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#i have the most awesome beta! thank you!
highvern · 2 months
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When I Kissed the Teacher
Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader
Genre: fluff, humor
Summary: Mr. Kim has a crush, to his students that much is clear. It's also clear that you like him too. What happens when a group of meddlesome ten year olds decide to play cupid for their two favorite teachers?
Warnings: science teacher mingyu, grammar teacher reader, meddling students, crushes, flirting, lots of candy and coffee
Length: ~5.2k
Note: it's here! thank you to @gyuwoncheol and @gyuswhore for beta reading and to my lovely @tomodachiii for fact checking my knowledge of primary school lol
read more here
This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!
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Turning from the white board, Mingyu faces the room full of weary children. Mondays are hard. Early mornings are hard. Learning the difference between reptiles and mammals first thing on Monday morning is downright torture. But it’s nothing a little bribery (read: candy) can't fix.
"Alright class, today we're learning about animals! Who remembers what a mammal is?"
Mingyu barely finishes his sentence before a sharp knock interrupts.
“Mr. Kim,” you seethe from the doorway.
Mingyu turns around immediately, eyes wide in fear at your tone. “Yes?”
“Can I speak with you? In the hallway?”
The class of ten year olds “ooooh” as their teacher trails after you like a kicked puppy. If they weren't awake before they sure are now. He shoots a silencing look back before dipping out the door where you wait, foot tapping impatiently.
“Would you like to explain where all my printer paper went?”
Mingyu tries to play dumb. “I don’t know?”
“Oh really?" You blink. "Because I found the box in the workroom and guess what was on the printer? More of your worksheets for your class!”
“How do you know they were for my class?”
You don’t answer, in favor of shoving the animal themed coloring sheets into his chest harshly.
“Listen, anyone could have…” He trails off under your withering glare.
“If you need paper, ask!”
Mingyu burns under the reprimand. “Oh, like you asked to use my paints last month?” 
“That was an accident!" you argue, eyes wide. "And I replaced them.”
“Alright, then I’ll replace the paper I took.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
With a curt nod, you turn to leave; unaware of the blushing cheeks and heart eyes following your retreating form. But the gaggle of elementary students waiting for Mingyu's return see them clear as day; their fits of shrill giggles and whispers falling on deaf ears as he shakes off the stars clouding his mind.
Mr. Kim, their goofy science teacher, has a crush. And like children are wont to do, they hatch a scheme to help him out.
“Alright. Do we remember the difference between fragments and sentences?”
The classroom ripples with tiny voices shouting “yes” with varying degrees of confidence. Their last quiz grades are proof they haven’t quite grasped the subject yet but that’s why you’re planning for an intensive review with them today.
“Awesome! So our warm up today should be a piece of cake. I’ll help with the first one so let's all look at the boa—”
A knock at the door cuts you off. Mingyu stands in the threshold, looking positively mischievous. 
“Sorry to interrupt, Ms. y/l/n. But can I speak with you in the hall?”
Forcing a smile, you respond. “Certainly. Class, why don’t you all work with your desk partner on the worksheet and when I come back we’ll go over the answers?”
They break into groups, chattering about everything but the work you’ve assigned; most notably the way Mr. Kim beams as you follow him outside. However, once you’ve crossed beyond the border of the brightly decorated room, twenty pairs of ears strain to hear why Mr. Kim interrupted their morning lesson.
“What's this about?” you ask.
Mingyu smiles, eyes shifting to the floor. “Here's the paper I owed you.” 
“You’re kidding.”
Three hefty boxes are stacked next to your door. It’s far more paper than Mingyu used for his color sheets, and more than you’d probably need for the rest of the semester.
“I thought you could use extra since you’re too stingy to share.”
“I’m not stingy!” You scoff.
Mingyu simply flashes another self-satisfied smile before heaving a box into his arms and carrying it into your classroom. He could certainly carry all three boxes at once; anytime there were desks or anything else remotely heavy to be moved, Mingyu did so with ease. But the kids don’t think anything of the way he so obviously drags out the torture.
The kids watch Mr. Kim weave through the maze of tables towards the back of the room.
“Lia, can you open the door for me please?”
The little girl jumps from her desk and bolts for the supply closet, braids bouncy with each step.
“In here okay?” Mingyu asks.
Blinking from your stupor, you turn back to your desk as you answer. “Yeah, it’s…whatever.” 
Your class stopped their work to focus on the unfolding drama between their two favorite teachers. They don’t know why you can’t seem to stand their science teacher, and it’s anyone’s guess why Mr. Kim has decided to interrupt their grammar lesson for something so silly. But it’s clear that whenever you two meet an argument is clear to follow. And in the guidebook of elementary school, if you like a girl, you always argue with them.
So enthralled in your silent battle of wits with the peppy man, you miss the two girls plotting in the corner.
Hana turns to her friends with breakneck speed. “Did you see the way Mr. Kim smiled at her?”
“He’s so in love,” Arin sighs dreamily.
“And Miss y/l/n is blushing! We should help them.”
Their whispers are cut off when you clap. “Alright! Back to work!”
Mingyu lingers by the front until you forcibly shoo him away, huffing at the permanent smile stretched across his lips even when the door slams in his face.
“Meet at the tree during recess.” 
The two girls nod and return to their worksheets.
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A new week comes with new challenges. Today’s is the universe’s determination to make your life as difficult as possible.
Your alarm didn’t go off, your shoddy dryer left you with damp clothes, and your car battery decided a short strike would be a great way to start the freezing morning. There was barely time to wash your face with cold tap water let alone put on makeup or style your hair. To top it all off, the green lunchbox with leftovers from your favorite restaurant sits on the shelf of your fridge which means the crumbled granola bar at the bottom of your purse will finally see the light of day.
Flicking on the lights, you rush to prepare for the day. By the grace of god your first period is planning time so no students witness your near breakdown from the absolute shit storm of the morning. Not much is to be done since you already organized everything you needed Friday afternoon but the tense events of the day leave you feeling off. Not even a cup of coffee with the creamer you reserve for days like these helps the overwhelming unease rippling in the back of your throat.
Your allotted private time washes by and before you know it, a gaggle of students filters into your room, giddy on holiday spirit and sugar. The first five minutes of class are spent reminding them their butts belong in chairs at their own stations, that the warmup is for them to complete on their own, and if they aren’t feeling well enough to do classwork they need to go to the nurse.
Twenty minutes into the lesson and the worksheet for their quiz on Friday finally manages to capture their attention. A few students struggle but most are sailing through. Its the same material as last week just with a new puzzle for them to complete once they have all the correct answers.
“Alright, who can tell me what word fits for number six?” you ask.
The attentiveness you’ve sweated to cultivate all morning dissolves when a volunteer knocks to distribute candy-grams.
“Delivery!” a young woman sings as she enters, dressed in red from head to toe with heart shaped sunglasses and a sparkly headband. Her wicker basket flows with candy bars wrapped with shiny ribbon and cardstock penned with confessions.
The shrill symphony of oohs and ahhs as the kids receive pieces of candy raises the vein on your temple. 
“And for Ms. y/l/n!” the young woman sing-songs, heart headband bouncing as she approaches your desk.
The cardstock reads one of the cheesy messages the school provides for the Valentine cards they sell as a yearly fundraiser.
‘I like you a choco-lot! - your secret admirer’ 
You throw it into a drawer in your desk, oblivious to the crestfallen faces of two little girls watching with rapt attention. 
“I don’t think she likes chocolate,” Arin whispers.
“No. Remember during Halloween? She said her favorite candy is Twix. She gave Gabi an extra point on the spelling test when she brought in her halloween candy and gave them to her.” 
“Well maybe she’s mad because it wasn’t a Twix!”
“Maybe. But Mr. Kim didn’t react to the note on his desk this morning either,” Hana huffs. “But he was late so maybe he didn’t see it.”
Your second attempt to put class back on track falls flat. Instead of group review, kids come up to your desk one by one to check their answers while you nurse your headache until the bell dismisses everyone to their next destination. Another crop of students flood the seats, emotions running high from who did and didn’t receive candy in their last class. Two students end up arguing about who knows what and then proceed to break into frustrated tears.
You bite your tongue to stop from doing the same and put on one of the movies you reserve for days like these.
When Mingyu walks into your room after school ends and all the kids are dismissed for pick up, you give him a look that sends him turning around and exiting the way he came without a word.
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Tuesday brings a better attitude. Mostly because you get to take all of your class to the library for silent reading. But the homemade stirfry sitting in your lunch box in the teacher’s lounge helps too.
Your second period kids spread out through the room, some sprawled across the worn rugs on their bellies while others curl up in the much coveted bean bags; a few choose to hide between the imposing bookshelves, crowded on all sides by the smell of old paper. 
With an overly sweetened latte sitting in one hand, and a new novel in the other, you perch at the long table near the librarian's desk to ‘supervise.’
“How did you manage to get a copy of The Gate? I couldn’t even get the pre-order before it sold out.” Elise, the librarian, asks. 
You smile into your coffee cup before responding. “Eh, I know a guy.”
“You do? I thought you didn’t date?”
“I don’t.” You nod. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t have connections.”
“Well whoever your ‘connection’ is, send them my way when you're done with him.”
You pretend to ponder before answering, “I’ll think about it.”
Snapping your book shut, you rise to gather the kids to return back to class. It takes several minutes as a few refuse to join the line until their current chapter is finished and Kai pulls out the puppy dog eyes, begging to stay all day to finish his book. 
You corral them out the door with promises of more reading time on Friday if they behave well the rest of the week. Some roll their eyes but most nod enthusiastically at the opportunity to skip on their weekly quiz.
Unlocking the door, you unpack your things and find a basket of Valentine’s on your desk to be passed out. Almost all the kids receive at least one, some find two or even three heart shaped sugar cookies on their desk. Your heart squeezes when some of the students decide to divy up their cookies and gift them to the students who didn’t receive a note. 
The last cookie at the bottom of the basket has a note with your name on it and a message in the same swirly script as yesterday’s.
We go together like milk and cookies. - your secret admirer
As far as cheesy Valentine’s go, you’ve seen worse. But free snacks are free snacks and the confection tastes great dipped in your coffee.
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Your fourth period class focuses on their worksheets, silently deciphering the reading and ticking of questions. You promised whatever group finished first with the most right answers gets a special Valentine treat; full sized candies and extra credit on Friday. 
Whatever it takes to keep them focused while you work through grading everything for your other classes.
You don’t notice the man waiting at the door until one of your kids greet their science teacher; a ripple of tiny ‘Hi, Mr. Kim!’s following. 
“Sorry to interrupt,” Mingyu announces from the door. “But, ugh, the volunteer accidentally gave me this.”
“Oh! Thanks Min—Mr. Kim.” 
You take the can of orange soda from his hand and skim the note.
I have a ‘crush’ on you. - your secret admirer
None of the students can read the note from their seats but you and Mr. Kim look equally bashful. 
“What are you guys working on? Mingyu asks, hoping to diffuse the tension.
A cacophony of voice race to explain their assignment. Mingyu pretends to understand, smiling at their enthusiasm and grabbing a worksheet for himself. 
He plants himself in one of the tiny plastic chairs next to your desk meant for ten year olds rather than a grown man of his size. It’s comical the way his knees brush his chest and any small move across the slippery seat threatens to land him on the floor.
Reviewing the sheet, Mingyu announces, “Alright, how about if you guys finish your work before me, we can have a pizza party in my class on Friday?”
More screams bounce off the walls.
“You guys can’t finish if you’re talking to Mr. Kim,” you remind them.
The room descends into a cozy calm; the sound of pencils on paper, your keyboard clicks, and the soft jazz from the computer speakers blending together.
You don’t look up to grab the answer key from the corner of the desk, Mingyu huffing from his seat at being caught.
“No cheating,” you smirk under your breath.
“Creative strategy,” he argues.
Instead of answering you shake your head and continue to focus on your own tasks. 
Ten minutes and twenty emails later, two groups of students rise and approach your desk at the same time. 
“We finished first!”
“No, we did!”
“Guys,” you interrupt them. “I’ll grade them both and whoever has more right wins. Besides, Mr. Kim owes you a pizza party anyway.”
The entire class cheers at the news while Mingyu playfully pouts. Maybe if he hadn’t given up on his worksheet to snoop through the basket full of snacks on your bookshelf, he wouldn’t be eating his own words.
The second group of students to approach your desk ends up victorious. You mark down their candy orders to pick up on your weekly grocery shopping trip on Thursday night before sending them to back up their belongings so you can all head to the cafeteria.
“What’d you bring for lunch?” Mingyu asks as he walks with you to the teachers lounge to retrieve your lunch boxes.
“Pasta salad.”
“Wanna trade?” 
“What’d you bring?” you ask, handing him the black grocery bag you know carries his lunch.
“Pasta salad.”
You roll your eyes and kick the fridge shut.
After lunch you have another free period. The printing room is empty so you take advantage and make enough copies for the rest of the week. Perhaps Mingyu wasn’t wrong to bring you three boxes of paper.
Lugging the stack in hand, you turn down that hall only to find a familiar face standing guard outside your classroom.
“Arin? Why are you in the hallway? You should be in class.”
“I was just…going to the bathroom!”
“Really? Because there's a bathroom right outside Mrs. Lee’s classroom if I remember correctly.”
“It was gross!”
Considering Mrs. Lee’s classroom sits on the main hallway and intersects with two other grades, it probably looked more akin to a battlefield than a restroom at this time of day.
“Okay…but hurry back. And I’m gonna let Mrs. Lee know what took you so long so she isn’t worried.” 
You side step around her but she moves right into your path. And then again. And again.
“Arin, what are you doing?” 
“Sorry, Ms. y/l/n. I don’t feel good. Can you walk me to the nurse?”
Crouching to her height, you rest the back of your hand against her forehead. Arin never admits she doesn’t feel well even when she’s tinged green and hacking up a lung. It’s the perfect admission to keep you from peering past the threshold of your classroom and blowing the entire operation.
Until a loud crash and high pitched scream breaks the silence of the hallway.
You jump back up.“What the—”
“Wait!” Arin shouts, throwing her arms and legs wide to block your path like a three foot tall ‘X’.
“Arin, what is going on?” 
“Mr. Kim said animals make themselves bigger to be scarier,” Arin says, tiny face scowling.
“And why are you trying to scare me?” 
Another bang echoes out the classroom forcing you to pick the little girl up by her armpits and carry her inside with you. She slips from your hold as you stare with a wide mouth at the scene. A desk is pulled up to the board allowing Hana to balance atop it as she scribbles across the chalkboard.
Wil you be my Valintin? - Mr. K
“Hana! What are you doing?”
“Arin!” Hana huffs indignantly.
Arin opens her mouth to respond but the look on your face silences both girls. You help Hana down from the desktop before crossing your arms in front of you and taking a deep breath.
“Sit. Now.”
They trudge to the seats next to your desk; heads hung low, tears brimming in their eyes. Neither has been on the receiving end of such a reprimand before; they’re usually your best behaved students.
You allow them to stew in silence as you right the two chairs Hana knocked over. She doesn’t look injured which is a relief but your nerves are shot from the perplexing situation. Hana and Arin can be troublemakers but they’ve never done anything like this before.
Once you're certain the urge to yell at them is quelled you approach your desk and take a seat. You watch them expectantly. Arin chances a glance up and swiftly looks back to her lap while Hana focuses on the picture at the edge of your desk, blinking away tears.
“Girls,” you sigh. “What were you doing in here?”
“Ms. y/l/n,” Arin blubbers.
Presenting the tissue box, you wait several moments while they both dab their eyes and blow their noses before speaking again.
“We just thought…” Hana starts, glancing at the other girl.
“Thought what?”
“Mr. Kim’s in love with you and we wanted to help!”
“I see.” You nod. “Did Mr. Kim tell you that?”
They look at each other before shaking their heads ‘no.’
Your temple throbs from the situation. A measured breath through your nose sends the girls into a frenzy.
“We can tell!”
“You’re perfect for eachother!”
“And did Mr. Kim ask you to sneak into my classroom while I wasn’t here?”
“No ma’am,” they mumble in unison.
It dawns on you that the two girls have been behind all the gifts you’ve received this week.“Are you two behind all the Valentine’s I’ve gotten?”
“We were just trying to help!” cries Arin.
Moving to crouch in front of them, you wait until they both look up at you.
“It’s very sweet what you were trying to do and I’m sorry I yelled at you. But you can’t sneak out of class. What if something happened and you got hurt climbing the table?”
“I’m sorry,.” Hana says.
“Me too.” 
You pass them more tissues to wipe their noses.
“How about we get you two back to class?”
“But what about Mr. Kim?”
“Yeah! He needs to know how you feel.”
“That’s between Mr. Kim and I. Understand? Those are grown up things.”
The repulsion painting their faces forces you to bite back a snort. Instead you offer your hands, pinkies extended towards them both.
“How ‘bout this? I promise to talk to Mr. Kim if you two promise no more meddling. Okay?”
All three of you share a smile as you intertwine their pinkies with your own. 
“Now,” you say whilst jumping to your feet. “You are supposed to be in Mrs. Lee’s class. And you are supposed to be at the library.”
Escorting them both back to where they belong, they can’t help but giggle when you pass Mr. Kim’s room and he waves. The question is clear on his face but you shrug your shoulders. 
You’ll explain everything later.
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You smile knowingly at the corner of the classroom where two little cupids sit as the volunteer brings you a lollipop with a note reading ‘I’m a sucker for you.’
Part of you feels guilty they pooled their own money together to supply you and the teacher next door with treats all week in an effort to play matchmaker. But another part can’t help but laugh. And when you get the chance to tell Mingyu what they’ve planned you’ll no doubt laugh harder.
But because the universe somehow knows you lied to your students the day prior you find your reckoning in the cafeteria.
It was Mingyu’s fault. Or at least that’s what you argue. You barely made it three steps inside the room before the large man bulldozes you; sending his lunch and your own down your fronts in a palette of greens and browns.
His eyes widen in horror as a slice of tomato peels off your shirt and flops to the floor. “I am so sorry!”
“Seriously?” you choke.
The entire school watches with baited breath. Students and teachers alike watch with abject horror as you skirt around the taller man and flee with shaking shoulders and your chin dipped into your chest. Mingyu gapes like a fish as you run by, frozen in place. As hundreds of eyes settle on him, he realizes they all saw how he drenched you in salad and coffee. 
Mrs. Lee dismisses him with a nod, silently agreeing to watch his class so he can trapeze out to his car and find something suitable to wear.
Mingyu watches the game of kickball unfold across the field, keeping an eye on the rowdier students as they pick teams. But even from a distance he recognizes one face is notably absent.
He finds Kai slumped on a bench at the far corner of the playground using a stick to draw lines in the dirt at his feet.
“Hey, buddy. You feeling okay?” Mingyu asks. 
Kai never misses a game of kickball. Even when his arm was in a cast at the beginning of the year, he insisted he only needed one good arm to play defense and neither to play offense. Kai’s mom simply laughed at Mingyu’s concerned email and said her son was exactly like his dad and there was no stopping him if he was set on something.
So to have the little curly haired boy isolated on the far edge of the field is serious cause for concern.
Kai looks up briefly at Mingyu’s approach before returning to his mud art. “Mr. Kim, have you ever liked someone?”
“Liked someone?” Mingyu drops onto the bench next to him.
“Like,” the little boy inhales trying to explain himself. “Like a girl?”
Mingyu snuffs out his chuckle at Kai’s innocent question. “Yeah, why do you ask? Do you like a girl?”
“I–My friend does!”
“Okay,” Mingyu nods.
“And he doesn’t know how to tell her.”
“Well that's tough.” 
“How’d you tell the girl you liked?”
“Well,” Mingyu drops to a whisper. “Once upon a time, I had a crush on this girl. And she was the prettiest girl I ever saw. Smart and funny too.”
“Did she run fast?”
The question confuses Mingyu at first but then he remembers he’s talking to a ten year old and the rules of attraction hinge on who gets the swing the highest and jumps off.
“She ran really fast,” he nods. “And she made me so nervous I couldn’t talk to her. My palms got all sweaty and my face turned red.”
“That happens to m—I mean my friend!”
“And it feels like there's a bunch of frogs jumping around your stomach?”
“Yeah,” Kai nods. “So how’d you tell her?”
“Well one day, I finally decided to introduce myself. Walked right up to her, opened my mouth and…poof.”
“Poof?”
“Poof.” Mingyu hangs his head. “I forgot everything I was gonna say to her.”
“What happened after that?”
“She waited a few minutes and then said ‘okay, I’ll meet you at 6:30 for dinner.’”
“She knew you liked her?”
Mingyu nods gravely before imparting his most sage wisdom. “Girls are very smart, Kai.”
“So I should try and tell her I like her?”
“Your friend should at least try,” Mingyu shrugs.
Kai blushes, having been clearly caught. “But what if she doesn’t like him back?”
“That’s okay. It just wasn’t meant to be.”
“Thanks, Mr. Kim. You’re the best!”
“You’re welcome, buddy.” Mingyu gives him a fist bump before shooing him back towards his friends. “Now go play kickball, the boys need your help.”
Kai runs off but a new presence fills the vacant seat on the bench. 
“I thought we agreed to keep our romantic life a secret at work.”
Mingyu smiles sheepishly before turning to look at you. “Oh, you heard that?” 
“Yeah, I heard,” you smile. “They already think you have a crush on me.”
“Smart kids.” He says, enjoying the way the worn sage button up swallows your figure. 
Mingyu loves when you wear his clothes, he told you this morning when you stole his favorite jacket. Which is why you both took almost twenty minutes to gain your composure after he spilled an entire tray of food on you. 
Mingyu swears he didn’t do it on purpose. How could he have known you were coming through the door at that very moment? But he’d do it again if it meant seeing you in one of the spare shirts he keeps in the truck again. Even if it meant he’d also sustain minor coffee burns.
“They think I have a crush on you too.”
You watch the way he traces your collar bone, catching the twinkle of the diamond pendant resting at the hollow of your throat; his birthstone. It was the first piece of jewelry he bought you when you started dating almost a decade ago. 
You hadn’t taken it off since the day he gave it to you with shaky hands and red ears.
“Do you?” He asks.
“Do I, what?”
“Have a crush on me?”
“Oh Gyu,” you coo at him. “I have the fattest crush on you.”
“Damn right you do.”
Sitting outside with an entire audience of other teachers and students doesn’t allow either of you to fall into the familiar comfort of adorning kisses or airtight hugs. But Mingyu’s pinky brushing yours in the ample space between your figures is enough for now.
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Friday is Valentine’s day which means all the kids don red and pink outfits and prepare for a day of candy filled fun. You spent all morning helping the art teacher set up paint stations. Why she cashed in on the long owed favor with such a simple task was beyond you but the monotony is a nice change from the chaos you’ve experienced all week. When second period rolls around, you shuffle back to your classroom; welcomed by the line of students waiting outside your locked door. 
“I swear! I saw Mr. Kim and Ms. y/l/n at the grocery store last night.”
“Hana, Ms. y/l/n said its grown up business. Maybe you just saw people that look like them,” Arin shrugs. “And I don’t wanna get in trouble again.”
“It had to be them!”
They quiet down as they walk past your figure, smiling like cherubs when you greet them.
Students file in one by one, shrill voices echoing from excitement. Most cheer about their pizza party with Mr. Kim later that afternoon, a few squeals about the set of Valentine’s their parents sent with them to handout. 
Your ears catch a few other snippets of conversation as you wait for the stragglers to make it by. 
“Oh my gosh those are so pretty!”
“Those look like the flowers my mommy likes!”
Curiosity gets the better of you, forcing you to step into the room and see what the kids are talking about. 
An explosion of pink camellias resting on your desk. Huge blossoms with pale pink petals spill over the sides of the vase, slips of greenery sprinkled throughout. Approaching your desk, the floral aroma fills your nose. The blooms feel like soft velvet under the pad of your finger tracing the largest one in the center of the arrangement.
Who on earth?
As if on cue a mop of black hair peaks in from the hall. Mingyu eyes the bouquet and the pleased look on your face before allowing his own to break into his infamous smile.
“Just wanted to make sure they got here safe,” he calls.
You whip your head up, eyes wide and mouth open at the can of worms he just spilled.
“What?” Mingyu asks innocently. “Can’t a man buy his fiancee flowers?”
He disappears with a wink but his laughter at the chaos he’s stirred up can be heard miles away.
“MISS Y/L/N YOU’RE MARRIED?” Mark screams.
Another shrill voice answers, “Fiancee means they’re almost married, idiot!” 
“You lied to us!” Arin and Hana chorus.
Dropping into your chair, you hide your burning face in your hands. Coincidentally it also hides your shy grin from the hoard of ten year olds jumping in their seats at the news.Mingyu is in so much trouble.
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A few weeks before the new school year starts, a group of nearly eleven year olds crowd into the pews of the massive church at the center of town. Stained glass reflects patterns over the marble floors, casting them in a rainbow of colors. 
Some sit on their hands to calm the adrenaline pumping through their tiny veins. Others rock back and forth in an effort to watch Mr. Kim strut down the aisle in a fancy looking suit. 
But all of them gasp when you turn the corner.
You look like a real life princess in your wedding dress, floating towards their science teacher waiting at the altar with tears and a smile matching your own.
When you and Mr. Kim kiss, the girls squeal and the boys blush.
Several rows ahead sits a small group of older students, who’ve long graduated elementary school and are headed to college in a few days. They exchange satisfied smiles and pat themselves on the back for getting their favorite fourth grade teachers together all those years ago.
Maybe now your new classes won’t try playing Cupid like they do every year given Mr. Kim finally married their favorite teacher.
-
Fic taglist: @tacosandbitch @leechanniee @syprosight @prettygyuuu @itza-meee @cottoncheol @ashluvy @jkslvsnella @xuimhao @vanishingboots @miujunhui @viciousdarlings @imprettyweird @akeminy @sana-is-ms-rmty @jayfrvr @watermelonsugawara @bouclesdefeu
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@cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @tomodachiii @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @gyuguys @primoppang @mine-gyu
© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.
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meiieiri · 5 months
Text
water’s edge | 01
₊˚.༄ pairing: crown prince!gojo satoru x f!reader | setting: modern royal au
₊˚.༄ summary: in a world where titles define their fates, gojo satoru, the crown prince of japan, and his wife-to-be, face a tempestuous court of deception and schadenfreude. as they waltz on the edge of ruin, can their love endure the treacherous waters that threaten to pull them apart, or will the whims of the enigmatic chrysanthemum throne prove strong enough to drown them both?
₊˚.༄ author’s note: thank you so much to @angstbot2000, my awesome beta-reader for sitting through this 9.07k word count monstrosity of a first chapter! and with that, here we go~!
₊˚.༄ masterlist
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He was every bit the worldly man portrayed to be by the media and that alone is enough to terrify you, even as you sit about a full foot apart from him, feeling the pinprick of his ice-cold demeanor pierce your skin like a thousand needles.
“Your Highness, how have we never heard of your relationship with Ms. (Y/N) before unlike your previous ones?”, a correspondent from the NHK Broadcasting Corporation asks from the crowd of reporters, surprisingly at their most civil and dignified behavior before their future emperor and empress, literal gods in mortal form, embodiment of unadulterated divinity on earth in Japan’s distinct imperial past, one much different from today’s democratic and liberal political climate.
Gojo’s eye twitches at that.
It was a simple question, but it struck a nerve in him, angering him more than you ever could by merely existing. Though it was a valid inquiry, all of Satoru’s relationships have always been well-documented by the media, save for one. His supposed relationship with you.
You move to clutch his hand in an attempt to calm him down, having sensed his discomfort, but he only shrugs his hand away before you could even come within a quarter of an inch of touching him.
“My apologies, your Highness,” the reporter apologizes quickly when Satoru doesn’t answer right away, turning to the woman in charge of the press conference, situated by the podium displaying the seal of the imperial family. “Sorry, may I rephrase that?”
She turns to look at the prince, subtly asking for his permission. With a slight nod of his head, Satoru doles out his merciful forgiveness towards the reporter, keenly aware that it would only take him a second to have his staff contact the NHK Broadcasting Company and have them fire him before he could even return to the office.
“Thank you,” he bows gratefully. “Rephrasing my earlier question, would your Highness mind if you share a few words about how you and Ms. (Y/N) met?”
Satoru Gojo is a man who goes by many identities, as attested by tabloids and reputable newspapers alike; they agree on the fact that Satoru Gojo is a womanizer, a card shark, and the harbinger of disaster to the imperial family. He never sleeps with the same woman more than once, oftentimes leaving a poor naive girl entangled in a mess of sheets even before the morning sun filters through the motel’s bedroom windows. The crown prince isn’t entirely heartless though, he is quite known to leave a generous sum of money tucked neatly in a small envelope as a “thank you” gift to all the women he’s been with.
Not that it dulls the sting of humiliation, of course, it still hurts like hell to be treated as an expendable commodity that’s only good for a one night stand.
Funny how that grotesque description is starting to sound like you.
Another rumor about Satoru Gojo is that he’s a reckless card shark; one who goes to fine hotels during after-hours when the bar and lounge is reworked into a gambling den for the ultra rich and wealthy, closed to the unsuspecting plebeians, only frequented by those whose morals fall within the scope of gray and obsidian black. The young prince has been rumored to religiously go to these kinds of establishments to play high stakes poker games more often than he ever visits the family shrine where his ancestors are entombed in an uneasy eternal rest. The poor Emperor Meiji must be rolling in his grave seeing the imperial family’s impending doom at the hands of his great great grandson whose only real ambition in life is to waste it on the vulgar things that high society hedonistically craves.
One last thing to keep in mind about your fiancé is that he is a consummate actor, having honed the talent of keeping up appearances since his first public appearance as a child of only seven years old, alongside his mother and father during the opening ceremony of the Winter Olympics which Tokyo had been selected to host earlier that year.
He squeezes your hand, despite rejecting the compassionate gesture earlier, and looks deep into your eyes with false fondness, fully aware that he was imagining the face of another in place of yours.
His nails bitterly dig into your skin as the cameras go off, capturing the tender moment between the two of you. To anyone outside the circle which you and Satoru unwillingly find each other entrapped in, the two of you were the quintessential picture-perfect couple, gazing at one another as if the world the two of you had found yourselves in would spiral out of its orbit had one of you dared to look away, The tabloids have even begun to call your unexpected engagement a modern-day fairytale unfolding before everyone’s eyes.
But that was just it, this entire arrangement — you and Satoru Gojo were nothing more than unwilling participants in a fabricated Cinderella story.
