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#they became one not by fate but by choice. by love.
chirpos-pencil · 3 days
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I'm a little lost on how the 77th Class can atone for their crimes as Remnants of Despair by . . . living on Jabberwock Island for the rest of their lives, far from the main population, far from the people they might've hurt and even killed?
It felt a bit like they're . . . running away from what they had done.
Please don't get me wrong! I really loved it when they returned to help Makoto and his friends to deal with all those soldiers and stopping Ryota from spreading the Hope video. I really loved their moment to shine, but I just . . . wanted them to do . . . more, I guess?
I wanted them to stay around and help the general public to heal from the Tragedy. Hm, maybe they don't need to actually show their faces in public, but at least help Makoto and his friends rebuild society from behind closed doors?
. . .
They're isolating themselves in Jabberwock Island to 'atone', they say. But I'm not sure how exactly that's atoning. To atone means to actively make amends and reparations for the people you've hurt, yes?
You know, wasn't the 78th Class's killing game publicly aired by Junko to make the people outside turn to despair? In a way, 78th Class had unwillingly became an instrument of despair (similar to the 77th Class, but with the method of brainwashing).
The survivors from the 78th Class decided to actively work to rebuild the broken world. See from the Epilogue of the first game:
"If there's no road, you just gotta build one! Creation... Fate is telling me to remake the world " - Hiro
"Maybe I should find them and make them work for me. To rebuild the world, we must first rebuild the Togami dynasty" - Byakuya
"I'll just get some flour and make some myself! And if there's no flour, I'll just grow some wheat!" - Aoi (when Hiro said there could be no more donuts)
"Even if everyone in the outside world is gone... Even if the world is steeped in despair... As long as I have people like you around, I can face forward and keep moving. If we can get out there and do something, have some sort of impact..." - Kyoko
"But what can we do...? There's so few of us, and we're so small. So what can we do...? ...No, we can probably do anything. Yeah! We can do anything!" - Makoto
In a way, I guess you could say that's their form of atonement. Atoning for the actions of their 'blackened' classmates. Atoning for the actions of Junko, with whom they still shared some good memories, despite everything. Atoning despite being innocent.
As for the 77th Class . . . Oh, I don't know. I mean I sympathise with them. They were brainwashed to commit acts of despair, and if they ever show themselves in public, they'll surely get persecuted. I guess they got no choice but to live on the island in silence from everyone else.
Actually I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this, haha. So, I'll stop.
Note that I'm biased towards the 78th Class, so take this post with a grain of salt.
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lloydfrontera · 3 days
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So I know that Lloyd haveing nothing in Korea is used narratively to contast how far he's come in Lorasia. But a part of me really wants him to have like one friend, or coworker, or cousin, or just someone that he was relatively close to. I think it would be cool if his choice to stay with the Frontera's more of an active decision rather than his only real option.
But mostly, I want this for Javier. We already know Javier was willing to drag Lloyd kicking and screaming back to Lorasia if he had to. So if while they were in Korea and he happened to see someone whom Lloyd had a strange connection with (or worse, they seemed to be actively mourning Suho's disapearance), I think it could add some juicy internal conflict.
I know this probably wouldn't work in cannon. But I just want Javier to be confronted with physical proof that Lloyd was a real person who had his own life before they became family.
ooohhh i do see where you're coming from that would've been fascinating to explore!
i mean it was fun to explore in cpsm, i think it was pretty well done there and i loved the way bk moon chose to approach rakiel's situation with his friends so i think he would've done a pretty good job had he chosen to do something similar in tged.
i see what you mean with making lloyd's choice to stay with the fronteras more of an active choice rather than his only option and i do think it would've been very poignant if he had to actually leave something precious to him behind to fully embrace his new family!
but i do think it would've slightly diminished the choice he did make in canon when it came to choosing who was he willing to sacrifice, javier or himself, to stop the restoration of fate. in canon it's a really tragic choice, because there's really not a good option for lloyd. he refuses to even consider letting javier die, so really it's between dying or going back to seoul and he makes it very clear that death would be the kinder option for him.
if he has someone he's close to back in seoul, a friend or family, someone who's actually mourning for him, then that makes his choice of dying seem less like the decision of someone terrified to being alone again and more like someone who doesn't care for the pain his loved ones are going through because of him.
if lloyd had had someone to go back to in seoul, then him choosing to stay in lorasia despite the danger he represents to everyone he loves there would've made him a lot more selfish than he is in canon where he genuinely feels like dying is his only real option because anything else would be even worse.
that being said. i am always down for giving javier even more mental issues about lloyd than he already has so adding an element of guilt and conflict to his resolution to keep lloyd with them at any cost is right up my alley <3
and the thing is javier kind of already has an idea of what lloyd's life was back in seoul. nothing specific of course but he pays enough attention to what lloyd sometimes lets slip out to know that it was Not Good. so i think that, at least subconsciously, he wasn't all that guilty about thinking of forcing him to come back with him if necessary.
of course it's still fucked up that he was thinking of dragging him back if lloyd had wanted to stay but it's okay i love it when he's a fucked up little guy <3
but if he'd had actual real proof that lloyd had had a whole life before meeting them... then yeah i think he would've been a little more conflicted about it. not enough to not be resolved to take lloyd with him anyway, not when the fronteras and the estate depend from it, but still. he would've felt more than just 'apologetic' about it.
in any case it would've been interesting to see! as i said i am always down for introducing even more angst into this already messy situation! thanks for sending me this!
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vamppvania · 6 months
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They're still toxic Yuri btw. They couldn't be together in any universe because their mutual obsession would cause them both to make harmful sacrifices for the other. It wasn't necessarily healthy but it was everything. There's no regrets because what matters is that love was there. It was always there. Everything stays but it's still changing.
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kookslastbutton · 16 days
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what love feels like ༓ myg (m)
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✑ Summary: Being a mother to a beautiful baby girl and wife to an adoring husband is the most rewarding feeling in the world. But you also work a full-time job, are overtired most of the time, stressed, don't have any alone time, look very different than eight years ago, and sex? Well, that hasn’t happened in weeks. The gravity of the situation weighs on you until one day, all of your deepest insecurities rear their ugly head–that your husband might not love you as much anymore and someone could take him away from you.
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Pairing: husband!yoongi x reader
AU/genre: angst, fluff, smut, marriage au
Rating: M, 18+
Word Count: 6.7k+
Warnings: swearing, both Yoongi and oc are in their 30s, mom and full-time worker!oc, reserved!dad!yoongi, lack of intimacy, mentions of body insecurities post-pregnancy, mentions of fear of abandonment, mentions of jealousy. irrational worries, built-up stress, light fighting, silent treatment, stubbornness, lots of reassurance, nightmares, cute backstory of how they met, a lot of ily, Yoongi and oc being good parents 🥹, Yoongi calls oc doll, and explicit sexual content
sexual warnings: swearing, kissing, neck kisses, pleading, banter, dirty talk, doll petname, asking for consent, b**b squeezing & sucking, hair threading, penetration, f*ngering, big d*ck!yoongi, growling, missi*nary, eye contact, tearing up, c*ming together
Now Playing: Breathing by Anne Marie
a/n: Okay this was for Yoon's bday. Based on the poll, husband!Yoon won. Was intended to be a Drabble but well...heh 😅 Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this fic and Yoon is just such a good hubby for responding well to these very relatable insecurities. (Low-key love this couple...) I'm sorry for any typos or warnings i missed! I checked and double checked but a few might have slipped. Enjoy! Anyway please enjoy! 🥰
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“So, you're Jia's father, huh? I don’t think I've seen you here before, and I’m sure I would have recognized you.”
With his back straight and arms folded, Yoongi gives the woman in front of him a quick once-over. Mid-40s, freshly single, and definitely in need of some companionship. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out; she’s been talking his ear off for the past twenty minutes like he’s some kind of remedy to all her problems.
Honestly, he just swung by to pick up his four-year-old from daycare after another grueling day at work. But the moment he walked in, it was as if all the single moms latched onto him like a flock of hungry geese. This one’s name is Sandra in particular.
It reminds him of his college basketball days, how the cheerleaders all too eagerly swarmed around him after sinking the winning shot at the championship game. Shame he was too busy eyeing the girl in the stands to care, her face buried behind a book twice as big as her head. Who reads an 800-page novel during the playoffs anyway?
Fate, as one may call it, intervened about a week later when his best friend became said girl’s lab partner. Yoongi didn’t make any sudden moves at first, but well, he did make her his wife three years later.
“It’s just so nice to finally meet the father of such a sweet child. Especially considering how many dads tend to take a backseat in their child's early years.” Is she still going on? Yoongi does his best to stay present, though it’s proving unsuccessful. “And Jia truly is an angel! It’s clear you’re doing a wonderful job raising her, even with a full-time job and all.”
Yoongi’s eyebrows knit together at the somewhat odd choice of words. “Thanks,” he drawls out, noticing her pupils dilating with every breath. “Most of the credit goes to my wife though. She’s a great mom to Jia.”
“Jia’s m-mom?” Sandra stutters, her mouth slightly agape. Yoongi senses the gears turning in her head as she struggles to process the unexpected presence of his wife. Tempting as it is, he holds down a smirk. Of course, he’s a happily married man–for nearly eight years now.
“Yeah,” he replies simply. “She’s usually the one to pick up our daughter from daycare, but she’s been working a lot of overtime lately. I thought I'd come instead so she can get some rest."
“Oh, well that’s very–“
“Daddy! Daddy, you’re here!” The sound of a familiar high-pitched voice, along with a light pattering of feet, diverts both adult’s attention.
“Hey kid.” Yoongi effortlessly lifts the small child once in front of him, securing her in his arms. “Have fun today?”
Jia gives an enthusiastic nod, bright red ribbons in her hair bouncing cutely as she does. Proudly, she shows him the drawing she made.
“See? It’s me, you, and mommy!” She makes sure to point to each part of the picture with her pointer finger.
Yoongi gently takes the artwork from his daughter’s hand and lets out a soft chuckle. “Now this is what I call a masterpiece! Mommy’s gonna love hanging this one on the fridge. How about I hold onto this and you go grab your backpack, okay?”
As soon as Jia’s feet touch the carpeted floor again, she races off to her cubby in the far corner of the room. Yoongi shoots Sandra a final glance before slowly following behind. “We got to get going, but nice meeting you.”
“You…too.” Sandra’s response is more than disappointed as she watches the father-daughter duo make their way out of the building. Evidently, Min Yoongi isn’t the single dad she originally assumed. Funny, she swore there wasn’t a wedding band in sight. Maybe she missed it.
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“No, I’m sorry but I’m certain we haven’t used any of your services in the last six months. My husband canceled it in late October.”
With one hand, you grip your cell phone up to an ear while the other pops open the dishwasher. You’ve been on the phone with the cable company for half an hour, trying to make sense of an unexpected charge that appeared on your bank account this morning. You consider yourself more patient than most, yet after working all day, a pile of laundry waiting to be washed, and dinner threatening to burn on the stove, the last thing you have time for is arguing with your old service provider.
“I understand, ma’am, and I apologize for any confusion. I’m taking a look at my records and they’re all showing me that—oh wait a second.”
The young man on the opposite end of the line interrupts his own thought, piquing your concern in the process.
“What did you say your last name is?”
You answer and in an instant, you’re met with a thousand rushed apologies; something about getting the account names mixed up in their system. It’s difficult to decipher everything you hear with the front door being thrust open that very moment.
“Mommy, where are you? We’re home!” Your daughter not so subtly announces her presence from the foyer. She kicks off her shoes, hangs her backpack on the designated wall hook, and then rushes to the kitchen upon catching a brief glimpse of your shirt.
“It’s alright, these mistakes happen.” You hang up the call and turn around to find Jia only steps away, a big goofy grin on her face. Infectious, you break out into a smile yourself and swoop her up.
“Hey honey, I missed you so much!” You kiss the side of your daughter’s head as she wraps her small arms around your neck. “You look so pretty with all these ribbons in your hair! Daddy did a good job, didn’t he?”
Being that you were called into work earlier than usual this morning, Yoongi was the one who got Jia dressed and ready for daycare. You’re delightfully surprised by the results.
“Mmhm,” Jia nods, twirling a couple of strands of hair between her thumb and forefinger. “But Daddy pulls too much!”
“Maybe if someone had listened and stopped fussing when I told her, I wouldn’t have accidentally yanked on her hair when I was reaching for her favorite Hello Kitty scrunchie.” Yoongi joins you both in the kitchen, walking over to press a quick peck on your lips while tenderly caressing the small of your back. The gesture soothes you of your earlier frustrations. “Who was that on the phone? Cable company?”
“Yeah, they canceled the charge. Wrong account.” As you reiterate the entire mix-up, your eyes wander all over your husband. He’s especially handsome tonight, given his perfectly tousled black hair and navy blue blazer flowing over his body. It’s tastefully oversized with a clean, white top paired underneath. You, on the other hand, are sporting a raggedy old t-shirt and stained sweatpants.
There was a time when you used to put a shit ton more effort into your appearance. It was before you got pregnant with Jia, back when you and Yoongi were going out on weekly dates. Neither of you has that kind of time anymore, or energy for that matter. You didn’t believe the other moms when they told you the romance takes a nose dive after you have your first kid. Yet here you are, proven wrong again.
Being parents to a beautiful baby girl is likely the most rewarding feeling in the world for you and Yoongi. You don’t remember the last time the two of you got real quality alone time though. And sex? Well, that hasn’t happened in weeks. The gravity of the situation weighs more on you with each passing day to be honest. Sure, you’re not the same person you used to be eight years ago, but shouldn’t you and Yoongi still make time for at least a little intimacy?
“How was picking up Jia by the way?” You look at Yoongi who merely shrugs nonchalantly in response.
“It was fine. Nothing too out of the ordinary,” Yoong gives you another peck before heading up the stairs to your bedroom. “I’m gonna go get changed. Why don’t you show Mommy the drawing you did Jia?”
“A drawing?” You shift your attention to your daughter whose eyes sparkle like diamonds upon mention. “We should put it up on the fridge then. Let’s take a look hmm?”
“It’s in my backpack! My new friend and I were drawing together. Her name is Mi-Sun.” Jia continues telling you all about her friend Mi-Sun as you make your way to the front door where her backpack hangs. You’re fully engaged until the very end. “Daddy made a new friend too!” she joyously claps her hands together, not realizing the depth of her remark.
“Oh, who’s Daddy’s new friend honey?” You ask, staying as calm as possible.
“Ms. Cho! They were talking for a really long time today.”
Ms. Cho? You think back to all the moms you’ve met at daycare. Somehow you can’t recall ever hearing or meeting a Ms. Cho. She must be a single mom, you deduce. Was she new? What did she look like? And why didn’t Yoongi mention her when you asked?
This has to be nothing but a little small talk, an acquaintance at most. Besides, the moms at Jia’s daycare are quite a chatty bunch and Yoongi wouldn’t dare overstep any boundaries.
“Do you know what they were talking about?” You don’t enjoy asking your child for details about your husband, yet you can’t seem to help it this time.
“I dunno,” she shrugs her shoulders. "Daddy was laughing a lot."
Suddenly, the self-assurance you gave yourself earlier slips away; seemingly useless given the queasy feeling building in the pit of your stomach.
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For the remainder of the night, you purposely dodge every attempt your husband makes to kiss, touch, and hold you. You’ve even begun responding to his questions in one-word answers and at times, with nothing at all.
Yes, you’re being petty; more than usual. The silent treatment frustrates Yoongi to no end and it isn’t very mature of you, but neither is refusing to tell your wife that some single mom was flirting with you in front of your kid! Okay, so maybe that's an exaggeration. Maybe it all sums up to a harmless conversation, but it’s not like you know either way with Yoongi being as reserved as he is. It brings you back to your early dating days when he wouldn’t think to tell you about various aspects of his day; who he ate breakfast with that morning or the one classmate of his that wouldn’t leave him alone for two semesters.
Truth be told, you're simply hoping that your husband will bring up the topic first, without having to be the classic nagging wife. You’re a jealous person by nature so it’s not a simple task. Even now as you fold the first batch of laundry on your shared bed, him on the other side doing the same, you struggle to keep from blurting everything out.
“So,” Yoongi fluffs up a clean pillowcase before sliding it onto one of the bed pillows. “How was work?”
What a basic question, you grumble internally. Is that all he’s got? “Was okay,” you reply. “The usual.”
“You must be tired from the day. Did you get to lie down at all?” Yoongi picks up another pillowcase, repeating the process as before. When he glances your way, it’s clear something’s on your mind. You’ve started pairing Jia’s socks far more aggressively than normal and you’re holding back your responses. “Did you hear me, doll? Or am I going deaf here?” The sarcastic chuckle distracts you from your task, forcing your attention.
You’re about to respond when your eyes briefly flicker down to his hands, his left one in particular. Where's his wedding ring? Yoongi always wears it no matter what. The same sick feeling from before returns tenfold. No wonder that Ms. Cho was all over him–she must have thought he was single.
“No, I didn’t get to lie down Yoongi. I worked all day, came home and made dinner, called the cable guy to get that stupid bill figured out, and now I’m doing the second load of laundry. I’m really just not in the mood to chat.” It comes out a blur as you snatch the empty laundry basket and head for your washer and dryer, your eyes welling up with tears.
“__, wait.” Yoongi tosses the last pillow near the headboard and stops you in your tracks, his hand firmly gripping one end of the laundry basket. The intensity of his stare softens as he speaks. “I'm sorry if it seems like I'm forcing you to talk. I know you've been losing a lot of sleep recently between work, Jia, and upkeeping the house. We just don't get a lot of time to see each other anymore and I miss you…I miss talking to you."
With every ounce of self-control remaining, you hold back any tears that risk spilling out. You don't know why you're acting like this, why you're crying over something that seems so small and insignificant to the rest of the world. Yoongi loves you. He's said it a million times and proven it to you over and over again, for eight years now. He wouldn’t cheat on you, yet you still get so worked up about the idea that someone could take him away from you. Someone half your age, more attractive, or hell even the opposite sex if it means fewer dark circles under their eyes.
"Why- why aren't you wearing your ring?" Your naturally confident voice dwindles to the whisper of a mouse. It's completely out of character, nevertheless, here you are.
"I..." Your husband's voice wavers. His gaze flickers to his left hand, where his ring should be, but isn't. "Shit...I took it off in the shower this morning," he confesses, frustrated by his forgetfulness. "I was in such a rush to get Jia to daycare, and me to work, that it completely slipped my mind. I'm sorry—I fully intended to put it back on." He pauses, then perks up. "It's still in the bathroom. I'll be right back, okay?"
You watch as he makes a beeline for the master bathroom, eager to rectify the situation as soon as possible. You should have kept silent what you say next, but you don't.
"No wonder the moms at Jia's daycare were so drawn to you."
"What?" Yoongi stops in his tracks. The dumbfounded expression on his face tells you that you've caught him off guard again.
"Jia told me about someone named Ms. Cho," you reluctantly continue. "The two of you were laughing and talking and–"
"Baby, don't worry about that." Seizing his chance, your husband walks back over to you and sneakily pulls the laundry basket from under your arm. He sets it on the ground after, then reaches to take your hand in his, but stubbornly you cross your arms.
"Her name's Sandra," he starts explaining. "She's a new mom at the daycare and she didn't know anyone, so she started talking to me. I got the sense she was a little overly friendly but it was all small talk, nothing more."
Still largely unsatisfied, you remain unmoved. "If it wasn't a big deal then why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"Because nothing serious happened. The majority of the conversation was her venting about her ex-husband and me wishing you were right there next to me. Please believe me. All I could think about was finally being able to come home to you after a long week with Jia in our arms."
"Really?" Well, now you're feeling guilty for avoiding him in nearly every way tonight. Guilty for believing such wild assumptions that he'd leave you for someone else over one measly conversation. Guilty for letting yourself get so worked up over a situation you, quite frankly, knew few details about.
"I mean it doll." This time, when he reaches out to grasp your wrist, he succeeds. He intertwines his fingers with yours and leads you to the edge of your bed, gently pulling you down to sit on his lap. "Do you really think I could look at anyone else the way I look at you? Or think about you the way I have for the last eight-plus years we've been married and known each other?"
You hesitate your answer, averting his eye contact. "I know but…"
"No, don't finish that. Look at me," he intercepts. "You and our daughter are the only women on my mind–24/7. I can't get either of you out of my head and I don't want to. I'm so sorry I forgot to put my wedding band back on this morning, and again tonight. I feel awful about it and I'll be more careful from now on. And another thing, when Sandra and I were talking I mentioned you multiple times. So, it's clear to her that I'm a happily married man."
The last bit of information manages to perk your ears. "You talked about me?" Your eyes widen as you finally shift your full attention to him. Yoongi eyes widen with you, amused by your sudden change of heart to look at him.
"I said my wife is an amazing mother, works too hard for her own good, and needed to rest today. Give or take a few words."
That's all? You huff to yourself. Would it been nice if your husband also thrown in that you were beautiful or stunning in that mix of compliments? Yes, yes it would have–again, you're pettiness clouds your better judgment. You're not as pissed off as before, but rather semi-irritated.
"Okay…well I guess it's fine then. I'm sorry for being short with you earlier. I shouldn't have made those rash conclusions about the ring and that woman from the daycare. It wasn't reasonable of me." You get up from his lap, yet Yoongi isn't entirely convinced that you're okay.
"There's still something you're not telling me. I can tell."
"No, there's nothing else." You waive him off, placing your hand on your bedroom doorknob "You told her you had a wife so it's fine. I need to switch the second load of laundry.”
"Come on, doll. Let's not leave things unsaid now."
Sighing at his plead, you find yourself giving into all your repressed thoughts and emotions. It swallows you up, like a tidal wave you can't stop. "Look at me Yoon. I'm sweaty, I have dark circles under my eyes, stretch marks, love handles, my hair's a mess, and all I wear are old sweats covered in stains. I'm nothing like I used to be! No wonder we aren't intimate anymore."
Yoongi rises from the bed at once, offended by the sudden digression. "Is that what this is all about? It’s not even about that single mom from daycare is it?" The truth of the matter sinks in as he speaks.
"I guess maybe so…though I'm still annoyed about that too." Great, you're back to square one again.
"Come with me, I need to show you something." Your husband gestures you to follow him, which you slowly concede to.
"What are you doing Yoon?" You both walk into the master bathroom, stopping in front of the large mirror above the sink.
"I'm showing you the woman I'm in love with and have been in love with for nearly eight years now. Sweats and all." Yoongi makes you face the mirror directly, hands around your shoulders. You have trouble stomaching the sight.
"Yoongi please, I can't. The laundry ringing off." You avoid looking into the mirror and make a move to leave the bathroom.
