#Mango fragrance | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hoseoksluna · 10 months ago

Text

STEAM | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: smut

word count: 9.2k

summary: one video call awakens your neediness for two cocks.

playlist: steam / pinterest board: steam

warnings: female masturbation, mentions of shower sex, praise kink, toying with the idea of polyamory, a hint of voyeurism, oc rly goes through it and faces mental battles, fear, intoxication, punishment, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, choking, cum eating, manhandling, degradation, provocation, mutual masturbation, rough & raw sex, brief oral sex (f. receiving), pet names

note: IT'S FINALLY HEREEEEEE SKFDSFLSFJ, okay so—let me introduce to you a new yoongi series featuring JUNGKOOK oh my god. i am SO EXCITED about this and i wanna apologize for my insane ideas in advance... i'm so sorry, guys. nevertheless, i hope you like this as much as i do, i literally went mad writing this and i smoked so many cigarettes i lost count. please, let me kNOW UR FAVORITE PARTS CUZ I HAVE SO MANY AND I WANNA TALK ABOUT THEM. oh fuck, guys. ENJOY READING SDKFJSD. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

side note: btw, the playlist i made is literally perfect and depicts the fic wonderfully. you can listen while you read! <3

The scent of mangoes finds its way up your nostrils, heating your senses through its balmy touch as you rub the body butter over the damp skin of your arms. Fingers graze along your décolletage, tucking in the fragrance for your boyfriend to breathe in when he comes home. He’s out for the night—said something about his friend finishing his military service, so the whole group was going out to celebrate it. Yoongi was so frantic in his excitement, hastily putting on the first outfit that sparked his eye. Didn’t even touch his hair, only sprayed a mist of his sandalwood and tangerine-tinged perfume. Grabbed his phone, keys, wallet. Barely kissed you goodbye before he fled out of the door.

He didn’t even ask you if you wanted to come along.

You didn’t mind, though—you’re only in the early stages of your relationship. It hasn’t even been half a year since you’ve started dating. And you figure he deserves a night out with his closest friends because you’ve been attached to the hip since the beginning. Funnily enough, you no longer live at your own place. Somehow, you’ve settled in Yoongi’s apartment, never setting foot outside, save for your walks, grocery shopping, the few dates with your friends and work. There wasn’t any conversation about it; you just mostly spend your free time with your boyfriend.

And all you do is fuck, eat and watch movies.

The last time Yoongi took you out was during the first two months you’d been getting to know him. The realization of how long it’s been sends a trail of chills down your arms and you rub it away.

But because you’ve been spending all your time together, you’re glad to have a moment to yourself—glad to be able to take a long hot shower, to do your hair and skincare. Perhaps, you’ll even have time to do your nails and that energizes you, propels you to spread the body butter further down the rest of your body. It is your rose garden, these night times reserved for your hot showers. The place you go to—your hideaway from the pressure and nerves of life that the steam loosens and soothes, especially when you let your sultry playlist echo through the mightiness of Yoongi’s bathroom, your favorite singer’s voice reaching your veins like the growing stems of those roses; pretty, pink and so feminine. Yes, Yoongi’s therapy sessions and thick length might have been a great help, the best in fact, but there’s something about letting yourself be burned off of all that’s been weighing you down and watching it trickle down the drain that is just so satisfying.

It was all that you were once used to. That is, until you met Yoongi.

Showers with him are something else.

Something you never thought you could ever have the blessing to encounter. Showers with Yoongi are intense, so out of pocket that you find yourself thinking about them fondly whenever you’re alone with your thoughts. There, beneath the downpour of the warm water, he lets you see the other side of his ever unyielding stern façade. While holding you, he would make you laugh, then make you moan and break that sound with each hard plunge of his cock. Hair slicked back, smirk adorning that delicious wet mouth, causing him to look like a Mafioso bent on absolutely ruining you. He would tell you the most insane story he heard from his friend, then talk you through the build-up of your orgasm while continuing to the point of that story—seamlessly waving through, never losing tempo. “Then, he went up to his hyung to ask him about what he did—yes, just like that, honey, take it. I know you’re almost there, just listen.” You would come all over his cock, sprinkling him with your essence, right there at the end of his story and like a hungry man, he’d get on his knees and eat you up, muttering how good you are and how well you did along with each swipe of his tongue. Your lungs would heave due to the overstimulation, your legs would tremble, unable to stand and he’d gather you into his arms, fold you like paper into the crooks of his body and let his thick duvet drape over you. He’d fall asleep first, breathing in the scent of your shampoo, snoring softly behind you while spooning you, never letting go of his deathly grip around you. And while you would breathe in the haze of lilac sprayed on his pillows, you’d become aware of the drowsy rhythm of his heartbeat, the lift and fall of his chest against your back, the snug heat of his body and it would lull you to sleep.

That has become your new version of hot long showers.

And if it isn’t this, then it’s Yoongi letting you quickly wash yourself before he’d steal you away, dragging you into this bed, only to carry you back there an hour later.

You speculate he has a serious, adorable case of attachment issues.

That is why you enjoy your exceptional alone shower all the more—you haven’t had it in so long. Only this time, it’s quite different.

You feel him everywhere.

You feel him in the drift of your hand down your tummy because you recollect the way he likes to pepper kisses there on his way to eat you out. You feel him when you round your palms across your backside because you know he particularly likes to leave traces of saliva when he presses open-mouthed kisses there. His love for you circulates in your bloodstream, mingling with the little love you have for yourself, making it bigger, turning it into a turbulent rush of liquid. You sense it tapping beneath your skin, asking for more of your body just like Yoongi does, always begging, begging for more—for more skin to kiss and lick, for more sensitive parts of you to find and nibble on.

Your hands sense the ghost of him even when your fingers slip past your mound and realize that the film of your memories dampened your cunt. You hear the words of praise he’d utter into your ear at the discovery and you sigh at your tender touch.

That’s a good girl. Messy for me.

The rotund case of your body butter remains opened, forgotten. You suddenly have better things to do—like give your body the self-care, the self-love it deserves.

It’s a part of the solo girl's night.

A mewl comes out of your mouth at the first round of circles on your clit. Furrowing your brows at the pleasure, you prop your free hand on the edge of the bathroom counter, riding the pads of your fingers. And then, just like Yoongi taught you, you take your digits away, edging yourself, taking them elsewhere. You cry out at the contact of your wet fingertips on your stiff nipple and you pinch the nub, a spasm of delight coursing through your sensitiveness.

You imagine Yoongi standing behind you. Not touching you, merely guiding you, telling you when to stop, when to pick up the pace—when to fill your hole. Watching you in the mirror, hands in his pockets, having a perfect view of your slick-caked folds, of your clit swollen and asking for his tongue. Determined to make you lose your mind by teasing you, letting you only slap your pussy once you’re close. Your essence drips out of you at that thought, making a mess on the floor and you plug it in with your finger, fucking yourself steadily, inflamed by how slippery your heat is, how easy it is to slip the digit inside. Hot flashes close over your body, pearls of perspiration kissing the crook of your neck. You fuck yourself faster and—

A sudden ring of your phone jolts you. And the picture of your boyfriend, half dressed, with the early morning sunlight leaking over the scars and tattoo on his shoulder, crammed inside your screen, greets you.

You pant hard, your finger still inside of you. Delirious.

He must be on his way home. You don’t even know what time it is.

Leaning forward, you hide your breasts behind your forearm and you swipe your finger to accept his video call.

Blurry Yoongi. The night sky, starlit and alive, behind him. A shoal of silhouettes, some lanky and some buff, all short-haired and all as woozy-lidded as you. The picture smooths into a crystal clear view and there you see your boyfriend, the nocturnal breeze brushing his ebony hair back. Not just him, however, but another male craning his neck to regard you fully.

His eyes flicking from your neck to the smallest of your exposed décolletage, a smirk blossoming on his face like your imaginary roses.

Yoongi slaps his phone face down. You withdraw your finger from your heat, a cacophony of giggles, whiny cries and the exclamations of his name emitting out of your mouth.

He is not, in fact, on his way home.

It is a warning, his low and strict call of your name back and, heeding it, you take your phone into your hands, so he’s only able to see your deeply flushed face. Device back in his hand, he’s not looking at you at all. As a matter of fact, he’s shooting daggers fueled with deadly nightshade at his friend, grumbling something that you can’t quite make out amidst the chaos and bustle of the outing. The shoal of the rest of his friends and strangers disappear out of the perspective, as if threatened by the cold energy.

You wish you knew what he’s saying to him. Even your pussy aches to hear it. The principle of him scolding his friend for looking at you at your most private moment scorches you and you’re red, flattered and majestically horny.

Yoongi turns his head to see if you’re well-behaved and you beam at him, the pulse on your clit intensifying, forcing you to say, “come home, Yoongi.”

He chuckles, aware of the reason behind your words, pretends he isn’t. “What were you doing, baby?”

The growth of your grin doesn’t falter. You show him the sheen of your wet finger in the ivory bathroom light, the glint, the stickiness as you push your index finger to your middle and pull away, your arousal on full, filthy display.

He curses under his breath. Doesn’t give a fuck that his friend sits beside him and adjusts in his seat. Bites his lip briefly. “Stick it in your mouth for me.”

Doesn’t say the words that so very often follow after in that sentence. Taste yourself.

Why he doesn’t step aside to take this video call eludes you, but something about you being watched by two pairs of eyes excites you. Enough for you to do as he says. Perhaps it’s due to the fact you don’t know the male sitting beside him and Yoongi is letting him keep his sight glued to the screen.

Two sharp inhales of breath. Not one of yours. Yoongi readies his hook to feignedly lash out at his friend and you press your thighs together to alleviate yourself of the unbearable feeling between your legs. Confidence, a bad, bad version of confidence suffuses you whole, turning you into a person gone mad by lust. You swirl your tongue around your digit, the tanginess of your taste causing your eyes to narrow, the principle of driving not just one, but two men mad just the same intoxicates you, as if you were there among them, drinking.

A pair of round eyes peek at the corner of the screen. Soft, naive, so terribly innocent. A dash of sobriety washes over you, owed to those brownish effervescent orbs, a sprinkle shame pooling low in your core. A reality check. You sense some kind of stability of that reality beneath those eyelashes of his, the stability that whispers—is this the right thing to do?

It’s not rough, it’s not stern, it’s not Yoongi coded—it’s anything but. Gentleness is what you detect, free of any prejudice.

You sigh. Millions of thoughts about how you could toy with them pass through your mind, but you decide against them, the stability a pillar that blends into your spine, helping it unbend. You can’t do this; you can’t do this to Yoongi and you need to keep your dignity intact in some way, despite the fact that every fiber of your body compels you to do the opposite. You distract yourself by screwing the lid of your body butter back on.

