if to others it didn’t seem like that.

And that worry only peaks when you hear a soft buzz on the floor.

Thankfully it wasn’t enough to wake him up, so you quietly took his phone out of his jacket without stopping your fingers from playing with the ends of his hair.

It was one of the higher ups again, practically demanding that Satoru had another job to do.

Anger rose up in your body, but you didn’t let it control you. Only sending a message reading ‘He won’t be taking it’, you shut his phone off. Was it a little harsh? Just a bit. But they deserved it, Gojo was not a machine.

He was a human, with needs and wants, just like any other person.

Standing up, you fixed the blanket that was roughly covering him up and went to change. You thought about waking him up to take a bath, but he needed sleep.

So you took a loose shirt of his and a pair of sweatpants and set it over to where he was sleeping. He was still drooling, still snoring, only having shifted a little. Good.

Next was food. Gojo had been living off of unhealthy food for some time now, so something soft could help settle his stomach from the contrast of street food and an uncanny amount of sweets. White curry, which was a favorite of his ever since he went to Hokkaido and tried it, seemed to fit for tonight.

Chicken katsu would be accompanying the curry, since he needed the protein.

Roughly an hour into cooking you felt long arms circle around your torso and tighten. It nearly gave you a heart attack, the arms pulling you slightly away from the stove where you held chopsticks and chicken was cooking on the heated pan.

“Shit Satoru, give me a warning next time.”

“Potty mouth.”

His head was resting on top of yours. He was taller than most people, so his neck was slightly arching downwards. No doubt giving him a bit of pain, but it seemed he paid no mind to it.

“Whatcha cookin’, honey?”

You hummed, “Chicken katsu right now, we’re eating white curry tonight.”

It was Satoru’s turn to hum, burying his face now into the nape of your neck, giving it small nips. You leaned backwards, bumping into him as if to say ‘quit it’. He knows you didn’t mean it harshly, so Satoru only hummed again and faced towards the food on the stove.

“It smells good.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely, yeah.”

You both stood there, silently appreciating each other as it had been some time since you’ve spent time like this. Satoru ends up softly swaying the two of you side to side, playfully pinching at your skin that his hands could reach.

“Yknow, it felt nice to wake up to the smell of your cooking.”

That comment made your smile falter just a little bit. Knowing his past, you knew he had grown up with barren walls and very little happiness. The clan where he had gotten his name did not treat him with love. The only smell of food he would ever get was the food that was delivered to his room. No one to eat with, no one but the four white walls that enclosed his room.

But with you, Gojo had learned things. He learned that dinner was not a time of silence, but a time of noise. The clinking of tableware, the sounds of voices conversing. And the feeling of contentment hanging and infecting the air. To him, a house that smelled like home was one where he could find you cooking.

Taking a deep breath in you calmed yourself and told Satoru to go take a bath,

“But I'm hungry.”

“The rice is still cooking ‘toru, so go take a bath in the meantime, ok?”

“But what if I don't want to take a bath?”

“Satoru, you stink.” The tone of your voice being playful.

“I do not! I smell great, for your information.”

And he did, even with the days of only showering quickly and hastingly going to bed he still smelled good. Like rain water, and something deep that just smelled like him. But if fatigue had a smell, you would say it was lingering on his body.

“Doesn’t matter stinky, now go bathe.”

He whined, but reluctantly began pulling away from the heat your bodies created.

“Promise you won’t forget about me?”

“It's hard to forget you, Satoru.”

“I’m going away to bathe, all alone, it’s scary when I'm all alone.”

“Want a kiss to stay safe then?”

That made him smile ear to ear, taking your chin and letting his lips clash softly with yours. Satoru kissed gently, he kissed roughly, and he kissed as if he was putting his whole heart and soul into it. And he did. Everything he did to you and with you was everything to him.

Giving your side a hard but playful pinch, he left you with a sore spot and went over to the bathroom to bathe (taking the clean clothes you left near him).

By the time Satoru has returned, food had already been plated and set onto the table. A sight he would never grow tired of seeing. He happily slid over to where you were standing, leaning on the counter checking your phone.

He reattached himself to your previous position, draping himself all over you and practically shielding you from everything else that wasn’t him.

“I’m back, did you miss me?”

“Terribly so.”

Satoru grunted and pulled you with him over to the table. Fighting against the monstrosity of a man would prove useless, you learned that out the hard way multiple times before. He let you go to be able to sit down, taking his own seat that was next to you. Why should I sit so far away from you, it’s better this way! Was his argument some time ago when Satoru said he wanted to eat next to you.

His hair was slightly wet, you could tell by the water droplets that had caught themselves into his shirt. The collar being dotted with dark spots from his bangs. You decided to say nothing, as the sight of Gojo Satoru grabbing onto his chopsticks and anxiously digging into his food was something that could leave you content for days. But your growing hunger made your stomach make noise, so you followed after him.

“Mmm, I love the way you make this curry.”

“And after only looking at the recipe once.”

“Show off.”

“But you still love it.”

“Of course I do! White curry is way better than regular curry.”

“That’s only because you have an unhealthy affection towards dairy, ‘toru.”

“Hokkaido milk is amazing, are you- perhaps jealous?”

“Satoru, I’d have to be pretty weird to be jealous of dairy.”

The rest of dinner was eaten the way Satoru liked it, with you.

Dishes had taken a little longer to wash, as a water fight ensued, with a plate almost breaking but being cleverly rescued by Satoru’s infinity. You had tasked him with cleaning up the spilled water on the floor while you dried the newly washed dishes and put them away. My new name should be Cinderella now, so cruel to me, my own spouse, he pouted.

Well that was Gojo Satoru for you.

By the time the kitchen was cleaned, night had already fallen. No more sunlight peeked through the curtains, only faint moonlight and streetlights. Lights within the house had been turned on as well; a warm glow that emitted from them.

And now, the both of you were in your living room, Satoru laying his whole body on top of you like a sheet. His head resting on your sternum while he faced the tv. You had placed the blanket he was using earlier to cover now the two of you. The tv was playing a movie, but only a few minutes in, not even twenty: you could feel Satoru’s breathing start to get even deeper.

You nudged him lightly, feeling a little bad about it when he jumped a bit and made his chin now rest on your chest to look at you.

“You wanna move to the bed now, sleepyhead?”

Satoru didn’t respond until after he yawned, complaining after you said he needed to brush his teeth.

“No, I don't want to. I’m comfortable here.”

“You sure, it’s bigger than the couch, baby.”

He hummed, moving his hand that tucked under him like a cat would and poked your cheek.

“I’m more than happy to sleep here, if it’s with you.”

Raising your own hand, you cupped his face. The face of the man you fell in love with, the man who bore himself to you.

“Ok, just don’t complain when you have back pain.”

“Dummy you ruined the moment.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Go to sleep, Satoru”

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

He was a hard working man. But the best payment he could ever receive, was to be able to come back home to you.

#satoru <33 #my writing #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru x y/n #satoru x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #was this written on a whim? yes.#but it's been baking in the brain oven for awhile.#THIS TOOK THREE HOURS YOU GOOFY GOOBERS

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whimlen · 2 months

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elliott smith <3

#elliott smith #page of a zine I made for my valentine :]#if you see this hey girl 🤩 I mean they #you have to show me your baking acc now…#let’s be even 🤲#zine #whim art

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angelboybreakdowns · 15 days

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im so tired

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canisonicscrewyou · 19 hours

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If TARDISes were real and I was like. Chilling inside of a TARDIS I think I would give It little treats or beverages or shiny little trinkets. Both as a friendly gesture and as in the way I would leave offerings on my altars, or for the spirits in my house. Will maybe elaborate on this later.