"Just stay with me a minute, please?" Your husband refuses to loosen his hold on you, turning your body so you're looking eye to eye. "No, you're not the same person as you were and neither am I. We're parents to a beautiful daughter now, who we love and adore. We're also overtired 90% of the time, juggling a million things at once. But there's one thing you can count on to always stay the same–my loyalty to you. I'll always be in love with you __, no matter what age you are or however way you look. There's nothing you can do to change that, so why fight it?"
Dammit. A single tear rolls down your cheek as you take in his heart-melting speech. It's not his words alone, it's the sincerity behind them. How he's repeated similar countless times before throughout your entire relationship.
"I love you, Yoon..." you choke out the words, composure fleeting.
"I love you so much, doll." He wipes the wetness of your tear with his thumb. "As far as us not being as intimate anymore, that's my fault. I don't ever want you to feel like I don't desire you every day. Why don't we send the kid to my parents this weekend and let me start making things right hmm?"
"I don't know if we can this weekend. Jia has a playdate on Saturday."
"So, I'll ask Mom to take her. She'll be happy to, trust me. We can finally watch that movie you've been dying to show me since what? December?"
"You're serious?" Your eyes light up at the mention of what is essentially a movie date. The show Yoongi's referring to is one you've been craving to see for months, yet neither of you has found the time to watch. "I've been talking about it for so long, Yoon."
"I know you have, it's why I suggested it. I've been wanting to watch it too with all the trailers you keep sending me. Plus, I'll be able to keep my beautiful wife in my arms for over two hours. That's a lot for us, especially with you being such a busy bee. I can never get you to light in one place! What's up with that, huh?"
Feeling your natural self re-emerging, you throw a playful swat to his arm and scowl at his teasing comment. "You're one to talk! You're basically a workaholic! Besides, you knew who you were marrying when you met me."
Yoongi chuckles and brings both hands to cup your cheeks, squishing them slightly. "A cutie who reads 800-page novels at a basketball game?"
"Stop babying me!" You pull his hands off your cheeks and rub them, trying to regain some composure. "I don't regret my choices, I like books. It's why I'm such a boss at work!"
"Okay, boss," he laughs. "What about what I suggested before then? I can call Mom tomorrow and ask her if she could watch Jia for the day. She'll take her to her playdate, then they can spend the rest of the day together."
It does sound nice, having the whole day with your husband.
"Okay," you agree. "Let's try."
"Good." Yoongi slides his hands down to your hips and pulls you flush against his chest. "How about we seal it with a kiss now?" You nod and he leans his head down, pressing an amazing, tender kiss to your lips. It makes you both giddy on queue.
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"Read one more story, Daddy!" Jia leaps off her small, twin bed and bounds for her bookshelf. She lets out a series of giggles when a large pair of hands catch her, lifting her high into the air.
"I already read you three books kid," Yoongi says, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Bedtime." He then tucks her into her fluffy comforter, plugs in her teddy bear nightlight, and closes her bedroom door.
The next second, Jia comes running out of her room, latching onto his right leg. "I don't wanna go to bed. I wanna play!" Figures she'd be hyper at this hour.
Yoongi sighs and picks her up. "Daddy told you to go to sleep, it's not playtime. You'll have lots of time for that tomorrow when you get to see your friend." He then carries her into her room, yet she fusses in his arms; thumping her tiny fists into his chest.
"No, no, no, Daddy. I want to play!"
Sighing, Yoongi looks at his child with sharp eyes. "Jia–"
"Hey," you interrupt, entering your daughter's bedroom upon hearing the commotion down the hall. "What's going on?"
"Kid doesn't want to go to bed."
You give an empathetic look and saunter over to the pair, gently taking Jia into your arms. Yoongi places his hands on his hips as he watches you reason with your daughter.
"Jia, you know tomorrow's a big day right? You and Sana are going to go to the playground together." The child nods. "You don't want to be tired when you're playing do you?"
"No..." She shakes her head. "I want to be awake!"
"Then you need to listen to Daddy and go to sleep. That way you'll be full of energy tomorrow when you and Sana go on the swings or slide down all the big slides." You smile as Jia starts rubbing her drowsy eyes, yawning in the process.
"But I...okay," she slowly concedes, eyes fluttering shut as she gives into her sleepy state. Unsurprising to you and Yoongi, she was tired all along. But like most kids, hated going to bed.
"See?" You lay Jia in her bed and pull the covers up near her chin, giving her a light kiss on the side of her head. Yoongi bends down and does the same after you. "You just gotta talk to her a little, she'll typically fall asleep on her own."
"But I read her three of her favorite books." Yoongi shuts off the overhead light, along with the door to Jia's room, and follows you to your bedroom.
"That's different Yoon," you argue back. "Books excite her."
"She takes after you that way then." Yoongi pulls his t-shirt off, leaving him bare-chested, and climbs onto his side of the bed. You join him shortly after with your head resting on his chest and an arm thrown around his waist.
"I'm so exhausted," you yawn.
"Go to sleep, baby. I'm right here." Your husband places a hand over your wrapped arm, sending you off into a deep slumber.
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Well this is just ironic. Almost 2 A.M. and you're wide awake.
What initially started as a nice, relaxing dream quickly turned into a terrible nightmare. In the dream, you woke up alone. Yoongi was gone. Jia was gone too. You can't exactly make sense of it, except for a vague memory of Jia calling another woman 'Mom'. You couldn't see her face very well, so it could've been anyone. You couldn't speak either, so even when you tried approaching the three, they couldn't hear you. You've had nightmares plenty of times, but this one is new. It's a clear projection of all the underlying concerns upheaved from earlier; insecurities, abandonment, loss, and it has you unsettled.
You glance over to your husband's side of the bed. He's fast asleep, no longer cuddling you due to you both flip-flopping in your sleep. You decide to slide closer to him, needing to watch him for a while. It might sound weird, but you love watching him sleep. He's so handsome and you feel a great deal of comfort doing so. Maybe if he was awake, you'd tell him about what you dreamt. Then again...maybe not.
"I love you Yoon," you whisper as quietly as you can, tracing his every facial feature with your eyes.
"'m, I love you too."
Is he-was he awake? As if caught red-handed, you quickly flit your face away in favor of the blank ceiling above. You weren't expecting him to answer at all, and in such a hoarse voice too. You're a little turned on by it to be honest.
"Can't sleep?" he speaks up again, eyes still closed.
"No, I''ll be okay though. You can go back to sleep. Don't worry."
He grunts, a tad unhappy with your dismissal of him. "Do you want to talk about it? Your dream?"
You whip your head in his direction. "How–" You pause, seeing his eyes blink open.
"I didn't meet you just yesterday, doll. I know they keep you up. Just know, I'm always here okay? Always." He reaches for you with delicate fingers as he continues. "Now, come here. Seems we got separated in our sleep."
You accept the offer and cuddle into him again. This time your noses nearly touch and his arm wraps around your lower waist. You feel the growing urge to kiss him, wanting to forget your nightmare entirely. But perhaps silly, you ask permission first, seeing as he's close to drifting off again.
"Yoon?"
"Mm."
"Can we kiss?" Your cheeks flush a little at the request. Why are you acting like this? You've been married for years.
"Sure, 'm tired but I could go for a make-out right now." A small smirk graces his lips as he teases you. You give him a classic 'Yoongi!' in reply. "I'm kidding. You don't ever have to ask me that," he finishes.
"Hmm, maybe I don't want a kiss anymore." You feign stubbornness, just to see his response. And a response he gives you, more than you're prepared for.
"You're ridiculous," he grumbles, capturing your lips in one fell swoop. He moves his lips against yours as the hand on your waist grips tighter. The tiniest of moans escapes your lips.
You attempt to break the kiss first, thinking it will only last for a few seconds. Yet Yoongi slips a hand behind your neck to bring you into another kiss. One that's deeper than the last. You feel your breath being taken away little by little, especially when his tongue licks into your mouth. God, you haven't kissed like this in an eternity. A wetness soon gathers between your thighs.
"'m, Yoon," you gasp when his cool fingers sneakily make their way under your shirt, tickling your bare skin. They travel the expanse of your waist, stomach, and up along your back. "So cold."
Yoongi pulls away from the kiss and retracts his fingers. He then lazily moves his body until his chest hovers over your own, rolling you on your back in the process. He's a bit of a blur due to the dimness of the room, yet you can see the whites of his eyes a bit better than before.
"Help me warm them then," he says, folding his hands on top of yours from where they rest on your stomach. "You're really burning up, doll."
His observation is right. Ever since you woke up, you're body's been hotter than normal. The stress is clear and it's only increasing due to the unexpected turn of tonight's events; your husband seemingly wanting to make love to you in the middle of the night.
"So I am," you reply, staring straight into his eyes. "Must be because of all the sudden surprises today. My body's finally responding to it all."
Yoongi nods, following your implication. "Well let's do something to calm it down, shall we?" He waits for your final go before making any abrupt movements.
"But...you haven't seen me–"
"Naked in a while?" he predicts your next words, unfazed. "I've seen it all, each time better than the last because I love you. You're beautiful to me, no matter what. Let me love you __. I've missed you. I've missed us."
"Okay...please," you sigh, desperately needing his touch. "It's been so long since we've been this close."
Neither of you has it in you to delay another second as you dive into another fiery kiss, your hands wandering up and down each other's bodies. You love his hair the most, so you run your fingers through it repeatedly. Your husband's soft grunts remind you that it's as pleasurable for him as it is for you, and as if to counter, he latches his lips to the curve of your neck.
"Yoon," you moan, shivering at the feeling of being peppered in open-mouth kisses. Your eyes automatically roll up as well.
Yoongi nips at your jaw next, featherlike, yet deadly to you nevertheless. He doesn't allow himself to linger more than a second, though, preferring to keep you on your toes. So with careful fingers, he begins lifting the bottom of your shirt.
"Can I?"
You hum in approval and lean forward for him to remove it.
With your nipples now exposed to the brisk air, stiffening due to arousal, Yoongi brings both his hands up to caress your boobs. He's incredibly gentle, telling you how beautiful you are once again until his thumbs start circling your peaked nipples. A rush of sensation shoots up your spine as he rolls them harder, flicking them once in a while.
"Fuck," you swear.
"Feeling good?"
All you do is nod fervently in response, which Yoongi takes as his signal to lower his head to your chest. He squeezes both breasts in his hand before wrapping his mouth around a nipple, licking and sucking relentlessly. He repeats the same to the other.
"Yoongi, I need you. Please." You're core tightens, thighs struggling not to rub together, as you plead with your husband to relieve you. You are so wet and getting wetter.
"I'm here, doll, I got you. Fingers first hm?"
He pushes part of the comforter towards the foot of the bed, then gestures for you to raise your butt. Any shred of mystery of how worked up he's gotten you slip away as he pulls your underwear and pants down your legs. They both get tossed on the floor, per usual.
Bare pussy exposed, Yoongi guides your legs further apart and brings a hand down to your entrance. One of his long, slender fingers traces up your folds so smoothly that you buck your hips upon the touch. He smiles lightly at the subtle response, pleased that you're finally enjoying yourself; too often you put your needs last. His finger slowly sinks into your well-lubricated pussy, velvety walls clenching around it.
"Oh, g-god," you give a shaky moan as his finger pumps and curls in you, stimulating your g-spot. "Need you now, Yoon, so bad."
"Mm not yet, we need to stretch you out. You haven't taken me for a good three or four weeks," he smirks at your eagerness, sliding a second finger next to the first. "This pussy is drenched but not enough. I need you to come. Can you do that for me?"
Fast, quick movements follow suit as your husband works you up to an orgasm. Oh fuck, oh fuck, you chant in near whines. Your pussy is spasming around him, walls tightening with each push and pull. You know when he draws his hand out that it's covered with your come. Messy, sex is messy and both of you are too far gone to care; the pleasure sweeping over you.
Finally, in what feels like an endless tease, you have your first orgasm of the night. You feel your body relaxing into the mattress again, yet your breath remains short. Yoongi, on the other hand, groans seeing your release dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets. For a split second, there's a slight darkening in his eyes while he takes in your post-orgasmic form. The two fingers that had been inside you are sensually brought to his lips, slipping between the seam before being cleaned off.
You're taken aback by the action, though you've witnessed it before. Something about watching your husband willingly follow through with a gesture so lewd makes your head spin–you want him to fuck you right this instant. He must share the same feeling because you don't even need to sound the words due to his hands already making quick work of his pants.
"You drive me mad, you know that? Can never get a break with how sweet you taste. Your lips, your come. All of it makes me go mad." His full length comes in view, hard and tip leaking with pre-cum. You try not to let yourself stare at the thickness but hell, you must've forgotten the extent of your husband's size. You don't remember it being this big before.
"Well," you gulp. "You're not making it easy on me either, looking like this."
Yoongi climbs over to you again, settling into a straddled position, and looks deep into your eyes. "Who's fault do you think that is?"
"It's your fault." You bend your legs and wrap them around his mid-section. You can feel the tip of his cock tease at your entrance. The anticipation is beyond grueling.
"No," he says, aligning himself up to your weeping hole. "it's yours." He then thrusts his hips forward, his length sinking into you so perfectly it has you completely satisfied.
"Y-Yours," you whimper out, unable to form a steady sentence.
"Fine." He picks up his pace. "Let's just agree we both fuck each other up on a daily---ah fuck!" Yoongi growls and gives you a suspicious look when he feels your pussy suddenly clench around his length.
"I didn't do it on purpose this time! You're fucking me too good is all."
"Really? You're not just teasing me?"
Yoongi is slow to believe since you've purposefully clenched countless times before, simply out of playfulness. Tonight is different than those nights though because you're telling the truth–he's truly fucking you so good.
"What the hell," he concedes. "You feel so fucking fantastic, I don't even care." He continues his movements, thrusting into you with deep groans and labored breaths. His fingers grip the mattress harder with the veins in his neck bulging out.
Both your bodies move in sync as the familiar sound of skin slapping on skin echoes off the walls of your bedroom. You do your best to keep your moans low, not wanting to risk waking up your daughter.
"Yoon, fuck! I need to come, it's gonna-fuck-happen soon," you swear, pussy throbbing at the feeling of being so full after weeks of abstinence. You can tell you're reaching your high with the bundle of nerves in your core threatening to snap at any given moment.
Of course, you're wet too, extremely wet.
"I'm. Nearly. There." He barely sounds the words out, jaw clenching. "Just another minute, and we can finish together."
Your eyes, which haven't left his since he entered you, begin to glass over with tears. It's overwhelming; his love for you. No matter the doubts that tell you the opposite, you can't give in to their ugly lies. You'll continue to struggle, naturally, but you won't ever let them win. Yoongi's never once given up on you, and neither should you.
"I love you, Yoon...I love you with all my soul," you choke the words, falling apart all at once. "I'm sorry for today. How jealous and irrational I got."
"Don't apologize, doll. I shouldn't have let it go so far, our lack of intimacy and alone time. I promise we're going to make it all right okay?"
Giving you one last thrust, you both have your release at the same time. Yoongi helps ride your orgasm out by lazily continuing to grind into you. Yeah, you might need to shower and switch out the sheets after tonight, but you don't regret it one bit.
"In all seriousness baby," Yoongi speaks up, guiding your legs back on the soft mattress until you’re comfortable. "Don't feel like you have to apologize for everything. I understand your feelings and where you were coming from. I will say, the silent treatment kills me though. I'd rather you yell at me than not talk to me at all."
"It's not easy for me to raise my voice like that, Yoon." You throw your arms around his neck and sigh softly. "But I can try talking to you more, or at least tell you I need some time to process before I'm ready to have a conversation. I don't know, am I making sense?"
"Plenty of sense. I'll share more about my day with you and who I'm talking to as well. We'll also carve out time to have together. I love our daughter, but I don't see the harm in reaching out to our friends and family to babysit once in a while."
"Well, this sounds good to me," you hum.
"Me too." Yoongi smiles wide and goes in for another warm kiss. Your eyes flutter shut in unison.
This is what love feels like.
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a/n: LMK what you think 🥰
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no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton
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guacamoleroll · 1 month
Text
𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖉 「𝔩𝔲𝔠𝔦𝔣𝔢𝔯」 ೀ⋆。˚
content. f!reader. discussions of separation/divorce, friends to lovers, (name) is a fallen angel, sexual harassment, insecurities, discussions of mental health, spoilers for hazbin hotel season finale, implied/referenced not-safe for work. not proofread. 3.3k+ words.
author's note. i'm not sure if i'll be making a valentine's day post, but i haven't updated in a while, and i wanted to post something. so here's another hazbin hotel oneshot that's been in my drafts for a while! (sorry to all my bsd readers, i will be posting content soon!) i hope you guys enjoy ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-
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synopsis. two fallen ones, cut from the same cloth, destinies forever intertwined by the choices you made as young seraphim.
OR someone comes in to try and ruin your relationship with lucifer, and he isn't happy about it.
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You remembered the sensation of an eternal inferno, the mark of damnation that scorched your fingertips, submerging your divine being within a cluster of flames. Exiled from the heavens—a fate worse than death to most became an accepted element of your newfound reality. You never belonged perched atop clouds, even with the virtue nestled in the recesses of your heart. A part of you feared the unknown as you descended through novas and clouds, but it felt like a pressure had lifted from your being as those imposing gates shrunk behind you.
As the first of a cluster of falling stars, your impact landed you on the steaming ground of a new, hellish landscape, your mind scattered from the force of the fall, limbs trembling with their aching joints. And that was when you saw him, a brand-new man who held out his hand, smile desperate yet reassuring. The Morning Star himself, brought upon the same fate, still shaken from the tragedy of his descent—it had been much more personal for him.
“It’ll be okay, (Name),” his familiar voice reassured, but it was impossible not to hear the waver in his tone as your hands intertwined. “It’ll all be okay.”
And with a single touch, traversing hand-in-hand through this foreign land, you knew that someday, he would be right.
But that happened many millennia ago, a tale for storybooks rather than a memory that should’ve constantly been on a loop in your mind, held onto during the dead of lonely, bitter nights. Despite your long-standing friendship, the both of you held very separate lives—him with his family, you with your industry. You worked in tandem in relation to the public and aristocratic duties but otherwise barely spoke past the occasional smile and wave. And no, you couldn’t help the desolation that had sprouted inside your heart, the muscle aching as you observed his radiant smile from across ballrooms, the king exchanging affectionate glances at his wife while coddling his sweet daughter. But you were happy for him all the same. He deserved to be surrounded by those he loved, deserved to be happy after years of heartbreak, even if you weren’t in the picture.
But you knew that you could depend on each other, even if you hadn’t spoken in months. It was an unspoken connection between you, a rule unbroken. Which was the reason you knew his midnight call one evening had been serious. His voice was flooded with anguish, sputtering out incomprehensible words as his breath caught with every beat. You dropped everything, the paperwork and meeting planning, flying over with speed so fast that the denizens of Hell whispered for days about the shooting star that had flown across the sky that evening. 
In your journey, there was one persistent question that kept bothering you—why wasn’t his wife the one to comfort him? It wasn’t that you minded, not at all, but the entire situation struck you as odd. However, your answer became clear as you cracked open the doors to his bed chambers; the room was frozen and still as if left abandoned. However, the knocked-over furniture and smashed artifacts only made it look like it was robbed, which you highly doubted. And there in the center of the chaos was the Morning Star himself—no, Lucifer. Simply Lucifer. His body crumpled to the ground, painful hiccups leaving his lips. You slipped inside with ease and were about to grab his attention, and then you spotted it, the large lettering of a familiar type of document—a divorce agreement.
You were aware that the relationship between Lucifer and Lilith wasn’t perfect, not by any means. When they had fallen in love, there wasn’t a guideline for navigating relationships and marriage. They had to play it entirely by ear, leading to rushed decisions and a shaky foundation. You had always believed that they were each other’s perfect half, but it was only because their punishment and subsequent banishment had tied them together and forced them to suffer the same fate. At least, that was their belief for a couple of millennia. It didn’t mean that the split that was bound to happen didn’t hurt.
His cries had been hard to hear, throaty and painful, his body trembling as he mourned on the floor. It took a culmination of your mental and physical strength to unravel him, forcing him away from those papers and into an embrace, slowly steadying his breath with yours as he clung to you as if you would leave if he let go. That night set the standard for weeks of a miserable routine, with the former king reduced to sobs and silence. It was unbearable, especially as he pulled away from those who cared for him—his fellow sins, his friends, and especially his daughter. But you continued to hold on, not leaving even with his harsh utterances and occasional outbursts. You wouldn’t let him be alone, couldn’t let him be alone, moving into the broken family’s manor to care for him full-time.
And he would always be thankful for that.
His mental health was climbing uptick for years, fluctuating back and forth until he had stabilized, at least in comparison to his state before. He became fantastic at masking his depression, brushing it underneath the rug as he delved into his own creations, pushing many of his relationships even further away as he stopped leaving home. You were the one to bring him food and clean the estate—his staff had drifted to other careers over the past few years. You were the one assuring that he wasn’t left hunched over a bench in the worst posture possible, toiling away with his latest obsession, no matter the cuteness of the ducks.
In his more conscious moments, you would listen as he ranted about his issues, even though you both were aware they were a product of his self-isolation. But in those instants, whispering quietly as if the heavens still held onto your every word, hiding from its light as if the touch of it would scorch your skin, an intimacy blossomed from the depths of your former friendship. It had remained idle for centuries, underlying the foundation of every interaction and word, leaving fleeting touches and shared laughter in your blissful youths for stern support and brief softness in your demonic adulthoods—neither of you ever noticed that you saw the other through heart-shaped lenses. Two fallen ones, cut from the same cloth, destinies forever intertwined by the choices you made as young seraphim.
But that had been the norm for thousands of years.
And without knowing, you had fallen into a relationship stage humans had archaically dubbed as “courting,” traveling outside the estate for the chance to spend time with one another, exchanging personalized gifts whenever the opportunity arose, swapping words of encouragement and affection. It was only after you had kissed him on the cheek one night that you both realized your feelings, and it only spiraled on from there. There were scars from his past love—undoubtedly, you had nurtured them with care—but even despite those, you worked to establish a healthy, balanced relationship as you navigated this strange stage in your lives.
However, there was someone who had not been quite so fond of this new development. You had attended meetings with the Heaven Embassy for many years as a favor to Lucifer, his absence becoming common after his separation from Lilith, but you could still remember locking eyes with the first man as you entered the room, dropping the chicken drum in his hands as his mouth widen agape.
“Hot damn.”
His flirtatious and oftentimes self-centered advances didn’t fly past your head like you wished they would. It seemed despite having thousands of years under his belt, he was unable to learn any kind of manners, but he had been the original sexist prick. And for his status as a divine man, he fucked around a lot. You didn’t doubt that was due to his own insecurities about both of his wives preferring someone else’s dick over his.
Once you and Lucifer had started dating, you happened to make the mistake of slipping that information to Adam in the hopes that he would back off, but it only seemed to provide him a challenge as his flirtations increased tenfold. From then on, your meetings no longer consisted of the same old information surrounding the exterminations; rather, they were him pointing out the many sexual accolades that he had roped under his belt and the way that apparently made him better than Lucifer—his favorite line was always that “that snake must have a little snake.”