“Good girl,” Yoongi coos, causing you to whisk your eyes to the screen in perhaps disbelief, shame or your still pending arousal—you’re not sure. How can you be a good girl when you let another man see something so lewd? How can your boyfriend validate something like that? “One more beer and I’ll be home. Wait for me on the bed. As you are.”

Naked.

Heat rushes to your cheeks, to the surface of every part of your skin, dragging away small ounces of shame. You curse, mentally, running a hand down your face. Yoongi downs his drink without taking his gaze off of you, watching your reaction, adds once he swallows, “and don’t touch yourself.”

And with that, he hangs up.

The harsh comprehension of what the fuck just happened envelops you in a confining embrace, the precipitately increasing weight of shame now a burden on your shoulders that you just can’t shake off, even when you slink your arms through sleeves of your silky robe and welcome in the summer breeze coming to caress your face on the balcony—even when you burst your lighter to a flame and light up your cigarette, inhaling the smoke that you hoped would rid you of its such uncomfortable hold around you.

You licked your cum clean under the gape of a guy you don’t know in front of your boyfriend.

His friend heard the order. Don’t touch yourself. Yoongi didn’t whisper it. Didn’t camouflage his words in any way. Uttered them straight and bare, allowing his friend to hear them, despite the fact he almost fought him then and there for sneaking one glance at your moderately naked form.

Question marks hover in your mind and the pulse on your clit cries, seemingly knowing the answer.

Did Yoongi like it as much as you did, the aspect of having an audience?

The wetness in your heat dribbles out, staining your thighs. You squeeze them together, the drag of your cigarette hard and long, expecting to feel your nerves burn off. You gain no such thing—no relief, no lifting of the burden, just constricting tangles in your tummy, zippy spasms of butterflies going mad, mad, mad.

Perhaps Yoongi didn’t like it at first until he perceived the auspicious debauched look on your face. Saw the way you didn’t hesitate to oblige him when he told you to stick your finger in your mouth. And perhaps the fact that you didn’t express any signal of discomfort was the key to unfastening the leash on his possessiveness over you.

What have you done? What have you so selfishly and disgustingly done?

You hang your head in your hands, the white smoke intertwining with the burden on your shoulders and pressing down harder on you.

That’s why he let his friend hear the command. Don’t touch yourself. He saw the way you indulged in it, and that awakened his liking for it.

Yoongi lied when he said he’d have one more beer.

By the time you hear the thunder of his voice, all the roses in your garden have wilted, leaving faded, withered petals in its wake—leaving a path of your internal battle all around the apartment for Yoongi to follow. You’ve paced, your bare feet stepping on them. Tried to untangle yourself from the incarceration of your mind by chain-smoking, but to no avail. The only change that took place in your body was the decline of your shame, for you couldn’t help but imagine what could have happened, had you let free rein to your desire—had those round eyes never looked at you with such purity. You figured there wasn’t anything bad about letting your imagination be colored like that, and so you sat on your boyfriend’s couch, cigarette switched to a coconut-flavored vape, and dreamed.

You dreamed about those two men being of service to you, right here on the same couch, where they would lay you down and make you squirt over and over again, betting between each other who could make you come the fastest, counting down your orgasms until the number was a mere blur to you.

The throb on your clit heightened to heavenly levels and when you emerged from your dream, you found yourself being able to breathe—your momentary disappearance tricking your shame into leaving. It was difficult for you not to touch yourself and you opted to adhere to Yoongi’s wish, not risking to feel worse than you already had.

The war ended, undeterred by the fact you never expected it to.

Loud swear words roar in Korean. You rise to your feet to open the front door for Yoongi and you discover that he’s not alone at all.

The same pair of round eyes, the cause of all the ruckus you just departed from, meet yours, hauling you back there with a force. Your mouth falls agape and before you can react any further, Yoongi stumbles into you. You almost topple over, realizing you didn’t care to steal a glance at the state of him, but the male grabs a hold of Yoongi’s jacket and pulls him back. You wish you had tumbled over and the floor had opened up and swallowed you whole. It would have been less embarrassing than to be stuck in this situation. You want to run, you want to scream—

“He’s drunk out of his own mind,” the male says, his voice deep like the warm wind before a tumultuous storm, fitting just right with the thunder of Yoongi’s intonation, his gaze wandering over the entirety of your shock-stricken face, taking it in; giving you the same attention that fucked you up hours ago. Yoongi begins to mumble something you can’t momentarily focus on, his hands grasping your waist, lips latching onto your neck. No, you cannot for the life of you focus because the man steals you all over again and you hate how easy it is for him to do that, when you’re far from being available. “Don’t ask what made him drink this much.”

Did Yoongi get drunk because he let his friend in on your most intimate moment?

Humiliated, turned on and angry altogether, a concoction that simply worsens everything, you draw back from your boyfriend. You want to beat at his chest with your fists just to have some sort of relief from blaming him—because if you blame yourself, only doom consumes you. Why did he call you? Or, essentially, why didn’t he step away to take that damned video call?

“Thanks for walking him home,” you say eventually, your voice smooth, despite the violence of your feelings, despite wanting to say something else entirely. Your first words to him and, wholeheartedly—despite it all, you hope they aren’t last, even if that possibly makes you a despicable person.

Yoongi’s friend nods. Chews his bottom lip and lowers his gaze to the ground for a split second. You wonder if he feels the need to remove himself from this uncomfortable situation as much as you do because you can’t read anything in that paleness of his countenance. Not a hint of any emotion whatsoever, just blandness of expression, slightly dimmed by the few thick strands of black hair that have fallen from his disheveled, pushed back mullet. As if they did fight after all, perhaps on the way home, or wrestled if Yoongi was being difficult.

You don’t realize you and the male are just staring at each other until Yoongi places his hand on your cheek, brushing back a wisp of your tresses. Only then do your eyes flick to Yoongi’s and you finally notice him, the gloss in his hooded irises searching and searching for you, the rosy blush on his cheeks, dry parted mouth and the dart of his tongue as he wets it, softening the flecks that have been created there.

This is it. If you are focused on him, all things are made right—all things that have been stained get purified and dreams get turned into dust. This is the man you’ve fallen for, who puts you before himself and has done so every day since the moment he made you his. You can’t let anyone else get in the way of the home that your relationship has become, you can’t let your feelings flee—

“For the record,” Yoongi’s friend starts, hand massaging circles on the nape of his neck, the leather of his jacket tight around his arm. Your heart jumps and beats against your chest ferociously. “I didn’t see anything, if that helps you sleep better tonight.”

It’s such a fat lie and you’re about to shake your head, but then he looks at you with such sincere regret that, ultimately, you choose to believe him. Just to keep your peace of mind unscarred.

Yoongi tightens his hold around your waist, which grounds you, and a small part of you begins to bloom in healing, disseminating little by little across your whole body.

A healer with big, round eyes. A good man.

With a swing, Yoongi closes the door but you don’t hear the click. No, the light spills in from the hallway. Your hands reach for the doorknob but Yoongi blocks them and wraps them around his waist while swaying on his feet. He traces the shell of your ear with his lips, his alcohol-reeking breath wafting over you, and softly, you whine his name. Shuffling beyond the door, feet never entirely moving—the male is still standing outside and he hears as Yoongi hums at your call, as the sound grows into a groan at the feeling of being alone with you at last, at the feeling of all that makes you feminine under his hands. He hears your gasp as Yoongi pushes your chest flush to his body, kisses you harshly and cups your bare pussy. Hears the smack of your mouths, the pop once he withdraws, the squelch of your wetness. Hears as Yoongi murmurs, “you been horny, baby? Wet for me, hm?”

It’s those words that make him shut the door for you.

You made Yoongi drink a lot of water.

And while he downed the glasses, you ordered him Thai food from his phone, which he now devours. You had wanted to change out of your flimsy robe into your plush pajamas, but Yoongi stopped you with a tight grip on your shoulder and with the nastiest puppy eyes he could manage, considering his plastered state, he begged you not to. Informed you that he wanted to fuck you in your little robe and you told him that if he wanted that, he needed to get sober.

He’s your boyfriend and you trust him, but you don’t feel comfortable having sex with him while he’s wasted and you’re not. It’s a dangerous territory you don’t ever want to cross.

So, now he eats as quietly as a mouse, feeding you every other bite with his chopsticks, meanwhile you’re jittering your leg with your arms crossed across your chest, mind full of the male who walked him home. Of the way he pulled you under and resurfaced with you soon after. Of the calm peace you feel all over the perimeter of your mind that peculiarly stresses you out. Of what would happen if you voiced your little dream to Yoongi, especially.

Was it out of the question or would he consider it?

Your leg jitters harder.

You want to tell him, badly. Seeing his friend in real life changed fucking everything. If you hadn’t, you would’ve forgotten about it in the days to come. Yoongi would’ve fucked it out of you in most probability. But those eyes… those eyes got under your skin.

“Stop fidgeting,” Yoongi scolds with his mouth full of food, no hint of slurring. The hot meal and hydration worked a miracle. “You’re making me nervous.”

He picks up two cut pieces of chicken with his chopsticks and stuffs your mouth, adding a few pieces of vegetables as you’re chewing. Watches you swallow it, noticing how your eyes are focused on nothing in particular on the other side of the room. Tucking his utensils under his palm, he places his hand on your thigh, halting your restless motion.

You still won’t look at him. Too lost in the overthinking maze, debating whether you should speak or remain quiet about your desire. A strong part of you fears his reaction and the other half is horrified at the possibility of being turned down—

Yoongi takes his hand away. Props it on his cheek.

“I can see your pussy from here,” he says, licking his lips. “You’ve shaved?”

You breathe a soft laugh, turning your head to face him, covering yourself with the small fabric. Dark, but tender eyes, void of any glossiness, awake and stirred—amused. Cheeks awash with color. Lips puffy, a dark tinge of red coating them. A sturdy fist on his cheek, the milky jawline underneath. That messy hair, the slicked-back look ruined by the constant rake of his fingers through them, now falling to the side from the middle. That slender body, clad in the night from head to toe—legs outstretched under the table. So fine, so delicious. A beautiful strong man—all yours. Why do you want another one?

You slide your leg across his thighs and Yoongi slouches in his seat, discarding his chopsticks.

“I shaved everything,” you respond, cocking your brow at him—a sly invitation for him to feel its smoothness.

And he does. Runs his hand up and down your skin. Goes as far as lifting your other leg onto his lap, cradling them both, thumb caressing your calf. The movement causes your robe to expose you again and, cursing the fabric, you go to cover yourself, but Yoongi stops you.

“Don’t bother,” he mutters. “I wanna look at it.”

You raise your brows altogether, looking up at him. “You wanna look at her?”

Yoongi smirks. That dangerous tug of one corner of his mouth to the side. Your death, your undoing, the root of your submission to him. “I want to have her at my disposal.”

