#Let me enjoy something without making it political | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nosyp · 3 days ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/nosyp/771746556559949824/you-know-in-ss1-the-player-go-in-pair-and-play?source=share

We still wait for 2nd and 3rd year

I'm so sorry, thank u for reming me nonnie 🫶

First years

Second years

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle is in the marble game, fighting for survival. But when it comes to you, he’s more than just scared—he’s desperate.

What Happens: Riddle tries to hold himself together, but he becomes irrationally focused on your well-being. Every time a player is eliminated, he’s filled with dread, thinking it could be you. His strict adherence to the rules falters as he becomes too emotionally invested, ready to do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even if it means breaking the rules.

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie finds himself in the middle of the marble game, surrounded by tension. But he’s not just worried about himself—his attention is completely on you.

What Happens: Ruggie’s usually playful and laid-back attitude starts to slip as the fear of losing you takes over. He’s surprisingly intense when it comes to your safety, trying to be clever in the game to protect both of you. His nerves start to show as he carefully calculates his moves, desperately trying not to let the game cost him someone he cares about. Every time someone is eliminated, it’s a reminder of how high the stakes are for him.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul faces the marble game with a cold sweat running down his back. The weight of the situation sinks in as he watches the eliminations unfold, his mind racing through strategies.

What Happens: Azul's usual calm, calculated demeanor starts to falter as he’s forced to focus on you. He hates the idea of losing you, especially since he's worked so hard to form a bond with you. The fear of your loss distracts him, but it also fuels his determination. He pulls out all the stops to outsmart the other players, promising to protect you at all costs—though the fear of failure makes his words tremble.

Jade Leech

Jade maintains his usual calm but there’s a sharpness to his gaze as he glances at you during the game. He’s more focused on how you react, unsure if you’ll make it through.

What Happens: Jade doesn’t show his fear as clearly, but his concern for you is evident in his actions. He’s quietly protective, always ensuring that you’re safe as the game progresses. He tries to mask it with his usual polite tone, but there's an edge in his voice when he urges you to stay focused. The idea of losing you is unbearable for him, even though he refuses to admit it out loud.

Floyd Leech

Floyd stands, practically bouncing on his feet as the marble game progresses. His excitement’s at an all-time high, but the idea of losing you brings a rare flicker of seriousness to his eyes.

What Happens: Floyd’s usual chaotic energy shifts to a mix of worry and possessiveness when it comes to you. He’s all smiles on the outside, but you can tell something’s off. He jokes around, but his grip on your hand tightens each time someone else is eliminated. He’s surprisingly protective, his playful nature turning into something more intense as the game goes on. He might be enjoying the thrill of the challenge, but losing you is something he refuses to allow.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim looks around, his usual carefree smile fading as he realizes the seriousness of the game. His eyes are locked onto you with a mix of concern and determination.

What Happens: Kalim can’t help but let his emotions spill over. He’s terrified of losing you, and though he tries to stay upbeat, it’s clear he’s struggling with the weight of the game. He’s genuinely trying to make sure you’re okay, and will probably offer his marbles to you without a second thought. His desire to keep you safe outweighs any strategy, and he may even try to distract others or make deals to ensure you’re not at risk.

Jamil Viper

Jamil’s brows furrow as he takes a steady breath. The pressure of the marble game is weighing on him more than anyone else. His eyes flicker between you and the game’s host.

What Happens: Jamil’s usual composed demeanor cracks when it comes to you. His fear is subtle, but it’s there, hiding behind his stoic face. Every time you’re at risk, his protective instinct takes over, and he starts calculating the best ways to keep you out of harm’s way. He might not say it, but he’s willing to go to extreme lengths to make sure you’re safe—even if it means sacrificing himself. He won’t allow himself to lose you, even if it costs him everything.

Silver

The marble game is intense, and Silver can feel the weight of the situation. But the one thing weighing on his mind more than anything is you.

What Happens: Despite his usually calm demeanor, Silver becomes increasingly distracted as the rounds go on. His protective nature kicks in, and he can’t help but worry about you. His attention is split, and he becomes more anxious with each passing moment, realizing just how much he’s scared to lose you.

Third years

Trey Clover

Trey is forced to compete in the marble game, each round bringing a new wave of tension. But his biggest worry isn’t the game—it’s you.

What Happens: His protective instincts flare up, and he becomes distracted, constantly looking over at you. Trey tries his best to maintain a level head, but his concern for you makes him second-guess his moves. His greatest fear is losing you, and it's all he can think about as the game progresses.

Cater Diamond

You and Cater are trapped together in the marble game, with the pressure mounting each time a player is eliminated. The rules are clear: only one person survives.

What Happens: Cater tries to keep his usual upbeat demeanor, but his fear of losing you keeps him on edge. He’s overly cautious in every round, constantly checking on you and trying to hide his anxiety. Every time someone loses, it feels like a punch to his gut. His carefree attitude slips as he focuses solely on ensuring you're safe.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona is standing off to the side, his usual lazy demeanor replaced with intense focus. His golden eyes follow you through the game, the pressure of the situation making him uneasy.

What Happens: Leona’s pride doesn’t let him show his fear, but his concern for you is obvious. He may not say it out loud, but he watches you carefully, making sure you’re safe. If anyone dares to target you, Leona will act, his annoyance turning into protective rage. Despite his usual reluctance to show affection, he’s fiercely determined not to lose you, even if it means going against his natural instincts to stay aloof.

Rook Hunt

Rook’s enigmatic smile lingers, but there’s a sharpness in his gaze that wasn’t there before. He thrives in unpredictable situations, but the thought of risking you stirs an unease he’s never quite felt before.

What Happens: Rook approaches the game with his usual poetic flair, waxing philosophical about the fragility of life and the beauty of perseverance. However, his theatrics mask a steely determination to ensure your survival. He watches you intently, analyzing every move with uncanny precision. If he senses your distress, he reassures you with soft words and unwavering confidence, though he’d secretly give up his own life if it meant sparing yours. In the end, he might manipulate the game subtly in your favor, all while declaring that it was fate or artistry at play.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil's flawless expression falters as he realizes the stakes of the game. His carefully maintained composure doesn’t slip, but his concern for you is palpable.

What Happens: Vil remains calm and calculating, but he’s noticeably more protective over you than anyone else. He’s not afraid to speak up, offering advice and checking in on you to ensure you’re okay. His obsession with perfection takes a backseat to his desire to keep you safe, even if he’s reluctant to admit how much he cares. Vil is the type to give his marbles up without hesitation to protect you, and his fear of losing you outweighs his pride.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus is eerily calm, his imposing presence filling the room. However, there’s a deep undercurrent of worry beneath his still demeanor, especially when he looks at you.

What Happens: Malleus doesn’t show fear, but his actions betray his worry for you. His gaze softens whenever it lands on you, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings to ensure your safety. He may even offer his marbles or try to intimidate others into leaving you alone. Malleus isn’t the type to admit his feelings, but it’s clear that your safety is paramount to him, and he will not let anything happen to you.

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia stands tall, his usual playful grin slipping into a more serious expression as he watches the game unfold. His eyes flick between you and the players, ever watchful.

What Happens: Lilia tries to keep his usual teasing attitude, but his protectiveness over you is undeniable. While he may joke around, he’s secretly terrified of the idea of losing you. His smile falters when you’re put in danger, and he’s quick to intervene if necessary, using his wit to keep you safe. Despite his playful nature, Lilia is fiercely loyal and won’t hesitate to do whatever it takes to ensure you make it through the game unharmed.

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cythena · 1 day ago

Text

COMPLIMENTARY

ꨄ synopsis . on his flight back home, geto expects peace and quiet. he can't wait to relax and get away from his busy idol life for a moment. his plans are disrupted by the charming flight attendant who gives him first class treatment.

warnings . strangers fucking, flight attendant!reader, idol!geto (ig), not proofread and was written for san so if something doesn't make sense that's way, airplane sex, semi public sex, PnV, PwP, fingering, reader wears lipstick idk

word count . 2k

notes . this was san. i love san. he's my man. muah. happy new year.

Suguru is grateful, to say the least, to get onto his flight without trouble. No fan spots him walking through the airport, and he isn’t “randomly” selected at any security checkpoints. Now he can enjoy his first-class flight with his manager sleeping beside him. The flight attendants hustle around him as standard procedure. He relaxes into his seat, ignoring them and letting his body sink into the plush cushioning.

Suguru closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. It’s rare to have this kind of peace during travel, and he plans to savor it. As the flight attendants continue their rounds, he catches glimpses of them moving through the cabin. One in particular catches his eye—you.

Your hair is neatly out of your face, letting him admire your features clearly from across the cabin. Your eyebrows are neatly trimmed, and your eyeshadow is a neutral shade with a sharp wing extending from the corner of your eyes. And is that glitter? Then his eyes fall on your lips—that red lip. It’s outlined by a dark lip liner that he hasn’t noticed on any of the other attendants.

There’s also a brighter smile on your face as you speak to the mother-son duo. It’s not just a customer service smile either; it looks genuine, even when you walk away. His coworkers tend to lose a majority of the charm once they walk away.

You move with an ease that captivates the attention of everyone in the cabin, even though you remain focused on your work.

When you reach his row, you pause and offer a polite smile, your eyes briefly meeting his. "Good evening, sir. Can I get you something to drink?"

Suguru smiles back, feeling a flutter in his chest. "Just some water, please," he gulps, his voice calm but carrying a hint of curiosity. He watches as you move away, feeling an unexpected intrigue. It’s been a long time since he’s been captivated by someone in such a simple, unassuming way.

“Really?” you hum. Your response surprises him as you fill a short glass with ice cubes. “Nothing special?”

He manages to snap back into the conversation when you pour water into the glass and set it on his tray. Shaking his head, “No. Maybe later.” A natural smile falls onto his lips as he looks at you.

“Well, it’s a 13-hour flight,” you say while leaning on your cart. “Call me when you need me.” You let out a harmonious giggle that Suguru swears replays in his ears. You offer him a final wave as you push to the row behind him. He glances at his manager who is still knocked out peacefully.

Suguru shifts in his seat, trying to focus on the in-flight entertainment, but his thoughts keep drifting back to you. Every so often, he hears your voice as you interact with passengers, that same cheerful tone making him smile to himself. It’s rare for anyone to catch his attention like this, let alone during something as routine as a flight.

Hours pass, and the cabin begins to settle. Most of the passengers are either asleep or engrossed in their screens. Suguru glances around, noticing the row beside him is still empty. Just as he’s about to recline and close his eyes, you appear again, this time without your cart.

You pause next to him, flashing him that same bright smile. “Looks like my break lines up perfectly with your row being empty,” you tease lightly. “Mind if I sit for a bit? It’s not every day I get a flight so easy.”

Suguru blinks in surprise but quickly recovers, nodding. “Not at all. Be my guest- if that won’t get you in trouble.”

You wave his concern off while you slide into the seat beside him, smoothing out your uniform as you settle in. “Hospitality is very important, especially with such a special passenger. So,” you begin, leaning slightly toward him, “what brings you on this flight? Work or play?”

Suguru chuckles softly, running a hand through his hair. “A little bit of both, I guess. Mostly work, though.” He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “What about you? What made you wanna be a flight attendant?”

You laugh softly, resting your chin in your hand. “It’s a little silly. Don’t laugh.”

He nods, unsure of what tale could result in your career choices.

“I wanted to be a singer.” Suguru quirks a brow which urges you to continue with your explanation. “Well, a performer, more so. One night, I was chatting with a friend who said something that really had me thinking. Anyone can be a performer, singers have their stages, and me—I have this as mine.” You pat the leather armrest you lean on.

Suguru listens intently, a small smile tugging at his lips. “That’s not silly at all,” he says softly. “In fact, I think it’s... poetic.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Poetic? That’s one way to put it. But I like to think it’s true. Every day, I get to meet people from all over the world, and for a few hours, I’m part of their journey. No matter what. That’s special, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Suguru agrees, his gaze softening. “You get to create memories for people, even if it’s just through small moments.”

You glance at him, slightly surprised by his thoughtful response. “Exactly,” you reply, your voice tinged with admiration. “Most people don’t get it, but you do.”

Suguru shrugs modestly. “Maybe because I know a thing or two about being on a stage.”

Your eyes narrow playfully. “Oh, so you’re a performer, too? What kind of stage are we talking about?”

Suguru hesitates for a moment, debating whether to tell you the truth. “Something like that,” he says vaguely, a small smirk playing on his lips. You tilt your head, sensing there’s more to his story, but decide not to push. Instead, you smile and lean back, enjoying the unexpected ease between the two of you.

He chuckles softly, his smirk deepening as he watches your curiosity linger in your eyes. “What about you? You ever dream of being on a stage again, even for a moment?” he asks, his voice dipping lower.

Your breath catches for a beat, the question catching you off guard. You glance around the dim cabin, ensuring no one is listening, before leaning in slightly. “Sometimes,” you admit, your voice just above a whisper. “But I think I’m better at making people feel special in little ways. It’s more... intimate.”

Suguru’s gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest moment, a movement so subtle it’s almost imperceptible. But you catch it, and your heart skips a beat.

“Intimate, huh?” he murmurs, his voice soft, yet carrying an undeniable edge. “I can see that.”

You shift in your seat, your fingers brushing near the corner of your lips and make a small smudge in the red. You continue eyeing him with a dangerous glint in your eyes. It doesn’t match the sweet smile playing on your lips and the delicate sound of your voice. As his eyes dart across your face and seem to linger on the bit of red against your skin, he feels the need to adjust his pants.

He curses himself, knowing he’s not being subtle about this at all. But before you can take a glance he clears his throat. “Sorry…but you don’t think I could get another water.” He almost wheezes out the last word.

“You know,” you begin, your voice light but laced with risk, “I could show you where we flight attendants really work behind the scenes, as I get you this water.” You add the last part with light-hearted sarcasm.

Suguru raises an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued but he soon catches onto what you mean. “Behind the scenes?”

You nod, biting your lip as a mischievous glint lights your eyes. “Follow me,” you say, standing up and motioning subtly toward the aisle.

Suguru hesitates only for a second before rising, his heart pounding in a way that has nothing to do with turbulence. As he trails behind you, the dim glow of the cabin lights seems to heighten the tension, every step feeling more deliberate, more charged. He passes by passengers focused on their screens and just hopes they don’t feel like looking up.

You lead him to the back of the plane with little to no passengers all spread around the last few rows. Another coworker of yours sits idly on her phone with one of your complementary cookies in her hand. With one glance at you and your guest, she gets up with a knowing smirk which leads Suguru to believe he’s not the first lucky passenger of yours.

The crew lavatory is a bit more spacious than the economy one but smaller than the first class. It gives him enough space to sit you up on the sink and let you wrap your legs around his slim waist. He steadies his hands on your hips while your hands sink into his soft locs.

You think he’s going in for a kiss when he leans closer but defers towards your ear. His lips brush against you as he softly murmurs, “Hospitality is important, right?” You nod. “Then you’ll make your guest feel special?”

He smashes his lips onto yours with a passion you’ve never seen before. He kisses you like you’re the last bit of oxygen on Earth. His hands work quickly at your uniform, opening your blazer and undoing the buttons to your white blouse. Then he tugs your pencil skirt up over your hips.

Once he pulls away from your lips, he peers at the slight smudge of your lipstick. It’s far from his liking but his eyes are quickly pulled lower to your matching set underneath your clothes. He lips his pink lips while rubbing his thumbs over your plush thighs.

“Is this part of your uniform? Or did you wear it just for me?” he hisses. You reply with a crooked smile that’s wiped when he hauls your hips closer to the edge of the counter.

He glances down between your thighs and slides two fingers between your folds to test. He lifts them into the cool bright lighting of the bathroom. A shimmer reflects on the strand between his fingers. You don’t get a good look before he wraps his lips around his fingers. You moan at the sight yourself.

He sets a quick pace with his digits. His fingers move in and out of you, slick gathering around your cunt, and dripping onto the counter and down his wrist. You squeeze his shoulders while your head falls back against the wall. Your jaw hangs open while your eyes shut from the pleasure.

Suguru uses the hand holding onto your, he snakes it up your spine and grips the back of your head. Your eyes snap open as he slots his lips against yours again. He’s less precise with the way his lips move against yours. He doesn’t let up with the way he kisses you, taking every opportunity to swirl his tongue around yours.

You pull away. “Oh f…fuck,” you hiss. “I’m gonna…”

“You wanna cum?”

You nod.

“Okay. Cum for me. You can do it.” He whispers as his fingers continue their pace. He forces you to hold yourself up while his other hand rubs your clit.

You feel your mind go blank once he adds his second hand. Your moans start to crack while your pussy clenches around his fingers. He blocks your body’s natural reaction to clench your thighs. The sound you make when he pulls away has him holding in a whimper himself. He quickly pops his fingers in his mouth for a taste.

You don’t get time to acknowledge it before you feel his tip prodding at your clit. Jolts of electricity shock through your body.

He lets his head fall onto your neck and his cheek rubs against your necktie. He lets out a shaky curse followed by a dry chuckle and can barely lift his head. “Fuck me…You’re gonna kill me.”