#I cannot imagine being inside of one and not feeling like you are surrounded by like. a fucking deity or something.#sentient machine that is surrounding you from every which angle. practically your house. the same as land around you but sentient.#and can take you fucking WHEREVER on a whim. like it was nothing.#yeah I would be leaving that thing wine and coffee and pieces of the cakes I bake and cool crystals I find at the places it brings me #I would inadvertently make some kind of shrine to that thing inside of that thing #I'd be a treat of a human case study for whatever time lord I'm with in this scenario #fucking freak building a personal altar to the tardis in a room inside of it. pouring a cup of coffee and holding it up to the open air #and going 'this is for you !!!' and putting it down and walking away

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tainted-pale · 2 months

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Late night bread making 🍞💚

#my photo #bread #loaf #baking #bread loaf baking on a whim

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f3lldrag0n · 1 year

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how long have you been a fan of the Monogatari Series for?

since 2017! that’s a boring answer on its own, so i’ll add it helped get me back into reading after a long dry spell. i was hooked by kanbaru’s first arc.

#picked up bake 01 on a whim and then never got off nisio's wild ride

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alfalfairy · 3 months

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mutuals sharing these with you

#made these on a whim #pillsbury Oreo cookie dough smushed into cupcake tin #baked for 13 min #spooned in Oreo pudding and top with mini Oreo #turned out pretty good!

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chatterboxmutt · 5 months

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My husband: im ok I dont want any sweet potato

Also my husband the second I bring the plate: eats almost the entire sweet potato I put on the plate for us to share

#I decided on a whim to make a bunch of baked potatoes for dinner #instead of just being lazy today and eating only the discount salads we got from the store #there's more sweet potato in the kitchen its just the only potato I prepped all tasty like ya know

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f1byjessie · 2 months

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SUGAR, SPICE, AND EVERYTHING NICE ━━ FA14.

being the wife to a formula one driver is hard, especially when they're far away.

( fernando alonso x wife!reader )

━━ one shot.

When you were ten, you baked with your grandmother for the first time and fell in love. With the flour up to your elbows, an apron two sizes too big looped twice around your waist, and your grandmother's sweet voice crooning along to Sergio Endrigo, she taught you the differences between a teaspoon and a tablespoon, that a pinch sometimes means two, and when it comes to cinnamon you can never have too much.

“My angioletto,” she called you, her little angel, “it doesn’t have to look pretty when it’s done. When I was younger, I made my husband, your nonno, the ugliest cookies you could imagine. But I put my love in it, and he loved me very much, and he ate every single one and for the rest of his years claimed they were the best cookies I ever made for him.”

She’d lifted you onto the stool at the counter, so you could peer down at the mangled mess of cinnamon rolls. “It may look odd on the outside, but it is just as delicious as the others, and you know what? It’s even more special because it was made by my granddaughter.”

She’d wrapped you up in her arms then, pressing a kiss to your forehead and laughing loudly and warmly when you tried to squirm out of her arms with a giggle of your own.

“One day, my angioletto, you will find someone who loves you with their entire heart, and it won’t matter how pretty your baking is, because they will eat it, and to them it will taste like heaven.” She’d pulled apart the cinnamon roll, looked you in the eye, and smiled— “Until that someone gets here, I will stand in.”

You ate the whole pan together, and neither of you cared that it ruined your appetite for supper or gave you a stomach ache a little while later.

She’d driven you home that night after the sun had set, and when you got to the little shop on the corner of the market square, a little storefront overgrown with ivy, she’d slowed to a cruise and pointed out where the old sign used to be— where there was just an off-color splotch where the walls around it had been bleached by the sun.

She had regaled you with another story of her time as a girl in the kitchen baking bread with the owner, as she did every morning before school in exchange for a few dollars a month, and then she told you, as she always did, that one day she’d buy it for herself and turn it back into the best bakery Italy had ever seen.

When you were twenty— a law school dropout, struggling to find your place in a world that didn’t seem to have any room for you— you bought the small shop on the corner of the market square, turned it into a bakery, and named it after your grandmother.

It was all on a whim, a result of what you're pretty sure was some quarter-life crisis brought on by feeling as lost as you were. Still, you were living out the lingering ghost of a pipe dream from your teenage years that your father's harsh words and mother's disapproval had shattered to pieces, and following in the footsteps of the woman who inspired your passion for creation.

You’re nearly thirty now, and you still don’t regret buying the bakery. It’s your home away from home now— your home when your heart is halfway around the world and waking up as you go to bed. You love what you do, and you feel grateful that you’ve lucked out in being able to spend your days doing something that makes you so genuinely happy.

But that doesn’t mean that every day is easy.

Today is one of those hard days. Valentine’s Day is just a week away which means orders are coming in like crazy, and on top of the hecticness it’s also the thirteenth anniversary of your grandmother’s passing. Even though you’ve made it these thirteen years without her, the reminder of her legacy— her dream, which you now live for her— is no easier to deal with now than it was all those years ago when you’d just lost her.

The smell of fresh bread from the kitchen and the deep lull of Sergio Endrigo over the bakery’s speakers do nothing but remind you of her and the afternoons you spent in her kitchen, kneading dough and icing cookies. You feel like a little girl again, laughing over old stories of your mother and flushing bright red when she’d bump her hip against yours and ask if there were any boys at school that had caught your eye.

You’d give anything to hear her talk about her days at the bakery one more time, have her guide you through another recipe, or listen to her sing along to old Italian classics.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Beatrice asks. She’s a young American woman you met a few years back when she was studying abroad. She hadn’t known much Italian back then, and you were the first person she’d met who could speak English, so she’d asked you for directions to the nearest bus station and you had walked her there to make sure she wouldn’t get lost, which had led to you both talking, trading contact information, and eventually you offering her a job at the bakery when she announced to you months later after continued talking that she’d be staying for the foreseeable future.

You wipe your hands against your apron and offer her a smile. It doesn’t come as easily as it normally does, and you feel like it shows. “Just being a bit nostalgic today,” you admit, turning your gaze to the picture of your grandmother that hangs on the wall across from the display case.

There are other pictures hung up with her— you in front of the bakery on the day you bought it, the bakery back when your grandmother still worked there nearly sixty years ago, you and your husband the day you got married, and Beatrice with her three dogs to list a few, all things and places and people you love and want to remember.

“My grandmother, who I named this place after, have I ever told you about her?”

Beatrice hums, thinking back to the many conversations you have both shared you imagine. As she does so, she reaches for a cloth to start wiping down the front of the display case. “I don’t think so,” she finally answers, rounding the counter to the glass front. “I knew the bakery was named after her, and that she taught you to bake, but not much else. You don’t really talk about her much.”

You frown, “I guess I don’t.”

“But it’s okay,” Beatrice adds quickly. “I know family can be a touchy topic. If you’d rather not talk about her, I understand. I’m not very fond of talking about my brother, to be honest.”

The only time Beatrice does talk about her brother is when she’s drunk, which she usually tends to be when the two of you sit down over a bottle of wine and gossip about the happenings of your lives. You’ve heard plenty of stories about him, and thinking back to the most recent one in particular startles a laugh out of you.

Beatrice seems relieved when you glance back over to her with a soft smile.

“My grandmother was the greatest woman I ever knew,” you start. “Do you mind if I talk about her?”