You gulp and Yoongi catches it, chuckling. Drifts his hand down your calf, to your heel, to the middle of your foot up to your toes. He plays with your pinky. You note the fact he changed the pronoun after you did.

Your arousal returns at full speed.

“Did that make you wet?” Low, low is his voice—you feel it prodding at your core, thrumming vehemently.

You blossom like your roses, thoughts put to the side.

“I’ve been wet this entire time,” you say, zeroing in your gaze on the flick of dimness that whirls past his eyes. “For hours.”

He makes a sound of pitiful nature. “Poor baby.” Furrows his brows and juts his bottom lip out, making you weak. Lets his hand roam on your thigh. “So you listened? You didn’t touch yourself?”

You merely nod your head quickly. You were too distressed to give your body the pleasure it sought. Too busy flaring your lungs with the burn of smoke. And you respected his wish enough to keep your hands to yourself.

Yoongi coos. “Good girl.”

A flashback—your lips wrapping around your slick-coated finger, Yoongi praising you and… another pair of eyes watching. Chills spread across your arms, your stomach flipping. Thankfully, your shame is kept at bay. It relieves you.

“Can I feel how wet you are?”

A sweet, devious smile. “If you can manage to get to her.”

You press your thighs tightly together. Yoongi looks at you as if you’ve greatly offended him and alas, he turns your chair so you face him head-on. Forces your thighs apart without any strain at all—and there you feel it, the embarrassment of fucking with him, once your pussy is at complete disposal to him just like he wanted.

“If your pussy wasn’t so pretty, I’d make you regret your words,” he purrs, eyes fixed on your drenched flesh, hands pushing your thighs back until your knees are at level with your shoulders, folds parting with the movement, revealing more of you. Yoongi wets his mouth with his tongue.

He thumbs your gleaming lips back and forth, collecting your essence, mesmerized by them. Looks at you intently.

“It wouldn’t hurt to say sorry, though,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. “Would it?”

You grin at him. “Sorry, Yoongi.”

He rubs your swollen clit in slow circles, still with his bedewed thumb, still with his eyes on you. You choke out a moan at the delight permeating through your being. “That’s not the proper way to apologize, now is it?”

You lean your pelvis into his touch, a natural body reaction unfolding. He disapproves. You scrunch your face. “What should I say?”

Yoongi tuts. “I’m barely touching you and you already forgot your manners?”

The only answer you emit is an uncouth whine.

He shakes his head, putting pressure into his circles for a mere beat of time before he slaps your pussy curtly. A vivid spasm of pleasure fills you and you moan. “Needy girl. Don’t I take care of this pussy enough? What’s this behavior?”

Another whine. A roll of your body, asking for more of his touch. “Spank her again.”

A cock of his brow. Harsh, stern, evil. His hand remains propped on his thigh, shoulders hunched. “I didn’t hear you say please. You wanna be bad? You want me to make you cry?”

You know just how much he’s capable of doing that. You shake your head ‘no’. You want gentleness, the kind you saw in his friend’s eyes—

You flutter your own shut to get rid of that thought. Take a deep breath.

“Spank my pussy again, please.”

Yoongi massages the apex of your thigh, dangerously close to your cunt, squeezing the flesh every once in a while.

“Apologize first.”

“You didn’t tell me how.”

He clicks his tongue and pinches your folds and your clit between his fingers. You cry out, and then Yoongi gets up to his feet, leaning over you, propping his hand on the back of your chair. He begins to swiftly spank your pussy over and over again. You just jump at every contact, moaning, eyes flicked to his, never breaking apart. Taking it, taking it so well that Yoongi kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Then, he grunts. Fingers flat against your clit, he moves them from side to side. Roses, a myriad of them, flood your form with their freshness and dewiness, with their beauty and delectation and you shudder, you scream, you arch your back off of the backrest—

“Say, ‘I’m sorry, Yoongi. I’m such a bad girl that I deserve every spank and I’ll take it until it hurts.”

Flabbergasted and horny beyond measure, your mouth falls agape. Your brain turns into mush, the pleasure paralyzing you, your sounds now loud and obscene, the roses in you flitting, growing and murmuring. Yoongi adds more pressure to your clit and your eyes sink back into your head, his darkness wafting over to you, seeping into your skin—now completely yours.

You repeat after him—word for word. With a simper on your face that causes him to scowl at you, as if you dared to toy with your punishment he bestowed upon you. But then, a tongue prods the inside of his cheek and he laughs, taking a hold of his dominant role and making sure you know. He spanks your clit twice in a row, hands lifting to fondle your nipples.

“Good,” he praises. “You like that, don’t you? Spanks on your pussy?”

You don’t like that softness. Like the personified thunder he is, it is the calm before the storm. It unnerves you, the expectation of what might come next and your disliking of it. Nonetheless, you brim with the craving to have his fingers inside of you. Your hole clenches at that and Yoongi notices, hissing under his breath. The language of the darkness rises on your tongue and you figure that if you let loose, you’ll get your wish fulfilled.

“Yeah, it feels so good—” He pinches your nipples between his knuckles and you mewl, your lashes shaking at the impact, another set of wetness coating your folds. “Please, fuck me with your fi—”

You don’t even get to finish your sentence. Yoongi plunges his middle finger into your heat, cursing at your tightness, at how slippery you are and at the delight of being filled at last, you knit your brows. With his other finger, he traces the outline of your puckered mouth, his breathing hard and ragged.

“I’ll do anything for that pout of yours, fuck, no matter if you deserve it or not,” he utters, slipping the digit inside. Instinctively, you suck on it and only then does Yoongi begin to pump you slowly. “You just need a little roughness to be good, don’t you?”

Dumbly, you nod, swirling your tongue around him, but a faint, silenced part of you begs for the gentleness that you know hides somewhere deep inside his chest, never once unfurled during such intimate times.

You pay it no matter, too fucked out to think.

When he adds a second finger into your heat, he does the same thing with his other hand. Two fingers in your cunt, two fingers in your mouth. And he fucks you with both until you gag and a light flashes in his eyes—then, he withdraws all together, leaning against the table, his bedewed fingers coming to rest at his hardened length in his pants.

Roses, opening. Roses, sighing.

You breathe heavily, needing to finish, needing to have him in your mouth—

“You liked being the center of attention today?” he husks, surveying your whole body, bent in half.

There it is—the storm. Just what you expected. Cold sweat dribbles down your spine. And it is fear, what you feel, even when you refuse to admit it. Stiff, tempered fear that pervades each and every vein on your body, regarding being possibly degraded, being made feel dirty—regarding, even, tasting the dark wine of his wrath.

Such a stark, sudden change.

You don’t want this. You don’t want any of it.

Abruptly, an internal question comes and pokes you in the middle of your forehead.

Will you succumb to it or will you, with the wildly fresh darkness within you, fight against it?

You take a deep breath, and in with the air also follows, with the little rationality you have amidst the sensuality of your lecherous appetite, the decision to take a hold of it all. To take charge. Just like he did.

You shall prioritize yourself. Your feelings, your desires—your roses.

Your choice envelops your fear in bubble wrap. It doesn’t dissipate. And as much as it pains you, you take a mental note of that.

“I did,” you spit out, angered by the fact you’re afraid of your boyfriend, and so you stand your ground. “It made me so fucking needy and I want more.”

The relief that hits you almost causes you to weep and you lower your legs to the ground. Not wanting him to see the film of tears clouding your eyes, you avoid his gaze. Yoongi crosses his arms across his chest and clicks his tongue at you, disapproving.

“Keep your legs where they belong.”

“No.”

A lift of his brow. He crouches down to your level and cradles your face in his hand, forcing you to look at him. And there he sees, under the waterfall of your hair, your emotions at his disposal. Yoongi studies you, frowns at you and you want to sob, you want to go home. Shame slithers towards your spine like a ghost, and although it keeps a distance, you feel its presence prickling your back. You cover your cleavage.

“Why are you crying?” Yoongi asks, a silky murmur, eyes flicking between yours. His fingers don’t caress your skin; they merely hold you firmly, making dents in the skin.

You don’t trust that voice, dismayed by what might lie under.

“Why did you do that to me?” you ask in return, and it’s a blue fire shooting out, engulfing the room in stifling heat. You catch a glimpse of its sparks in the dimness of his eyes, of how he’s momentarily stricken by it before it folds beneath the shadows.

“You want to get fucked by someone else?”

A question for a question.

You swallow down the lump in your throat, caused by your frustration.

Your devotion to him didn’t let you go as far as to imagine being fucked by his friend while Yoongi watched, but the brief flash of it in your mind is enough incentive for the heat to spill into you, mingling with the darkness, turning you candescent, traveling through you until it finds your core—and there, it stays. There, it finds home.

The pulse on your clit returns, filling you with abrupt energy.

There’s something about him coming up with it that makes you unhinged, but you’re so utterly sick of the instability of your feelings. You need it to stop.

“And what if I do?” you retort. “What will you do?”

Truthfulness, at last.

Yoongi takes in a sharp inhale of breath, and that is the only reaction you receive from him. Nothing else on his face flickers; no wrath, no sliver of jealousy, not one thing. You stare at an empty canvas, ready for you to paint on. And you simply decide that you want to start.

You push his hand away from your face. Stand up to your feet. But the hardened look he gives you inclines you to sit back down.

You fight against it.

Untangling the knot on your robe, you let him see your bare femininity. The perkiness of your breasts, the long dip of your stomach that he likes to pepper kisses on. Yes, you’re aiming for his weakness.

And you decide to repeat history.

You reach your hand down, lower and lower while he stares you down, and you collect your glimmering essence. Sinking your finger into your mouth, you make a show of rolling your eyes back and moaning faintly, softly. Your other hand, in the meantime, unbuttons his pants.

The breath Yoongi inhaled hitches in his throat.

“Is this not evidence enough?” you purr, dragging down his zipper. “How else am I supposed to show you?”

You pull his manhood out as you suck on your finger, all while maintaining eye contact. You don’t touch him beyond that. In fact, you withdraw your hand altogether.

And then, you collect your essence again.

This time, you smear it across his bottom lip. Yoongi lets you. Your heart thuds, threatening to jump out of your chest.

“Your actions during the video call told me everything,” you whisper, catching the sliver of wooziness scattering along his narrowed eyes. “And I think you liked it more than me—the thought of sharing me. You can’t hide it. Not when I saw it.”

Yoongi growls. Then, he surprises you.

He parts his lips for you.

And the contact of the pad of your finger with his wet tongue coaxes a string of your dewiness to drip down the side of your thigh. You moan for him. Relieved, fucked up, woozy just the same. Finally, finally, finally.

You’re in charge. And it feels divine.

His length twitches against the fabric of his T-shirt. Long, hard, drooling. Such a delight for you—and so you continue.