“Well, we met informally a few times before, during the national shamisen competition held in Kyoto two years ago and the awarding ceremony of our very own national artists where she received the title of ‘national treasure’ earlier last year–”
The many reporters scribble this information down on their bullet journals or tablets, hoping to piece together the exact timeline of this relationship. It is rather peculiar for the crown prince to suddenly reveal he is getting married, and to some mystery woman at that — not that the press was unfamiliar with you,with most of them being very much aware of your identity as a renowned traditional Japanese instrumentalist, but what eludes them is the manner in which you found yourself suddenly romantically involved with Prince Satoru Gojo of all people, whose affairs are heavily publicized by the media. The grotesque manner in which it is publicized is a different story.
“But we first met formally during His Majesty the Emperor’s silver jubilee. His Majesty is a benefactor to the Japan Arts Council and is a patron to many music conservatories in the country, and as such, is very interested in the fine arts. It just so happened that Ms. (Y/N) had been invited to play for us on the night of the Royal Gala.”
That was typical; the prince first meets the princess in a ball, looking upon her absolutely enthralled as she enters the ballroom, captivated like he was under some form of trance. His eyes would stay glued to her as she danced along to the crescendo of the string quartet, the hem of her gown fluttering about her form like a gentle stream of star-fall as she twirled gracefully under the bright chandelier lights. His lips would be parted, dazedly wondering who the girl could be and if they were ever fated to meet again.
But alas, one has to remind themselves that the age of dreaming of such hopelessly romantic nonsense, especially at twenty-three, is long over.
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FLASHBACK: His Majesty’s Silver Jubilee Gala
The Chrysanthemum Throne should have died the day the envoys of the late Emperor Shōwa, Foreign Minister Mamora Shigemitsu and General Yoshijiro Umezu, ascended the gangway of the USS Missouri to sign the unconditional surrender of the Japanese Empire to the allied forces that laid waste to the Japanese islands. With the allied powers marching onwards to the capital city of Tokyo, having left nothing in their wake but the ashes of an empire that had been brought to its knees by the fires of merciless destruction that rained from countless air raids, the narrative should have moved towards the abolishment of the entire imperial system and the immediate execution of the emperor. But in a bid to refashion the emperor as a symbol of continuity for Japan, General Douglas Macarthur’s decision to not hold Emperor Shōwa accountable for the war crimes committed in his name during the height of World War II allowed the last remnant of Japan’s imperial past to survive. Save for the removal of the emperor’s political power, the oldest monarchy in the world was left relatively unharmed.
Still, despite the fact that the imperial system had been effectively humbled after the war, this was not so evident as you walked through the imposing halls of the imperial palace.The Kita-Damari north lobby you passed through earlier gave an impression of uncontested refinement; the entire floor had been constructed from the most exquisite granite from Yamaguchi prefecture, and the walls embellished with cedar wood that can only be found in Kumamoto prefecture. If the lobby was meant to portray elegance, then, the Houmei-den State Banquet Hall exuded an air of absolute power that could make anyone tremble in the face of such magnificence; you could recognize the tapestry work of the legendary artist Gakuryo Nakamura as the main decoration piece for the walls, and even more rare stones and wood from Japan’s many prefectures serving as the foundation of the gargantuan hall.
It was half past nine when you accidentally locked eyes with the crown prince that night. This entire time, you’ve envisioned the imperial family as images on your phone screen. You didn’t think for one second that they could be real and that Satoru Gojo, the crown prince of your nation, despite all the disturbing rumors surrounding him these past few years, would be so ethereally beautiful, like he had been fashioned from pure celestial moonlight.
You avert your gaze immediately upon catching yourself staring at him, knowing you weren’t supposed to as part of royal protocol which you’d been thoroughly briefed on the moment you received the invitation to perform for the imperial family. You uneasily remove yourself from the hall in search of the lavatory to touch up your makeup when you come face-to-face with the empress who also excused herself from the festivities to get some air.
She doesn’t notice you at first as she continues to take a drag from her cigarette, staring blankly at the koi fish that swam about the courtyard garden’s pond. From afar, she looked to be an ordinary woman, not the untouchable monarch you thought she was alongside the rest of her family, her ivory hair was neatly pulled back into a tight bun, several crystal hair pieces dotting her silky locks. You quietly made your way towards the powder room, your pace slowing down as you inch closer to the empress not really knowing what to do.
Should you let her be while she’s having a moment to herself or do you intrude on the hallowed ground of her presence as protocol dictates with a low curtsy?
“Your Royal Highness,” you greet her, in a soft voice, stopping to curtsy as you pass by and she kindly hums in acknowledgement.
“Ms. (Y/N),” she turns to face you, discarding her half-finished cigarette in the jade ashtray. “Forgive me for smoking in front of you, do you mind?”
Secondhand smoke.
From that statement alone, though brief as it is, sheds light into the empress’s character as being empathetic, and compassionate. You shake your head, subconsciously playing with your clutch bag. “Thank you.” She reaches into her clutch bag again to pull out her pack, slotting a cigarette between her lips. “How are you enjoying the banquet so far? I hope it is to your liking.”
“I don’t think what I say should really matter. After all, I’m only a guest.” Your meek character causes the empress to let out the tiniest of laughs. A smile plays at your lips seeing her face morph into a soft chortle, her earlier troubles seemingly leaving her mind for a bit as she speaks with you. “But, in all seriousness, your Highness, I think the banquet is going well. Most of the other guests seem to feel the same way.”
The empress nods, relieved. “That’s good to hear, by the way, I hope your performance goes well,” she says. “His Majesty and I have been looking forward to it all evening.”
A blush paints your cheeks. As the only guest artist who will be playing a traditional Japanese instrument, the tsugaru shamisen, you were the odd one out among the other distinguished national artists who will be playing Western instruments such as the piano, the harp or the violin and many others. “That means a lot to me, your Highness, thank you,” you bow forty-five degrees.
“Well,” the empress says warmly, wrapping up the surprisingly refreshing conversation. “I wouldn’t want to keep you now, I’ll see you back inside,” she picks up her pearl-embellished clutch bag, and re-arranges her diamond tiara before excusing herself. As she makes her way back inside the reception hall to rejoin her family, she thinks back to the girl she just serendipitously met with a small smile on her face. Ms. (Y/N), she thinks to herself, recalling your name with a certain lightness in her heart.
Just then, her son, Satoru walks up to her, righting his lapel and the medal of the Supreme Order of the Chrysanthemum pinned to the left breast-pocket of his full royal uniform. “Mother,” he greets her formally, planting a quick kiss on her cheek. Gojo’s face falls when he sees his mother’s watchful eyes anxiously scouring the room for a particular person. “Mother, what is it?” he asks, concerned at her expression. Suddenly, his mother stiffens when she finds the exact person she is looking for, obvious displeasure painting her features.
Satoru tries to calm his mother down, his voice as soft as a feather’s touch, “Mother…” he trails off.
“You brought her here?” the empress whispers harshly, almost in disbelief that her son would be so insolent enough to do such a thing — by ‘such a thing’, she meant unscrupulously bringing along his Machiavellian Chief-of-Staff, Himiko Zenin, who seemed to relish in the attention being gallantly given to her by the many foreign heads of state in the banquet hall.
“And what is she wearing?”
Her face contorts into one of annoyance when she sees Himiko parading around the unmistakable Akoya pearl necklace only to be worn by members of the imperial family on her neck. The empress is not one to use unsavory words even for someone she dislikes with every fiber of her being, but she could not help but liken Himiko to a bitch brandishing a new expensive collar. She swears the sight alone is enough to make her vomit. “Is she a member of the imperial family now, Satoru, what on earth—!”
“She’s not hurting anybody,” Satoru’s eyes narrowed into slits at his mother’s reaction.
“She’s hurting you!” the empress hisses, begging her son to see reason. Satoru has been made well-aware of the fact that keeping Himiko around was not good for his public image, yet, he still insists on fanning the flames that could sooner devour his pipe dream of inheriting his father’s crown.
Satoru glares at his mother, before proceeding to spare his radiant Chief-of-Staff an amused glance, a sense of pride forming in his chest seeing her alluring charm at work as she mingles effortlessly with his father’s guests. He often argues that Himiko is the blueprint of the perfect future consort — she comes from the Zenin political clan that has made Tokyo its political stronghold since the 1970s, she is intelligent in all ways from being fluent in many languages to knowing the law from inside out, charming and charismatic, and most of all, easy on the eyes. A smirk forms on Gojo’s lips when he sees Himiko sharing a laugh with the wife of the Russian ambassador as if to prove his point.
“Let’s just go,” he ignores her pleas, gently pulling his distraught mother away to take their seats next to his father, nonchalantly condoning Himiko’s brazen-faced behavior.
As long as he was around, no one could harm her, not even the empress.
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“Acknowledging the representative correspondent from Nippon News Network, Mr. Nozomi. You may ask your question now,” the floor adjutant says into the microphone.
“Thank you,” Nozomi stands up, momentarily adjusting his press ID. He flips through his leatherbound notebook in search of the query he hastily wrote earlier. “This question is directed to Ms. (Y/N).” A spiteful quiet scoff escapes Satoru’s lips, sending waves of hurt in your chest. What could you possibly contribute to this already awkward conversation? And what did you even know about the imperial system’s traditions?
“Ms. (Y/N), I’d like to know your thoughts on marrying into the imperial family at this delicate time. As you probably know, many of our citizens are questioning the relevance of the imperial system now that our country has embraced democratic values over pro-imperialist ones, thus, leading to the formation of staunch anti-royalists groups. Do you believe that your marriage to Prince Satoru would bring about a positive change to Japan’s current political landscape?”
Your thoughts stutter. “Political…landscape?” you think aloud, and Satoru only smiles/smirks in cold amusement, taking a sip of his sparkling water and eyeing you from his peripheral, seeing you pathetically struggle to conjure up a coherent answer. You haven’t exactly gotten to learn about your duties yet as Gojo’s future wife and a future princess, and he was eager to see how you’ll worm your way out of this one. Of course you neither understood the intricacies of the world you were marrying into nor the unknown minefield you dared tread; most women who throw themselves at Gojo’s feet, kissing the soles of his shoes deplorably begging them to marry him, are like that — naive, unintelligent — he looks at your plain features again and rolls his eyes severely disappointed — and criminally boring to look at in comparison to the standard he has set.
“My apologies, Mr. Nozomi,” a soft smile graces Satoru’s lips when he hears her melodious voice cutting through the awkward tension in the air as you wrack your head for an answer. “But, it seems you’ve caught Ms. (Y/N) off guard there. Perhaps, you have another question that’s a bit…easier to understand? We are, after all, here to bear witness to an engagement, not a political fora.”
Himiko steps forward from her spot next to the member of the Imperial Household Agency who was facilitating this press conference, her dainty hands clasped in front of her in an immaculately proper posture befitting the crown prince’s Chief-of-Staff and his rightful future wife, or so Gojo thought. How he wished it had been her who sat next to him today, with the diamond encrusted engagement ring he reluctantly gave you adorning her ring finger instead. Gojo’s intrusive thoughts swarm in his mind as they tempt him to kiss her in front of all these cameras and single handedly destroy his engagement to you in a single, gut-wrenching blow. But he is quick to stop himself when he remembers his mother’s words earlier this morning.
“This is your last chance, Satoru. This is the last thing I can do to save you, please don’t do anything you’ll regret.”
At any point in time, he would have succumbed to his desire to expose his relationship with his beloved Chief-of-Staff, but this was a pivotal moment that could spell the end for him and his ambitions if he does so much as make a single move that could anger his father. And what’s worse was he might not be able to guarantee Himiko’s safety if that happens. Satoru, therefore, resigns himself to continue holding your hand, albeit reluctantly, his fingers finding the gaps of yours.
The reporter nods at Himiko’s backhanded request.
“My apologies, then,” he ratifies his question to make it more suitable for someone of your caliber. You couldn’t help but shrink into yourself, feeling that you are being patronized by everyone in this room — from your frigid fiancé to his Chief-of-Staff who was severely outclasses you in eloquence, refinement and sophistication and to all the members of the press that had been invited today whose reception to your engagement to the crown prince has been lukewarm at best. “My question then is—“
“—I am sorry for taking too long to answer your question, Mr. Nozomi.” Satoru’s eyes flicker over to yours, taken aback when you speak up. “I, unfortunately, am not yet that familiar with the current situation concerning these said groups, and,” you bite your lip, thinking of what to say next. “I don’t think I’m qualified enough to give an objective opinion on whether my marriage to his Highness will bring about a positive change to our nation.”
Gojo grimly scowls as he watches you make amends with your forthcoming destiny as his future wife, and heaven willing, empress of the nation.
“And I cannot promise that I will lead this country to greatness. I cannot grant laws to uphold and promote justice, I most certainly cannot lead our defense forces to defend our nation, but…”
You think back to why you came here in the first place, your heart pounds violently in your chest as adrenaline rushes through your entire body.
“But I can do this: I can dedicate my entire life to making this country a better place for our people, though, I still do not quite know the way. But I will most certainly do my utmost to try.”
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FLASHBACK: His Majesty’s Silver Jubilee Gala
You don’t know how they do it — standing in front of a multitude of people under the glare of the limelight, about a thousand pairs of eyes trained on you as if at that moment, you stood at the very center of the world without cracking. This was the life they were born into, a life that overflowed with the contrasting worlds of luxury and duty, power and powerlessness, indulgence and deprivation. The women of the imperial family were dressed in the most luxurious of gowns with hundreds of precious stones sewn onto the fabric, and the men wore their dignified navy uniforms. All of the people in the hall have gathered far and wide to bring good tidings to the emperor and his family, bringing gifts of jewels, national treasures, and promises of a stronger alliance with Japan. Yet, something felt off about them — their faces, although trained and poised to smile, were pictures of discomfort.
The white-haired prince you had locked eyes with earlier, the one who watched you intently throughout your performance as you skillfully struck the strings of your shamisen with the bachi producing a sound that resonates deep within the primal past of Japan, stared at you with an unreadable expression as he clapped his hands. You offer him the smallest of smiles to be polite just like you did with the empress earlier when you found her smoking outside the banquet hall, but he does not reciprocate the gesture, his eyes devoid of any warmth unlike his mother. Standing before the crowd of many world leaders and the imperial family, you bow reverently before your public, your shamisen strapped to your body, while your calloused fingers gripped the bachi of the instrument.
The crowd thundered with applause, most of the foreign dignitaries rising to their feet, giving you a standing ovation as you finished your piece. You bow again when the applause continues for another minute or so.
Satoru grimaces when he hears his father whisper to his mother. “Isn’t she amazing?” he marvels at your performance, showering you with more praise for that brief number than he ever gave his son for the majority of his life.
The empress senses Satoru’s growing ire, and nudges her son’s arm, consoling him despite their earlier disagreement about bringing Himiko to the gala. Satoru doesn’t know what to feel. Despite all his shortcomings and his active efforts to build an impenetrable steel wall between them, his mother still does everything in her power to meet him halfway. As his hand reaches to find his mother’s, however, he spots Himiko exiting the hall, stopping mid-way to stare at him with her irresistible fox-like eyes, tempting him to follow her like a siren beckoning an unfortunate sailor to surrender to the abyssal depths.
“Satoru,” his mother says under her breath, holding onto the belief that her son could muster up the willpower to resist Himiko’s whims. The emperor was about to give his courtesy address, and having the crown prince walk out at this moment would be severely inappropriate, not to mention, damaging to his already bad reputation. “Satoru, please.”
His father ascends the steps, each stride evoking a deep sadness and longing in Satoru. Somehow, the crown prince hones in on the clicking of his father’s shoes against the granite floor, the same ones he’d have to fill someday when his father grows weary of their ancestors’ throne. The speech is pretty uneventful with his father going on and on about preserving the peace and harmony of his reign, his so-called Reiwa era, and vowing to continue his public service, which he had begun as a young man in the august of his own father’s reign, until the twilight of his days.
Harmony, Gojo thinks bitterly, a sneer appearing on his face. What did his old man know of such a word when all he’s done, so far, is sow the seeds of discord in his family?
“On that note, I’d like to express my deepest gratitude to all of you, our dear guests and to my fellow fathers and mothers of your own respective nations, who have so kindly come here today to renew our vows of selfless service to our peoples. May we all be imbued with endless wisdom in our pursuit of the greater good.”
The cameras go off like little flashes of lightning spontaneously piercing the dark, moody space of the reception hall.
What a fucking joke, Satoru scoffs into his champagne, the golden liquid staining his throat and holding back words of contempt towards his father. What did his father know of being a father when he had spent his entire life tearing apart his own family in the name of the throne? What did he know of harmony when he had done nothing but sow discord in the imperial house?
The emperor gives a slight nod of acknowledgement to the gracious applause he receives, and promptly makes his way over to his family who are in the process of arranging themselves for an official picture in front of the late Emperor Taisho’s magnum opus, his calligraphy painting that read: 永遠の恵み (Eternal grace) which is the imperial family’s personal motto and central dogma, to commemorate this momentous occasion. Satoru stands next to his father, his breath shallow as if being anywhere near his father could suffocate him.
“I see you’re still acting like the petulant child you are,” his father spat having already spotted Satoru’s little plaything in the crowd earlier tonight, despite the well-rehearsed smile on his face as the official photographer snaps photos in quick succession.
The tongue that Gojo has been holding finally breaks free from the dam that’s been holding the waters of resentment from bursting forth. “And I see you’re still an ass.” Hopefully, the photographers couldn’t hear their tense conversation lest it be the cause of another scandal;, the rumor mill didn’t need any more ammunition for yet another mudslinging campaign against the imperial family.
Oh, but wouldn’t it be interesting if Satoru made a scene to ruin his father’s special day by lewdly kissing his Chief-of-Staff for the entire world to see?
As if sensing her forbidden lover’s thoughts, Himiko saunters over to the official photographer, putting on the air of a devoted servant of the crown prince, ever present within ten feet from her master, when just minutes prior, she acted like she could replace the empress herself.
“You insolent—“ his father grits his teeth at the sight of Satoru’s tramp, absolutely furious.
“Please stop,” the empress spoke under her breath, close to tears. Why is it that whenever their family is together, which is a rare occasion in itself, it always ends in such painful conflict?
“If only we had another son-” the emperor continued his tirade against his only living son, the only legitimate child that he had been blessed with after years of trying to produce an heir with his wife. But there was not a scintilla of anger in his voice; that had long passed when the empress had effectively quelled the fury in his heart with her broken plea, instead there is only longing for things that cannot be.“-if only…Suguru had been our boy, our prince-”
And just like that, something breaks inside Satoru akin to a glass goblet imploding when it hits the floor. It was almost as if his father wished that he had never been born.
…”Fuck this,” the white-haired prince moves to leave, but his mother’s delicate touch catches his arm.
“Satoru, my little light.”
Satoru’s breath hitches in his throat when his mother calls him by his old childhood nickname. Little light. That’s what they wanted him to be since the moment his cerulean eyes first opened as a baby who has been unwillingly burdened with the weight of centuries of tradition on him the minute he was conceived. His name had already been predetermined to mean ‘enlightenment’; everyone wanted him to be a light for the nation, a hope for the people. The imperial family may have been reduced to mere powerless symbols of the constitution, but they are the embodiment of their people’s hopes and dreams for a better Japan. It took twenty years for the emperor and empress to be blessed with their little light, but now, it seems that everything is growing disorientingly dimmer at such an accelerated pace.
But the empress will not just stand by and watch the light get extinguished. “Please don’t do this, we need you.”
Of course he always craved to be beloved by the people, to become their bonafide and benevolent prince. It had always been his dream to inherit his father’s crown, to fill the impossibly large shoes of his ancestors. But, what is truly his dream or was this a dream unjustly forced onto him?
The wind howls more violently and the final flicker of the imperial family’s light loses the battle, as the candle that had first been set alight by their forebears is now reduced to a pool of wax. Satoru’s eyebrows furrow, utterly spent from all of this, and yanks back his arm from his mother’s grasp.
“You need your prince…but when will you ever need your son?”
And with that, he leaves, his free hand ripping off the Medal of the Order of the Chrysanthemum once he is a good distance away from the gala’s venue. Himiko stays behind for a few minutes to make sure that she isn’t giving off the impression of being so eager to follow the prince and condone his tantrum. Instead, she stares directly at the empress, emerald and sapphire clashing violently with one another, as she wordlessly celebrates her victory.
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Mr. Nozomi, though known by his colleagues to be a no-nonsense kind of man, seems satisfied with your answer. It lacked some academic background, but it was a statement that was sure to bring comfort to the people. “Thank you, Ms. (Y/N). This is comforting to know,” the stout man with graying hair offers you a reassuring smile. It had been so long since many people, particularly and most especially in his age group, had ever had the honor of seeing such a warm-hearted future monarch whose words could almost easily calm others, and he dare say, even the violent Sea of Japan whose fury has long been felt in his freezing hometown of Hokkaido since time immemorial.
Satoru forces a smile at that, literally grinning and bearing it — by ‘it’, he meant your little display to outshine him, your future husband, the Crown.
“Any more questions?” the imperial house’s official speaker calls out as the room is filled with the sound of pen tips scratching on paper as the members of the press write down notes. This was going to be the wedding of the century, and they’d be damned if they couldn’t make a good story out of it. “None?”
“Actually, I have one.” Himiko gives the microphone to the correspondent from The Tokyo Times, the most reputable newspaper in the country. “I hope that this question doesn’t offend His Royal Highness, but if you may indulge me for a bit, don't you think the timing of this wedding is too sudden? I mean,” she clears her throat momentarily. “His Highness had only recently been allowed to appear before the public after he got arrested the other week, and now, he’s getting married.”
Just when you thought that the brutal questions would start to mellow out, one of the more hardened reporters all but crushes your remaining hope of this press conference ending on a good note.
All color drains from your face at that question. It was, indeed, warranted. If you had seen all this unfold before your very eyes, during your time as a commoner, the whole marriage would appear rushed, not to mention, fishy especially after the many Lesé-Majesté that had victimized the imperial family lately due to Gojo’s recent and very frequent scandals.
You look at your fiancé, heart pounding in your chest. What were you supposed to say to that? It’s not like you could be downright blunt about the whole reason why you’re getting married in the first place, that would only paint your soon-to-be husband’s family in a worse light; right now, people only challenge the relevance of the imperial family in a free democracy like Japan, you really don’t want to reach that point of no return when they start to despise the very notion of paying taxes to an institution that they feel is morally ambiguous.
Not to mention, such sentiment could put you and your fiancé in danger.
Satoru takes a deep breath through his nose, desperately calming himself before he says anything damning. How he wished he could have this petulant woman dragged out of there for such an offensive question but that would only prove her point.
Fortunately, Satoru is well-prepared for this, no matter how irritating his current predicament is. Having to be reminded of the greatest source of his humiliation is infuriating, but it could also provide him with the perfect opportunity to rewrite his public image and regain his footing in the act of succession currently being drafted by His Majesty, the Emperor.
All of a sudden, he rises to his full height, his hand not letting go of the sleeve of your white wool coat as he does. He casts you a disgusted look, seeing the expensive fabric hug your form; how is it even possible that you were wearing a high class outfit and still look like a cheap imitation of all the women he’s been with? He couldn’t begin to compare you to Himiko whose fashion sense and overall aura outshined yours; it would be like comparing rust to the Hope Diamond.
“Satoru, what are you doing?”
“Just follow my lead and drop that stupidly lost face you make all the time,” he hisses into your ear. “Now, stand up,” he commands, pretending to help you to your feet like the head-over-heels-in-love fiancé he’s meant to be and not the stone cold man whose last name will be the heaviest burden you’ll have to carry for the rest of your life. Well, by your life, you meant the snake pit that you now found yourself in with a fiancé who wishes you to fade from the fabric of existence and the prying eyes of the world keenly watching the drama that is yours and Satoru’s impending marriage.
Satoru smooths out any wrinkles on your dress before turning to the cameras. Gasps fill the room at what he does next. “Y-your Highness?” a journalist puts a hand over her mouth at the sight of the crown prince’s display of humble contrition: a bow, a plea for the forgiveness of his people. Following his lead, you also bow, your palms pressed against your thighs.
“I am sorry,” his tenor rings clear like the ringing of a shinto shrine’s suzu when a pilgrim first sets foot on the hallowed grounds of the temple. “As your prince, I understand that I have failed my family, His Imperial Majesty, the emperor, and Her Royal Highness, the empress. I have, in my recklessness, failed my ancestors, and the throne itself. But most of all, I, through my reckless actions, have failed each and every one of you who are probably watching this.”
Sincerity oozes out from each word, and you wonder, does Gojo actually mean any of this? Or was this another one of his well-rehearsed theatrics? And if this, his first public apology for all the atrocious things he’s done, is all conjured from the distorted playwright that is Prince Satoru Gojo, then, you could only pray that he takes pity on you and does not make an actress out of you.
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FLASHBACK: The Imperial Palace of Tokyo (An hour after His Majesty’s Silver Jubilee Gala)
Satoru painfully eyes his mother who earlier tonight had cruelly given him the false hope that she would always advocate for him only to avert her gaze, screwing her eyes shut as if by doing so — all of this — all the undue hurt that her son had caused the family would magically go away. “Mother.” Is she even qualified to still be called that when she has proved tonight that she would abandon her son in his time of need without a moment’s hesitation?
What his father says next is so hypocritical that it makes even hardened criminals look more honest and self-aware than him. “Don’t use that tone on her, don’t even dare.”
Satoru scoffs angrily, he can’t believe this. “I didn’t know you’ve recently decided to be a devoted husband now,” he snarls but his father doesn’t budge, he was not going to entertain his foolish son’s tantrums today. The emperor only pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily, desperately seeking out the reason he has been dealt the unfortunate hand of having such a heathenous son.
“I don’t even know what to say.” What can be said when face to face with such a vile predicament? Normally, his disagreements with Satoru would be tempered by his wife’s intervention, pleading with him to spare the heir to the throne of unforgiving punishments that brewed within a wrathful father’s mind; the last time was Satoru’s humiliating suspension from his public duties and the instance before that, a severe cut in his monthly salary as a public official funded personally by the people he blatantly betrays in his acts of wanton avarice. The difference between those times and this unfortunate situation is that in the past, one could still detect some semblance of remorse in Satoru’s demeanor.
All that is gone now. If one were to compare Satoru to a criminal, he is already a hardened one, desensitized to his wrongdoings.
The steel handcuffs which hugged the skin of Satoru’s wrists prove that, at this point in time, the heir to throne’s character was in serious jeopardy. “Your Majesty, you can reprimand your son however you’d like, but, please do not have him chained up like some animal.” She knows such a request is wrong. Like a dog released from a painful muzzle, Satoru would only grow more rabid with his actions. In the past, he was fueled by a desire for attention, now, after this night, he would be fueled by spite.
Other than the imperial family, three police officers who came from the Kabukichō district where Satoru had been reported to be physically assaulting a fellow gambler when a high stakes poker game had turned in favor of his opponent are in the room, witnessing all this happen with bated breath. It took at least five officers to pry Satoru off the bloodied middle aged man who had a foot in his grave by the time the crown prince was done obliterating his face, and another five to escort him into the police mobile.
All of this transpired on the night of the silver jubilee gala. Mere hours after Satoru took off.
A horrified silence had befallen the entire banquet hall when the news broke out, immediately going viral on every social media platform.
The emperor contemplates his wife’s words for but a passing moment when he decides otherwise, turning to the men in blue, his voice is authoritative and could make any devil tremble in their boots. “Thank you for reprimanding my son,” he sighs. “I can assure you that—“
The Tokyo metropolitan police officers alongside the imperial police await the decision of the emperor, but have already begun to pull out the keys to Satoru’s handcuffs thinking that His Majesty would have him released.
“—All charges pressed against Satoru Gojo will proceed accordingly and—“
And for once in his life, Satoru feels the unmistakable emotion — terror. “—What?” Satoru is livid at this point. “Father!”
He merely ignores Satoru, his eyes trained at the shocked faces of the many officers whose feet are still planted to the ground.
“—And that I will be allowing all concerned members of all law enforcement units who responded tonight to take him into custody until the date of his full criminal trial should any take place. As such, I now declare Satoru Gojo’s claim to the throne as null and void, and his title of crown prince forfeited in favor of his brother, Suguru Geto—“
It was at this time that Himiko once again barges in just as Satoru is being led away, surprisingly, she was now wearing her usual uniform of a black suit and pencil skirt. She immediately throws herself at the feet of the emperor. Where was the bravado she so proudly displayed at the jubilee gala by indirectly confronting the empress? Gone. Where were the pearls she had practically worn without authorization of the people who were permitted to wear them? Now replaced with her fake 12-karat gold necklace that she wore since childhood. “Your Majesty,” she kneels before him like her pleas would reach the emperor’s stony heart. “Please don’t do this—“
The emperor and empress angrily turn towards her, their eyes ablaze. What was she doing here? “I have half a mind to have you arrested too, Ms. Zenin!” the emperor growls. Himiko was there at the scene of the crime, after all, and having her arrested would greatly destabilize the hold she possessed on the imperial family through her illicit affair with the crown prince. “Now, drop it!” the emperor yells at the sputtering girl. “I have allowed you to lead my son astray for too long and now it is time for me, his father, to discipline him, unless, of course…you’re willing to take his punishment for him.”
“Yes,” Himiko nods frantically. “Please do whatever you want with me, I-I will gladly accept it all.”
“No!” Satoru resists against the officers, as the imperial guards begin to restrain Himiko who makes a pained sound when she, too, is given handcuffs of her own. “Don’t hurt her! Please don’t hurt her!” It was the plea of a being in love, seeing his lover take all his father’s bullets. “Father! I’m begging you—!”
“—And how long have you made the empress and I beg for you to straighten out your life?!”
“—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Satoru was exhibiting signs of mental distress at this point, his eyes brimming with tears like he were a child who had been told he was grounded. “Your Majesty,” he reverts to calling his father by his official title. “Please…please. Just let her go.”
How incredibly touching: two sworn lovers protecting one another to the bitter end, selflessly taking the fall for the other, shielding their beloved from any danger that might befall them. Only problem is…this toxic partnership between a prince whose life’s purpose is to stupidly follow his heart with gross disregard for those around him and a woman whose negative influence is demolishing her beloved’s reputation.