Your employee— your friend— smiles gently at you and continues polishing away the smudges on the display case. “I would love it if you talked about her.

“She used to call me her little angel…”

INSTAGRAM.

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yourusername i’ll leave a piece just for you, nonna.

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user that looks delicious!!

user it’s actually my dream to visit y/n’s bakery 😍

↳ user no cuz literally same, idk anyone else who makes smth as simple as bread look so amazing

↳ user it’s like how irl some foods don’t look that good but somehow in cartoons they make it look like it’s the most appetizing thing in the entire world i would actually cut off my own arm and leg just to get to try a single bite

user così carino!! ❤️❤️

user how is it possible to make food look heavenly 😳

user every time she posts food it makes me want to marry a husband that can bake bc there’s no way i could ever do this myself but i do in fact want to live a life like this so very badly

↳ user FELT THIS OMG

user what a beautiful way to remember someone 🫶

user she’s gorgeous aND SHE CAN BAKE???

↳ user she’s really the most wag of all wags 😩

↳ user fell down a rabbit hole of wag interactions throughout the years and y/n’s introduction into the group is so iconic bc she baked them all cookies and brought them when she first met them all

↳ user i read that in an interview that she knows all their favourites and tries to make them all throughout the season when she goes to races

↳ user she’s actually such a sweetheart irl too, i visited the bakery before i ever knew who she was or what f1 is and if i hadn’t already seen that ring on her finger i would’ve shot my shot no joke 😔😔

↳ user what’s alonso’s secret??? where can i find me a wifey like that???

user this is gorgeous

user using food to celebrate a loved one is one of the most loving things a person can do in my opinion. so much love goes into food, but especially baked goods which take time and patience and practice. this is a really touching and beautiful way to honor someone, and i hope she’s watching down on you and thinking the same thing ❤️

↳ user didn’t think i was gonna be crying today but here we are ig 😭

fernandoalo_oficial mi vida, she would be so proud of you 💛

↳ yourusername i hope so, i am who i am because of her 💛

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tagged: fernandoalo_oficial

yourusername arrivederci 💛

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fernandoalo_oficial and may it be soon, mi vida 💛

user obsessed with the way fernando is obsessed with his wife

↳ user the fact that he calls her mi vida every time he addresses her has me walking into oncoming traffic 🙃

↳ user “my life” in spanish 😭😭 i literally fucking can’t when is it my turn to get a man that loves and cherishes me like this

↳ user honestly i think it’s just time to accept we’ll be alone forever cuz if he don’t treat me the way fernando treats his wife then i don’t want him

user for the ppl asking, arrivederci means until we meet again in italian, it’s a pretty common way to say goodbye in italy

↳ user AND FERNANDO SAID AND MAY IT BE SOON OH I AM ILL

user when will he return from the war…

↳ user it’s only february the season hasn’t even started yet so why isn’t he with her??

↳ user aston martin’s hq is in the uk and fernando has to be there for the car reveal, testing/sims, training, promo content, etc. it’s the logistical pr side of formula 1 that makes the season start a lot earlier than what ppl might think

↳ user AND OVER VALENTINE’S DAY TOO??? 😭😭😭😭

user mama y papa

user i want to grow old with someone and have pictures of our vacations to look back on and remember and i don’t think that’s too much to ask for

user she’s posting like he’s dead or smth 💀

↳ user i mean i would be too if my husband was missing valentines day bc of work tbf 🤷‍♀️

user i can’t believe fernando alonso bagged a baddie who ain’t even 30 yet

↳ user i can have you SEEN fernando alonso?? 👀👀👀

↳ user have you SEEN y/n?? 👀👀👀

↳ user two baddies bagged each other guys there’s not a lot to try and comprehend

Fernando being gone has never really mattered to you much. You miss him, of course. He’s your husband and ideally, you would be able to travel the world with him on a whim without needing to worry about who’s in charge of the bakery, but despite how perfect your life seems with Fernando by your side, there are a lot of things that don’t go according to plan and Fernando’s hectic work schedule is one of them.

The constant traveling across the season is exhausting for both of you, even though you’re not the one doing the majority of it. You attend his races when you can— usually when Beatrice forces you to, which is more and more recently as of late, with the logic that you should get the chance to see the world while you’re still young and while Fernando is still racing— but even when you’re home in Naples, the worry that you feel for Fernando as he flies around the world and races in a dangerous car takes its toll.

You wouldn’t even think of ever asking him to give it up, but not being by his side is hard and you cannot afford— for the sake of the bakery— to follow him wherever his sport takes him. So for now, you will always worry and stress about the toll it all takes on him as well.

You honestly hadn’t given much thought that he’d be missing Valentine’s Day this year, but it occurs to you now as you scroll through the comments on your post.

It’s by far the first time he’ll be gone for the holiday, but something about this year just feels different. Maybe it’s the stress of the extra workload you’ve taken on at the bakery to make up for the extra orders this year and the employees that have had to call out, or maybe the anniversary of your grandmother’s passing is hitting you harder this time than it has in the past, but whatever it is, the idea of Fernando not being here to celebrate with you has your eyes filling with tears as you sit curled up in bed.

Alone.

As you have been for the last few weeks now.

Fernando is in Silverstone, preparing for the launch of the new car and getting back into the swing of things before the new season starts, and this is part of the job you understand. You’ve been his wife for many years now. The racing may start in March, but the real season begins much sooner, and to a certain degree it never truly ends.

There’s always a push to be staying in shape, eating healthy, and staying up to date with all the up-and-coming news. Fernando has worked hard to try and find the middle ground, to enjoy his break while he has it, and take a step back from the Formula One world if only to de-stress from the sport’s particular brand of pressure.

And you’ve worked hard to accept that he will always be thinking like a race car driver.

Nonetheless, though you have enjoyed the interview clips and photographs of him being posted around on social media, and you love even more the pictures your husband’s teammate has been sending you and you alone, you can’t help but want to be selfish. You want to have him with you, in your home, cuddled up beside you instead of 1700 kilometers away in another country.

But that’s the way of things.

You’re about to turn off the lamp and, maybe, cry yourself to sleep while ignoring the very cold and very empty other half of a bed that’s too big for one— a bed you haven’t slept in the middle of since before you ever met Fernando, too used to occupying one side and finding another body on the other— when your phone lights up with an incoming call and his contact image flashes across your screen.

It’s late in Italy, nearing midnight now, and the UK isn’t too far behind. With the strictness of his daily schedule and the importance of a full night of rest, he should already be in bed by now. He should’ve already been in bed hours ago, if you remember correctly from past seasons.

“Fernando?”

“My love,” he greets, soft and sweet and sounding like just hearing you say his name has left him breathless. You can practically hear the smile in his voice. “I am sorry that it’s so late. I hope I did not wake you up, but I am calling because I simply could not bear to fall asleep without hearing you.”

You sniffle, wiping away at the tears in your eyes, but the quiet noise must’ve been enough for him to hear because he makes an inquisitive sound.

“Mi vida,” he calls to you, concern seeping into his words. “What is wrong? Are you okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum back to him, shifting around in bed to face the window and the scenic view that lies beyond. You can see the ocean from your home— the dark water pulling in and pushing out and glittering with the reflected light of the moon, and the boats docked at the marina, still, silent, asleep. The moon’s glow paints the cityscape in an ethereal haze, like something from a fairytale. “I’m okay. Just a bad few days. I miss you, Fernando.”