“I also think it made you hard. Not just because you called me when I was touching myself, but because your friend was right there beside you,” you purr, your voice a seductive sound of silk—leading him to wrap his lips around your digit. You moan for him, showing him how much you like that. “Isn’t that right, baby?” Your walls clench at the pet name, solely due to the fact that these soft terms of endearment have always been addressed to you, never the other way around. It thrills you. “I’d always be devoted to you, even if he fucked me. I’d look at you the entire time. If that’s what you want. I had a different idea, but yours is just—” you pause, and again you make a show of sighing and rolling your eyes back, “better.”

A straight hit to his core. A glee for you.

But you don’t realize how much you fucked up until Yoongi grips your waist and the hold hurts enough that you wince.

And then—then he manhandles you.

Lifting you and laying you down on the table, Yoongi spreads your legs. Watches you drip, watches as the satiny fabric follows the movement of your limbs and reveals you in all your entirety. He pulls you closer to him with a sharp tug until you collide with the tops of his thighs. Bends over you. Hovers his lips above yours. You expect him to kiss you—he even angles his head and rubs the side of his nose against yours—but he never does.

He only leaves you waiting. Leaves you submitted to your empty expectations, taking charge, taking his control back from you. You shiver in anticipation, reaching for him, however he pins your hands down on either side of you. An angel in a rose garden.

Yoongi chuckles, darkly, his teeth glinting in the yellow light. You fight against his hold, hips rolling against the underside of his length, beckoning him to do something, anything. You merely manage to prolong the thunder of his laughter.

“One cock isn’t enough for her, so baby wants two,” he spits. That smirk, the crinkles around his eyes—he’s enjoying this. The hint of degradation doesn’t reflect what’s swarming inside of him, doesn’t reflect the face of pleasure coursing down his body. You smile and he scoffs. “I have enough friends for you to choose from in case you want more. I think you’d be stellar at taking three cocks. Four, even, huh? Would you have enough then? One in your tight little virgin ass, two in your cunt, one down your throat?”

You gulp, frozen, eyes widening.

Yoongi bites his shiny lips, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. Kisses you once. Begins to rock his hips, his length sliding across your wet fleshiness. The moan that escapes your throat trembles with each delicious motion.

“You watch too much porn, honey,” he coos, giving you tiny kisses on the mouth. “I’d kill anyone who would come near this pussy. And I’d kill Jungkook, too, if he so much as glanced at her.”

So that’s his name. You mewl, knitting your brows. That’s his pretty name. The entirety of your form shivers at the discovery, at the pleasure given to your throbbing clit.

Yoongi pulls back, setting your hands free.

You prop your elbows on the table, pouting. Yoongi grasps his length, spreads his arousal and begins to jerk himself off.

“You’re not fucking Jungkook. You’re mine.” He groans, squeezing his tip; your hole clenches. “Rub your clit.”

Like him, you spread your arousal on your seashell, the arousal long caused by his presence and now the mention of his name—the reason behind your frustration and his, the reason why you’re spread on the dining table, why your boyfriend is hard. You rub your clit from side to side, amused.

“No,” Yoongi disapproves, knowing you do the motion when you want to prolong the build-up. “Circles. Make yourself come.”

You change direction, obeying him. A sly grin blossoms on your lips, dark eyes looking up into his, permeating them, permeating into his soul. You pick up the pace, moaning into your expression of elation.

“Jungkook is such a pretty name,” you provoke and you heighten your sounds in volume and intensity just to piss him off, just to have your way.

A grunt escapes him, matching your pace. He wraps his fingers around your throat and squeezes. You hum.

“A pretty name to moan in my opinion.” A layer of sweat coats your body. Yoongi grasps your jawline firmly and your satisfied laughter inches you closer to your orgasm. You feel the hot flashes, roses surrounding you—its tender petals grazing your feverish skin. You give in, watching Yoongi do the same, his mouth in a tight line, hissing and sizzling, an open fire, an open fire you want to be radiated by, burned whole by. “Just imagine him here, watching us. Oh my god, imagine him knowing he’s the reason why you and I are doing this.”

Yoongi has had enough.

He pushes you down harshly. Fills your hole to the hilt without letting you adjust, observing himself disappearing inside of you and begins to pound you into the table. The sound of skin slapping, the hard and quick strokes, the ravaged grunts he lets out, the fast change—it all takes your breath away, so much that you can’t, in fact, breathe. He grabs your face and makes you look at him. The dead of the night captured in his features, you absorb it, whining like the brat you are onto his mouth, mingling into your noises your approval, your yes’.

Swallowing it, he kisses you, keeping his eyes open. “He could never fuck you like this.”

You laugh. He swallows that, too, moaning. “What if he could?”

He taps you on the cheek, a warning, giving you an exceptionally hard stroke that causes you to scream. He pauses. Does it again. Over and over—and your screams echo across the room, your own soul slipping out of your body. Petals flutter against you and you’re done for, hanging off the edge. You’re close, so terribly close. Your eyesight blurs and Yoongi pulls out entirely and rams into you. Again and again, abusing your cervix.

You moan his name, gone—entirely gone.

“Yes, moan my name like that. Just mine,” he mutters. “Who’s fucking you this good? Who’s gonna make you come?”

He rams into you more rapidly than before. Your senses leave you until all that you know is Yoongi. His name, his scent, the wholeness of the night encompassing him.

“You, Yoongi, you. Fuck, I—”

Yoongi laughs maniacally. “Yes, that’s right. That’s my good girl.”

He rolls his hips, slowing down the coming of your orgasm, owning you. Lets your senses come back to you momentarily. You swallow, your throat dry and you blink, dazed still. Yoongi kisses you, giving you all that he took from you.

“Who’s only capable of fucking you like this, honey, hm?” he asks, his voice tender and sing-song. “My pretty honey, so fucked out. So out of it.”

You whine and you don’t control what comes out of you, your body answering for you. “You, Yoongi. You’re fucking me so—so good. I can’t—fuck. You’re the only one.”

He smiles down at you fondly, kissing your nose, then your lips, parting your mouth and swirling his tongue around yours briefly. Then he withdraws, begins to fuck you again, slowly, reaching to the side for something.

Once you see his phone in his hand, your heart stops. And when he puts the device to his ear, your throat dries up even more. You suddenly become aware of the silence all around, especially in your chest. You can’t breathe, you can’t blink—

Yoongi jackhammers into you, purposefully luring your loud noises out of you. “My girlfriend wants to fuck you.”

You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut, the suddenness, the quickness of pleasure you haven’t yet felt piercing you. Fuck hot flashes and petals, you feel a heavy urge of your orgasm closing down on you.

“She’s so desperate for you, even when I’m fucking the life out of her.”

You flutter your eyes open to see Yoongi surveying you. You scrunch your face—so close, so fucking close—and then he puts the phone to your ear. Breathing, hard, ragged breathing fills all of your senses and you come.

It’s an explosion. Roses bursting, their dew soaking you and Yoongi whole and you exit. You exit out of this situation, this world, this universe while your soul remains here with them. Vibrancy, colors so beautiful and sensations so vivid, ardent and fierce. You don’t know what it is you’re feeling or where you are. That is, until Yoongi’s voice yanks you back to planet Earth, back into this world, this situation—back to them.

“In fact, she just came for you. Squirted.”

You sob. Overstimulated, rhapsodic, but effulgent. Yes, you emit light and glow. You can see it in Yoongi’s softened eyes.

“Think about it. No pressure. Just know she won’t shut up about you. I recall her saying your name would be pretty to moan while she played with her pussy. I think it’s only right you fuck it out of her.”

With that, he hangs up.

You brim with so many emotions that it numbs you. Happy tears flow out of your tear ducts—and happily, endearingly, Yoongi chortles. You don’t even feel humiliation or shame. On the contrary, you’re ready to come again.

Yoongi kisses you and the sounds he slips into your mouth divulge how happy he is about this, how pleased he is with himself.

You pout, burning your eyesight into his. He begins to rut into you.

“What, you’re not even gonna thank me?” he says, grinning, as if he wasn’t fucking you at all, as if you two were still sitting at the dinner table, conversing.

You stammer, head empty, silencing yourself and trying again. “What—what made you change your mind?”

Yoongi places open-mouthed, wet kisses along the bone of your jaw, and there he seals his answer. “I made up my mind the moment you admitted you wanted to be fucked by him, but you wouldn’t shut up about him. I wanted to hear you babble for me. About me. I just had to mess you up to get to that point.”

You mewl, running your hands through his sweat-slicked hair. Like a cat, he perks up to your touch, lifting his head, angling it. He kisses you, deeply. Kisses your relief.

“Where are your manners, hm?” he whispers onto your mouth, giving you hard strokes that erase your vocabulary. You want to make him come and so you push against his thrusts, but to no avail. The intensity won’t allow you.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you murmur, cradling his face, pecking him, giving him the softest eyes you could muster so you can show him how much it means to you.

He approves of your effort on bettering your manners and to reward you, he lifts you up and fucks you in the air. Your breasts bounce against the material of his T-shirt, stimulating you and he alters between jackhammering into you and sliding you up and down on his length. Your pussy squelches around his girth, tightening and Yoongi—

Yoongi loses his mind.

And it’s him who begins to babble when you snap your hips down on him in circles.

“Just like that, honey, oh fuck. So good, so good for me.”

He takes it until his sounds grow in volume and you focus so much on his pleasure that you forget about yours.

But you don’t let him take charge.

“Let me fuck you, please, Yoongi. I wanna make you come.”

Just like you, he’s out of it and because of that, because you asked so nicely, he lets you.

His chest heaves, staccatos of his choked out breaths sail through the room and you can see it on his face that he’s close. Brows furrowed, bottom lip bleeding due to the way he bites hard on it, the way his mouth pops open and his eyes flutter closed.

You hold onto his neck with your dear life.

“Look at me,” you demand and swirl your hips in slow circles around his tip. “I want you to look at me when you come.”

You’re so stunned that he allows you to be in charge, even more when he truly does open his eyes and pierces his gaze into yours.

“I need to pull out,” he breathes, but you shake your head, snapping your hips down on him harshly.

“No, I want your cum in me. And I want it to be inside of me when Jungkook fucks me.”

Yoongi grunts and this is it for him. His cock twitches in you, over and over again and then you feel it—the hot, thick ropes of his cum stuffing you full. You’re so mesmerized by the feeling, by the blissfulness evident on his face, by the smoothness between his brows at last that you can’t even milk him dry. You’re frozen, stupefied by his beauty, by his personal rapture and you want to feel it in unity with him. You kiss him.

It’s him who fucks him cum into you, burying it deep, moaning into your lip lock.

It’s him who lays you down to your original position and briefly, feebly licks the sheen on your spread lips before devouring your clit.

It’s him who gives you the fastest orgasm of your life.