“Sorry,” you pull his head back up so you can look at him. Your tongue swipes over your lips and sends Suguru into a spiral. He sinks the rest of his length into you at lightning speed. You’re stuffed before you can even blink. Your manicure scratches him through his shirt.

“Heh…mhm…gonna let me fuck you? Make you feel real good, baby?” he asked, nodding like he was answering for you. “That’s right.” He pulls out halfway but quickly pushes himself back in like he’s cold without your warmth around him.

Your hands sneak underneath his shirt to push it up. You were curious about what he was hiding underneath his black t-shirt – a masterpiece handcrafted by God, clearly. He seems proud of it, you assume, by the cocky smirk on his face as he wraps both arms around your back.

You wrap your legs around him as he thrusts. He settles on how hard he wants to fuck you and it’s hard.

Your hands grab at nothing as he fucks into you. He fills you up completely and leaves you empty for less than a second. His thick cock hits that spongey spot every single time.

You’re not sure if you love the way he’s wrecking your insides or the butterflies he’s giving them more. He continues pressing kisses across your face. He cushions your head from the hard wall and mumbles sweet words.

“God. You’re so pretty…Feel so good, too…Do you feel good? I wanna make you feel good – lemme make you feel so good,” he babbles. You can clearly make out his pussydrunk words and all they do make is make you wetter and your cunt louder.

He adjusts your hips and completely changes the angle you’ve felt his cock at. This new angle has you screaming and creaming all over him.

“Please please please,” you whine pathetically.

“Yeah. Cum for me, you’re so pretty when you cum.”

You whine again, even louder this time. Your back arches into him and you let yourself go. Your eyes cross from the pleasure while your brain forgets how to function momentarily. Your chest heaves as you catch your breath.

“Such a greedy girl, cumming for me twice,” he mocks. His teasing is short-lived and his high is rushing. “Where do you want it?” His voice is almost a whisper.

“Inside?” you ask so politely it has him shooting without another thought. He pulls you close to his chest. His head hangs by your ear again, you hear every shaky breath and curse. He buries his head in your neck again.

“Think I just fell in love,” he confesses playfully when he pulls away.

You can’t resist the grin on your face as you come down from your high. He continues to hold you as he helps you redress and straighten your clothes. He buttoned your blouse up and pulled your skirt back down. He even readjusted your necktie again.

You look so pretty, he thinks to himself. It almost bothers him.

He smiles at you. His gaze locks onto your lips, a flicker of mischief crossing his features. Without a word, his thumb grazing your bottom lip presses firmly enough to smear your lipstick. Your mouth widens in a gasp which helps him even more.

He pats your cheek and leaves you with one more kiss. He lets you fix yourself up and returns to his seat.

It’s only a few minutes before he sees you again. You stop by his seat and set two things on his tray table: a glass of whiskey neat and a small business card. He glances up at you and notices something that’s got his pants in a tent again.

Your lipstick was still smeared.

He doesn’t get to comment on it. “Complimentary,” you say before continuing down the aisle.

He takes a look at the pretty card. There’s a red kiss mark on it with his name and seat number. On the other side: “Call me when you land! XXX-XXX-XXXX ♡”

He had a few days off when he returned.

#♡ ⌢ ₊　cy. writes #jjk #geto smut #anime #manga #suguru geto #suguru geto smut #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk geto #geto x reader #geto x reader smut #jjk x reader #jjk suguru #tw.smut

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marshmellin · 2 days ago

Text

What’s the Elvish Word for “Fine”?

Rated I for (angry) Idiots in Love: 5.8K words, Thranduil x unnamed/undescribed mortal woman, 2nd person POV, no use of y/n Rated mature for language only, "arranged marriage" in a political sense with consent between willing adults, they’re big mad but is it anger or just being stupid?

No beta, we die like Thranduil's first wife who is not mentioned

You rounded the corner and stopped suddenly. Thranduil was sitting on Carasta’s desk. Sitting was the wrong term. Lounging. “Hello, wife.” He was in dark, silvery robes without his crown, his long legs propped up against a chair. With a far-too-broad smile on his face. Something stupid was happening.

If you enjoy this, check out ✨The Director's Cut✨ masterlist with quick links to all my TROP/LOTR content and AO3 profile.

“It is infuriating that you keep putting up this long –” – slam – “ – infuriating – ” – slam – “ – show – ” – slam —. “I can not want you in the way you want me.” Cold blue eyes stared at you, waiting for the outburst, the anger he so desperately wanted to bloom across your face.

When Thranduil started to feel something – anything – stirring in his chest, he started a fight. You noticed the two of you fought often. More so now than at the beginning of your not-quite-a-marriage two years ago. You did not think it a coincidence, but what the hell did you know?

You’d thought you’d entered a partnership with someone civil.

Nodding almost imperceptibly, you kept your face still. “And what, exactly, makes you think I want you, Thranduil?” You let just a little sarcasm creep in.

He narrowed his cold eyes, evaluating you.

The issue was, however: You did want him.

In the last two years, you had come to want him very much, though you admit you are unsure how it started given his general demeanor.

Well, that’s a lie. He’s an elf. And he is particularly attractive for an elf, at that. His face alone gives his behavior a pass for the first three, maybe four encounters.

But this behavior was not one of his better looks and you’d have no issue turning this version of the Elvenking down for the rest of your very mortal life.

White hot fury flashed across his face. “You know what I mean. Constantly, you show it. And I can not — will not — respond the way you want!”

You leaned back in your chair. “I do not know what you mean, Thranduil” you said firmly, shaking your head exaggeratedly. “What is it that I show you?” --You weren’t showing him sex or physical affection, certainly so – “What is it that you claim to see from me that you can not respond to, Thranduil?”

The more you said his name, the angrier he would get, which is why you kept doing it. Thranduil all but snaked his way to gripping the desk across from you, leaning over your papers. Curtains of snow-white hair hanging between you as he glared down at you. Not exactly giving you "the high ground” so to speak, but the fact that he came this close to you meant he was already on his back foot.

“You…are….constantly…HERE. You ask after me, you bring me food, you manage to interrupt me during every letter I’ve written in the last four weeks. You bring me books you think I might like, you leave me letters about your work. I do not know how to respond to you. I have been alone in these chambers for centuries and yet you are HERE. I do not want this and I do not want you. And I do not know why you continue to make this arrangement so difficult by pretending.”

You blinked at that, tilting your head. Slowly. You were giving him time to suss it out on his own.

But his rage was icy, bathed in wine from dinner, and he didn’t seem to know how to do math in the cold.

You set the quill down and steepled your fingers, elbows resting on the desk as you looked up at him looming above you.

Fine.

“Everything you have just ‘accused’ me of is what spouses do, Thranduil. Husbands and wives. Partners. Bluntly, you bought yourself a wife, ThranduilI, through an even exchange: you have a skilled negotiator and queen, my uncle’s people have food and protection.”

Muscles in his jaw worked and he opened his mouth, “That is not–”

You held up a hand, cutting him off. “Ah-aht, no, Thranduil. No. You said what you wanted to say both tonight and many other nights. And now you will let me do the same.”

The look on his face didn’t change, but his mouth snapped shut.

It might do him some good to shut up for a moment, even if it gave you heartburn to demand it.

“It weighs on my heart that someone asking after your wellbeing startles you so,” you said steadily, fingers tapping against the desk as if making an observation that it was raining outside – but the truth of it stung you.

It did hurt that he was so…that he thought someone making sure he ate was…

It was heartbreaking.

But, it was becoming increasingly clear, his heart was not yours to mend.

You sighed again. At this point you were sighing more often than breathing. “Thank you for this final, clear message that you take no pleasure in our” — marriage? Partnership? It had never been one — “contract. I will make my thoughts equally as plain: I have one job in Greenwood. It is to be your wife and queen. And in truth, it’s a shitty job, but I’m going to do it as best as I can, Thranduil. I agree, our quarters are not ideal and I will leave for another part of the palace within the week.”

Thranduil held your gaze. You cocked an eyebrow. You thought you saw another muscle in his jaw twitch, but you weren’t sure.

When he finally spoke, his tone was softer, which you had not expected. “I do not want to…put on a show….”

Your eyebrows shot up at that. You were done being lectured. “You purchased a fucking show, Thranduil. Now you are angry when it’s performed for you? Fine. That is your choice, and I am happy to stop acting like this is a working partnership.” You snorted and broke eye contact, reaching down to pick up your quill.

Head down, squinting at the parchment, you did your best to dismiss him. It had taken you an extraordinary amount of effort to say all of this to him, for several reasons, and you could not look him in the eye any longer.

Firstly, fuck him for coming in to your study, knocking books around and talking too loudly after you both just sat through an entrant for Arda’s Most Boring Banquet award and smiled as his queen was supposed to. King Amdír’s son Amroth wasn’t exactly the best conversationalist and yet, converse you had with the obnoxious Silvan.

And you were feeling quite unappreciated at this moment, considering you’d also negotiated an agreement for open trade of leather goods from Amroth’s father during the dinner. While Thranduil drank — a reminder that he is, at least, two glasses in — and muttered every time you stood near him at a respectful distance.

Secondly, this was the only time you had ever thought about your relationship with Thranduil as a contract that he did not seem to understand.

You knew what was being exchanged. The elven-ness of it all had been jarring at first, yes, but you knew from a young age you would enter a political marriage and you had been raised for one. Binding your family and your people to the largest local realm ruled by a nearly-immortal being was a solid strategy to ensure your great, great, great-grandchildren would be protected and fed -- and it was the equivalent of a 10-year contract to someone like Thranduil. You had no qualms about this, and you entered the agreement with him with open eyes, as equals.

Yet, you had not probed deeply into his understanding of it until today. Of what partnership meant to him. In any way.

Leaving behind a book he may find interesting? About a topic, if you recalled correctly — and you know you did — he discussed during dinner once and noted he wished to understand better.

That was too much after two years of knowing each other? Of knowing each other in any capacity? Even just as a member of his court, much less his wife?

If so, he had a very weak understanding of any kind of partnership, marriage or otherwise, and you truly had expected more from him.

Thirdly, you did not want to leave his chambers or stop asking how he was or stop bringing him books he may like or leaving notes about your day. As irritable and obnoxious and, honestly, unpleasant as Thranduil could be….

You found him endearing in those milliseconds he allowed himself to feel anything but anger. All together, he was many negative things, yes. But he was also protective of his family and his people, wise in how he negotiated relationships with neighboring kingdoms and the High Elves. He was well-read and, when he allowed himself to show it, he had this wonderful wit and charm that was…well, he was charming.

You had been charmed.

And over the last two years of this arrangement, you learned you wanted to be his wife in more than just contractual terms. You think you’ve fallen in love with him. And you know you want him to want you in return.

But.

He just said plainly that he did not want that. That he did not want you.

And if this is where you were, then this is where you were. Your options were limited, your contract signed, and your choices made.

You had not expected to find love here. Confirming it was absent didn’t change a damn thing, and at this point it did not sting. Your job was to negotiate contracts on behalf of Thranduil Oropherion, the Elvenking and to attend events as his Queen.

That was it.

Leaving him books or being pleasant was not part of the contract you signed.

Your thoughts drifted aimlessly, landing on the question of how you would like your new chambers laid out — since a large takeaway from this conversation was that spending time in the same room — palace — realm — continent — with you angered him.

The conjoined study layout here was not ideal. Thranduil had a tendency to shout profanities at his correspondence before replying in a more civil manner. You had grown accustomed to it — even smiling on occasion when he invented new ways to swear at Thorin or Celeborn — but perhaps it was best to avoid that distraction now that you were....

Well, if Thranduil is not near me, it doesn’t matter if the rooms are conjoined or not.

With a small sigh, you noted that request with an asterisk to return to later.

You were halfway through the next line when you realized he had. not. moved. At all. Not even an inch. He was still staring at the top of your head as you wrote, long hair falling into the space between you.

Why? This conversation, much like your illusions of ever having a civil working relationship, was over.

You set the quill aside gently as you looked up to meet his eyes. "Yes, Thranduil?"

“So, that is what it was, then?”

Furrowing your brow, you shook your head in confusion. “I don’t ... wait, what?” Your gaze met his. All the ice in his eyes had melted, but the rest of him moved stiffly as he leaned back, letting go of the desk.

“Fine.”

He spun on his heel, hair flaring around him, and walked out.

“Fine!” you shouted after him, half rising from the desk to make sure it carried to the next room.

You weren’t sure why you were shouting at him, but you’d make sure you’d be the one to shout last.

The next morning, you asked a courier to take your note to Thranduil requesting new chambers on the far side of the Halls. 'Note' was a generous term: it was a list of items for him to approve, signed with the first initial of your name.

Warm, it was not.

But the courier said he had been instructed “not to deliver messages to King Thranduil at this time, my lady. His majesty requests your presence in the throne room.”

You arched an eyebrow at that.

“Very well, thank you for letting me know.” You waved your hand to dismiss the courier.

“Ah,” he said softly, shifting uncomfortably.

Thranduil. Are you familiar with an old saying from the lowlands? Bite my ass? If not, then it is unlikely you’re familiar with that phrase’s cousin, Go fuck yourself. I am happy to teach you both.

“Your majesty, I would be honored to, um, guard you as you travel to the throne room,” he ended weakly, because guarding a queen while she walked in her own halls was a ridiculous thing to suggest.

Thranduil was doing something very stupid. You weren’t sure what, exactly, but you could sense it.

“I appreciate the offer, Lieutenant, but I am not going to the throne room today.” Thranduil had, at least, taught you a few tricks for leadership. Or, more accurately, intimidation.

The young ellon looked very torn, as if repeating hierarchy structures in his head and continually arriving at the conclusion that Thranduil was at the top. “Your maj—“

“You’re dismissed, Lieutenant.” Yes, the Elvenking was at the top of all of those hierarchies, but you rested just beneath him.

…Well…

The guard left.

So you used this opportunity to take the scroll he would not deliver to Thranduil, and went to look for Carasta, Thranduil’s private secretary. Walking from your section of your chambers through Thranduil’s, your goal was getting to Carsasta’s work table on the far side of the suite. You would provide him with the list of your requests. If Thranduil didn’t want to accept your request from Carasta, that was fine. You would find the nearest builder and take the walls down yourself, but you were not spending one more minute sharing your chambers with Thranduil than either of you wished to.

You rounded the corner and stopped suddenly. Thranduil was sitting on Carasta’s desk. Sitting was the wrong term. Lounging.

“Hello, wife.”

He was in dark, silvery robes without his crown, his long legs propped up against a chair. With a far-too-broad smile on his face.

Something stupid was happening.

“King Thranduil,” you said, inclining your head.

“Melethnín,” he said softly, his eyes going wide. “What brings you here? I hoped you would join me in the main hall.”

My love? You cocked an eyebrow. “I am simply leaving a note for Carasta regarding my chambers,” you said evenly, reaching around Thranduil’s long form to place the scroll on Carasta’s desk. You didn’t even want to guess how he made it from the throne room to Carasta’s desk that fast.

Was he even in the throne room or did he know you’d ignore him?

“Ah, I am eager to read this,” Thranduil said happily, picking up the scroll and opening it.

It took everything in you not to snatch it from him. Even though he had been the original recipient.

Icy eyes skimming your notes, he tsked loudly. “Ah, melethnín, this is not sufficient. Not at all! I would not have you move so far from our shared quarters. Mmm, no, we shall draft a new plan together. It is only right for a queen to have a full suite for her study and work, verinya.”

My love. My wife.

So, something very stupid.

You sighed. “Thranduil. I am moving my chambers to the other side of the Halls.”

He shook his head, his face the picture of innocence as he rolled up the scroll and hid it away in his robes — where, you didn’t know, because his robes were almost skintight. “I do not want you to leave our chambers.”

“I’ll write another request, king.”

“I’ll intercept it, queen.”

“Thranduil.”

“Melethnín.”

A long pause.

“You asked me to leave you alone.”

He shook his head firmly. “No, I said you were always here.”

“You shouted that you wanted space.”

He cocked his head, arrogance on his face, as silver hair cascaded over his shoulder. “I did not. I acknowledge I raised my voice in a very unrefined way, for which I do truly apologize. But I did not demand space apart from you. And on either account, I find I have changed my mind, verinya.”

My wife.

“You will find I have not, veronya.” You spun on your heel and walked out.

You heard him raise his voice mockingly, calling, “I haven’t interrupted your day, have I, my love?” at your back as you left.

“No. You’re fine,” you gritted out loudly as you stomped out.

“Fine,” came the muted reply from three rooms away.

Two months later, and Thranduil had not stopped yet, though his tone had grown less mocking, at least.

He came to you for every meal — and he managed to carry on many thoughtful conversations despite the one-word replies you often gave. He brought you books — frustratingly, the titles were interesting, and he had clearly listened to you at some point to pick them out. He came to ask you questions while you wrote letters and arranged new trade agreements — his comments were obnoxiously helpful and pertinent.

Thranduil seemed to think that acting pleasant toward you was a punishment of some kind.

And it was, because it felt like a perverse game. He was showing you what you could have if you…if he….

Well, you weren’t sure what. Something you could not have? He had been very clear. And, you knew, he could be very petty.

Thranduil also seemed to be playing more than one game, particularly by calling you every pet name devised by Elves or Men — and you think you caught a Dwarven term of endearment or two in there as well, so clearly he was not aware of the origins of the term or he never would have uttered it in his halls.