Your disdain was obvious, repeating over and over for him to shut his mouth, but he would only smirk, taking your response as a sign that he had struck a nerve and that it was an opportunity to dig deeper. You decided to take over all the meetings with the embassy, keeping Lucifer away from the lecherous banter of the man, no matter the discomfort that formed in your gut from his unabashed perverseness and the predatory stares at your body.
“Come onnnn, babe,” Adam whined, in the middle of biting the meat off a chicken bone.
You shot him a look. “I’m not your babe, Adam.”
“Babe.” If you were able to reach over and strangle him, you would’ve. That was probably the reason the coward used a hologram instead of coming here himself. “A guy like that couldn’t possibly please you the way I could.”
You massaged your nose bridge, pointedly ignoring the flicker of his eyes from your face to your chest, unable to maintain stable eye contact. “Can we just get on with the meeting?”
“You know I’m right, but I’ll let you off the hook for now.”
You groaned, slamming your head onto the table.
From years onward, his nerve only increased, but he had never shown his bloodlust to you before until the exorcist army descended from the heavens to wreak chaos and death upon the doorstep of Lucifer’s only child, Charlie. You and the ever-so-optimistic princess of Hell developed quite a soft spot for one another, which wasn’t difficult since you had already been considered family in centuries past. The title of your romantic relationship with her father initially came with questions and a couple of awkward moments, but it wouldn’t stop either of you from growing a deeper friendship and understanding, walking through the process together. And it definitely didn’t stop you from defending the girl you had seen for years as a pseudo-daughter, along with her noble ambitions.
“Charlie!” you yelled, knocking Adam away from her as he attempted to strangle her. Charlie sputtered, holding her throat with a pained cough, and you raised a steady hand to her back, helping her rise to her feet. You gave her a once-over, relieved to find that she had no substantial wounds besides a couple of cuts and bruises.
You sighed, cupping her rosy cheeks. “Thank goodness you’re alright. Sorry for being so late. Your father will be here any moment.”
Her formerly desolate expression quickly changed into a beaming smile, eyes glimmering with revitalized determination. “Good! We need all the help we can get.”
However, the moment was cut short by the overexaggerated breaths of a particular man, Adam wobbling to his feet as he cradled his bruised ribs, which you didn’t doubt had been cracked in the impact. It was hard not to smile as he struggled to stand, a wave of retribution twitching through your fingertips.
“You bitch,” he groaned between shallow gasps, though his voice drifted into a humorous lilt. “You know, I’m all for feisty women, but this shit’s a bit extreme, don’tcha think, babe?”
“I am not your babe, Adam.”
You cringed at the moan that left his lips, knowing it was not from the pain of his bruises. “God damn, I love it when you say my name.” He chuckled. “It’d be better if you screamed it.”
“You couldn’t have been that good if both your wives left you for someone else,” you muttered, swallowing your bodily urge to vomit as you rubbed the burgeoning headache coursing through your temples.
His expression drained of any warmth or humor, only leaving behind the rotted, sinful corpse of a man that he pretended not to be. “What the fuck did you say to me, bitch?”
“Hmmm,” you hummed, rolling your eyes. “Did I strike a nerve there?”
His mouth contorted into a snarl. “You know, the only reason that snake keeps your ass around is because he needs a couple of assets,” he barked, curving his hands to gesture toward your curves. “To distract him!”
“Hey! Don’t talk about him—”
He cut you off, his imposing figure towering over you. “You’re only a convenience. A pretty face and a hole to fuck.”
You gasped, but he didn’t let you speak, a smirk curling up on his disgusting face. “You don’t mean anything to him, hun,” he sneered, his voice sickeningly sweet as he grabbed your chin, craning your neck at a muscle-aching angle to stare into your eyes. “You had a chance at heaven, slut. A chance to be with me. And you fuckin’ blew it—!”
He didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence, a bone-crunching punch tunneling into his face, his body cast off the hotel, which rocked under the aftershock, before it started to crumble like a deck of cards. With no time to waste, you and Charlie haphazardly jumped from shrapnel piece to shrapnel piece, able to land on the ground with barely a tumble as it collapsed into your foundation. The moment would’ve been devastating if your focus hadn’t been pinpointed elsewhere, the screams of a dying man drawing everyone to the impact pit.
“You have a lot of fuckin’ nerve,” a low voice scowled, sweltering steam blocking everyone’s vision away from the pair until it evaporated into the air, and that was when you spotted him. His voice was barely recognizable. The duplicated tones and whispers surrounding each word made him unidentifiable. But you knew who it was; those familiar sets of wings and the eyes of his tailcoat were clues enough. You hadn’t seen him take this form in decades, centuries even—he had no use for it, and to go to such an extreme was unlike him. He was shaking more than ever before; his fists balled up Adam’s collar as he pinned him to the ground.
“Intruding on my fuckin’ realm. Hurting my daughter.” And with each offense, another blow was added to the first man’s face, which looked more like roadkill than a former human with each malefaction. “Harassing and insulting my future wife!”
“Don’t you mean your little whore?” Adam managed to utter, that cocky tone still persistent. 
But that was a terrible mistake.
Lucifer did not respond to his comment, not at all. Instead, he paused, finding himself unprepared for the sheer audacity of the man underneath him, a man only clinging to life through recesses of holy power and spite. To the unsuspecting bystander, it would seem the king had calmed himself down, but instead, an inferno blazed between his fingertips, his form threatening to tear with the amount of heavenly light that he balanced on his palms. The ire of his many eyes looked upon Adam, and they saw to it that his judgment day had come early.
“Die.”
“Dad!”
Luck seemed to have Adam’s back as Charlie intervened, one of the few people who could ever draw her father out of such an irate warpath. However, it was only after a moment of contemplation from Lucifer, whose eyes stared at Adam, his face unreadable as his fingers twitched before he cracked a wicked smirk.
“How’s mercy feel, bitch?”
The next moments were a blur, though those eyes had turned towards you instead, not with the anger they had towards Adam, but of sheer contemplation—not that you paid attention to them, watching Adam’s death unfold in an ironically anti-climatic sort of way. You would’ve felt bad if your mind didn’t remedy the guilt in your gut with memories of your several encounters, most of which were not PG-13. The rest of the staff and residents gathered their bearings, joining to work on rebuilding the hotel, but you did not have the strength to. Instead, you took a moment for yourself, thoughts toiling through your head as they often did, not understanding the icky, nauseous feeling pooling at the bottom of your stomach.
You flinched at the brush of a hand that rested on your shoulder, only to find that it had been Lucifer, his brow furrowed in that same contemplative expression. And much like those times alone in the estate decades prior, a patient silence persisted as he sat next to you, gauging each touch as he pulled you closer, allowing your limp body to lean into his.
“You know none of what that asshole said is true, right?”
Is that what you had been so concerned about? You couldn’t tell. Your thoughts surrounding your relationship, especially in the context of his former love, had always been indecipherable, even to yourself. His question brought a small beam of clarity into the shadowed pits of your darkest thoughts, but it wasn’t the time to talk about it. Not now, at least.
“Yeah, I know.” Your voice was more shaken than you wanted it to come out, but he understood the underlying message. He could tell it wasn’t the truth, not entirely, and that the roots of your insecurities weren’t something to be remedied through a singular conversation. But it was a start. He intertwined your fingers, caressing the bare area of your ring finger.
“I wish you would’ve told me,” he spoke, his voice soft. “I would never have let you go to those meetings.”
You stayed staring out into the distance. “It wasn’t that big of a deal.”
However, he believed differently, tilting your chin as he cupped your face, much more loving compared to the hands that had grabbed you prior. And his eyes, ones that had been filled with hatred, now glinted in sharp concern. “But it is a big deal. That’s sexual harassment.”
“You were going through so much,” you replied. “It was just one additional thing I didn’t want you to deal with. Another burden on your back.”
“(Name),” he said, voice stern.
The gruffness of his uncompromising tone drew your eyes to your hands. “Any insult to you is an insult to me. Always has been, always will be. People don’t get to talk to you like that. It doesn’t matter what shit I’m going through. That doesn’t mean you get to be thrown under the bus.” He cracked a smile. “And anyone who even thinks of treating you less than the perfection you are deserves to be roasted alive. You’re not a burden. You’re priceless.”
“You’re really into those cannibalism metaphors recently,” you quipped, a bit of your reprieve and humor returning back. He laughed, his heart falling into ease, though he recognized the nod towards his disdain for a certain radio demon, his expression contorting in disgust.
“I’m not gonna eat him! Think of how gross that thing would taste. Just awful, bleh—!”
You cut him off with a kiss, making his rosy cheeks redden more. “Thanks, Lu.”
You tried to stand. His arm braced underneath your back, a hand brushing across the sensitive skin of your waist as he hovered above, his lips locked onto yours. You sighed into his mouth as his fingers mapped every beauty mark of your face, only for him to split, panting. His eyes shone with recognizable desperation, but the smirk on his lips told you he was prepped to tease, brushing the stray baby hairs out of your face that had been ruffled in the fray.
“If someone ever bothers you like that again, you tell me. Got it?”
You only sighed. “Lucifer, I can handle my—”
He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, mouth upturned in a cheeky grin at the way it cut you off. “It’s not smart to fight without your shield, now, is it?’
You relented, unable to withhold your bashful grin. “Of course.”
A silence persisted.
“Your future wife, hm?”
“…shit.”
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ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @little-miss-chaoss
© ɢᴜᴀᴄᴍᴏʟᴇʀᴏʟʟ 2024 — ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ʀᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ. ʜᴏᴡᴇᴠᴇʀ, ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇɴᴄᴏᴜʀᴀɢᴇᴅ
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theostrophywife · 3 months
Text
the crush theory.
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pairing: lorenzo berkshire x reader.
song inspiration: london boy by taylor swift.
author’s note: this is just a cute indulgent coffee shop! au with my sweetheart enzo. majorly inspired by all the boyfriend vibes louis has been serving with miss olivia lately. let’s not even talk about the ass grab with his big hands and rings…🫣
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Enzo Berkshire never quite managed to master the language of love. 
Despite being a polyglot and a linguistics major, romance remained a complete mystery to him. It wasn't like he could craft a conjugation chart to help him not make a fool of himself in front of the girl of his dreams. When it came to matters of the heart, Enzo often found himself at a loss for words. Perhaps that was the reason why he never mustered up the courage to speak to you. 
Until that one fateful fall morning. 
The kiss of autumn arrived on campus a few weeks into the semester, freeing the city from the grips of the summer heat and bringing with it the changing of leaves and the distinct scent of cinnamon and apples. Enzo shoved his hands into the pockets of his burnt orange corduroy trousers and savored the sound of the jewel toned leaves crunching underneath his loafers. As the wind picked up, he wrapped his chunky knit cardigan tighter around himself to shield against the chilly breeze. 
The ivy covered brick buildings and cobblestone streets faded into the background as he walked past the quad. Deja Brew, the little hole in the wall cafe that Enzo frequented, greeted him like an old friend. The coffee shop was located on the outskirts of campus and was only a short walk from his dorm, which made it the ideal place to conduct his tutoring sessions. Not only was it convenient, but the cozy and quiet ambience provided the perfect setting for Enzo to teach his fellow struggling students. 
As time went on, the choice of location became less about convenience and more about catching a glimpse of you—the surly barista that worked the morning shift. For the past few months, Enzo developed a rather embarrassing crush on you. There was something about your scowl and no bullshit attitude that drew him to you like a moth to a flame. Though in his case, Enzo was perfectly content to hover a safe distance from the proverbial light of your fancy French cigarette lest he get burned. 
Upon first glance, anyone would have been intimidated by you. With your faded band tees, ripped jeans, and scuffed leather boots, Enzo was well aware that a girl like you would never be interested in a bloke who's wardrobe consisted of sweaters with elbow patches, floral print button downs, and neatly pressed pleated trousers. Needless to say, you were way too cool for him. 
Enzo was resigned to merely admiring you from afar, but fate seemed to have other ideas. The bell above the door tinkled softly as he made his way into Deja Brew only to stop dead in his tracks when he spotted you at the register. Usually, you were behind the bar manning the espresso machine during the early morning rush, but not today.
Today, you were front and center. 
Part of him considered walking out the door, but given the fact that the shop was nearly empty, a hasty exit would definitely not go unnoticed. Enzo had no choice but to suck it up and approach the register with resignation. The minute he opened his mouth, he was sure he’d muck things up. 
Enzo swallowed thickly and pushed his round framed glasses further up the bridge of his nose; a nervous habit he developed when he was younger. The erratic beat of his heart echoed in Enzo’s ears as his gaze flickered up to your face, expecting to be greeted with a frown. To his surprise, your lips curved into a small smile once you spotted him. 
“Lemon balm tea with two pumps of peach syrup and a dollop of honey, right?” 
Enzo blinked at the melodious sound of your voice, nearly missing the fact that you’d recited his exact order, which shouldn’t have been surprising given the fact that you’ve been making it for him for months. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little warm inside as you looked at him expectantly. He stared in stunned silence for a moment. 
You furrowed your brow in doubt. “Did I get that wrong?” 
“No, no, it’s right. It’s great. It’s perfect—“ Enzo cleared his throat, mentally kicking himself for rambling. “I’m just surprised that you remembered it.” 
“Of course I remember it, you’re one of my regulars. I’d be a pretty shit barista if I forgot your order.” You cocked your head, tapping your lips thoughtfully. “Speaking of which, do you want your croissant warmed up, Lorenzo?” 
“You know my name?” 
Enzo hadn’t meant to sound so starstruck, but hearing his name come out of your mouth made his heart skip a beat.
“And your social security number too,” you deadpanned. Enzo’s eyes widened, which made you chuckle. “I’m just having a laugh. I promise I won’t commit identity theft against you. Unless you piss me off.” 
You accompanied the statement with a cheeky wink, which only made Enzo even more nervous. 
"Don't look so nervous, peach. I swear I don't bite."
“Right. Sure. Of course,” he stammered. “The tea and the croissant sounds good, Y/N.” The realization that you’ve never told him your name came a beat too late. “It’s on your chest. The name tag, I mean. I wasn’t just staring at your chest. Though I’m sure it’s very nice. Bloody hell, I’ll stop talking now.” 
Enzo cringed at himself, but eased when you laughed. “You’re a strange bloke, Lorenzo.” You said as you began making his drink. “But I’ve got to admit, it’s oddly charming.” 
He chuckled, trying to hide the flush coloring his cheeks. “That seems to be my sweet spot.” 
"As sweet as peaches," you retorted as you added two pumps of peach syrup into his tea. "You'll have to excuse the fruit references. Before I knew your name, I referred to you solely as the peach guy."
"Is that good or bad?"
Enzo hiked his backpack over his shoulder and meandered down the end of the counter where you were topping off his tea with a dollop of honey. You swirled it into a heart pattern before sliding the warm cup into a sleeve. 
"Well, I've never met anyone who's preferred drink could constitute as a dessert, so it's certainly something. You're an enigma, Lorenzo," you said thoughtfully. "Though I think I like peach better. You don't really strike me as a Lorenzo."
“You can call me Enzo. I prefer it over my full name. It sounds so stuffy.” 
“We certainly can’t have that,” you said with a smirk. “Enzo. I like it. It’s rather becoming. Not stuffy at all.” He chuckled as you handed him a brown bag. "I might still call you peach from time to time. Force of habit. You understand, right?"
"Of course," Enzo replied. "El loro viejo no aprende a hablar."
"You kiss your mum with that mouth, peach?"
Enzo flushed. "It's Spanish for the old parrot does not learn to talk. Basically their equivalent of you can't teach an old dog new tricks." He shifted his weight onto his other foot. "What I'm trying to say is, I don't mind if you call me peach or Enzo or whatever else you'd like."
"You're giving me way too much freedom, Enzo. I intend on taking full advantage." You winked as you slid his drink over to him. “Enjoy your croissant. I put a little something extra in there for you.” 
Enzo peered into the bag and saw an extra pastry wrapped in black cellophane next to his croissant. The brownie didn’t look like any of the ones behind the counter, which meant that it was probably homemade. Strange, he wouldn’t have pegged you for a baker. 
“Oh, you really don’t have to—” 
“Nonsense,” you countered, waving off his protests. “Really, you’d be doing me a favor. It’s an experimental recipe of mine, which makes you my guinea pig. As payment, I expect a full report on the brownie tomorrow morning. Don’t hold back either, peach. I want a brutally honest review.”
“I’m sure it’ll be great,” Enzo said in reassurance. “In any case, your guinea pig will take ample notes.” 
“That would be much appreciated,” you said with a serious nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Enzo-not-Lorenzo.”
Enzo couldn’t help but grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.” 
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Enzo rubbed his temples, willing the headache forming behind his eyes to vanish. Unfortunately for him, his last tutoring session with Flint seemed to have left a permanent mark. While Enzo usually enjoyed teaching French, Marcus was proving to be a rather difficult case. Not only was Flint unwilling to do the work, the knobhead also spent the entire session leering at you instead of studying the conjugation chart that Enzo poured his blood, sweat, and tears on. 
“Merlin, I have no idea how you deal with rich, smarmy arseholes all day.” 
Enzo looked up to find you seated across the table, sliding a sandwich, a fruit cup, and a bag of crisps towards him without missing a beat. He hadn’t even realized it was already an hour past lunch until his stomach grumbled at the sight of food.
“One could argue that I’m also a rich, smarmy arsehole,” Enzo countered, picking up a grape and popping it into his mouth with a slight smile. “Yet you seem to have no problems dealing with me.” 
“Yes, well, everyone knows I’m just using you for your body. Specifically, your taste buds.” Enzo shook his head in amusement before taking a bite out of the sandwich. Peanut butter and jelly, his favorite. “Besides, how else am I supposed to learn new insults in different languages if I hadn’t met you? Speaking of which, I believe I’m completely justified in saying that Flint is a total gehirnverweigerer.”
“Marcus isn’t so bad. He just needs a bit of a push,” Enzo replied rather unconvincingly. 
“If by a push you mean my boot against his arse, then I wholeheartedly agree.” 
“The French have this saying, petit à petit, l’oiseau fait son nid. In English, it roughly translates to: little by little, the bird builds its nest.” 
“Except Flint isn’t a bird, he’s a twat,” you deadpanned. “The bloke was too busy staring at my arse to even pick up a lick of French. To think, you even made this cute little chart and everything. You have the patience of a saint, Enz.” 
“One of us has to,” Enzo replied as he tore open the bag of wotsits. “Given your proclivity to violence.” 
“Don’t make me take your crisps away, Lorenzo.” 
Shielding his wotsits from your vengeful wrath, Enzo flashed you a saccharine smile. For good measure, he even batted his pretty honey eyes at you. The audacity. “Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite person in the whole entire world?” 
You rolled your eyes fondly. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Berkshire. Now finish your lunch or else I’ll be very cross with you.” 
Enzo smiled to himself, wondering at the fact you were complete strangers until a few weeks ago. Ever since you gifted him with the best brownie he’s ever tasted in his entire life, he became your designated taste tester. Every morning, Enzo would start his day off with his usual lemon tea and whatever new pastry recipe you had chosen to tackle that week. Between the scones and muffins, Enzo learned that you intended on opening your own bakery after uni. Hence, his very important role of reviewing your recipes. 
Granted, Enzo didn’t know how much of a help he actually was given the fact that he thought everything you made was amazing. Still, the novelty of finding a fresh pastry in his bag with a handwritten note from you never failed to brighten his morning. Especially since you signed each one with a crimson kiss print that made him blush every time he laid his eyes upon it. It was safe to say his crush had only gotten worse the more he got to know you. 
As you settled behind the counter to help with the afternoon rush, Enzo attempted to get some work done before classes started for the day. With finals fast approaching, he was caught up on making sure he had everything in order. It wasn’t until Enzo heard a familiar voice when he finally tore his gaze away from his laptop screen. 
Enzo froze as he watched one of his best mates saunter up to the counter. Even from his seat by the window, he could tell that Mattheo was flirting with you. In hindsight, his friend seemed exactly like the type of guy you would go for. The broody bad boy who probably listened to all the obscure bands that you often talked to him about. As Mattheo directed his smoldering gaze at you, Enzo thought he might be violently ill. 
Squinting across the coffee shop, Enzo angrily shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers in an attempt to keep himself from strangling his curly headed friend. 
In a tone that was at least an octave deeper than his regular voice, Mattheo drawled a question at you. “What’s good here?” 
You stared at him pointedly before waving a hand towards the menu. “There’s coffee, there’s pastries. It’s really not rocket science.”
The deadpan delivery combined with the utterly unenthused expression on your face nearly made Enzo snort out loud. It might’ve been an arsehole move to rejoice at Mattheo’s fumble, but he found it immensely satisfying that you seemed to be immune to the infamous Riddle charm. 
“A bit feisty today aren’t we, love? I just wanted to see what the pretty lady behind the counter recommends.” 
Enzo watched in amusement as you slipped on your signature scowl, the one that made him fall for you in the first place. “The pretty lady recommends that you stop holding up the line so she can get to the other customers who actually know what they want.” 
Hiding his smirk, Enzo feigned surprise as a dejected Mattheo plopped down across from him. “Merlin, that was brutal. Is the barista always this mean? I complimented her pins and she stared at me like I’d grown an extra head.” 
“Y/N isn’t really a people person,” Enzo supplied. 
“No shit, Berkshire.” Mattheo tapped his fingers on the counter. “Let’s just get to class before I embarrass myself any further.”
“That’s probably for the best,” replied Enzo. 
Ignoring Mattheo’s glare, Enzo packed up his laptop and put his tray away. He followed his mate through the throng of people, which had thinned out once more. They were a few steps away from the door when you called out his name. With a raised brow, you held out a pink box. Enzo smiled sheepishly in return. He couldn’t believe he’d almost forgotten the dessert of the day. 
“One lemon berry scone. Less tart, per your critique last week.” He took the box from your hands, blushing furiously when your fingers brushed against his. “Have a good class, peach.” 
“Thanks, Y/N. I’ll have your full report ready tomorrow.” 
“You better.” Enzo nearly dropped the box when you winked at him. “Later, Berkshire.” 
Smiling to himself, Enzo came face to face with a gaping Mattheo. “For Salazar’s sake, it’s like I don’t even exist.” He muttered before breaking out into a grin. “No wonder my moves had no effect. Mate, she obviously fancies you.” 
Enzo’s cheeks immediately heated as he pushed out into the quad. “What? No. Y/N and I are just really good friends.” 
“Now I understand why you come here so often,” Mattheo remarked. “If the mean hot barista plied me with baked goods and called me peach, I’d be coming here every day.” 
“It's an inside joke about my drink order..." Enzo tried to explain. "The point is, Y/N isn’t mean. She’s actually really nice.” 