While the country is reeling from an economic recession, here Satoru and Himiko were indulging in yacht trips, while the impoverished scrounge for food in Tokyo’s many landfills, the crown prince and his girlfriend attended lavish state banquets left and right, while the homeless sleep under a resin-roofed bus stop at the height of winter, Satoru gifts countless of properties to Himiko as if one home couldn’t possibly be enough for the woman he so desperately loves.
“Satoru,” Himiko sniffles as she is slowly taken away, defiantly calling him by his name rather than his official title in front of Their Majesties. As if by doing so, that would help hers and Satoru’s case.
Gojo shakes his head furiously, his eyes welling up with tears. “Mother, please don’t do this.”
If this was going to be the end of them, then, Satoru hoped that his family would, at least, allow Himiko to return to being a private citizen, to walk away from all of this a free woman, free to live out the rest of her life away from the schadenfreude of the imperial court. Even if it meant never having to see her again, feel her warm touch against his skin the same way the sun bathes the earth in its resplendent glow, kiss her with the passion of someone who could have been a devoted husband to her had they been born in different circumstances, he will do anything. He would count the very stars in the sky if he could, die a thousand deaths if he must, if it meant allowing Himiko to be spared the pain of being branded as a criminal and placed behind bars.
“I’ll do anything, please just don’t hurt the woman I love.”
If only Satoru put more effort into earning the love of his people the same way he’s now willing to humbly bow his head to cossett the love of his life. Akiko Gojo gasps quietly when her prideful son falls to his knees in supplication. Suddenly, she is filled with memories of a younger Satoru who was once chastised by his courtiers for tripping on his own feet while he frolicked and played in the palace gardens, and how she didn’t think twice to comfortingly lift him into her arms while his retainer had been so content leaving him on the ground, his scraped knee ailing him as he struggled to stand up.
The empress’s feet seemed to have been possessed by a mind of their own, as she took one step forward, her sorrowful eyes trained on her crying son. “Satoru,” she gently crouches down next to him. “Oh, my little light,” she calls him by his childhood nickname. “Please don’t cry,” she weeps as she wipes his tears away with her thumbs. She shouldn’t be doing this, knowing that Satoru would only take advantage of the knowledge that she’s always going to be there for him regardless of what he does and what monster he becomes.
But seeing her child, her only boy, in the thralls of desolation is too much for her frail heart. So, she makes the choice for him, standing firm before her husband who has always taken the lead in their marriage. “Your Majesty, I beg you to not make a criminal out of Satoru, and reconsider restoring him to the succession. Please have mercy on your son.” His only legitimate heir. If Suguru were to inherit the throne, it would only throw their family into more chaos, and with the events of tonight, the imperial house could benefit from letting Satoru’s recent mishap die quietly. It would be disastrous for everyone if, on the anniversary of his father’s coronation, Satoru were to be unceremoniously thrown out of the palace.
“Akiko,” the emperor involuntarily utters his wife’s name, surprised at her sudden decision to stand up for their degenerate son.
From the moment the 2.3 pound Meiji tiara first touched her head, she relinquished all sense of self to the crown — her surname, her childish desires to lead a normal life, her civilian antics, everything — but now, here she stood before him, not as Empress Akiko but the liberal-minded woman that the emperor fell in love with as a young man. She may have given up everything to forge herself anew as empress of the country, but there is one thing that she has kept under lock and key so that the crown may never hope to steal it from her: her unconditional love for her son.
“Your Majesty,” she glances at Satoru’s kneeling form, her heart clenching in her chest. I’m sorry, my little light, she silently apologizes to her son, the last thing she wants is to seek the impossible from him, but if this was the only way that his future will be secured, then, she’ll just have to be the awful mother that Gojo thinks her to be. “I have a proposition for you.”
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A journalist looks up from his laptop, dumbfounded at what he’s witnessing. “…No way,” he says under his breath. It wasn’t everyday you see a monarch bow before his people begging to be pardoned, but then again, no other monarch in the world is more problematic than Satoru Gojo.
Satoru clutches the fabric of his slacks, his knuckles turning white as he does so. This was so humiliating for him, having to apologize to mere nobodies whose existence wouldn’t even make it to the footnotes of history books to be written a hundred years from now. “I know my words mean nothing after everything I’ve done and the people I hurt, but still, I am sorry,” Satoru utters the apology again as if by saying it a second time, it would hasten his godforsaken sentence that is to be locked in a vile marriage with you.
He’s made it clear earlier by his gestures that he wants nothing to do with you, but perhaps that was only because you hardly know one another, you don’t exactly run in the same circle as him, you don’t have the slightest connection to any political dynasty — not by affiliation, and most certainly not by blood — nor were you some heiress to some long standing conglomerate that the imperial family is closely acquainted with. Perhaps it was just that. All of this animosity stems from the disturbing fact that you couldn’t even call yourself friends now here you were betrothed to one another announcing your engagement to the world.
But, something doesn’t feel right.
Shouldn’t awkwardness between you and Satoru be the worst thing that could come from this shotgun arrangement? You understand that this situation is uncomfortable for him as much as it is terrifying for you but is this truly enough to warrant his hatred? It’s not like you actively volunteered for the part, after all, yet he acts as if you had been the prime instigator of this marriage. You find yourself caught between wanting to keep him at arms’ length to advocate for tense but peaceful silence in your marriage and wanting to become his true and altruistic wife to get to know him better but at the expense of your emotional well-being knowing that he’ll probably hurl new insults at you.
At this point, the former seems to be the safest option, but there is something so deeply intriguing and captivating in Satoru that you ignore all the warning signs altogether.
Satoru ends the press conference by re-announcing the date of the wedding which will take place next week. You follow him out of the hall, meekly walking three steps behind him. Suddenly, he stops in his tracks, burying his hands in his pocket, adopting a more casual posture. You expect him to berate you for some unknown faux pas you’ve committed during the press conference but instead, you are met with something else. “I’m sorry about earlier.”
He turns around to face you, he doesn’t look angry, but he doesn’t look too invested in the conversation either. He just seemed indifferent. His eyes dart around the expanse of the corridor, someone could be listening in to this conversation — the palace has eyes and ears everywhere after all — he needs to temper his tongue lest he angers the emperor or the empress, despite every nerve in his body tempting him to spew more vitriol at you.
Waving a dismissive hand, you shake your head, instantly forgiving him earlier. “No, I must have overstepped my boundaries, I understand and I’m sorry.”
Gojo sighs heavily, offering you a small nod. “Let’s just forget about it,” he says. “It’s getting late,” he notes the time on his watch. “You should probably head home to rest.” That was…surprisingly kind of him.
“A-actually,” you unconsciously play with your engagement ring. “I wanted to ask if you were free tonight so we could…have dinner together.” The empress encouraged the both of you to get to know each other, after all. “I know it must be difficult being engaged to me when you don’t even know me.”
Satoru lets out a weak laugh. He wasn’t at all interested in getting to know you, frankly, he couldn’t give two shits, but it was amusing for him to see how delusional you are.
“I see,” he notes in a business-like manner. “Well, perhaps another time since I have an urgent appointment tonight and I’m already running late.” You can’t even pretend to not be disappointed when you’ve already taken the liberty of reserving seats for the two of you at a nearby restaurant you frequently visit. He plants a parting kiss on your cheek, but something about it feels so detached and hollow, but who were you to expect more when he didn’t harbor an ounce of affection for you? You nod against the kiss, curtsying as he walks away.
“What a day.” You discard the many hair pins that neatly gathered your hair into a half-updo, grimacing at the stickiness of your locks from the copious amount of hairspray that had been applied to it. Sighing, you get into your car, removing the standard four inch pumps you’ve been instructed to wear, as per the dress protocol set by the Imperial Household Agency for female members of the imperial family when they attend public events, in favor of your more laidback ballet flats.
As you drive out of the main compound of the palace, you are surprised to see Satoru, accompanied by what looks like eight bodyguards, hastily making his way to the official car used by the emperor. He waits as his chauffeur brings the car around, but for some reason, he does not look impatient for someone who is supposedly running late for an urgent appointment, he is leisurely tapping away on his phone. Suddenly, something catches you off guard. A boyish grin appears on Satoru’s face when he is approached by a figure that looks like a woman.
An awfully familiar one.
You don’t know if it must be the heat from your car’s air conditioning unit but — you feel your heart in your throat, no, to be accurate, you feel like you’ve been winded by a punch to the gut — you understand why she would be with him given her position and all, but why was Satoru draping his suit over his Chief-of-Staff’s narrow shoulders?
And…why is she kissing your fiancé’s cheek?
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water’s edge taglist: @dummyf @kentokaze @esthelily @mandysfanfics @strawberryjimin13 @mat71201 @snowprincesa1 @naturallyspontaneous @kooromin @gojoist @dcvilxswish @13-09-01 @peachipeachy @iluv-ace @sawendel @helloitsshitzulover @jjuniescuderia @ackermendick @starrylibras @timetobegone @heelariously @idktbhloley @jjuniescuderia
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kittybeansbarnes · 19 days
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Happy birthday, Jamie
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A/n: happy birthday to my old man. I love Bucky so much. He quite literally saved my life and I’m forever grateful for his creation. I’m thankful to Jack Kirby and Joe Simon for being blessed with the idea of him and grateful for Winnie Barnes for birthing him in every universe. Without Bucky I don’t think I would’ve come out of the dark place I was in at the time. He means everything to me and more. Since marvel keeps taking from him there’s something I want to give back. I love you Bucky Barnes. In whatever universe you exist in. I’m glad I at least know of you in this one❤️❤️ (sappy cringe but idc I love him) (I know his birthday is tomorrow but I couldn’t wait😭)
Also thank you to my bestie for beta reading😝 @soorwellystan
Warnings: angst, fluff
(Bucky x reader)
——————————————
He always looks so beautiful this way. His eyes shut and long lashes kissing his cheeks. Hiding the most precious blue eyes from the world. Brown hair is a mess. His pink lips pouting with every breath he releases. It’s almost a shame you have to do this.
You clear your throat and get a running start and jump on the bed over him.
“Wake up, Bucky! Wake up! Happy birthday!” You jump up and down over him shaking the bed. He startles awake sending you both tumbling down to the floor. You land on top of him.
“Oof my back” he groans with his eyes scrunched closed, making you snort.
“Good you really are an old man”
He peaks one eye open to look at you. His hands sliding up to your butt to give it a squeeze making you yelp and him laugh.
“Happy birthday Jamie” you lean down to kiss him making him smile
“Thank you doll.” He carries you off the floor with him walking to the bathroom and sets you down on the counter as he goes about his business.
“So, are you ready for your birthday dinner tonight?”
He rolls his eyes as he brushes his teeth. He forgot about that. The dinner you and Steve planned for him after he discovered your surprise birthday party -horrible at keeping secrets, you and Steve- for him and shut it down. Not wanting to be ungrateful he suggested just having a birthday dinner with his closest friends. Not many, just the team and a few agents. He shuts off the sink putting his toothbrush in the holder and walks up to you. Cradling your face in his hands and pulling you in for another kiss.
“Of course I am babydoll.” He says making you squeal in delight.
“Oh Bucky, it's going to be so much fun. Steve and I hired this private catering company that makes the best food in all of New York-“ his smile is big as he nods and listens to you go on about all the things you have planned for the day.
“Oh but first! I’ve got something for you” the nervousness in your voice is obvious making him shift his face in concern. You walk over to your drawer and pull out a black box wrapped with a red ribbon. “It took me a long time to find and a lot of *cough* breaking and entering-“
His eyes go wide “y/n!”
“What?” You look at him with pouting lips and puppy dog eyes. “Just open it before you scold me Barnes”
He rolls his eyes and takes the box from your hands. Unwrapping the ribbon and lifting the lid to reveal a clear case with a gold bracelet inside lined with rubies and engraved is the name Winnie. He gasps as he realizes what it is “My ma’s bracelet? I- how did you find this? I thought she was buried in it.”
“When you were still in hydra's hands I spoke to Becca and she told me about it. She passed it on to her daughter who passed it onto hers, who passed it onto hers, who sold it to a Captain America fan auction and was then sold to some fanatic of yours. Took me a while to find them and when I did they weren’t the most helpful.” Eyes narrowing as you remember the bitchy old lady “So you know I used my super awesome spy skills to get it back to you” you smile at him nervously. He rushes to hug you. His body shaking from his sobs. “Oh Bucky” you rub his back soothingly trying to calm down his sobbing. “I just know how much you miss your ma. Especially on days like this.”
He looks down at the bracelet in his hand god he does miss his ma. “I remember she used to sing me a song. Every birthday she would sing a song she made up for me and bake me a small muffin with a single candle. She would always apologize after because she couldn’t afford to to spend big bucks on a party but I didn’t care because I had her and Becca and my pa and that was enough”
——-
March 10, 1924
Happy birthday to Jamie.
My precious little boy.
With big blue eyes and a curious mind.
We thank god for you on your very special day.
Happy birthday my precious little boy
Happy birthday Jamie
“Blow your candle out baby boy” Winnie smiles at him
Bucky looks up at his Ma giving her a gap tooth smile- she promises him his big boy teeth will grow soon- blowing out his candle.
“Yay!” His mom and Becca cheer. Winnie gathers him in a hug. “I’m sorry it’s just a small muffin again. I promise you I’ll throw you the biggest party one day my precious boy” she kisses his cheek. The coldness of her bracelet pressed to his face always a comfort to him.
“It’s ok Mama. You know I love chocolate cake” little Bucky takes a bite of his cake not noticing the tears gathering at his ma’s eyes.
“Momma Jamie is eating all the cake”
——
“We didn’t always have a lot but she made it enough”
Bucky's head turns fast when he hears sniffles coming from your direction.
“Oh sweet girl” this time he comforts you
“I’m so sorry Bucky”
“Sorry for what sweet girl? For giving me the best damn present ever?” He smiles at you as you shake your head “then for what baby?”
“For making you sad on your birthday” he laughs a little
“You didn’t make me sad. You gave me the best damn thing I could ever ask for, baby. You gave me a piece of my ma I thought was missing. I couldn’t have imagined a better way for this day to go. You made it a thousand times better. So wipe those tears from your pretty face baby” his hand wiped the tears from your face making you nuzzle into it.
“I love you so much Jamie” you look into his eyes that are as red as your
“I love you too doll. Thank you so much for this”
He pulls you into a kiss savoring the feel of his lips on yours. Of course he misses his mom on days like this but you make it better. Now he has a piece of her back. What once comforted him as a child now rests on his wrist. He couldn’t ask for a better way to spend the rest of his life.
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navybrat817 · 1 year
Text
Adventures in Babysitting
Pairing: Florist!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You learn something sweet about Bucky when you have to babysit at the last minute. Word Count: Almost 2k Warnings: Fluff, self-doubt, crying baby (is that a warning), slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?). A/N: @christywantspizza , thank you for the wonderful request for our florist and just being awesome. Hope you like it! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Banner and moodboard by yours truly. Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
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You consider yourself to be a smart and capable woman. You handled most issues with grace and a level head when they came your way. Ruth leaned on you more than once when problems came up during her wedding planning. It meant a lot that she and others could count on you.
Which is likely why your neighbor, Ava, came to you for help.
"I'm so sorry to bother you. I know you don't know me very well."
The poor woman tried to compose herself as she rocked her five month old baby, Harper, in her arms. They hadn't lived in the area for very long, but Ava was polite when you saw her. You always stopped to chat with her for a minute and made silly faces at the baby. It was sweet.
Seeing her in your doorway in tears almost made you tear up.
"Are you okay? Is Harper okay?" you asked, rushing to get her a tissue. Just because they looked fine physically didn't mean they weren't hurt. "And you aren't bothering me."
"We're fine, but it's a family emergency," she told you as fresh tears fell, wiping her eyes as she balanced Harper with one arm. "I'm sorry to ask, but would you be able to watch her? Hopefully no more than a couple of hours? I've tried calling everyone else and I can pay-"
"I can watch her," you said, holding out your arms. You didn't have anything else going on and you wanted to help her. "You just take care of what you need to do."
"Oh, thank you. Thank you," Ava said, smiling through her tears. She handed you the diaper bag before you carefully took Harper. "I owe you one."
"No, you don't. Just take your time and be safe," you urged, smiling down at the baby. You were glad she was at least somewhat familiar with you. "Does she need a bottle?"
Ava quickly explained that you would need to feed Harper within the next twenty minutes. She left instructions in the bag with how much to feed her, along with diapers, wipes, burp cloth, extra onesies, a blanket, and her teething ring. She also had your number to keep you updated if she would be longer than a couple of hours.
"Thank you again," Ava said, giving her baby a kiss on the top of her head. "Mama loves you. I'll be back as soon as I can."
You gently shut the door with your foot once Ava left, smiling wider when the baby cooed. "We're going to have a lot of fun, aren't we?"
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Harper wouldn't stop crying.
"Do you want me to put you down?" you asked, carefully placed her on her back. You winced when she let out a louder cry. "Okay, okay. Bad idea. Sorry," you said, picking her back up.
You gave her the bottle exactly as instructed. You burped her afterward. She had a fresh diaper. She wanted nothing to do with her teething ring. Soft music didn't calm her down and she wouldn't sleep.
What am I doing wrong?
"You miss your mama, don't you?" you asked as you tried to rock her.
More tears rolled down her cheeks as she cried louder, making you wince again as the sound echoed in your ears. You began to walk around the room, doing your best to soothe her. Admittedly, it had been years since you babysat, but you were usually able to keep most babies happy. Why couldn't you do the same with Harper?
"What can I do?" you asked yourself, taking a deep breath when your phone rang. "Shh, shh, it's okay," you said softly, keeping Harper against your chest as you answered.
You didn't even bother to see who called when you put it on speaker.
"Hey, Petal," Bucky's voice happily rang out. "I'm leaving the shop and I was-"
Harper wailed before he could finish his statement.
"Is that a baby?" he asked after a beat, clearly confused. You didn't blame him. You hadn't had a chance to message him that you were babysitting. "Is everything okay?"
"It's my neighbor Ava's baby. She had a family emergency and she asked if I could watch Harper. Bucky, I can't get her to stop crying," you explained, almost in tears yourself. "I-I don't know what to do."
Something had to be wrong with you if you couldn't calm a normally happy baby.
"I'm on my way, okay? You got this," he promised, his tone gentle, but not condescending.
"Okay. I'll see you soon," you smiled for his sake before you hung up. "I got this."
Harper sobbed as you began to walk again.
I don't got this.
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Bucky took the crying baby from your arms the moment he walked through the door. There was no fear in his eyes when he looked her over, only concern. He gave you a once-over, too. You probably looked terrible.
Can't call me perfect anymore.
"I fed her, burped her, changed her, tried to put her down for a nap, walked around with her," you told him, watching as he slowly put his hand on Harper's tummy. "Maybe she just doesn't like me?"
"I don't think it has anything to do with you," he said, cooing as he walked over to the couch. "You love Petal, don't you?"
You knew deep down there could be many reasons why Harper was upset, but you wished you knew how to help.
Bucky took a seat and furrowed his brows when he felt her tummy again. "How long ago did you feed her? Did she drink her whole bottle?"
You checked the time. "Over thirty minutes ago. And she drank the entire bottle pretty fast."
"Should be plenty of time to put you on your tummy, right? Poor baby. You're probably still a little gassy, aren't you?" he asked, smiling tenderly as placed her across his legs on her stomach.
You watched in fascination as Bucky began to slowly rub her back. Harper's cries began to decrease after a minute and you finally felt the tension leave your shoulders. Seeing your beefy florist calm an upset baby was a sight to behold. The ease at which he handled her made your fall in love with him a bit more. Especially since you knew how far he had come with his metal arm.
I think my ovaries clenched. How is that possible? No, focus.
You swallowed the lump in your throat as Bucky began to hum. The sound seemed to soothe Harper even more. The cries stopped completely when she let out a loud burp.
"There. That's better, isn't it? No wonder you were upset. That was a big burp," Bucky said in a quiet voice, still making small circles on her back. "Let's see if there's anymore, okay?"
You sat down in the chair, wringing your fingers in your lap as Harper burped again. You should have known to try that. Why didn't you?
"Um, thanks."
You tried to smile at Bucky, but it fell flat.
He shook his head when he caught your frown. "Hey. Don't beat yourself up. You did everything right, okay? I don't know how gassy she normally is, but it could've been because she drank her bottle so fast."
Of course, he knew I'd mentally chastise myself.
You did smile this time. "How do you know so much about this?"
"Um," he shifted so he could readjust Harper and lay her against his chest. She looked so small in his arms, but perfectly content. "Becca was a colicky baby?"
"Was that a question?" you teased.
He blushed as he held Harper a bit closer when she yawned. "I'm kind of embarrassed because we haven't really talked about it," he began as you raised an eyebrow. "I've, uh, read a couple of parenting books and done research on babies because. Well, I might want to be a dad one day."
"You want to be a dad?" you asked, moving from the chair so you could sit beside him. You were careful not to jolt him or disturb Harper. She needed her rest. "And you took it upon yourself to research this kind of stuff?"
"Yeah, I did," he said, avoiding your gaze momentarily. Did he think this topic scared you or that you'd judge him? "I know some things about parenting can't come from books, but a bit of knowledge wouldn't hurt. I just want to be a hands-on dad if it ever happens, you know?"
The blush almost spread to his neck as he kissed the top of Harper's head. Somehow your boyfriend continued to find ways to surprise you and melt your heart. He deserved a family and all the happiness in the world.
"I think that's sweet."
"You do?" he asked, uncertainty in his blue eyes as he looked at you.
That look doesn't belong there.
"Yeah. You're always good with the kids in the shop and I don't know many guys who would take that kind of initiative. You really are one of a kind," you said, smiling when his gaze returned to normal.
He leaned his head over to brush his lips against yours. There was relief in his kiss and you returned it with your own. He saved the day and you were thankful he could be honest with you.
"I didn't want to freak you out," he said
You glanced at Harper, who had her eyes closed. She must have fallen asleep moments ago, either exhausted from her cries or soothed by the florist's warm presence. It could have been both.
She feels safe with you, Bucky. As any lucky baby would.
"I don't think you could ever freak me out, but we can discuss it more over dinner if you want," you said as you put your head on his shoulder.
"I'd like that," he whispered.
The soft tone had your heart skipping a beat. "Besides, you have the paternal instinct down pact. Bet that's why your hair is pulled back."
"It's from work, but I'll take the compliment. And you have a maternal instinct," he told you, making you snort in disagreement. "Hey, none of that. Ava trusted you enough to leave Harper with you and that says a lot."
"But I couldn't soothe her," you whispered.
"Was she happy before she was gassy?"
You thought about it. Harper was fine in the beginning and snuggled against you. She must have felt safe and happy enough in your home.
"She was," you said truthfully.
And I'd be upset if I was gassy, too.
"So you're fine," he smiled. "And you know what else is a good motherly instinct? Asking for help when you need it, like you did today."
He soothed both of us, Harper.
"But we don't need to talk about that now," he added. "I think you deserve a break."
You knew he was giving you an out in case the topic made you uncomfortable.
"We can discuss it over dinner," you offered, seeing the corner of his lip tug in a smile. "Thank you for taking care of her and being my hero," you said, closing your eyes and resting your hand on his chest beside Harper's head.
You pictured Bucky in his shop with a baby in his arms, wearing a blue shirt to match the onesie as he showed him or her all of the beautiful flowers with a loving smile. He even had his hair down in your daydream so your baby could play with it. He'd be so caring and proud. Everything you wanted and more.
"You'll make the best daddy one day."
After a moment, Harper's little hand wrapped around your pinky finger.
"And you'll be the best mommy, Petal," Bucky whispered.
If he was sure of it, so were you.
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I love them! ❤️ Love and thanks for reading. ❤️
Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
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xiao-come-home · 8 months
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Genshin + HSR men as dads;
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✰ Characters:
↳ Genshin: Ayato, Itto, Alhaitham, Kaveh, Zhongli, Xiao.
↳ HSR: Blade, Jing Yuan, Luocha.
✰ Words: 3,5k.
✰ SFW ; afab!reader, because pregnancy mentions. fluff.
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Warnings: established relationship, the characters are reader's husbands, mentions of pregnancy, babies, ayato always ends up kinda horknee????? slight spoilers about blades past, not beta read THERES NO TIME FOR THAT
A/N: this is my first time writing for hsr and kaveh, but I tried my best </3 also I have work in 2h and I haven't slept yet. this is more important. pog also give me feedback if you like hsr pieces ;q;
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Ayato Kamisato:
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he's such a girl AND boy dad you can't convince me otherwise. i just can't get that out of my head: imagine just chilling with your husband, you two enjoying some tea or coffee, while watching your children happily yell and play outside; ayato plays with your palm slightly, switching between rubbing it with his fingers and interlocking it, giving you occasional glances and tiny smiles.
ayato's definitely a strict parent, but wants his children to feel freedom - he does not force them to practice something they don't like, but teaches them necessary stuff they need to know if they are to be the future of the Kamisato clan.
he DEFINITELY had a boy first. and his son DEFINITELY looks like a perfect mixture of you two - he has ayato's eyes and hair type, but your hair color and smile.
your daughter, on the other hand, is exactly like ayato's copy, except with your personality - and he's extremely whipped for her. his little girl wanted to practice a new hairstyle with multiple pink hair clips? oh well, looks like he goes like this to his important meeting.
though, your son is just as mischievous as his father, if not worse - has probably trolled Itto more than once by the shy age of just three. he's also definitely interested in ayato and ayaka's battle styles, like hello??? HOW DO YOU JUST DISAPPEAR LIKE THAT??? AND TURN INTO SNOW??????
even though some fights between his children happen, as it's a thing you can't avoid - the big brother is very protective of his little sister and would do anything to make her happy! even if it means princess tea time. it reminds ayato of his, though not as fortunate, childhood memories with ayaka before she grew up to be the strongest woman and best auntie we know.
ayato probably teases you about wanting a third one, so they look like you this time. "say, darling, how about we get another little one?" feeling his smile, ayato whispers into your ear, "think about it, love," he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, "you just look so perfect I can't resist you."
Arataki Itto:
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i do nOT care, his child is just as hyper as him. they're his absolute best buddy, partners in crime, you name it. but there's a plot twist - thank god your child thinks more often than their father AND stops him sometimes.
listen. absolute boy dad. his son is his pride and joy,he bragged so much about his boy to the point that Raiden Shogun herself heard about him.
so, remember itto being severely allergic to beans as an oni? his son absolutely loves beans and could eat them with no side effects. but itto being itto, prepares him meals with beans and takes it as a challenge. he just might cry, or throw up at worst. but hey, everything for his little sunshine.
^^your son absolutely cheers when he's making him dinner and suffering like?? "go dad! you're so awesome!" "yummy!" and itto's screaming back with tears dripping down his cheeks, "yes, YES!! THE BEST COOK OF INAZUMA, ARATAKI ITTO!"
itto prides himself in creating the most perfect small person to ever exist. your son inherited itto's golden heart and your brains (thank god). he's truly a ball of sunshine, and possibly the happiest and polite boy in Inazuma. with a pair of red horns just like his dad, red streaks in his hair and markings, itto's pupils and your eye color.
hear me out: total best pals with ayato's son. they love playing board games and battle onikabuto with each other, and much to itto's delight, his son is usually the winner, but the boys always politely thank each other for the game and move on.
your son is actually such a smooth talker to ayato's daughter to the point that he considers giving them a blessing and suffering being in-laws with itto.
he's also (great)grandma oni's favorite child now... he loves baking, cooking and sewing with her, and showing her his favorite onikabuto that you and itto let him keep as a pet!
itto's actually VERY down to have a few more kiddos if your pregnancy went well. he'd love a little girl to spoil his long hair, or maybe two. and two more sons so he wouldn't be lonely..
that time itto caught ushi sound asleep with his ball of sunshine next to him was the day he'll never forget. with tears in his eyes, he covered them in a warm blanket and let them snooze for a little more before bedtime.
Alhaitham:
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literally no one, not even one soul knew that alhaitham has a child until they saw him walking a three-year-old. and the said child is probably the most behaved child that has ever been born.
seriously, your son is probably the smartest child ever. alhaitham, despite some worries, did and still does very well as a father - he began teaching him to talk earlier, he also seemed to have taken a liking to some instruments when he got older. the scribe's little one also enjoys it when his dad reads with him! be it alhaitham's books or fantasy ones, they have a special routine just for reading.
your son absolutely looks up to his father. when he sees him drafting some documents, his eyes shine with curiosity and adoration. alhaitham, can't help but smile slightly when he isn't looking.
nahida promoted alhaitham as the Acting Grand Sage. he promoted her as his babysitter.
^^but in a more serious tone, I genuinely think Nahida would be somewhat interested in your child - not in a negative light in any way, but.. it does make her wonder how a small child could be so smart. though his son has a long way to go and grow up, each year he manages to surprise her.
when his son is too bothered by the attention of other people, alhaitham gives him his noise-canceling headphones; they're a bit too big on him, but he appreciates it anyway.
alhaitham makes sure your son remembers his late grandmother, despite having not met her. even if the scribe does not consider himself a very emotional person, he wants the memory of her to live on.
he encourages his child to make his own decisions, too - just like he had that choice as well; if his son wants to break the ice and become more outgoing - alhaitham will not stand in his way. he wants him to grow up as the person he truly wants to be.
he definitely explained some god-tier science to his toddler son while holding him in his arms, receiving only some confusing "blah blag bwwwug" in return, watching him bite his tiny hand in happiness. he continued.
if there's something that alhaitham shares with his son, it's his love for naps. sometimes you all sleep together, and when it's time to wake up - both of them whine and your son snuggles up to his dad, to which your husband responds by getting his arm over the little one and giving you a small chuckle with one eye open, shortly before falling back asleep.
kaveh is your child's godfather. no, it wasn't his choice.
after a bit of hesitation and a lot of thoughts, he wouldn't mind to have another one; genders don't matter to him by any means, but I see him with yet another son :)
Kaveh:
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kaveh and his twins could rival itto and his son's enthusiasm - it's what kaveh wants his kids to always remember - he wants them to enjoy every single bit of life, even if it's something simple.
the famous architect has decided to work hard to provide for you and the baby when you told him about the pregnancy- or, rather, about his future children; some of his work truly shone and got him quite a bit of attention, and therefore - a bunch of well-paid commissions.
kaveh has fought his empathy many times and tried not to overly spend money, which resulted in him being able to create and build your house that you share together; each of the twins has their own room, decorated according to their tastes.
your children have great emotional intelligence, just like your husband; if there's ever any conflict, they rather talk about it, than pout for hours, similar with you two. kaveh teaches them to always be honest, especially to themselves. they're also talented, but in different ways - your daughter seems to be fascinated by the role of the architect as well, but your son, regardless of what he's doing - he always makes sure it's perfect and polished as much as possible.
you cannot tell me this man doesn't do some kind of weekly family time - kaveh loves his family to the bone and would risk his life to protect you and your children with no hesitation. he's very involved in his children's lives and wants to be considered as their friend as well, not just a father; kaveh wants to know what they are interested in the moment, who they had their last beef with and who their crush is. he just really wants to gossip with them lol.
contrary to what a lot of people think, the twins and alhaitham's child(ren?) get along very well, and are aware they're just mirrors of each other. they can't however, understand how they managed to live together under one roof for so long... they never complain if they visit uncle alhaitham though, as he lets them search through his library so they can find out more about their interests.
in revenge, alhaitham is the godfather of the twins, just so you know.