“I know, my love,” he coos. “But we will be together soon. Do you remember what I told you when I left?”

As if you could possibly forget. The morning he left, a fog had rolled in from the sea and you’d swathed yourself in a shawl to chase away the early, damp chill as you stood on the stoep to see him off.

Fernando had wrapped you up in his arms, an embrace so warm and safe that the feeling had lingered for hours afterward still, and he’d whispered in your ear that he would move mountain and sea to get back to you if you ever needed him.

“But I always need you,” you’d teased. He’d chuckled and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, a promise, and then pulled you in even closer, tucking your head beneath his chin and letting his fingers run through your hair and comb through the remaining bedhead tangles.

You would similarly move earth and sky to be with him again now, just to feel his arms around you, or in the bed beside you.

“I meant what I said,” he says over the phone, drawing your attention back.

You hum again, “I know. But sweetheart, you have a job to do. It’s a very important job, too.” You curl the blankets around you tighter. “Pay no mind to my musings, okay? It’s just been a rocky start. The bakery has lots of orders to get through for Valentine’s Day, and I am short-staffed now.”

“What has happened?”

“What hasn’t?” You joke, heaving a sigh. “Rodrigo broke his hand in a biking accident this past Sunday, and the doctor says he’ll be out for a month at least. I can have him work the register and do minor cleaning chores, but we really need him in the kitchen because Andrea hasn’t yet been trained to use the equipment. I am trying to have Beatrice help with that, but it will take time we don’t have. On top of that, Samuel’s wife is having her baby so he has taken paternity leave, and Gemma has gone back to France for her mother’s birthday.”

Fernando makes a noise of understanding. “You are so stressed, mi vida. I wish there was more I could do. I am sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You have no reason to. In fact, I should be thanking you because I’m feeling so much better just hearing your voice,” you answer. Feeling the tears dissipate as your husband’s joyous laughter trickles into your ear from the phone’s speaker.

“And I am better just hearing yours,” he says. “But I will leave you to sleep now. It’s too late for you to be awake. Te amo, mi esposa.”

“Ti amo, marito mio.”

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lance_stroll i’m really only here to take pictures for his wife

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fernandoalo_oficial the heart is for her only

yourusername and i appreciate you very much for it lancino 🫶

↳ lance_stroll at least someone cares about the work i put in 😔

astonmartinf1 Breaking News: Aston Martin’s Lance Stroll challenges Aston Martin’s social media admin for their job

↳ lance_stroll thanks but i think i’ll stick to driving fast cars. it’s less stress.

user FERNANDO MAKING FINGER HEARTS FOR HIS WIFE 😭😭😭

user if you look closely you can actually see me about to jump off the roof in that last picture 🫠

↳ user real

user why is the first one so cute??

user lance is really just fernando and y/n’s kid at this point, he’s the disgruntled son who reluctantly takes pictures of his dad to send to his mom, and he complains about it, but he secretly loves doing it

↳ user i mean have you SEEN what y/n does for his birthday each year??

↳ user no????

↳ user she specifically learned how to make bannock and a bunch of other traditionally canadian desserts and baked goods for him

↳ user i bet lance’s trainer hates that lmao 😂😂

↳ user you all are talking about them like y/n isn’t just a few years older than lance himself is 💀

↳ user leave fernando and his controversially young wife alone

↳ user guys?? he’s literally only 42?? y/n is almost in her 30s, it could definitely be worse. at least they’re both well into adulthood

user nobody talk to me for the rest of the day this is all i can think about now

user HE MAKES LANCE TAKE PICTURES TO SEND TO HIS WIFE PLS OH MY DAYS

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fernandoalo_oficial throwback thursday, as they say, except it isn’t thursday and i just wanted a reason to post my beautiful wife. te amo 💛.

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yourusername i love you more mio carissimo 💛

↳ fernandoalo_oficial impossible, i love you the most

user adding “posts me just bc he can” to my list of standards for men

user SCREAMING CRYING SOBBING

user “just wanted a reason to post my beautiful wife” oh my god fernando alonso the man that you are… 😩😩

user guys he’s the blueprint

↳ user she’s so lucky

user WHEN IS IT MY TURN???? CAN I NOT BE HAPPY TOO????

user she’s actually so beautiful omg 😳😳😳

↳ user they’re such a power couple

↳ user super excited for y/n to be back in the paddock this year (fingers crossed it happens more) cuz she’s actually so stunning and her outfits are always very classy and fun to look at

↳ user is there a reason she doesn’t go to many races?? they don’t have kids iirc, so idk why she wouldn’t be able to attend more 🤔

↳ user she owns and runs a small bakery in italy, which means she can’t just travel for 9 months out of the year. she shows up when she’s able to, don’t get me wrong, but it’s definitely less frequently than some of the other wags

user gen imagine being fernando alonso’s wife

↳ user i think i would cease to exist

user cuando es mi turno 😭

Valentine’s Day arrives and with it comes the added stress of knowing you’ll be stuck in the bakery all day helping last-minute patrons sort through pastries and treats for their partners. This in and of itself is not a problem, you’ve always liked helping people and baking is your passion after all, but the idea of rising before the sun and being on your feet until long after it sets is not the most appealing, and even worse, your usual happiness is still overshadowed by the cloud of gloom that’s been following you since last week.

Ever since his first late-night call, Fernando has been good about making sure to ring you in the morning before he heads into the factory, and at night when he leaves. It’s helped, certainly, but nothing ever compares to the real thing and that thought makes you feel guiltier every day that you think it.

He has a job to do, a job that he loves. Neither of you should be forced to give up your passions, and that just means needing to make a few sacrifices every once in a while.

He doesn’t call you that morning, however, and though you hide it behind as much of a cheery grin as you can manage, it stings and you’re disappointed.

But throwing yourself into your work is always something you’ve been good at, so you focus instead on kneading dough, mixing pastry filling, and icing cupcakes.

Beatrice finds you back in the kitchen an hour before the bakery is scheduled to open, and the look on her face tells you she knew it’s where you would be.

“You shouldn’t be working today,” she says in lieu of a greeting.

You shrug, sliding a pan of bread from the oven. “We are too short-staffed for me to not be working today. Plus, what would I do anyway? Sit at home alone pretending that I’m not? At least in the bakery, I can put myself to use and be distracted.”

All she does is sigh.

The morning goes well. There’s a bit of a rush when you first open, the most notable of customers is a disgruntled older gentleman who you consider to be a monthly regular. He explains a long-winded story about his daughter’s boyfriend breaking up with her over text last night, and needing something to help cheer her up. He leaves with a box of cannoli, and an extra loaf of bread you threw in for him on the house.

Near the afternoon is when it starts to pick up, but in a lull between customers just after lunchtime, Beatrice corners you in the back. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her eyebrows are furrowed, and her mouth is set in a line.

“Go home,” she orders.

You huff. “Beatrice, I am the boss. Not you.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“I am not going home! The rush will get busier later this evening and we are short-staffed—”

“Rodrigo’s coming in to work register in—” she checks the watch on her wrist, “—fifteen minutes. I ran Andrea through kitchen duty the other day and I’ll be supervising her the entire time, and Marco and Silvia both said they could pick up a shift. I also have a text from Samuel’s wife saying if we need even more help she would gladly get her husband out of the house if it means he’ll stop hovering over her, and I’m prepared to take her up on that offer should the need arise.”

You blink at her. There’s a reason she’s the one you leave in charge when you travel, but whenever you’re reminded of just how good she is at managing the bakery you’re always left a little shocked. She orchestrated everything in the span of a morning and you didn’t even notice.