“Yeah, because she likes you.” 
“No, she doesn’t.”
“Does too.” Mattheo countered. “Why else would she bake you a scone?” 
“She wants to own a bakery someday. Obviously, that means she needs someone to test her recipes out on,” Enzo explained. “It’s how we became friends.” 
“Right,” Mattheo said with a shit eating grin. “Friends.” 
Enzo rolled his eyes. “Can we just please get to class?” 
“Whatever you say, peach.” 
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“I have a theory,” Mattheo announced. 
Enzo sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Not this again, mate.” 
The rest of their friends perked up, abandoning their laptop screens and textbooks in favor of the newest piece of gossip. The little corner of the library that their group had claimed was fairly quiet, which was supposed to be optimal for revising, but Mattheo couldn’t seem to let his conspiracy theory go. He'd been badgering Enzo about it for a week.
“Berkshire here refuses to believe me, but I have it on good authority that Y/N has a crush on him. 
“Y/N,” Theo started, “You mean his mean barista friend? She’s proper fit.” 
“Don’t call her fit,” Enzo replied rather defensively. 
“A little touchy there, Berkshire.” Regulus said with a chuckle. “Is that jealousy I sense?” 
“For the millionth time, Y/N and I are just friends.” 
“Is that the same friend that makes all those tasty pastries for you?” Draco asked with a raised brow. “I’ve seen the cute little notes she leaves for you posted all around your dorm. With the adorable kiss prints and hearts. Seems to me like Mattheo’s right. Y/N’s sweet on you, cousin.” 
“Do me a favour and stop being a snooping twat, cousin.” Enzo retorted with a frown. “Y/N’s just being nice. It’s what friends do.”
“None of my mates have ever gone out of their way to bake me a bloody thing,” Blaise declared in feigned offense as he wrapped an arm around Pansy. 
“Yes, well, none of your mates even know where the oven is located, let alone how to operate it,” replied his girlfriend. Pansy smiled at Enzo. “Besides, I think their friendship is sweet.” 
“Thanks, Pans.” 
“So you don’t fancy Y/N?” Theo asked. Enzo opened his mouth then closed it. He was well aware that his friend was baiting him, but he refused to fall into Theo’s trap. 
“Like I said, we’re friends.” 
“In that case, you wouldn’t mind if I asked for her number, right?” 
As a matter of fact, Enzo did fucking mind. He minded very much. Too much, probably. But he couldn’t very well say that out loud. Instead, he masked his scowl and returned his attention to revising. 
“Knock yourself out, mate.” 
Theo smirked. “Alright then, let’s go.” 
“Go where?” Enzo asked disinterestedly, flipping through his study sheet for Latin. 
“To Deja Brew,” Theo replied smugly. “We all need a study break, anyways.” 
“You want to go there? Right now?” With each question, Enzo’s death grip tightened on his notes. “To ask for Y/N’s number?” 
“That shouldn’t be a problem, right? In fact, maybe you could introduce us.” 
Enzo would rather walk on hot coals. “I think I'll pass. I've already seen her turn Mattheo down and that was brutal enough as it is. I don’t need an encore.”
“Riddle’s probably not her type.” 
Mattheo frowned, crossing his arms. “I’m everyone’s type.” 
Theo chuckled. “Apparently not hers. Perhaps she’d prefer a handsome Italian, no?” 
Mattheo rolled his eyes. “In your dreams, Nott.” 
“Now I’m intrigued,” exclaimed Blaise. “I’d never miss an opportunity to witness Theodore get humbled. Are you sure you’re ready for a woman like Y/N, Nott?” 
“Please,” Theo scoffed. “I was born ready.” 
Against his will, Enzo found himself at Deja Brew ten minutes later. In his usual corner by the window, he brooded like a petulant child. This was a horrible, terrible, and idiotic idea. All he wanted to do was revise and now his study session had been hijacked just so he could watch Theo flirt with the girl he fancied. 
“You know, you can put a stop to this any time you’d like,” Mattheo said in a sing-songy voice. “Just admit that my theory is right. Y/N has a crush on you and I’m willing to bet that the feeling is mutual. Isn’t it, Berkshire?” 
Enzo crossed his arms, rolling his eyes. Instead of giving into Mattheo’s childish pursuits, he opened his laptop and pretended to be immersed with Russian translations. 
“Have it your way, Enzo.” Regulus declared, nodding towards the register. “Nott’s about to give us a show.” 
As irritated as he was with his friends, Enzo couldn’t tear his gaze away. Theo marched up to the counter with swagger and confidence, slipping on his signature smirk. You looked up from your phone screen, giving the tall and lanky boy a sweeping gaze. The unenthused expression on your face screamed that you weren’t at all impressed.
“Y/N, is it?” Theo drawled, squinting at the nametag pinned to your apron. “A pretty name for a pretty lady.” 
“Thanks,” you deadpanned. “My parents gave it to me. Now what can I get started for you?” 
“Aren’t you going to ask me for my name?” 
“I know who you are,” you replied dismissively. “One of Enzo’s friends, right? I heard about your little stunt in the fountain. You know, December’s not really a smart time to go skinny dipping.” Theo flushed as your eyes trailed down to his crotch. “Certain parts shrivel in the cold, Nott.” 
“I assure you, my parts were perfectly intact.” 
“That’s not what Katie Bell said,” you countered, tapping your lips thoughtfully. “I believe I heard something about shrinkage.” Theo opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. “I’ll tell you what, Theodore. Why don’t I fix you up a cappuccino? It’ll help keep you and your parts warm and cozy.” 
Enzo bit his lip to keep himself from bursting into laughter. The rest of his friends snickered as they watched a dejected Theo return to the table. 
Regulus snorted as he sat back down in defeat. “Merlin, that was hard to watch. Absolutely brutal, really.” 
Theo glared at Regulus in response. “I’d like to see you do better, Black.” 
Regulus winked. “Watch and learn, boys.” 
The older boy had about as much luck as Theo. Though the attempts had put him in a foul mood at first, Enzo was absolutely elated as he watched you turn down his friends. Regulus received an eye roll while Draco reeled from the head to toe once-over that humbled the absolute hell out of him. 
“It’s useless,” his cousin mumbled. “She hates everyone.” 
“Or maybe Y/N just doesn’t appreciate random blokes chatting her up while she’s trying to do her job,” Pansy said with an eye roll. 
“Oh bloody hell, here she comes.” Regulus muttered under his breath. “I don’t think my ego can take another hit.” 
The boys cowered as you came closer, but you didn’t pay them any mind. Instead, you set a fresh mug of tea and a lemon scone down in front of Enzo. 
“Last one, I promise. It’s finally perfect this time.” 
“You said that the last three times,” Enzo said with a chuckle. “They were all brilliant, by the way. Not that you listen to my well crafted reviews.” 
“You say that about everything I make, Enz. Honestly, a girl bakes you a couple of treats and suddenly I’m the best thing since sliced bread.” 
“I’m just being honest,” he replied with a shrug. “You couldn’t bake a single bad pastry if you tried.” 
“I’d like to try a pastry,” Mattheo interjected. 
You tore your attention away from Enzo. The smile that you reserved for him transformed into a scowl, your entire body language turning stern. “I’m sorry. Who are you again?” 
“Riddle,” Mattheo supplied. “Mattheo Riddle.” 
“Right,” you said slowly, as if speaking to a small child. “My pastries aren’t for sale. You’re more than welcome to try the day-old brownie behind the counter though. If you can manage to chew through it.” 
Mattheo sputtered, but you paid no mind to his aghast expression. Enzo fought the urge to kiss you right then and there. 
“Closing again tonight?” he asked, ignoring the blatant stares from the rest of his friends. 
“Unfortunately. Diggory bailed again. Probably too busy snogging Cho to come in for his shift,” you said with an eye roll. 
“Leave those lovebirds alone,” Enzo quipped back. “They’re in their honeymoon phase.” 
“I can’t for the life of me understand how they aren’t sick of each other by now.” 
“That’s because you’re a mean old grump.” You glared at him, which only made Enzo smile. “Luckily for you, that doesn’t deter me. I’ll come keep you company if you want. I promise to be way more entertaining than Cedric.” 
“It’s not a hard task to accomplish, but I’ll take you up on it nonetheless.” 
“I thought you might say that,” he said with a small smile. “I’ll meet you back here after my last class. Pad Thai tonight?” 
You nodded and grinned back. “This is why you’re my favorite, peach.” 
The boys gaped as you ruffled his hair in parting. They waited until you were out of earshot before launching into a tirade. 
“What the bloody hell was that?”
“Just friends my arse.”
“I can’t believe she actually smiled at you!” 
“It’s strange how treating Y/N like an actual human being instead of pestering her while she’s trying to work yields such positive results,” Pansy retorted. “I think you all need to start following Enzo’s example. Clearly he’s had more success than you lot.” 
Blaise patted Enzo on the back. “Mate, you might be the most oblivious bloke in all of Britain, but you’d have to be an absolute knobhead not to see what’s right in front of you.” 
He hummed in response, glancing up at the exact same time that your gaze met his from across the room. You winked, making him blush furiously. Merlin, you were pretty. It was honestly unfair. Maybe Zabini was onto something.
When it came to you, even Enzo had to agree that he was a total and absolute knobhead.
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Later that night, Enzo helped you clear the plates and mugs as the last customers trickled out of Deja Brew. The soft sounds of your perfectly curated playlist trickled over the speakers as you flipped the sign to closed. He watched with a small smile as you hopped up onto the counter and beckoned him over. The fairy lights twinkled above the ceiling, illuminating your smile as Enzo took his place next to you. 
The sight of you grinning up at him tugged at his heartstrings. There were coffee stains on your jeans and apron, your thick hair was falling out of its braid, and a cold bowl of Pad Thai awaited in your lap and yet he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life. 
“Aren’t you glad Cedric bailed?” Enzo teased, knocking his shoulder with yours. “Now you get to enjoy cold noodles with your favorite person.” 
You chuckled, nudging him back. “I suppose this is nicer than listening to Diggory ramble on about Quidditch. It’s always bludger this, bludger that. I honestly considered bludgeoning him myself.” 
“To be fair, the man could merely breathe and you’d still find a way to be annoyed by it.” 
“No one needs to inhale that much oxygen.”
“I rest my case, you mean old grump.” 
You rolled your eyes affectionately. “You know, if anyone else called me that I’d poke their eye out with a fork.” Enzo chuckled as you stabbed into your bowl of noodles. “Besides, I have every right to be grumpy. It’s been a long day. Thanks to your incessant little friends.” 
“I’m sorry about the guys,” he said earnestly. “I tried to talk them out of flirting with you, but they’ve got this crazy theory.” 
“Oh?” You asked, raising a brow. “What’s the theory, then?” 
Enzo flushed, avoiding your gaze. “They uh…” He cleared his throat and stared at his shoes. “They think you fancy me.” 
“Hmm,” you hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe they’re not idiots after all. Your friends are right. I do fancy you.” 
White noise rushed through his ears. Enzo’s mouth fell open as he met your gaze. Surely, he hadn’t heard you correctly. 
“You alright there, peach?” 
“You…” Enzo trailed off, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You like me?” 
You chuckled. “I have for a bit. Thanks for finally noticing.” 
“How?” Enzo muttered. “What?” He cocked his head, trying to search for the proper words. “Why?” 
At the moment, it appeared that one syllable words were the full extent of his vocabulary. All those languages in his head and yet he couldn’t form a single coherent sentence. 
“Enz, I know your drink order by heart,” you explained softly. “I make you cupcakes and muffins. I write you notes every day. I thought I made myself pretty obvious.” 
“Gods,” he breathed, silently reprimanding himself. “I really am the most oblivious bloke in Britain.” Enzo licked his lips, turning over to look at you. “I just thought you were being nice.” 
“Lorenzo, when have I ever been nice to anyone?” 
“I am a bloody idiot.” 
“You never made a move, so I just thought you didn’t see me that way. Which is fine, by the way. I don’t mind being friends.” 
Enzo turned so fast he nearly smacked into the register. “Are you kidding? I’ve had a crush on you for months. You’re the best part of my day. Waking up and knowing that I get to see you every morning is the only thing that gets me out of bed.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“Because,” he stated matter-of-factly. “You’re out of my league. You’re smart and funny and not to mention way too cool. Honestly, I thought you’d go for someone like Mattheo or Theo or literally anyone else but me. Someone a little more…” he trailed off, waving a hand over you. 
“Scary?” 
“No! Well, yes. Someone more confident and intimidating.” 
“Bad boys aren’t really my type.”
He scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion. “They’re not?” 
“No,” you said, setting down your food and turning over to face him. “My type is a nerdy linguistics major who teaches me how to curse in six different languages and who makes cute little conjugation charts and orders drinks that should quite frankly classify as a dessert.” 
Enzo’s smile grew wider. "I like you too, you know. A lot. Like, embarrassingly so. With your grumpy little scowl and all black wardrobe and dry humor. I like all of it."
You beamed as Enzo leaned closer, tracing your lips like he was trying to commit the curves of your smile to his memory. His heart pounded in his chest as your eyes flickered up to meet his.
"Then kiss me like you mean it, Enzo."
Despite your confidence, the air left your lungs as soon as Enzo cradled your face in his hands. The twinkling lights made his brown eyes shimmer like pools of honey in the dark. The tension stretched between you as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing yours ever so gently. They briefly closed around yours—tasting, testing, taunting. Then the dam broke free.
Enzo pressed you closer and kissed you like his life depended on it. You smiled against his lips, melting into his touch as he tilted your head back for more. Butterflies erupted in your stomach as Enzo sighed into your mouth, his lips molding perfectly against yours. The once shy and experimental kisses turned needy and passionate, making you feel slightly lightheaded. Enzo savored your soft sighs, kissing you over and over again to elicit more.
It wasn't until you felt like the air had been depleted from your lungs when he finally relented. He pressed his forehead against yours, noses brushing as you both grinned at each other. It felt right to be this close. It felt like you were made to do this all along. Enzo brushed his thumb over your cheek, looking dazed as he pulled back to look at you. 
“It’s about time, Berkshire.” 
“Hey,” Enzo grumbled, pecking at your lips. “You can’t blame me. I couldn’t even look at you without blushing and making a fool of myself. You’re so intimidating.” 
“Not so scary now, am I?” 
“Oh no, I’m still terrified of you. But I’ve also seen you cry during the Notebook, so I know that deep down inside, you’re just a big softie.” 
You started to protest, but Enzo just leaned in and kissed you again. With his lips pressed against yours, you couldn’t even remember what you were about to say. As he pulled you into his lap, you heard cheers coming from outside. Behind the glass window, his friends were cheering and wolf-whistling rather obnoxiously on the street. 
Enzo responded by flicking them off and kissing you even harder, pressing your bodies together as you giggled. He hauled you to your feet, his arms circling around your waist as he dipped you for a better angle. Your back hit the counter as you raised to your tiptoes, winding your arms around his neck and mussing up his hair as you arched for more. The hollering only grew more incessant when Enzo grabbed your ass and squeezed. The groan that escaped from his mouth made you dizzy with desire.
If one kiss could elicit such a response out of you, it was almost scary to think what else Enzo had in his arsenal. A cheeky little smile curved against his lips as though he knew exactly what you were thinking. You basked under the warmth of his gaze, feeling flushed and flustered. That pretty face had you entirely fooled. Enzo was far from innocent.
“Gods, I really fucking fancy you.”
With a smile, you kissed the tip of his nose. “I really fucking fancy you too, peach.” 
Despite the many languages in Enzo's arsenal, no phrase or saying could convey how he felt better than his lips against yours. Maybe he hadn't quite mastered the language of love, but he had a feeling that you'd be more than willing to teach him.
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itsbuckytm · 4 months
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Cherry Red / Coriolanus Snow
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summary : Snow had always harbored a liking for you, and your awareness of the platonic relationship with Sejanus only fueled his obsession, eventually culminating in decisions like appointing you as the First Lady of Panem. Just two pretty bestfriends both in awe by your beauty.
I apologize for any grammar errors as English is not my first language. Additionally, please refrain from copying my work without proper credit, as it may result in being flagged. Thank you!
How does one begin to describe this innocent youth, who simply wished for Panem to thrive in tranquility? Fate thrust him into the shadows of the reaping ceremony or the role of a mentor due to his father's actions. Despite being fully aware that survival in the Games was improbable, he, like many of his peers, managed to mask his fear, a skill he lacked. It was on that fateful day that he first laid eyes on you. 
You served as his mentor, a role you assumed without the same coercion he experienced. Unlike him, you had the choice to either be a mentor or a regular student at the Academy. Yet, recognizing that being among the select few who would secure a favorable position in the university and potentially pave the way for a brighter future for your family, you saw it as the least profitable option you could contribute. Even if it meant overseeing the fate of a stranger, your assigned tribute, in a perilous game of cat and mouse. 
During the inaugural week of the Games, you found yourself alongside Sejanus as you met your assigned tributes. Despite Sejanus displaying a sense of conscience regarding the circumstances and grappling with the notion of witnessing another species confined in a cage, he observed closely as you tended to your tribute. From that pivotal moment onward, each day saw him adopting a similar approach—nurturing his tribute, attending to their well-being, and primarily focusing on their strengths, all while harboring his internal opposition to the entire ordeal. 
You were the one who comforted him in the aftermath of the accident following the memorial for Arachne. While he was paying tribute to his deceased classmate, Snow instructed you to remove Sejanus from the scene. He, too, attempted to cling to her in a desperate effort to preserve her life, but it was already too late. With your guidance, advising Sejanus to shift his focus away from the crime scene, he found solace when you encouraged him to breathe and exhale. You assured him that everything would be okay. 
After that initial encounter with him, he underwent a profound transformation, growing closer to you. Your attentive check-ins during rehearsals, reminiscent of his mother's caring presence, played a significant role in this connection. Even stolen glances in class became a source of solace for him, helping maintain his sanity amidst the chaos of the Hunger Games, a veritable freak show.
You were well aware of his strong opposition to the idea. Despite enduring his complaints, you consistently reassured him that the popularity was just a temporary phase until graduation, and the Capitol would soon move on and forget. However, it turns out you were terribly mistaken. Despite the misjudgment, you believed it was the best you could do at the time. 
Fortunately, your relationship gradually deepened over time, even though you hadn't experienced the concept of falling in love. In a world where survival was commonplace in Panem, the notion of allowing oneself to fall in love seemed as ironic as it was rare. Despite attempting to suppress any burgeoning emotions for Sejanus, his softened gaze upon seeing you and the way he spoke your name with such warmth made it increasingly challenging. This, in turn, fueled suspicion from his friend Snow, who seemed to resent him more, suspecting Sejanus's potential feelings for you. Eventually, it became inevitable that you acknowledged and accepted your emotions toward Sejanus, whether they remained platonic or evolved into something more; the signs were undeniably clear. And Snow hated every bit of it. 
Certainly, rumors circulated throughout the Academy, fueled by the idea that someone as intelligent as you could outsmart even the wealthiest family, such as the Plinth. However, it wasn't until a few days before the commencement of the 10th Hunger Games that the scrutiny from your classmates' watchful eyes compelled you to hide your relationship in shame. You outgrew the stares, until finally implied official a mark to the relationship, all by holding Sejanus's hand with pride. The poor boy, initially taken aback by your sudden display of affection, was well aware of your usual reluctance towards public displays of emotion. Despite this, he began to grasp that your actions spoke of genuine love. It became increasingly evident that the sentiment was more than mutual. 
The aftermath of the Hunger Games told a different tale. Sejanus's emotional breakdown during the games hinted that his involvement was driven by a sense of altruism. However, many of your classmates, including yourself, emerged from the ordeal seemingly unscathed. It was as if you all were like minions, compliant in a sick and twisted game, a game where refusal meant facing death the very next day. The turning point came when you witnessed Sejanus screaming helplessly, condemning the Capitol as "sick monsters." His tear-filled eyes and desperate plea were a stark warning. You felt his gaze fixed on you, but this time, it carried a profound sense of hatred—a gaze that lingered ever since that fateful day. In Sejanus's eyes, you had become a monster, and he was painfully right. 
When Lucy Gray Baird was declared the victor of the 10th Hunger Games, Snow couldn't help but notice the shift in the dynamics of the relationship you had once shared with Sejanus. Despite his previous disdain for Sejanus, Snow's animosity towards his District 2 classmate intensified as he observed the unwavering focus of your eyes on him. You managed to hold back your tears, unlike Sejanus, burst into a complete symphony of a manic episode. Snow recognized that upon his return as a Peacekeeper, that he would make it his priority to take care of you. To Sejanus’s request if he didn’t make it out. 
Sejanus was acutely aware of his impending fate, discerning the emotions in your eyes as you fought to contain your tears—an act you were often admonished for in the harsh realms of reality and sorrow. A palpable distance had grown between you, and he acknowledged that he deserved every bit of it. However, when the news broke that he, too, was joining the Peacekeepers, you couldn't resist bidding him a final farewell. As the departure approached, Snow spotted you, witnessing the emotional exchange with his own eyes. 
He observed you shedding tears for another man, a sight that must have stung his pride. Despite the limited display of affection, there were undeniable traces of your past love for Sejanus. "I'll be a good boy." Sejanus would assure, and as you cupped his face, a rare moment of genuine closeness enveloped you. It was one of the first times you truly felt connected to him, and you yearned to grant him a farewell kiss, recognizing that this might be the last time you'd see him. "I'll keep your picture close with me... Even if you hate me so—" Sejanus began, but you swiftly cut him off, desperately emphasizing that any perceived hatred was rooted in self-centeredness. "I never hated you, Sejanus. Remember that." 
"I will." Came Sejanus's response without a hint of hesitation, and just before he departed, he sought a final taste of your lips. This act served as the last straw for Snow, tempting him to announce that it was time for duty, that he too would soon be called to fulfill his responsibilities. However, he resisted the urge. Instead, he chose to observe what it felt like to be genuinely in love, watching the two lovebirds share their final goodbyes. Though deeply haunted by the realization that Snow wasn't your sole choice, the haunting thoughts accompanied him throughout the journey back to District 12. Snow yearned to make Sejanus prove to whom you truly belonged, finding some solace in the benefits of the situation—until Sejanus's impending death sentence, that is. 
You received word of Sejanus's death while in the Capitol. On that particular day, you joined Sejanus's mother for dinner, a comforting routine that helped alleviate the absence of her son, engaged in his duties away. Despite her earlier tendency to downplay her husband's concerns for their child, she now comprehended the profound emotions you were experiencing mere weeks after Sejanus's departure. It was a moment of revelation for her when she looked into the eyes of her own child, realizing that her husband had been the true villain all along. 