And it’s him who tells you—in the shower—the story of how he almost beat up Jungkook black and blue once he heard him say how pretty you are.

And it’s you who checks up on him.

“You sure you’re okay with this?”

You’re stroking his hair in the bed, the duvet heavy and warm around your body and his, the night overflowing into morning—Yoongi, too.

He’s falling asleep, but still conscious, still here with you, purring.

“I wouldn’t be waking him up in the middle of the night if I wasn’t,” he whispers, opening his eyes to look at you, to see you enveloped in the extra blanket of the dawn’s rosy light—glowing, throwing the sun off of its throne. “Poor guy just got out of the military and you’ve already rocked his world.”

You smile, fondly, thumb caressing his temple. Yoongi hums in appreciation.

“I’m happy for him he’s getting pussy—one that’s mine. Before he enlisted, he spent all his time painting and getting drunk alone,” he pauses in a thought, blinking at the light. “You still want this?”

You nod, settling into his chest. Yoongi pulls you closer, tucking the duvet into the lines of your form, bringing in comfort and sleepiness.

“I’ll make sure you have the time of your life. I’ll be here the whole time, taking care of you,” he promises against your hair and you squeeze him.

“He hasn’t said yes, though. He could turn me down.”

“I’ve seen the way he looked at you. You have nothing to fear. He’ll come to you like a puppy.”

Yoongi sinks the promise onto the plane of your forehead and holds you as you drift to sleep. Happy, relieved, steamed off of all the negative things you went through. It evaporates into the dawn—far, far away from you.

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pholla-jm · 5 months ago

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Taste Like Strawberries

IMAGINE: TASTE LIKE STRAWBERRIES ~ TSUKISHIMA X READER GENRE: FLUFF cw: not proof read. use of 'girlfriend'. tsukishima being a simp. slight pda. established relationship. **************

Lip Glosses is your favorite makeup accessory. Bonus points if they are flavored lip glosses. You had a collection of different flavors. Cherry, guava, mango, pineapple, mint, anything that really smelled good.

You had about every flavor… except for one.

As you looked at the pink bottle with the red top, you realized that you did not have a strawberry flavor lip gloss. You were a bit bewildered at yourself after realizing this. So what was just supposed to be a simple convenience store run to grab a few snacks turned out to be a bit more.

Grabbing a couple of lip gloss tubes, you walked up to the counter to purchase all your items.

It wasn’t until a couple of days later that you would actually use it. If only you knew what effect it would have on your boyfriend.

Getting ready for school, you spotted the pink tube on the corner of your desk. Your face lit up, finally having the opportunity to try it on. Opening the fresh tube, you revel in the sweet smell of strawberries. After applying a thin layer of gloss over your lips, you create a ‘pop’ sound. You were happy that you chose this tube, because not only did it smell good, but you really loved the texture.

Throwing the tube into your school bag, you start to finish getting ready for the rest of your day.

You were pleased to see the tall blonde man as soon as you stepped out of your house. He was standing a couple feet away from your front door. Hand in his phone, scrolling mindlessly while waiting for you.

His head snapped up when he heard the front door open. “Took you long enough.” He says, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

“Oh hush, I did not take that long.” “School starts in twenty minutes.” “And we’re only ten minutes away. We’ll be fine.”

Tsukishima slightly scoffs, “what if I wanted to stop and get something?”

The both of you started walking towards the direction of school. “I already got that covered.” You say reaching blindly around in your bag.

Tsukishima looks at you in amusement as you struggle to grab the object you were looking for. Tired of waiting, he grabs onto the back of your bag and opens it himself.

“Hey, I could do it!” You say trying to pull away from him, but his strength was preventing you from doing so.

“You were taking too long.” “Ugh, you’re so impatient.” You start dragging your feet dramatically and he only rolls his eyes. “And you’re so dramatic.”

“Mean. Anyway, it’s the only drink there.” You tell him. He immediately finds the plastic container and he pulls it out. “Strawberry milk.” He states, a tiny flicker pulling at the corner of his lips.

He reaches around his bag and pulls out a drink as well. “I actually got you this.” He says handing you your favorite drink.

Your face lights up and your heart melts at his kindness.

“Awe, thank you Kei! You’re so sweet.” You bounce up, and place a short kiss on his cheek.

The fragrance of strawberries immediately hits his nose, causing his eyebrows to scrunch together. He was wondering where that smell came from. Obviously it had to come from you. So that’s why he bent down to get closer to your face.

Once Tsukishima is at eye level with you, he starts to examine your face. Your eyes widen at the sudden intrusion. It really wasn’t like him to do something like this out of the blue. And you start to wonder if you did something wrong… or maybe he was about to tease you.

His eyes scan over your face, wondering what was different. It wasn’t a bad difference. No, he enjoyed this difference… and he was starting to crave just a little bit more.

Finally, his lips landed on your glossy lips. They were tinted pink, most likely from the gloss, and if he focused on them, he could smell that strawberry.

“Did you get a new lip gloss?” He asks and your heart leaps at his question.

You didn’t think he would notice the small change, but everytime he did your heart would skip a beat and you would fall harder for him.

Your cheeks warm up, and you nod. “Yeah. Do you like it?” “You should wear it more often.” He answers and can only take that as a yes.

He stands up straight again, allowing you to finally calm down your racing heart.

“Oh, look! We’re here. See, it didn't take long at all.”

You didn’t even realize that you were standing in front of the school.

“I’ll see you before practice?” You ask, starting to walk ahead of him.

You didn’t even realize that he was zoned out.

It was only until you asked him about practice was able to snap out of it. “Oh? Hmm. Yeah. I’ll see you later.” He says, now walking past you. His hand lands on top of your head, ruffling your neat hair as he walks by.

“Hey!” You shout with a pout, your own hands landing on top of your hair to fix it. Tsukishima smiles at your reaction, but of course, he wouldn’t let you see that.

As the school day droned on, Tsukishima found himself unable to focus in class. He kept zoning out, thinking about random things that he liked. He liked a lot of things. Volleyball for starters, strawberry shortcake, anything strawberry really, dinosaurs, teasing you, how your hair looks really pretty, or how you always think of him. His thoughts always tend to land on you. Oh, and your new strawberry lip gloss.

He really couldn’t get it out of his mind. It just smelled so good. And he honestly started to wonder if it tasted just as good as it smelled.

“Tsukishima.”

He’s snapped out his daydreams when his teacher calls out his name. “Are you paying attention?”

Tsukishima nods his head and apologizes. The teacher thinks nothing of it and continues with the lesson.

It felt like eternity until the last bell rang. At this point Tsukishima was feeling rather aggravated and annoyed. He was blaming you that he couldn't focus at all today. You and that ‘stupid’ strawberry lip gloss.

Tsukishima continues to stomp his way towards the volleyball gym. He immediately spots you, standing right in front of the vending machine.

Your back was turned to him, as you were slightly leaned over to get a closer look at your reflection. He squints his eyes, seeing what you were doing. You were once again, applying a layer of lip gloss.

“Oi, idiot.” He calls out, causing you to stand up straight. You close the tube, immediately putting it away.

“I didn’t even do anything this time.” You say while turning around to face your tall boyfriend. Your hands were now placed on your hips as you glared at him with a small pout on your lips.

His eyes flicker down to your lips. He didn’t even have it in him to scold you anymore. All he wanted to do was get the answer he was craving since the beginning of class.

He doesn’t respond to you. All he does is grab onto your wrist and drag you into a more secluded place. “Where are we going?” You ask him once he stops. “Just shut up.” He says before leaning down and grabbing the sides of your face with his hands.

You were forced to stand on your tiptoes, as his lips molded with yours. Your own hands holding onto his biceps for more balance.

You let out a startled gasp when you feel his tongue run against your own lips. Successfully tasting the lipgloss he was thinking about all day.

He was happy to report that it did indeed taste as good as it smelled.

He didn’t want to pull away. Instead, he pulls you in closer- deepening the kiss as your chest was now pressed against his.

Unfortunately, you needed air. So you forcefully pull away from him. Both of your lips were a bit swollen.

“What was that for?” You ask. You weren’t complaining, but you knew that Tsukishima wasn’t one for PDA.

“Do I need a reason to kiss my girlfriend?” He asks back.

You only stare at him, pressing for an actual answer.

With a defeated sigh he crosses his arms, “I wanted to taste your lipgloss.” He mutters and a smile forms on your face. “Well, did you like it?” You start to tease him. “Were my actions before not enough?”

A blush forms on your cheeks just thinking about the kiss you just shared with him. Maybe you should wear this lip gloss more often if it got this reaction out of him.

“Okay, okay.” You state before standing up on your tiptoes again. Only to place a small kiss on his lips- giving him the satisfaction of strawberry flavor again. “You should get ready for practice now.”

He didn’t want to, but he knew that he needed to start getting ready for practice. If he didn’t, he would be scolded not only by the coach, but by you as well.

“Fine, just one more kiss though.”

“Okay, just one more.” You say and he doesn’t even hesitate to pull you closer again to place his lips on yours again.

Right before he can deepen the kiss, you pull back. “There’s your kiss. Now go to practice.”

Tsukishima sighs at your words, but straightens up. “Fine, but I better see you after practice.”

You laugh at his words, “when do you not?” His eyes narrow at you, but it doesn’t phase you. Instead, you just wave at him before leaving for your own activities.

Bonus:

Tanaka couldn’t really place it, but something looked different about Tsukishima.

He kept eyeing him up and down- and it wasn’t discreet.

Tsukishima could feel his eyebrow twitch as he felt the stare.

He finally had enough and turned to him. “Do you need something?”

Tanaka’s eyes widen, and it finally clicks.

“ARE YOU WEARING LIP GLOSS?” He shouts, gaining everyone's attention.

“Oh my gosh, you totally are!” Nishinoya shouts as well when he gets a closer look at him.

Tsukishima angrily wipes away the gloss from his lips on the back of his hand. And his only thought was that he could blame you. Why didn’t you let him know before you left? You obviously saw it.

“I’m not wearing lip gloss. It’s not mine.” He says, only confusing the boys in the gym.

“Then whose is it?”

Tsukishima froze. He hasn’t exactly told the team of you.

“Probably (y/n)’s.” Yamaguchi speaks up, causing Tsukishima to glare at him. Of course, he knew.

“Huh? (y/n). From class two?”

Tsukishima doesn’t answer. He didn’t really want to discuss the topic any further.

“Wait… you have a girlfriend?!” Tanaka shouts, a bit shocked that he is able to get one.

The boys started giggling and started to tease the tall blonde.

“Awe, someone’s in love.” “Maybe you should ask for their lipstick next.”

Little remarks and quips kept coming his way.

“At least I’m able to get a girlfriend.” He says before walking away from the rowdy boys.