Zhongli:
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not only did he fall in love with you, but after hearing the cry of his little girl after she took her first-ever breath - zhongli fell in love once again.
he's so, so overprotective of his baby, regardless of her age. he's swooned by her - how tiny her fingers are compared to his when she finally grips them for the first time, how every month she looks even prettier than last one - he's always by her side, making sure she's the happiest she could possibly be.
since he has to sleep only once for a few days, he's willing to spend every second with her, especially after birth - zhongli also wants you to rest as much as you can, so you can both create memories together.
he most certainly takes her on a lot of walks with you when she gets older; not only around liyue harbor, but places dear to him and her only, if they discover one.
when your daughter grows up and begins to show interest in zhongli's hobbies, he smiles at her gently and sits her in his lap, only to start explaining it and feeding her curiosity; sometimes he has to stop himself for a moment to admire her twinkling eyes.
oh he DEFINITELY does her hair every morning. he's practiced on you before, having learned many new hairstyles to later on perform on your daughter; he carefully strokes her hazel hair with golden tips with a brush, feeling as he's almost watching his own in a mirror. sometimes, he adorns her hair with his own hairpin.
xiao was definitely the first person to know about your daughter. knowing that archon blood runs in her veins, he's less worried about being around her, therefore always more willing to spend time with her. both grow from this interaction - the little one knows how to protect herself (or to call uncle xiao when she's in trouble), and xiao understands small humans just a bit better.
zhongli's thrilled to know what her favorites are - no matter if it's tea, food or fabric, he has to know! perhaps they share the same favorites?
with the help of kamera, he's now able to immortalize the sight of you and your daughter. each birthday, he takes a picture and cherishes the young years of your baby, knowing they won't last long; erosion be damned, as long as he has the pictures - he'll always remember.
Xiao:
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xiao was clueless. clueless and frightened. he wasn't supposed to have a child - with a mortal on top; albeit he tries to stay calm for your and baby's sake, he wants both of you to heal well.
it took quite a bit of time for xiao to fully embrace that he's a parent - and he adapted very well, having you by his side; the only worry that hasn't gone away is the thought of harming his daughter with his karmic debt.
but so far, the little one hasn't shown any signs of it, which makes xiao more than happy. she's yet another reason to warm his cold heart up, which he always compares to being engulfed by comfy scarf in the winter.
he automatically turns his head around whenever he hears her tiny little "tap taps" with her feet; not only does he find it adorable, but he knows she once again managed to lose her slippers and socks.
listen. she inherited the same diamond mark on her forehead - and he finally understands why you always insisted you liked kissing it for no reason.
he always. ALWAYS shares his almond tofu with his baby girl.. and she always makes a mess while eating it.. but it's worth it.
your daughter seemed to have taken a liking to watching finches from a distance; they always look for a nice spot in liyue plains, make a small picnic and feed the leftover bread to the birds. she finds them so adorable to the point that xiao was looking for a finch plushie for WEEKS. that made her good friends with qiqi, whom she tries to remember as "the finch friend."
Zhongli never says it out loud, but thinks of Xiao as his son. therefore, he finally earned a title of a grandpa (though unofficial). he's very proud to see Xiao stand up in a role of not only a protector of liyue, but the ones closest to him.
yes, your daughter actually calls morax himself, grandpa. (he doesn't correct her. ever)
imagine xiao with baby carrier. now you don't have to imagine it anymore.
。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°
Blade:
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don't even say he isn't a girl dad. HE IS.
he thinks he's a mere blade whose humanity has been lost hundreds of years ago - it's nothing more but a delusion in his mind. if that was the truth, why would he stay near his daughter's crib and watch her sleep peacefully, flinching when he saw her stir in her sleep?
she's absolutely not afraid of his cold, death stare, in fact - she looks at him back, waiting him to break first. just imagine a tiny baby eating a rice waffle, blade next to her and he just.. stares at her. but she stares at him back and eats the waffle like it's nothing.
your baby girl inherited blade's hair- or rather, yingxing's pearly white hair. he often pats her head gently and goes his hand through her hair, his eyes holding a tinge of bitterness and anger; not at her, however, but at the one he's after.
since blade spends most of his time on various missions with the stellaron hunters, he tries to make it up to your daughter by giving her gifts; hairpins, stickers (ekhem, silver wolf), coloring books, you name it. he slowly warms up to the idea of spending more quality time with her - after so many missions and the thought of his family waiting for him at home, his heart longs to see you again.
sometimes.. you can catch a faint smile on his lips when he plays with her. it's a sad smile - a smile yearning for it to happen back in simpler times, before getting reduced to a weapon, or perhaps in another lifetime.
he never admits it out loud, but he gets used to the new routine a bit too comfortably. before, when it was just you - in contrast to now, when he barely closes the front door and hears his daughter sprinting to him and clinging to his leg; he picks her up and feels her squishing her cheek against his while grinning. "welcome home, daddy!" are the first words he hears - and hopes to hear until it's his time to leave.
at times, blade becomes genuinely terrified - terrified of no longer craving death and wanting to stay. it sends him in so much emotional turmoil he starts to shake; how else do you process this? after so many years of attempting to look for that one thing that finally stops your breath, only to get swarmed by the thoughts of not wanting to leave your daughter behind? what if something happens to her and there's no one to help her?
there's a thing that I can't stop thinking about: I want to leave it up to you how you name your daughter, but I feel like blade would truly like the name Mari.
he lets her decorate him with stickers. it was silver wolf's idea.
Jing Yuan:
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he was blessed with a daughter, as well. and then again. and then... again.
he absolutely adores his three little girls, hellO?!?!? but if you think about it, it makes sense - almost all of them took after his personality.
there is a mandatory nap for him and his girls that no one can disturb, unless the planet is on fire or someone got you mad. they all snore quietly while cuddling their dad, one of them on his chest, second on his stomach, and last one has her face somewhere next to his hair. makes you wonder how they got in these places, considering they started sleeping beneath a pink blanket decorated with lions.
speaking of lions, mimi claims your daughters as her cubs and does not let jing yuan take them away. she loves being pet and getting small kisses from them, there's no way she gives him that amount of attention back.
jing yuan loves your daughters to death and spoils them with absolutely EVERYTHING. new plushie? will be here in a few hours. a damned rock that's stupidly expensive, holds no value but one of them liked it? he'll take five. hell, he might even buy them a dog or another lion and hope for easy consequences from you.
he's slightly scared of how fast his oldest got so good at chess.
the girls get very upset when someone mentions they have no older brother - after all, how could they forget about yanqing?
there is a high chance of him losing one of them at home. they're walking, he turns around and.. suddenly the math doesn't add up..
if it's princess tea time, it is princess tea time. fu xuan either becomes a princess or comes back later.
even though they sometimes bring a lot of trouble, jing yuan always tells them to appreciate you - when it's mother's day, they all sit down and prepare a gift for you, same for your birthday; your special days will never go unnoticed.
probably wouldn't mind having another child, but is fully prepared for another girl lol.
Luocha:
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he fathered a beautiful boy and girl a few years after. none of them were planned, but very welcome by both of you.
he's.. such a doting father. he always takes care of his children well, shows them affection - especially as small babies, he can't get over their chubby cheeks and peppers them with kisses, so he could hear them giggle.
in general, I think he just. can't get enough of them when they're toddlers or even younger. he loves holding them. he loves seeing his tiny babies get curious when he prepares medicine. he loves when they extend their hand to him for seemingly no reason, so he has an opportunity to give it a kiss. ARGH
he's thrilled to share his medical knowledge with his kids, if one shows interest in it!
luocha's definitely the one to style his babies' hair, I mean have you seen this man's gorgeous locks???? he's also the one to cut it if they don't like it long.
this isn't really about the children themselves, but.. he's just so grateful that you brought them into this world?? and he makes sure you know it every day, be it through actions or words. when you gave birth to your daughter, he held her in her hands and approached you from behind, leaning down and planting a chaste kiss on your cheek. "love, she's so wonderful, thank you for your hard work. I can't stop looking at her, and I wouldn't have that opportunity if I didn't meet you. I've never been more happy to meet such a person like you."
just like kaveh, he wants to be very involved in their lives. he always asks them about their day in school, if they made any friends. luocha also tries to be stern and has only one expectation as a father - he wants them to have a good, comfortable life, in which he'll assist in achieving as long as they need.
your son is very, very talkative with his dad and they could converse for hours. like for real. he's so smart, luocha is more than happy to broad his horizons, even in topics of lesser importance.
715 notes · View notes
juletheghoul · 6 months
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AN: The gif of this man as a sheriff, sent my ass into a SPIRAL and this is what happened. I originally wanted to post this for my birthday, but with Canadian Thanksgiving falling on the same weekend there was no way I would have been able to finish lol. I am still trying to post more often, please be patient with me, hopefully this makes up for the lack of posting for the last few weeks. Special thanks to @wheresarizona for betaing and just general wonderfulness, to @just-here-for-the-moment for screaming at me through comments and in whatsapp over this, and to @frannyzooey for screaming at me through discord lol (And for making me some super awesome edits that I will post after!) Hope you enjoy xox. 
(PS, I have an idea for a part 2, let me know if you’d want to read it!)
Pairing; Sheriff Frankie Morales x f!reader (Blue / Bluebell as a nickname)
Warnings;  sweet, lovestruck Frankie needs his own warning I think-piv sex (wrap it up), swearing, dirty talk, Frankie eats pussy like the champion he is, a non-consensual creampie, angst, longing, yearning, some violence (involving guns / war, accurate for the time period-I tried not to let it get too gory or graphic) brothel mentions - let me know if I missed anything.
Word count; 13k 😅
reblogs are appreciated
Masterlist
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Dust swirled around him as he made his way into town from the train station, the sun beating down on his every step, and although he hadn’t been home in over a decade, he still knew the way just as well as if he’d never left. Difference was he’d left practically a boy, and now he’d come back a man. 
People he both did and didn’t recognize passed him as he carried his suitcase down the sunny high street, some of them smiled, most of them ignored him. It made no difference to him. He would be their new sheriff just the same. Besides, there was only one person he cared to see again. There would be time enough for that later, though. First, he had to get settled. 
The brothel was busy, a surefire sign of the town’s growth evident in the number of horses tied up in front. 
“Well, hey there, sugar–” He tipped his hat and smiled at the young lady calling out to him, smiling as she leaned against one of the columns flanking the entrance, “-you coming to make a woman out of me?” She batted her big eyes at him. 
“Don’t count on it.” His tone was polite, his smile in place. She tsked, giggling at his manners before being called away by someone inside.
Sweat was starting to collect on his brow with the effort of lugging his suitcase all the way from the train station, and he let out a relieved sigh when he finally stepped through the doors of the sheriff's office. It was somehow even hotter on the inside. 
“Can I help you?” A kid no older than he’d been when he’d left greeted him from one of the two desks in the small room. 
“I’m Francisco Morales, I’m here to see–”
“He’s here to see me, he’s my replacement.” A grizzled but familiar voice sounded from behind him, “You’re early.” The older man walked past him on his way to the second, bigger desk, where he put his cowboy hat down before turning to face him once more. “I was under the impression you’d be here by the end of this month. You in that much of a hurry to retire me, boy?” 
He set the suitcase down before wiping at the back of his neck with his handkerchief. 
“No sir, just wanted to get settled in, have some time to reacquaint myself.” He put the cloth away. “Fix up the house before starting. Thought I’d check in with you first, though.” He’d gotten in plenty of trouble growing up, and most of the time, this man had been the one to pull him by his ear and make him smarten up. It was a novelty to be in this office and not be in trouble. 
“Well, you’ve checked. Go on and get settled. The desk and the badge will still be here in a week.” Sheriff Carson had always been one to speak plainly, and he did so now. 
“Yes, sir.” Francisco picked the suitcase back up and braced himself for the glaring rays that would greet him just outside. 
“Son,” He turned at the sound of the old man’s voice, “I was sorry to hear about your folks. They were good people.” He nodded back at the old man once and made his way back out the door.
“Try again.” You crossed your arms, “We both know I’m not paying that much.” You kept both your voice and expression as neutral as you could, keeping your real interest in the supplies he had close to your chest. Interest and necessity always cost more. 
He narrowed his eyes, and you raised your eyebrows in return, holding your ground. 
“Price is an even one hundred dollars; had to ride halfway around the world to get most of it-” You curled your lip in disgust.
“Bullshit, Dale! You rode to the nearest town, and that’s only a day's ride at the most. I’ll pay fifty, and that’s twice what it’s worth.” 
“You tryna rob me, woman?” He crossed his arms, mirroring you, “I’ll go down to eighty, but that’s final.” He rose to his full height, his posture making him look like some giant, petulant child. 
“Seventy-five. And I want some tobacco.” 
“Goddamn, you drive a hard bargain. Fine.” He extended his hand, and you shook it with a satisfied smile. 
“Good man. Pleasure doin’ business with you.”
“Yeah, yeah, robbin’ me more like.” He grumbled good-naturedly and unloaded the supplies while you counted out the money to pay him with. “Goin’ back in a couple weeks, make sure you let me know what you’ll be needin’ before I go.” He tucked the money away and left. The rest of the morning was spent restocking the various bottles and cabinets with your new stock.
It was therapeutic, sitting behind the big mahogany counter to take inventory of your shop. The shop that had taken you years to finally acquire. Every so often, you took stock of all the work you’d put into it and felt a significant amount of pride in what you’d accomplished. All of it done on your own. 
The customers came and went throughout the day, buying tinctures and tonics, and you helped them all to the best of your ability until the end of the day eventually found you, and you locked up the shop. With a final sweep to ensure everything was in its right place before closing up for the night.
The sun was blessedly low as you made your way home, but the streets were busy. Ethel, the youngest and friendliest of the girls who worked in the brothel a few doors down from your shop, was smoking her pipe on the porch, waving and smiling as you passed. 
“Hey Ethel, how you keeping?” You called out to her, “Fall in love again today?” She laughed, a plume of smoke wreathing around the halo of her hair. 
“Of course, saw a tall drink of water today. Think I’m gonna marry him.” She winked, a devilish smile on her pretty face. 
“Uh oh, sounds like he’s in trouble.” You laughed, waving as you passed by the house. 
“He will be if he ever comes in here, bye Honey, see you later.” 
The buildings thinned as you moved further and further away from the main street, giving you a clearer view of the surrounding ranches and houses scattered throughout the plains. Your own house came into view, and you smiled to see it. The view of it had the pride swelling again; it had been run down and ragged when you’d purchased it, but money wasn’t the only thing you’d invested. That house was the result of your blood, sweat, and tears. Hours and hours of elbow grease, blisters, and bruises, cuts, and had you not been very careful, it would have cost you a few broken bones as well. 
There was another house on the way to yours though, one that wiped the smile right off your face as you passed it. It was a house that drew your eye no matter how many times you walked past, no matter how many times you tried to ignore it. It was empty now, but years ago, it had been full of life, full of love and mischief and happiness. It had been full of hope and promises. It was empty now, one of the windows broken, much like the promises had been. 
You couldn’t help but watch it as you passed; something flashed in the window, but you ignored it. There hadn’t been anyone there for years. 
Wish it would just burn down or sell. Wish the ground would open up and swallow it whole. 
Your feet ache when you finally make it to your house, eager to unlace the boots imprisoning them. You did your best to hurry through all your chores and feed yourself, the promise of a hot bath and sweet-smelling soap carrying you through. 
The house was so much worse than he’d thought it would be, and he’d thought it’d be bad. A couple of windows had broken, and half a town's worth of dirt and dust had blown in through them. He sighed at the state of it, knowing his mother would never have let it get this bad, and for once, he was grateful she wasn’t around to see it. 
He set his suitcase down and made a mental list of what needed to be done. First thing first, he needed a few things. 
With a wagon full of supplies and considerably less money in his pocket, he began the long process of making it habitable. With a stiff brush and an even stiffer broom, the dirt was returned to its rightful place outside the house. The windows that weren’t broken were opened to let in fresh air, and floors and counters were washed. Food and supplies were put away; the bed was made with new, expensive sheets and linens. 
He worked his fingers to the bone throughout the day and most of the night until he’d done as much as he could. There was nothing to be done about the windows; the glass had been ordered, but it would be a few days, possibly even weeks, until he could fix those. 
By the time he’d boiled water to bathe himself with, he could barely keep his eyes open, and once clean, he dropped into bed and into the sweet abyss of sleep. 
-
It was strange for him to wake up in the same house he’d grown up in, even stranger for him to wake up in the bedroom his parents had owned. He’d been so dead tired that he’d forgotten to close the shutters, and the room was flooded with the golden light of dawn, chasing away any and all hope for a few extra hours of rest. 
Those earlier years were vivid in his mind now that he was here, in this house. He could practically hear the younger, wilder version of himself climbing out his window to go find her. Could still taste the stolen kisses in his mouth, could still hear her delighted laugh when he’d wrap her up in his arms and declare his undying love.  
He rose, trying and failing to leave the memories of her behind, and got ready for the day. The coffee he’d bought from the general store wasn’t half bad, and he drank the whole pot with gusto, making a mental note to make sure he picked up some more before he ran out. 
The current sheriff didn’t want him underfoot while he settled his affairs, and he didn’t plan on making Carson’s life harder, but he did want to reacquaint himself with the town he’d soon be the law in. He figured the best way to do that would be to go into the businesses and talk to the people, and make his presence known. 
You should be looking for her, give her an explanation–demand one in return. 
He shook his head, ignoring the rational part of his brain. After all, he didn’t even know if she was still here. He thought about her as he left his house, imagining he could see the two of them as they’d been before. He, in his transition into manhood, her in the bloom of her youth, the two of them inseparable. The ghosts caught up to him though, and then he saw her–the real her, standing just outside the apothecary, waving someone away. 
She saw him too, and his heart raced. She was even more beautiful to him than he remembered; it was as though for a brief moment, all of the years between them melted away. 
A very brief moment. 
The look of shock and hurt, and what he hoped had been love on her face was replaced with a look that, thankfully, could not hurt him. It was pure and unadulterated anger, no–fury. 
His legs moved, bringing him towards her. This was definitely not how he wanted this meeting to go. He just hoped she’d listen, but judging by the way she stuck up her middle finger at him, it didn’t look good. 
The nerve of him. The unmitigated gall! 
“Wait–” His voice sounded as you turned to make your way back inside the shop. 
“No!” You yelled back over your shoulder, not even bothering to face him, even as your heart raced to see him again. 
“Goddamnit, woman, wait! Let me talk to you–” He was closer than you thought, barely managing to avoid you slamming the door in his face. 
“Don’t you ‘woman’ me, Francisco Morales!” you yelled up into his handsome face, hating how gorgeous he looked, how his neck- one of your favourite parts of him- stared you in the face. “Do me a favour and take off for another fifteen years. Leave me be.” 
“Come on, Bluebell, you gotta let me explain.” He managed to slip through the doors before you had a chance to lock them, but it didn’t matter, the pet name he called you stopped you in your tracks and rocketed the fury to new heights. 
“Bluebell?” You couldn’t hide the edge of violence in your voice, “How dare you call me that? I am nothing but a stranger to you at this point. You lost any and all privileges to call me anything at all when you left.” He was taller than when he left, but his eyes still burned into yours the way they’d done when you were young and in love. 
It would make you laugh if you weren’t still so hurt about how everything had gone down. The way he was standing in front of you, hands on his hips, frustrated frown in place. You didn’t give him an inch, but it hurt to admit just how badly you’d missed him. You shooed the swirl of feelings for him away, focusing on the one easiest to deal with: anger.
“Will you listen to me at least?” 
“Why should I?” You turned from him, busying yourself with putting a few of your jars back in their place. 
“Well, because I owe you an explanation–” You let out a bark of cruel laughter.
“That’s an understatement.”
“-I know, I always intended on coming back for you. You have to know that.”
“Do I? Do I just have to know that Francisco?” You all but slammed the jar into its slot on the big cabinet, taking up the whole wall behind the counter. “You know, you have some goddamn nerve–” the little bell above the door jingled when the Sheriff walked in, his bushy, white eyebrows raised into his hairline as the look on your face. It didn’t take an overly in-depth investigation to see that Francisco wasn’t exactly in your good books.
“You never could stay out of trouble, could you, son?” He moved past him to stand at the counter before you, “You want me to come back later, sweetheart?” 
You sighed, doing your best to smile at the older man. 
“Not at all. I have the tonic ready; give me just a moment to wrap it up for you.” You did your best to smile and ignore the big, aggravatingly effective puppy dog eyes shining at you from your peripheral. “Here you are, Sherriff, that’ll be thirty-five cents.” He dug into his pocket, counting out the right amount and handing it over before thanking you and turning to leave.
“You make sure you let me know if you need anything–” He gave Francisco a frown, “-and I mean anything.” 
“Yes sir, thank you.” With another jingle, he was gone, but other customers made their way inside, and Francisco sighed. 
“You can go ahead and leave. I am at my place of business.” 
“I will come and find you later. Then we can actually talk.” He took a few steps back, his hand on the door handle. 
“I won’t hold my breath.”
Much to his annoyance, the sheriff was waiting for him outside of the apothecary. 
“Can I help you with something, sir?” He spoke the words through a tired sigh. 
“Boy, I do believe that woman hates you.” 
“No sir, that woman loves me. If she hated me, she would have shot me.” He moved away from the sheriff, ignoring the raucous laughter that followed his every step. He ignored it and set about doing what he needed to do, telling himself that he’d be able to deal with it later when she let him explain himself. It made no matter what he told himself, though, his mind wouldn’t let her go. 
Instead of using the time productively, he found himself counting the hours until she closed up the shop, loitering around the door like some lovestruck teenager. He scoffed to himself, ignoring the cloying heat of the sun. Isn’t that all he was? Just some lovestruck fool? She couldn’t know that, though, not with the way things had gone down. 
Any hope he had of her cooling down throughout the day died at the narrowing of her eyes, her expression now as she locked the apothecary door so different from the one that had kept him going throughout the years he’d spent away. 
“Still here, shocking.” She waltzed past him, “Just leave me be.”
“I can’t do that., I need you to listen to me.” It took him a few long strides to catch up with her, “Can I please just explain?”
“Why? What does it matter at this point? I don’t want to hear you–” He stood in her way, blocking her path on the dusty sidewalk.
“Listen! Please!” He held onto her arms, keeping her still so he could look into her eyes. “I know you aren’t happy with me–” She scoffed, and he spoke over her, “I know, but you have to know that I missed you all this time. I didn’t want it to happen like this, but I can’t help that now.” She shrugged out of his grip, crossing her arms. 
“You okay, Honey? This man botherin’ you?” An older woman shouted from the porch of the brothel, her hand on the gun at her hip. 
“No, Ma’am, I’m fine. I know him–well, I knew him.” She turned towards the madam and smiled, “I got it under control.” She sighed and walked around him, turning to him after a few steps. “You have until I get home.” 
He rushed behind her and kept the smile to himself.
“I see you’ve done really well for yourself. It makes me really happy to see how you’ve been–” 
“This isn’t an explanation. You’re wasting your time with flattery I won’t respond to.” 
“Right, I’m sorry.” He frowned, trying to keep pace with her. “I sent you letters–”
“You sent me a few letters, all of which I responded to.” She spoke loudly, cutting him off. “A few letters in almost fifteen years–”
“I sent you dozens of letters.” It was his turn to frown and her turn to slow down, “I wrote to you as often as I could, even after I stopped getting your responses.” He knew he wasn’t exactly the kind of man her parents had wanted her to end up with. He remembered the sour looks on their faces when he’d come calling.
“I got a few letters the first year and then nothing else.” Her expression was wary, her eyes narrowed. “Did you really write to me? Or are you saying that so I’ll forgive you?” She crossed her arms, stopping to gauge the truth in his words. 
“I wrote to you for years, figured I would have to come and talk to you in person, but then I thought maybe you’d met someone else, or moved away, or worse. Then I told myself I’d come and find you, but life is the way it is, and things got in the way. When I heard they needed a new sheriff, I sent word to Carson to see if he’d consider hiring me–I was shocked when he responded yes.” She stared at him, eyes bright but mistrustful. “I swear on my mother's grave.” He took her hand, holding it to his heart. “I should have come sooner-” She pulled her hand away gently, fire still burning in her gaze, but now it was coloured with sadness as well as fury. 
“Yes, yes, you should have.” She sighed and continued walking towards their homes, “I am so angry at you, Francisco. I am angry you left and angry you came back.” She looked away from him, her hands flying to her face momentarily before facing forward again. 
“I know.” His house came into view, and he fought the urge to invite her in. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.” She didn’t respond, only kept her eyes forward. “What time do you leave in the morning?”
“What?” She frowned.
“What time do you usually leave? I’m not sure what time the Apothecary opens–”
“It opens at eight, but I like to get there early. Why?” 
“May I accompany you? I would like to walk with you if I could.” He knew she wouldn’t forgive him so quickly. Her fiery temper was one of the things he’d always loved about her. 
“You want to walk me? I am fully capable-”
“I never said you weren’t. I would still like to walk with you. I’ve missed talking to you, it would be a nice way to…reconnect.” He chanced a smile, hoping it would still have the effect it used to. 
She raised an eyebrow but didn’t smile in return. Her house was closer now, his time with her coming to an end for the day. 
“I suppose I cannot stop you.” It wasn’t a yes, but it definitely wasn’t a no.
“See you tomorrow then, goodnight Bluebell.” He stopped a few yards from her door, waiting until she was safely tucked inside before turning and going home.
-
The moon was high when you finally dug out the letters you’d hidden away deep in the chest at the end of your bed. The paper had yellowed, and you didn’t even bother getting up off the floor. With shaky hands, you untied the little bundle and spread them out in front of you, trying your hardest not to tear up at the little hearts and flowers he’d drawn in the curled-up corners. 
My Dearest Bluebell, 
I cannot even begin to tell you how much I miss you. Things here move so quickly, but I’m doing so much, making more money than I’ve ever seen! More than enough for us to start our lives together–
You pushed the letter away, finally letting go of the sob that had been squatting in your throat since seeing him earlier that morning. The love he’d had was so evident in his scratchy script, and the pain of his apparent silence reared its head in your soul to see it again after all of the years you’d survived without him. The last letter he’d sent held no clue as to why he’d ever stop writing, and now a nagging suspicion filled the corners of your mind. 
Your mother had made it more than clear that Francisco wasn’t her first choice for you. She’d treated him less than kindly whenever he came calling, would turn up her nose at him whenever she’d seen the two of you together, and had smiled a big, cruel smile at the news that he’d be leaving. Would she have gone so far as to hide letters from him? Something in your heart said yes. 
Suddenly, it was too much to see his words surrounding you, and you gathered them up hastily, tossing them back into the chest before surrendering to the exhaustion in your heart and in your bones and getting into bed. You tried to think about something else as you lay there, anything else–but he kept popping up, making you wonder–against your will–whether or not he’d actually be there in the morning.
-
He didn’t let you wonder.
His heavy knock made you practically jump out of your skin as you did your best to tie the laces of your corset. You chewed on your bottom lip, annoyed with how you rushed to throw on your dressing robe, sighing at the speed with which you made it to the door. 
He smiled as you opened the door, testing every measure of self-control you’d built up in his absence with a single dimple. 
“You’re here.” 
“Yes, just like I said–I figured it would be best to be early.” His gaze raked over you in your half-dressed state, “You look lovely.” 
“Sure I do.” You scoffed, “I need more time. I usually leave a little later.” He scratched at the back of his neck, unsure what to say, and you had to work extra hard to keep from laughing at him. “Come in then. You can wait in the kitchen while I finish getting dressed.” You turned and left then, leaving him to close the door. 
“Yes, ma’am.” 
You kept the door slightly ajar in your bedroom, your heart racing to know that after all this time–he was in the same house as you. You shook your head, shooing away the novelty of his presence to call up the anger and the fury that had kept you from falling apart in his absence. 
“The house looks great!” He called from the kitchen, “You shoulda seen the state of mine when I got here.”
You bit your lip, relishing the deep tones of his voice as they filled the house. 
“Still haven’t been able to fix the windows–had half a desert's worth of sand in the house. Took me forever to clean it.” He continued speaking as you finished dressing, completely unaware of the way you contemplated whether or not to use some of your very pricey, very precious perfume. You ignored the disappointed little voice in your head as you dabbed a few drops behind your ears and on the inside of your wrists. 
“-hopefully, they'll come in by the end of the week-” He was still speaking when you made your way back into the kitchen where he sat at your little table, the long lines of him entirely too big and too wonderful for the tiny space. 
“Have you eaten?” You cut off his speech, pulling down the cast iron pan from the rack above the woodfire stove.
“I, uh, I had some coffee.” 
“So, no?” You shoved some kindling into the open door of the oven, striking a match to light it. 
“Well, no–”
“Okay then.” There was enough time, and you got to work. 
“Can I help?”
“No–actually, yes. You can go fetch some water from the well out back.” You shoved the big kettle into his hands and sent him on his way, where he went without comment. 
Soon enough, you had biscuits baking and coffee brewing, and the house smelled better than any perfume you could buy. You once again ignored the little voice, the one that curiously sounded like your mother when you put out both the butter and the jam. 
When they were out of the oven and steaming, you couldn’t help but smile at how well they'd turned out. 
“It smells like heaven in here.” You could practically hear him drooling, and it was with a great sense of both satisfaction and pride that you watched him throw caution to the wind and eat one without waiting for it to cool down. He moaned at the first bite, making your heart soar and silencing the mean little voice. 
“You like them?” You had to hear it, had to hear the words in his voice.