And yet you did not know why he continued this game for so long. But you suspected the other shoe would drop at some point.

It was the second time that evening he had scooted his chair closer to yours, the two of you practically sharing a desk.

“May I suggest you add another clause here — we can’t be held responsible for orc raids. Transfer of ownership occurs when the wine leaves our barges, even if within our borders. I have spoken with Celeborn on this point already, and told him it was not up for discussion.” He tapped a long finger on the side of your paper and looked down, eyes crinkling as he smiled. “Don’t let him go around us, melethnín.”

He kept breaking your heart with this game, and you were done.

“Thranduil, stop.”

The smile slipped from his face. “Ah. Of course. I’ll leave you to it,” he murmured gently, turning back to his side of the desk.

When did we pick sides of the same desk?

You sighed and stood, creating some distance between the two of you.

You were done. It was done now.

“You have made your point. I understand. You think it’s suffocating. That I am suffocating. I understand. I understood this two months ago when you told me that you would remain married to me — unwillingly — if I left you alone. And I have moved to limit our interactions since then. I understand what you want.“

You held back a scream, but did not manage to stop a snarl from escaping somewhere deep in your chest. “I will never send you a book ever again, on my oath to Varda and Manwë, I will never speak to you outside a royal function ever again. Please, just stop.”

Thranduil stood as well, rising fluidly and pausing to gently place his chair under his half of the — under the desk. He was, well, patient as he turned to face you, a surprising softness in his eyes.

“I changed my—“

“— yes, Thranduil, you changed your damn mind about the damn rooms. I heard you. I have not changed mine. I am not asking you to alter our marriage contract here, okay, this is a small thing. I want to move to my own study — per your request — and I cannot understand why you have fixated on this so strongly.”

He did not want you to leave this space. Yet he did not want you to stay in this space.

No option was good enough for him.

You crossed your arms. You had seen him be petulant before but two months? You finally met his gaze and it was exactly what you were expecting. Anger blossoming across his face, that one small muscle in his cheek that always twitched.

“Contract.”

“Fine. Contract.” You threw your hands up in frustration and started rummaging through the desk. “If you want to read the damn thing to ensure I’m following it, I’ll tell you right now there are exactly zero requirements around—”

“Carasta’s files are much more organized,” Thranduil said icily.

You looked up, letting the papers in your hands scatter to the desktop. “Marry Carasta then, goddamnit. I don’t care.” You were so tired it came out as a flat statement.

Taking a deep breath, Thranduil seemed to try again, looking for patience in himself you had never seen him find.

“I don’t want to be married to Carasta,” he said simply, managing to keep his voice steady. “I want to understand.”

You furrowed your brow even more. He wasn’t making sense.

“You aren’t making sense.”

A small growl escaped him. “What is it that you want? You…I didn’t understand what you meant by…” he huffed and managed to do so haughtily. “Was it a show or not?”

“Was what a show?” You looked around the room, as if expecting to spot the audience, and let your hands drop to your legs in a clapping sound. “The only person complicating this is you. I have stopped reaching out, as you have asked. Why are you fighting—“

“So it was.” He spun on his heel again.

Oh, I think the fuck not. You were absolutely not doing this for another two months. You were a patient woman but you had limits. Honestly, one limit. And you had reached it.

You snatched at his arm, grabbing a layer of his cape, which allowed him to walk several more feet before feeling any resistance.

“Stop. Oh, for fuck’s sake, just stop.”

“I am stopping,” he replied through gritted teeth, hair swinging as he jerked his head to look at you. “I am done.”

You imagined you heard the sound of the other shoe dropping on a marble floor somewhere far away.

You both stood still for a long moment, your hand holding the edge of his cape like an awkward flag between the two of you. His eyes were still white flame, staring into the distance, not meeting yours. The set of his shoulders and the jut of his chin said he wanted to argue again.

That he was feeling something.

Why? Done with what?

“What are you done with?”

Thranduil shrugged your hand off his cape and swept it dramatically behind him. “This. Because you...I thought you did not and then I thought you did, and now it is clear my first impression was correct and you do not. I have approached this incorrectly twice now. I will not attempt it a third. You have been clear.”

You cocked your head at him. The two of you hadn’t used a meaningful noun in quite some time during this argument. You knew that was the type of risk that had to be corrected immediately.

No one was ever on the same page the first time.

But you had a suspicion.

“Define ‘this,’” you all but whispered.

“Absolutely not. I am done speaking of it. I will not allow you to mock me.”

Your eyes narrowed. “I’m not mocking you, I’m asking you a question. We have strayed so far from the start of this conversation that I fear we are saying the same thing and don’t know it.”

He glared at you. “That can’t—“

“Why has your behavior been so different the last two months?”

Thranduil shifted almost uncomfortably, but managed to keep venom in his tone. “You indicated this is the behavior of those who are partners.” A small pause, his voice turning sullen. “Of husbands and wives.”

It took all your focus not to move a single muscle in your face. “You indicated several times that you did not care for me to be your partner or your wife.”

“Yes,” he hissed, “But I changed my mind because I thought I had misunderstood before, and I do not know how to show that to you properly now.”

Thranduil started pacing, his long legs turning the study into two, maybe three steps at most before he spun again. His robes barely fit the space.

No. This— No. You felt a laugh somewhere deep in your chest, but you forced it down in case he misunderstood.

Which you both seemed to be doing often lately.

“Tell me, specifically, what you are trying to show me,” you asked cautiously.

This was not a time for miscommunication. You would stay here the rest of your mortal life if needed, but you would walk out of this room knowing what the fuck he meant.

Because you thought you already knew.

He shook his head, silver hair glinting in the firelight.

“Thranduil.”

He was still shaking his head, glaring at the hearth, nearly shaking in anger. But he hadn’t left or slammed any doors, which was a good sign.

One of the first things you had learned about negotiating, years ago when you first followed your uncle to his council meetings as a child, was that the party who named an honest, earnest number first was on their back foot. Yes, it was possible to put out an offer first and still make more from it than expected or hoped for — and sometimes, offering first was both a wise and generous way to proceed — but generally speaking, it took extraordinary skill or luck to argue for more after naming the first number.

So generally speaking, the party who moved first was not in the strong position.

Generally speaking.

But, you had an extraordinary amount of skill — that’s why you were in this room. At the same time, you hadn’t felt particularly lucky lately, but…you would still name a number first.

Fine.

“Melethnín.”

That got him to turn with inhuman speed, his face a mask of rage. “I said do not mock me.” His icy eyes locked with yours.

“I am not mocking you.”

His brow furrowed. “Then why,” he said quickly, crossing the study in two large steps to loom over you, “did you call me that?”

“Why,” you challenged back, “have you called me that for the past two months?”

Thranduil's pale eyes had not yet left your face, inches away now, searching you for any hint that you were lying or mocking him. His gaze did not waver and he finally leaned back, satisfied. “You do not know what it means. You are mocking me.”

A harsh chuckle at that. “I know exactly what it means and I am not mocking you.” You put a hand on your hip at the implied insult that you, the goddamn Queen of the Silvan Elves of the Greenwood, wife of the Elvenking, did not know the most basic endearment your people use to address their spouses and children. “Well, correction, now I am mocking you….you’re questioning my understanding of vocabulary? Well, how good is your Khuzdul, again, Thranduil? Zigil’ûl is a Dwarven term of endearment; I’m surprised you deigned to use it.”

He hadn’t noticed “silver stream” was not in Quenya? Even with the accents?

His eyes softened, but still anger flashed across his face as he stared down at you. “You have not answered why you are using an elven term of endearment to refer to me right now.”

You thought about pushing back. But something very fragile in his eyes made you pause. It felt like a risk but…you were willing to name a second number.

Fine.

A sigh. “I used this Sindarin term because it’s how I refer to you in my head.”

Thranduil cocked his head, looking at you curiously now, some of his rage fading. “How good is —“

“— I am fluent in Sindarin. We speak it fifty percent of the time we are together instead of Westron. Stop it, Thranduil.”

He did stop at that, at least for a moment, as thoughts started churning in his head. His pale eyes flicked around the room, looking at everything but you.

A surprising sign of vulnerability from a king who would lock eyes with Manwë himself and never blink, if given the chance. If able to take that chance by force.

“No.” Thranduil shook his head again, still refusing to meet your gaze, speaking to your bookshelf. “No, I will not stop until I understand. You said I had purchased a performance and that you would stop performing it. You just looked for the contract to show me what you were required to do as my wife.”

A pause as he turned his head toward you, but stayed facing the other direction — ready to run.

“But, if your past behavior was a performance, then…I do not understand why you would call me melethnín in the privacy of your own mind, especially now,” he ended with a noise between a sigh and an irritated groan, still not meeting your eyes.

You saw the issue now. He thought you showed care for him in the last two years because it was what was expected of you.

A performance.

Not because you actually gave a damn about him as a partner or as a husband.

And then, you pulled back from him. Because he asked you to. Because he did not understand that caring about him was something you genuinely wanted to do. Enjoyed doing. Thranduil had not wanted to be part of a show because he….

He thought you were being cruel to him. As you thought he had been to you for the last two months.

He was that wrong for two years?

You looked up to meet his gaze. Thranduil hesitated, seeming to have the same revelation, but finding himself much less confident in the outcome. “So, please explain it. Why would you call me your love today?” he asked again, his voice so soft you barely heard him.

Naming the third number in a row was too large of a request to concede, even for him. Even now that you understood. You needed an assurance of some kind first.

“A counter-question, first. Have the last two months been a performance on your part, Thranduil?” Some vulnerability entered your tone, too, though you wished it had not. “I will not allow you to mock me, either.”

A pause. “The first two days were, yes.”

You raised an eyebrow at that, but he met your gaze unflinchingly. “And then I found I…I preferred it. I enjoyed being closer to you and hearing your thoughts. And I noticed the quality of your contracts improved.”

You crossed your arms. “Mmhmm,” you grunted at that.

Thranduil cocked his head, his eyes soft now, his tone surprisingly sweet and earnest. “So if you’ll forgive those first few days, melethnín, then no, I have not been false to you once in these past months.” A brief hesitation. “Was it…Before. How you showed that you cared for me. Was that an act for you?”

You paused, considering carefully. “For the last two months, any modicum of patience I’ve shown in your presence has been an act. But no, nothing before the night…we last fought,” you ended simply.

“Oh.” A faint blush rose to his cheeks.

You both stood there, staring dumbly at each other.

Thranduil dipped his head in embarrassment. “It is rare, but I find even I need time to learn.”

You nodded slowly. He was telling you that he had misunderstood. Maybe he was telling you he loved you. But he remained frustratingly vague.

You were struggling between the urge to kiss him or punch him. You tried to calculate your odds at both and concluded you’d need to do it in a specific order for it to work. Kiss first, then punch.

A knee to the groin was the only way he won’t see it coming until it’s too late. But you also had a growing interest in that area…

No matter what you chose, you weren’t going to be fast enough. Maybe while he slept.

“So, to summarize,” you started slowly. And then your mouth shut gently. You opened it a few more times to speak but nothing came out, so you stood there with your hand on your hip, moving your mouth like a fish.

The politician and jackass in Thranduil got there first. “To summarize, you have been in love with me since the day we met, and over the last two months I’ve learned that there are certain merits to being the recipient of that love.”

You felt your eyebrows shoot to your hairline, and your mouth did open at that.

The arrogance.

“The arrogance. Absolutely not. Revise it.”

A small smile played at the corners of his mouth but he remained silent. This was him teasing you. You’d enjoy it thoroughly in any other context. “No, you do not get to be this way with me after all of that, Thranduil…”

The smirk grew as he leaned closer to you. “I will no longer answer to that name when you use it. You’ll have to try another, melethnín.”

Fine.

“Heconna.” Bastard.

He raised an eyebrow at that one. “Fluent, indeed. But I have time and I can wait for you to find the correct term.”

“Pellopë.” Jackass.

The smirk never left his face. “Yes, we’ve established that you know and use words in both Sindarin and Quenya that most Eldar would blush to hear. I’m sure this vocabulary is useful when you swear at local merchants and drink in their bars — a very queenly activity.”

He was still teasing you. He finally had come close enough to snake his hands low around your hips, craning down at you, nothing but a blend of absolute mischief and arrogance in his pale eyes. “Mmm, I’m happy to give you a hint, wife.”

This was the most surprising day you had experienced since coming to Greenwood. And you were going to use it to your advantage as much as you could.

Too many things were still unspoken.

You shook your head and pulled back — gently, you still wanted him badly and your resolve was weakening the more he leaned into you. Gods, he smelled good. “Absolutely not. Not until you revise it.”

He sighed, his long fingers splayed across your lower back as he nudged you closer to his chest in return. “To summarize: Your caring behavior toward me was never an act or obligation on your part, and neither was mine. We seem to," he hesitated a beat, "Love each other, though we are quite ineffectual at speaking plainly with each other.”

Thranduil reached out to tuck back a strand of your hair, his finger gently tracing the rounded shell of your ear as you fought to repress a shiver. “With this new understanding in mind, our marriage no longer needs to remain contractual alone, if you wish to become closer. As I do.” His fingers brushed against your face, trailing down your neck softly to trace your collarbone. His other hand kept you close against him. “Is this revision more to your liking, melethnín?”

You frowned, hands coming to rest on his chest. “Yes. But you owe me an apology for more than the last two months.”

“Yes,” he agreed softly, his forehead coming to rest against yours. “Would you like me to begin reciting my long list of sins now? Or would you prefer we kissed instead? I have a rather clear preference, but,” he shrugged over-casually. “I will make time for both.”

You hesitated. “Both.”

“Fine, verinya,” he murmured, gently tilting your head up towards his.

“Fine, veronya,” you whispered back against his lips.

// AN: I'd have to leave you on a cliffhanger, so:

Túra in Quenya means "big, or great," which would capture "fine!" well enough.

Dail in Sindarin means "lovely," which I imagine can be sarcastic af coming from Thranduil, the petty bastard.

The difference in these two languages, for purpose of these idiots in love, is snobbery. Quenya is high-brow, Sindarin is what all normal people speak. He says he loves her in common tongue but calls her wife as high-brow as possible to be a jackass. Mission accomplished, Thran-daddy.

// If you enjoyed this, check out ✨The Director's Cut✨ masterlist with quick links to all my TROP/LOTR content and AO3 profile.

#thranduil oropherion #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x you #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #the elvenking #mirkwood #thranduil #thranduil x reader #thrandaddy #star and stone

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sirjaketkiszka · 2 days ago

Text

Jake Kiszka One Shot: Sinners

Father Jacob Thomas Kiszka visits you late at night.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Priest!Jake Kiszka x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,925

Warnings: 18+!!, sexual content, light cursing, mentions of guilt, breaking religious vows, kissing/first kiss, neck kissing/biting, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, cream pie, multiple orgasms (2), and, of course, mediocre writing.

(Please don’t hesitate to let me know if I missed any warnings.)

Disclaimer: Apologies for any potential spelling errors or grammar mistakes.

a/n- I hope this will hold you over while I get my bearings. This one shot was written months ago, and I eventually decided I wanted to write a full-length fic about it, which is how It’s a Sin came to be. Funny enough, the idea came to me in a dream, if you can believe it. I know this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but I hope you enjoy it if you do decide to give it a try. <3

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

The quick, aggressive knocking at your front door pulls you away from your nightly reading. It’s currently ten o’clock, so you have no idea who could be visiting at this time. Cautiously, you rise from the sunken cushions of your worn couch, the gentle crumple of the leather silenced by the clamorous mid-October downpour.

When you reach the door, you lean forward to look through the peephole. His presence causes a small gasp to push past your parted lips and enter your lungs. Without a moment passing, you rush to unlock the chain, deadbolt, and lock on the handle, swiftly swinging the door open.

“Father Jacob, is something wrong?” You ask, motioning for him to come in, “Please, get out of the rain.” His hair is soaked making little droplets of rainwater fall off the ends when he steps into your home. Too distracted by his presence, you don’t even notice the small puddle that follows him.

“I’m sorry for the intrusion,” His polite voice cuts through the deafening rain, but he doesn’t answer your question.

“It’s okay,” You wave him off, shutting the door once he’s inside, “Can I get you a cup of tea?” His back is to you, his head turning in different directions to observe your home, making you feel slightly self-conscious of the disorganization.

“That’d be lovely,” He turns his head to you, a small smile pulling at his lips.

Nodding, you rush to the kitchen to fix him a cup, letting the water boil in the kettle while you return to the living room. His pitch-black petticoat drips in his wake, leaving a trail of water droplets along your hardwood oak floors. “Can I take your coat?” You ask.

“I won’t be long,” He says, his vague attitude making you uneasy.

“Can I ask why you’re here, Father?” You maintain a distance from him, watching him as he turns from his position at your overstuffed bookshelf, finally looking at you.

“I’m not entirely sure,” He frowns, deep in thought, “I suppose something told me to come here.”

“Right,” You can’t help but chuckle, “What else did they tell you?”

“You were calling to me,” He admits, stepping closer and slowly closing the distance between you two, the heels of his dress shoes making a deep clicking sound.