“Why do you want me to go home so badly?” You ask her, shoving your hands down into your apron’s pockets. “Nothing is waiting for me there anyway. Even if we weren’t short-handed, I would’ve still been here.”

“You sure about that?” Is all she says before turning on her heel and exiting back into the front of the bakery.

You don’t pretend to understand what she’s talking about as you hang your apron up and head for home. Beatrice shoots you a wink as you wave goodbye, and it feels like some sort of foreshadowing for whatever awaits you.

Nothing, however, looks any different than it had when you left. You park your car in the empty driveway, collect the newspaper from the stoep, and unlock the door.

Your keys and the newspaper are both tossed onto the counter just inside the kitchen as you toe off your shoes. You hang up your jacket on the dining room chair as you make your way into the living room, and then you pause.

There, resting on the couch is a stuffed toy bear and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. In the bear’s arms is a little sign, and the handwriting is already enough to have your eyes filling with tears.

“Fernando?” You call out to the silent house.

You check the ground floor and find no other sign of him, so you take to the stairs and begin the ascent up to the next, continuing to call out the many different pet names you have given to him throughout the years.

You peek into the bedroom, “Mia vita?”

Stood in the center of the room, a big grin on his face, is your husband. Fernando looks mighty proud of himself, a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s had this planned for a while and he’s smug that he’s managed to keep a secret from you. He opens his arms wide when you just continue to stand in the doorway, and like a flip has been switched, you rush into him when a sob of happiness.

He wraps himself around you, and the feeling of his arms holding you so firmly in his embrace is warm and comforting, and everything you had missed in the weeks he was gone. Your face is pressed into the crook of his neck, and the smell of his cologne has you sagging even further against him, sinking as far as you can into his hold.

He presses a kiss to your head and sways the both of you back and forth.

“Mi vida,” he murmurs. “I’m here, my love. I’m here.”

“I didn’t know you were coming home,” you cry against him, voice muffled from where your face is still pressed against him.

He runs a hand through your hair, scratching his nails against your scalp in the way that always calms you down, and hums. You feel it in the vibration of his chest more than you hear it. “I wanted to surprise you after you told me how stressed you were. I told you, no? I would move mountains and seas to be with you whenever you need me.”

“Ti amo,” you whisper against his skin.

“Te amo,” he whispers into your hair.

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yourusername to the luce dei miei occhi, i love you more than life itself 💛

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fernandoalo_oficial mi vida i'll love you in this life and the next, until the very end of time itself 💛

↳ yourusername ti amo mia vita

user LUCE DEI MIEI OCCHI = LIGHT OF MY EYES

↳ user oh my days 🫢

↳ user i’m actually ill that is too cute

user they ARE that couple and they have every right to be

user WAR IS OVER

user i need them to adopt me right tf now it’s not a want it’s a need

user GUYS HE WAS JUST IN SILVERSTONE LIKE A DAY AGO??? FOR THE CAR LAUNCH??? THAT MEANS HE FLEW ALL THE WAY TO ITALY LAST MINUTE JUST TO SEE HIS WIFE FOR VALENTINES DAY

↳ user fernando alonso once again proving why he’s the best husband on the grid

↳ user i’m obsessed with them a totally normal amount

lance_stroll every time i saw him he was talking to someone about how he had plans to surprise his wife, i’m so surprised he didn’t end up ruining the secret somehow

↳ fernandoalo_oficial have more faith in your padre

↳ lance_stroll well i’ve seen my “padre” make the most cartoon heart eyes at a picture of baked goods so i don’t think faith is really gonna cut it. you’re whipped man 🤷‍♂️

↳ yourusername lancino you must put up with so much from this old man

↳ lance_stroll you know what? i really do

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @casperlikej @pear-1206

━━ a/n: this is the longest fic i've ever written, coming in at a whopping 5.4k words! and it's also the first request i've written for! so, cheers to that. this is my little valentine's day story, because i'm actually a big sap and i really do love good fluffy romances, so writing this distracted me from the fact that i'm actually very alone at the present haha! anyways, hope you all enjoyed! i also wrote this in under 24 hours, and it's a lot, so if there's any editing mistakes please ignore them, i genuinely could not bring myself to re-read all of this looking for every single mistake.

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #social media au #fernando alonso #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso imagine #fa14 #lance stroll

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chrissshub · 5 months

Text

HE LICK ME LIKE A LOLLIPOP!

who knew a piece of candy and date night at home could get you so…

pairings: wife!fem!reader x toji fushiguro

cw: sex mention, teasing, cunn!lingus, pet names, dubcon(?)

wc: 1.79k

words from chris: my first fic in forever! hope you enjoy and while you do, I'm gonna make baked oats :P

Guilty…oh it’s so guilty but you can’t help it.

It’s your favorite movie on the living room television but you really can’t help it.

There, in the corner of your eye is a scene so innocent but a sight so sinful of Toji eating a lollipop. He’s so mindless with it, it’s almost so cute. But what wrings that adorable sense of joy into a dry, thirsty reality is the way his lips lock around the pink bulb, focusing all his attention down to a point.

Or maybe it’s the way your ear tunes into the delightful hums he sings whenever his mouth fills with the sweet confections, all to be washed away by a single ‘gulp’.

Your thighs have never been folded so tightly and your hands have never braced the black decorative pillow until tonight—a movie night at home, per Toji’s suggestion.

How could he sit there, a man such as he be—

“Um…Toji, I thought you didn’t like sugary candy?”

Before paying you a glance, he pried the pink lollipop from his jaw, leaving nothing but the glimmering wisps of spit to drip from his lips.

“I grabbed it from the bank today and forgot it was in my pocket. Used to love them when I was younger. Why…you want some?”

“No, I don’t think sharing lollipops are—”

“Aww, why not? You can just pretend it’s my d—”

“Okay! T-Thank you, Toji. I’ll have a taste then,” you sigh, leaning towards his beckoning side.

His chiseled arm laced around your shoulder, his hand bracing along its curve. The tips of his fingers softly traced along your pried jaw. His own sights bounced between the unfolding scene of your big, fluttering doe eyes calling out to meet his gaze and the sinking of the sweetened orb finally resting along the flat of your tongue.

A wicked grin cracked along Toji’s lips, hiding his pleased whims against the curve of your ear.

“That’s my good girl. You look so pretty using your tongue fr’ me.”

“Toji!” The squealing shout bringing his grin to a full-hearted smile. Toji could simply react, his arms encircling you in an embrace and his cheek smothered against your own.

“Oh I’m sorry Princess, just got a flashback in my head. I’ll behave like I promised.”

Shamefully, you nodded to his words as you gave into his warmth.

“Mm…my turn!” Toji chimed as he pinched the lollipop stick between two fingers.

Your eyes watched as he tugged the candy from your lips and back into his own, the tip of his tongue swirling about the polished sweet.

Seconds turned into minutes and those very minutes turned into the passing scenes of the movie on the screen. Toji earned your attention far quicker than the film, a fact that he could no longer ignore.

“Alright, you’ve been watching me more than the movie—and it’s your favorite…what’s up, Dollface?” Toji finally interjected. Toji’s full attention was placed onto you, that damned lollipop standing within his thick digits.

“I…don’t know…what to say…I just…want some,” you mumbled dumbly as you stared at the glimmering lollipop in the dimmed light.

“If you wanted some more, you could’ve asked. Here—”

You caught Toji’s wrist as he drove the lollipop to your lips, the sticky bulb pecking your lips.