Later that same evening, you started clearing the table when you heard the official news. A Panem Peacekeeper had arrived at your apartment. For some inexplicable reason, an ominous feeling gripped you, signaling that something had happened to Sejanus. Questions swirled in your mind—was he injured, or had homesickness prompted his return? However, any hopeful optimism quickly turned to tears as Sejanus's mother's anguished scream echoed in your thoughts. The heartbreaking truth emerged: Sejanus had passed away. The official explanation cited him as a simple rebel, but you suspected a much darker reality. Sejanus wasn't merely a rebel; he was someone the Capitol despised, refusing any association with their ideologies. 
The Plinth family arranged a formal funeral for their son, and while you had hoped for an invitation, you only learned about it through consequential rumors. Thanks to Tigris, who had the opportunity to style Sejanus's mother for her new job as a stylist, you were surprised to discover the disgraceful rumors circulating about your family. It was suggested that you had manipulated Sejanus to bend to your will, driven by your ambitions in the Games and an unbridled willingness to perpetuate a sick and twisted narrative for another year. 
According to this narrative, you were deemed no different from the rest—a citizen with psychotic tendencies, adorned in the veneer of fake affluence. These rumors reached Snow as he returned calls to Tigris back home, he wanted some update about you. Know how you were doing, as Tigris before hand had your confirmation that she would tell what had happened. Which provided a simple yet substantial reasons for his disdain towards the Plinth family from the very beginning, not only due to their subjective opinions but also their newfound hatred towards you. 
Upon returning to his role as a Peacekeeper, Snow found greater delight in seeing you. As you had gradually gained acceptance to the university yourself, securing a personal apartment became a challenging endeavor. The recent imposition of a new tax by the Plinth family added to the financial strain, making it doubly difficult to cover your university expenses. Fortunately, Tigris stepped in to assist, swiftly helping you secure a job. A renowned cabaret in the Capitol was in need of entertainers, and although hesitant to showcase your body for money, you recognized it as a necessary option. Fortunately, your employer treated the dancers well, and as long as you were able to pay your bills, he harbored no objections. Over time, you even developed a group of favorite regular customers. 
The streets of the Capitol had changed since his arrival. Not only had his hair grown, but wearing his father's wealth, symbolized by a stupid coat, had also demonstrated a newfound influence. Snow made sure to flaunt this affluence. The prospect of returning to the university and seeing you again mattered most to him. However, it wasn't until that particular evening when he decided to stop by your apartment that he noticed your absence. Puzzled, he thought to himself, as it was typically your time to prepare dinner or watch local television. Surveying the surroundings for any clue to your whereabouts, he recalled that his cousin Tigris had briefly mentioned something about you being the talk of the town lately. This revelation prompted Snow to consider searching the deeper and less savory streets of Panem for answers. 
It didn't take him long; as soon as the sun set and the lights of Panem's stores illuminated the streets, he spotted a poster. There, your face stared back at him, unmistakably you. "Cherry Red this afternoon! 9 PM!" Proclaimed the bold red and gold font, showcasing your entire body. Snow couldn't believe it—let alone fathom the idea of other men being captivated by you. Nevertheless, he entered. 
True to the promise, only the least affluent men in Panem and fellow Peacekeepers populated the bar. It being a Friday evening meant people were there to unwind and prepare for the weekend. Snow found himself struck by the stark contrast between his own downfall and the impoverished part of the Capitol. Despite the surroundings, he couldn't help but marvel at the luxury and lifelike atmosphere of the cabaret. Soon, other dancers spotted him, offering drinks or suggesting a little show, but he declined, asserting that he was there only for you, using your stage name, Cherry Red. 
Fortunately, he arrived just in time for your performance. With a man who wore outfits reminiscent of Flickerman noticed Snow's arrival, sporting a somewhat absurd demeanor. Cheeks flushed, a clear sign of pre-show indulgence, he exclaimed each word of your name with awe and pride. "Ladies and Gentlemen! Tonight, we have someone we love so much right here at Pub Rouge. It is none other than our favorite, Cherry Red!" 
Snow uncomfortably fell in line with the predominantly male clientele. Hearing "Ladies and Gentlemen." Was just one of the few flaws in the cabaret that he would have corrected if given the chance. To avoid arousing suspicions, he simply followed along, clapping like everyone else. However, rather than voicing your name in a distasteful manner, Snow quietly waited for your performance. 
The room filled with the vibrant sounds of the band and trumpets as you gracefully took the stage. Your outfit perfectly mirrored your name—bold and red as cherries. For those observant enough, it seemed as if Snow intentionally coordinated his attire to match yours. You immersed yourself in the character, embodying the woman you intended to be. The men of your age exhibited a mix of pride and envy, further boosting your confidence. Your playful interactions, especially teasing one of the Peacekeepers, earned you considerable admiration, much to Snow's chagrin. He overheard some background chatter about you, with phrases like. "I'd be with her anytime. Have you seen her curves? If I were the lucky guy, I'd do everything to show her who she belongs to." 
That fueled Snow with an intense anger, a boiling rage that churned within him. Fortunately, he managed to contain himself, sitting just far enough away to avoid you spotting him in the moment. However, his composure shattered when another voice crossed the line. "With that beautiful pair of lips, I bet she'd be a nice little whore and can take my big ass dick!" Laughter erupted, and though you were accustomed to such comments in the typically crowded environment, Snow, unable to restrain himself, swiftly delivered a punch to the man's face. Snow had completely lost his composure. As the scuffle continued, with the brawl escalating to a level one out of five, you were being escorted away. It was then that you noticed Snow's figure amidst the chaos.
"Coryo..." You murmured softly, as one of your colleagues attempted to escort you backstage. You complied with the act and tried to move, but upon catching his gaze after you called out his name, it took only seconds for Snow to be brought in, obliging even to be outside the hub before long. As he was pushed outside, one of the onlookers cursed under his breath. "Well, I'll be damned! If I see that guy again, he'll surely get a punch from me!" With his friends trying to calm the angered Peacekeeper down, he observed as you were escorted back, remarking, "I sense that someone had a little vulnerability over Cherry's presence."
Snow hadn't left entirely. In fact, he made sure to stay until the bar was ready to close. As he observed the group of Peacekeepers, memories of his own time in that role surfaced. They reminded him of the Peacekeepers in the Districts—little pieces of trouble, he'd openly declare if given the chance. Fortunately, you didn't have any bruises; in fact, you were so distraught that your colleague helped clean your makeup and took care of you. "My god, Y/N. What could've possibly happened there if you had intervened?" She questioned. Even you hated the fact that she was right; who knew what might have occurred if you had tried to break up the fight and ended up taking the punch meant for the Peacekeeper. You were well aware that Snow wouldn't easily excuse himself after this incident. 
By patiently waiting at the backdoor of the cabaret, he caught sight of another escort he had noticed earlier, who swiftly disappeared inside. He wasn't trespassing; rather, he was trying to reunite with you. Explanations could wait; for now, he wanted you all to himself, to taste your lips and be the one to incite jealousy among the Peacekeepers. Skillfully, he found his way backstage, drawing uncertain glances from ladies younger than you. They hesitated, contemplating whether to alert their boss about the intruder. It wasn't until he spotted you from a distance that even your colleague, who had taken care of you, noticed his presence enough to understand that it was her cue. “I’ll see you later, darlin’.” She said with her typical southern accent, and as soon as she was about to leave stop herself next to Snow. “Sir.” And bowed before leaving. 
On the other hand, you hastily adjusted your robe to cover your skin. Quickly, you applied the remaining red lipstick, swiftly cleaning the messy edges, assuming it was your boss's presence prompting the need for an explanation or reassurance that you were okay. However, as soon as you turned your head to see who it truly was, your eyes widened in shock. It felt almost too surreal, as if you had seen a ghost. "Coryo?" was all you could say. 
How he had missed you calling him by his nickname. Even though you had been in a relationship with Sejanus before, it was all thanks to being close to Tigris that you adopted the habit of using his nickname, something he cherished every time it left your lips. Particularly because none of his classmates, let alone his closest friends, used it. "What is this?" He questioned, his eyes scanning everything—from the booth to you, with a hint of disgust, shame. "Why didn't you tell me—" He felt a sense of sorrow, realizing he hadn't provided you with enough wealth, let alone a clean lifestyle. Tonight, he vowed to make a change soon. 
"Blame the Plinth." You uttered, attempting to push aside memories of Sejanus and your first love, concealing them as best as you could. Snow couldn't help but let out a light chuckle at the irony, recognizing that he, too, intended to make them pay for it all—every little bit. And in this endeavor, he envisioned you by his side. "I've missed you, you know." You continued, and to Snow's relief, he admitted the same. Perhaps, just maybe, a little too much.
"You have no idea how much I missed you too, sweetheart." He expressed, closing the distance between you. He kneeled, and even his piercing blue eyes softened as he lifted his gaze to meet yours. His finger gently traced your blushed cheek, the heavy makeup unable to conceal your undying beauty. "How about we go home? Together."
"Home?" You tilted your head slightly, doing your best to restrain your tears at his request. Despite the history of your relationship—from being a stranger to a friend and now a soulmate. "How—?" He nervously gulped, appearing confident in his words yet afraid to witness you in that emotional state. A state where money and selling your body didn't align with the image he wanted to see. "Because I'll do my best to take care of you." He assured, keeping his words simple yet sincere. 
"Home. A place to finally be yourself. No trouble, no feeling of doubt within your own self." And with that, you simply dissolved into tears, nodding in response to his confession. "Please," You begged, yearning for him, longing to feel his lips like you did with Sejanus back in the days. But this time, it felt genuinely true. Was this what true love really felt like? "Kiss me." There was no hesitation as Snow's lips instantly met yours in a hungry and passionate kiss, an expression of love since the very beginning. 
And in that very moment, Snow realized all too well that you had become his Lady. Not any kind of lady but the First Lady of Panem. 
Y/N, Snow.
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theemporium · 8 months
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Character B, being someone who likes to hug something in their sleep, ends up using Character A as their makeshift pillow. Character A isn’t too keen on it at first but they end up accepting their fate. (It’s the best night of sleep they’ve probably ever had since they were a kid.) 
I need this as fluff with max because there was one interview where he said he wasn’t big on spooning/cuddling and I as this and immediately thought about it
this is so🥹thank you for requesting!🫶🏽
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As much as the Dutchman tried to deny his feelings for you, it was clear to everyone else in the world that he was head over heels.
He was blunt with his words and how he felt, never shying away from them when questioned. Though, that being said, he wasn’t always the most aware of his own feelings. And when he was, it wasn’t instinctive for him to yell them from every rooftop so everyone in the world knew how he felt. 
Max bottled his feelings. He let them linger and fester until he was ready to confront them. And despite every single sign in the universe pointing out that he was in love with you, he was nowhere near saying the words aloud to anyone, or even himself.
But that didn’t stop him from showing you he loved you in simple gestures that felt like an instinct rather than a chore.
It was a surprise to most of the paddock that the two of you even became friends, let alone anything more. 
You were opposites in every sense of the word. Max was blunt and direct, you were calmer and more patient with people. Max was seen as a villain to a large majority of the Formula One world, whilst you were a walking, talking ray of sunshine. Max was the golden boy of Red Bull racing, and you were a hardworking member of the Mercedes team. 
And despite it all, you two were a bonded pair known throughout the paddock. 
There would be countless little things Max would do for you that would confuse the people of the paddock. The way he would seek you out the second he was relieved from his duties in the garage or the media pen. The way he would bring you snacks and drinks even if it meant venturing into a sea of silver to find you. The way he would always have an extra hoodie or jacket for you in case things got chilly by the track. The way he would always drive you to and from the paddock, even if it meant he had to stay longer after the races on Sunday when he could leave. 
Though your favourite ritual was the movie nights you would have. 
They were sporadic at best, but you were both committed when you had one. It was usually after one of you had a bad day, when you weren’t quite ready to talk it out but wanted the distraction regardless. 
It had been a tiring day for Max in the media pen, but when he saw the look on your face as he approached the Mercedes garage, he knew it was nothing in comparison to the day you had. He was soundless as he took your backpack from you and headed to the car, barely saying a word until you reached the hotel. He told you to change into something comfier and make your way to his hotel room afterwards. 
Dinner had already been ordered by the time you arrived, and he silently handed you the remote so you could choose the movie. 
Max’s lips twitched when he noticed you had picked New Moon, only snorting a little when you rolled your eyes and jabbed his side for judging your choice. But he remained quiet as you two ate, enjoying the movie as though you hadn’t made him watch it a million times. 
However, he failed to realise just how hard the day hit you because it wasn’t even thirty minutes into the movie when he felt your head on his shoulder. You were both lying back on the bed, the pillows fluffed behind you and the duvet covering you both. It was comfy and it made sense.
And yet, in all the movie nights you had together—in the whole time you had been friends—never once had you shared the bed. You would always make your way back to your hotel room by the end of the night. 
But here you were, fast asleep and tucked into his side. 
Max was frigid and tense at first. A part of him knew he could have just slid away from you, guided you towards the other side of the bed. He could have shaken you awake and carried you back to your hotel room. Hell, he could have even taken the couch or the floor if it meant he had his own space. 
But he found he didn’t really want to.
He told himself that it was the dinner and the long day that had tired him out. That he could no longer fight the sleepiness and exhaustion in his body, that it wouldn’t be worth the effort to move you away. He told himself all of that on a loop as he switched the tv off, as he shuffled down on the bed so he was comfy, as he let you wrap yourself around him like a koala. 
He told himself that he didn’t like it and it was a one time thing as he fell asleep. 
When he woke up in the morning, he was almost surprised to find that you were closer than you were before. Your legs were entangled and your arms were wound around his torso, your cheek pressed against his chest as you slept peacefully. 
He was warm, though it wasn’t unbearable. The heat and weight of you pressed up against him wasn’t as irritating as he assumed it would be. It was comforting. In an odd way, it was soothing, assuring even. 
He was almost annoyed when you woke up.
“You’re not as grumpy as you usually are,” his teammate noted when he entered the garage that morning, ready for the first free practice session of the day.
“I guess I had a good night’s sleep,” Max replied simply with a shrug of his shoulders.
Daniel’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Did you get laid or something?”
Max rolled his eyes. “That’s not the only way to have a good night's sleep.”
Daniel just raised his hands in mock defence. “Alright, don’t bite my head off,” he murmured, though there was an amused smile on his face. “Is it a new stuffed bear? Maybe I should put you down for a nap if you’re getting cranky.”
His chest almost tightened at the thought of napping with you, of having you wrapped around him once again, of feeling that sense of calmness wash over him. 
“You’re hilarious, mate.”
“I know.” 
Yet, Max couldn’t help but spend the rest of the day wondering how he could convince you to sleep in his bed again.
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hesperdern · 3 months
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⊹˚⋆ ☾ DARK SUB-ZERO ❍ INTRO DIALOGUE ☽ ⋆˚⊹
↳ warning\notes: ✦ gn reader ✦ angst, flirting, possessiveness ✦
↳ imagine: Life keeps mocking your feelings for Bi-Han in every timeline. Dark Sub-Zero mysteriously rose from the ashes. He appeared, a shadow in the night. But this time, his target is not those who wronged him; it's not about vengeance. Oh, no. His eyes were set on you. He was coming, and he wouldn't let anything or anyone stop him from reaching his dark goal.
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bi-han: I've been looking for you.
(reader): You're looking for something to take. I'm looking for someone to save.
(reader): Our fate turned into anger and bitterness.
bi-han: Your misery sustains me. I'll never let you forget that.
(reader): I never wanted any of this... I just wanted to be with you.
bi-han: Your longing for me is nothing but a weakness that I can easily exploit.
(reader): You became someone else. You became a demon!
bi-han: And you love it, don't you?
bi-han: Your pathetic tears are more enjoyable than your rage.
(reader): It's hurts even more when I remember how much I cared for you.
(reader): I miss the old you.
bi-han: He's gone now, replaced by something that you can't handle.
(reader): I still see glimmers of the man I used to love.
bi-han: And what if one day, those glimmers are gone entirely?
bi-han: Without me, you’re helpless.
(reader): Your words are nothing but corrupted by your own heart.
bi-han: I have a higher purpose now, one that I can't let anything come between.
(reader): You can't even see me as a person anymore, only as a means to an end.
bi-han: You and I have a lot in common, don't we?
(reader): The only thing we have in common is the pain you've caused me.
(reader): What are you trying to do, make me lose hope in myself?
bi-han: It's already done. I took your innocence, and now I'm taking your life.
bi-han: You have no choice. Give in to the darkness, to me.
(reader): I'm done letting you control me, even if it means facing death.
(reader): Our futures can’t be intertwined. Not like this.
bi-han: Still so delusional... You’ll never understand what it means to be truly powerful.
bi-han: Do you think I don't see the way you look at me?
(reader): What, with disgust? No, I'm sure you see it. I'm not exactly subtle.
(reader): I want justice. There can be no peace if you walk free.
bi-han: What a cute little hunter you are.
bi-han: Once I capture you, you will beg for more.
(reader): Since when did you start becoming so naughty?
bi-han: The shadows swirl in perfect harmony... and so do my feelings for you.
(reader): It’s dark and twisted, always hiding something. Just like you.
bi-han: The death are the reflection of my soul, and I see a perfect match when I look into yours.
(reader): It's cute how you think we're some kind of match made in hell.
bi-han: You have to let me in. Shadows will consume you and make you mine.
(reader): You make it sound so... appealing.
(reader): I'm tired of this constant pain, all this emptiness.
bi-han: That's what I wanted. A broken, empty shell. You belong to me now.
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MASTERLIST
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satoruhour · 8 months
Note
Loved the recent sukuna racer au 😭😭😭🩷🩷 can you elaborate a bit more on geto in the same racer au? 🥺🩷🩷🩷🩷
LLOROMANNIC
a/n: thx 4 this ask anon, this is rlly long bahaah i hope u enjoy! more context here. for recap, reader is in japan for an exchange programme.
wc: 4.3k
warnings: (fluff @ the start, smut comes in later) virginity loss, soft dom!geto, geto really really is obsessed w/ you, oral / cunnilingus (eats pussy like this! like i really don’t know what this position’s called), pet names, slight nipple play, clit stimulation, fingering, slight size kink, p -> v penetration, protected sex, n*sfw under the cut
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no one really knows how the two of you became so close after that fateful meeting. they’re still wondering how you drew suguru in so effortlessly — some say you planned it, others say it was just by chance, but you’re not too sure yourself when all you can focus on is the racer beside you muttering into your skin a year after.
it was a(n almost) blissful six months when you first start out. that day he did keep his promise, winning the race without breaking a sweat and you cheer for geto unconsciously, catching the curious eyes of gojo and nanami who exchange looks — maybe you’d finally be the someone to capture geto’s heart.
geto made an effort to u-turn back to the corner he was parked in with the passenger side to you and he leans over to open it for you, but in return it just gathers more attention. “shall we go?” you try your best to escape the prying eyes of the tokyo crowd, and with a wave to the other two, geto is speeding off once you’ve gotten into the car.
“so… why’re you driving me there?”
“why cinnamoroll? berry and cherry’s a hundred times better.” he comments, and much to your dismay, he just answers your question with a less serious question than yours.
“why not?”
“well i mean…” was this man really about to lecture you on sanrio characters? his explanation is brief, but detailed, and you can’t help but stifle a laugh — although a snort still leaves you — just as he turns into the next carpark that you were supposed to go into instead and he’s asking what? like he didn’t just ramble about two sanrio demon characters. 
“eh, it’s just cute that a scary, cool racer guy like you knows so much about sanrio.” you giggle when you watch him find an empty spot, and you’re trying to not let it affect you: the dragon that wraps around his bicep right to his forearm, the tense of his muscles, the addictive line of his jaw that trails all the way down to his collarbone—
you don’t notice your choice of words until geto uses that chance to fluster you instead.
“it’s just what?” he’s all up in your personal space like he was earlier before pulling away — a quiet, chilling tension that sends your hairs standing, left arm going behind your seat to park his car perfectly in the lot. his jawline is accentuated by how he turns behind to reverse (he hopes parking effortlessly would get you to like him more); suguru’s good at always making you want more, you realise that.
“cute.”
you’re mumbling and once he’s got the car in, his arm comes back round, a teasing hand pressed up to his ear. “what was that, hm?”
and maybe you were wrong to think he was being a decent person among the sneers and mockery of the crowd earlier, and you frown, thinking if you’d really want to entertain him. there’s a dilemma in you: what if he was just like the others, the loud, cocky ones who only ever cared about their cars? suguru looked just like the part, too, and if you weren’t careful, you’d probably end up being a trophy piece for him to bring around.
you just sigh. “thank you for driving me, geto-san.” it’s rigid as you say it, an inner turmoil within you; you hope it doesn’t show.
and he immediately regrets his silly question. he doesn’t blame you for standing your ground especially after the whole spectacle before the race started, watching in defeat as you slam the door to his Mazda a little harshly. hurriedly his eyes dart around the dashboard for paper, messily scribbling down an apology together with his number, along with some cash — he did promise to treat you to something in that cafe, but he was confident you’d want nothing to do with him; for now, anyway.
“hey, i’m uh— i’m sorry. it was out of line, enjoy the event, ’kay?” geto genuinely looked sorry, a sheepish smile spreading across his face and he hurries away before you can say anything. he’s lamenting over it upon returning, talking to gojo who could barely care and nanami who’s zoning out, about how you looked so innocent and stunning by simply sitting in his car.
and you? you’ve resorted to telling yourself how you’d only send a message to the mysterious number only after getting back home, after a shower, paper creased and unintelligible at some point that you almost typed in a ‘6’ in place of an ‘8’.
you’ve broken your own rule already once you’re stepping foot into your home because your finger immediately opens the empty chat, hovering over the button to send the message you’ve drafted two hours ago. your heart pounds and you feel dizzy — you never wanted to die so bad before.
suguru’s mood remains sour until later in the evening where an unknown number texts him with a faceless photo of a cup of cinnamoroll cappuccino and a crème brûlée with cinnamorll’s face on the caramelised sugar. he knows it’s you from the outfit you wore earlier and geto can’t help but smile, dwelling on what he could say to you that wouldn’t sound stupid.
god, geto was a racer. he was supposed to be cool and a natural at flirting, but he can’t believe he’s already deleted his drafted message for a fifth time, not noticing how you fluctuate between being online and off, too.
he doesn’t answer you like an idiot because while you’re nervous over the simple text, geto wants to tear his hair out — until he gets an idea; he’s off the bed in a minute, hastily grabbing his leather jacket and putting his hair into a bun.
eventually he manages to say something that sounds nonchalant.
[19:23, geto → UNKNOWN]: enjoy your cinnamoroll coffee?
suguru waits patiently when you type and stop, and type and stop, and he uses that time to sprint to his Mazda and to speed to a close-by 7-eleven. he was sure to find some sanrio merchandise in the store, face lighting up when he comes across a mediocre cinnamoroll keychain — and after a small battle with himself he also adds a duo berry and cherry keychain to the pile — he just needed to figure out when to give it to you.
a notification interrupts his daydreams.