“Like them? Honey, I’d kill for them.” You narrowed your eyes at him but let the endearment go without comment. Already, you were softening up for him. “I could eat this whole goddamn plate.” He pulled another one open, no doubt burning the tips of his fingers but continuing on just the same, slathering it with both butter and jam before taking a huge, steam-filled bite. 
You ate yours slower, unsure what you liked best, the biscuit or watching him eat. 
He poured you a cup of coffee before pouring one for himself, and for a moment, your heart shattered at how right it felt to have him here. For the first time since he’d left, you let yourself feel just how lonely you’d been without him. 
“I know you’re angry with me.” He put the remnants of his biscuit down, “I know you think I abandoned you, picked up and found a new life outside of this place, but you have to know–” He reached over, taking your hand in his, “I never stopped thinking about you.” The tears flowed without your permission, what felt like years worth of them dripping steadily onto the bodice of your dress. “I have loved you since I was a boy, and I should have come back the second I thought something was wrong. I’ll never forgive myself for letting you worry or letting you imagine for a single moment that you weren’t everything to me. I know it’ll take time for you to trust me again, but I’ll work as hard as I can.”
You wanted to rip your hand away, to scream in his face and tell him to give you peace, but you couldn’t. Instead, you let the tears fall, let him stand and tentatively pull you towards him, let him crush you in the first hug you’ve had in years. For a moment, it’s as though you cannot get close enough, your hands like claws digging into the fabric of his overcoat, knuckles cramping from the force of your grip, and he sighs into your hair. The relief of the painfully familiar smell of him is so great that it almost knocks you off your feet. 
When you finally push him away, you know your eyes are puffy. 
“I believe you–” He smiles through his own tears, “-but I am still angry. I cannot just let go of my hurt. Not so quickly.” It takes everything in you, but you untangle yourself from him softly. “I have been living in this for so long, I don’t even know how to stop feeling this way.” The handkerchief that usually lived in your pocket made itself useful now. “I don’t even know where to begin. I loved you so much–” His face contorted in pain, the use of the word in the past tense like a stab to his heart. “-I don’t think I ever stopped. It’s the reason it hurts so much.” He let out a shaky breath, smiling a watery smile. 
“I know, I’ll work for it, I promise.” 
“I know.” 
He felt like he was flying. His steps were so light, surely he’d grown wings. He knew it was going to be a long road for them, but for the first time in years, he had hope. 
He couldn’t keep the smile off his face throughout the day, the feel of her in his arms, the smell of her in his nose, all of it made him feel like any errant puff of wind would blow him away. He had a skip in his step as he made his way over to the Sheriff's office, uncaring whether the man wanted him there or not. He had to keep his time away from her occupied with something, and learning what it took to do his job effectively was the next best thing. 
“I haven’t seen that look on your face in years, it meant trouble back then, and I doubt it’s changed.” Sheriff Carson frowned at him, “Your house all fixed up then?” He didn’t stop what he was doing, instead continuing as he spoke. 
“As fixed as it can be, sir, until the replacement window panes come in.” He sat in the chair in front of Carson without invitation. The man only grunted in response. 
“I want to start early, get a feel for what you do so I can do it properly.” At this, the older man looked up. 
“I know I wasn’t the easiest kid–” The older man scoffed at that but let him continue. “-Yes, yes, I know. I was a helion. I’m a man now, and I’ve grown up. I just want to keep this town safe, want to do my job.” The older man's eyes narrowed, and Francisco frowned. “Why did you say yes when I applied?”
“Part curiosity, part hope, I guess.” He set the pen down, leaning back in his chair, his arms coming to rest crossed on his belly. “You’ve always been a smart kid, Frank, and if you really are as grown up as I think you are, I think you got the makings to be a great sheriff. Especially if you’re anything like your daddy.” It was probably the nicest thing Carson had ever said to him. He didn’t know how to respond. 
“I just don’t want you to hurt that girl–” He raised his hands to forestall any response, “I know what you felt for her was real, but she was a shell when you left, and I don’t want to see her like that again. We clear?”
“Yes, sir. I’m here. I’m home for good.”
“Good, now let's get to work.”
-
Francisco was no stranger to hard work, but Carson seemed determined to make him jump through every single hoop in order to prove he could do this job. It didn’t deter him in the slightest, not with the promise of the life he’d always wanted so close on the horizon. Instead, he took notes, followed Carson, did everything he asked, and paid as much attention as he could, but secretly counted the hours until he would see her again. 
He heard the gunshots as he organized the disaster that was Carson’s filing system. 
“Suppose you oughta come with.” Carson slipped his holster on, handing a gun to him before leading the way toward the sound. 
A half-naked man was rolling around on the ground just outside the brothel, clutching at a blood-soaked arm. His eyes were wild with pain and anger, and he only seemed to get more frantic at the sight of the two of them approaching. 
“Sheriff! Arrest that woman!” He pointed with his good hand at the young woman on the porch. “Crazy bitch shot my damn arm-” 
“You put your hands on me, and you lose your hand! Them’s my rules!” She was screaming mad, a painful-looking shiner blooming on her pale face. 
“Enough!” Carson’s voice rang out loud enough to silence everyone within earshot, “Now–Who’s gonna tell me what happened? I can listen, or I can arrest the lot of you and be done with it.” He rested his weight on one leg, hand resting on the gun at his hip. 
The madame stepped out from behind the younger woman, her face austere. 
“I think it’s pretty obvious; he took a liberty, smacked my girl around, and he got bit.” She put her arm around the younger woman's shoulder. “Ethel is one of my best. Now she’s got this to deal with. He’s lucky she didn’t shoot his pecker off.” The man scoffed, pulling his shirt on as best he could before moving towards the women. 
“I don’t think so, pal,” Francisco spoke directly to him, pulling his own gun and holding it at his side in warning.
“I got witnesses, Carson. Lock this fucker up, and let us get back to work.”
“I’ll need to come in and get some statements, Mabel. You know that as well as I do. Frank, take this moron over to get patched up.” 
“So I’m just gonna lose my fuckin’ hand!?” He was incensed. 
“Lucky you didn’t lose your life. Now get out of my sight. I’m gonna give you until sundown to be out of here; if not, you can spend an undetermined amount of time in my jailhouse.” Carson’s voice held no room for anything but complete obedience, and after a tense moment, all of the air went out of him, and he let Francisco lead him toward the town physician. 
-
You tried not to be upset when he wasn’t waiting for you outside the apothecary at the end of the day; after all, he hadn’t said he would be. Instead, you locked up as usual and set about making your way home.
“Bluebell!” His voice rang out from behind you, making your head whip around. Your frown turned from annoyance to worry at the sight of dried blood on the white of his shirt. Your hands clutched at the collar of his shirt before you had a chance to catch yourself. 
“What happened?” Any and all propriety went right out the window with how frantically you pulled at his layers to see where the blood had come from. “Did you get hurt?”
“No, no, I’m fine–it’s not mine.” there was something in his voice that brought you back to your senses, a tenderness that pierced the very heart of you. His hands held onto yours for a moment before you pulled them away slowly. 
“Oh. I’m glad.”
“There was some trouble at the brothel. One of the girls shot some idiot who got handsy. I had to bring him to the physician.” The thought of him anywhere near the brothel made your hackles rise. You stamped the feeling away and continued your walk back home. He fell into step beside you. “What was that?” His smile was big now.
“What was what?”
“That look you just gave me.” He bumped his shoulder into yours, and you frowned. 
“What are you talking about? I didn't give you any look.” 
“You gave me a look, Blue, when I said the word brothel, a jealous look.” His smile was so wide you wanted to smack him. 
“I did not. You are free to do as you please. We aren’t married.” You kept your eyes on the horizon and did your best to ignore the bark of laughter he let out beside you. 
“Fine, I’ll drop it. I got no business in a brothel anyway. Even if I’m not married, yet.” 
You sighed, ignoring just how right he was. 
There was a man with a wagon waiting just outside his house as you passed it. 
“Can I help you?” He called out to the man outside his house. You can’t help but notice how he put himself between you and the stranger. 
“I have some window panes to deliver.” He walked around to the back of the wagon, uncovering it to show the cargo 
“Oh! Yes, I’ll take those.” He jogged over to the man, helping to bring the glass inside. You followed him despite yourself, unable to keep the frown off your face at the state of his home. You were still looking around when everything had been brought inside, and the man had been sent away. “It still needs work, but at least the windows will be intact.” You could see how he surveyed his home, his eye just as critical if not more than yours.
You set down your things. 
“Need to boil some water.” You hauled out the biggest pot you could find. 
“What?” He came over and took the pot from you, putting it onto the stove for you. 
“We need to boil water to clean these floors, and we should wash these windows too.” 
“Yes, but I can do it–” 
“Francisco. Go get water so we can boil it and get this place in order.” You raised your eyebrows at him and relished the way he watched you. He’d always liked it when you were assertive. 
“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled before heading out to his own well. 
Once the water was boiled, you got to work with a stiff brush while he set about replacing the broken windows. It wasn’t easy work, getting down on your knees to scrub the years worth of dirt and dust out of every nook and cranny embedded in the floorboards. It was worth it, though, to look up every so often and see the hard lines of him working, both his jacket and waistcoat shed and thrown onto a chair; his shirtsleeves rolled up. 
He’d always been beautiful to you, with his big brown eyes and his golden skin, the maddening dimple, even the curve in his nose. He was even more gorgeous now, with age and experience etched on his face, even hardened, he could still make you swoon. 
You gasped at the sting, snatching your hand back cat-quick. Blood beaded on your finger and dripped down onto the freshly washed floor, an errant piece of broken glass sitting on the floor. It was a few seconds before he was gathering you up from off the floor and guiding you to one of the chairs. 
“I’m okay, just a little cut.” He moved away for a moment, moving towards the back of the house. “Really, Frankie, I’m fine.” He came back with a few pieces of clean linen and a little jar of something clear; you can only imagine what it is.
“I know. I still want to clean and wrap it, though.” He set his things down, moving to the remaining boiled water on the stove to dampen one of the pieces of cloth, using it to clean the wound before opening the little jar. His eyes found yours then– ”You gonna be brave for me?” He held it over the cut, waiting for you to answer. “It’s going to hurt, but I know you’re gonna be good for me.” He winked and then splashed a little bit of the moonshine onto it. He may as well have stuck a hot poker into your hand. “There there, Blue, almost done.” 
By the time the stinging abates, your finger is wrapped up, and any evidence of injury is gone. 
“Thank you.” You held your hand close to your chest, ignoring the way it shook a bit. 
“Of course, I think we’re done for today. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I would like for you to eat something.” He pulled out what looked like some crusty bread and some dry meat. “It’s not much, but it’s what I have for right now.” He set it down in front of you, giving you everything he had to offer, and for the first time in years, you smiled at him. 
“Are you done with the windows?” 
“Yes, I just need to get rid of these broken pieces.”  He gestured to the pile on the counter. 
“Okay, let's go back to my place. I can make us dinner.” You stood to move, and he followed you, protesting for a moment. 
“But your hand–”
“My hand is fine. Let’s go.” You moved to pick up your things, but he stopped you, gently knocking your hand aside to carry them for you.
-
The stew came together as quickly as it could with the way your hand throbbed. The bread, too, and soon enough, you were both sitting at the table eating the steaming food quietly. He ate with gusto, and you wondered briefly if he’d been eating well in his time away. He looked strong, but then again, he’d always been broad. 
He pushed his bowl away with a dreamy smile, his hands coming to rest on his belly. 
“That was the best thing I’ve eaten since I left. Aside from the biscuits this morning, I mean.”
“I’m glad.” You finished eating as he sat there, enjoying his company far more than you’d ever admit. Once you were done, he grabbed your bowl and put it into the sink, pouring some of the leftover well water to begin cleaning up. “You don’t have to do that–”
“I know. You don’t have to feed me either. I’ll just clean these and then get out of your hair.” You sighed, knowing you wouldn’t convince him otherwise. 
“Thank you.”
“No, thank you, you’ve fed me better today than in the whole time I was gone.” You smiled to yourself, half exhilarated, half annoyed at just how much your anger at him had crumbled. “Okay-” He set the last plate on the drying rack before drying his hands, “-I desperately need a bath. I’ll get out of your way. See you tomorrow morning?” 
“If you want.” You followed behind him, trying your hardest to keep the hope out of your voice. 
“Of course, I want to see you tomorrow.” He moved in quickly, pressing a kiss to your forehead before you had time to protest. “Goodnight Blue.” With a smile and a wink, he’s gone. 
-
Weeks passed, and it could not be said that Francisco Morales wasn’t a persistent man. No matter how hard you tried to hang onto that anger, he excelled in chipping away at it. He was true to his word about working on building back the trust that had been lost, spending any time away from his work with Carson split between you, and working on his house. 
He’d become quite the handyman in his time away, and he showcased that in the work he did in both his house and yours. He’d noticed your laundry line had broken and fixed it aggravatingly quickly. He spotted a few leaky spots in your roof and had them fixed at no cost to you, making you wonder just how much money he’d made while away. Aside from the windows and the cleaning you’d both done at his place, he’d replaced the more rundown furniture, and while it was missing some of the personal touches of his mother–it was definitely comfortable and livable once again. 
The intense loneliness and craving for intimacy had also hit you full force with his return. You found yourself thinking back to how things had been when you’d been young and wildly in love with each other. How his mouth had always found yours, how he seemed to need to be close to you, his arm often around your shoulder, his hand always finding a way to clasp yours. 
It was worse at night when other memories floated out of the isthmus of your mind, filling it with the visions of him above you, his tongue in your mouth, and his cock deep inside. You’d been young but eager to explore one another, and he had been nothing if not resourceful in finding any and all opportunities to get you out of your clothing. Now, the days were filled with new tortures, and you found yourself feeling jealous of the beads of sweat that rolled down his back, envious of the way his shirts seemed to hold him so tightly. 
The way his eyes tracked you didn’t help the situation; they were just as wild, just as beautiful, and just as open and honest as they’d always been. His desire for you shining out at you through their honeyed gaze. 
He’d been busy that morning, well and truly the sheriff now, and with that came more time away, giving you, in turn, more time alone. Or so you’d thought. The knock was loud, solid, and instantly, you knew it was him. You groaned, staring at the perfectly steaming water of the tub surrounding you. 
“Not now, Frankie!” You called out to him from the back of the house–hoping for a moment he’d let you enjoy the sweet steam surrounding you. His knock came again, and you huffed, stepping out of the oasis and wrapping yourself up in your dressing gown. “Frankie, I’m kind of in the middle of something–” You opened the door to him, and instantly, his gaze raked over you, no doubt seeing the way the damp fabric clung to your body, leaving nothing to the imagination. The dumbstruck look on his face filled you with such satisfaction that you let him look his fill before moving your eyes to bring his attention back up. “Can I help you with something?” 
“Uh–” He stumbled for a moment, his eyes moving back down to where the gown split, to where your leg and most of your thigh peeked through. “Um–I uh…”
“...You…?”
“Um…Sorry. I brought you a gift.” He shook his head for a minute before decidedly looking you in the eye. “I remember I took your copy; brought you a new one.” He held the book out to you, and for a moment, you forgot to be alluring. 
“Jane Eyre?” You grabbed the book, opening it up quickly. 
“I remember you reading it to me; thought maybe I could read it to you sometime.” His dimple shined, and you couldn’t help but leap into his arms. 
“Oh, Frankie, I love it! I have been looking for a copy forever!” You pressed your face into his neck and relished how tightly he held onto you in return, relished the feeling of his nose buried in the crook of your neck.
“God, Blue, you smell good enough to eat.” His words, his voice, they ran down your spine like a drop of ice on a hot day, hardening your nipples and making you ache for him. You pulled away, biting your lip as you stared at his mouth.
“You could come in… and read to me?” He smiled and closed the door. “I was just in the bath. I could get in and cover myself with a cloth. You could read to me while I bathe.” He nodded slowly, gulping before following you, making sure to grab a chair on his way. 
“Give me one minute to get in.” You closed the door, heart thumping at how the colour had gone out of his eyes, leaving them blown black. Within a few tense moments, you were back in the tub with the hangover of the lining cloth covering you under the milky, soapy water. “Okay–come in.” 
He looked almost pained as he pulled up the chair beside you, his eyes once again greedy in their quest to map whatever part of you he could see, which admittedly is more than you planned to show him with how transparent the lining is. 
“Shall I start at the beginning?” He flipped open the book, but his eyes were still locked on you. 
“Yes, please.”
“Very well.” He took a deep breath, and began, his deep, soothing voice the perfect accompaniment to the steaming water.
“Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right hand; to the left were the clear panes of glass, protecting, but not separating me from the drear November day–Oh, sorry, I already read that.” You smiled to yourself, enjoying the way he couldn’t seem to focus, the way he kept losing his place, and admittedly, it took everything in you not to pull him into the tub with you. 
“That’s okay. Can you help me with this?” You offered him the soapy washcloth, “My back? It’s so hard to get it on my own.” You batted your eyes at him, smiling the smile he’d never been able to resist, hoping it still worked its magic on him. 
“Let me rinse my hands first. I don’t want to muddy up this paradise.” He knocked the chair over in his haste to reach the washbasin you had on the counter. By the time he was finished and righting his seat, he had shed his topmost layers and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his biceps. 
You leaned forward, giving him access to the skin of your back and sighing at the closeness of him when he pressed the soapy cloth to it. 
“God, I missed you, Blue.” He rubbed at your shoulders slowly, his other hand slipping around to hold the top of your chest, just beneath the dip at the bottom of your throat. “Missed touching you, feeling you, kissing you.”
Your eyes closed, and you thought surely he must feel the way your heart raced just under your skin when his fingers curled softly around your neck. 
“Been dying to kiss you for years.” You felt then how the cloth had been discarded, and his bare hand spanned the smooth skin of your back, massaging at your shoulders and the top of your spine. “You ever miss me like that?” His voice was a soft rasp now, lulling you up and back into his hand, letting the linen go and looking up into his eyes. 
“Yes–I do, Frankie–all the time.” You bit your lip, staring at his mouth as he spoke. 
“Can I kiss you?” He moved forward an inch, leaning in as his hands worked their spell against your skin. 
“Yes-” You barely whispered the word before he pressed his mouth to yours softly. It was tender and oh so familiar, the way his lips moved against yours, his tongue seeking entrance and gaining it just like he’d done so many times before. Your kiss was a dance, the steps of which neither of you had ever forgotten. It ached, the way his mouth claimed yours, and you couldn’t help but lean into him, to reach up and hold onto him as he groaned into the kiss. 
“I have been dreaming about this since I left–” He spoke between kisses, pressing them to your face, before licking into your mouth once more, “Can I touch you?”
You nodded, chasing his mouth again. His hand slipped down, slick with soap, and then he held onto your breast, kneading one and then the other, his thumb strumming against the sensitive buds while your cunt leaked for him. His eyes moved, watching himself touch you, his lip caught between his teeth,and all of a sudden, it was too much, and you move, pulling away and standing, naked as the day you were born. 
“Take me to bed, Frankie.” He stared up at you from his place on the chair, and from the look on his face, you’d think he was looking at an angel. It didn’t last, though; within seconds, he was up and pulling you out of the tub, practically dragging you towards your bedroom. 
Your breath came out in a huff when you landed on your back, smiling breathlessly at the look of pure hunger on his face. He chewed his lip as he pulled off his layers, going through them quick enough that you genuinely worried he’d rip them. The water that had clung to your skin from the bath, now seeped into the sheets underneath you as you watched him undress. 
“I’m so fucking hard for you, Blue.” He kicked his denim off, tossing everything every which way, “So hard it hurts.” His cock bobbed as he finally crawled his way over to you, and it was then that you saw it, a significant scar on his side, like a starburst. Your hand reached out, and you pressed your fingers to it, looking into his eyes for an explanation. 
He pulled your hand up and kissed the tips of your fingers, “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” He continued his pilgrimage across your body, stopping only to kiss your sternum, your hip, and the soft skin of your belly. “I missed seeing you like this so much-“ he opened your legs, groaning at the way your cunt glistened for him. “-I missed how fucking wet you get, how good you taste-“ he barely finished speaking before he dove in, his tongue parting you further, gliding over your clit with desperation. 
“I missed you-oh-“ his hands clutched at your thighs, pulling you closer to his mouth, pulling the strings of your arousal to pool for his tongue. “That feels so fucking good, Frankie—“ Your hands found the short crop of his hair, unsure of whether you wanted to pull him up or grind against him. He huffed a cocky laugh into your skin, doubling his efforts and tightening his grip on your thighs, his fingers indented into the skin. The steady glide of his tongue against your clit, up and down, up and down, has you falling over the edge of the cliff and your thighs clamping around his head.
It didn't stop him; his tongue kept moving, slower as you rode out your high. He bit at the plump of your inner thigh as you relaxed, smiling and shiny with your arousal.
“I missed that too.” He moved, pressing his lips to your belly again, moving up and licking a hot stripe between your breasts before slotting his hips between your legs. His skin was so warm, so welcome, that you couldn’t help but sigh and pull him close, your fingers curling into his hair. 
“I wanted you to come back so badly-“ You covered every inch of his face in kisses, “Wanted you to stay with me, love me like this.” You licked into his mouth, tasting yourself in the kiss.
“I’m here, Honey, I’ll never leave you again-“ You can feel just how hard his cock is as it pressed into your belly, the two of you clinging to one another in the dying light of the day. 
“Promise me, promise me you won’t leave me.” You reached down and wrapped your hand around the sizable heft of him, stroking slowly while positioning him at your entrance.
“Fuck-I promise baby, I promise you-“ His sentence ended in a filthy moan as you pulled him in with your heels, pressing into the meat of his ass, finally having him inside you again after everything. 
You moaned at the way he filled you.
The last fifteen years melted away, the long stretch of loneliness feeling more and more like a dream with every deep stroke of his cock. 
There were no more words, only whimpers from you and deep groans from him. There was the rhythmic rocking of your bed and the slick sounds of him moving between your legs. His hips snapped faster and faster as he chased his release, burying his face into the crook of your neck to feed all the delicious sounds he made directly into your ear.
“I’m so close, touch yourself—“ his voice sounded wrecked, moving his hips like a piston, his cock kissing that one spot only he ever found. You obey and reach down to swirl your fingers around your clit, rocketing yourself closer to another, more intense orgasm. 
He moved his face down, holding onto your breast to suck on your nipple, and then the dam broke, and you clenched around him, moaning his name as you reached your peak. 
“Fuck, that’s it, that’s so good, oh god—I’m gonna come-“ his hips sped up, the wet sounds of his thrusts louder after your second climax. You opened your legs wide, giving him space to move, but he stayed put.
“Frankie-“ You started to speak, trying to guide him to spill on your belly; still, he didn’t move. Instead, he pushed in deep, groaning loudly, and it was with a sinking feeling in your stomach that you felt him twitch inside. 
You were frozen in place, momentarily shocked into silence.
“God—I’ve been dreaming of that for years.” He sounded drunk, pulling out of you with a hiss to take a good look at his handiwork. 
“Francisco, did you just do what I think you did?” Your tone was devoid of any sweetness. “Did you just spill inside me?” 
“Yes—“ he frowned, confusion colouring his face along with the flush of his exertion, “—I thought you’d forgiven me? We’re together again-“
“And me forgiving you means risking a baby?” You pulled away, wiggling out from under him to grab a linen shift from your drawer. 
“Wait, Blue, come back.” He moved to sit at the edge of the bed, “I’m sorry I didn’t think. It just felt right.” 
“Of course it felt right to you. You have no regard for how I might feel.” Your anger burned through you, where once there had been passion, it was now replaced with fear. A deep fear that the next time he decided to up and leave, it might not just be you waiting for him. 
“Don’t be like that, sweetheart, that’s not true-“
“I’d like you to leave.” Hot tears flowed down your face at the thought of being pregnant with his child, and alone, waiting to see how long it took him to return the second time.
“Baby, please—don’t make me leave, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that—“
“Leave! I want to be alone. Please just–just go home.” You wiped at your eyes before crossing your arms, doing your absolute best to avoid his gaze. He sighed loudly, moving slowly to gather his things, stopping only to put on his pants and his shirt before tucking tail and heading home.
-
He’d fucking blown it. 
By some miracle, he’d managed to get into her good books, his persistence and determination to show her just how madly in love with her he was–how in love with her he’d always been–weeks worth of it, and he’d messed up in a few minutes. A few glorious, amazing minutes. 
He couldn’t help but groan in annoyance with himself every time he remembered it, the euphoria of being with her again, being inside her, of having her wet and needy and so eager for him only to get lost in it and risk a baby they hadn’t yet discussed. Hadn’t even really discussed getting married, not since he’d come back. 
He didn’t even know why he’d thought it’d be okay. It had been purely instinctual but also irresponsible and disrespectful. It shamed him that he couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop craving it. He ignored it, though, continued on with showing her his reliability and hoped she understood that she was all he wanted. 
-
Sleep eluded you for days, refusing to find you until the blood came. It wasn’t much better when it finally did, though. There was the initial relief, of course, there would be no child born out of wedlock, and you would not be treated like a pariah, but where did that leave you? He apologized for it, constantly. He groveled, he begged for your time and for your love and forgiveness, and it was his. It was there–ready for him, but the fear hid it away. 
No matter how consistent he’d been in his time back, no matter how much he’d assured and explained that he wasn’t going to leave, it still felt like there was a clock ticking somewhere you couldn’t see, counting down the seconds until you’d be alone again. 
You tried to focus on other things, filling your days with organizing your home, with clearing out things that no longer served you, things that you had brought over from when your mother died and had actively ignored or hidden away until genuinely forgotten. There were old, moth-eaten rags that had once been her clothes, a few books, and an old hairbrush. Amongst her things, though, was a bundle of paper, a fat wad of it. 
Confused, you pulled it apart and very quickly realized that they were letters and they were addressed to you. It was jarring to see your name in Frankie’s script and harrowing to realize that you’d had them the whole time without knowing. 
With shaking hands, you opened them one by one, and by the third, the tears obscured your vision. 
My Dearest Bluebell, 
I know you must be angry with me, things aren’t moving as quickly as they should, but this changes nothing–I’m still coming home to you–
He talked about his time in the war, about how differently they did things where he was, and about how much money he was saving, but between all that was the same promise of return. It was everywhere, that–and his pleas for a response from you. 
Please sweetheart, I need to hear from you, please let me know you’re okay, and that you don’t hate me–
You sobbed into them. The words were like wounds, the pain of being alone for so long is even sharper now than it had been before. He had been true to his word, writing letter after letter without a single word from you, and despite the pain of knowing that fact, you read every single one. The dates were consistent, every week, almost like clockwork, except for once–when there were a few months between two letters. 
Bluebell, my love, 
I am okay–but I was hurt. I barely remember what happened, but one minute I’m in the middle of it, fighting, and the next minute I was screaming and then blackness, until I woke up in a hospital. Nurse says I’m lucky to be alive and that I’m going to be okay–
It was too much, all of it, and despite the fact that it was late and he was most certainly asleep, you had to see him. 
The moon followed you on your walk towards his house, lighting the path and keeping you company. There was a soft glow shining out from one of his windows, and it inspired hope, making it easier to knock on the door despite the hour. 
There was movement on the other side of the door, his heavy footsteps padding across the old floorboards.
“Who’s there?” Suspicion threaded thickly through his words, and you couldn’t blame him; this was no hour for anyone to come calling.
“I need to talk to you. Can I come in?” Your voice was shaky, the tears had abated while you made your way over, but the worried look on his face when he opened the door threatened to let them flow once more.
“What’s the matter? What happened?” He was shirtless, holding his pistol at his side while he looked beyond you to inspect the horizon. “Come in, come in—“ He closed the door behind you, setting the pistol down with a frown. “What’s the matter, Blue? Why are you out at this hour?” 
“I—“ you choked on the word, clutching at his letters, “Frankie, I found them, my mother—“ you sobbed out words, choking on them before he sighed. 
“Oh Honey, please don’t cry.” He gathered you up, pulling you into the strong cage of his arms, and it was like the floodgates cracked open wide. One palm held the back of your head, and the other was wrapped around your waist. “You didn’t know, it’s okay.”
“I, I don’t even know what to say. I’m sorry,” your voice cracked with the agony of all of the lost years, “you wrote so many letters, and I never answered any of them, and you got hurt—oh god, you could have died!” It was hard to tell if you were screaming or sobbing anymore.
“Hey! Hey! Shhh, it’s okay, baby,” he rubbed your back, a soothing gesture, “Hey, stop, stop, take a deep breath, I’m fine. I survived. There was nothing you could have done. I know you would have written to me if you’d gotten my letters, if you knew.” He pressed his lips to your temple. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back sooner. I shouldn’t have left without you.” 
“I should have known she’d do something like this. I–” You pulled away to look up into his eyes, “I am so angry at her. She let you carry on, just hid them without a care–even though she knew I was heartbroken.” You brushed his hair back before hugging him again. 
“She never did like me. It was pretty cruel of her to do that to both of us.” He was being much more gracious about it than he should have, a testament to his love for you that he didn’t want to bash your mother despite the damage she’d done. 
“Miserable old bitch.” You had no qualms about calling her what she was. 
“Forget about her. It’s okay now. Thankfully, we’re together again.” He grabbed his pistol and led you further into the house. 
-
Your fingers drew the shapeless pattern onto the warm skin of his chest for what must have been the hundredth time since the both of you tumbled into his bed an hour ago. It was still pitch black outside, the only light being a candle on his bedside. The sun would creep in soon enough, though, and when it did, it would find the two of you clinging to one another. 
“I hate that you went through this alone.” Your fingers migrated down to the starburst on the side of his lower stomach, tracing the edges of it softly. 
“I’m lucky, I made a full recovery.” His voice was soft, “I saw others get much worse.”
“That doesn’t minimize this, Francisco, you could have died out there, and I never would have known.” You squeezed your eyes together for a moment, ignoring the implications, “Can you ever forgive me? For not writing?” 
“Only if you can find it in you to forgive me for being away so long and for what happened.” He pulled your hand up, pressing your knuckles to his lips.
“You’re forgiven for everything.” You frowned, “We hadn’t discussed our future, everything was still so up in the air, and I was terrified to get pregnant. Not because I don’t want to have your children, I was just terrified you'd leave me again and then I'd be here, alone and with a baby.” His face fell, guilt swirling around his features. “That was before. I believe you when you say you won’t and that you’re here for good.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek, then to his lips.