The mood began to sour as the group of boys realized that he was right. Tsukishima had a girlfriend, and they didn’t.

The seniors chuckle while watching their underclassmen.

“Let’s focus on practice please!” Diachi finally yells, snapping them back into reality.

#oneshot #haikyu fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyu!! x reader #haikyu x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x you #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima kei x you #tsukishima fluff

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psychicreadsgirl · 5 months ago

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Pick a Novel: Keywords/prominent themes in your life

Pick the novel that draws your attention the most. If you can't decide between two, then look at the 2 readings. This is a general reading, so not everything will apply. Please take what resonates and leave what doesn't behind!

Keywords: love, lust, passion, fun, temperament, cafe, sweet, bicycle, pen, books, music, loyalty, winter, sofa, furniture, thoughts, light, intuition, soulmate, art, obsidian, cake, carbonated water, skincare, socks, cooking

Celebrities/Public Figures: Audrey Hepburn, Min Yoongi, IU, Claude Monet, Angela Merkel, Andrew Carnegie, John Johnson, Mark Zuckerberg, Larry Page, Howard Schultz, Sam Walton, Amancio Ortega, Queen Elizabeth I, Jane Austen, Jennie Kim

Countries: Italy, Canada, South Africa, Thailand, Saudi Arabia, Singapore, Greece, Madagascar, Qatar, Sweden, Zambia, Taiwan, Solomon Islands

Numbers: 11, 1, 5, 9, 80, 888, 6

Brands: Hermes, Tiffany, Apple, Instagram, Taobao, Lamborghini, Deloitte, Microsoft, Chopard, Givenchy, Patek Phillipe, Chloe, Alaia, Kraft,

Kpop songs: Young Forever by BTS, Shine by PENTAGON, Me Gustas Tu by GFRIEND, Run to You by DJ DOC, Love Lee by AKMU, Deja vu by TXT, Back Down by P1Harmony, Love shot by EXO

Keywords: economy, job loss, new opportunities, play, drama, anger, frustration, lost, compass, computers, battery, feet, head, brain, summer, pearl, avocado, junk food, fried chicken, challenge, frugal

Celebrities/Public Figures: Grace Kelly, Billie Eilish, Keanu Reeves, Rosé, Jung Hoseok, Salma Hayek, Pablo Picasso, Princess Diana, Thomas Edison, Sergey Brin, Mary I, William Shakespeare, Lee Nayeon

Countries: New Zealand, USA, Maldives, Indonesia, United Kingdom, Venezuela, Lithuania, Nepal, Portugal, Poland, Lebanon, Mali, Netherlands

Numbers: 4, 99, 101, 33, 13, 14, 0

Brands: Masion Margiela, Amazon, facebook, Shein, PWC, Missoni, Moschino Couture, Toyota, citi bank, Chaumet, Polene, Pizza Hut,

Kpop songs: Love Dive by IVE, Shangri-la by VIXX, Sweety by Clazziquai, I NEED U by BTS, The Chaser by Infinite, Magnetic by ILLIT, My House by 2PM, ICY by ITZY

Keywords: tales, gossip, lies, funny, movies, theatre, cell phone, cool, kpop, magenta, ancient, history, claws, cats, tiger, fall, jealousy, games, aquamarine, lemons, makeup, pencil, groceries

Celebrities/Public Figures: Beyonce, Lady Gaga, Morgan Freeman, Kim Seokjin, Jang Wonyoung, Matt Damon, Napoleon Bonaparte, Shinzo Abe, Steve Jobs, Voltaire, Kim Jisoo,

Countries: Ethiopia, France, Russia, Ireland, Argentina, Afghanistan, Libya, Rwanda, Nigeria, Pakistan, Morocco, Malta, Kazakhstan, Kenya, Iraq,

Numbers: 2, 7, 69, 25, 55, 79, 1182

Brands: Saint Laurent, miumiu, Starbucks, Mercedez-Benz, Nestle, Oracle, Tod's, Bulgari, Rolex, KFC, SUBWAY, Carrefour, Kellog's

Kpop songs: Supernova by aespa, Maestro by seventeen, Not by the moon by GOT7, Alone by Sistar, Hip by MAMAMOO, Good Day by IU, Bite Me by ENHYPEN, Work by ATEEZ, The Feels by TWICE

Keywords: foreign, spicy, peppery, rice, no, objection, resistance, control, storms, thunderstorms, shower, tension, crush, pop, paper, mango, legs, fragrance, emerald, clothing rack, tomatoes, defeat,

Celebrities/Public Figures: Judy Garland, Margot Robbie, G-Dragon, Jeon Jungkook, Pharrell Williams, Emmanuel Macron, Bill Clinton, King Charles, Warren Buffet, Cleopatra, Kim Mingyu

Countries: South Korea, Philippines, Scotland, Spain, Albania, Guatemala, Malaysia, Iran, Romania, Honduras, Georgia, Croatia, Belgium, Czech Republic, Gambia, Guinea

Numbers: 31, 75, 412, 43, 486, 640

Brands: Chanel, Prada, Bentley, Gucci, Samsung, Disney, BMW, Hyundai, cisco, Van Cleefs & Arpels, Dior, Loro Piana, Shake Shack

Kpop songs: Gee by SNSD, If you by BIGBANG, Antifragile by LE SSERAFIM, Up and Down by EXID, OMG by NewJeans, Lion by (G)I-DLE, Hello by TREASURE,

Keywords: death, mystery, mirror, reflection, shadow, black, grey, white, funeral, video, sprint, pool, gym, streets, metro, subway, chocolate, broken, knees, moon, ruby, surgery, teeth, race

Celebrities/Public Figures: Marilyn Monroe, Barack Obama, Kate Winslet, Kim Taehyung, Aamir Khan, Marie Antoinette, Elon Musk, Robert F Kennedy, Jeff Bezos, Richard Branson, Edward VIII, Charles Dickens, Abraham Lincoln, Park Bogum,

Countries: North Korea, China, Vietnam, Brazil, Bangladesh, Cambodia, Germany, India, Israel, Laos, Haiti, Dominican Republic, Congo, Cuba, Egypt, Mongolia

Numbers: 3, 97, 17, 19, 52, 98

Brands: Ralph Lauren, Celine, Ferrari, Huawei, Uber, intel, UPS, Calvin Klein, Piaget, Guerlain, Berluti, Pepsi, Cadbury

Kpop songs: Shut down by Blackpink, Seven by Jeon Jungkook, God's Menu by Stray Kids, Love Love Love by Epik High, Very Nice by SEVENTEEN, Birthday by Jeon Somi, Psycho by Red Velvet,

Keywords: travel, toxic, break away, departure, memory, dreams, truth, unveil, diary, journal, coffee, jacket, shoes, hands, social media, news, competition, autumn, diamonds, electricity, TV, cheat, fashion

Celebrities/Public Figures: Jane Birkin, Kim Jiwon, Gigi Hadid, Charlize Theron, Park Jimin, Salman bin Abdulaziz Al Saud, Maximilien Robespierre, Bill Gates, Queen Elizabeth II, Vladimir Putin, Henry Ford, James Joyce, Lalisa Manobal

Countries: Japan, Australia, Mexico, Iceland, Finland, Eritrea, Ecuador, Costa Rica, Cyprus, Bolivia, Botswana, Bahamas,

Numbers: 8, 646, 152, 37, 49, 22

Brands: Louis Vuitton, Lexus, Tesla, Fendi, Walmart, Nike, Siemens, Google, Cartier, Burberry, Ferragamo, Burger King, Unilever

Kpop songs: ROCKSTAR by LISA, Cherry bomb by NCT 127, Move by Taemin, Dramarama by MONSTA X, Love Scenario by iKON, Get a Guitar by RIIZE, Replay by SHINee, Candy Sugar Pop by ASTRO, Mr. Simple by Super Junior

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cmdrfupa · 7 months ago

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Family Day

You’ve turned a house into a home and a home into a sanctuary for Choso. He never thought he’d be given the gift of parenthood or love, so he wants to say thank you on an important anniversary.

Sfw, cute Papa Choso x reader. Fluffy, cutesy, teeth-aching sweetness. Reader called Mama but mostly gn.

a/n: I’ve been watching turtles go into the ocean after hatching, and now I’m here. Idk how I got here but we are here so let’s smile about it 😭

Weekends were meant to rejuvenate and catch up on the hobbies you neglect during the week. Waking up just in time for brunch and pajamas all day until time to get out of the enclosure.

Weekends for Choso were meant to play battle ninja princess and make pasta because his daughters wanted it for literally any meal when you weren’t around to say otherwise. He cherished the busy days as much as the calm ones. Running across town to toy stores and the bakery was his rejuvenation today.

“Mama would want the sprinkles!”

“Yea! Sprinkles! With the cereal, too, papa!”

“Make it five!”

With an apologetic expression to the cashier on his face, Choso took his wallet out of his fanny pack while using his free hand to massage his energetic children's heads gently.

“I’m sorry. Would you please give me two of each specialty donut and a dozen matcha macarons? Oh! And if possible, one of your full-sized ube mango tarts?” The twins exchanged "thank yous" to the cashier as Choso picked up the boxes, placing them in the stroller's attached storage bag before heading home.

It wasn’t a lengthy walk home. The weather, however, proved pleasant enough to go a longer route. Early summer was always more forgiving. The blossoming trees shadowed the ground, reprieve from the hint of heat. A soft breeze carried the delicate fragrance of blossoms and mowed lawns that lingered as Choso glanced in both directions before joining the group on the crosswalk.

“Papa. What’s a tart?”

“It’s like a pie but with less crust and more tasty filling like berries or custard.” Choso focused on the pathway ahead while answering.

“Who’s gonna eat the obey tart you got?”

Choso chuckled. “Ube, birdie. And Mama likes it. It’s her favorite.”

Saturdays started with the inevitable cuddle mountain attack from Ani and Nori once they realized it was a no-school day. This promptly led to them dashing around the house as ‘Papa Kong’ chased them until breakfast was done. Perfected chaos.

On this Saturday, things were different. Choso, with the twins accompanying him, instructed you to stay in bed as he ran a few errands. You didn’t even try to protest. You nodded, turning over to go back to sleep for another hour.

While you enjoyed the morning of reading with the humming humidifier in the background, you began to miss the sound of your rowdy duo and patient husband.

When you first met Choso and a teen Yuji, weekends were filled with nothing but noise as Yuji had his 2 friends over often. The liveliness around the house reminds you of those days when you watched the three having the “Is a hot dog a sandwich” debate in your cute little apartment back then.

“We’re back!”

“Mama!”

The energetic war cries sliced through the silence, and you sat your book down. “Well, there my little birdies are! Where did you all go?”

“We went to eat pasta! And we went to the park! Papa took us to get sweets!” Nori stated as she sat beside you, wrestling with her shoes before pulling them off.