[19:29, UNKNOWN → geto]: better without you here
he knows you’re joking with the way you send a sticker after.
[19:30, UNKNOWN → geto]: but thank you for the treat.
and for driving me
and for the number
geto chuckles, paying and leaving the store before he lets out a breath.
[19:31, geto → UNKNOWN]: want to come out for a drive? i really want to apologise for earlier
and every doubt ceases to exist, your contemplation ending right there, head snapping to your clock to look at the time. if you could get dressed fast enough—
[19:31, geto → UNKNOWN]: and also i just… want to get to know you
i’ll meet you at that same parking lot where we met. i’ll wait for you, okay?
—you could see the mysterious, brooding racer again. despite your outburst, you couldn’t deny the adrenaline you felt sitting in his car, bickering over which character was better, seeing the raise of his eyebrow on his attractive face. you don’t trust yourself to type anything else so you simply send a thumbs up emoji, jumping up to get ready in the darkening and freezing tokyo landscape.
shouting out an excuse, you bid goodbye to your parents and race out the door, white wisps of your hot breath appearing as you reach the car park in record time, seeing him nervously leaning against his Mazda. you smile. seems like you weren’t the only fidgety one.
“how’re you doin’?” geto clears his throat, but you just grin, getting into his passenger seat. the tips of your fingers tingle, you hoped the adrenaline would help you even a little.
“you called me out because you want to show off, right?” that loosens suguru a little, letting out a laugh at your unexpected comment.
“sure did.”
the next hours are spent speeding through the streets of shibuya, with you scared out of your mind at first. but when geto looks over to you with a blinding smile, you ease into his leather seats, slowly getting used to his sharp and precise turns.
geto is focused on drifting on specific turns, smile fading into a serious expression as he slams on the break and changes gear, steering the wheel sharply and you find yourself staring freely, a smile tugging on your lips at how so damn good he looked at the moment.
the night ends up with letting you try out the car for a bit, and even geto is surprised at himself because his RX-7 was something he cherished deeply, but to let someone try it was beyond him. he’s laughing with you, telling you that drift racers do not need to use turn signals and you burn in embarrassment, but other than that you have a good time, a quietness settling as he pulls up to your host home in japan.
“come to my next race?”
you bit your lip. you can’t lie, geto suguru is handsome as hell and you’re already hooked, unaware how the other wants you just as bad.
“sure thing, suguru.” the first name seems to catch him off-guard, even more so when you lean over the stick shift to peck his cheeks. 
geto spends the next five minutes touching the skin where you kissed it, the loud rev of his engine reflecting exactly how he felt.
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geto suguru was a goner.
every text, every call, every outfit (by god, geto did not care about what he wore, until he got with you) was for you. geto suguru was the gentlest with you, always asking if you’re okay with whatever he does. a hand on your waist, a peck to your cheek. he eases into the relationship, a plethora of night races lined up in his roster since he didn’t want you to miss any classes. nor could you underperform, because if your grades weren’t up to standard, you’d be sent home — your actual home back in your country. it came easy, though, apart from the sneaky makeout sessions in between geto telling you you used ‘your’ instead of ‘you’re’ in your essays.
“y’know you don’t have to wear it, right?” geto laughs, placing a kiss to your temple while your mouth twists at the shape of the miniskirt, gifted to you by his sister who had worn it in the same scene, too. your boyfriend only whistles when you place it to your front, hands tightening just a little around your waist when he sees just how short it is.
“so?” you emerge from the bathroom a little while later, his oversized shirt on you looking a bit weird with the miniskirt but his breath hitches when you pull the top up, admiring the way the miniskirt hugged your figure so well. “i’m not sure if i like it, su…”
“that’s cause you’ll need other sort of tops, baby,” geto simply smiles, beckoning you over with a hand. it’s criminal how easily you follow the gesture, moving to stand between his legs. his rough hands leave hot trails of fire along your thighs, inching dangerously close to your ass. “you’ll need,” an unsatisfactory kiss on the denim of your skirt, suguru frowns, “a crop top,” a kiss to your hip bone. “or maybe a halter,” a kiss to your other hip bone, “a tube top,” a kiss to your stomach, “or maybe even a cami?” the grin geto gives you is sickening sweet as he lists them off one by one, each kiss getting closer and closer, from your hands to your shoulders, until they finally reach your face and your heart is beating like you were in fucking seven minutes in heaven.
“how’d you know so much?” you’re twiddling with the hem of his oversized shirt.
geto exhales, placing a sweet kiss onto your lips, “when you’ve been racing underground for quite a bit… it’s easy to pick up on the fashion. but—” he melts all your worries away when he takes your cheeks in his hands, “but even if you weren’t dolled up, i’ll still be lookin’ at ya. you’d still be the prettiest girl in the room.”
“my prettiest girl.” suguru mumbles, getting lost in your lips again with a promise he’ll take you shopping the next day.
you ease into the miniskirts soon enough. though you don’t exactly abandon your old style, you also love the freedom of wearing teeny skirts with skin tight tops, legs and ass on display for all to see while geto simply smiles no matter what you wear. he thinks you look stunning either way.
“what do you think?” geto asks inwardly if you were really the same person who loved cinnamoroll, legs on display and safety shorts hugging your ass so well as you twirl around in your room — geto wasn’t opposed to just panties, either; he knows he can throw a decent punch. you’re donning the piece of apparel so well that he feels himself getting hard.
“i think my baby looks gorgeous,” suguru smiles, sauntering up to you before wrapping his bigger arms around your middle before coating your face and neck with kisses but your mind’s wandering into the gutter with how you can see both your figures in the mirror. you’re thinking just what it’ll be like to fog up the mirror with your shaky breaths as geto rams into you from behind, but you snap out of it before he notices, turning around in his embrace to land a kiss to his lips.
“a good luck kiss for my racer boy,” you giggle, hands getting lost in his hair. you’ve become more bold too, geto realises and he decides that maybe tonight he’ll have you before you leave to finish your university semester and his heart clenches at the thought of you leaving — six months is six months, after all. having to resort to facetimes and timezones and late night messages is the reality, but he’s willing to try.
if it’s you, he’ll try.
one thing led to the next; it was your miniskirt riding up your legs, it was the way you ran up to him after he wins, jumping into his arms knowing these were your last few days together. just like how you were obsessed with geto suguru, he was besotted with you.
“is this okay with you, (y/n)?” the way he says your name has you wishing he would do it over and over in that pleading voice of his — it’s just the first of many.
“you’ll be taking my first, suguru.” you mumble out as his lips trail from your jaw to neck, and it makes him freeze. maybe you shouldn’t hav—
“you want me to be your first?” geto asks breathlessly, like he’s been told he won the lottery. he couldn’t believe how you’ve been untouched this whole time, yet your sultry gazes and untamed hips say otherwise.
“you’re such a little minx, teasing me and shit, but you haven’t lost your virginity?” his fingers caress your cheek and you preen at his tone, leaning into his touch. 
you hum and smile, “i never lose.” and you giggle when he laughs, capturing your lips in another kiss. the playful mood fades into the prior one, feeling the other get rougher with his kiss while his hands start to wander more.
“tell me to stop whenever and i’ll stop, okay, sweetheart?” you nod, squishing his face in your hands.
“i’ll be okay, su,” you grin before wrapping your legs around his pelvis, pulling him onto your needy cunt. he’s already hard, a dark spot forming at where his tip was. “i’ll be okay, especially when i fuck myself thinking it’s your cock.”
suguru’s jaw drops just a bit and he craves you even more by then, flipping up your skirt and pressing kisses along your thigh. he was determined to wipe the sick little grin off your face. he was determined to make you cum so hard you’d regret teasing him at all.
you hardly have any attitude for him once his tongue meets your pulsing clit and groans into your core, licking an experimental stripe up your folds. “better than your fingers?” suguru grins when he glances up and all he can see is your head thrown back, a subtle nod that’s got him back into feasting. he alternates between flicking your bud and sucking harshly, his calloused hands that you always admired around the steering wheel are now on your thighs, spreading them apart when you start to close them. by now your skirt’s soaked from how wet your pussy is, mewling and whining for your lover for more.
“you taste so fuckin’ good,” geto mumbles into your folds, giddy on the tangy sweetness of your juices that he has to reach down to squeeze his cock, “my girlfriend’s pussy tastes so good.”
“f-fuck… suguru don’t stop—” in the large bedroom, it’s filled with moans from you and the lewd sounds of your pussy, which escalate into a shriek when he’s suddenly pushing you up, weight transferred onto your shoulders and neck, not before making sure you have a pillow under you. “su—!”
“oh— ooh shit!” geto easily manhandles you as he props you up, your body bent uncomfortably while your hips continue to buck in his mouth and you aren’t sure where your legs go. it gives him better access to your cunt as he dips his tongue into your hole, nose nudging into your clit while you’re clutching onto his forearms for balance; his front supports you perfectly. geto’s onyx eyes bore into yours when he eats, moaning softly when he feels you clench around his tongue.
“you close?” he commits you to memory: how your toes curl and your stomach contracts. how your pussy flutters around his mouth and soft needy sighs turn into wanton moans. he feels so tense too, cock twitching in his underwear that it’s begging to be in you. “my baby’s g’nna cum, hm?”
“y-yes— ’m close mmf...” you can hardly manage a nod, moans escaping in between one worded sentences and you’re sure your legs are shaking from how good geto was giving it to you. with the hands that spread you out, one goes to your nipple to pinch it while the other plays with your clit, pressing and rubbing on it and a choked suguru leaves your lips.
“cum,” the one word has so much command over you, paired with the ministrations he was so skilled at that you’re clenching around air when you reach your high, euphoria crashing down on you with how you see white and your body feels tired already. “that’s my pretty girl, god, you’re cumming s’much.”
it takes awhile for you to come down from your orgasm, but despite your fatigue you already find yourself wanting more when you shoot geto a grin, heart fluttering at how he massages your thighs and bring you back down.
“you okay?” geto mumbles, pecking your knee softly, inwardly smiling at the way your legs still jolt and shake at your climax, “got my princess shakin’ and all.”
you giggle before you’re pulling him toward you, tasting yourself on his tongue as the kiss deepens, jumping a little when geto slips in a finger easily. you’re easily moaning into the kiss, reeling from just how one finger feels in you, slipping in so easily just how soaked your cunt was. 
gotta prep you for me, ‘kay? he whispers against your lips before a second goes in and you have to break the kiss to whimper. relax, baby, suguru’s voice is so intoxicating that you’re doing the exact opposite. you’re so tight that geto has to take a moment, imagining what you’ll feel like around him, but it’s not long before you’re begging for more that he starts moving his fingers into your cunt.
they are soft, gentle on you that you’re already tugging on his waistband, swallowing geto’s chuckle and comment about just how eager you are. in that bedroom, you’ve gotten him on his knees just by existing, pussy still drooling and your body contorted in such sensuality that he’s already worshipping you unconsciously. you gasp a little when he finally removes his underwear, eyes fixated on the pretty dick he’s got in his hand, leaking so much pre-cum just from eating you out. he makes quick work to grab a condom out from his bedside drawer.
“i’ll make it fit. gotta relax, yeah?” he hums into your skin before he rolls the condom over his cock as you watch, impatient. along with some lube, he smears your juices around with his tip, relishing in how you squeeze his forearms.
and when geto suguru sinks into you for the first time, tip nudging past your folds and stretching you out at first, a long whine leaves you just as geto groans out because you’re so warm inside that it’s got him dizzy. your eyes try to flutter close but geto mumbles that he wants to see how good he makes you feel, body hovering over yours like it’s forbidden. but he knows if he sinks into you with the feel of your tits on him, he wouldn’t last.
“s’big, suguru— ah!” eyes struggling to stay open, your arms hang around his neck, the feel of the rubber in you not entirely pleasant but suguru hitting all your spots is enough to make up for it. you’re just dripping and dripping non-stop that it leaks right down to the sheets before the other bottoms out in you, a teasing grin on his face. “told ya it could fit.” the stretch is borderline painful, and like a good boyfriend, he waits for a few to get you accustomed.
you roll your eyes with a soft smile, taking deep breaths before you feel like you could handle him, “move, please…”
“gettin' to it, my love,” geto’s cock is so big you swear you can feel him in your stomach, mouth dropping open when he moves slowly, grunting at your clamping hole, “i don’t think i can last long, baby.”
you breathlessly laugh, “yeah, me e-either.” your back arches off the bed as suguru starts to find a pace, thighs already burning from the taut pull of his muscles, something he’s done unconsciously because of how divine your cunt felt. with a hand you’re rubbing at your clit, evident it’s your first time when your hips are already bucking in mini shockwaves, sucking in his length that it’s not long before you’re moving your pelvis to meet his.
there’s the squelching noises of your pussy and little pants leaving you, pussy already convulsing around him with the release of the twist in your stomach. you’re clenching as you cum hard on his cock and it drives the other crazy, the tightness of your entrance that restricts his movement that he settles for short thrusts just to orgasm, spilling heavy loads of cum into the condom. geto groans into thin air, hips stuttering and pulling out incase there’s a rip in the rubber. it’s obvious you’re still unfamiliar with each other’s body in such an intimate setting, stuttered apologies and cleared throats, but soon geto’s leaning down to lock lips with you to quell the first-time awkwardness.
“was that okay? are you hurt anywhere?” you shake your head with a smile.
“that was more than okay, suguru,” you’re sleepy from the race, from the late night, and it’s clear all you want is sleep. it’s clear when you melt into suguru’s embrace and his heart feels like it might beat out of his chest when you find his hand to twine your fingers together, with his other one rubbing your thigh affectionately.
geto feels that same feeling paired with a certain dread when two weeks later you’re kissing him goodbye at the airport, pink luggage in hand while your nose starts to redden a little. you always know what to say, slowly getting used to geto’s habits. a huff when he’s annoyed, or a quick furrow of his eyebrows when he’s distraught. “it’s not the end of the world, baby.”
suguru only pouts, hands caressing your sides just outside the departure gate. “i know, i just— six months?” 
“you’ll survive,” you smile softly, brushing the bangs from his face, “you did it before me.”
“i know, but now that i’ve known you, you’re all i think about,” geto huffs, “i…”
there’s many more things he wants to say, how he’ll be sure to keep your things until you return, how thankful he is that you (willingly!) gave him an underwear of yours, how he struggles to breathe just seeing your name. he just hopes you’ll miss him just as much, but he restrains himself knowing your flight’s in an hour.
“you’re all i think about, too,” you mumble and swallow uncomfortably, ashamed to have tears already brimming at your eyes, “i’ll come right back after i finish the sem, alright?”
“i’ll hold you to that.” geto smiles, although it’s laced with a sadness, kissing you softly one last time and bearing himself for the countless texts and video calls to your foreign number. you both can taste the salt in your tears, sniffling like a lovesick fool at the immense feelings you have for this man.
love. you haven’t even said the words yet.
as the racer watches you pass through the departure doors, he gives one last glance to the cherry keychain hanging off your carry-on, giving a similar longing glance to the matching berry one on his bag.
geto leaves the airport before anyone can see the wetness in his eyes, too.
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2K notes · View notes
thedensworld · 3 months
Text
What a Fate | Y.Jh
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Pairing: Jeonghan x Reader
Genre: humor, suggestive, smut
Words Count: 3k
Summary: Who would have thought your next meeting after having a one-night stand would be this unexpected?
 
Jeonghan's frustration lingered from the recent board meeting where his cousin, Seungcheol, secured the position of vice president in their grandfather's company. Despite Jeonghan's tireless efforts for the company's 60th anniversary celebration, his ambitions were shattered due to a scandal that befell him just weeks before the crucial vote.
As the CEO of their food and beverage company, Jeonghan has been diligently working towards the success of the family business. However, a sudden scandal arose when a former secretary from four years ago accused him of verbal bullying during their professional association. The accusation, given his prominent familial ties, tarnished the company's image.
Jeonghan, disheartened by the false accusations, found himself grappling with the fallout of the scandal. The situation escalated as the woman, who had once served as his secretary, admitted to fabricating the allegations. It was revealed that she had been nursing an unrequited love for Jeonghan, leading her to concoct the damaging story.
The relief of the truth emerging was accompanied by the bitter taste of betrayal. Jeonghan couldn't help but feel the weight of the injustice that had cost him the chance to inherit the family business. The emotional toll of the scandal, compounded by the familial dynamics at play, cast a shadow over what should have been a moment of celebration for Jeonghan and the company.
Jeonghan, guided by Joshua's advice, surrendered to the allure of the night and found himself embracing the spontaneity that the club offered. In the dimly lit space, fueled by the rhythm of the music, he discovered a fleeting connection with you. The chemistry between them escalated, and in the heat of the moment, they succumbed to the passion of a one-night stand.
The club's pulsating beats seemed to echo the heartbeat of the impulsive decision, and for a brief moment, Jeonghan let go of the burdens that had weighed him down. The physical connection became a temporary escape, a way to numb the lingering frustrations and disappointments.
As dawn approached, reality set in. The night, once filled with liberation, now carried the weight of consequences. Jeonghan, caught between the thrill of the moment and the complexities of his personal and professional life, grappled with the aftermath of the impulsive choice.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Jeonghan muttered, the weight of realization hitting him as he hastily gathered his clothes. The consequences of the alcohol-fueled night began to sink in, and regret cast a shadow over him.
A sudden groan from you interrupted his frantic activity, causing Jeonghan to freeze. Relief washed over him as he realized you were still blissfully unaware, providing a temporary shield from the aftermath of their impulsive actions.
Stepping out of the hotel room, Jeonghan's first instinct was to call Joshua for a quick escape. The clock stubbornly displayed 2 a.m., an hour that should have deterred most people. However, Joshua, known for his penchant for late-night revelry, was the chosen confidant in this moment of crisis.
"My friend!" Joshua's voice, brimming with excitement, greeted Jeonghan as he opened the car door. In the midst of his own turmoil, Jeonghan found himself trapped with an exuberant Joshua. After directing Joshua's driver to head towards his home, Jeonghan couldn't escape the barrage of questions.
"I was looking for you, Jeonghan. Where have you been?" Joshua's enthusiasm clashed with Jeonghan's drained energy. Rolling his eyes, Jeonghan turned away, seeking a reprieve from the relentless inquiries.
"That's mean!" Joshua's protest echoed before giving way to the unexpected sounds of snoring. A chuckle escaped Jeonghan as he realized Joshua had succumbed to sleep, leaving the impending conversation for a more conscious moment.
The car ride became a surreal blend of exhaustion and Joshua's snores. Jeonghan, lost in his thoughts, braced himself for the inevitable talk he would have with Joshua once the overly-energetic friend returned to full consciousness. The night's events had left Jeonghan grappling with a mix of emotions, from regret to amusement at the unpredictable turns his life had taken.
The shrill ring of Jeonghan's phone pierced through the haze of his extended slumber, rousing him from a deep sleep. His body, oddly resistant to the routine of heading to work, had lingered in the realm of dreams, perhaps still grappling with the disappointment from the previous day's board meeting.
"Hm..." Jeonghan's response was a simple murmur, his voice carrying the remnants of a dizzy head after indulging in an unusually prolonged sleep—almost 12 hours of it.
As he reluctantly confronted the reality of the waking world, his secretary's voice permeated through the fog. Apologies were offered before the revelation struck like a sudden storm. "Your nephew, Mingyu, got into a fight and is now in a detention center."
Jeonghan's eyes snapped wide open, the abrupt news shattering the remnants of his grogginess. "What?!" The word escaped his lips, a mix of shock and frustration evident in his tone.
"He was bullied and made a defensive move, but they were captured by the cops as they fought behind a convenience store building," the secretary explained, weaving a narrative that only added to Jeonghan's growing list of familial challenges. Mingyu, his sister's son, seemed to have an uncanny ability to find trouble at the most inconvenient times, leaving Jeonghan to grapple with the repercussions once again. The responsibility he shouldered for his nephew intensified, adding another layer of complexity to an already tumultuous day.
A curse escaped Jeonghan's lips, a frustrated response to the recurrent challenges posed by his nephew, Kim Mingyu. The young troublemaker seemed to have a knack for causing chaos at the most inconvenient moments, leaving Jeonghan to bear the consequences.
Reflecting on recent incidents, Jeonghan's frustration intensified. Two weeks prior, he found himself reluctantly purchasing an expensive painting after Mingyu 'innocently' sneezed in front of it. A month ago, an expensive plate was shattered at a family gathering, forcing Jeonghan into the heart-wrenching position of apologizing to his grandfather for Mingyu's actions.
Sighing deeply, Jeonghan ended the call after obtaining the address of the police station where Mingyu was detained. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders once again. Determined to impart a lesson, Jeonghan knew he had to handle the situation personally.
A decade had passed since the tragic accident that claimed Jeonghan's sister and her husband, thrusting him into the role of responsibility for their son, Mingyu. Initially, the burden was shared with his parents, a delicate balancing act of familial obligations. However, as Mingyu navigated through his teenage years, his penchant for trouble escalated, prompting Jeonghan to shoulder the responsibility more exclusively.
Considering the high schooler's propensity for getting into mischief, Jeonghan made a conscious decision not to burden his aging parents further. He chose to bear the weight of guardianship alone, shielding his elderly parents from the additional stress.
As he prepared to confront Mingyu's latest misadventure at the police station, Jeonghan couldn't help but ponder the alternate scenario. Imagining what would happen if his father received this distressing information brought a shiver down his spine. The elderly patriarch, already burdened with the weight of years, would likely find the news overwhelming.
Jeonghan entered the police station, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he spotted Mingyu in the detention room, anxiously calling out his name. However, his heartbeat skipped a fraction when his eyes fell upon you, seated in front of the officer. The stark contrast in your attire from the previous night caught him off guard, and confusion clouded his features. The officer introduced you as Mingyu's homeroom teacher, and Jeonghan's mind raced to piece together the unfolding situation.
Jeonghan, torn between frustration and the need to understand the circumstances, addressed the officer, "I'm Jeonghan, Mingyu's guardian. What's going on?"
The officer explained the situation, detailing the fight and emphasizing the need for the guardian's presence before Mingyu could be released. Jeonghan's gaze shifted between you and Mingyu, sensing an air of complexity in the dynamics at play.
Other students had already been released and gone home, but Mingyu remained in captivity. You, as the homeroom teacher, withheld the crucial signature needed for his release until Mingyu's guardian arrived.
"Do you have time to talk after this, sir?" Your polite inquiry caught Jeonghan off guard as you both made your way to the parking lot. His eyes briefly flickered at Mingyu, who observed the peculiar atmosphere between his uncle and his homeroom teacher.
Jeonghan, his curiosity piqued, nodded in agreement, and motioned for Mingyu to wait in the car. As Mingyu stepped out of earshot, Jeonghan's heart raced in anticipation. What could you possibly want to discuss? Was it about the events of last night? Did you remember him as vividly as he remembered you?