“I’m not following,” You confess your confusion, your arms crossing over your chest, and slight irritation rising in your throat. Why does he always talk in riddles?

He continues his long strides until he’s directly in front of you, his husky scent filling your senses. You notice the beads of water along the sides of his face, and strands of hair sticking to his neck. His white collar stands out from his dark appearance with every clothing item being stark black, emphasizing its purity and, in turn, your guilt. Swallowing thickly, you advert your gawking eyes and hold his gaze, “Why won’t you come to Sunday service?” He asks, his voice deep with concern.

“Is that what this is about?” You scoff, stepping back half a foot, “This could’ve waited until our next house call– when I inevitably tell you that I’m not interested.”

“I’m not asking you to come,” He discloses, making you quirk a brow, “I want to know why you won’t come.”

“It’s not my scene, I guess,” Shrugging, you uncross your arms and let them fall to your sides, “I didn’t grow up religious.” You clarify, not wanting to divulge into the real reason.

“And you’re happy?” He asks, but not in a way that’s a jab at you.

“I’d say I am– I have everything I want,” You admit contently, but your eyes subconsciously trace down his stature, and you sigh, whispering to yourself, “Almost everything.”

There’s no response from him, only a heavy exhale through his nose, the air brushing your tense features. Meeting his eyes again, your eyebrows scrunch when his bores into yours, the black of his pupils doubling in size. The incessant downpour on your tall windows seems to muffle, and your ears ring when an invisible force pulls you to him. Fighting it, you notice his mutual restraint, his lips parting and eyebrows mirroring yours when his gaze shoots to your plump lips.

“Father–” You whisper, and his feet shuffle closer, but the blaring whistle of the boiled water forces you apart. The two of you shoot to opposite ends, chests heaving like you’ve run a marathon, both gazes looking anywhere but each other. “Water’s ready,” You say, clearing your throat and escaping to the kitchen. Silently cursing to yourself, you shut off the stove, the ear-piercing whistle dissipating into a whimper.

Needing a moment to yourself, your trembling hands plant themselves on your hips, your eyes squeezing shut and your head tilting back. The rapid pounding of your pulse fills your ears, making you oblivious to Father Jacob’s entrance.

When he clears his throat, you swiftly turn around with your back against the cold granite counter, your hands gripping the ledge behind you. You open your mouth to say something, but only a choked sound comes out, the heartbeat in your throat preventing you from speaking. He shakes his head, silently telling you to not talk as he steps closer.

His movements halt when the tips of his shoes connect with your bare feet, the both of you engulfed in each other’s scent. His overbearing presence fogs your mind, intoxicating you and causing you to only look at his lips. As if reading your mind, he leans forward, stopping only mere centimeters away from your face. Your noses graze each other, small pants exiting both of your lips and dangling in the space between you two.

He pauses for a moment, reveling in the sheer closeness of the two of you. Your wild eyes search his face, and his flutter close as he lets out a shaky breath, “Can I kiss you?” He finally asks.

“Please,” You let out in a desperate whisper, making him quietly groan in response. Sucking in a deep breath through his nose, his lips crash against yours, but they don’t move. The soft flesh of your lips mold to his stiff pucker, and you let out a content sigh when your eyes close. Releasing the counter, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him deeper into you.

His shaky hands find your waist, their slight tremble disappearing when he grips firmly, clinging onto you. For a moment, you pull away, but immediately replace your lips, encouraging him to soften his. You feel his tense shoulders relax when you kiss him back, and his stiffness morphs into fluidity.

When you swipe your tongue along his bottom lip, he jerks away, letting out a breathless chuckle, and you open your eyes to look at him, “Are you okay?” You ask, knowing this must be a lot for him, and he nods, “Have you… Have you been kissed before, Father?” You question, already knowing the answer.

“I haven’t,” He confesses meekly, his head hanging slightly, “Is it that obvious?” He lets out a light laugh, the previous tension completely melted from his features.

“Not at all,” You lie, “Do you want to keep going? We can stop—”

“I wouldn’t know what to do,” He admits, a tinge of pink rising to the peak of his hollow cheeks, and you nod understandingly.

“It’s okay, we really don’t have to,” You reassure him, your hands absentmindedly tracing your fingers through his scalp, still wet from the rain.

“I want to,” He rushes out, his fingers tightening on your waist as if you were going to leave him, “Can… Can you teach me?” His question causes warmth to blossom in your chest, and in response, your face paints itself with hues of blush pink.

“Of course,” You smile, leaning into his lips again, “Just follow my lead,” You whisper against him, and he gently nods before you softly kiss him, both of you closing your eyes at the feeling.

You resume the previous rhythm, your lips moving smoothly against his. A small whimper catches in his throat when you swipe your tongue along his bottom lip again, prompting him to part them. When your tongues collide, he tastes of fresh mint and a hint of whiskey, the sensation shooting straight to your core.

His hands on your waist urge you to sit on the counter behind you and the cold surface bleeds through your thin pajama pants, spreading goosebumps down your legs and up your arms. Without breaking the kiss, you part your legs to allow him to stand between them, your spine slouching to meet his now-lowered height. Your knees sit snugly against his waist, your ankles locking behind his back and keeping him against you.

Sliding your hands from his hair to the sides of his face, you cup his heated cheeks as you give him chaste kisses, finally pulling away. The both of you are panting, and his plump lips are a deep shade of red, surely reflecting your own.

“Tell me how to touch you,” He breathes out, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his eyes take in your flushed appearance. His hands release your waist, shakily traveling down to your spread knees, resting on the bent joints. “Please,” He adds.

Nodding, you remove one of your hands from his face, and grab one of his hands, slowly guiding it up your thigh and dipping between your legs. You hold back a gasp when you guide his long fingers to press against your clothed center. Holding his wrist, you instruct him to rub thorough circles against your aching core, and your jaw hangs agape to reflect your pleasure. “Just like that,” You sigh, your head resting against the cupboard behind you.

Your hand hovers above his wrist, allowing him to do most of the work as your hips grind against the counter. Small gasps and needy whimpers push past your swollen lips, and he can’t help but look at you, his amplified pupils nearly conquering the remaining rich brown of his irises.

“Does that feel good?” He asks, his voice strained, a sense of worry lacing his question.

“God, yes,” You whisper out in a quick breath, “Sorry,” You quickly apologize for saying his God’s name in vain.

“It’s okay,” He chuckles, his eyes examining your contorted face, “Can I touch you?” He asks in a hushed voice, his hand now skimming along the waistband of your pants.

“Please,” You breathe out, nodding quickly.

Trembling hands hook beneath the hem, tugging gently, prompting you to lift your hips from the counter. Setting your pants aside, wide eyes consume the state of you; flushed cheeks, stiff peaks poking through your nearly see-through shirt, and damp white cotton panties. “Perfect,” He mumbles to himself, visibly gulping when he looks into your eyes, his fingers teasing the waistband of your underwear, “Can I?”

“Yes,” Your hips involuntarily writhe against his touch, silently begging for him to touch you. Slowly, his calloused fingers dip beneath the thin fabric, letting in a quiet gasp when the tips of his fingers meet your soaking cunt. Mirroring him, a low exhale leaves your lips, your hand finding its hold on his wrist.

“Show me,” He chokes out, his mouth dry, “Please.”

Holding eye contact, you dip his hand further along your slit, his fingers teasing your soaking entrance. Your bottom lip tucks itself between your teeth when you hold back a moan, guiding his hand back up and pressing it against your aching bud. His jaw hangs slack as you circle your clit, earning a breathless moan from you, your knees absentmindedly squeezing around him. Getting a feel for it, he maintains a steady rhythm on the swollen bundle of nerves, making your back arch and hand squeeze around his wrist.

“Keep doing that,” You sigh, encouraging him to rub quicker circles, prompting that familiar feeling of arousal pooling in your gut. The scolding heat spreads through your limbs, slowly climbing up your neck and curling your toes. His worried eyes search your face when yours close, your head tilting back, “I’m so close.”

“I don’t–” His rushed words signal his concern, unsure of what you mean.

“Keep going,” You urge him, your eyes squeezing at the sensation, “Don’t stop.”

“Okay,” He eagerly nods, continuing his repetitive rhythm on your clit. His free hand grips your knee tightly, signaling his own restraint, and making your legs spread wider. The open angle causes your climax to rise, nearly reaching its peak; the coil in your lower belly tightening with each wave of pleasure.

“Faster,” You moan out when pulses of arousal coat your underwear and his fingertips. When he quickens his pace, the coil snaps, and an eruption of heat travels between your legs, making you cry out. Your head falls forward, forehead connecting with his, and your free hand grips the back of his neck as your orgasm washes through you. Shuttering hips grind against the solid counter, jerking when the final surges of your climax dissipate, his fingers halting all movements. Opening your eyes, his are overtaken by darkness, his eyebrows scrunched together and his breath panting.

Pulling away from him and licking your lips, dry from your heavy breathing, the two of you stare at each other with wide eyes and heaving chests. Removing his soaked hand from your panties, he looks unsure of what to do. Still holding his wrist, you bring his hand to your parted lip, pushing his middle and ring finger into your warm mouth, swirling your tongue around the digits. A strained groan is held in his throat as he watches with blown pupils, his grip on your knee bordering on bruising.

Taking his fingers out of your mouth with a soft pop, you lean forward, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss, letting him taste you on your tongue. He hums, his eyes closing as his lips move against yours, already improving from the last time. Releasing his wrist, your hands find the edge of his coat, wanting to take it off. He allows you to open the coat, pushing it past his broad shoulders and down his strong arms while you continue kissing him.

“Do you want to take this to my room?” You suggest, your lips brushing against his eager lips.

“Yes,” His voice is hoarse when he answers, his hands exploring every inch of exposed skin, leaving prickles in their trails. Inching closer to the edge of the counter, you prompt him to step back, allowing you to slide off. Your legs feel numb when you stand, your knees slightly wobbly as you take his hand, escorting him to your room.

When you enter your bedroom, you sit at the bottom of the bed, looking up at him with expectant eyes. “Come sit,” You instruct, patting the spot next to you.

He nods, hesitantly sitting beside you, the low groan of the bed welcoming a second weight it's not very fond of. His body is parallel to yours, but his head is turned, looking at you, waiting for instruction. Leaning into him, you avoid his lips, aiming for his exposed neck, “Is this okay?” You ask, your lips ghosting over the heated flesh.

“Yes,” He repeats his earlier answer, tilting his head slightly to grant you better access. Your soft lips connect with his sensitive skin, his hips jerking when you leave open-mouth kisses along his neck. Needing a better angle, you swing a leg over his lap, straddling him as his hands automatically find their place on your hips— as if they’ve always belonged there.

The bright white of his collar shines in your peripheral as you nibble on the skin below his ear, making his hips grind into yours and a low groan exit him. His rough fingers sink into the flesh of your hips, guiding you on his erection. A shaky breath leaves your lips, descending onto his neck when you feel the pressure against your core.

Placing your palms on his shoulders, you push him back, making him lay against the plush comforter. Still straddling him, you bend down, resuming your kisses on his neck, your lips brushing against his collar frequently. A tinge of guilt pulls at your heart, and you gently bite his neck to distract yourself, earning a surprised moan from him. His hips writhe beneath you, grinding his bulge against your aching cunt.

Pulling back, you examine him; his blushed cheeks, long hair spread across the mattress, his usual attire of black jeans, a black button-up, and a clerical collar. His begging eyes hold your gaze, and you pull on his arms to make him sit back up. Following your silent instruction, he removes his hands from your hips and props himself up, his head tilting back to look at you.

“Are you sure about this?” You ask, your hands resting on either side of his neck.

“I’m sure,” He reiterates, nodding slowly.

A small smile pulls at your lips as you step off of him, taking a seat beside him but scooting up until you lean back against the pillows. “Come here,” You nod your head upward, and he follows, turning around, kicking his dress shoes off onto the ground, and crawling slowly toward you. As he gets closer, you spread your legs, his eyes immediately shooting to your core. He stops between your lips, kneeling between your open thighs.

He nearly chokes when you reach for the bottom hem of your shirt, pulling the thin fabric over your head, and exposing yourself to him while he remains fully dressed. Swallowing thickly, his mouth opens to speak, but he’s rendered speechless. Instead, he leans back on his heels, his hands resting on his knees.

“Take them off,” You say, your eyes shooting to your underwear, and back to him. Steadily nodding, his hands leave his knees and hook into the stretchy cloth, pulling down when you lift your hips for him. Again, a choked noise catches in his throat when he tosses the article elsewhere, eyes locked on your exposed cunt. “Do you want to undress?” You ask, taking into account how different your appearances are.

“I’m not sure,” He admits, his eyebrows furrowing with intense thought.

“That’s okay,” You assure him, “This is fine.”

“Okay,” He lets out a breath of relief, his shoulders slumping with his exhale. Hesitating, his trembling hands reach for the fly and button of his jeans, undoing both of them. Without taking his pants off, he stretches the waistband of his boxers down, pulling out his hardened length and wrapping his fingers around the shaft. Your mouth dries at the sight of him, eyes watching intently as he leans forward, his free hand landing on the pillow beside your head and his long, wavy hair naturally falling to the side, framing his face. “I’ve never done this,” He confesses, but you already knew.

“It’s okay,” Your voice is sweet and reassuring, “We’ll take it slow.”

“Okay…” He breathes out, and his small smile fades into a focused expression when he leans in more, his hips inching closer to your center. Your breath hitches in anticipation when he presses his aching tip against your slit, and a shuttered breath pushes past his parted lips. His gaze stays focused on your cunt as he rubs his leaking tip along your soaking folds.

“Father,” You use the formality, making his head snap up to look at you and your breathing stops at his frown. Initially, you think he’s upset, but his darkened eyes and hidden smirk say otherwise. Reaching between you, you grasp at his hand and guide him to your entrance, “Please.”

Keeping his eyes on you, he pushes his hips forward, his tip entering you at an agonizingly slow rate. A sharp gasp enters your chest as he inches into you, your walls opening up for his generous length. From his appearance and frozen chest, his breathing has halted as he sinks into you fully, making you both release his cock, his eyes wide from the sensation.

Releasing his breath, his free hand lands on the space next to your head, opposite to his other arm, caging you in. His chest heaves rapidly, a strained whine being pulled from his hoarse throat, his eyebrows scrunching. Your hands find his clothed waist, gripping at the perfectly pressed fabric, crumbling it under your hold. Wrapping your legs around him, you tug him closer, needing more, “I need a minute,” He groans, eyes squeezing shut when your walls squeeze around him involuntarily.

“That’s okay,” You comfort, scanning his features, “Take your time.”

A short moment passes before he finally pulls his hips back, his length nearly leaving you before being pushed back in, making your back arch off the bed. His rapid breathing levels into a steady rhythm as he repeats his thrusts, small whines mixing with heavy breaths from each pump into your wet cunt.

“This feels…” He huffs, his hips moving a bit quicker, pulling soft sighs and moans from your open lips, “…so good.”

“You’re doing so well,” You encourage him, making him finally open his eyes, looking down at you with admiration, “You feel so good.”

“I’m not sure how much longer I can go,” He confesses, pulling a breathy laugh from you and himself. His thrusts remain steady but distort into a sloppy pattern, his breathing spiking once again. Your breathing reflects his with heavy pants filling the corners of the small bedroom, bouncing off flat surfaces and funneling into your ears. “It’s happening,” He grunts out, his lack of restraint causing his jaw to tighten.

“You’re okay,” You moan out, your second climax not far behind, “Keep going.”

He nods, continuing to thrust into you at a gentle, but quick speed. His eyes travel down your naked body; your breasts bouncing with each thorough thrust, your stomach clenching from your near-second orgasm, and your legs spread wide for him. Fixing his gaze on his cock pumping in and out of you, a choked cry fills your room, his back straightening and head swinging back as his length twitches inside of you.

“Fuck!” You cry out as well, your climax happening as a result of his own with hot spurts of cum shooting into you. The walls of your cunt flutter vigorously around his cock, milking out his orgasm and causing him to moan uncontrollably.

“Please, God,” His strained whine is aimed at your ceiling, brows furrowed in desperation as his cock pulses, letting out the final waves of his climax. When his head finally hangs down, he looks at you, a look of realization painted on his tense expression, his eyes wide and lips parted. He looks pained; disappointed and horrified. Your second orgasm is a distant memory when guilt overshadows pleasure. What have I done? “I- I should go,” He rushes out, pulling out of you, making you both whimper at the loss of contact.

“Father, wait—” You rush to sit up and cover yourself with your blanket, suddenly aware of your naked state.

“I’m sorry, it’s late,” He gets off the bed, avoiding eye contact while shoving himself back into his boxers and jeans, quickly slipping his shoes back on, “I really have to go.”