“I understand why that would have scared you. I shouldn’t have done it without permission, though. It was careless of me.” He pulled you closer, relishing in the contact just like he had in the early days. There was a beat, a comfortable silence, and it stretched on for a while, the two of you content to lay there until the stiffness of your dress pulled you away. He helped you take it off until you were in your simple shift, and then you took your place beside him once more.
“Francisco?” You murmured, wondering if he’d fallen asleep.
“Yes?”
“I never said, but I’m sorry about your parents.” He’d been gone for years when they passed. 
“Me too.” He didn’t say more, and you didn’t press. “You should get some rest. Will you stay with me?”
“Yes, I don’t want to go.” He got up for a moment, pulling the rest of his layers off before blowing out the candle.
“Good, I didn’t want you to leave.” He slipped into the bed, pulling his sheet over the both of you before pulling you in close. “Goodnight, Honey.”
“Goodnight, Frankie.” 
-
The sun shone bright enough to shoo the last vestiges of sleep away. It found you warm and comfortable under the comforting weight of his arm over your belly and his leg tangled with yours. He looked younger, asleep and you could almost see him just as he was when he’d left, fresh-faced and eager to see and do as much as he could. That fire for life and all it entailed, burning brightly in every expression. 
Your thumb traced the line of his jaw first, sweeping up his chin to glide across his pursed lower lip. He twitched but didn’t wake, only tightened his grip on you. Your thumb slid up, following the curve of his nose, up to smooth across his brow. 
He stirred again, humming softly before pressing closer still, burying his face into the crook of your neck and tickling you with his moustache. 
“Is it morning already?” His voice was sleepy but laced with pure joy. 
“Yes, it is. How did you sleep?” Your tone matched his, his joy was contagious, hope and happiness swirling in the air much like the dustmotes that danced in each shaft of light. Your hands had migrated down, fingers flitting across his broad back, relishing every inch, every errant freckle. 
“Better than I have in years. How about you?” His lips made their own pilgrimage, from just below your ear, down the column of your neck, and down to your shoulder; each press of his lips widening the smile on yours. 
“I slept really well. I forgot how warm you get when you sleep.” He laughed at this, good-hearted. 
“Good, means you don’t need to wear this–” His hands slid under your shift, grabbing greedily at your thighs, then your backside. 
“Very clever. Don’t you need to get up and go to work, Sheriff? Or am I under arrest?” There was no real bite behind your words. 
“Hmm, I don’t know, are you? Are you here to confess to a crime? Aside from stealing my heart, that is.” You let out a bark of laughter, rising slightly to let him take the shift off of you despite the game. 
“Is that what I’ve done? Stolen your heart?”
“Oh yes, years ago. First day you smiled at me, come to think of it.” He nodded sagely for a moment before pressing his lips to yours softly, making you both melt and drip for him. 
“Well then, I guess I deserve my punishment.” You reached down, shimmying out of your underthings to bare yourself to him. He bit his lip before dipping low to lick at the stiff peak of your breast, soft as his kiss, before taking your nipple into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks. You moaned, watching him enraptured. 
“I’ll be just and fair.” He smiled, after letting go with a pop, moving to the next one to give it the same treatment. Your fingers curled into his short crop while your thighs pressed together to alleviate the aching at your core. He sucked harder, frantically, and then there was the edge of pain when he bit softly, making you gasp for a second before he once again soothed with his tongue. 
“God, woman, you make me crazy.” His eyes were wild for a moment before he claimed your mouth again, his tongue plundering without mercy. 
“I want you, Frankie–give it to me.” You reached down to grasp him in hand, but he moved away, denying you. 
“I want to make you feel good. Let me taste you again.” He moved down, his lips mapping a course down to where you wanted him most. 
“I want you, though, Frankie, want you to make me sore. You can use your mouth later.” You held your arms out to him, and although he stared at your mound with hunger, he obeyed. 
You spread your legs for him, and he slots his hips, pulling your legs high onto his thighs for a moment before sheathing himself in you with one brutal, delicious stroke. 
“God, Frankie, you’re splitting me open.” You moaned the words into his ear, and his head dropped into your neck, groaning at your words. 
You reach down to hold onto his ass, grabbing onto it as he thrusts. 
“You want me like this? Or you want me on my knees like you used to like?” You whispered, and he moaned, his hips stuttering for a moment before pulling out. It was the only answer you needed before you moved to get into position, presenting yourself to him. 
His thighs pressed against the backs of yours, his hand landing heavy on one ass cheek before he entered you from behind. He felt deeper this way, hitting something otherworldly with each press. 
“That’s my girl, you gonna take my big dick Honey?” You moaned into your forearm, arousal burning bright as a coal in the pit of your belly from his words, from the slick sounds of your joining, from the way your nipples grazed against his bedding. 
He bent forward, pulling at your arms to hold them behind your back, and once he did, his efforts doubled. He was a piston, ramming into you hard enough to make your breasts bounce, hard enough to make you scream for him. 
He moved you again, pulling you up to meet the solid wall of his chest, his chin hooking over your shoulder, one hand holding onto your breast, the other sliding down to swirl around your clit, shoving you headlong into a blinding climax. 
“That’s it, baby, God, I can feel you squeezing my cock. Where do you want me to come? Can I come on your ass?” His words sounded frantic, and you nodded, barely whispering the words. 
“Yes, Frankie–” He let you go, and you pressed your face into the mattress once more, spreading your legs a little wider before you felt him pull out, feeling the way his hand grabbed and spread you open while the other one pumped between your legs. You felt the hot spurt of him on the cheeks of your ass and the small of your back just as you heard the filthy groan he let out. 
You both caught your breath for a moment, riding the wave of release before he moved and within a few minutes, he passed a cool, wet cloth across your skin, cleaning his mess off before discarding it and falling into bed beside you. 
There was sweat on his brow, there was sweat on yours, too, but it didn’t matter, the euphoria was rich and sweet as fresh cider. 
“I missed you so much, Frankie.” You turned to face him fully, the two of you naked and comfortable. 
“I missed you too, Honey.” He pulled you close, wrapping you up in his arms, where you belonged. 
tag list: @foli-vora @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @ezrasbirdie @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @marydjarin @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @princessxkenobi @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @dihra-vesa @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @quica-quica-quica @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @deadhumourist @felicisimor @sophiefatale2495 @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @localddreamers @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @maievdenoir @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed @swtaura @send-me-to-valhalla @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @oliviajdjarin @actuallyanita @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x @naiomiwinchester @blazedprince @rosymythologies @avidreader73 @mr-underhills-things @avengersfan25 @tastygoldentaters @nyotamalfoy @mymindfuckery @txtattoostark
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gruesim · 1 year
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Rosewood Park - BETA
Rosewood Park was founded in 1879, in the Victorian era, as a getaway for the rich when the city pollution robbed their lungs of air. Grand Victorians constructed and lavish parties were hosted. During the first world war, it was a haven for those trying to escape the endless drone of the alarms and the destruction. With some distance from the mainland, it was barely attacked and houses an eclectic mix of people all with the same goal, of finding security. During the second world war, its hidden location but proximity to the mainland turned it into a hotspot for weapons factories. The docks were expanded to allow boats to transport the wares and neighborhoods were quickly established to house the factory workers. Only few of the old Victorians are still standing today, integrated into the varying communities that surround the docks. Since the last war, Rosewood Park has become calm, the bustling population long gone, left with a few settled families and a slow, peaceful life. Although in need of some repair, this town hosts everything needed to live surrounded by the beautiful Rosewood Mountains and a quiet lull.
WORLD DETAILS:
Small map
Around 60 residential lots with no interiors but finished exteriors
Around 20 community lots with most rabbit holes
A lot of CC (all included)
This world has its own lighting mod, so please remove any lighting mod you use or download the lighting mod if you want it for other worlds, its a realistic one!
Theoretically needs most EPs, however most of the necessary EP CC can be cloned and made BG compatible and much of it has already been done and is included in the Rockwood Island download here.
KNOWN ISSUES:
Please read the README: As this world is a Beta and I made it mainly for me, so if you have issues please tell me but I am not planning on fixing small things unless they really mess up. I am not really active anymore and this is just being uploaded because people asked :)
MORE PICTURES:
Here!
DOWNLOAD
READ THE README!!! I mean it! Also please post pictures and tag Rosewood Park!
Download World
Download Lighting Mod
If you would like to support me you can find my ko-fi here!
Thanks to all my testers @simsoddball @mspoodle1 @nonsimsical and all the others, and a special thanks to@mspoodle1 for all the community lots, you are awesome <3
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skvatnavle · 2 years
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A Friendly Push
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Robert 'Bob' Floyd x reader
Warnings: some god ol' pining (so much pining!), kissing, SMUT! Handjob, fingering, protected sex (be smart and wrap it folks!) and fluff... lots and lots of fluff.
Notes: This might be one of the most self indulgent fics I've ever written, so bear with me. And I know I should focus on my WIPs, but ever since I saw Top Gun Maverick, this cutie has been all I could think about. But it's the first thing I've written in two weeks, so it was nice to feel inspired again 💜
A trifolded shout out to @a-reader-and-a-writer for 1) convincing me to write this, 2) beta reading and 3) for letting me use her awesome dividers. You are truly a gem! ❤️
words: 3.5K
Part two
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When you started working at The Hard Deck, Penny had told you… well, rather warned you about the clientele. Being that close to the airbase, most of the guests were pilots blowing off some steam during the weekends. 
Penny hadn’t exactly made a rule against dating the guests, but had told you to be cautious. She had been burned before, more than once, and didn’t want you to share the same fate. And you hadn’t really wanted to date any of them anyways. But that all changed the day the newest team walked through the doors. 
One of them instantly catches your eye. Well, several of them did, cause you had to admit a few of them were drop dead gorgeous. But there is one guy, seemingly quieter than the rest. He immediately stands out although he walks silently behind the others. 
As most of them banter around the pool table, having a regular pissing contest, he sits down on a stool with a cup of snacks, softly pushing his glasses up his nose, observing the others quietly. Every time he does that, he wrinkles his nose slightly in the most adorable way. 
And when the others address him and he finally speaks, his voice is sweet with a southern accent. Bob. So that was his name. Well, callsign at least. You can’t help but smile as he brushes the crumbs of his uniform a little awkwardly.
Later that night he comes up to the bar and when his sweet, blue eyes fall on you, a blush slowly creeps up your cheeks. He was even cuter up close. This was going to be a problem for sure.
“Ehm, hi. Could I get a beer, please?” he asks softly as he shyly pushes his glasses back in place. The soft smile he offers you just adds to his appeal. With no sleazy pick up line or wiggling eyebrows, this was definitely a first. Not that you would have minded if he flirted a little. 
When you hand him the beer, he politely says thank you and gestures to go, but feeling brave, you gently shout after him.
“Are you new here? Haven’t seen you before.”
As he turns to you, a surprised expression adorns his face. Almost as if he can’t believe you were talking to him. Honestly, could this man get any cuter? He walks back to the bar, his cheeks already a bright red as he barely looks you in the eye, but still smiling.
“Yeah, ehm. I’m part of a special mission, but I-I don’t really know if I can tell you anything.”
“I get that a lot here, actually. But you can tell me your name, right?”
The corners of his mouth slowly turn into a sweet smile, his eyes finding yours. As if by habit, maybe a nervous one, he pushes at his glasses again.
“Robert Floyd. But they just call me Bob. Y-you can too.”
Repeating his name back to him, you give him another bright smile. The flush of his cheeks have spread to the tip of his ears and a little down his neck. Definitely not like the others. You give him your name, which he in return repeats with a smile. You notice there’s still some crumbs on his uniform, so you lean over the bar and brush them off.
“You had a few crumbs.”
Stunned, he just looks at you and he is about to say something before one of the others at the table calls for him. He gives you a soft ‘sorry’ before he joins the others again. 
The rest of that night, you sometimes catch him looking at you. Each time he quickly looks away, trying to look indifferent. But if you keep looking long enough, sure as amen in church, he looks at you again, an awkward smile on his cute face and your heart would flutter each time. Yeah, you were definitely in trouble.
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Another good thing about working on The Hard Deck besides the clientele, was the beach right outside the doors. What made that even better was one day when the infamous Maverick decided to do some team building. And that’s how you found yourself sitting outside the bar, looking towards the water.
And oh, what an amazing team building it was. Beach football on a hot day was equal to you gawking at the pilots as they were running around, the sweat pouring down their exposed, chiselled pecks. Except for Bob. Much to your dismay, he kept his shirt on, but it kinda just made you like him even more. 
Maverick had asked for some refreshments, and you were happy to oblige, giving the thirsty pilots their drinks after their game ended. Luckily, the game seemed to have worked. They were all happy and seemed like a tighter knit unit now. As they down a few beers, they all seem much friendlier, like a family.
Looking to the side, you find Bob sitting with a beer in hand, looking at the sunset with a content smile on his face. You sit down next to him, getting a shy smile in return when he sees you.
“You all looked pretty good out there.”
"Some more than others." He counters softly, obviously talking about the two taller men of the group. Rooster and Hangman, you believed they were called. And sure, they were very easy on the eyes, but you only had eyes for Bob.
“I guess it depends on who's watching." You try softly, but he just fiddles with the label of his beer, clearly not taking the hint. So you had to be more obvious, then.
"It sucks a little I didn’t get to see you without your shirt.”
Bob almost chokes on his beer, as he turns to you in disbelief. It’s a bold move on your part, but you hope it pays off. As he searches your face for any indications you’re messing with him, you just keep smiling genuinely. If only he knew how much you meant it and how badly you actually wanted to see him with less clothes on.
“M-maybe next time, I… I’ll take it off just for you.” he manages to nervously stutter as his smile grows bigger than before. Dammit, if it doesn’t make the heat go straight to your core. Every fibre of your body is screaming for him, never before felt this kind of attraction to anyone. 
“I’ll look forward to that.”
You lean a little against him. Whether it’s to emphasise your statement or simply because you need to get closer to him, you don’t know. Maybe both. The sweetness and innocence of him draws you in like a moth to a flame. Biting your bottom lip, you look to his lips, wondering if they feel as soft as they look.
Glancing up, you find Bob looking into your eyes, his beautiful blue ones searching yours. Nervously, he leans in closer, his eyes darting from your lips to your eyes. His tongue wets his lips, images of what that tongue could do to you flashes through your mind. Boy, did you want him. So bad.
You close the distance, your lips almost touching. His breath is hot on your skin, coming out in small quick huffs. He’s clearly nervous, but so are you. 
The shout of your name makes you pull away, looking towards the bar. Penny is waving at you, the rush hour beginning. Dammit. Seconds away from finally kissing Bob and she has to ruin it. You turn to him and even though you’re mad at Penny for ruining the moment, the look on Bob’s face makes you smile. His cheeks burning red, his eyes and mouth drooping like a hurt puppy. 
Not exactly enjoying seeing him hurt, it still makes you happy to know he wanted this as badly as you. You at least hope that’s the case and it’s not just because of the beers. But you still opt to giving him a quick kiss on his cheek.
“I’m sorry, I… I have to go back”
“No worries, I-I’ll see you in there.”
He offers you a sweet smile, as you stand. Going back to the bar, you curse Penny for ruining the moment, but hopefully you’d get a chance again. 
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He couldn’t even count the times he’d caught himself looking at you. 10? 20? But he just couldn’t help himself, so captivated by your beauty every time he walked into the bar. Your smile would always be the highlight of his evening, your laugh making his heart swell every time.  
If only he weren’t so damned shy, he’d done something a long time ago. Countless times he’d gone over his little speech in his head, practising what he’d say if he ever found the confidence to finally tell you how he felt. He had flown dangerous missions, yet this made him feel more nervous than ever before, way out of his element.  
He wasn’t exactly the most experienced guy, always been kind of a wallflower. And you were the opposite. Outgoing with that constant radiant smile on your perfect lips, able to talk to everyone you meet. Even a little flirtatious, according to Hangman. He kept insisting that you had been flirting with Bob, but he couldn’t really believe that. A girl like you choosing a guy like him, when guys like Hangman and Rooster were around? Not a chance.
But… There had been that day at the beach. You had actually chosen to talk to him, not the others. And there had been an almost kiss. Maybe it was just in the heat of the moment, but ever since then, you were all he could think about. Well, that had actually been the case for several weeks, but after the way you looked at him that day? The setting sun playing on your beautiful face, making you even more gorgeous than any woman he’d ever met before? Boy, had he fallen. Hard. But he had barely seen you since, training so hard every day.
“Okay, that is it! I’ve had it!”
Looking to the side, Bob finds Hangman staring at him, clearly annoyed. All the others are looking too. Oh God, once again he hadn’t been paying attention, mesmerized by you. Fixing his glasses, he tries to look indifferent as he turns to Hangman.
“I’m sorry, I was-”
“Staring at your little crush again? Yeah. So, when are you gonna do something about it?”
All eyes on him, Bob is hit with a sudden wave of insecurity. One thing was talking to you without anyone seeing it, but with all of them knowing? Oh boy, this was embarrassing. Hangman leans in closer, looking him straight in the eye with that smirk of his.
“Look, she is cute. So if you’re not gonna do anything, I’m going in.”
“What? No. You wouldn’t-”
“Oh, I would. You have 10 seconds or I’m going up there. 10… 9… 8…”
Before he can reach 7, Bob stands up from his chair, swallowing hard. Looking over his shoulder, he sees you walking towards the backroom, tray of used glasses in your hands. So this was it. Not how he had planned it, but the thought of Hangman hitting on you was too much to bear. Straightening his shirt a little, he makes his way through the crowd towards the back.
Rooster moves in close to Hangman, grinning as they both look after Bob. He shoots him a glance.
“So… Were you really gonna hit on her?”
“Nah. Our boy just needed a little push.”
They laugh as they turn back to their game of pool. 
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After starting the dishwasher, you turn to find Bob standing behind you, fidgeting slightly with the hem of his shirt. He looks nervous, more than usual, as you make your way to him. 
“Bob? Is everything okay?”
Nodding softly, he finally looks up and into your eyes. You can see something is wrong, so you close the distance and put a reassuring hand on his arm. It almost feels like he shivers under your touch. He opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but stops. Looking around, he frowns before taking you by the hand, leading you out the backdoor. 
“Ehm, what are we doing out he-”
He steps closer, the intensity of his gaze so foreign it makes you stop dead in your tracks. He looks so nervous, yet still so determined, as he softly takes one of your hands in his, slowly looking into your eyes.
“I, ehm… I didn’t want our first kiss to be in the kitchen.”
He looks down with a shy smile. Finding your eyes again, he pushes his glasses in place as he shakes his head.
“And now I ruined the moment again by sayin-”
Crashing your lips to his, he stops talking. Once he realises what is happening, he kisses you back, his hand slowly cupping the back of your head. Pulling you closer, he deepens the kiss with a soft moan that sends shivers down your spine. Pulling him even closer, your kiss turns almost desperate, pouring the weeks of yearning into it. Too soon he breaks away, panting heavily. But the look on his face is of pure joy as he looks at you.
“So… I don’t know if I can squeeze in a date before we leave, but…” he pauses, looking sad at the prospect of leaving you. “But maybe I can take you out when… if I get back?”
He averts your gaze, looking at his hands. Looking hurt, like he expects to get turned down, it almost breaks your heart. Cupping his cheeks, you make him look at you.
“I would love that, but… I have a better idea.” You say softly, before pulling him into another desperate kiss. “How about I take you home with me when my shift ends?”
His breath hitches for a second, his hands gripping your hips a little in anticipation. Unable to respond, he just nods frantically with a shy smile. You give him another kiss, barely able to pull away from him, wanting nothing more than to stay in his arms.
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As he makes his way back to the others, he can’t hide the giant smirk on his face. He kissed you. He actually kissed you. He had imagined how that would be like for weeks, but nothing compared to the real thing. Embarrassed to admit it, he even got a little hard from that kiss. 
Still in disbelief it had actually happened, he sits down at the table and takes a sip of his beer, laughing a little to himself. When he looks up, he finds the others looking at him, all with knowing smiles on their faces.
“So…?”
Bob just smiles softly, taking another sip as Rooster is leaning in over the table, looking at him with a grin. Bob just picks up a cup of snacks and chew on a peanut, before looking up.
“So… what?”
“Ah, come on! You know what we’re talking about. How did it go?”
Hangman sits down beside him, throwing an arm around Bob and shakes him, causing Bob to giggle softly. He pushes his glasses up his nose, trying to act indifferent. Which he knows is hard with the grin that will permanently be edged into his face from now on.
“I, ehm… I never kiss and tell.” He starts off softly, before realising what he just said. As Hangman and Rooster’s curious faces slowly turn excited, Bob covers his face. “Damn, I should not have said that.”
Happy for their friend, Hangman and Rooster shout excitedly as they sit down beside him, ordering another round of beers, wanting to know every detail.
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At midnight, you stand outside the bar, tapping your foot impatiently against the wooden deck. But soon the door opens, and Bob comes towards you, still with a big grin on his face. Not sure you can wait much longer, you take his hand and drag him to your car. 
The drive home is long… too damn long. But soon you park outside your building and guide him towards the door. You fidget impatiently with the key and when Bob moves in closer, placing a soft kiss to your neck, you almost drop the key. 
“Kinda making it hard to concentrate here, Floyd” you grin, as you try one more time. He just laughs softly against your skin, the vibrations sending shivers through your body. As soon as the door swings open, you pull him into a needy kiss. As you drag him with you to the bedroom, you almost combust with desire, wanting him so much it hurts. But as you’re about to pull him down onto the bed, he pauses and for a second the shy Bob is back.
“I want you to know, ehm, I’m not just here for sex. I-I really like you.”
“I know” you say softly, kissing him more passionately before. Moving a little slower, you softly pull him with you as you lay down. You unbutton his shirt, and it quickly finds it’s way to your floor. As you take in his great physique, Bob blushes under your gaze. 
“I know I don’t exactly look like Hangm-”
You stop him with a soft kiss as your hand gently caresses his chest. With a body like that, he has no reason to be shy, but you get it. So you just pour every ounce of love you can into the kiss, before looking into his eyes.
“You are gorgeous, Robert.”
Swallowing hard, he looks teary eyed as he dips down and kisses you. Within no time at all, all your clothes are on the floor. His touch is gentle, yet firm, as he explores every inch of you. His fingers gliding over your skin as if storing you to his memory in case this is the only night he gets with you.
Moving down his body, you find his cock already painfully hard. Wrapping your fingers around him, he hisses at the contact, his breathing already strained.
“Please…”
At his soft plea, you start stroking him, pulling small whimpers from him. Bob bucks against your hand as his mouth moves to your breast, kissing and sucking at the tender bud. Letting your nipple go with a soft pop, his mouth finds yours again in a feverish kiss. 
When he moves his hand down to your aching core, he finds you already soaking wet. It doesn’t take long for him to make you fall apart, moaning out his name.
“Can… Can I p-please make love to you?”
“God yes.”
His fingers continue to roam your body as you reach into your drawer for a condom. Ripping the packet open, you quickly put it on, not wanting to go another second without Bob buried in you. He pushes you down gently, kissing you softly as he repositions himself between your legs. Just as the tip of his cock is at your entrance, he looks to you a final time for confirmation. 
And with a nod, he finally pushes into you. Slowly at first, the stretch of him is delicious as he lets you adjust to his size.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?”
“More than okay.”
He starts thrusting into you at a slow and steady pace, but soon he pushes a little faster, but still very soft. It's unlike anything you've tried before. So caring and tender, whispering small praises in your ear, yet fiery hot as each snap of his hips makes him push against that sweet spot inside you.
It's not long before his pace begins to falter, his thrusts becoming uneven. His fingers find your clit, rubbing it gently in rhythm with his thrusts, keen on making you come before he does.
It only takes a few more drags of his cock combined with those magic fingers of his, before you come undone. The feeling of you clenching down on him is too much to bear and Bob follows close behind you, groaning as he thrusts a few more times, riding out his high.
He slumps against you, careful not to put all his weight on you. But you don't mind. You could spend days like this, pinned beneath him. And hopefully you would.
Pulling away, he quickly discards the condom and pulls you closer into his nook. Looking very content, he gives you a sweet kiss to your forehead before his hand finds yours, softly interlacing his fingers with yours.
"I should have said something sooner. What if all I ever get with you is tonight?"
His words hit you like a freight train. You both know there's a possibility he'll be assigned to fly the mission and from what little you've picked up, you knew it would be almost impossible and very dangerous. There really was a chance he'd never come home.
Putting on a brave face, you kiss him gently on the cheek, making him face you. When he does, you plant another kiss on his lips, deepening it a little.
"I know you'll come back. We have a date, remember? So you better show up for it." you whisper against his skin, as you bury your face into his neck. He just smiles softly in return, kissing your forehead as he pulls you into a tight embrace.
"Yes Ma'am. And I'm looking forward to it."
*
Thank you so much for reading <3
Tagging was hard, since I don't know who likes Top Gun Maverick or Bob, so I'm tagging a few of my usual peeps. No hard feelings if this is not you: @fictionalnerdery @lucy-sky @loverhymeswithlibrary @yespolkadotkitty @mindidjarin @chasingdreamer
And then a few people who I noticed loved Top Gun Maverick, I'm giving a soft tag? Please just let me know if you don't want to get tagged: @mmurdock85 @edwardbaldwin @lorecraft @srry-itshockeyszn @jakelcckley
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ohrudi · 4 days
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Fix: Pets need less Space
TL;DR
with this mod, your pets (cats, dogs, horses) need half of the space for all interactions
this mod improves routing for your pets, escpecially for those clunky horses
compatible with “Interaction on sloped terrain enabler” by nikel23
the pets expansions is required for this mod to do anything
Installation: just put all the files in your packages-folder, the usual way, nothing special required, merging is no problem
Conflicts: highly unlikely, see below for detail
Patch: v1.67/v1.69 (probably works with lower patches as well)
Download
ModTheSims | Simblr | SimFileShare
Hey Simmers, Rudi has a big mod-achievement for you today: it's time for my ninth mod
Just recently I play tested my new awesome house, that's cramped up with clutter and plants all the way up to the roof. I tested the house with my pets and had to realize, that they aren't able to use many of the things I placed for them, cause the spaces are just too tight. Also whenever my familiy tried to interact with their pets, they had to walk through the entire house, cause they had no suitable space left. But no more! With this mod, those issues will forever be a sorrow of the past.
Explanation - how the mod works This mod reduces the space that pets (horses, dogs and cats) need for doing things, similar to my other mods. It does this by overwriting the jig size for each pet interaction. A jig is an invisible object that’s auto placed on the ground, while e.g. two sims are talking to each other. Other sims will walk around the other sims talking, cause the jig (placed under the sims talking) obstructs the routing-way for other sims. By default all jigs are quite big, in most cases even way bigger than they need to be. But if you reduce the jig size by a mod, than those interactions are possible even in tiny over-cluttered rooms. Here an example: Playing guitar has originally a jig, that’s 2x2 boxes/meters big, which meant sims often walk outside the house, cause nowhere is enough free space for this very big jig to place down. I solved this issue with my other mod, by reducing the size of the jig for playing guitar.
Recommended Mods, that further improve routing
Sims need less Space by OhRudi
Guitar needs less Space for playing by OhRudi
Bass needs less Space for playing by OhRudi
Interaction on sloped terrain enabler by nikel23
NRaas GoHere by Twallan
Route Fix v9 by Twoftmama (Login required)
How to install
Installation: just put all the files in your packages-folder, the usual way, nothing special required, you can merge them as well
the pets expansions is required for this mod to do anything
Technical Details
Patch: v1.67/v1.69 (probably works with lower patches as well)
this mod can’t affect animations
this mod can’t affect scripting-errors, that are caught by NRaas-Error-Trap
this mod edits the all jigs that came with the Pets expansion pack
Conflicts: only if you have a mod installed who's editing exactly this resource as well, but I assume that's highly unlikely
use delphys dashboard to check for conflicts
I dearly hope your pets enjoy their new freedom. <3
Additional Credits: A BIG THANK YOU to my lovely Beta-Testers: @SimsC, @CardinalSims and @Nemiga Sims 3 Sound Tool S3PE S3OC @you-will-never-find-me-anymore for letting me use her Bonehilda for my awesome profile picture
AND to this awesome and still alive community of simmers
Happy Simming ^^
made by @OhRudi
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malarign · 6 months
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scars painted with kisses
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contains: bf!Heeseung x fem!reader | genre: angst with comfort/fluff (?) | tw! reader has scars though their origin is not specified, please read at your own discretion | wc: 0,6
reblogs are highly appreciated!!!
author’s note: huge thank you to skits! @hotteoki for beta reading it for for me 🫶 loved your comments 🤭
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The long-awaited autumn finally came, the first autumn you’re going to spend with your boyfriend, Heeseung. Even though it hasn’t been a long time since you started dating, it was long enough for you to stop wearing long sleeves, now displaying your scars fully, in their whole glory. You thought it could be your first step to appreciate them and the part of your story they contain, but the grief and sadness they hide only make your disgust grow.
The worst part was how much you wanted to talk to him about them. To share this part of your life with him, since he proved himself to be the most loving and gentle man you’d ever encountered, with whom you felt safest and who always showed you he’s there for you. Yet sometimes you wished he could be the one to bring this topic up; you could never seem to know how to start the conversation yourself.
You often wondered what he actually thinks of them. Does he think they’re ugly? Disgusting? Maybe completely different?
Even if he thought they were horrid he’s not the type of guy to say so. Right?
You finished preparing Heeseung’s meal by the time he finally came back from work, soaking wet fremont the heavy rain that enveloped your city.
“Hi baby,” he panted, after making his way to you. He placed a quick peck on your cheek and washed his hands. “Have I ever told you how awesome your cooking is?” he murmured, wrapping his hands around your waist, back-hugging you.
“Actually, plenty of times, though you haven’t tried it yet,” you chuckled, trying to hide the goosebumps his hot breath on your neck caused.
“But I can already tell how tasty it is, just by the smell.” His compliment made a blush creep on your cheek.
“Go get changed, your food is waiting,” you turned around to face him, first thing you noticed was his dreamy smile.
He slowly walked his way to the bathroom and came back in grey sweats and a white T-shirt, ready to eat.
“You’re not gonna eat with me?” he asked when you placed a plate in front of him and sat next to him with a mug of your favourite tea.
“I just ate, sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he spoke and took a first bite. He quickly squeezed his eyes and fists. “Gosh, it’s delicious!”