The memory of the night played in Jeonghan's mind like a vivid reel. Your tight black dress accentuating every curve, flawless makeup adorned with a bold red lipstick, had captivated him. Yet, it was the sweet and unexpectedly addictive scent of caramel popcorn from your cologne that lingered in his thoughts. What a twisted charm you have.
Standing before him in your teaching attire—a baby blue blouse paired with white wide pants—your natural beauty surpassed Jeonghan's expectations. The sudden shift in his breath caught him off guard as he momentarily lost himself in the understated grace you exuded.
"Mr. Yoon?" Your voice broke through his reverie, bringing him back to the present moment.
"I'm so sorry to cause you trouble. I know Mingyu's family is very busy, but your presence was rather important for him and also for me as his homeroom teacher," you explained, and Jeonghan couldn't help but feel a sense of confusion lingering. The events of last night loomed in the background, and he wondered if they would be addressed.
As he waited for an explanation, you continued, "If you have time tomorrow morning, I would like to have a discussion about Mingyu's future education and career. Here's my contact information: Just in case you couldn't be present tomorrow, please inform me."
 
*
 
Jeonghan found himself in the counseling room of Mingyu's high school, bewildered by an inexplicable impulse that led him to cancel a crucial meeting. Outside, he waited with a strange mix of patience and nervous anticipation, uncertain of the forthcoming conversation. The memory of the recent hotel encounter lingered—an unspoken chapter between you two.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Yoon. I just finished a class. Thank you for coming. Do you need anything? Tea? Coffee?" Your unexpected presence disrupted Jeonghan's thoughts, prompting him to swiftly adjust his posture as he graciously declined your offer.
Seated across from him, technically in front of the table that acted as a silent mediator, you handed Jeonghan Mingyu's academic report. As he immersed himself in its contents, a narrative of Mingyu's scholastic journey unfolded, a canvas painted with both struggles and untapped potential.
The room held tension, an unspoken dialogue brewing beneath the surface. Jeonghan's eyes moved meticulously over the report, absorbing the nuances of Mingyu's academic challenges juxtaposed with his aspirations.
"As you can discern, Mingyu faces academic challenges. However, he stands as our school's basketball captain with tremendous potential for a professional career," you began, extending another paper containing Mingyu's career aspirations.
The weight of Mingyu's familial background as a businessperson hung in the air. "But, Mr. Yoon, Mingyu himself expressed zero interest in the business industry; his heart is set on pursuing a career in sports."
Jeonghan gently placed the report on the table, his hand following suit. His eyes, now directed at you, betrayed a mix of surprise and realization. "I never knew about this," he confessed, the admission carrying a layer of contemplation.
Jeonghan's mouth grew dry as he spoke, gratitude laced in his words. "Thank you so much for telling me this. Mingyu and I never really had a conversation about his school or his hobby."
You nodded empathetically, acknowledging the complexities of understanding a high schooler. "I understand, Mr. Yoon. Mingyu might seem like a very happy teenager, but we never truly know what's inside his head. I recommend you have a talk with him regarding his future; it'll be a good approach in case you two have different perspectives, and I believe both perspectives are important."
Jeonghan, appreciating the advice, nodded in agreement. "Thank you so much for the suggestion. Ms...?"
You gasped, covering your mouth, in a moment of realization. "Oh my goodness, I haven't introduced myself. Y/n, Ji Y/n. I'm a Korean teacher and also Mingyu's homeroom teacher."
As Jeonghan smiled, he expressed gratitude for Mingyu having a kind and attentive teacher. The mention of considering private school after the last incident hinted at the complexities of Mingyu's situation. "Ms. Ji, I am glad to know that Mingyu has a very kind and attentive teacher in his school. My family has considered sending him to a private school since the last incident. But I don't think we have to."
Jeonghan swore he noticed a faint blush on your cheeks as a soft chuckle escaped you. "It was such a big compliment for a teacher like me, Mr. Yoon," you responded, your tone carrying a modest grace. The unexpected exchange left a subtle warmth in the air, a departure from the serious tone of their earlier conversation.
As the discussion concluded, both of you walked out of the counseling room. Jeonghan nodded appreciatively as you motioned the way to the school entrance, a tacit agreement to walk together. The rhythmic tap of your shoes against the hallway floor echoed the unspoken tension lingering between you two.
Upon reaching the entrance, Jeonghan felt an itch to address the elephant in the room. Did you recognize him from the recent one-night stand just two days ago? "Ms. Ji..." he began, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
You turned to him, your attention fully on him, a smile gracing your face. Jeonghan, in that moment, found himself captivated by your smile, his gaze unconsciously drawn to your lips. Memories of the recent encounter flickered in his mind, an unexpected longing surfacing.
"Perhaps..." Jeonghan hesitated, his mind wrestling with the question he was about to pose. "Have we ever met before?"
He shook his head hastily, answering his own question before you had the chance. "No," he said, the denial leaving a lingering tension in the air.
"Perhaps you remember me?"
Your eyes widened at his inquiry, and the sudden realization flickered in your gaze. Jeonghan's unspoken question had found its answer.
 
*
 
Your walls were clenching as Jeonghan thrust into you passionately. The way you moan around the room made Jeonghan's head go dizzy. You whisperedly asked him to speed up the pace before your lips met each other, craving the moistness caused by lust.
"You're so tight, baby." Jeonghan's sigh escaped from his mouth as his pelvis moved harder than before, earning your climax. He swore that the way you clenched him had sent him into heaven. Your sinful moans are Beethoven's masterpiece. The way your lips flushed, your cheeks stained red, and your hair stuck to your forehead were magical sights for him.
His left hand roamed your body. Praise them like you are such a goddess of beauty. His finger has met your nerves, and playing it has made your walls clench him even more, making it harder to thrust.
A moan slipped out of his mouth as he could feel your walls tighten and you hit your climax. The thrust became slopier, and it was the moment he felt that he was ready to burst because of you.
"Where do you want it, baby?" Jeonghan whispered in your ear. Thrusting you harder is a sign for you to answer him immediately, or he might burst inside you.
"My mouth, my mouth, please."
Shit, you'll be the death of him.
"Argh.."
Jeonghan's eyes are wide open. He just cummed on his bed while sleeping. Jeonghan blinked, his surroundings shifting from the intimate scene to the familiar sight of his bedroom. The remnants of the dream lingered, leaving him disoriented. He sighed, realizing it was all just a vivid fantasy playing in his subconscious mind. The sensations, the passion—all evaporated as he woke up to the reality of his empty room.
Jeonghan shook his head, trying to dispel the lingering heat of the dream. The intensity of the emotions felt so real, yet he was alone in his bed, his body untouched by the events that had unfolded in his mind.
Jeonghan, dressed in his work attire, couldn't help but notice Mingyu having breakfast at the table. Reflecting on yourr conversation from the previous day, he decided to break his usual routine and take a seat across from his nephew. It had been quite some time since Jeonghan had the chance to grab a morning meal.
As Mingyu chewed his food, his uncle's unexpected presence halted the motion of his jaw. The helper, accustomed to preparing breakfast for Mingyu alone, observed the unusual scene with curiosity. Confusion knitted Mingyu's brow as he wondered about Jeonghan's sudden change in behavior.
Jeonghan broke the silence, "How's school, Mingyu?" Mingyu, caught off guard, stammered a bit before replying, "Great, I have a lot of fun in this school."
Jeonghan nodded, deciding to share his own surprise. He casually mentioned that he had visited Mingyu's school the day before. Mingyu's reaction was unexpected, a slight protest evident on his face. Jeonghan, raising an amused eyebrow, asked, "Why are you so worked up?"
Mingyu confessed, "I don't want to be transferred to another school. What happened last time was a mistake of mine; I failed to control myself." He dropped his head, a mix of guilt and apprehension clouding his expression.
Jeonghan's brow rose, and he clarified, "Who said you're going to be transferred?" Mingyu, bewildered, tried to explain, "I heard that—"
Cutting him off, Jeonghan interjected, "I met your homeroom teacher. She told me you're a really good basketball player in school. Is that true?" A hint of pride and curiosity danced in Jeonghan's eyes, dispelling any misunderstanding that Mingyu might have had.
Mingyu's cheeks colored with embarrassment as he shrugged, "I don't know. She's praising me so much by saying that to you."
Jeonghan chuckled softly, a playful glint in his eyes. "Do you want to go to a sports school in the future?" he asked, curious about Mingyu's aspirations, although he already had a good idea of the answer.
Mingyu shrugged back, asking tentatively, "Would you let me?"
Mirroring Mingyu's movement, Jeonghan replied, "Of course, why not?"
A wide smile lit up Mingyu's face upon hearing his uncle's supportive words. His laughter bubbled with excitement as he processed what had just transpired. "No way! Is Ms. Ji behind this?" Mingyu shook his head in disbelief. "Woah, Ms. Ji... Woah! I can't believe this."
Jeonghan observed his nephew's elation with amusement, his mind already brewing with a mischievous idea. "With one condition," he added, immediately causing Mingyu's smile to drop.
"What is it?" Mingyu asked impatiently.
Jeonghan rose from his seat, finishing his breakfast and preparing to leave for work. Just as he was about to go, he turned his head toward Mingyu and dropped a bombshell, "Set me up with Ms. Ji."
He walked away, leaving Mingyu stunned and taken aback by his uncle's unexpected request. The air hung with a mix of surprise and anticipation as Mingyu processed the playful twist his uncle had added to the morning conversation.
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perictione00 · 3 months
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Daddy's best friend
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Pairing: Sukuna x reader
Warnings: MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, cheating, age-gap relationship, choking, oral sex.
Synopsis: When your wedding day guest list carries an unexpected twist, will you choose loyalty or be consumed by the forbidden echoes of your past?
Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist
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You had returned to your parents' house, eagerly preparing for the grand union with your true love. Daddy, the cheerleader of your journey into wedded bliss, was beaming as he had always dreamt of watching his only daughter start a family of her own. 
You had planned a humble wedding with an intimate crowd to keep things simple and affordable. Yet family ties dictated a broader invitation, including your parents' extensive network of family and friends. Enter Ryoman Sukuna, your dad's BFF—or, as fate would have it, the charming fellow with whom you shared more than just pleasantries.
Well, in short, it could be said that you were freshly out of college, and one day you happened to bump into a single, gorgeous, hot guy with a fat cock at one of your father's gatherings. You made it obvious to him how bad you were for him. One thing led to another, and the encounter escalated into a series of rendezvouses within the familiar walls of your parents' house, basically fucking in each and every corner. Alas, morality's sudden awakening prompted a parting of ways, leaving you with a wedding day guest list that carried an unexpected twist. However, with the impending wedding day drawing near, time grew more precious, leaving no room for distractions or second-guessing, and within a blink of your eye, you were standing on the stage of a pre-marital celebration in a hall full of people.
Standing in the corner of that very hall was Sukuna, who found himself feeling strangely consumed by the flames of his own regrettable choices. In a cruel twist, he became the architect of his own folly, a spectacle he never imagined. He remembers how he left you crying in order to hide the unconventional and forbidden relationship he shared with you. It was after his conversation with your father about your future and your marriage that he realized the significance of his actions. But today, the familiar sparks of possessiveness ignited inside of him after encountering your soon-to-be husband, who seemed like a person who deserved you. How could anyone have the privilege of having you when you already belonged to him?
"Tell me, Sukuna, have you ever seen a more beautiful bride than my sweet daughter?" Your father asked passionately while introducing your fiance to his friend.
"She's the most beautiful one, indeed." Even after the passage of years, a solitary word from him still had the power to leave you feeling weak in the knees. It was undeniable—he had aged like a fine wine, retaining the timeless allure you remembered. The way he appraised you with that tempting glint in his eyes didn't escape your notice. Nor did the subtle shift in his demeanor when you introduced your fiancé. Uncertain if you were reading too much into it or if reality mirrored your imagination, the nuances didn't elude you.
Once the festivities concluded, you, along with your family and fiancé, returned home, only to discover that your father had invited Sukuna over for a drink. Attempting to dismiss it from your thoughts, you went to bed. However, as silence enveloped the house with everyone asleep, you discreetly ventured out of your bedroom, yearning for a fleeting encounter with your former lover.
You were pulled into the dimness of the guestroom as a set of hands enveloped your waist, drawing you further into the shadows. Sukuna, slightly drunk yet eternally gorgeous, wordlessly guided you. No verbal exchange occurred; instead, you both surrendered to an instinctive, passionate, and hunger-laden kiss. 
Pausing briefly to catch your breath, you both swiftly started undressing each other frantically. A deep groan escaped him as you tugged at his boxer briefs, unveiling his already eager arousal and laying bare his unmistakable intentions.
Feeling a hint of arousal yourself, you couldn't resist the urge to wrap your fingers around his erect shaft. A long, wet stripe up the underside of his cock, accompanied by the familiar taste and scent, led you to slide his length into your mouth. Sucking on the sensitive opening just the way he liked, you hollowed your cheeks, sensing Sukuna losing composure. He took control, gripping your hair tightly as pleasure clouded your senses. With a swirl of your tongue and a series of slurps on the thick veins of his cock, his loud moans spurred you to take all of him into your mouth, delving into a deepthroating rhythm. Sukuna lost it when his eyes met yours and started violently bucking his hips, choking you, and controlling you in the best possible ways, like he always used to, coming undone in the warmth of your mouth. You moaned at the taste of his cum, desperately swallowing all of it.
Sukuna had realized that, no matter what moral obligations fogged his views, he would always long for all of you. He remembered the countless times he jerked off to your old nudes, the way your thoughts would take over his mind during lonely, cold nights, and the way he could only ever want you to satisfy his wants. Regardless of how forbidden this relationship was, he would do it again. He would relish in your taste every afternoon like he used to; he would fuck you in your parents' room like he used to; hell, he would fuck you right in front of them if he has to. There's no stopping now.
Laying you down on the bed, he began to spit on your cunt, pulling out a condom from his wallet only to throw it away. He runs the tip of his cock through your folds. "I'll take you raw tonight."
"Ahh-fuck me, Kuna." You respond desperately, casing him to plunge himself into you, every inch inside of you within seconds. He stretches your cunt out and begins to thrust rapidly in and out of you, not giving you any time to adjust. His one hand goes down to abuse your clit and the other wraps around your throat, choking you, earning a moan out of you.
You pull him into a suffocating kiss, all the while your hands claw down his back. The way your cunt wrapped around him, sucking him in so tightly, and the way your hips eagerly matched his pace encouraged him to rapidly thrust in and out of you. His merciless thrusting and choking had you gasping for air, and with a few more strokes along your walls, he felt you cream around him.
Your vision blurred as you came with an animalistic moan of his name, causing him to lose every ounce of self-control and milk every string of his cum inside of you.
You lay there, catching your breath, letting the guilt of your actions to settle in, but it never does. Instead, you went for a few more rounds and a few more after that before finally parting ways.
"Sukuna, what am I gonna do?"
"Marry him, but make me the happiest man on earth."
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Note: It's okay to simp for fictional older men but in the real world please take caution, they have greasy hair everywhere (just a friendly reminder).
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stolenres-if · 5 months
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DEMO TBA (EDITING)
Genres: superhero, dark, fame
CW: violence, explicit language and themes, dark themes, immoral behavior and situations
After a villain almost decimated the world as you know it, you and four other people were chosen by the hands of fate to gain powerful abilities and become a member of Legion, humanity's only hope.
Because of that, you became celebrities in your own right. Red carpets, photoshoots, commercials for energy drinks and more. After a while it felt like the villain would never return and you'd be stuck being a celebrity for powers you don't even use.
Until the villain does return.
And you win.
Unfortunately, you paid the ultimate price: you died and became a martyr.
Or so...everyone thought.
Six years later, you wake up in the same spot you were in with no memory of the last near decade of your life. While only a night has gone by for you, for everyone else? A lifetime.
Everyone has moved on with their lives. The friends you considered family barely speak to each other, all of them haunted by everything that came after the fight. You have no recollection of anything…except something inside you knows your reappearance was no ordinary coincidence.
Especially when you begin to hear a voice in your head, commanding you, telling you to destroy everything in your path….
Stolen Resurrection is 18+ gritty IF that's a mixture of fame and super heroism. You are a member of the elite Legion, believed to be dead for half a decade until you wake up to a changed world six years later.
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Customize your MC from personality, appearance, gender identity and their persona. Do they embrace the celebrity life or reject it? Do they love their position as someone forced to sacrifice their life for the good of the world or do they resent it?
Curate whether your MC will move on or stay stuck in the past. Choose how to approach every situation and every person from your past and present life.
Navigate a world in which you are famed for being a chosen one and choose how you approach that.
Wake up six years after people believing you dead. Deal with the aftermath of grief and loss you left in your wake.
Romance ROs with different personalities and different feelings/thoughts towards your 'resurrection' and everything else.
Character-driven narrative with an emphasis on the choices you make and the relationships you build.
Prepare and train for a villain who may or may not be using you as their puppet.
Die. And then come back to life.
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THE EX FIANCÉ // THE SELLOUT: CATH HARRISON [M/F][RO]
Your ex and old Legion member, Cath has become the most prominent and beloved figure in New America. Once kind, charismatic, and a charmer, Cath is now the stoic poster child for the company that made Legion. So much so, that your old friends call them a sellout. Cal was proposing to you when everything went to hell all those years ago. When you return, you find them remarried. Cath has moved on...or have they?
THE OLD FRIEND // THE STRANGER: REA SANTOS [F][RO]
Once your closest friend and fellow Legion member, Rea has grown cold over the years, haunted by that fateful night. Even though she still has love for the team, she does her best to rebel as much as possible as revenge for the attack that took a life she can never get back. While she understands your disappearance and subsequent reappearance is not your fault, she can't help but blame you for not being around. Rea is a stranger to you now and whatever friendship you two had is successfully dead.
THE FORMER FAN // THE PRO: JAMES SATO [M][RO]
James, bright and wide-eyed, was once your biggest fan, gloating that he was going to apply to NAG Labs because of you. He also had a childish admiration for you that you found endearing at best and a nuisance at worse. Now, years later, James is somehow as old as you, has long moved on past his fan phase, and is the new head of the division that created you. Oddly enough, it feels weird without James Sato not following you around like a lost puppy. Have the roles reversed?
THE EX FLAME // THE HERMIT: NICO/NAOMI CARTER [M/F][RO]
Once the sunshine and comedic relief of the team, N has disappeared, becoming a shell of their former self. They do nothing else but stay in the bar, drinking their sorrows away. They are considered hostile and want nothing to do with the team or the Company since your death. N may have had feelings for you in the past, but you're not too sure. It's not as if you could ever pursue that years ago. Now? Well, it seems like it's all too late.
OTHER CHARACTERS
??? -- your hear them in your head. Is this the person who has trapped you all this time?
Ray Trent (m) -- your old teammate and close friend. No one speaks of Ray, and you wonder where's he gone and what he's been through that makes him such a sore topic for everyone.
Logan Kane (m) -- the new head of NAG and currently running for president of New America. The son of the now dead head that you were once close to. Logan doesn't trust you. Your reappearance has set him on edge.
Hello, if you'd like to know what happened and why this blog was deleted before. You can check here! Reblogs and everything else is appreciated! Thank you :)
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rigorwhoring · 1 month
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SAPPY
MDNI, corrupt cop/dad!leon kennedy x fem!reader
word count. 3.3k
cws. daddy-daughter incest, dubcon, mentions of past noncon, cucking, reader gets fucked while on the phone, coercion, multiple orgasms, p in v, oral (fem receiving), like one pussy slap, nipple play, tit sucking, he’s a lil mean to pussy ngl, relatively soft ending?
note. given what happened with the last one… it’s very easy to scroll past this fic if the tags make you uncomfortable! in fact, please do not interact if it might disturb you — this is dark content, but i do not intend for anyone to come away from this triggered. keeping up the nirvana theme, title’s from the song of the same name!
tags. @bunnyclaire !
happy valentine’s to everyone! :)
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Superficial boyfriends and hollow affairs had often left you exhausted come February 14th.
You thought the holiday itself was a waste. Corporate America’s take on love and mediocre chocolate. A saccharine bastardization of romance. An excuse to ask out the girl five seats away in English 102. That’s what the guy behind you did, anyway — you took some creative liberties with his thought process. Sauntered over to your seat and languidly extended his arm, presenting you with an empty contact. In any other instance, you would’ve declined faster than he could pull out the phone, but he had your dad’s eyes. That should’ve made you reject him faster — but it didn’t. You left class with his number and your cunt wet.
Your dad was to blame for your date, in a way. If he hadn’t fucked the dignity out of you, you’d still be as pragmatic and chaste as ever. You’d get off to normal things. Your vibrator wouldn’t die in the middle of your rape fantasies. Fantasies of him, as if that wasn’t your daily fate. It was almost ironic — you’d convinced yourself, to some degree, that you wanted to leave because of what he was doing to you. After all, what help would the cops be? He’s one of them. The others are his drinking buddies. Same bastards who popped in and out of the house while you grew up.
You knew the truth, ultimately. The truth came to you moments before orgasm and left you spent on your mattress. The thought of your father fucking you senseless again turned you on beyond belief. But when rape became routine, your mind started to shift. It disturbed you once you had a degree of control over it — you were actively fucking your dad, and that shit was scary. Something you’d see on a shitty crime show, the ones mama used to binge. That’s why you really had to get away — you couldn’t let yourself indulge any longer. Just because he creampied your mom two decades ago didn’t mean you had to end up a sex freak, too.
You’d tried your best to forget about it by the time you returned home, books splayed open on your bed. You’d found more solace there, lately. More than at your day job, and definitely more than in your living room. The strident chime of your phone derailed your train of thought, and with a huff, you checked the caller — silently kicking yourself. Of course the guy you’d given your number to would call — you just hadn’t expected it to be so late. Wasn’t like you did this much before. You glanced at the clock before hitting ‘accept’ — dad wouldn’t be home for a bit, you thought.
“Hello?” you answered, swinging your legs around to dangle over the side of the bed.
“Hey. You answered fast,” he chuckled, and you rolled your eyes hard enough to make them ache in protest.
“You hit on me faster,” you said flippantly, prompting another laugh from him. Not by choice.
“Touché.”
A beat of silence passed. You shifted uncomfortably against your mattress, gnawing on your thumbnail until he spoke again.
“So what made you pick up?”
You thought on it. “You look kinda like my dad,” wasn’t a great idea, and extensive confession would be even worse. But a half-truth was obligated, at least. “Valentine’s has a way of getting to people,” you settled on. He laughed at that, again — you’d either given your number to someone easygoing or desperate.
“Yeah. Me too. Got me to talk to you today,” he said nonchalantly. “Hate to break it to you if you thought I was getting your number for a study group.”
Alright, you threw him a bone. Laughed at a stupid joke for him. “Mmh. Smith already gives us death glares. You might wanna reconsider that group.”