“Oh, I don’t want that right now. I just…since when did you eat candy like that?”

The arch in his brow spoke more for Toji than what his fumbling words could. He returned the lollipop back into the wrapper sitting on the glass coffee table, folding what’s left between the colorful wax paper. With his attention clear, Toji brought his full visage to you with a newly placed smirk.

“Huh? I’m just…I see what’s goin’ on here.”

“Hm? What’s going on—”

Before you could even finish your words, Toji was already ways ahead of you. With just a blink of an eye, he had your back pressed and arching against the arm of his couch and your chest smothered along the thick hull of his own.

It was one thing to be beneath Toji at his own whim, but bearing the heft of the accompanying stare was nothing short of stupefying. It comes without a call for regard, yet you can’t help but forfeit your attention to him and him alone.

All his fascinations about you—the wants and desires crowd about the darkening blue hues of his eyes and consume his whole being. He’s even eager enough to close the distance that much more, pitting the very thumps of his heart to fade along your enveloped chest.

All that stains the thick air is the staggering breaths plugging the lungs of you and Toji alike, growing until his confidence reaches its peak to finally speak.

“You don’t have a problem with me eating this candy—hell, you don’t even care about any of that. You’ve got that look in your eye that I love.”

“And what look might that be?”

And of course, you didn’t need Toji to tell you—you already knew. It’s that look when stubbornness and determination form the thinnest of silver lines, careful not to cross each other’s boundaries. When your eyes peer up to meet his own, your pupils grow to encapsulate to contain all that tension down to a single point.

The look of desire.

And of course Toji knows that look all too well—he fell for it the very night you met and put a ring on your finger under a year later. It’s because the second you pass those eyes his way, he can’t help but give in to you.

“The look of you wanting something. Y’know what I like to say—Whatever my pretty girl wants, she gets. So…what do you want, Y/N?”

The weathered palm of his hands brace at your waist, the pads rubbing at the supple skin as he makes a path to slot himself between your thighs.

Toji’s glare flickered, the tips of his fingers drifting along the rim of your white t-shirt.

“Hm? You know I hate mumbling, Sweetheart. But I think I heard you want some attention, right"

“That’s not what I said.”

Toji shot a stifling glare back towards you, “So then what did you say?”

A silence fell over you as you searched for the unnecessary words. Nothing more had to be said at this point, except for the couch’s springs aching out as it bared the shifting weight of your lifted hips for Toji’s subtle tug at your intertwined pair of black shorts and blush pink panties. Your eyes followed his movements, the slow pull of clothing down your legs and to being tossed out into the dark oblivion of the living room.

Toji’s cheek sank along your thigh as he waited for a response, his hands taking hold of the plush to trap you in his hold.

“Exactly, you don’t need to say or think of anything, Princess. Just let me take care of you, ‘kay?”

With a languid nod, you bit at your bottom lip as your body melted at Toji's touch.

The soft curve of Toji’s pout is the gentlest of sensations to pool at your navel and pull the mellowest of gasps from your lips. Just a kiss, a luscious one that’s carefully met by the timid bud of your clit.

But he’s only this kind with you for a single minute. And in that single minute, he’s peppering those sweet kisses everywhere as nothing as a courtesy—an introduction, really.

However, the moment sixty seconds pass, his courteous nature sheds away.

Why, once Toji makes the mistake of absorbing the poor, pink bulb between his lips…he’s a man lost to lust. He can’t help but to induce a suckling tug along your clit, relishing the swelling throbs to strum within his mouth. Just to spite you, Toji lets the bundle of nerves greet the frigid air for a second as he takes a moment to observe the mess he’s made of you.

The tips of his fingers wander from the crease of your thigh to graze at the sopping slit of your pussy, begging for attention.

“Mm, n-no hands, Toji. Just keep doin' that, please?” You broke out carefully with a hitching breath.

He shot you a glare, a particular one at that—a leering gaze, one riddle with spite.

“I gotcha, no hands tonight.”

His words didn’t settle the worry brewing at your core. He’s agreed but knowing Toji, your terms would work out in his favor.

Yet, your thoughts ran dry the moment Toji pressed his cheek back along your inner thigh. Just by the swirl of his tongue, he’s pulled you back down into ecstasy with a breathy moan.

His tongue’s been waiting all the same to taste you, making no haste to delve between your folds at last. As eager as Toji is, he’s sure to catch every drop of your essence, allowing your honeyed pussy to meld into his senses.

When he’s ready to start all over, he lets his jaw come to a slow close as he drags the flat of his tongue from your hole back up to the puffy hood. He’s even keeping his eyes glued above, ensuring that you’re watching just how lazily he reels your twitching clit back into his care.

“Fuck…I wanna touch you s’ bad,” Toji whimpers out as he pulls away for a breath. The pads of his thumb drag along the puffy lips of your pussy, his touching lingering just beside the glossy bulb. “But if my lady says no hands…”

“N-No, you can use your hands now, Toji…please,” you whine, flashing a weak yet coaxing smile towards him.

Yet, your pleas fall on deaf ears as Toji returns to his ministrations. He really had no intention of touching you—just like you instructed. It didn’t help that his eyes remained pinned with yours, those blue hues mocking your growing misery. But you truly couldn’t take it, that knot in your belly reaching desperate heights.

In the corner of his eye, Toji’s catching the rarest of phenomenons: your legs trembling in his care. It’s something he knows you try to control out of some temperance, but tonight must be his lucky night.

“If you keep moving like that, I can’t focus on you, Pretty,” he hums, pulling away from your folds with a lewd ‘pop’.

“Then I guess you’ll have to touch me, right?”

“But it’s more fun if I don’t. I mean, this is what you wanted. Got all jealous ‘nd needy over a piece of candy and now you can’t take it…tsk-tsk-tsk, that’s not like you, Baby,” his words marked with a greedy grin.

All that could chime from your blubbering lips were whimpers, the ones that made Toji smile the most. Your hands came to brace the fabric of the couch’s armrest as Toji drove back between your legs, his grip on your thighs stilling your restlessness.

And that’s all Toji did, just lick you like a lollipop.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk toji #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk fanfic #toji fic #cw sex mention #tw sex mention #fushiguro toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen #toji fushiguro #mwuah!#🕷️—words from chris!

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nostalgebraist · 10 months

Text

There's a particular quality to early-to-mid Homestuck that I really loved when I first read it, but which I tend to forget when thinking about the story retrospectively.

This quality of like . . . taking pre-established elements, and building larger structures out of them. And then repeating this recursively, as these larger structures now become "pre-established elements" unto themselves.

A camera zooming further and further out from the same central point, "Powers of Ten"-style.

----

Homestuck is initially about the process of playing "Sburb," a fictitious base-building computer game.

The vast majority of comic pages in first 4 Acts are either about a character doing something in this game, or (if they are not yet a player) attempting to obtain and install it.

Everything else is secondary, at least formally, to this core activity. The main characters are always playing Sburb (or at least trying to), no matter what else they're doing. Dialogue is presented as a temporary side-stream overlaid onto the game; the characters play in silence unless they need to talk, and when they do talk, it's usually about the game.

This quality appears in the mechanics of Sburb. It's a game about combining things you have to make new ones ("alchemy"); about constructing a building by continually extending it at the edges; about making a tower that gets taller and taller, building on a pre-established foundation, using new components made from earlier ones.