“yeah! We got mac’rns and donuts! Ones with berries and sprinkles!” Ani added, setting her small bag down before she climbed into your lap.

You looked to see Choso heading to the sunroom. Curious, you attempt to get up, but Ani traps you with a toothy smile on her cherub face.

“No, no, sorry! Papa said to keep you here until he finished uh… Preppering for you!”

“Preparing for me?”

They nodded in unison, snickering with glee.

The raven-haired girls tugged at your heartstrings with their sweet existence. Spitting image of their father with you being seen in their mannerisms and warm smiles. “What’s happening with you three, hmm?” The pair smiled at you as they spoke in hushed tones about the super secret Kamo party in what could only be described as the loudest whisper known to man.

While your children were talking to you about the squirrel they insist said hello to them, a very familiar knock was suddenly heard at the front door. “Be right back, birdies.”

The knocking persisted, and you knew exactly who it was the moment you saw the pink hair through the door's frosted glass.

“Yuji! What on earth are you doing in town?”

Yuji embraced you tightly, his bag falling to the floor as he practically picked you up, his boyish grin never fading.

“Cho called me! He said he wanted to get together soon. Though maybe I should’ve asked when…”

“Nonsense! Now is the perfect time. It's so good to see you.” You gave his cheek a slight pinch as he closed the door behind him.

He gave you another hug, this time squeezing you like he used to when he was younger. The familial warmth set in as he pulls away, looking at you. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you all. It's been forever”

“It has been. And your nieces are going to be thrilled to see you.” On cue, the twin girls ran into the foyer, screaming with excitement as they jumped onto Yuji.

“You two have certainly grown. You'll be bigger than Uncle soon! Must be eating your veggies, hm?” They giggled as he kneeled down to be at their level, his new tattoos being their point of interest with shock and awe.

A few minutes into your mini-reunion, Choso appeared at the foyer entrance.

“Little brother!” His tone was warm, and his eyes were shining. Choso went to Yuji, kissing his forehead before subjecting him to the most suffocating hug he could. “I’m glad you could make it!”

“Of course. I’ll never miss the chance to see you guys!”

Taking in the energy from his most beloved people, he settled his eyes on the twins “Birdies? Do you mind leading the way to the back?”

“Uncle Yu, come on!” They both took one of his hands, you and Choso following behind.

“Choso? What’s all this about?” Most of them being a much younger version of yourself and Choso; curiosity sets in as you scan over the various Polaroids that trimmed the hallway.

One in particular with you, Choso, and Yuji, eating ube tartlets after your graduation, catching your eye.

“Just wanted to do something for our family to celebrate today,” his lips landed a peck at the corner of your mouth.

“I’ve forgotten a holiday? Oh hell, Cho-cho, I’m so sorry-”

“Baby, you forgot nothing. It’s a new holiday.” Squeezing your hand, reassuring you, “One I declared and didn’t announce til today. So, do you remember what we did on this day 9 years ago?”

You pondered a moment. Your anniversary was a few months away, while birthdays were set for later in the year.

Hanging on the wall was a framed photo of Choso, Yuji, and you. Taken in front of your first apartment when Choso became Yuji’s guardian. It all clicked. “Oh Choso”

You paused at the opened French doors leading to the sunroom. Cherry blossom fairy string lights cross over the ceiling, highlighting drawings made by the twins. Sweets were arrayed on a table, and traditional tea was set in the center of the room. Yuji stood next to the setting, proudly looking at his brother's work.

“9 years ago, you stood right with me as I became his guardian. And you never left.” Yuji smiled on, remembering the moment when you welcomed him into your arms like you’d known him all his life. “You helped me grow. You became a figure in both our lives that we needed, and I haven’t properly shown how much I appreciated that.” Choso led you into the room, the girls sitting down as Yuji began to pour tea and plate their sweets. “You became my family and gave me the best gifts anyone could ever ask for.”

Speechless, you hugged him tightly, butterfly kisses to his now flushed cheeks before you looked around the room. Every detail from past dates to recent events in your lives is shown in the decor. “Thank you”

“Im pleased to say our first Kamo Family Day is officially here!”

Ani and Nori cheered as you sat with them, passing you the designated party hat as Yuji and Choso shared stories of their first years together.

Later that evening

With both the kids and Yuji settled in for the night, you and Choso settled on the couch with the leftover tart.

Holding the fork out for him to take his bite, you peered over at him, deeply engrossed in the episode of Master Chef.

“I really feel like Gordon Ramsey would make me cry.”

“Hm?” you swallowed, trying to hide your laugh.

“I’m serious.” He glances over at you, low-lidded eyes showing a hint of melancholy. “Remember when the girls talked about how I did their space buns, which were all wonky, according to Nori? That haunted me for a week.”

He finally took a bite of tart and looked back at the TV. “Gordon would have me sobbing in our linen closet over how raw I like my burgers.”

You couldn’t help but grab the pillow, chortling into it. “I’ll protect you Cho, don’t worry.”

#jjk #choso kamo #jjk choso #yuji itadori #choso x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #noritoshi kamo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #fanfic #lu.logs

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kakashixhatakesxwhore · 8 months ago

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Chocolate-Coated Confessions

Pairing: Kakashi x f!Reader

Summary: Kakashi's been jealously hating on Valentine's Day for a very long while, but he's pushed over the edge when you suggest you might be spending the night with someone else.

W/c: 1.5k

Warnings: Fluff, just jealousy really

Notes: he's down bad, lmk if this sucks <3

Masterlist💿

Valentine's day had never been Kakashi's favourite holiday. To him, it was a day filled with superficial displays of affection, a spectacle for those who mistook infatuation for love. Nobody in love would ever put on such a show, Kakashi reckoned as he strolled down the street to the market. As he walked, he let his eyes drift past the loving couples, holding flower bouquets and boxes of chocolates, alight with temporary delight. He couldn't help but wonder if anyone ever truly felt the emotions they so desperately attempted to display.

In his time at the Academy, a plethora of cards would be found on Kakashi's desk at the start of the day. He would always look through them casually, hoping to see your gorgeous scrawl on one of them. But he never did. As a Genin, and into his Chunin years, the girls moved from handmade cards to tiny candies and strange tokens. He'd accept the things, but usually just throw it all out by the night - he'd keep a few chocolates, just to comfort him. Kakashi didn't want their gifts, he wanted just a sliver of your attention. But he never got it, with you only holding conversation with him when he would instigate it.

You never made him a card, you never gave him a sweet - but you were the first to wish him a happy birthday since his fifth. Surely, that had to be some kind of love, right?

Kakashi trudged on, down the street, and into the fruit market. Once he stepped through the doors, Kakashi's eyes clapped onto you. Your back was turned, but he could recognize you anywhere. A picture of casual elegance, the sight of you made Kakashi's heart ache with a mixture of longing and resignation. You were so beautiful, and just destined to be his - but you didn't want him, not as anything more than a friend.

"Oh," you said, turning around to see Kakashi a few meters from you. Your smile was like a ray of sunshine, and as you approached, the subtle fragrance of your perfume enveloped him. "Hi, Kakashi. Lovely day, isn't it?"

"Isn't it just," Kakashi murmured shortly, though his thoughts were racing. "I thought you did your shopping on Thursdays."

"Just like you." The gentle laugh in your tone sent a vibration through Kakashi's body, electrifying him.

In defense, he replied, "I felt like cutting up a pineapple today, but I have no pineapple to cut."

"Don't do it," you said a little too quickly. Kakashi's eyebrows furrowed as he chuckled, amused at the slightly panicked expression that flitted across your face.

"Why not?"

"Er...because...well, just don't, okay? Trust me."

"Okay," he hummed, looking at the top of a pineapple sticking out of the bag in your arm. Curiousity piqued, he asked, "What's in the bag?"

"Not yet, Nosey Rosey," you quipped, skirting past Kakashi with a brush of your hip against his. Despite the confusion, Kakashi found himself smiling down at you as the sun caught your hair so beautifully.

Yet. He would get to find out eventually, to some capacity. It was a small win, but a win for Kakashi, none-the-less.

"I've got to go, there's a lot of work I still have to for today." Like always, you shied away from Kakashi just when you seemed to be opening up. "I'll see you later, Hatake."

Before he could respond, you turned and left the fruit market, going in the direction of your apartment complex. His words died on his lips as he watched you leave him, to go do work for today. Today. Valentine's Day.

What did you mean? Did you have a valentine? Were you making something for them? Who? Who deserved your love and how could Kakashi prove to you that he was more deserving?

Getting a couple of mangos instead, still craving pineapple, Kakashi kept your command in mind. He left the fruit market and had the mangos back in his apartment, where he read for a long few hours.

The day seemed to melt away, only eating away at Kakashi's beating heart - he didn't want to spend Valentine's Day alone anymore, and he certainly didn't want you spending it with anyone else.

It was time for action. Kakashi didn't care if he would be interrupting your hot date - in fact, he hoped he would be.

Springing from his bed around the stroke of five, Kakashi left his apartment for the confectionary a couple blocks away, getting a kilo of chocolate almonds, before heading to Yamanka Flowers. There, Kakashi bought the most expensive bouquet in the store, ignoring Ino when the little girl inquired about Kakashi's big date. He didn't want to get his hopes up, but he certainly wasn't going to dash the idea.

As he dashed around the Hidden Leaf, Kakashi thought about what to say to you. It was all situation dependant, he came to realize - and, eventually, Kakashi figured he would have to let his heart speak for him, for once.

After dragging his feet, still deeply in thought, closer to the hour of six, Kakashi slowly made his way to your apartment complex. Battling with his internal monologue, he ascended the stairs, and went straight to Unit 36. He had walked you to your door a few times, but you had never invited him in.

His breath was shaking, and the items felt heavier than bricks in his arms, but Kakashi was determined. He wanted you so badly, and he needed you even worse.

Smelling a dark but sweet scent coming from under your door, he rapped upon the wood three times. Kakashi could hear a bang, then a small shout, before the lock clicked and the door swung open, revealing you, as gorgeous as Kakashi had ever seen you.

Your hair was tied up messily, in disarray from the obvious culinary tasks you had taken on. A pastel pink apron hung from your neck, synching your waist, with white frills bordering the fabric. Chocolate was smeared on the front, in thin, abstract lines. The same chocolate was on your arms and hands, even a smudge having made it onto your cheek.

Kakashi took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on," he began, voice trembling slightly. Your smile widened as you leaned on the door, opening it wider for him. Gathering every shred of courage he had, Kakashi continued, "For years... all I have been able to think about is you, morning, noon, and night. Your face, your voice... they bring me comfort like nothing else."

He paused, collecting his breath and searching for any sign of what you were feeling, but something compelled him to go on before you could reject him.