“I—” You try to call out, but before you can say another word, he’s down the hall and out of your house, leaving you alone in your bed. Precious warmth turns to ice, a shiver traveling up your spine when you realize what has happened, and how it can never be undone.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Tags:

#greta van fleet #jake kiszka #jake kiszka fanfic #jacob thomas kiszka #jake kiskza x reader #jake gvf #jake kiska fic #jake kiskza smut #gvf fic #gvf smut #priest jake kiszka #jake kiszka one shot #jake x reader #gvf fanfiction #gvf #greta van fluff #greta van smut #greta van fic

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twig-tea · 14 hours ago

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Thank you for the tag in your post, @doublel27! This is a great example of why tagging is polite and vagueposting is rude (I'm going to use this as a teachable moment so bear with me): You've made reference to several stances that I don't hold and linked back to my post as evidence I do, but because you've tagged me, I can now clear the record. I might choose to ignore a tag sometimes, and tumblr can't be relied on to actually alert the person who was tagged reliably, but the point is the tag generally gives me the visibility and the choice; and the link lets people see for themselves what I said, so they can make the determination themselves even if I didn't bother to clarify. If you'd made this post without linking or tagging me, your readers would have to take your word for what my point was and I'd have no way to know you were misrepresenting my position. Whether or not I'd said on main to tag me, using my (or anyone's) words in a post critiquing them without attributing them or tagging the source is rude, and it feels awful to experience. I appreciate you taking the feedback in the original thread and tagging me directly so that I could see this.

You invoked my We Are post specifically as an example of criticism of We Are and Perfect 10 Liners (which, for the record, I haven't written anything about the latter, but I'm glad my post has you thinking about them both in conversation with each other and hopefully trends at large) that informed the perspectives of @lurkingshan and @waitmyturtles which you've represented as being: shows which don't meet their metric of good should not be engaged with or are ruining the genre. In fact, in my own post (which you've stated has informed their opinion), I started that post with the opposite statement:

I don’t begrudge anyone who enjoyed this show and I’m genuinely glad it brought comfort to people.

I went on to say:

...Shows are fully allowed to not be for me, I usually can differentiate between when a show is doing something I don’t like well, or when it’s failing at its own goals. And I don’t begrudge people with different taste getting catered to sometimes; my refrain is that most problems of representation are not solved by calling for less of something, and rather than wanting something not to be made, I’d rather champion for more and a greater variety of content.

I also am certain that both Shan and Jay know New Siwaj is a queer creator because I laid out in full New Siwaj's history creating shows as a gay creator (which you mentioned as a kind of 'gotcha' in your post) to get to the crux of my concern, which was this explicitly:

I wanted to lay out how I've watched New Siwaj’s career go from finding a way to tell incredibly poignant and healing queer narratives (by creating his own company, and fitting these moments into the GMMTV series he did work on) to stripping out queerness from the shows he’s creating in the last year or so.

I then brought in other examples. The point I make in this post is that there has been a pattern of shows from ~the last year adapting novels but not including specific aspects around queer conflict from the source material in the adaptation. I am judging these adaptations against the Thai novels they are based on, and looking at the active choices the adapters are making in the context of the markets in which they operate--which, for the record, is the opposite of ignoring their agency. I would say the same statement for Shan's and Turtles' posts (linked for convenience). And to assume Shan and Turtles only took away the critical aspect of my post or that they aren't making their own judgments of the BL scene at large seems like a disingenuous interpretation.

The part of your response and the original post by @maybe-boys-do-love that bothers me is that it implies that I think (I'm now assuming MBDL was responding to me among apparently several others, since you've invoked me in this response and suggested you've been speaking to him about it, but without having been referenced in the original post I have no way of knowing--just to again underscore my frustrations with vagueposting) that only my way of seeing shows is correct or valuable; that I conflate sex scenes with queerness; that I think BL romcoms are less valuable, less queer, or less good than more serious toned takes; or that these shows should not exist or be made in future. I would hope it's clear from my own writing that I don't think any of that, and that anyone reading @lurkingshan and @waitmyturtles's posts would understand they also do not think any of this. I'm not sure who either of you are actually mad at, but the ideas you're fighting are not written in any of the things I've said or anything I've reblogged from Shan or Turtles. And the insinuation that the criticism of the writing of these shows holds some kind of power to prevent others from enjoying or making series like this is frankly giving any of us too much credit.

Looks like while I was writing @wen-kexing-apologist wrote a great summary of the points made in the original posts by Shan and Turtles in the comments section of their post, so anyone reading can feel free to go there to read a 2-comment summary if you don't want to go back and read the full set of threads for yourselves.

It's not a good use of energy to argue about how someone chose to interpret my words or the words of others, so I'll stop there. I'm happy to discuss the points that I've made in my writing, but defending against bad faith interpretations of my or other people's posts is not what I want to spend any more time doing.

#fandom meta #typed so that I can stop thinking it

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fantasy-nerdddd · 7 months ago

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I cannot understand some of you. You keep saying Sunrise On The Reaping is only made because we have fucked up something. I know we have fucked up, it's not rare. Can't you just leave me to enjoy one of the very few series that haven't been destroyed by Disney plssssss?

Also, I know that I shouldn't be focusing on Everlark, but can't you just let me enjoy their love without making me feel like I am a cruel Capitol citizen that supports Snow and Coin? Just because I want to see romance unravel in a book series sometimes doesn't mean I ignore the life messages, and the political undertones, and the tragedy of it all. It just means that I want to focus on the positive and, yes, silly parts of a YA book. No one is actually dying, it's not a real story.

#Why are you making me have guilty conscience?#Let me enjoy something without making it political #Pls #thg series #thg #the hunger games trilogy #hunger games #the hunger games #katniss everdeen #katniss and peeta #everlark #sunrise on the reaping #Sotr #catching fire #mockingjay #love triangle

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kousanosgf · 25 days ago

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men, minors dni

councilor!sevika x housewife!reader

sevika comes home after another tiring day. gladly, she has a good way of reliving stress.

tags: domestic fluff, oral (reader receiving)

it was well past 12am but your kitchen was alive, filled with smells of spices and meat. sevika was still not home, and recently she took a very annoying habit of staying too late at work. you couldn't blame her. maybe you were staying home all day and having all the time to enjoy yourself and work around the house but you were knowledgeable enough to understand how hard politics can be. so there's definitely not even a thought to voice any of your complaints to sevika.

yet, you couldn't stop to feel disappointed and dissatisfied the whole day, ever since you woke up late in the morning, sevika already off to work. it was unfair that you are unable to meet her while living in the same house and sleeping in one bed. and that's the exact reason why you were staying up late, waiting for her to come home. "i will not go through the day without seeing my own wife." you told yourself as you put on the apron about an hour ago to spend some time cooking so you wouldn't fall asleep by accident.

finally you hear a key clicking in the lock and a door opening. you smile to yourself but don't move from your place to meet sevika, the pan demanding your full attention.

sevika moves around the house, taking off her boots and outwear, washing her hands in the bathroom, before coming into the kitchen.

"give me a sec-" you don't finish your sentence, sevika surprises you by basically attaching herself to your body, hugging from behind and nuzzling into the top of your head.

"sorry i'm late." she mummbles and it makes you smile.

"how was your day?" you ask as you stir the stew on the stove.

"i work with complete idiots."

you can't help but laugh at sevika's attitude. she sounds like a pouty child, the sleepiness in her voice definitely adding to overall cutness of her.

comfortable silence hangs between you as you continue to cook and sevika just tracks your hand movements. she gets restless, you guess, when you feel her palms cup your breasts. sevika presses more into you and kneads your chest, her mouth coming down to leave light kisses on your neck. it tickles and you flinch away slightly. sevika just presses harder, your frame now caught between her and the counter.

"aren't you hungry, babe?"

she humms in agreement but doesn't let you go. "my meal is right here." it's probably the cheesiest thing you heard from her but you're so in love it works, something twirls in your lower belly.

you nudge her to the side to turn off the stove so the food wouldn't burn and face her finally. there're dark circles under her eyes, she definitely needs a better sleep schedule. the sight makes you frown.

"i hope it's your day off tomorrow, like you promised." you look at her with a stern look but cup her cheek gently, rubbing circles with your thumb.

"it is." sevika grins, there's a mischievous glint in her eyes. "planned spending it without letting you out of my grip". her hands rise back to your waistline, toying with the ties of your sweatpants under the apron.

there's a lot you can tell her. it's been a long day for both of you, especially sevika. she probably only had quick snacks on her brakes. she needs to sleep more. but how can you when she grew basically professional at seducing you.

treating your silence as a permission to continue, sevika slides your pants and underwear swiftly. suddenly you're in the air, held by her, as she places you on the kitchen counter.

"made me nervous there, doll," she huffs and squats down to place herself perfectly between your legs. "thought, i'll have to beg."

she starts slow, taking her sweet time to get you hot and wet. she squeezes your thighs while telling how her day went. the end of the year is coming and it seems everyone demands annual reports on her every move.

you really try to be an attentive wife and listen carefully to her stories but it's basically impossible when sevika runs her hands up and down your inner thighs, the contrast of temperature between her arms makes you shiver. you can help but gasp as the finger of her metal arm dips softly in the crease where your hip connects to the crotch.

"no, baby. don't block the view." she teases when your legs twitch, trying to close from the unexpected contact.

"sorry," you sigh. "just... weren't you so eager for this?"

"i am." sevika laughs and puts her head on your hip. "but don't you want to be a good wife and listen to what i'v been up to?"

and you do. of course, you do. but that's not really the reaction she waits from you. recently sevika's been set on a mission. begging wouldn't help in this situation. what she really wanted is you demanding things from her. you were too nice and sweet, usually considering other's wishes first rather than yourself. sevika finds it cute and cherishes that part of you. it's one of the traits that was important for survival in zaun, people being empathetic towards each other, always ready to help the community. but everything had it's limits and by sevika's judgment you needed to be selfish sometimes, specifically with her, because either way she was willing and ready to serve your every wish.

"vika, please." you whine.

"try again." she turns her head to kiss your thigh.

"fuck- you need to eat me out!" you finally give up, leaning further back, your head presses against the wall, hips thrust up to get closer to her mouth.

she doesn't let you wait a second more as she basically leaps forward and puts her lips on your pussy. your apron is still on you, sevika dips under it, hiding herself. she chuckles as you whine displeased and doesn't let you drag the fabric up for a better view.

there's a pause that's followed by a bite on your inner thigh. "use your words."

"wanna see, vika. let me see." there's a smile against your skin. she lays her lips back on your dripping cunt and reaches for the laces of your apron.

the sight is magical, you think. her face rubbing against you, nose already coated in your slick as she was teasing your clit, sliding up and down. sevika holds your gaze, taking in your reaction, and then just dives deeper, closing her eyes. her tongue is inside of you now. you cry out with pleasure, you legs closing around her.

sevika is so so so good for you. she can't move her head now, so she can only use her mouth. the tongue disappears from your hole and she just sucks on your clit. her puppy grey eyes are back on you, drinking in your reaction.

the kitchen is filled with your quite moans when she holds you there for couple more minutes. then she decides something for herself. the tip of her tongue on your clit. it dances lightly without much rhythm.

sevika once told you, she needs to try to spell the whole alphabet on your pussy and maybe it's the time for it. and if it is, you're not sure you can last through the whole thing, already too worked up.

"vika-" she raises her brows in question. "need to cum."

as she hears it, the pressure hardens, her tongue now laying more flat, trying to cover as much skin as she can. the sounds of her mouth and your drenched cunt become louder. you have to hold onto her head, pushing fingers through her hair, to steady yourself.

sevika doesn't stop, doesn't slow down as you reach the climax. "need to clean up the mess." she usually jokes, guiding you through the feeling and then some, becoming delirious with need to overstimulate you till you actually tell her to stop.

you slide down the counter when you finally catch your breath, legs shakey. sevika has to steady you, grabbing your elbow.

"i'm not letting you out of the bed till monday." you say, brining yourself closer, kissing her wet lips.

"can't say i'll be disappointed." sevika grins. you scoff under your breath and tug at her arm out of the kitchen, stumbling like a baby deer on shaky legs.

#arcane #sevika #sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika x y/n

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cherry-zip · 3 months ago

Text

─ • CSC .ᐟ Aisles of Affection

› content ┆ idol scoups x fem reader, established relationship, jealousy, fluff ✎ word-count .ᐟ 2.2k. ⌁ summary ┆ After a hectic week, Seungcheol and you decide to go on a grocery shopping date. As you stroll through the aisles, picking out ingredients for a cozy dinner, an encounter with a supermarket worker triggers a wave of jealousy in Seungcheol.

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated!

It had been one of those relentlessly exhausting weeks—the kind that stretched like a rubber band pulled too tight, ready to snap at any moment. Between work deadlines, classes, and running errands, you and Seungcheol had barely seen each other. So when Friday evening finally rolled around, you decided to do something simple yet meaningful: spend the evening together, just the two of you. A casual date at the supermarket to pick out ingredients for a cozy dinner sounded perfect. You didn’t need anything fancy to enjoy each other's company; just a quiet evening to unwind.

As you made your way to the nearby supermarket, Seungcheol grabbed a cart, pushing it alongside you with his strong, sure hands. You walked in hand-in-hand, his grip warm and firm as he led you to grab the cart. There was something so comforting about its simplicity. You didn’t need extravagant dates when the best part of the day was always being with him. His presence was steady and comforting, like an anchor in the middle of a storm. Even something as mundane as grocery shopping felt special with him by your side.

“Should we start with vegetables or fruit?” he asked, his voice warm and casual, his eyes scanning the signs hanging above the aisles.

“Fruit,” you replied without hesitation. “I’m in the mood for something sweet.”

He smirked, giving you a teasing look. “You’re always in the mood for something sweet.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully with your elbow. “Can you blame me? Life’s better with dessert.”

His smile widened at that, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that way you loved. “Alright, fruit it is then.”

As you made your way to the produce section, you noticed Seungcheol looking over at you every now and then, his gaze soft and thoughtful. It was the little things like that—those quiet moments of tenderness—that reminded you just how much he cared. He wasn’t always the type to say it out loud, but his actions spoke volumes. The way he gently guided you through crowds, how he’d grab things off the highest shelves without you asking, or how he’d always make sure your favorite snacks made it into the cart.

Seungcheol was the type of boyfriend who always paid attention to the little things. He knew you loved cherries, so of course, he steered the cart straight to the fruit section. He began scanning the shelves with his sharp eyes, intent on picking the best ones for you. It didn’t take long to reach the rows of colorful fruit. Your eyes immediately went to the cherries, plump and bright red under the fluorescent lights. You reached out to grab a pack, but Seungcheol beat you to it, picking it up and examining it with a critical eye.

“They don’t look that fresh,” he said, frowning as he held the pack closer for inspection. “Let me see if there are better ones.”

You chuckled softly, amused by how seriously he took even the smallest details. “Seungcheol, they’re just cherries. I’m sure they’re fine.”

He didn’t look convinced. “No way, I’m getting you the best ones.” His gaze flicked to a nearby worker stocking the fruit section, a young guy with a friendly smile who seemed happy to help.

And that’s when things started to shift.

The worker noticed Seungcheol’s approach and walked over. His name tag read *Minho* in neat black lettering. He glanced between you two before stepping closer, offering a polite nod. “Hey, can I help you with anything?” he asked, his tone overly friendly as he glanced in your direction, giving you a smile that lingered just a bit too long.

And that’s when you felt the subtle shift.

Seungcheol, who had been calm and easygoing just moments ago, suddenly straightened, his grip tightening ever so slightly on the cherry pack. His jaw set a little firmer, and his eyebrows narrowed just a fraction, barely noticeable, but enough for you to catch it. You sensed the subtle shift in his mood, like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon. Was he... jealous?

“We were just looking for the freshest cherries,” Seungcheol said, his voice polite but a little sharper than usual. “These ones don’t seem great.”

Minho looked at you again, clearly unaware of the silent territorial tension now simmering between you and Seungcheol, smiled, and nodded. “Oh, those are great, but if you want the best ones, we’ve got a new batch in the back. I can go grab them for you if you’d like.” He flashed you another grin before glancing at Seungcheol, who was glaring at him.

You noticed then that Minho’s gaze lingered on you a little longer than it should have, the kind of glance that seemed more friendly than professional. It wasn’t inappropriate by any means, but it was enough to catch Seungcheol’s attention. His hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer to him, his fingers curling possessively on your skin. His grip was gentle, but there was a clear message behind it.

“No need,” Seungcheol replied quickly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We’ll take these.”

You could feel the simmering frustration rolling off him in waves, though he tried to keep his expression neutral. Minho blinked, clearly catching on to the underlying tension but still oblivious to its cause. “Alright, well, if you need anything else, just let me know,” he said, shooting you one last smile before walking off to help another customer.

As soon as Minho was out of earshot, Seungcheol exhaled slowly, his shoulders still tense. You couldn’t help but notice the way his fingers tightened on your waist, his face drawn into a tight line. He didn’t say anything as you continued down the aisles, but you knew him well enough to understand what was going on. Your usually confident and calm boyfriend was feeling... jealous.

The thought of it almost made you laugh. Choi Seungcheol, leader of Seventeen, who could command attention with just a look, was jealous over a random supermarket worker? It was adorable, really.

You leaned closer to him as you walked past the dairy section, nudging him gently. “You okay, Cheol?” you asked, trying to keep your voice light.

He didn’t look at you at first, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though the tone of his voice said otherwise.

But he wasn’t fine, and you knew it. You could see the way his jaw was clenched, the way his eyes flicked toward where Minho had gone as if to make sure the guy wasn’t still looking at you. It would have been endearing if it wasn’t so out of character for him.