He groaned at the mention of your English 102 professor. “Fuck, he’s always mad. Must’ve had a stick up his ass for a while, now. Bastard’s gonna go off on us over that last exam tomorrow — he just went easy on us ‘cause it’s Valentine’s.”
“Yeah, you think? Figured Smith would be on our asses over that. Didn’t do well—“
Your words are immediately cut short when you hear your dad’s heavy footfalls creak into the wooden hallway. Fuck, he was already home? What happened to those night shifts? What happened to taking his sweet damn time with the random women he pulled over on backroads? You knew you should’ve seen it coming; lately, he’d been coming home early enough to glare at you for not making enough dinner for him. After he’d fucked you into the couch cushions, anyway. That became increasingly relevant when your door opened, and your jaw went slack for half a second.
“Hello? You still hear me?”
You cleared your throat, as if you’d just zoned out, still locking eyes with your dad. “I, uh… I’m gonna call you back,” you said quickly. You hung up the phone before he had the chance to snatch it away from you.
“Baby,” he said, like your relationship mirrored anything affectionate, “Who the fuck was that?”
You swallowed heavily. You’d gotten a little too used to him — forgot just how damn scary he could get. “It’s, uh… someone from class,” you withheld. Stupid decision. He was a cop, for Christ’s sake. But, truthfully, he would’ve decided you were bullshitting him even if you weren’t — you’d gotten to know him quite well over the past few weeks.
He snorted out a laugh, eyebrow raising in disbelief. “Yeah? I’m sure. Just a classmate. What, is history interesting enough to be giggling over on Valentine’s?”
You looked down, heartbeat picking up. “English, actually,” as if that’d help your case. He cocked his head to the side, taking another sharp step toward you. You flinched before you could react, as if his presence alone didn’t soak your panties. Motherfucker had you conditioned. But before he shoved you flat against the mattress, he knelt down, gripping the fat of your thighs and spreading them wide open in front of his face.
“Call him back, sweetheart.”
You’d (mistakenly) assumed that hardly anything could surprise you with him anymore, but that sure as hell did. Your brows knitted together in instant concern. “Why? Are you fucking crazy?!” you hissed, watching him grab at your skirt, hiking it up your waist. He shrugged a bit too nonchalantly for your liking, the intensity returning the instant your gaze met his.
“No, dad. I’m putting my foot down, we’re not—“
He slapped your clothed cunt at that. Hard. Hard enough to make it sting as it throbbed. You winced, trying to fall back onto the mattress, before he dug his fingers into your thighs and pulled you back to him. Closer. He leaned in, nose bumping against your clit through the cloth, eyes trained on you again. “Call him back,” he repeated.
You inhaled shakily as you dialed your classmate’s number again, looking down at your father. He looked back up at you. Waiting for him to pick up as you were. To your dismay, he did immediately, even more desperate than you initially thought.
“Hey,” he said, words a little breathy — like he’d rushed to the phone. “What happened? You okay?”
Your dad’s face soured at the sound of his voice for a moment, muttering something under his breath as he gripped your panties by the soaked gusset and yanked them down your thighs. Harsh enough for the lace to leave little red divots down your skin. Your mouth opened to answer when his calloused fingertips finally found themselves on either side of your clit, pinching it as it pulsed — making you draw in a sharp gasp. Miraculous you didn’t moan at that, with the way it made you drip.
“Hi, sorry, m’fine—“ you said, squirming as your dad ran his finger between your folds to get it wet. “My, uh… my cat knocked something off the counter. Thought he was getting into the food,” you forced a chuckle, quickly cutting off into a whine as your dad gently pressed his lips to your clit, not breaking the kiss for a second. A laugh rose from his chest at the notion of you having a pet here, the deep vibration making your stomach flip and your hips rock slightly against his lips. Your little date seemed to take the excuse, though.
“Yeah, I’ve got a cat, too. He gets into everything. Tore up my book real bad, once — it’s like I adopted a dog,” he joked. “You should come over and see him sometime.”
The kiss broke at that. Your dad flattened his tongue, pressing the tip of it to the bottom of your hole, firmly licking up to your clit. You cracked, finally, moaning as his tongue flicked your clit before settling on it again. “Maybe—“ you choked out between gasps of air as your dad continued to lick your puffy cunt, languidly sucking your bud. “Yeah, I… maybe.”
Your classmate paused for a moment, mulling over your response. “Shit, seriously? Thought you’d be a little bitchier about it,” he said casually. Any anger that would typically rise in your chest was promptly snuffed by your dad’s tongue trailing to your hole again. You bit your lip to keep from crying out in ecstasy, your left hand somehow finding its way to his hair as your right nearly dropped the phone.
“Bitchy?” you asked breathily, whimpering as the tip of one of your dad’s front teeth grazed your clit. Felt better than you expected. Maybe it was just him. Your classmate paused over the phone, unsure if insulting you further or retracting would be the safer bet for fucking you. He went with the former.
“Yeah, bitchy. Been trying to ask you out for weeks. Can’t even give me a wave back.”
Dad pulled back for a second, releasing your cunt from his mouth with a pop. You whined, trying to drag him back by the hair, but years in the police force rigged that fight beyond repair. His eyes went to you as you formulated a response, shamelessly eavesdropping on his victim’s baby girl’s love life. Or lack thereof.
“I didn’t notice anything,” you said, and it was the truth. Regret bubbled in your gut as your pussy throbbed for attention. “We haven’t spoken before today. Was I supposed to read your mind? Fuck a random guy from English 102?”
“Dunno. Maybe. I’ve been trying to hook up with you for half a month,” he said, toning down the hostility. “Ever since I got your name. Figured I’d be transparent.”
That made your breath hitch a little. You were only a slut if you went for it, right? This guy was insufferable. Typical womanizing asshole. Some insignificant fraternity’s wet dream. But, fuck, with the way he looked like your dad, he could be your wet dream, too. Perfect way to fix the degeneracy of your current circumstances. You’d fuck the incestuous fantasy out of this asshat, and move on. Channel it into something socially acceptable. Sublimation — was it Freud who coined that? Been a while since you’d taken Psych 101–
Your train of thought was abruptly cut by the pad of your dad’s index finger pulling back the hood of your clit, letting his tongue fall flat against it again. You didn’t respond to the phone, mind clouded with something like cotton as he tongued your cunt with a sort of vigor you’d never expect. Always thought dad was too selfish to eat pussy. How wonderful it was that you’d been wrong, thighs trembling as he held them back. Another high moan rose from your throat, only attempting to shove itself back when the phone reminded you of its existence.
“Fuck, are you touching yourself to this?”
Your blood froze in your veins, but his didn’t. He made that apparent. You swallowed thickly, ready to deny before he could retort with something else. “God, no, what—“
“What, do you think I’m a virgin?” he chuckled over the phone. “Hell no. I hear you. You make cute sounds.”
Your reading on dad was worse than normal. Couldn’t tell if he was eating your cunt out of jealousy — some kind of weird-ass reassertion — or because he wanted to show his daughter off a little. You half-heartedly guessed the latter based on the way he pressed his lips further into your heat at the remark about your moans, making you cry out in utter ecstasy.
The boy on the phone chuckled in contentment. Like you’d finger yourself to his voice. Yeah, you were soaked for your piece-of-shit father — and him only, for now. He’d reinstilled that in your mind with the rugged warmth of his tongue. “Yeah, keep doin’ that.”
You mouthed something to your dad, something about not wanting to cum — too desperate to process your own speech. He listened, sure, but he disagreed, bringing you to orgasm before you had a chance to finish your own sentence. Almost embarrassing how hard you came for dad — but, shit, shame and decorum were relics of the past within your relationship with him.
The phone buzzed with more dirty talk. College boy’s first phone fuck. You weren’t much of an empath, but you silently hoped he wasn’t jerking off on the other side. Didn’t inherit whatever empathy you did have from dad — half a second after you came, he was prying his leaking cock out from under his waistband like it was timed. Let you close your legs for a second while you tried to ration with your classmate.
“No, no, it’s okay,” he said, like he was the one who was supposed to be upset about listening to a pretty bitch moan. “I get it. Girls do it all the time.”
Not with you, you fought back the urge to retort with, knowing damn well that probably wasn’t true. You felt your dad’s rough hand on your thigh as he sat alongside you on the bed, trying to guide you onto his cock. You shot him a look, shaking your head and gesturing to the phone. Real intense. He grabbed you in half a second by the chin, bringing your mouth to his — fashioning a kiss. He coaxed you into opening your mouth to his, pressing against you until you could feel the slick that he’d let coat his lips against your tongue.
“Taste that, baby?” he said, voice low under his breath. “That’s why you owe me this.”
He didn’t wait for you to respond after breaking the kiss, voice clipping a little as he used your cum as lube, sandwiching his cock between your folds for a moment. Precum glistened across your swollen clit from where his tip nudged against it. He let your thighs settle over his hips as he laid back against one of your pillows, cock throbbing against your hole.
You groaned with him when you languidly sank onto his dick, hips bobbing gently as your skin burned. You lifted the phone again, expecting to have to defend yourself for this, too, but your dad snatched it. Hung it up and stashed it under your pillowcase, leaving some twenty-something bewildered and disappointed.
“Want you to say my name while I fuck you, sweetheart,” he grunted, rolling his hips up to yours — tip catching against one of your walls. Thank God he’d moved on from jamming it flush against your cervix. Valentine’s must’ve gotten to him, too. Your brows knitted in confusion, breath rising and falling heavily.
“Your… first name?” you asked, leaning forward and pressing your hands into his chest. The thought of calling him Leon rubbed you the wrong way. He laughed at the thought immediately, stilling you on his cock for a moment.
“Nah. That’s not my name. Not to you.”
You didn’t grasp it fully until he gripped the fat of your hips and angled them back, pushing his cock flush against the spongy spot that always had you reeling. You nearly squealed — like it was the first time. Hell, could’ve been the hundredth time, and you’d still be a complete slut for your dad’s cock. You knew that much. He did, too.
“Fuck, dad, more— more, please—“ you panted out, hips jolting, trying to fuck him deeper into you. Hardly a minute, and tears beaded around your waterline. “Hah, more, need—“
“Hush,” he said, lids fluttering as his head rolled back. “Jesus, sweetheart, I did this to you?”
The question took a moment to register. Still felt like you were wading through cotton when you tried to think. Not your fault. You hummed in pleasure, thighs pressed to his skin hard enough to stick with sweat. “Yeah,” you mumbled, watching a ring of slick form every time he fucked his cock back into you. “Mhm, dad, you did. S’all your fault.”
“Arms up,” he said, bucking his hips into yours faster — not as fast as you’d like, but fast enough to shut you up. You obliged, letting him drag your shirt up and over your head. Internally, you thanked the lord above that you’d discarded your bra the second you’d gotten comfortable at home. What was comfort to you was often easy access to dad. Win-win, or whatever the saying was.
“Fuck, you’ve got cute tits, baby,” he muttered, leaning forward to sit up. “Pretty f’me to bruise up.”
Your breath hitched at the thought, slick somehow dripping further down his dick — jesus, that’s what this all had come to? Your pussy throbbing at the mention of getting a little roughed up? He pressed his lips around one of your nipples before you could dwell on it for too long, taking the stiffening bud between his teeth. You shuddered in pleasure, mind flashing back to the way his teeth had felt against your clit. Sensation alone made it twitch again. You got a little too whiny for his taste, and he released your tit from his mouth with a pop.
“Keep squirming and you won’t get any,” he threatened, and you stayed quiet, practically shoving your tits up against his mouth again. The nipple he’d picked first was puffy and wet with saliva — so, naturally, he went for the other. Only fair. Did nothing to stop how needy you got, fucking him deeper into you until your cunt clenched around him, desperate to cum again. He pinched the other nipple abruptly, tugging it forward as a groan rose from the base of his throat.
He didn’t take his mouth off of your tit, but for the first time since he’d started fucking you, you came with him. More or less. You came a couple seconds before, and that sent him over the edge, tugging his cock out and cumming across your stomach. Close enough. Felt more intimate than you were used to at all, and by instinct, you laid down with him. By the same instinct, he didn’t shove you off.
“You got this from your mama, too,” he said gruffly, pressing you flush against his chest. You looked up in confusion, eyes half-lidded, cheekbone pressed against his heart. He chuckled, averting his gaze. Took your stare as a response. “Yeah, just like her. She’d get all sappy and cuddly after, too.”
“Is that a bad thing?” you murmured, nudging yourself a little closer. He sighed, thinking on it for a minute.
“No, baby. Not a bad thing at all.”
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obiwanwhat · 7 months
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So I firmly believe that everything Anakin did and said wasn't about him and what he needed to say, it was about what Ahsoka needed to hear and see.
There is so much to unpack within EVERYTHING of that episode but here's my attempt at trying to deconstruct the latter half of the Anakin & Ahsoka scenes:
"Ahsoka, within you will be everything I am"
For 15 years, Ahsoka thought that Anakin had died a Jedi. From the time she was 17 to the time she was 32 - it was a belief she held for her entire adult life! Her training as a Jedi was foundational to who she was (even if she wasn't a Jedi), and being trained by Anakin was the core of her Jedi training. For over a decade, she looked at that inheritance with nothing but pride over who had trained her and where she'd come from. And then she finds out what Anakin became. Obviously it's devastating to see someone who you consider family in the state, and to have them try to kill you! But the thing I'd never considered was how much it would make Ahsoka doubt herself. If Anakin trained Ahsoka - and you can bet she's now going over every memory of Anakin she ever has searching for double meanings, searching for signs of what he would become - what does that make her? What does that say about her training, and about all the lessons that shaped her?
"But my part of that legacy is one of death and war"
On top of that...Ahsoka has been a soldier and then a spy since she was fourteen. She was a literal child soldier! She was trained in nothing but killing and war, and then later had to train herself in killing and spying. Without a war to fight, who is she? Now that peace has (apparently) returned to the galaxy with the end of the Empire, what place does she have? What purpose does she serve? What knowledge of use does she have to pass onto Sabine?
"But you're more than that, because I'm more than that"
This isn't Anakin trying to defend himself, he's pointing out that to Ahsoka he means more than the death he caused, both as Jedi soldier and as Darth Vader. When he trained her, he didn't just teach her how to kill - he taught her how to respect and care about the men under her command, he taught her how to be brave in the face of insurmountable odds, he taught her how to be kind to the innocent. Clone Wars Anakin was just as much a Jedi as he was a solider, and so both trainings are what were passed down to Ahsoka. And his becoming Vader doesn't undo any of that. I don't think Ahsoka had ever figured out how to feel about Anakin's legacy, because how can she respect the man who became a genocidal monster? How can she respect and love and honor the man who tried to kill her? She should - well, not hate him, a Jedi (or even a not-Jedi) doesn't hate - but she should disavow him. But she can't, because he's still the man who stood up for her when the Jedi Council turned their backs on her, who drilled her in the lightsaber techniques that saved her life on Mandalore, who saved her life too many times to count and was her family. And she doesn't know how to reconcile those feelings with what Anakin became, and therefore she doesn't know how to reconcile the parts of herself that come from being trained by Anakin.
"You are more, Anakin. But more powerful and dangerous than anyone realized"
She's sidestepping the point by falling back on her default defense: Anakin fell to the Dark Side, and therefore everything that came out of his teachings - including her - is tainted. She still can't admit to herself that there was more to Anakin than his fall, and that all those parts of Anakin still mean something to her.
"Is that was this is about?" / "If I am everything you are-" / "then you've learned nothing"
She's still missing the point Anakin's trying to show her - that she carries his trainings and influence within her, but she is not Anakin. She is not tainted by Anakin's fall, and her fate will not be the same as his, because she's her own person who makes her own choices, and the good in Anakin's teachings - the good in her that came from them - doesn't just go away because Anakin fell. She's still so scared of Anakin's darkness - and what it says about her own inner darkness - that she can't see her own light.
"Back to the beginning. I gave you a choice - live, or die?"
For the last 10 or so years (however long since she returned from Malchor), Ahsoka's been in a holding pattern. All she knows is war, and she doesn't know what there is to life outside of fighting to live another day. She's terrified of who she is and of facing the ghost of Vader over her past. She's not living anymore, she's just surviving, moving from day to day. Anakin's telling her that's not enough anymore. Not being able to face her past and embrace her training literally killed her - Baylan was able to unbalance her enough to defeat her in a fight by stoking her inner discord. If she wants to return, she has to want to live, really live - she needs to find her direction in life beyond being a solider, and to do that she has to embrace her full legacy and training. If she can't do that, then she'll stay dead, stuck in the world between worlds.
"No-" / "Incorrect" / "You lack conviction" / "Time to die"
She still doesn't know how to see past Vader, so Anakin give her the opportunity to work through it in a way she can understand - by literally fighting her figurative demon.
"I choose to live"
By fighting Vader, by having the chance to kill him and embrace the Dark Side and realizing she didn't take it, realizing that she never even wanted to, Ahsoka finally realizes what Anakin's been trying to show her - she's not Vader, she never will be, because that's not who she is. Anakin's teachings are a part of her that she cannot escape, but there is more to Anakin's teachings than Vader, and there is more to her than what she has been taught. To find out what she is meant to be and move forward she must embrace where she came from. Only then can she return to the world of the living and move forward with her journey.
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bysaber · 4 months
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Breaking up ft. Satoru Gojo
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Day 13 of 31 Days of Ficmas!
summary — you break up with your partner a few weeks prior christmas.
word count — 1.2k
content — hurt/comfort, gojo is emotionally constipated but he’s trying ok, lowercase intended
notes — today was supposed to be obito’s fic but i wrote this one first because im kinda… going thru the same thing lol. enjoy <3
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everything feels out of place as you lay in bed trying to place together pieces of an unfinished puzzle.
two weeks have passed since the last time you and gojo spoke to each other. two weeks since you broke up with him, leaving a part of your heart behind.
you know you have to move on, but it’s hard when you have years of friendship and a one-year-long relationship weighing on your back. you look back to all the efforts you put into it and, foremost, you can’t completely let him go.
you always knew about gojo’s personality, in fact, you fell in love with it. but it became unsustainable when you were the one doing everything while he sat back and watched.
you used to say to him, “you are a good person. you are the best person I’ve fallen for, like a window of light in the dark.” and never once you regretted those words. you made sure to repeat them to him during the breakup.
you truly believe satoru’s a good person, and he never intended to hurt you. what defined the fate of your relationship was his inconstancy, his fear of emotions.
gojo could shower you with kisses and “i love you”s for days, but they were always half-hearted and, whenever the conversation between the two of you took a deeper turn, he would instantly shut down.
become cold, even.
he also didn’t care much about life in general, talking about several topics and simply forgetting to ask simple questions like “how was your day?”
you knew he cared, but it didn’t feel like he did.
it killed you every time he’d disappear for an entire day, especially on days you weren’t okay, not even bothering to reply to your texts, and then replying with a mere “i was busy” – you knew it already, but a text would be nice.
and to match his emotionless self, you were the embodiment of intensity.
you tried to crack up his shell, always paying attention to what he said and remembering it. you dove head first into every interest he had, and supported him in every choice he made.
you cared, you asked and, mostly, you talked.
multiple times, you tried to express how you felt, how you wish he could open up more and maybe just regard you a little more – a few texts not to worry you wouldn’t hurt. gojo said he was like that, but that he would try to be better.
what mined your relationship was that lie.
because he never even tried.
and after another month of dealing with all of that, with not feeling wanted enough, cared enough, you decided to end everything.
you can’t lie a little part of you hoped he would fight for you, ask for you to stay. but as you watched distress filling his eyes, all he could muster was, “i’m really sorry i couldn’t be better.”
and you lost everything you thought you had.
you blink away your tears, trying to escape from your painful thoughts, and get up from the bed – it’s past seven now and you need to start getting ready for a christmas party at one of your friends’ house.
you need to move on.
after taking a quick shower, you put on the red dress you’ve decided to wear – a dress that gojo bought for you months before – before starting to do your makeup.
this is when your doorbell rings.
you frown, “who is it?” you yell as you make your way toward the door, but there’s no time for an answer before you open it.
you almost close it again when you see your ex-boyfriend standing there, but you don’t. you know you need to be mature about this situation, even if seeing him makes all the walls you’ve been building crumble down.
it hurts.
“gojo.”
you don’t look him in the eye, focusing on his christmas sweater instead. funnily, the one you gave him a year ago.
“can i come in? it’s freezing outside.”
if you looked into his eyes, though, you would see the big blue bag under them. you would see how faded his blue irises are, and how fucking anxious satoru is.
you don’t ask further questions, letting him into the house he knows all too well before you close the door. he follows you like a lost puppy, and keeps standing when you sit on the couch.
“you look gorgeous,” he compliments meekly.
“thank you. what do you want?” it takes all of you to not start crying right then and there, but you know you have to be firm.
“i want you back.”
satoru doesn’t beat around the bush, and the silence that follows is so loud it can be heard. you feel your heart beating in an insane rhythm, and your head spins.
“gojo, you can’t–”
“you were right. you are right. about everything,” he interrupts you. “i was a boy, and for that i’m sorry. i acted like you had to keep up with my shit, like you would always be there, and i’m sorry for that too,” gojo speaks so fast you can barely keep up with him, like he’s going to die if he doesn’t say those words. “i thought i couldn’t change, i thought i didn’t have to. because it is easier to live the way i live, but… it is much harder to live without you.”
“gojo–”
again, he doesn’t let you speak, “don’t call me that. please, don’t call me that,” gojo drops on his knees in front of you and grabs your hand. “call me satoru, toru, baby, love for all i care. just not gojo. i’ve been miserable without you, i never thought a person could get so miserable,” his voice cracks, pulling your hand towards his face in a desperate attempt to be comforted. “i promise you i will do better, i will pay attention, text you all the time, tell you all about my past and what made me who i am, scream through my pain for what’s worth. just take me back, please.”
you are so deeply in shock that it takes you a while to register the tears falling down his face, his eyes closed as he expects the worst.
all it takes is for your thumb to caress his cheek softly, and satoru sobs. you grab his face with both of your hands, cleaning his teardrops as your own fall, and you gently kiss his forehead.
it kills you to see him like that, but at the same time it gives you a reason to live to know that he’s willing to try. for you.
you kiss his nose, his cheeks, and then his lips.
satoru whimpers, pulling you into an embrace so strong you’re afraid he’ll never let go.
“toru,” you say when you part your lips and bury your face in his neck, feeling his scent. “everything’s okay now. i’m here, i’ll take care of you.”
“missed you so much, i’m so sorry,” he whispers.
“i missed you, too,” you confess, finally looking into his eyes and frowning when you notice he hasn't slept. “what’s past is past, we’ll be okay. but i guess we should just sleep a bit, hm? it was one hell of a ride.”
“sleep together, right?”
he sounds so clingy, you chuckle lightly.
“yes, toru. together.”
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