“Don’t scare me like that, I thought something was wrong with it!”
You breathed a sigh of relief, placing your hand on your chest. You noticed how his eyes followed your hand movement, probably completely subconciously. You quickly hid your arms under the table, placing them on your knees, embarrassed not knowing why.
Silence engulfed both of you, as it waited impatiently who was going to break it.
“Y/n,” he finally called your name. You closed your eyes tight, knowing that the time to have that talk came. “Love, please look at me,” he gently asked and you slowly raised your gaze to his eyes.
They were just as gentle and loving as always. As if nothing had happened.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” He took your palm into his, just like he wanted to express his feelings better.
“You didn’t, Hee,” you quickly said. “It’s just…” You stopped for a moment, while he patiently waited. “They’re so ugly.”
“I don’t think they’re ugly,” he argued.
You looked at him again and noticed his hand, waiting for you to take it. With full strength you placed your arm in front of him, showing your skin painted with scars. Heeseung leaned in, placing soft and warm kisses on your forearm. When he was done showering that one part of your body that suffered the most with all the love he had for you, he firmly held it.
“They’re not ugly, Y/n. They’re not disgusting either. And most definitely they do not take away from who you are.”
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thank you for reading! back to the masterlist
taglist: (open) @nicholasluvbot, @en-chantedtomeetyou, @skzenhalove, @kpoprhia, @redm4ri, @yenqa, @heesitation, @edensgardenn
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shina913 · 10 months
Text
Nothing | JJK
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Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader
Rating: 🔞 M
Genre: Established relationship; slice of life; fluff
Warnings: Some cussing; some naughty thoughts but nothing explicit
Word count: 1.1k words
Summary: "I was thinking maybe we could take a quick nap?"
A/N: Dedicated to you, Sim-- @itdoesntmatterwhy for our mutual love of naps lmaooo and thank you and @internetjunkdrawer for beta-reading 🥰
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After spending the morning swimming in the ocean and lounging by the shore, you and Jungkook head back to your hotel room before tonight’s party at the resort’s beach club.
Jungkook took his shower then you took yours. Once you finished drying your hair, you stepped out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom.
“Wasn’t the beach awesome today?” You call out to him. You think he’s out on the balcony but instead, you find him lying in bed, elbows crossed behind his neck using them as cushions. His freshly washed, air-dried hair is all mussed up, and he’s got that mischievous look on his face.
You arch an eyebrow at him and ask, "Bed? Already?"
"No," he grins. He pulls back the sheets and pats the empty space on the bed, inviting you to lie down with him.
You slide under the sheets, where he's lying in nothing but his boxers. This is exactly what you want, what you've been craving for all this time: to feel comfortable with his touch, his warm breath in your ear, and his body on top of you.
Just before your naughty thoughts consume you, he embraces you and you snuggle into his arms, feeling the comfort of being close to him. He tilts your chin up to him and your lips meld into each other’s. It's a nice moment of reconnection after dealing with both of your busy schedules.
Loosening his hold on you, he sighs, nuzzling into your hair. "I got tired from being in the sun all day, so I decided to take a quick rest," he says softly.
You lift your head and furrow your eyebrows. "Oh…I hope you're not too tired for the club. The host mentioned they'll have a couple of DJs and an open bar. It should be really fun."
You were looking forward to your vacation and excited to do everything on your itinerary. Jungkook was happy to follow your lead.
"I'm still up for going out," he reassures you. "But I was thinking…maybe we could take a quick nap?"
You feel a bit let down, but you don't show it. "Hmm... okay."
He keeps trying to persuade you. "Come on, it'll be great! We'll feel refreshed and energized, and then we can party hard tonight. Get lit!" He exclaims.
As you ponder the idea, you realize that you're also feeling tired from the heat, ocean breeze, and all those margaritas you had at the beach. You don't want to fall asleep at the bar just 15 minutes after arriving!
"Good idea," you eventually agree, and snuggle deeper into your pillows.
"It's really cool that these blackout drapes are remote-controlled," he says.
You can't help but laugh at how impressed he is by the hotel room. After closing the curtains, you turn off the lamp on the nightstand.
"Do we need to set an alarm?" you ask.
"Nah," he says, putting down the remote control and turning back towards you. "We'll wake up in an hour, maybe two at most!"
You nod, not thinking much of it.
"Tonight's going to be wild. I'm excited!" you say to him.
"Yep! They're not ready for us," Jungkook agrees as he pulls the sheets up to his chin.
Not long after, both of you fall asleep.
******
When you wake up, you blindly reach for your phone. You want to see if you have enough time to fix your hair and apply some makeup.
“Fuck!” You say loudly.
Jungkook is startled awake, sits up abruptly, and turns to you. "What? What?"
You stare at him, horrified. "It's 7!"
Jungkook shrugs without any sense of urgency. "So we overslept a bit. The party's not until 9 PM, so we still have time."
You blink slowly at his relaxed attitude. "A.M.," you say, emphasizing each letter.
He is still half asleep and having trouble processing information. "What?"
"It's 7 o'clock in the morning!"
"That's impossible," he laughs, turning to his nightstand to check his phone. "Oh no...oops," he chuckles when he sees what time it really is.
You are annoyed with him and push him to his side. "I told you we should have set an alarm!"
He falls back onto his pillow, laughing uncontrollably at the idea that you both slept through the night.
"I'm glad you find this funny," you say dryly. "What happened to 'getting lit'? We just lost a potentially great evening!" You complain.
"I'm sorry, baby," he says between laughs. "I didn't realize we would sleep through it. We always wake up an hour after a nap!"
You roll your eyes. “Yeah, years ago! And how long has it been since our last vacation?”
He smiles again and tries to hold back a laugh. Then he softens his expression to comfort you and says, "Hey, at least we're on time for breakfast. If we get up now, we can avoid the crowds."
Despite this, you're still annoyed that you didn't get to go to the club as planned.
He notices that you’re still upset and immediately turns apologetic. "I'm really sorry that we missed out on the club. I didn't realize how tired I was. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
You sigh softly. "I'm not mad because we didn't go out. I just wanted us to do something fun together."
"I'm having fun just lying here with you!” He counters. “And, to be honest, I don't really care what we do. As long as we do things together, that's all that matters." He leans in and brushes his finger against your cheek, instantly calming you.
The purpose of this trip was to spend quality time together. Your face visibly relaxes. "Yeah, you’re right.”
Noticing your mood lighten, he says, "I think we're too old for clubs anyway," he laughs. "Do you even remember the last time we were out after 9PM?”
You find his question amusing. Nowadays, it's rare that you would both stay out past 9:30 in the evening.
“What do you say? Should we head down to the omelet station now before everyone and their mom shows up?”
As effortlessly as he can turn you on with one intense look, he could also make your irritation disappear with his doe-eyed pout.
You couldn’t help but crack a smile, “Okay, let’s go.”
He grins triumphantly, his nose scrunched up showing how excited he was. Before you roll out of bed to head to the bathroom, he tugs at your wrist. “Hey.”
“Hm?”
“I promise I’ll make it up to you after breakfast.”
“How?” You ask him pointedly.
“I can always swipe one of those canned whipped creams from the waffle station and bring it back here. Maybe…I can grab one of the chocolate syrups, too?” He winks.
You bite down on your lower lip to hold back a giggle.
“You like that, huh?” He waggles his brows at you.
You roll your eyes and give up, knowing he knows you too well. "Fine! I'm holding you to that!"
Then, he takes you by surprise by pulling you back into bed and peppering you with kisses. You squeal as he hits your ticklish spots.
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Nothing Masterlist | Main Fic Masterlist
You’ve reached the end! Thank you so much for reading!
If you loved it, please comment, reblog, or send me feedback! 📩. I love hearing from readers! If you didn’t like it so much, I would still like to hear about it. Help me become a better writer! 💜
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Tagging: @internetjunkdrawer @itdoesntmatterwhy
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thewanderersminuet · 2 months
Text
I think that I could live without lungs (but I've grown tired of iron)
Rating: T
Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug
Relationship: Toxigriffe
Tags: Paris Special, Feelings Realization, reverse crush, rated T for some mild language
Summary:
Toxinelle was having a very bad day.
Thank you so much to @wackus-bonkus-maximus for betaing for me! Title is from Burn and Fade by Anna Nalick
Read on AO3
Toxinelle was having a very bad day. 
First, it was school. As always, Chloe just wouldn't leave her alone. Today, she got a hold of Marinette’s sketchbook and loudly criticized every design. Marinette tried to take it back, but all she got was a detention and a ripped sketchbook.
Then she had to go out and listen to her new partner make the most obnoxious jokes. She wasn't sure which was worse, the puns or all the times he proclaimed how awesome he was. 
It was definitely the time he called himself pawesome. 
The cherry on top of this whole day had to be their most recent scuffle with Hesperia. Which they lost. 
Badly.
Her shoulder throbbed. She had been too busy arguing with Griffe Noire over her Lucky Charm to see the hit coming her way. Even Griffe winced at the sound her shoulder made when it hit the pavement. 
She dropped into an alleyway and slumped against the wall. The bricks against her back were hard. The sky above her grew dark and dreary, and the alley was completely deserted. 
It was the perfect place to let out some frustrated tears. 
She hugged her knees to her chest. She had no idea why the Supreme chose her. She wasn't cut out for this.
“Ah, there you are.” An irritatingly familiar voice interrupted her wallowing.
Toxinelle jumped up with a glare. Griffe, as always, was unfazed by her expression. He looked down to rummage through the grocery bag he’d brought. Pulling a bag of frozen peas out, he extended it towards her.
“Here.”
“What's this?” She eyed it as if it was a bomb. It might very well be; she wouldn't put it past him.
Griffe rolled his eyes. “I'm trying to help. That fall looked nasty.” 
“Why would you be trying to help me?” She turned her suspicious glare to him instead. 
“I'm a supervillain, not an asshole. Do you want it or not?” 
Hesitantly, Toxinelle reached out to take the peas. She turned away from him as she pressed the bag to her shoulder, letting the cold soothe the muscles.
“Thank you,” she mumbled. 
Griffe just hummed and took a seat against the wall. 
“I swiped some snacks from the corner store, want any?” He pulled a snack cake out of the grocery bag before holding it up to her. 
Toxinelle was flabbergasted. She could count on one hand the amount of times Griffe and her had met up, and not one of those meetings was… pleasant. They weren't friends, they were being forced to work together. 
So why was he trying to hang out with her? 
“It's going to rain,” she said. 
Griffe looked up at the sky just at the right moment for a large raindrop to hit him right between his eyes. Between the utterly undignified yelp he let out, and the look of pure bewilderment on his face, Toxinelle couldn't help herself. 
She laughed. 
For a moment, Toxinelle felt more relaxed than she had in a long time. Griffe grumbled but she could see the corners of his lips threatening to curl up into a smile. He held the bag back out to her. 
“Take this for a minute.” 
She took the bag and sat down next to him. Griffe pulled his baton off his back and pressed a button. To her surprise an umbrella popped out the end. 
“Ta-dah!” He grinned as he set it between them, making them a small shelter from the rain. 
“Show off,” she scoffed, but couldn't bring herself to keep the smile off her face. 
She knew exactly what she wanted as soon as she opened the bag and found her favorite candy bar. Still, she took her time pretending to make a decision. The longer she seemed focused on something else the longer she could put off trying to figure out how to make small talk with Griffe. 
Eventually though, she had to stop pretending. 
Silence stretched between them for an uncomfortably long time. They both took their time eating their snacks and listening to the rain hit the umbrella. Part of Toxinelle was surprised Griffe could physically be quiet for this long. 
Griffe finished his snack cake and sat back to examine the wrapper. Toxinelle noticed there was a promotion for Mecha Ultra Strike III. 
“Do you play?” she said quietly, halfway hoping he wouldn't hear her.
He blinked and looked over at her, as if he was just as surprised she’d spoken as she was. 
“Not to brag,” A grin stretched across his face in the way that told her he was absolutely about to brag. “...But I'm pretty good.”  
Toxinelle scoffed again. 
“I bet I could beat you.” 
He laughed and for a moment she feared he was laughing at her. 
“Oh we have got to figure out how to set up something on a rooftop.” His grin lit up his whole face and Toxinelle felt her face heat up. “I so want to take you up on that challenge!” 
Toxinelle decided her candy wrapper was suddenly very interesting. 
“Oh,” Griffe said, causing her to look up. “It looks like the rain stopped.” 
Disappointment settled in her gut. Did that mean he was going to leave? 
Wait. 
Why did she care? 
Griffe groaned. 
“You know what really pisses me off about that fight today?” 
Toxinelle blinked at him, confused at the subject change. 
“It's that Hesperia always gets other people to fight for him!” Griffe continued on without waiting for an answer. “I bet if he came out and fought us himself we'd have his Miraculous back no problem!” 
“Yeah…” Toxinelle relaxed. She was so used to beating herself up for failing. “He sucks.” 
Griffe laughed at that.  She tried to turn her head away to hide her smile. She hadn't said anything funny, but she still made him laugh. She felt weirdly proud. 
All too soon, however, Griffe stood up, putting his baton away. She tried to keep the disappointment from showing on her face. 
“I know neither one of us really wants to be working together,” He looked back at her. “But whether we like it or not, we're in this together.”
Reality seemed to narrow down on Griffe. Toxinelle wasn't aware of the fact that she was squeezing the bag of peas until they popped, sending frozen peas everywhere. She didn't have time to be embarrassed before he laughed again, and she found she couldn't think of anything else. 
He gave her a cheeky grin and a salute before taking off. It was only after he left that she realized her jaw had been hanging open. 
She was in trouble.
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fayes-fics · 2 years
Text
Temptation
Pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader
Summary: Benedict gets caught masturbating.
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Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, masturbation, dirty thoughts, innocence kink, lil bit of virginity kink, dirty(ish) talk, sex education, fingerfucking.
Word Count: 3.7k
Authors Note: This is an anonymous request fill here (request: Can I request benedict jacking off to thoughts of the reader? Maybe they are at a ball, and he cannot take it anymore and needs the release. I need to know what he dreams about when he does it. And maybe the reader finds him and just watches him until she can't take it anymore and just goes in, and they fuck). Nonny, I changed this up a little and didn't have them fucking, but there’s talk of it. Hope that is OK, it worked better for the story my muse decided upon. <3 Thanks as ever to the awesome @makaylan for the beta.
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His hand runs up your arm and then back down as you both follow the steps of the dance. He isn’t wearing gloves, and you can feel the warmth of his skin through your lightweight silk ones. As you whirl around, you hold his gaze, hypnotised by his eyes. The song ends, he gives you a little bow, and you go your separate ways. Your fingers itch to grab him and keep him dancing—all night. He is the only one you are interested in.
It’s been two months since, and every ball is the same. You dance as much as possible with him, as much as polite society allows. Secretly you just want to follow him somewhere private and do what you once saw two servants doing on the grounds of your family estate. Sex, you heard them call it afterwards. It looked wonderful. 
You feel a strange pulsing sensation in your underwear whenever he holds you during a dance. It’s hot and insistent—almost an ache. You may not have been properly informed about relations between a man and a woman, but even you can figure out it has something to do with what you saw in those gardens. You could see their bodies connected right where you feel the most excited when you look at one Benedict Bridgerton. Logical conclusion—you want to have sex with him.
Tonight is the Bridgerton Ball, and it’s your last dance with Benedict for the night. His hands are firm on you as you dance; you stand a little too close.
“Mr Bridgerton,” you whisper close to his ear, “I think I want to have sex with you.”
He stumbles and steps on your toe.
“Oww!”
“Sorry,” he fumbles. “Do you know of what you speak?” his voice shocked.
“Yes, I've seen it,” you reply confidently.
“Seen it?” he sounds winded.
“I saw some servants in the garden once, their bodies were joined together, and they were so happy they were screaming. When you hold me, I feel an ache where they were joined.”
“Jesus Christ…” he mutters heavily.
“I… I assume that means I want sex with you, no?” you suddenly hesitate, wondering if your conclusions are somehow wrong.
“That is… not wrong”, he answers slowly, his face both pained and pleasured, “but it’s not something we can do.”
“Why not?” you are curious.
“They really never teach you anything, do they?” he sighs, disbelieving. “For ladies of good society, such as yourself, it should only happen when you are married,” he explains.
“But why?”
“Because what you saw is designed for people to create babies,” he tutors quietly as you move around the dancefloor.
It's your turn to look absolutely shocked. You had no idea. “But wait, that servant is not with child. So how can it be only for having babies?”
“It's not only for making babies; it can be for pleasure too,” he admits.
“Then let's do that,” you argue. 
Benedict groans lightly, and his fingers flex against your back where he holds you.
“Miss Y/l/n please….” he is breathing a little heavy, “don't.”
You pout at him as the song ends. “Do you not want to?”
He makes a strangled noise in his throat. “God, yes I do,” he closes his eyes as if injured, “but we should not, not yet at least. Now please go, enjoy your evening.” 
He gives you a brief respectful bow, and you lightly curtsy on instinct. Then he is gone, hurrying away from you as if burned, holding his hands in front of himself somewhat awkwardly.
You chew your lip and wonder what on earth made him so rattled that he had to run away.
——
He needs to get away from you, fast, before he does something he regrets and brings shame on you both. And to deal with the insistent bulge in his trousers. 
He stalks out of the ballroom, trying to hide the evidence of his desire from all of the guests and rushes down the hall into the library. It's quiet save the crackling fire, and he closes the door and exhales gustily while leaning his forehead against its solid wood. He honestly doesn't know what to do about you. He plans to ask for your hand, but if you keep unintentionally teasing him like this, he's not sure he can do the honourable thing and wait until you are married. He wants you so much he can taste it, a metallic desire rolling on his tongue every time you meet his gaze.
He knows there's nothing else to be done; he needs to have a release before he can rejoin the evening's festivities, before he can dare set eyes on you again. Whilst there is no lock on the door of this room, he feels safe enough here; no one will enter this private wing of the house during the ball. So he stalks over to a comfortable chair and sits down, releasing just enough buttons on his trousers to free himself. He fists his cock and closes his eyes, already knowing his thoughts will be of you.
——
You cry off the next person on your dance card, claiming to feel lightheaded, and head out the same door you saw him leave. You want to know why he left so suddenly; you want to talk to him more about sex. It seems he is the only person willing to be honest with you about it, and you have many more questions.
You approach a doorman standing near the private wing of the house, there to keep the guests within the ballroom area. 
“Mr Benedict Bridgerton, he went this way, yes?” you ask sweetly, “he dropped something that looks valuable, and I want to ensure it is returned to him” - a little lie.
“Yes, ma’am, I believe he went into the library, third door on your right,” he smirks a little too knowingly and steps aside.
——
He thinks of your lips, the way they move when you talk to him. All he can see is them repeatedly forming the word ‘sex’. Fuck, you almost killed him tonight. All wide-eyed and enthusiastic, practically begging him to fuck you, take your maidenhead. He didn't think he had a thing for virginity in the slightest, but the thought of taking you, being the first to take you - the only one ever, if he gets his way - has him hurtling so fast towards climax he groans.
He thinks of your body, the way your breasts heave from the exertion of dancing. The way it feels pressed up against him when you dance. How he can't wait to find out how you look under your dress, caress your skin, run his hands over you. Wants to know how you smell, how you taste. His hand speeds up as he thinks of what you said earlier. That made him stumble. How you ache for him between your legs. Oh fuck, he leaks a little from the tip as he recalls it. Another moan, unbidden.
——
Silently you turn the door handle to the room and peak in. You see a roaring fire and a couple of candles casting dancing shadows across floor-to-ceiling rows of books; the room looks like somewhere you want to curl up. 
Then you hear a moan - a very male, very hungry moan. It doesn't sound dissimilar to the noises those servants made. Instantly you feel a tightening in your chest, your nipples turning to stiff peaks, and between your legs is a throb. That sound, oh god, that sound is so wonderful to you. 
You open the door a little more and slip in silently, closing it behind you. Curiosity and cats come to mind, but if that noise was Benedict, you’ll take the chance. It's now you see him. Or rather part of him, in profile. He's sat slightly out of sight behind a drinks trolley, but you can see enough. You can see his handsome face in profile, eyes screwed tightly closed and head thrown back, his legs sprawled out in front of him, knees far apart. Partially obscured, you can see his arm making rapid movements, his hand in his lap. 
You tiptoe forward until you have a better vantage point, hopefully still unseen. Now you can see his lap and what he is doing to himself. He has his trousers undone and is holding something you have never seen before. It looks just like the body part the male servant had inside the female servant. Oh god. Oh yes. It looks fascinating and wonderful.
“Y/n”, he moans, and you feel lightheaded. 
He is touching himself where people are joined during sex and saying your name. The throbbing between your legs becomes so strong, and you feel a flood of moisture down your inner thighs. Good god, what is he doing to you? What is he doing to himself? You can't look away.
——
His thoughts are a jumble now. You, your lips, the words ‘sex’ and ‘I ache for you’ swirling around in a delightful elixir. Then it all coalesces into a striking tableau - you walking into the room right now and pulling up your dress, no underwear, and sinking onto his cock. Thanking him for stopping the ache, begging him to ensure it never returns by always fucking you. Always. He is partially abhorred with himself by how vivid the picture is, but also so rock hard and desperate he doesn't want the image to fade. He wants you so much, right here, right now.
He moans your name again; his eyes screwed tightly shut.
“Benedict” it’s a gentle, breathy pleading noise from nearby. My god, your voice in his fantasies has never sounded so real before.
_____
Unconsciously you have been moving forward towards him, pulled like a magnet, silently crossing the room on the thick woollen rug, your eyes never leaving him. You are fascinated, your skin hums like during an electric storm, and your lungs feel tight. You long to rip off your corset. You long even more to touch the ache you feel between your legs; it's almost painful now.
You sink to your knees before him when you reach within a couple of feet. You don't even know why, but it's what your body tells you to do. Sitting back on your haunches, you are staring at his hand, the leaking red member he holds. You long to touch it.
And when he groans your name again, you don't even realise it, but you call out his first name in response.
It's then his eyes fly open.
“FUCK!!” it’s a shocked shout, the ferocity making you jump. Benedict leans forward and fumbles to hide himself away, to obscure the sight you have been enjoying so much. “My god, y/n, what are you doing here?” he seems flustered, red-faced, almost angry, using your first name.
“Please don't stop what you were doing,” you plead, “I want to keep watching you.”
His mouth drops open at your confession. “How long have you been here?”
“A minute or two,” you shrug, trying to be nonchalant, hoping it will make him continue.
His cheeks instantly redden, and he points at the door. “Please leave”, his voice wavering.
“Benedict,” you implore, your voice breathy, “please don't, don't send me away.”
He makes a pained sound and rubs a hand over his face, the other still trying to hide his lap.
“Please, I… I ache for you, my thighs are sticky, and I can't look away,” you shudder.
He groans so loudly. “Don't…. Just don't,” he looks like he is shaking now. “My honour is hanging by a thread here, and you are telling me these things. It makes me want to….”
You inhale sharply. “Yes, tell me, tell me what you want to do. Please, please, sir.”
“Fucking helllllll,” his Adam's apple bobs harshly, and he shuts his eyes. “Don't call me sir, for fucks sake, please just don't….”
“Why not” a sudden hot feeling slides down your spine as you realise what he wants is the exact opposite of what he is saying. “I want to, sir. I want to watch you, sir. I want to touch you, sir” You can’t stop, a smirk forming on your face as you realise your power over this man. Honour be damned, Benedict Bridgerton.
His eyes open, and they blaze at you. Your breath is stolen. 
“Stand up.” Something in his short tone warrants no argument. You find yourself doing as told.
“If you don't want to marry me, turn around and walk out of that door.” His voice is steely.
You don’t move.
“If you want to marry me, pull up your dress. Right now,” he orders.
You scramble to obey, reaching down and pulling the hem of your dress up above your knees.
“Higher”, he commands, “show me where you ache.”
You tremble and feel the warmth from the fire, glazing the wetness between your thighs as you gather your dress around your waist.
He growls at the sight and leans back, his hands resting high on his thighs, his cock standing proud.
“You want to watch me, future wife?” he challenges.
You love that phrase. “Yes, husband”, you coo, not even bothering with the future part. You are his. 
“Move closer”, he beckons with a movement of his head.
You step between his splayed knees.
“Do you want a preview of our life together?” he asks richly; you notice his hand has wrapped around himself again.
“Yes… yes, please, husband,” it's a pleading whisper.
“Straddle my lap”, he instructs, and you do so. He brings his legs closer together. “Sit on my legs.” You lower yourself down.
“I'm not going to have sex with you, not yet,” he says, his voice low, “but I'm going to teach you some things.”
You smile enthusiastically.
“You see this,” he nods down at his lap, “this is my cock.”
“It goes inside me, yes?” you whisper.
“Fuck,” he mutters, then exhales, briefly closing his eyes. “Yes, it does,” he replies after a short pause. “But not today, once we are married, yes.”
His other hand travels up your thigh, over your stockings and bare flesh. He stops when his fingers meet the junction of your legs.
“Have you ever touched yourself here?” he asks quietly, running his fingertips into your patch of hair, his other hand squeezing himself gently.
“No,” you respond honestly, “should I?”
“Yes, you should, when you are alone in private or with me. It should feel pleasurable - like this.”
You feel his finger slip lower and inhale tremulously, your hips canting towards him. He's hit something that feels so wonderful that you are already breathing uneven.
“God, you are soaked”, he stutters, his finger starting to move in slow circles. 
Your hands lean backwards and grip his knees behind you, needing something to hold onto. You close your eyes and bite your lip, pressing down onto his touch.
“Does that feel good?” his voice silky.
“Yes, husband,” you chant, “Please don't stop.”
“Open your eyes,” he says softly, “watch me.”
As his finger keeps circling your bud, your gaze falls back to his lap. To his cock in his hand, the tip leaking slightly as he slowly moves his fisted grip up and down.
“Can I do that for you?” you inquire, panting gently, your attention wrapt on his movements, pressing against his finger.
“Yes, you can. I will teach you one day,” he assures, “are you ready for a little more, my wife-to-be?”
“Yes,” you assert.
He twists his hand so his thumb now rubs that special spot, and his fingers furrow backwards between your legs. You shudder as he slowly breaches your body with one finger, just a fraction.
“Oh fuck, you are so tight,” he says, almost pained. You watch as his cock leaks even more fluid over his knuckles.
“I'm sorry, husband”, you respond on instinct, feeling you have let him down somehow, “is that a bad thing?”
“No, no, my love,” the term of affection naturally rolling off his tongue, “it's a lovely thing. I will just have to take special care with you on our wedding night” he exhales gustily and pushes his finger in a little further. “How does it feel with just my finger inside you?” he asks.
“Strange but very nice”, you reply honestly, looking between the hand on his cock and the hand you see between your legs.
“Well, it may hurt when I put my cock inside you, but only briefly, I promise you, then you will feel wonderful,” he reassures.
“Why can you not do that now?” you gasp as he slowly moves the finger in and out of your body.
“That is not right and proper for you”, he argues, but his voice wavers as he pumps himself a little harder.
“I don't want right and proper; I want you,” you pout.
“Say that again,” he stutters, gripping himself firmer, “the last part.”
“I want you,” you repeat, then moan as he adds a second finger inside you.
“Yes, my love,” he growls, as his hand on his cock speeds up, “tell me what you want when we are married.”
“I want to have sex with you,” you answer between breaths as his fingers do magical things to your body, moving faster now. You hear wet, squelching noises coming from between your legs.
“Tell me you want me to fuck you,” he orders through gritted teeth.
“I want you to fuck me, Benedict, my husband,” you say clearly, meeting his burning gaze. Then he moves the fingers inside you forward, dragging against your insides, and you have to throw your head back and moan loudly at the sensations building in your body.
“Yessssssss”, he hisses, “that's it, moan for me, my love.”
“Say my name again,” he requests urgently, his fingers inside you pressing harder and harder, his thumb hooked around your bud.
You do so, and suddenly, his groan becomes a long, insistent sound, and he pulls faster on his cock. You feel a splash of something warm on your lower belly, dripping into your pubic hair. You look down and see his cock is spouting fluid onto you.
“Benedict, are you ok?” you are concerned; it looks painful, and he appears to be shuddering all over.
After a few heavy breaths, he laughs.  “I am more than okay, y/n,” he promises, his voice shaky. “That was me spending my seed, my love; that is how you come to be with child - when I do that inside you,” he explains. “Now, do you want to know how you will feel when that happens?” his voice a warm rumble.
“Yes,” you answer as you feel his fingers - that had gone dormant inside you as he released - start to move again.
“Put your hands on my shoulders”, he requests. When you do as asked, he leans forward and captures your lips on his. 
You realise you have never even so much as kissed yet. It feels wonderful, and as his tongue insistently parts your lips, you pull closer to him, causing his fingers to sink deeper into you, and you moan into his mouth. 
“That’s it, my love, lean into me.” he encourages.
Hesitantly you pull up slightly as you kiss each other's faces, then sink down a little, allowing his fingers to slide much deeper into you.
“Are you fucking yourself on my fingers, future wife?” he rumbles, impressed, close to your ear.
“Yesss”, you confide abashed, a shiver running down your spine from his tone and pulses of warmth radiating out from the insistent movement of his fingers. Your nipples rasp heavily against your chemise. “Should I not?”
“Oh, you absolutely should. Don't stop on my account,” he murmurs, holding his wrist steady but adding a third finger and making you cry out at the stretch. “Well done, love; look at you taking so much of me.”
You blossom under his praise, grasp his shoulders and ride harder, watching him watch you, his face a handsome smirk as he presses his thumb against your clit. The breathless feeling isn't from exertion but something unfurling deep inside you. You bite your lip and rub yourself harder against his thumb, realising so much of your need is focused right there. 
“That's it,” he encourages, “chase that feeling.”
He leans forward again and kisses you deeply, invading your mouth and stealing your breath. As he pulls back, you feel a flutter growing into something else—deep spasms as you burn white hot around his fingers.
“Benedict, what is happening?” you gasp, grinding hard against his hand, feeling your body release all over his fingers.
“Oh yes. You are coming, my love,” he coos, “don’t stop, keep going.”
You pant and close your eyes as waves of bliss erupt from your core and fan out over your body.
“That's it, that's how you will feel” Benedict's voice is there but sounds far away as the blood rushes in your ears and your heart pounds. Your whole body convulses, and your skin tingles.
After what seems like ages, the intensity fades, and you collapse against him, shaking, burying your nose into his neck as he chuckles and slowly withdraws his hand.