“You sure? Because you’ve been acting a little... off since the fruit section,” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

Seungcheol sighed, running a hand through his dark hair as he leaned against the cart, his eyes searching yours. There was something vulnerable in his gaze that made your heart squeeze a little. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, though you could tell he was struggling to brush it off. After a moment, he turned to you, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of frustration and vulnerability. “It’s just—did you see the way that guy was looking at you?” he asked, his voice low, almost frustrated.

You blinked, genuinely surprised. “Minho?”

“Yeah, him, Minho,” Seungcheol said, his brow furrowing, nearly spitting out the name like it left a bitter taste in his mouth. “He was practically undressing you with his eyes.”

You tried to hold back a laugh, but the seriousness in Seungcheol's expression made it impossible. You let out a soft chuckle, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Cheol, he was just being friendly. I doubt he even thought about me like that.”

But Seungcheol wasn’t having it. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Well, I noticed. And I didn’t like it.”

There was a pause as you took in his words, your heart fluttering at the possessiveness in his tone. He wasn’t usually this direct about his feelings, but when he was, it always caught you off guard. You smiled up at him, running your fingers through his dark hair, trying to soothe his worries. Choi Seungcheol—your confident, cool-headed boyfriend—was feeling jealous because of a brief interaction with a random supermarket worker. It was kind of adorable, really.

You leaned up on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his cheek, your fingers grazing his jawline. “You don’t have to worry about anyone else, Cheol,” you murmured against his skin. “I’m yours, remember? I always have been.”

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close in a protective embrace. “I know...,” he whispered, his tense expression softening just a bit, but the jealousy still lingered in his eyes. “I just hate the idea of someone else thinking they have a chance with you.”

You leaned up on your tiptoes, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, feeling the tension in his body slowly melt away as he kissed you back. His arms tightened around you, anchoring you in place as if he needed to remind himself that you were still there, still his.

You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady

beat of his heart as you stood there, cocooned in your own little world amidst the bustle of the supermarket. No one could ever compare to him, and you hoped he knew that. “You’re the only one for me,” you reassured him softly.

Seungcheol was quiet for a moment, his hand gently rubbing circles on your back. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, the edge of frustration melting away. “I know. I guess I just get... protective sometimes.”

You smiled, tilting your head up to look at him. “Sometimes? Mmmh… You’re always protective.”

Seungcheol chuckled at that, his mood finally lightening. He gave you a sidelong glance, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “Can you blame me? Well, you’re worth protecting.”

As you finished up your shopping and headed to the checkout, the earlier tension seemed like a distant memory. Seungcheol was back to his usual self, joking with you as you debated which snacks to buy. And when you passed by Minho one last time, you couldn’t help but notice the way Seungcheol shot him a quick, pointed look, as if to silently say, *She’s mine.*

And honestly? You kind of loved it.

That night, as you cooked dinner together in the warmth of your small apartment, the earlier jealousy seemed almost silly. But deep down, you knew it meant something more. Seungcheol loved you fiercely, protectively, in a way that made you feel safe and cherished. And even if it meant dealing with the occasional amount of jealousy, you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Because at the end of the day, you knew one thing for sure: Choi Seungcheol was your boyfriend, and no one—not even a flirty supermarket worker—could ever change that.

Later that evening, after you had returned to your apartment and started cooking together, sneakily eating cherries at times while still thinking back to the supermarket, Seungcheol stood beside you, focused on chopping vegetables while you stirred the pot on the stove. The warmth of the kitchen, the quiet clinking of utensils, and the soft hum of your shared space felt like a balm to the stress of the week.

“So,” you said casually, breaking the comfortable silence. “About earlier…”

Seungcheol glanced at you, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

You grinned, shaking your head. “Nope. I just think it’s cute that you got jealous over a supermarket worker.”

He groaned, running a hand over his face as if to hide his embarrassment. “I wasn’t jealous—I was just… being cautious.”

“Sure thing, darling,” you teased, stepping closer to him. “Whatever you say.”

He sighed dramatically, setting the knife down before turning to face you. “Fine, maybe I was a little jealous. But can you blame me? You’re the most amazing person in the world, and I don’t want anyone else thinking they have a shot with you.”

You felt a surge of affection as you reached up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing gently against his skin. “You have nothing to worry about, Seungcheol. I’m all yours, forever.”

His eyes softened at your words, and he leaned down to capture your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. When you pulled apart, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I love you,” he whispered, the sincerity in his voice making your heart swell.

“I love you too,” you whispered back.

In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of the kitchen and the comforting presence of the man you loved, you knew one thing for certain: no matter what, no one could ever come between you.

› anonymous review form

yes i had to make it about cherries out of every fruits available... i might just be obsessed thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! don't forget to like, reblog, comment ^^

❀ a/n┆I've been writing a longer fic.. I've no idea if it will ever come to life so I do have a shorter and modified version coming at some point

‧₊ ᵎᵎ “CHERRY.zip"🍒 ⋅ ˚✮

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aliceinborderlandsquidgame · 5 days ago

Text

We meet again | In-ho x Fem!Reader | PT1

Summary: It was only one night for fun, you never thought you would see him again. Even less in a place like this one.

PT2 PT3

Warnings: S2 Spoilers - Canon violence - Pregnant!Reader - Non canon background for In-ho -

Na-eun -> Coworker - Use of (Y/N) - Angst - Suggestive -

Gif by: @el-cheung

The ocassions where In-ho could leave the island and get himself a drink with normal peopel in a normal bar were slim.

He liked to think of these as vacations of some sort. Even if it was in a lost town in the cost. He still avoided big cities.

The place was nice nothing fancy like he is used to. And that gave him a nostalgic feeling, made him feel like he was not that man, the one making sure the games went on. But another normal man enjoying a drink.

"Can I buy you a drink" A female voice broke his thoughts.

He took a look at his left side and felt his heart flutter, god did you look gorgeous, your hair kind of a mess but in a good way, not too revealing clothes, eyes to die for, that made him think you were piercing his soul, and your smile, it was like the sun.

He gave you a polite smile but refused, knowing it was better for both to not get involved.

Such a coward he was.

"Oh cmon handsome, just one drink and I will let you in peace" You insisted getting a funny look from the barman

"Dont scare my clients off (Y/N)" He called over his shoulder.

In-ho saw you pout at the barman, you were most likely from this town, a local. Someone with a boring life, maybe you worked with lifestock or had a small store. He could picture you having a flower shop.

"Sorry if I bothered you" You finally said feeling his lost of interest and going to take your own drink and get back to your friends who most likely would taunt you for getting rejected.

"Wait" In-ho said making you stop. He knew it was a bad idea but he could not help himself.

"What type of Man would let a girl pay? Let me buy you a drink" He finally said giving you a small smirk. "Im In-ho" He introduced himself when you took the seat besides him again.

"In-ho" You repeated, teasting his name in your tongue. It sent a shiver down his spine that he tried to ignore. "Well, im (Y/N) as you probably hear, pleasure to meet you, visting the town?"

In-ho signal for the barman bring two more drinks while he nodded at you. "You can say that..."

"And? Are you liking it so far?" You asked taking a sip from your drink keeping eye contact.

"The views are...quiet splendid" He responded not taking his eyes off from you.

~○~○~○~○~○~○

One drink made him feel more relaxed, he could talk without having to take his words under much consideration, the next one made his body feel hotter, specially when you would touch his arm or shoulder and laught at something he commented.

Most likely it was not that funny.

And drink after drink, it got you two closer, talking quietly like you two were exchanging deep secrets. Faces red, eyes open looking for something more.

"Do you wanna leave with me In-ho?" You asked in a whisper one hand on his chest.

Oh, he really wanted to. He wanted to end this night with you screaming his name over and over again. Maybe he would fuck you so good you would not even be able to forget about him.

"Aren't you too drunk?" He asked, always the gentlemen.

You just scoffed at him but did smile, feeling warm because of his worry, most men would jump at the offer.

But he was not like most men.

"Im fine, im sure about this. I want to leave this place with you"

In-ho payed for the drinks and left with you that night.

And just as he had planned he got you screaming his name till no end. Till you cried that it was too much but kept pulling him closer.

It was messy, it was long, sweat fell from your tangled bodies. It was as it you two were made for each other.

The next morning In-ho woke up first, he could not help but let out a soft smile, seeing your sleepy face, hair a mess, and the marks from last night.

He was temped for another round...

But his phone buzzed.

He groaned taking it already expecting problems.

"Sir..."

And just like that the dream ended. He had to leave you like that. Not a goodbye or a phone to call. You weren't his first night stand but you were the only one he felt bad leaving behind.

If he had time...he would have loved to take you to a proper date.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~

Part of you had hoped he would stay, at least to have breakfast with you. You had said you made the best in town.

But no, the bed was empy only his marks stood behind and the cum between your legs.

You tried to move on from it. Telling yourself it was good sex at the end. And that he would not even stay at the small town for much time.

Did it hurt ?

Like a knife passing your arm.

And things were going to get much, much worse.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

"Hey (Y/N) are you alright in there?" The voice of your worried coworker called from outside the bathroom stall.

You went to respond but feel another gag coming making you unable to.

"Im fine, just morning sickness" You finally said, breathing hard and sweating while getting out from the stall.

"Oh be honest, I have a sister you know? Who was pregnant recently" You coworker insisted getting close and gently giving your shoulder a squish. "You are not alone in this" She smiled gently.

You wanted to believe her, but the reality was not on your side.

Yes, everything is fine, you just have a baby whos father left after one night stand. The man never tried to contact you again or leave a fucking note. And you were so wasted you forgot the after day pill.

Fuck it all.

On top of that, you had to leave the small town after load sharks came looking for your brother who being an amazing brother left a debt, and since your parents were long dead and you were the only family left, the debt fell on you.

Which made you have to move from the small and calm town to Seoul, under the threats of the fuckers on making the town suffer if you did not pay.

Part of you believed they were too lazy to travel between the town and Seoul. But you did not want to put the place at risk so you left.

And now here you were, in a shit job in a hole that dared to call itself "bar", alone, with debt and barely doing any money for you. All went to pay the debt, part for the rent and other part to get the healthiest food you could get for you and your baby.

"Why dont you move in with me?" Your coworker suddendly asked, "We can divide the rent, you would get more money for you and the baby"

"Are you sure? I dont want to be a burden"

"Its fine, I would not offer it to you if I was not sure"

And you found yourself crying, over happines for the first time.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

In-ho had to get back to the Island for the next games. Things were moving in their place, getting players and new games. The classic "red light green light" needed to stay since it did clean off most players, the most weak ones in his opinion.

His mind would wonder to you. He had no idea why, after all you two did not know each other on a deep level. And yet he found himself repeating that night. Not only the sex, it was amazing, maybe the best he had in a long time. But also your confidence, how you had approach him first, then respectfully you tried to get away once he gave you a negative response at first.

He had a fair amount of insisting women and it made his skin crawl in disgust, but no. You were not like that.

And your eyes, and smile. In-ho thought he could let lost in these, he could stare at your eyes all day and night, watch you in the dark and just feel happy because he was with you.

Him, a respected and feared man, who had everything when it came to power. He found himself wanting you, by his side. Maybe he could get back to that town and look for you. Date you like a proper Man and maybe, just maybe you would return with him.

He knew he was being selfish, being with him would mean saying goodbye to a normal life. A quiet life you most likely had.

It was a inner battle, the wish to keep tabs on you, so he could properly approach you next time and have the upper hand. Also, there was a need to keep you safe. He was not sure why, he just felt it.

However, things were never that easy.

The phone from his office rang, he picked up with his mask on, his voice muffled by it.

"Sir, player 456 its causing problems outside"

In-ho let out a very long breath trying to collect his thoguhts.

"I will deal with him myself"

And like that, the ideas of going after you were pushed aside, he needed to fulfill his task as The Front Man first.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

You held the picture in your hands while you waited for the next train. Your baby, or well it was suppos to be your baby, you could not make much of the shapes but the Doctor had said it was healthy and that was enough for you.

"Hey little one" You whisper passing one finger over the photo not caring about the rest of the world right now.

But life seemed to like taunting you.

"Excusme Miss" A well dress Salesman talked to you his smile gentle yet kind ot intimidating. "Would you like to play a game with me?"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~

"What happened to you!!" The suprise scream from your coworker and now roomate filled your ears as you entered the small aparment.

"Nothing, dont worry about it" You tried to go pass her but she held you in place.

"Nothing? Your left cheeck its all red! Did someone attack you?"

"No, nothing like that. Please I dont really want to talk about it..."

Honestly you could not understand what had happen. You two played ddakji and you lost. In order to make up for it you got slapped. Lots of times you were about to leave but the Man would say something about money and motion to the photo you had. You were furious but kept playing till you won.

You got a card and a few wones, he said how he felt pity over you and to call the number on the card if you wanted to win more money.

The exchange was strange, bizarre, the only thing telling you it was real was the money you had in your pocket and the card.

"Put some ice on it" Na-eun told you going to get it herself. "Did you get the picture?" She screamed even if she was not that far away

"I did"

"Oh let me see!! I want to see my nephew!"

"Na-eun, i dont know the sex of the baby yet" You responded taking the ice and passing her the picture.

"Its a feeling, I can tell its going to be a boy"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

Life was good for a few more weeks, as good as it could be in your current situation.

But saddly it did not last.

"What..."

"Im sorry (Y/N), my sister called me. She needs me at her home. I cant stay any longer in Seoul" She said between cries knowing you would have no one if she went away.

"Hey, dont cry. Its your sister, I understand" You said trying to reassure her that you would be alright but still...it was a hard pain to take.

"I will pay my part of the rent till next month but after that...she trailed off"

"Dont worry, I will find a way" You smiled at her trying not to worry.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

That same night you called the number on the card, knowing your life would just get harder and harder now that you were alone once more.

After saying your name and birth date you were told of a place to be on a specific day and time.

"Stay calm little one, we will be ok" You said caressing your growing belly. "Mom will take care of everything"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

The next thing you knew you woke up in what seemed to be a big room with multiple beds. It was cold, your old clothes were replaced by what resembled a sports suit. The number "344" adorned your chest.

The peopel around you seemed as confused and lost as you were. Fear started to creep inside you, maybe you screw up? Maybe this was human traffic? What would happen to you? And your baby?

You saw another female player who seemed just as lost as you and...wait it could not be.

Was she also pregnant?

Thinking you had nothing to lose you went near her. Not too sure what to say at first.

"Hello, you dont happen to know whats going on?" You asked knowing the answer but looking to make small chat.

She looked back at you then at your lower belly, the confliction in her eyes was clear as day.

"No I dont, how..how long are you due?" She asked nervously but also feeling better that there was someone else in the same situation as her.

You smiled, "A few more months, you?" She responded making your smile bigger. "Looks like we are in the same boat, player 222" You said seeing her number "Want to, stick together till we know whats happening?"

And like that, you made your first friend inside the games.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

After the long introduction the pink guards gave to all of you, they guided the group around a maze of colorfull stairs, you looked over player 222 making sure she was alright, you had to make small stops yourself. Behind you stood a player, 456 who seemed to notice your state and did not mention a thing, if nothing his face seemed to pale at it.

The guards finally left all of you in a big area, up front was a doll and a white line. Your mind went to think on the words from the guards, this was a kids game, it should be easy right?

"Hey 222, stick with me" You called a bit worried over her and you. If this game included running then it would be a challenge for you and her.

But you could do it, you had to do it.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

The splash of blood on your face made you want to vomit, move and run away. But the screams from player 456 stopped you. Reminding you that if the doll dectected movement then you would be shot.

"It cant see on your blind stops" He screamed moving his hand behind his back to show all of you. "Make a line, short ones behind tall ones, we will move together"

You gulped but did as he said getting behind a player with the number 390, who also noticed your state and looked worried.

"Im fine" You assured him stopping when the doll also stopped singing.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

Like any other year In-ho stood in his room seeing the first game, a glass of whisky being his only company.

He could not see the faces of all players, too focus in Gi-hun and his attempt to save everybody. However, years of being a detective and watching this game made him have a critical eye, he saw two, two pregnant woman in the game, struggling but not giving up. He felt a tug in his heart, he knew this was to make games more interesting, to have players of all ages and circumstances, but even him, someone who was once part of them could not shake the uncomfortable feeling.

"It cant be" He whispered seeing you move, something from you called him, like he knew you. But that could not be right? You were in that town, safe, living your life.

How wrong he was.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~

Once the game was over the need to vomit returned stronger, you held it back not wanting to bring attention over you.

Both player 456 (who he presented as Seong Gi-hun, and player 390 (who said his name was Jung-Bae) went to you. Asking if you were alright or needed anything, even if Gi-hun knew he could not get you a single thing.

"Im ok, I will survive, Thanks for your directions during the game Seong" You thanked the Man who nodded

"You can call me Gi-hun"

"344!!, 344!!" The screams of 222 filled your ears, you turned to see her and hugged her.

"Oh I was so worried over you, over both of you" You added quietly

"I lost you in the crowd...You are fine?"

You made a face, honestly the situation was far from fine but you needed to be strong.

"I will make it, will you tell me your name now?"

"Its Jun-hee" she responded in a low tone.