And it appears, less literally, in the mechanics of the story. An element is introduced -- casually, weightlessly, accidentally -- and once introduced, it sticks. It gets brought back again and again, in a series of bigger and weirder riffs.

(John lived in a house, which we spent some time surveying. In the process, we learned about his father, who was his only caretaker. So now everyone has a single caretaker, and everyone lives in a house which we spend some time surveying. But with every iteration, the houses get bigger, the surveys grander, the caretakers more bizarre.)

Whimsical elements introduced very early on, like the "kernelsprite prototyping" mechanic, end up very deeply baked into everything. There's a palpable joy to the way the comic handles these things. A joy in doing something on a whim, and then committing completely to the bit, indefinitely; a joy in making mountains shaped like molehills.

This kind of dims away in the later, more "plot-heavy" portions that loom larger in my memory. There's a similar vibe to the way the plot elaborates upon itself, even much later on, but we lose this dynamic on the micro-level.

#homestalgebra

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cashmoneyyysstuff · 4 months

Text

katsuki’s been hovering around you for about 6 minutes now.

you had decides on a whim you wanted to bake some cookies, and since the holidays were coming up, now was the perfect excuse to. you were soon joined in the dorm kitchen by your grouchy boyfriend, who had just come back from his morning run.

you explained you were in the mood for cookies and he responds with a grunt. but then he proceeds to stay in the kitchen, awkwardly standing around looking at the cupboards and utensils like this is the first time he stepped foot in a kitchen before.

he then proceeds to just hover around behind you, staring over your shoulder like a child waiting to see if the cookies were done yet. you found it cute at first, but that constant scowl and scrutinizing look on his face makes you feel like you’re doing something wrong, and frankly it’s making you a little nervous and baking cookies should not be nerve racking !

“would you stop doing that ? i know what i’m doing” you snap your head to squint at him and he stiffens like he’s been caught, like he was being even remotely close to sneaky to begin with, which he wasn’t.

“m’not doin’ anything” he mutters defensively, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his sweats. “just lookin’ atcha. m’i not allowed to ?” he leans in so his nose is almost touching yours, that stupid little handsome smirk on his lips as his eyes fixate themselves on your lips before looking back up. you gulp, then you place your hand on his face and push him away lightly “you’re distracting me” you mutter, feeling your face grow hotter. he chuckles to himself before turning on his heels and leaning again the countertop.

it’s quiet for a second before you feel like calling him out as payback for teasing you “ is there a reason you’re still here ? you wanna lick the batter or something?” you quip teasingly and you snort when his face morphs into one of disgust “hell no.” he scoffs, looking at you before looking down at the batter you’re currently mixing the shit out of, screw whoever broke the mixer. “how long are ya gonna keep mixing that ?” his eyebrow raises in question

“until it’s good” you huff, taking a break from mixing to keep your fingers from cramping up. then you suddenly get an idea

“oh, suki~” you sing turning to look at him. he eyes you suspiciously, crossing his bulky arms across his chest and grunting out a suspicious “what do you want ?”

“well~” you start walking towards him, proceeding to wrap your arms around his middle and give him your best puppy eyes. his doesn’t budge but he squints at you even harder and you can basically feel him cave already “what?” he urged again.

“since you’re oh, so strong and handsome, could you please do me a favor and mix the batter for me, my handsome boyfriend?” you give him your sweetest smile and he scoffs, “what the fuck does being handsome even have to do with it ?”he mumbles. pink dusts his cheeks and he looks away from you, already feeling his resolve crumbling at your shallow praise. he hates how easily he gives in to you sometimes. you squeeze at his waist, he grunts “thought you said i was distracting you.”

you’re pouting at him, he sees it from the corner of his eye and he’s this close to blowing up. “that was before. you’d be helping me out lots now if you did this for me” you’re relentless, standing on your tippy toes to lean in close to his face cus he won’t stop leaning further away from you.

he could very easily just shove you off if he wanted to, but you have a feeling he doesn’t want to. you know he doesn’t want to when he closes his eyes shut and his eyebrows furrow and then he groans, letting his hands fall at his sides limply before glaring at you. “gimme the damn bowl.” he growls. you squeal, pressing kisses all over his face and a finisher one right on the tip of his red scrunched up nose, he grunts at you but gives you a light pat to the back, rubbing his warm hands up and down your spine. then he pinches you, you giggle. “thank you ‘suki.” he responds with a “yeah, yeah whatever.”

he grabs the bowl from your hands starts mixing..hard. letting off his aggression on the bowl like it was at fault for his weak will to deny you. you smile to yourself and turn to the cupboard so you could grab the decorations and of course, the chocolate chips.

you watch for a bit as your boyfriend mixes away, you’re watching how his toned arms flex and how the muscle of his arms tightens and tenses up, more specifically. one thing’s for sure, you’ll never get tired of his arms. you quickly turn away before he can catch you staring and teases you again.

you jump when he calls for you not even a second later “s’this good?” he asks gruffly, leaning forwards to show you his work. you feel your face warm as you squeak out a curt “yeah, looks good !” before taking the bowl back from him and turning right back around to reach for the baking sheet you had prepped. he’s none the wiser for a moment before a knowing grin crosses his face, he shakes his head.

you place everything down on the counter and sigh happily to yourself, feeling accomplished. you walk over to your grumpy boyfriend and place a sweet kiss to his cheek “you’re the best.” he clicks his tongue, muttering out a “tell me something i don’t know.” while the pink on his cheeks grows darker, you let out a giggle.

“you done with this ?” he asks lifting the spatula in the air for you to see, you offer him a simple “mhm” and a smile before turning back to the task at hand and watch from the corner of your eye as he places the spatula in the sink.

not before taking a lick of the excess batter still on it.

your head shoots up and you stare, he stares back. then you let out a loud belly laugh and clutch your stomach “so you were just here to lick the batter !” katsuki only grunts. there’s a light smirk on his face as he licks away a speck of cookie dough batter off his lips. he shrugs, walks up to you and places his head on your shoulder.

“figured i deserve a little somethin’ for my hard work.” you roll your eyes. his hold on you tightens and he huffs, trying to get as comfortable as he can while still standing up as he simply watches work.

“hmm..” you decided to humor him “ you did help a lot, i think i can give you a little more" you look at him from your shoulder just in time to catch his eyebrow raise as he registers what you said, a smirk playing on his lips when he does. he readjusts his head to look you in the eyes.

“yeah ?”

“mhm..” you hum. his grip tightens, his hands feel warmer.

“whaddya have in mind then, huh ?” he whispers. he’s so close and you can smell your body wash, probably because he keeps stealing it but you keep quiet about that for now.

“i dunno..” you trail off shyly, your confidence melting away under his smoldering gaze. “would…a smooch suffice ?” you giggle. he chuckles to himself at your choice of words. he grabs the back of your head softly, pulling you in closer until your noses brush against each other and he gives you a half hearted little eskimo kiss, you giggle and he smiles a little wider.

“s’a good start” he concludes before pressing his lips to yours.

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barbiedragon · 2 months

Text

Adoration

Bridgerton: Benedict Bridgerton x wife!reader

Sweet and Spicy Bingo Collection

Rating: Explicit (Minors DNI)

WC: 1.6k

Prompt: Tie Me Up for @sweetspicybingo

Warnings: bondage, oral (f receiving), fingering

You seek to turn Benedict’s attention back to you

*comments/reblogs are appreciated

Your lips pursed as Benedict entered the room in a state of dishevel. You let out a soft huff as it was most unbecoming of a married man of his status. The stench of tobacco and bourbon permeated the air, making you wrinkle your nose. You understood men indulged in particular whims and pleasures afforded to them. However, Benedict’s constant desire to populate the gentleman’s club almost every night was wearing your patience thin. Your husband dressed down before crawling into bed with you. While your fingers itched to stroke the smooth, warm skin of his back, you resisted the urge.