“How do you feel?” he asks as you feel him stroking your hair, an affectionate gesture.
“Wonderful,” you sigh and lift your head. “How soon can we get married?”
“We could leave for Gretna Green before sunrise,” he jests with a chuckle. “But our families would likely never forgive us, so we should probably wait and do things properly.”
“Mmm tempting, Mr Bridgerton, very tempting,” you reply and steal another kiss. “But you’re right. So I suppose you’ll have to teach me a few more things until then.” You smirk at him.
“Indeed, my love,” he runs his fingers over your face, his thumb catching in the corner of your mouth. “Next time, I’ll show you what you can do with your mouth,” his voice a silky whisper, “and what I can do with mine.”
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EDIT: This fic now has a follow on series, Innocence
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Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @kkpolakow @colettebronte @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001
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2K notes · View notes
blackwidownat2814 · 3 months
Text
Merry Christmas Lieutenant (J.Seresin)
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Pairing: Jake Seresin x female reader
Word Count: 1440 (ish)
A/N: Written for @sailor-aviator’s Christmas Writing Challenge. My word was candy cane. To be super honest, I completely forgot I had to write this until last night and went through about 5 ideas before I landed on this today. Thanks to @buckysdollforlife for the quick beta-ing they did earlier. Part of the Jake & Dewey ‘Verse. GIF by @babyrooster
Dividers by: @saradika (Go check out her others, they're awesome!!!)
Warnings: Super fluffy and honestly? The most suggestive thing I’ve written…ever. So yeah, implied future smut I guess?
Masterlist
MERRY CRISIS EVERYONE!!!
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When you’d told Jake that your favorite thing about Christmas was candy canes and other peppermint flavored things, you didn’t think he’d go this hard with it.
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On December 1st, you shambled into the kitchen to see Jake standing at the island with a steaming mug in his hand and a big smile on his face.
“Merry Christmas sweetheart.” He leaned down to press a kiss to your lips and when you pulled away, you took a sip of your coffee.
“Jake! You made me a Peppermint Mocha?!”
“Of course I did, it’s your favorite.”
“Maybe you should change your callsign to 'Starbies'.”
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On December 2nd, you woke to find a big bag of the Ghirardelli Peppermint Bark Squares on your nightstand with a short note I love you so much baby. Enjoy your minty snack!
You took the bag with you to work and shared the love with your coworkers. On your lunch hour, you headed over to the Exchange to meet up with Bob for lunch and shared some with him, giving him extra to share with the other Daggers.
“Hey Bobbers? Could you give Jake something extra for me please?”
“Sure Dew, what is it?” You planted a kiss on Bob’s cheek and he turned red and smiled. “I can’t guarantee he’s going to appreciate it as much since it’s not coming from you.”
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It went like that for the next week or so. Candy cane themed gifts for you every day. Knee high socks covered in candy canes, some earrings you’d seen on TikTok, all kinds of candies that were putting out their peppermint flavored things.
Two weeks before Christmas, Jake came home with news that he and the other Daggers (Mav included) were going to be gone until a few days before the holiday to several Naval Air Stations starting in New Jersey and ending back home in San Diego. You didn’t know all the facts, because all Jake could tell you was that it had to do with the Uranium Mission (since you were Mickey’s only family and Jake’s partner, Mav had said that all you could really know was that it was dangerous and that the squad called it the Uranium Mission).
Jake promised his gifts would keep going in his absence, even when you told him they didn’t need to.
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The first day he was gone, you went to the Hard Deck to have dinner with Halo, a recent friend. Halo waved when she saw you walk in and you joined her at the end of the bar, where you greeted Penny.
“Hey Pen, missing Mav already?”
“Always do”, she replied with a smile. After you and Halo gave her your dinner order, she placed a glass down in front of you.
“What’s this?”
“Hangman asked me to get you a peppermint flavored drink every time you come in while they’re all gone.” She pulls a mini-candy cane from under the bar and sticks it in the glass. “This here is a Peppermint Piña Colada. Enjoy.”
“What’s with all the peppermint?” asked Callie.
“Last month, I told Jake that one of my favorite things about Christmas was candy canes and peppermint flavored stuff. Since December 1st, he’s given me something peppermint flavored or candy cane themed every single day.” You took a sip of your drink, “Oof…that’s actually better than I thought it would be.”
“Oh. So that’s why Hangman asked me to give you this.” Callie pulled a small red and white gift bag from the bar stool beside her and slid it your way. “He said to tell you not to open it until tomorrow though.”
“Ugh! But I want to open it now!”
“He said, and I quote: ‘One a day Dewey, that’s the rule. Be a good girl and follow the rules.’” Callie made a face like she wanted to vomit. “I don’t kink shame, but I did not need to know that.”
You’re not sure how long you laughed after that.
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The next day, Callie came to visit you at the library.
“So, what was in the bag?” she asked. “Wait. After that message, I’m not sure I want to know.” You gave a small laugh as you placed two small spray bottles on your desk.
“He got me hand sanitizer spray in Twisted Peppermint from Bath & Body Works. One for the office and one to carry in my bag.”
“Can I have some?”
“Sure!” You give her a couple sprays and she rubbed her hands together.
“This smells awesome. Like I’d dipped my hands in Christmas or something.”
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While he was gone, Jake had cookies from Tiff’s Treats (a dozen minty chocolate) delivered, a box of only peppermint chocolates from Copper Coast Confections, a new red and white striped apron from Hedley & Bennett with your name embroidered on the front. After watching Next Level Chef a few months ago, you’d expressed to him how you wanted an apron from H&B one day and that it might take you a while because they were pretty expensive. You couldn’t believe he’d remembered. After that, when you invited Callie and Penny over and the three of you would cook or bake together, you smiled big as you sported your new apron.
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Finally, the day Jake and the rest of the Daggers were due home arrived. They weren’t due until late afternoon, so you changed in your office at the library. You wore your candy cane earrings, striped Santa hat, bright red lipstick with peppermint gloss, and made sure your new manicure (candy cane themed of course) shone brightly.
You stood with Penny and the other families that waited for their sailors. You hugged Bob and Phoenix when they walked over to you guys and when Reuben and your brother arrived, they both gave you a big wet kiss on either cheek. Distracted as you were wiping your cheeks off while laughing, you didn’t see or hear Jake approaching.
“What are you doin’ givin’ my girl kisses, Payback?”
“JAKE!” You whirled around with a scream.
“Hey sweetheart.” You practically jumped into his arms and pulled his face to yours (thank goodness for long lasting liquid lipsticks!). Jake took it a step further and dipped you backwards while still kissing you…like that sailor kissing a nurse in New York City on VJ Day in 1945.
“What am I?” you heard Mickey ask. “Chopped liver?”
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Later that night, you were in bed reading while Jake finished his shower. You could smell the shower gel he used because it was one he’d gotten you while he was gone (a delicious pepperminty scent from LUSH), and he finally emerged from the bathroom in a peppermint scented cloud.
“Boy, am I happy to be home.”
“I’m glad you’re home too, Jake.” You pecked him on the lips when he leaned down over you. “I missed you and even though I loved absolutely everything you got me--especially the candy cane themed flower bouquet--none of it replaces having you here with me.”
“You sap.”
“Shut up. You love how sappy I am.”
“True.” He put on his sleep pants and got in bed next to you. “Do you want today’s present?”
“I thought you were today’s present?”
“I’m just the bonus”, he said with his traditional Jake Seresin smile (it was your favorite of his smiles).
“Then gimme!” You put your book down and made grabby hands at him.
“Here you go m’darlin.” He handed you a small box with a red and white bow on it.
“Jake. Jake. This isn’t…?”
“No, it isn’t. I wouldn’t do that without Mickey being present.”
“Oh okay. It’s not that I don’t want to…”
“Baby, don’t worry, I understand.”
“I love you.”
“I know.” He winked at you and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.
“Nerd.” You turn back to the small box and open it. Inside was a necklace with a small ruby and diamond encrusted candy cane on it. “Holy shit.”
“I take it that means you like it.”
“I love it Jake.” You settle onto his lap and kiss him. When you pull apart, he takes the necklace from the box and moves to put it on you. “Thanks cowboy. I think this is going to beat one of my gifts to you for sure.”
“Oh? Do tell.” You hop off his lap and run into your closet. A few minutes later, you emerge wearing your new candy cane themed robe and your necklace.
“I wanted to put on my necklace and see what you think about how it looks.”
“Let’s see it.” Jake’s jaw drops comically when you throw off your robe, because standing in front of him is you. In your necklace.
Just your necklace.
“Merry Christmas Lieutenant.”
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navybrat817 · 1 year
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Is spitfire ready for the race?
Hmm. Mostly yes.
Friendly Competition
Pairing: Motocross!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Summary: You make a new "friend" before the race starts.
Word Count: Over 1.1k
Warnings: Cattiness, Nat being awesome, talk of motocross!Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?)
Graphics talent and thanks: Banner by @sgt-seabass. Divider by @saradika. Header by yours truly.
A/N: Hothead and Spitfire have made an impression, haven't they? ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
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You didn't take a seat right away as Nat led you to the stands. She didn't seem to mind as she stood by you, even with the race getting ready to start. Maybe she sensed that you were a bit antsy and politely didn't rush you.
Your gaze settled on a photographer near the tracks and you hoped she snapped a photo of Bucky. It made no sense why you wanted that. It's not like you'd see the pictures. Plus you already saw how hot he looked in the earlier photos Nat showed you. 
With his stupidly gorgeous eyes and hair and those fucking lips that-
"Nervous?" Natasha cut into your thoughts. 
"I'm not," you said, the corner of your lip tugging a bit. "Maybe a little. I told you, I want Bucky to win."
"And I told you he will. I'm always right, you know. At least I act like I am."
"So humble," you joked, but her confidence helped you relax. 
"Extremely. Let's go sit."
"Natasha! Hi!"
"Shit," she said under her breath. A redhead, a shade or so lighter than your friend's hair, walked over and blocked your path before you could go into the stands. She carried herself with confidence, her shoulders back and not acknowledging anyone else around her. You did your best to make your own judgments on people, but your friend's reaction didn't paint her in a good light. 
I wonder why that is.
"It's so good to see you!"
"Dolores," Natasha said in a clipped tone.
"Did you do something different with your hair? I didn't think the bob cut was back, but you pull it off," Dolores commented with what appeared to be an insincere smile.
Oh. That could be part of the disdain.
You knew well enough that not everyone could be honest and straightforward, but you never understood passive aggressive compliments. Were they even compliments at that point? Why be sneaky?
Be a bitch and own it or be nice.
"No one has complained yet," Natasha curtly responded before you could speak up. 
Dolores either didn't catch the tone or ignored it as she turned her attention to you. "And you must be the new girl I just heard about. I'm looking forward to us being friends," she said, taking a step back so she could look you over. "I love your skirt. Interesting choice for the tracks."
"Thanks. Nat suggested it and, as you already know, she has great taste and style," you said, not at all ashamed or intimidated by her judging gaze.
Like you felt slightly protective of Bucky earlier, you felt the same for Nat.
"Isn't that nice?" Dolores asked, her lip twitching when you didn't cower under her stare. "So nice for her to take the new girl under her wing."
"New girl". That label again. 
"I actually have a name outside of 'new girl'," you said, stating it for her.
"Well, I'm Dolores. Most people call me Dot," her smile widened again. "And some of the boys were just talking about you over there. Heard you made quite an impression on Bucky."
"I'm shocked you've heard anything about me, especially so quickly. Guess good news travels fast."
Dolores bristled, but quickly regained her composure. "I know we aren't best friends yet, but us girls have to stick together. So I thought you should know that some of the boys are pegging you as a, well, pit lizard," she exaggeratedly whispered at the end, like it was a big secret. 
"That's bullshit," Natasha spoke, glancing at you. "They wouldn't."
"I'm just repeating what I heard. I'm trying to warn her," Dolores said with a hint of sympathy in her gaze. It would have worked if not for the mocking tone. "Do you know what that means?"
Oh, I do love the condescension. 
"Groupie for riders? Yeah, I'm familiar with the term," you shrugged slightly. "Did the boys also mention that Bucky kind of asked me on a date?"
The lighter redhead stood up straighter, her eyes narrowing as some of the "friendliness" began to chip away. 
"Something wrong, Dolores?" you asked. 
"He what?"
"He asked her out on a date," Natasha smirked.
"No, he didn't."
"He did," you nodded. "He also didn't give me the impression that he pegged me for a pit lizard. I can't imagine Nat would encourage me to date him if he did."
"I dated him," Dolores blurted out.
The plot thickens.
"It was one date," Natasha said to you under her breath.
"And you should be careful with him," your new "friend" warned as she strode forward. You refused to step backward. "Wouldn't want you to get hurt."
"Are you threatening her?" your actual friend asked, shifting her stance to put you slightly behind her. "Because that isn't a good idea."
It's nice to have a protective friend. 
"It's okay. I'm sure she's just being friendly," you said before Dolores had a chance to answer. You leaned in a little like you were going to whisper a secret. "I think I'll be just fine with Bucky, but thanks. You also have lipstick on your teeth. Thought you should know.
Dolores muttered something unpleasant under her breath when she moved around you and stormed away. 
"Good to see you, Dolores," Natasha said even though she was out of earshot at that point. "Lipstick? Really?"
"What? She did," you said truthfully. "I'd want someone to point it out to me."
"You okay?"
"Just fine," you said when she raised an eyebrow. "It's not a bullshit answer. It's a jealous ex."
Wait. Does one date make you an ex?
"She's right though. You really are making quite an impression on people here," she said, taking your arm so the two of you could finally sit down. "You have Bucky and Maddox making bets over you. Now Dolores is threatened by you."
And I'm not even racing. 
"You make me sound like one of those Mary Sue characters who gets everyone's attention for no reason whatsoever."
"You mean you aren't the most special kind of special person there is?" Nat teased, giving a friendly nod to another girl as you passed by. 
"No, I'm just the shiny new toy everyone wants to play with," you joked back. "I don't have anything to worry about with her, do I?"
"Like what? Competing for Bucky's affection? Trust me. That ship didn't sail. It sank."
You snorted a bit. "Funny."
"Really though. You have nothing to worry about. We have your back," she said, taking a seat. "Besides, a little friendly competition never hurt anyone."
"So, Bucky is a prize now?" you asked as you sat beside her.
"Neither one of you are prizes, but I still think you're both going to come out on top in the end."
With Bucky determined to win the race, you had a feeling Nat was right. 
You just had to make sure Dolores didn't stick a knife in your back when you weren't looking.
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Should we worry? Nah. Love and thanks! ❤️
Masterlist ⚓ Dialed In Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
574 notes · View notes
portfolio-of-dreams · 2 years
Text
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just, friends? | yuta okkotsu x afab! reader
warnings: 18+, minors dni! enemies to lovers(ish), yuta is mean, sparring/fighting, (do you count that?), dom! yuta, a lil possessive, marking, nipple play, shower sex, spiting, slight exhibitionism, reader gets called baby, language, pussy inspection, oral (f!receiving), orgasm denial, dacryphilia, cervix fucking, tummy buldge, creampie, unprotected sex (wear ur raincoat), slight dumbification, reader gets spanked once, dirty talk (kinda ig), squirting, cum eating, cum … swapping.
w/c: 3.5k
a/n: back on my yuta brainrot. another thank you to @xshinigamikittenx for being my beta-reader. you’re awesome and your comments make my day. kissing u softly. REPOST TO SEE SOMETHING.
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“Hey, watch it Okkotsu!” you grumbled towards the raven haired man who bumped shoulders with you as you walked on opposite sides of the pathway on campus.
“Maybe if you watched where you were walking, you would have seen me.” He rolled his eyes as he turned on his heels.
You didn’t know what it was but everything about Yuta Okkotsu made your blood boil. Everything he had, everything he was- you just hated. His stupid smirk that would plaster across his face when Gojo congratulated him on another job well done, even though you were his assigned partner for it. His cursed technique always got all the attention. Yuta is so special. Yuta is going to be the strongest. Yuta was the bane of your existence. You knew he didn’t like you either because he always requested to go on missions with you because your cursed tools worked well with him- he preferred to fight in close range whereas you were the long range assistance. You felt as though he asked for you because he knew he would get all the credit and he could rub it in later on. You were just as naturally gifted with your abilities as he was. But it was always about dumb Yuta.
You got so lost in frustrating thoughts you had walked an entire circle around campus. Well, what better way to blow off some steam then go train in the dojo? You took a moment to compose yourself and turned to go back in the direction of the training room.
You pushed open the tall, wooden doors to find your teacher inside. “Oh, Gojo. Sorry, I didn’t know anyone would be in here.”
He looked at you with a soft smile, eyes hidden behind his black bandana. “Not an issue, y/n! Came to blow off some steam it looks like?”
You just nodded your head and he clapped his hands together. “Perfect, I’ll help you out.”
You dropped your bag on the side along the wall and took a fighting stance in front of Gojo. He said whenever you were ready to start, but not to tell him or show any expression that you were going to swing at him. You took a deep breath, counted to three in your mind and exhaled. You stood there for a moment and then quickly bent down to sweep your leg at his ankles. He hopped over it without even paying attention. You kicked your leg up to try to hit him but to no avail. In one quick motion you were back on your feet, sending a right hook towards him to which he responded by leaning to the left. He didn’t throw any punches or really try to defend against your attacks. You huffed as you realized you were getting nowhere like this, even after twenty minutes of being at it. Then you got an idea.
You kept at the jabs in his direction, each one he dodged easily, not even breaking a sweat. You dug your toe in the space on the mat and fell forward. To which he stepped quickly towards you, catching you in his arms and you smirked.
You lightly tapped the underside of his jaw with your fist, “Got ya.”
He laughed in response, lifting the corner of his blindfold with his thumb, looking at you with a sapphire crystal eye “You sure did.”
And then you heard the most dramatic throat clear. You turned your head as Gojo set you on your feet, and saw the lowered annoyed eyes of Yuta. He walked towards the two of you, his eyes trained on your figure. He was slightly taller than you and looked down once he was close enough and feigned an innocent smile that spread across his chapped lips.
“I was hoping I could train a little tonight as well.” And he turned his head to glare at Gojo with honest eyes but you knew it was all an act.
“Sure! Actually, that works perfectly. It’s time for my evening teasing of Nanamin.” He joked as he skipped out of the dojo.
Yuta snapped his head back at you, growling at you to pick up your bamboo kendo stick. You stuck your tongue out at him as you turned to the barrel of sticks to pull one out to use. You took a stance in front of him as he slid one foot behind the other and bent his knees slightly. The both of you lunged forwards, sticks connecting at the tip with a thwack. You jumped backward and stabbed your stick towards his stomach which he jumped out of the way from. Your sticks clacked and snapped against each other with every swing. Feet padding against the mat floor as you two danced and moved in tandem like you could predict the movements of the other person. Yuta’s face fell and his brows knitted together, he wanted this to be over already. He lunged at you with his kendo stick, making you move to your left to avoid being hit and at the same time, he swiped his foot at your ankles, making you topple over.
“I won.” He said blandly as your anger bubbled over, jumping to your feet.
“You cheated. Playing dirty like that.” Your words seethed towards him as he gave you a light shove past you as you walked to the edge of the room to where you dropped your bag.
You rolled your eyes at him, before turning your attention to the floor to pick up your jacket and backpack. In a swift motion, he was pressing his body against yours, your back pushed up against the cool wall of the room.
“Funny that you thought you could take me down.” His hand moved up, holding your chin in his slender fingers. He tilted your head to the side, allowing him access to your sweat slicked skin.
“F- fuck you, Okkotsu.” You knew he didn’t miss the way your words collapsed.
His warm breath fanned over you as he placed his other hand against the wall on the side of your face, slightly above you, his lips just inches away. You let your eyes slip closed when you felt them crash greedily against yours, feeling sparks light up from your spine down to your toes. You shouldn’t feel like this- you hated him, right?
Yuta’s tongue dragged roughly over the seam of your lips, demanding entrance. You fought against him; only allowing him to tug on yours. He bit your lip hard enough for you to part them and slide his tongue inside. It was heated and rough- unlike any kiss you've had before. Breathy moans escaped your mouths as teeth clashed. Every sound was swallowed by Yuta’s mouth. Goosebumps spread across your skin and you shivered, feeling him smirk as he squeezed you, grabbing your waist so forcefully you were sure there would be small bruises, pulling you as close to him as possible. You stayed there with him, in a kiss so hungry, so needy it felt possessive. It suffocated your senses and dulled your thoughts to the point you only remembered to move your lips against his with the same vigor.
How much time had passed before you finally broke the connection? You finally looked up to meet his blue eyes, a blue deeper than the ocean abyss. The golden hues of the evening sun seeped through the cladded dojo windows and slanted across Yuta’s face. You felt your stomach clench and pushed his hair off his forehead where it had sat flatly. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip and inched closer, sliding one of your thighs up between his. A loan groan escaped his parted mouth, and he pushed your leg down to be replaced with his own.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this”- he smirks, licking a wet stripe along the vein in your neck- “And you were just getting too close to Gojo for my liking tonight.” He spoke as he moved his thigh up, rubbing it against your core.
“Yuta. We’re in public” You barely choked out between moans.
“Then I guess you better keep quiet then.” He growled lowly as his teeth worked the sensitive spot on your neck.
The heat of his lips caused your head to roll back, hitting the wall behind you, your sweat trailing down your temple leaving wet stains against the concrete. He smirked as he continued to kiss and suck at that sweet spot that made you moan his name. He would no doubt leave a mark, as he continued his movements against your sweet skin. Your hands moved up to run through his hair but he quickly grabbed them, slamming them above you with one hand wrapped around your wrists. You inhaled sharply as he rubbed his thigh harsher against your clothed cunt. Your moans became more apparent, echoing in the space. The hand he had on your chin, moves to cover your mouth as you hear the door open. He stands there, staring into your eyes, continuing to grind his thigh on you.
“Shh, baby. We don't want to be found” He smirks at you.
He picks you up easily, stepping lightly towards the open showers. His lips are rough against yours- needy and desperate to taste you again. He places you up against the wall, holding you in place with one strong arm as the other reaches over, turning on the warm water, exposing your breasts. He breaks apart from the kiss- a trail of saliva connecting you two together still. His eyes travel down to your perked nipples, you hear him mutter a shit, before taking one into his mouth. His tongue swirls around the hardened bud as the hand that's snaked around your waist, grabs at the plush of your skin. Your moans become louder, only slightly muffled by the shower running. Your hands, finally free- run through his hair, pushing his mouth further onto your chest. He continues to nip at the bud as he sets you down. He pulls his mouth off with a pop and takes both in between his fingers, twisting and tugging at the supple flesh. He watches as you squirm, chest heaving into his touch. He chuckles lightly at your groans and pulls until you’re released and then he flicks both sensitive nubs which makes you wince backward. He places a soft kiss to the valley between your breasts and moves his hand down your curves and starts to rub harsh circles onto your clit.
“Yuta. More. Need more.” You groan and you move slightly in his grip.
“Aw, look at you. A mewling mess in my touch. Looks like you don’t hate me as much as you thought” He speaks against your skin, licking down your stomach to your hips.
He pulls the rest of your pants down, exposing yourself to him. He licks between your wet folds, using just the tip of his tongue to tease you. Before pulling away to spread your lips with his fingers, getting too close for comfort as he inspected your cunt. You tried your best to close your legs as you felt yourself heating up in embarrassment. He pushed your thigh with his free hand as the other slapped your wet core.
“Don’t do that. Wanna get a look at this pretty little pussy I’m about to shove my cock into.” He spoke low as he spit on your clit lewdly.
He watched as your walls fluttered, begging for attention; begging for him to stuff it full. But you deserved to wait- after falling ever so “accidentally” into Gojo’s arms as you were training with him earlier. So he pressed his thumb down and rubbed your pretty clit. The way he teased you, the way he touched you- you were becoming addicted to the feeling and you wanted to experience more of him. He kept his face close, hot breaths eliciting a wanton moan from your lips as he slides a finger between your lips. He pulls his thumb away for a moment to pull back the hood of your clit and places a soft kiss to it, making your knees buckle. Your hands are shaking as you move them to his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself. Your focus is waning with every pump of his finger- and then he adds another. His fingers prod at your gummy walls, slick coating them as they slide in past his knuckles, lips puckering to suck harshly on your sensitive nerves as his pretty eyes glare up at you.
Something about the look he holds as the water drips from the tips of his hair, his wet white tee sticking to his skin, the way his fingers are curling and hitting all the right spots. Your thighs start to shake and your breath catches as your eyes roll back and you try to brace yourself as you feel your orgasm approaching. But he stops, a soft cry filters over your lips- and he laughs as he stands up.
“Open your mouth.” You knew it was a demand but you were still trying to muffle your sighs from the denial.
He rolls his eyes at your disobedience and grabs your cheeks squishing them together. He shoves his fingers past your lips, pushing down on your tongue to hear those choked whines that sounded so pretty from you. You gag slightly when his knuckles touch your lip as he spreads your juices around on your tongue. He made your mouth close as he pulled his digits out, making sure you got every drop of yourself.
“You taste yourself? So sweet- why have you been keeping this from me?” His words sounded so sinful, your head was spinning.
He peeled his clothes off, tossing them to the corner out of the way of the shower. He stepped back into the water, slicking his hair back as droplets ran down his toned form. Curving around the outlines of his pecs as the bead rolled down over his perked nipples and followed the line of his abs down to his hips. The steamy atmosphere adding to your already spinning head made you see stars. You could feel yourself shaking as your legs wanted to give out, then two strong hands gripped your shoulders. Your eyes trailed up the muscles in his arms and saw the way they flexed knowing your attention was on him. You noticed the way his lips curved up into a coy smirk.
“I’ll take good care of you” He growled in your ear as he hooked your thigh over his hip.
He kept careful eye contact with you as he lined himself up with your entrance. His flushed tip pushing against your puffy folds, covering his tip in your slick. Your back was pushed up against the wall, his thick calloused fingers digging into the plush skin of your thigh as his cockhead slipped into you. Your slick essence and sinful moans spurring him to sink further into your squelching cunt. He went in slow but didn’t give you a moment to adjust as he pulled out to the cut on his tip and then rammed back into you. A choked sob escaped your parted lips as you batted your wet lashes at him.
“Yuta!”- you cried as fresh hot tears started to spill from your big doe eyes - “Please t’ too much”
He grinned seductively as he kissed the corner of your eye, “Crying for me, baby? Look so pretty”
His eyebrows furrowed as vulgarities fell from his pink lips as he set the pace. Pulling back and snapping his hips forward into you. The sounds of your wetness are muffled by his groans and the water of the shower raining down and echoing off the tiled floor. You could feel your body melting into him with every force of his hips, gasping with every thrust. Your head lulled into the valley of his neck, teeth grasping onto his collarbones as drool spilled from your lips. He ferociously, mercilessly, pounded deep inside you. Hitting every soft spot along the way, the way the thick vein on his cock rubbed against your gummy walls, and how he kept hitting the top of your cervix- you were at his mercy. He snaked his thumb down your wet stomach to rub your clit and fat tears of pleasure pooled down your face as you cried his name.
“Fuck. Look at you, taking me so well.” His grunts become more apparent as he continues to abuse your overstimulated clit.
You feel him hitting deep, each thrust makes your cunt clamp down onto him. He’s rough as his thumb moves and his fingers dig into your leg, creating crescent shaped indents. He’s hitting so deep, bruising your cervix with every obscene movement. You can only focus on him pounding into you, your nails scratching down his back, no doubt leaving scratches but you know he doesn't mind when he moans out loud. He nudges your head up with his and attached his lips hard to yours. Puffy and red when he pulls away, drinking in your exhales as he hovers over your parted lips. His thrusts got sloppy and his balls felt heavy slapping against the curve of your ass and you know he’s just as close as you are.
Then he pulls out. Making you wince and whine at the empty feeling.
“Turn around, put your hands against the wall.” You do as he says, you’ve been denied two orgasms now.
He grabs your ass, slapping a harsh red handprint onto your right cheek as he spreads them apart. He adjusts himself to your dripping hole again and slides back in. You swear he’s going to fuck the shape of his cock into you- and nothing after him will feel right. Your walls are stretching back out to accommodate him, creating a soreness in your legs. You're whining his name and begging him to let you cum already and something inside him snaps. He grips your ass hard, using it as leverage to fuck into you. Your thighs are twitching with each roll of his hips as he continually bottoms out deep into your cunt. His focus is on watching his fat cock disappear into you over, and over again. One hand reaches around to press against your tummy and you feel him all the way in your womb and your tears are gushing as they fall to the floor in front of you.
You rest your cheek against the wall and take one hand off to reach down between your legs to grab and fondle his heavy balls. He yelps at the new sensation and moves even harder into you. You’re pulling on his soft flesh, and feel them tighten in your grasp. The circling and bucking of his hips falters and you feel the knot inside you bubble up. He’s cursing and stammering under his breath, how good your pussy feels, how wet you are from him. His filthy words send you over the edge and you're spewing your juices against him- squirting them onto the base of his cock and coating his thighs. He loves your reaction- the way your panting and your pretty cunt is clamping and twitching. You feel the final tingle of his balls in your hand and the first warmth of his cum spilling into you and you squeeze your hand that's holding him, eliciting a loud groan from him as you milk him for all his worth. He chases his high, white slick filling you to your brim as it threatens to spill once he pulls out. He bends down to be eye-level with your pussy and he notices the small bead of cum dripping down onto your clit. He’s fast with his tongue, licking a stripe from your clit to your stretched out hole as he collects his spilling seed into his mouth. He stands and turns you around, connecting his lips with yours, his hand clenching your jaw to fill your mouth with every bit of what's in his, spitting the rest as he closes his mouth on yours.
“Swallow.” And you do, because you’re fucked too dumb to mutter cohernt words. Your vision filled with stars.
He snickers at your disheveled appearance as he turns back into the cascading water. You stand there for a minute, trying to collect enough strength to walk under the heated shower as well. But you sigh as your thighs shake and you slide your back down the wall. He rolls his eyes at you and takes your hands, dragging you into the water to clean yourself off.
“So, what now?” The only words you’re able to utter as you sit on the warm ground, allowing the water to rush over your face.
Yuta scoffs at your words, as he wraps a towel around his waist, “What do you mean? We’re just friends.” He walks to the corner to pick up his clothes and turns to go, leaving you to ponder in your thoughts over what the fuck just happened
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