"(Y/N)" You pointed at yourself then at your belly "Little one"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

Voting. You could vote to be out and walk with some money. In all honestly it did not cover your debt at all. But you prefer walking out alive, able to raise your baby than getting both dead.

"I will help all of you" The voice of Gi-hun cut off your thoughts, a small circle with him, his friend and Jun-hee was formed "Just help me to stop these games, peopel will keep dying if not"

"Im in" You said to him who nodded back.

The voting was thight, you had to held onto Jun-hee arm to not fall because of how nervous you were. Jung-Bae tried to calm both of you, saying most likely the Xs would win.

But it was a tie, a tie and only one player. Player 001 was going to break off. You did not see his face only his back, he took a moment to decide.

He pressed circle, the games will continue. And when he turned around you felt your soul leave your body.

It was him, In-ho the man who you had one night stand and left you pregnant with no way of contacting him.

The same man who's final vote would force you to continue playing.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

The dinner was....bad. That was the only word for it. You forced yourself to eat thinking in your baby, Jung-Bae was kind enough to give you his milk, you decided to divide it with Jun-hee who was also gratefull.

When circle players came, asking Gi-hun about next game you wanted to pull their eyes out. They were using him, like a secret card to win. But Gi-hun seemed unbothered, he said what the next game was and even told them that he would share it with everybody.

Some walked away angry, and giving Jun-hee and you some nasty looks, guess no one wanted two pregnant woman around.

"Ignore them" Dae-ho another player who had voted X and kind of formed a small friendship with Jung-Bae said to Jun-hee and You.

"Can we talk?" The voice of player 001 came as a suprise to all of you, but the suprise was bigger when they noticed he was talking directly to you.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

Both of you walked away from the group needing privacy from them.

"What are you doing here?" In-ho asked taking your arms. The last person he would bet being here was you. You looked fine when he last saw you, not like a person who would be in debt. Besides you were from a small town, the organization moved between big cities.

Just...what had happen?

"Hello (Y/N) How are you doing? Or did you also forget my name too?" You responded too angry, confused and stressed.

He pressed his lips in a thin line to calm himself down. No, he could never forget your name. You filled his dreams every night, he did promise to himself he would go back to you once this games were over.

He never expected or wished that you would came to him, to this place.

"You cant be here" It was more like to negate himslef the fact that you were indeed here. "Its too dangerous for you and your baby" The last was said so softly it almost made you feel bad.

Almost.

"Well, thank you for making all of us play another round" You responded going to get away from him but he held you in place.

"I was not the only one who voted to stay"

"No, you were not" you did give him the reason "But your vote was the one that broke the tie. Sorry if I feel inclined to be angry at you.

In-ho gulped, no you were right to be angry, specially since you were not only fighting for your life but the baby in your belly.

"The baby..." He trailed off, the question clear but he found himself scared to say it out loud.

You took a long deep breath, you had imagined finding him and telling him about the baby, you never pictured it would be like this. But luck was never on your side.

"Yes, its yours. I wanted to tell you, but you ran away and left me no way of contacting you" A small pause to get your words together "Listen, I wont ask anything from you, we had a good time and thats it"

No. No he could not ignore it. First, you plagued his nights and days, making him feel like he was young again and having his first crush. Then you appear here, pregnant with his baby no less.

How could he ignore it? When a family with you was one of the many dreams he had. Even if it was like he was going too quick, thinking too fast when you two only shared a night.

"No, listen. Im sorry for leaving like that, I dont expect you to forgive me or understand me" He could not tell you why he had left, why he never contacted you. "But I promise I will take care of both of you. No harm will be done to you or to our baby"

Hearing him say "our baby" made you want to cry but you did not know he was able to protect you, to you he was just another player.

"Dont make promises you cant keep. And dont worry I have managed fine this last months" You said leaving him behind and returning to the group that were not so casually looking at the exchange.

Once you made it back you went directly to your bed, needing to rest just for a bit.

"Who was he?" Jun-hee asked softly

"No one, he is no one"

Jun-hee had a feeling about who he was but decided to be silent out of respect.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

In-ho saw you go, his hand moving to fists by his side. He wanted nothing but to have you moved out from the games. Maybe you could stay in his room till all ended. You would be well taken care of, would make sure the most trusted Doctor of the island checked on you and his baby.

A baby, a life. Something he had made on accident but did not mean he did not want it. No, he did. He could see you, him and the baby, the three of you living together, he would teach his kid so much and love you till death.

Was he becoming obsess? Maybe.

Did he care? No.

He would do whateve he could to keep you and his kid safe.

#squid game imagine #squid game imagines #squid game x y/n #squid game x reader #in ho x reader #inho x reader

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joelmillerisapunk · 2 months ago

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Vicious

Dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Masterlist ★ Wordcount: 1.8k

📽 —★ Summary: In the quiet solitude of your own home, you revel in the rare freedom of an empty house, indulging in forbidden pleasures on a hot summer day. The unexpected arrival of your dads buddy Joel turns your casual rebellion into something far more thrilling.

📽 —★ Warnings: 18+, mdni, reader is in college but is called a "school girl", wears a uniform that has a skirt. Joel and reader are both kinda assholes to each other. Mentions of smoking cigarettes and drinking beer, age gap (reader is early 20's, Joel is whatever you would like but in my mind 40's or older) p in v, uses of slut and whore, in this world and my daydreams Joel is able to get off multiple times without a break (I am not going for supreme accuracy I am going for porn), if I missed anything please let me know

📽 —★ Notes: Hello, welcome to my comeback fic. Please note that I am very rusty since posting my last fic in July 🫠 but I am very excited to be back writing, reading and posting once again! I hope you enjoy. I've missed being here with all you lovely humans so much 🥹

📽 —★ A big thank you to my wonderful friends for reading/hyping me: @milla-frenchy @evolnoomym @thundermartini and @syd-djarin who also helped me with the mood board 💋 love you all so much. And of course @saradika-graphics for the lovely divider

“I’m home!” you shout the second you walk in the door. Dead silent, no response. You shrug as you make your way to your room but pause halfway up the stairs. No one. That means you can do whatever the hell you want. You walk back down, throwing your backpack to the floor an head to the kitchen, grabbing one of your dad's beers from the fridge, taking it out to the deck. You retrieve your hidden cigarette pack taped beneath the table outside. You grab a cigarette and light it up as you lean back in the chair, opening your legs until your feet rest on either side of the lawnchair. After a stressful day at school, you need some kind of relief. Plus, your schoolgirl uniform is much too uncomfortable on a hot summer day, causing you to undo the top few buttons of your white blouse, allowing the small but cool breeze to graze your exposed skin.

“I always thought you were a bit of a slut.”

You look up to see your dad’s buddy Joel leaning in the doorway, a lit cigarette hanging from his mouth as well. Instead of jumping up, snapping your legs shut, or covering your chest, you give him the finger. That guy can go fuck himself.

“And so polite too.”

“Joel, the last thing I need right now is you and your opinion. School sucked, and I don’t give a shit what you think of me.”

“Christ, kid, I was only fucking with you. I mean, you do look trashy as hell, but that’s okay. I like trashy.”

“Are you hitting on me now? Really? You’re like seventy.”

“Try again sweetheart,” he says, stepping out onto the deck. You try to ignore him as he walks closer until he stops directly in front of you.

“You like the view, asshole?”

“I don’t know,” he says, leaning down and tilting his head. “I wouldn’t have guessed white. I mean, you don’t seem like the innocent type. More like a black satin sort of girl.”

“Oh, don’t you know?” you reply, taking a drag from your cigarette. “We have to wear white panties too. They check us every morning. We line up in a row, and they make us lift our skirts so they can see what we have on under them.”

“I’ll have to see if they have any openings. Sounds like a good job.”

“Oh fuck you. Besides, you wouldn’t know what to do with one of us, let alone three hundred.”

The bastard sinks down until he’s squatting in front of your now wet panties, still smoking as he admires the view. You finally reach down, open your legs wider, and give him the finger with your hand right in front of your cunt. If he wants to look, he can fucking look at that.

“If you didn’t want me, you’d be in the house already instead of sitting there with those pretty legs open.”

“Is that what you think?” you ask, trembling in spite of yourself. He’s a huge dick, but he’s also right. You do like teasing him, and the thought of him going home and jerking off over you is fun.

“I know it,” he says, sitting down at the bottom of the chair.

“And what would you do with a girl like me? I’ve probably had more sex than you’ll ever have. Better sex too.”

“What, with some stupid school boy who fucks like a jackhammer, hoping he’s found the right hole?”

You look at him, rolling your eyes and shaking your head before butting your cigarette.

“Why don’tcha unbutton that shirt some more? Let me see how you’ve filled out.”

“Jesus Christ. What do you think my dad would say if he saw you eyeing his daughter up and down like a piece of meat?”

“What do you think he’d do if he saw you sitting here spread eagle, smoking a cigarette and drinking his beer? His sweet little angel, showin’ off for his friend?" he responds playfully, raising his eyebrows.

You sit up in the chair, never breaking his gaze as you undo the next two buttons of your blouse, revealing your naked chest.

“You’re not going to do a thing,” you say, reaching down and opening your shirt just enough for him to get a glimpse. “You’re going to sit there and drool over my body.”

“Is that whatcha think?” he chuckles. “What's actually going to happen is that I'm going to bend you over and fuck you until you cry.”

“You’d probably come the second you got a glimpse of my pussy. I bet you’re so hard right now you can barely think."

“Try me,” he says, moving up between your legs. His hand now under your skirt.

“Let go and I’ll show you,” you say, your voice nearly catching in your throat. He moves his hand in an instant. You reach down, gently touching the lips around your clit through the thin white fabric. Joel watches the entire time, never taking his eyes off of your hand. “Is this what you want?” you say, pulling the white cotton to one side, exposing your pussy to his greedy eyes.

“It’s a start,” he replies as he moves closer. He lifts your legs up over his knees. You are silent as he unzips his pants, and as much as you try not to watch, you can’t help yourself. He reaches in, and in one fluid motion, his cock juts out of his boxers.

“Jesus,” you say as he begins to stroke himself slowly. He’s only partially hard, but his cock is big and thick, and you are on dangerous ground.

“Just like those high school boys?” he asks, reaching out, grabbing you around the waist. Before you can protest, he pulls you up onto his lap, his hard cock stuck between your pussy and his stomach. His other hand joins the first until his fingers dig into the cheeks of your ass. His face is inches from you.

“You don’t have the nerve,” you say, not willing to look away.

Joel wastes no time as he tears your blouse open, the last remaining buttons flying off as he pulls it down over your shoulders, your bare breasts now fully visible. He tugs it down even further until it slides off your arms, leaving you topless.

“I’m going to fuck you, baby. I’m going to push those panties to one side, shove my big cock in you, and then listen to you scream.”

“I’ll tell my dad,” you whisper.

“No you won’t,” he says, sliding his hand all the way beneath you. As he holds you tight, he slips his fingers beneath your panties and then inside your now soaking wet pussy, working them in and out for a few seconds before bringing his hand up to your mouth and pushing his fingers between your lips. You gladly lick your excitement off his thick digits, feeling his large cock grow against you.

“You’re going to come in seconds," you whisper. “If you even make it inside me. You have no idea how sweet my little cunt is."

“Guess we’ll have to find out. But first, let’s see if you’re right, or if you’re just a filthy little slut who needs another dick.”

Before you can think of a response, he lifts you up, pushing your panties to one side, and then guides his large cock into you. In one swift motion, he’s deep inside of you, and you are on his lap. You try to suppress a moan as he pulls you closer.

“You knew this was going to happen the second you saw me. And so did I,” he adds.

He begins to move slowly, feeling him slide in and out of you each time you tighten your grip. Fuck, he feels good; his cock hitting your walls in all the right places. It’s not fair.

“And you’re a whore,” he says, moving his mouth down your chin, making his way down your neck.

“You’re an asshole,” you mutter, causing him to thrust harder.

“Which is why you’re letting me fuck you.” His hands run through your hair, gripping it in his hand as he continues to fuck you. You moan louder, trying to hold back a scream as his fingers grip tighter and tighter around your hair. You can feel his balls throbbing against you as his breath quickens. You are on fire as his cock pumps into your wet, hot, sensitive pussy, causing both of you to groan loudly. You can tell he’s close to his own release; you can feel your pussy convulsing, and you start moving on him harder. He grabs your hips, holding you still as he pounds himself into you. His balls clench tight as he groans loudly in ecstasy, his breath harsh with lust. His climax soon follows after, rope after rope of hot liquid exploding inside of you. He stays buried inside of you as the orgasm takes over him completely. After a few moments of catching his breath, Joel looks at you and mutters between breaths, "Just because I came doesn’t mean I’m done with you.”

And then he pulls out of you, flipping you over, pushing you down onto the deck chair and your panties to the side so you can feel him against you, his cock still dripping. But then, somehow, he’s back inside of you, fucking you into the fabric of the chair. “You might be cute, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop.”

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, feeling his weight against you, pinning you down. When he reaches an arm around your neck, you begin to moan. Oh god, don’t stop Joel. Don’t stop fucking me; I’m gonna come.”

“That’s right, baby. Come for me. Come like the little slut you are.”

“Fuck!” you cry out, feeling yourself let go completely. You shake and tremble as you clench around him. His breath picks up as he’s close to his own orgasm.

“I’m going to come in this pussy one more time.”

��No!” you beg, needing to at least pretend to resist when in fact you don't want this to ever end. The thought of him coming in you again makes your pussy tighten in anticipation. Then finally, when it seems he won't ever come inside of you, he does. Your entire body begins trembling, fighting against another orgasm. As you feel him pull out of you, he turns you over, putting his hand in your panties and cupping your cheek. Your eyes open wide, and you can feel the warm liquid dripping from your thighs. He looks down at his own cock. It too has started to twitch.

“Look at the mess you made," he whispers, placing the tip of his cock into the wetness. "You'd better clean this up before someone sees. You're going to lick every drop,” he commands. You nod. "Good girl."

As you place kisses along his cock, licking away any remaining semen, Joel watches in amusement. You stand up, looking up at him.

“Are you satisfied?" you ask.

“For now," he smirks, turning towards the house. "See ya tomorrow." With that, he goes up the porch steps, his back to you and makes his way home, only to be back tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #tlou fanfiction

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nosyp · 21 days ago

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Twst boys reactions to u singing/listening to a suggestive song🤭

A/N = ME DOING ALL DORMS AT ONCE??? crazy day guys (btw im listening to body by megan thee stallion ykyk)

Heartslabyul

Riddle Rosehearts

Instantly turns as red as his hair, unable to process what he's hearing.

Stammers something about 'decency' and 'propriety' but struggles to look you in the eye.

If you're singing, he might just leave the room, saying how it’s 'inappropriate' but deep down, he's flustered, shook.

Trey Clover

Smirks and tries to play it cool, but his ears betray him by turning pink.

“That's... quite a choice of song.” He doesn’t outright say anything, but you can feel his awkwardness.

If you catch him humming along later, well, that's another story.

Cater Diamond

He... LOVES it. Homeboy IS PULLING OUT HIS PHONE to start recording or lip-syncing with you.

“Hey, let's do a duet! This'll totally gonna trend!”

Doesn’t seem bothered at all, but you notice his sly grin when the lyrics get particularly spicy.

Ace Trappola

Laughs obnoxiously, pretending he’s unfazed, but his red face gives him away.

“Pfft, what kind of song is this? You’re so weird.”

Secretly intrigued and might look up the song later.

Deuce Spade

FREEZES. His face is as red as the Heartslabyul logo color.

“W-WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO?!”

HE CANNOT handle the situation and will try to change the subject, but his curiosity gets the better of him... and... just imagine what happens next.

Savanaclaw

Leona Kingscholar

He just raises an eyebrow, unimpressed at first. But gradually, the corner of his mouth quirks up.

“You trying to get someone’s attention with that?” he teases.

Might tease you mercilessly, but if you’re singing it, he’ll close his eyes and just enjoy the show.

Ruggie Bucchi

Snickers and probably joins in, singing the most suggestive lines louder than you.

“Hey, you got good taste!”

If you get embarrassed later, he’s LIVING for it and he probably WILL NEVER let you live it down.

Jack Howl

Mortified. Shocked. Disgusted(?). He’ll try to act like he doesn’t hear it but is very obviously uncomfortable.

“Do you really need to sing that out loud?”

If you keep going, he might just leave to “get some air” (a.k.a. calm himself down his racing thoughts).

Octavinelle

Azul Ashengrotto

Adjusts his glasses nervously but tries to stay calm and composed (he's defo not inside).

“An... interesting choice of music. I’m sure it has its appeal.”

If you’re singing, he’s secretly enjoying it but won’t let it show, except for the slight twitch of his lips.

Jade Leech

Smiles politely but with a glint of mischief in his eyes as he watches u listen/lip sync/sing the song.

“Ah, such bold lyrics. I didn’t know you had this side to you.”

You can’t tell if he’s impressed or just teasing, but he’ll remember this forever.

Floyd Leech

HE... LOVES IT. In fact, he loves it so much he might even start dancing or yelling the lyrics with you.

“This is fun! Let’s play it louder!”

If anyone else reacts awkwardly, he’ll drag them into the chaos for extra entertainment.