You scooted away, ensuring your back was toward him as you gathered the cover tighter around you. You wished to show no kindness or affection this evening. It seemed he’d rather spend his evening frivolously drinking rather than warming your bed, a behavior you expected of his older brother, Anthony, and not him. Though it seemed, Anthony outgrew the behavior after his marriage to Kate. You felt highly vexed as his snores cut through the air as he found quick, peaceful slumber while you found no relaxation. This would not do; you must discover a way to bring your husband back into your fold. You knew he loved you, the same deep, all-consuming love you held for him; you simply needed to show him that an evening spent with you could prove more exciting than one surrounded by drink and frivolous men trying to outdo one another.

“Are you planning to go out again this evening?” you pressed him over breakfast, pausing to take a sip of piping hot tea.

“I was. Is that an issue?” Benedict asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I was hoping we could dine together this evening. I must admit I do not see much of you these days.”

A pout crossed your face, and you watched his expression soften.

“Apologies, dear wife, I was not aware I had been neglecting you as of late. I would be happy to dine with you this evening.” His tone was soft, laced with care, and your heart fluttered inside your chest.

“Wonderful, I shall arrange a delightful meal for us this evening,” you grinned.

When he departed for his day, he left you with a searing kiss to your lips, and it served as a reminder that his passion for you was still there. Your stomach bubbled with excitement as adrenaline pulsed through your body. You make a silent wish that this evening is filled with passion and that a child may form in fruition. You spend the day attending to your duties as the lady of the house, spending afternoon tea in the library lost in a book. When the time arrived, you ensured the kitchen was aware of the menu you’d like served for dinner, and you provided the housekeeper, Melinda, with a few extra pounds should an item need to be fetched from the market.

You changed into a more formal dress for dinner, one made of rose-pink silk that flattered your figure and a color that Benedict absolutely adored on you—his lush, pink rose. Anna, your lady’s maid, took great care in brushing out your hair before arranging it into an elegant updo with a few tendrils around your face. You applied a few dabs of rose-scented perfume and donned your diamonds, delighting in how they sparkle in the candlelight. You wanted this evening to be exceptional.

A pristine white linen was laid across the table as an assortment of food occupied the space: chestnut soup, fresh mackerel with fennel and mint, roasted goose, asparagus dripping in rich butter sauce, along with baked custard and homemade lemon ice for dessert. Decadent but well worth it. You were certain Benedict would savor the meal. You were only slightly perturbed when Benedict arrived home lately, but those feelings were quickly chased away when his lips were on yours.

“Apologies, dear wife. You have outdone yourself with this dinner,” he praised, sending a pleasant feeling curling up your spine.

“Thank you, dear husband. Please, sit and enjoy with me,” you smiled.

Conversation flowed like wine, laughing and delighting in each other’s company while savoring each bite of delicious food. Benedict’s eyes were fixed on you while you gently licked your spoon clean of the refreshingly tart lemon ice.

“My dear wife, I do believe you are too far from me. Come closer,” he beckoned, crooking two fingers.

After demurely dabbing at your mouth with the crisp linen napkin, you rose from your seat. A moment later, you were nestled in his lap while his fingers traced the curve of your neck, then gingerly over the diamonds decorating your throat. He dismissed the staff, instructing them to retire for the evening. A moment of confusion lingered in the air before they cleared the room.

“I’ve been neglecting you, dearest heart. Allow me to remedy that,” he whispered in your ear.

A gasp flew from your mouth as he lifted you onto the table after clearing the way, sending silverware and delicate china clattering to the floor. His mouth was warm against your décolletage as his hands eagerly furled your dress and chemise up your legs. He caressed your stockinged legs before rolling the fabric down to remove them.

“Hands behind your back,” he instructed, and you gave him a quizzical look but did as told.

He used your stockings to secure your wrists together behind your back before spreading your thighs wide, baring your most intimate parts to him. You shuddered, feeling woefully exposed and enjoying every tantalizing moment. It felt quite obscene to be spread wide on the dining table, offered up like an elegant dessert, dripping enticingly. Though it was quite titillating, pressure building deep within your belly.

The sight of Benedict kneeling between your splayed thighs elicited a deep moan from you. Your lashes fluttered as you watched his pink tongue delve between your silken folds. Your fingers itched to tangle in his hair, but your bindings kept you firmly in place, so all you could do was whimper as you fell apart against your husband’s skilled tongue. The tip of his tongue circled the delicate bundle of nerves that made your thighs tremble against the side of his head.

“Oh…Ben,” you gasped, belly clenching in pleasure.

He applied a bit more pressure as one finger sunk deep inside, causing your eyes to roll back. Oh, he was a wretched beast to make you fall apart in such a way. His curved finger hit a rather sensitive spot inside you that sent you toppling over the edge as your delighted scream filled the air. When he lifted his head from your quivering cunt, you noticed his lips and chin were shiny with your release. There is a whimsical and wicked sparkle in his eyes.

“I believe I’d like to finish my dessert in our bedroom if you find that suitable, my love,” he grinned.

“Indeed, I do.”

Behind clothed doors and with your hands freed, you took your time in undressing him, kissing every inch of skin bared under your ministrations. In your mind, he was a perfect, sculpted statue made of chiseled marble, and you stood in awe of his beauty as your palm took hold of his cock. You stroked him slowly until he stood proud and hard, pearlescent beads leaking from his ruddy tip. He pushed your hand away, spinning you around to free you from your dress, chemise, and stays before pulling you back against him. His hardness teasingly rubbed against the soft swell of your backside. You shifted around to face him, rolling onto your toes to cup his face.

He maneuvered you toward the bed while nibbling on your lower lip before guiding you onto the downy sheets. His mouth moved with fervor over the swells of your breast, taking time to suckle on each peaked nipple while his large hands squeezed your waist. His cock dragged teasingly over your delicate folds, making you shudder and yearn for more. Your bent knees settled against his sides as he slowly sunk inside you, making your eyes flutter shut and your back arch.

Your nails raked down his naked back as he found a steady pace with his thrusts, making sure you felt every single one. The feeling served to remind you that you were his and he was yours. Forever intertwined, nothing would ever keep his attention away from you again. You would never doubt his devotion toward you again. You felt oversensitive from the spirited tête-à-tête in the dining room earlier, and it did not take long for you to reach a blessed peak, spilling over your husband’s cock.

“My sweet, beautiful wife, you are perfection,” Benedict whispered, stroking your face as he gave a final two thrusts, rutting against you before collapsing in your arms. Your fingers dragged through his damp curls as his head rested on your bare chest.

The rest of the evening was spent curled around him, drawing in his warmth and reveling in the love you held for each other.

You were most excited when Benedict returned home from a venture with his brothers, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him.

“I adore being greeted this way, dear heart! You must have missed me,” he chuckled, giving you a little spin around before placing your feet back on the ground.

“I did, and I have the most exciting news,” you squealed.

“And what news would that be, my darling wife?”

You guided his hand to your stomach. “I’m with child.”

His eyes shone with delight as he lifted you to spin you around excitedly again. “That is the most wonderful news, my darling.”

Adoration and pride sparkled in his eyes.

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