Scarabia

Kalim Al-Asim

He's coming with you. He's gonna clap along with you and kinda gets into the beat without really processing the lyrics.

“This is such a fun song! Where did you find it?”

When he realizes the meaning, he might blush but will laugh it off as no big deal.

Jamil Viper

Stops whatever he’s doing and sighs.

“Do you have to listen to that here?”

Pretends he’s annoyed, but if you’re singing, he secretly finds your confidence impressive.

Pomefiore

Vil Schoenheit

He just raises an eyebrow, completely unimpressed.

“Bold of you to think that’s your best performance.”

Critiques your singing technique if you’re performing, but he’s secretly entertained.

Rook Hunt

Absolutely enchanted. Amazed. Bewildered. Flabberghasted.

He just stands there, admiring you... until he joins in while making a dramatic entrance, adding flair to your performance.

“Ah, such passion! Such boldness! You are magnifique!”

Encourages you to sing louder because he’s living for the chaos.

Epel Felmier

Blushes furiously and tries to act tough.

“Ain’t you embarrassed singing something like that?”

If no one’s around, he might ask for the name of the song. Who knows? hehe

Ignihyde

Idia Shroud

Short circuits (even tho he isn't really a robot). His hair flickers a brighter blue as he processes the lyrics.

“W-WHAT ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO?!”

If you’re singing, he’ll cover his ears, but he’s totally recording it to listen to later (not that he’ll admit it).

Diasomnia

Malleus Draconia

Malleus just... tilts his head, confused but also intrigued (as he usually is).

“Is this a mortal courting ritual?” he asks with a curious tone.

He doesn’t really get it but finds your boldness fascinating.

Lilia Vanrouge

Completely unbothered and probably starts harmonizing with you.

"BODY ODY ODY ODY"

And finally, when your both done, he just says “Ah, I remember a similar song from centuries ago! Let’s make it a duet.” as if this happens to him everyday.

Encourages you to embrace the silliness and fun of it.

Sebek Zigvolt

OUTRAGED and overly dramatic about it.

“How dare you subject Lord Malleus to such inappropriate music?!”

If you’re singing, he’ll try to lecture you, but his flustered expression ruins the effect. Just imagine him all red and flushed trying to scold you for singing an inappropriate song.

Silver

Barely reacts, too sleepy to care.

“Huh? Oh, nice song, I guess.” he mutters, all groggy and shit.

If he actually processes the lyrics, he might blush slightly but won’t make a big deal out of it.

A/N = Also idk how to do dividers well so, y'all get this. Hope y'all enjoyed ☺️ (cuz i definitely did)

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sugurugetoshairbrush · 19 days ago

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Work Rivals with Office Siren!Suguru Getou

Getou Suguru is the worst.

The absolute worst. He makes your life a living hell, your job a warzone, and worst of all, he’s the most maddeningly attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

You hadn’t always been mortal enemies. In fact, your first impression of him was something out of a cheesy rom-com.

On your first day as a junior accountant, you stopped by a local coffee shop to grab a medium, hot, cream, no sugar. The moment your order was called, both you and a sharply dressed man stepped up to the counter.

The first thing you noticed was his height—towering enough to make you tilt your head back. On the way up, you took in his impeccably tailored navy suit, crisp white shirt, and slim black tie. His sleeves were neatly cuffed at the wrists, revealing a deep bronze complexion adorned with a flashy silver Rolex and a few understated rings.

When your gaze finally reached his face, your breath hitched. He was striking. Long black hair tied back in a half-up style, sharp cheekbones, and a strong jaw. Black gauges and a gleaming silver eyebrow piercing accentuated his features, and a pair of rectangular glasses slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose. He eyed you with an air of irritation, violet eyes glinting behind the glare of the café lights.

“Is this yours?” he asked, gesturing to the coffee being held out by an increasingly impatient barista.

You had a perfectly charming response prepared in your head. But as luck would have it, your brain short-circuited, and what came out instead was less… ideal.

“Why else would I be here? Course it’s mine. It’s my first day, and you’re holding me up.”

The sharpness in your tone made you wince internally, but you couldn’t backtrack now. Crossing your arms, you tilted your head, doubling down.

His brows knit together as he huffed. “Could’ve done without the attitude. Just take it and go.”

You grabbed the coffee with a muttered, “Whatever,” and turned on your heel, heading for the door. But before it swung shut, you glanced over your shoulder at the disgruntled stranger. At least you’d never have to see him again, right?

Wrong.

When you arrived at work and sat through the orientation, you focused on staying out of trouble. That plan went out the window when you were led to your cubicle—right across from a familiar face.

Your guide tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, and when his eyes met yours, surprise flickered for the briefest moment before being replaced by irritation.

“—and this is Getou Suguru, your cubicle neighbor. It’s also his first day as a junior accountant, so don’t be shy. This job can get pretty isolating, so building relationships is important,” your senior said cheerfully.

Forcing a polite smile, you extended your hand, hoping he’d let your earlier encounter slide. His handshake was firm, his larger hand warm against yours.

“Nice to meet you,” he said smoothly. “Looking forward to working with you.”

Your senior walked off, satisfied. But as soon as he was out of earshot, Getou grabbed a bottle of hand sanitizer, pumping an aggressive amount into his palm.

“Enjoy sharing the same title,” he said coolly. “Soon, I’ll be your superior, coffee-girl.”

He spun his chair around, strands of sleek black hair whipping over his shoulder.

That was six years ago.

Time had not softened the animosity between you two. If anything, it had calcified into a rivalry so intense it pushed both of you to climb the ranks faster than anyone expected. You were both promoted to Corporate Controller—a position that typically took eight years to reach—on the same day.

It was supposed to be a single-person role, but after the CFO reviewed your identical performance stats, he decided to make an exception. Now, you and Getou are seated on the 36th floor of the company’s sleek high-rise, with matching titles engraved on silver plaques outside your offices.

The only thing separating you is a glass wall, through which you exchange daily glares.

Competition fuels everything. From routine tasks to major projects, you turn every assignment into a wager. The CFO, Nanami Kento, has become your unofficial referee. At first, he admired your drive. Over time, though, even his legendary patience has begun to fray.

“Getou’s management style is 2% less efficient than mine,” you declare during a performance review, presenting your meticulously crafted charts.

“Her sales plan took a 0.5% dip last quarter,” Getou counters with his own spreadsheet. “In hindsight, my proposal conserved more resources.”

“His data compression wastes company time!”

“Her budget oversight missed the social media revenue I proposed—”

“You stole that idea from me!”

“SHUT. UP.”

Nanami’s voice, usually calm and measured, reverberates through the room. He stands abruptly, the tension radiating off him like heat.

“I cannot take another second of your childish bickering,” he snaps, slamming a hand onto his desk. “You’re both brilliant, hardworking, and utterly insufferable. You’ve turned this office into a battlefield, and frankly, I’m this close to quitting just to escape you.”

The words hang heavy in the air.

If Nanami’s outburst isn’t enough to make it clear something has to change, the rest of the accounting branch soon makes it crystal. Your colleagues have begun avoiding you and Getou like the plague, steering clear of the drama that follows wherever you go.

Well, everyone in the accounting branch has turned against you and Getou—except for one person: your one and only work friend, Gojo Satoru.

Gojo, the accounting manager, ranks just below you. He is a walking billboard for excess, always dressed to the nines in custom Dolce & Gabbana baby-blue suits that match his piercing cerulean eyes. Every month, he carries a new designer briefcase, each more luxurious than the last, and you have yet to see him repeat one.

He wasn’t just anyone. Gojo is—or was—the heir to a global media empire. His great-grandfather had founded the conglomerate, which owned everything from cable networks to film studios and streaming platforms. But seven years ago, the Gojo family had severed ties with their infamous black sheep.

Gojo had always been a loose cannon, his antics splashed across tabloids with alarming regularity. When he was finally caught in a particularly compromising situation—a sleazy nightclub rendezvous involving a rival conglomerate’s heir and a bottle girl—his family decided they’d had enough. The Gojo media machine couldn’t suppress the scandal, and rather than shell out another fortune trying to salvage their name, they cut him off.

He went from riches to rags—or as close to “rags” as someone with Gojo’s charisma and wits could get. He clawed his way up the ladder at your company, and while his charm earned him plenty of allies, his ego alienated just as many. That left you as the only one who could truly tolerate him. Perhaps it was your shared arrogance, though yours stemmed from your relentless rivalry with Getou, while his was… well, Gojo was just Gojo.

Which is why you’re currently in a supply closet, your back pressed against the metallic shelving as Gojo shakes your shoulders like a madman, his usually smug face looking uncharacteristically panicked.

“You have got to end this feud with Getou,” he hisses, his bright blue eyes practically glowing in the dim lighting. “It’s spiraling out of control. The whole department’s gone to hell. Nanami’s snappy, everyone’s overworked, and the accountants are making more mistakes than ever because they’re so stressed.”

He runs a hand through his shock of white hair, sighing dramatically before adding, “You two have the worst reputation I’ve ever seen. And coming from me—someone who’s made global headlines for my bad behavior—that’s saying a lot.”

You open your mouth, ready to defend yourself, but Gojo raises a hand, cutting you off.

“Don’t even start with the whole ‘but our numbers are the best’ speech,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Because while your stats are impressive, they’re not enough to make up for the chaos you two create. And,” he leans in closer, a devious smirk curling his lips, “don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at him.”

You freeze, your heart pounding as if he’d just exposed your darkest secret.

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” Gojo teases, his tone sing-song. “You’re practically undressing him with your eyes half the time. It’s honestly disgusting. If this is your idea of flirting, you might be a masochist. Or a sadist. Or both. Either way, the rest of us shouldn’t have to suffer through this painfully obvious sexual tension.”

Your cheeks burn, and for once, you’re speechless.

Gojo straightens his lapels, his smirk widening. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense. I’m going to fix it, one way or another. Consider this your warning.”

Before you can respond, he spins on his heel and storms out, slamming the door behind him.

You stand there for a moment, your mind racing.

“What can he even do?” you mutter to yourself, laughing nervously. “He’s just an accounting manager.”

But you’d underestimated Gojo.

By the time you return to your office, he’s already marched into Nanami’s and laid out his nefarious plan. Meanwhile, you find yourself staring blankly at the income statement on your screen, utterly distracted.

Your gaze drifts to the glass wall of your office, where you can see Getou seated at his desk. He’s wearing a fitted chestnut vest over a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his tanned forearms. His black hair is tied in a loose bun, a ballpoint pen shoved haphazardly through it.

As you watch, he reaches up to twirl a strand of hair around his finger, his violet eyes scanning a thick packet of papers. When he suddenly glances up and catches you staring, your breath hitches.

His piercing gaze darkens, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. He arches an eyebrow, his expression equal parts smug and devastatingly attractive. Then, as if to torment you further, he returns to his work, the faintest smile still lingering on his lips.

You shift uncomfortably in your chair, heat pooling in your cheeks. If your hatred of Getou is a defense mechanism, it isn’t working—if anything, it only heightens your attraction to him.

But you resolve to keep your distance, for the sake of professionalism.

That resolve lasts precisely one day.

The next morning, Nanami summons you to his office. Confident in your newfound clarity, you stride in—only to feel your confidence waver when you see Gojo lounging against the window like a model in a photoshoot, the sunlight framing him perfectly.

Then the door opens behind you, and in walks Getou.

He takes the seat next to you, his legs spread obnoxiously wide, oozing dominance.

Nanami wastes no time. “I’ve reached my limit with your behavior. The entire branch is suffering because of you two. So, effective immediately, you’ll both be attending the annual financial policy conference together as a team-building exercise.”

You groan. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think—”

“This is non-negotiable,” Nanami interrupts, holding up two plane tickets. “And to ensure you take this seriously, know that if this doesn’t work, I will demote both of you and give your positions to Gojo.”

Gojo grins triumphantly.

Nanami adds, “And don’t think I won’t be monitoring your behavior. The conference is hosted at one of our company hotels, so we’ll have access to surveillance.”

As you leave his office, the weight of the tickets in your hand feels suffocating. Later that evening, you seek refuge straight off of your shift, at the nearest bar, ordering a drink to drown your sorrows.

Slouching on the barstool, the straps of your dress slip down your shoulders, but you don’t bother fixing them. At this point, you’re too far gone to care. Nursing your drink quickly turns into downing shots, thanks to the kindness—or opportunism—of nearby patrons. Some, sensing your frazzled state, buy you a drink out of pity. Others, mostly men, let their eyes linger on your neckline before waving down the bartender to pour you another on their tab.

You lean your cheek against your arm, swirling the straw in your glass absentmindedly. The din of the bar becomes white noise as your thoughts spiral. Then, you sense a presence settling on the stool next to you.

“Rough day?”

The voice is low, amused, and far too familiar. You stiffen before letting out a slow, tired huff.

“Fuck off, Getou.”

You aim for venom, but your tone lands somewhere closer to exhausted. His chuckle vibrates through the space between you, and then you feel the warmth of his hand on your shoulder, his fingers tracing small, deliberate circles.

“Aw, don’t tell me I’ve finally worn you down,” he drawls, his voice dipping with mock concern. His hand moves, catching the strap of your dress and sliding it back into place with a languid tug. “Resorting to alcohol already? Never thought I’d see the day.”

You snap your head toward him, gathering the last scraps of defiance you have left. He’s leaning casually against the bar, his beige sweater hugging his frame a little too perfectly, the knit fabric stretching taut over his arms. His expression is maddeningly amused, dark eyes glinting with the kind of satisfaction that makes your blood simmer.

“Pretty cocky, aren’t you? Need some liquid courage for our trip, I assume?”

Instead of answering, he reaches forward and swipes your drink. He takes a long sip, his throat bobbing as he swallows. His teeth click against the glass when he sets it down.

“Strong,” he remarks before leaning closer, his voice dropping. “And speaking of the trip, I assume we’ll put on quite the show, hmm? Don’t get me wrong—I hate you. But I hate the idea of Gojo taking either of our jobs even more.”

He nudges your foot with his own, a silent challenge in his raised brow. You hesitate only for a second before extending a hand, your manicured nails catching the dim light.

“Finally, something we can agree on. Look, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep our positions. Yeah, maybe we go overboard sometimes, but we get results. We’re the best.”

“Damn right,” he replies, his smirk sharp and self-assured. His fingers brush yours as he takes your hand, and then he raises it to signal the bartender for another round.

You clear your throat, trying to regain control of the conversation. “It’s just a weekend. We can fake being civil for two days. We’ve never failed to perform before, and we’re not about to start now.”

His hand lands on your shoulder again, his touch oddly grounding. “We always exceed expectations. You always go above; I always go beyond.” He emphasizes the last word with a teasing smirk that makes your jaw tighten.

“Oh yeah? Always?” You lean in, narrowing your eyes. “Bet I can out-drink you. Hell, I already have. I’ve practically forgotten why I was even upset in the first place.”

“Big talk for someone who’s clearly lying.” His grin spreads wider, white teeth gleaming. “But hey, I’m all for proving you wrong. Again.”

The conversation dissolves into a blurry competition. Before you know it, the counter between you is littered with empty glasses. The room spins around you, your skin hot, your head light.

Somehow, in the midst of it all, your legs have tangled beneath the bar, Getou’s foot hooked possessively around your ankle.

When you glance at him, his bronzed skin is flushed, a pretty pink spreading across his high cheekbones. His hair is loose now, cascading over his broad shoulders in soft, inky waves. His glasses hang from the collar of his sweater, and he reaches out, his finger brushing against your chin.

“You’re spilling,” he murmurs, dragging his finger along your skin to catch a stray drop of liquor. He pulls it back and raises it to his lips, licking it clean with a slow, deliberate motion.

“Playing dirty, huh?” you mutter, your voice thick.

Getou takes the last sip of his drink, his cheeks puffing slightly as he holds the liquid idle in his mouth, and shrugs. The casual gesture makes something snap inside you. Desperate to turn the tables, you grab the collar of his sweater and yank him toward you.

His lips crash into yours, soft yet insistent, and for a fleeting moment, the world shrinks to the warmth of his mouth and the faint bitterness of alcohol lingering on his breath. Your tongue grazes his bottom lip, and he parts for you, letting the sharp tang of liquor transfer between you. A low groan rumbles from his chest as his hands tighten around your waist.

You swallow, leaning into the kiss, your fingers clutching at him as his hand slides up, tangling in your hair. He tilts your head back, deepening the kiss, and a moan escapes your lips before you can hold it back.

His other hand moves lower, pulling you closer until you’re perched halfway on his lap, the warmth of his body pressing against you.

“You might’ve had more to drink than me,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice teasing yet dark with intent. “But I bet I can have you begging for me off a kiss.”

His thigh presses between your legs, and your dress rides up higher than you’d like to admit. You’re soaked, the flimsy fabric of your underwear doing little to shield your dignity—or his slacks—from your arousal.

“Think you’ll have me begging?” he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot against your skin.

“You’re the one falling apart, sweetheart.”

Before you can retort, your phone buzzes on the counter, the vibration cutting through the haze.

A message lights up the screen.

Gojo Satoru: I just KNOW the hate sex is gonna go hard. Don’t thank me all at once, sweetie ;)

beautiful ass fanart by: _viziiro_ on twt/X

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