"I've tried to ignore it, tried to move on, but I can't. You have a hold on my heart that I can't break. I...I need you to know...I love you." With a sharpness, you inhaled, and Kakashi sighed, "I love you more than words can describe... and it hurts to not know how you feel about me."

Breathing deeply from his monologue, Kakashi felt as though a weight was lifted from his shoulders. Even if you denied him, even if you told him your heart was for another, Kakashi would be okay, because, at least, now, you knew.

A beat of quiet passed through your apartment corridor as your eyes sparkled in the luminescent lighting. Then you simply giggled, "Do you still fancy a pineapple?"

Blinking rapidly, Kakashi asked, "What-?"

"C'mon, Lover Boy," you teased, motioning into your apartment with a smile that seemed to light up the room. "You don't know how much easier you've made things."

Still in a state of confusion, Kakashi wasn't going to turn down the invitation. He stepped into your apartment, taking in the large window and your twenty-some paintings that lined the walls. Snapping his attention back to you, Kakashi presented the bouquet and you took it up, holding the flowers close to your nose as you inhaled.

"I hope you don't think my thing is lame," you sighed, looking between the flowers and the bag of chocolate covered almonds that still resided in Kakashi's hand. "I didn't spend half as much money as you did."

"You...got me something?"

Brightly, you nodded with a deepened smile. "Yeah- well, no...kinda." You started walking toward the other room in the small apartment. "Come to the kitchen, I'll show you."

As he walked through your apartment, he took in all your little knick-knacks and chachkies. Everything in the room screamed about various corners of your personality, corners that Kakashi hoped to one day know like the back of his hand.

The kitchen was very white - white cabinets, white counters, white cupboards, white fridge, white backsplash, white oven. All white, except for a smattering of brown mess, all over two pots and the stove and the baking sheets that sat beside. You walked over nervously and motioned for Kakashi to do the same. As he got closer, he could decern chunks of various fruits and strawberries sat on the baking sheets, covered in chocolate.

"You...did this?" Kakashi asked, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and disbelief as he took in the array of chocolate-covered fruits. You nodded, eyes shining with anticipation. "For me?"

"All for you, Kakashi. Only for you."

You didn't know just how much Kakashi had prayed to hear those words come from your mouth. It was like he was dreaming, being given everything he ever wanted, and he grew anxious that it was.

Driven by a sudden surge of courage, Kakashi stepped forward and gently pressed his lips to yours. An electric jolt coursed through him as your hands instinctively cradled his cheek and the back of his neck. You melted into his embrace as he brought you close, fitting perfectly against him. Kakashi knew then that this was no dream; he was wide awake and finally living the reality he had longed for.

He also knew that he had to reevaluate Valentine's Day.

#kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake #kakashi fanfiction #hatake kakashi #kakashi fanfic #kakashi sensei #kakashi oneshot #kakashi naruto #oneshot #kakashi fluff #fluff

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choupicosmeticbeauty · 2 years ago

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Crazy Pouss Spray Hydratant Mangue 250 ml.

Introducing Crazy Pouss Spray Hydratant Mangue: Unlock the Secret to Effortlessly Gorgeous Hair!

Transform your hair routine with our Crazy Pouss Spray Hydratant Mangue 250 ml. Say goodbye to tangles and hello to luscious locks!

Effortlessly detangles hair for easy brushing

Provides intense hydration for nourished strands

Adds a stunning shine for head-turning hair

Leave-in treatment for long-lasting benefits

Formulated with the power of mango for healthy-looking locks

Enjoy the delightful mango fragrance with every spray

#Crazy Pouss #Mango Moisturizing Spray #Leave-in treatment #Haircare #Detangling #Hydration #Shine #Mango fragrance

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y2kbeautyandother2000sstuff · 5 months ago

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Bath and Body Works Sweet Pea and Mango Mandarin Anti Bacterial Nourishing Hand Soap

late 1990s-early 2000s

SP found on Ebay, user jajo1508

MM found on Ebay, user unicornbeauty

#vintage bath and body works #vintage bath and body works sweet pea #vintage bath and body works mango mandarin #y2k bath and body works #y2k bath and body works soap #vintage bath and body works soap #y2k sweet pea #bath and body works sweet pea #bath and body works mango mandarin #mango mandarin #y2k fragrances #y2k anti bacterial #y2kcleancore #y2k hand soap

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correlance · 11 months ago

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Paradise Lost: How John Milton's 1667 work influenced "Hazbin Hotel"

I've been thinking about why the "fruit of knowledge" in Hazbin Hotel is depicted as an apple, as opposed to another fruit that would've been more accurate to the Middle East during the Fall of Man, as well as how Paradise Lost by John Milton (1667) influenced the show.

Per one source:

"Because the Hebrew Bible describes the forbidden fruit only as 'peri', the term for general fruit, no one knows [what exactly type of fruit it was]. It could be a fruit that doesn't exist anymore. Historians have speculated it may have been any one of these fruits: pomegranate, mango, fig, grapes, etrog or citron, carob, pear, quince, or mushroom."

Per Wikipedia:

"The pseudepigraphic Book of Enoch describes the tree of knowledge: 'It was like a species of the Tamarind tree, bearing fruit which resembled grapes extremely fine; and its fragrance extended to a considerable distance. I exclaimed, How beautiful is this tree, and how delightful is its appearance!' (1 Enoch 31:4)."

In Jewish and Islamic traditions, the "fruit of knowledge" is commonly identified with grapes. The Zohar explains that Noah attempted (but failed) to rectify the sin of Adam by using grape wine for holy purposes. Today, the "Noah grape" is still used to make white wine.

Furthermore:

"The association of the pomegranate with knowledge of the underworld as provided in the Ancient Greek legend of Hades and Persephone may also have given rise to an association with knowledge of the 'otherworld', tying-in with knowledge that is forbidden to mortals. It is also believed Hades offered Persephone a pomegranate to force her to stay with him in the underworld for 6 months of the year. Hades is the Greek god of the underworld, and the Bible states that whoever eats the forbidden fruit shall die."

So, how then did the apple become the foremost symbol of the "fruit of knowledge"? You can partly thank Paradise Lost by English poet John Milton, a work which the lore of Hazbin Hotel is based off of.

Milton published the book in 1667, a time when the hedonistic Restoration era was in full swing. The exiled King Charles II was restored to the throne as King of England in 1660, and was a party animal, with dozens of mistresses, and nicknamed both the "playboy prince" and "Old Rowley", the latter after his favorite lustful stallion.

However, the association of the "fruit of knowledge" began with a Latin pun long before Milton immortalized the association in Paradise Lost. Per the linked article above by Nina Martyris for NPR:

"In order to explain, we have to go all the way back to the fourth century A.D., when Pope Damasus ordered his leading scholar of scripture, Jerome, to translate the Hebrew Bible into Latin. Jerome's path-breaking, 15-year project, which resulted in the canonical 'Vulgate', used the Latin spoken by the common man. As it turned out, the Latin words for evil and apple are the same: 'malus'.

[...] When Jerome was translating the 'Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil', the word 'malus' snaked in. A brilliant but controversial theologian, Jerome was known for his hot temper, but he obviously also had a rather cool sense of humor.

'Jerome had several options,' says Robert Appelbaum, a professor of English literature at Sweden's Uppsala University. 'But he hit upon the idea of translating 'peri' as 'malus', which in Latin has two very different meanings. As an adjective, 'malus' means 'bad' or 'evil'. As a noun it seems to mean an apple, in our own sense of the word, coming from the very common tree now known officially as the 'Malus pumila'. So Jerome came up with a very good pun.'

The story doesn't end there. 'To complicate things even more,' says Appelbaum, 'the word 'malus' in Jerome's time, and for a long time after, could refer to any fleshy seed-bearing fruit. A pear was a kind of 'malus'. So was the fig, the peach, and so forth.'

Which explains why Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel fresco features a serpent coiled around a fig tree. But the apple began to dominate Fall artworks in Europe after the German artist Albrecht Dürer's famous 1504 engraving depicted the First Couple counterpoised beside an apple tree. It became a template for future artists such as Lucas Cranach the Elder, whose luminous Adam and Eve painting is hung with apples that glow like rubies.

Milton, then, was only following cultural tradition. But he was a renowned Cambridge intellectual fluent in Latin, Greek and Hebrew, who served as secretary for foreign tongues to Oliver Cromwell during the Commonwealth. If anyone was aware of the 'malus' pun, it would be him, and yet he chose to run it with it. Why?

Appelbaum says that Milton's use of the term 'apple' was ambiguous. 'Even in Milton's time the word had two meanings: either what was our common apple, or, again, any fleshy seed-bearing fruit. Milton probably had in mind an ambiguously named object with a variety of connotations as well as denotations, most but not all of them associating the idea of the apple with a kind of innocence, though also with a kind of intoxication, since hard apple cider was a common English drink.'

It was only later readers of Milton, says Appelbaum, who thought of 'apple' as 'apple', and not any seed-bearing fruit. For them, the forbidden fruit became synonymous with the 'malus pumila'. As a widely read canonical work, 'Paradise Lost' was influential in cementing the role of apple in the Fall of Man story."

To tie this back into John Milton's relationship with King Charles II of England, as mentioned, Milton originally served Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protector of England, and the English Commonwealth, which was formed with the overthrow and execution of King Charles I on 30 January 1649, following the bloody English Civil War (1642 – 1651).

The King's two sons - the newly-christened King Charles II, the elder, and James, Duke of York (King James II), the younger - fled into exile on the European continent. However, with the death of Oliver Cromwell on 3 September 1658 came the 2-year-long dissolution of the English Commonwealth, and the restoration of the monarchy.

As for Milton himself, we can look to an article by Bill Potter.

Milton, born on 9 December 1608, was around 51-52 years old when King Charles II was restored to the throne. He attended Christ's Church, Cambridge in his youth, and mastered at least six languages, as well as history and philosophy; making him, perhaps, the most knowledgeable poet in history. He spent more than a year travelling across Europe, conversing with and learning from intellectuals, linguists, poets, and artists, including the famous Galileo Galilei.

However, Milton was a controversial figure of his time, being unafraid to criticize institutions of authority; arguing that "divorce was Biblical", for which he was routinely condemned; joining the Puritans; penning the Areopagitica, a treatise on liberty in favor of Parliament and the Roundhead rebels, during the reign of King Charles I, arguing that the King must be held accountable by the people; and agreed with and justified the murder of King Charles I, for which Parliament hired him in 1649 as a propagandist and correspondence secretary to foreign powers, on account of his fiery manifestos against "the man".

The collapse of the Commonwealth with the death of Oliver Cromwell in 1658 did not deter Milton from continued political writing against the monarchy and the new public sentiment that brought about its Restoration under King Charles II in 1660. On the contrary, Milton - now totally blind, having lost his eyesight by the age of 44 in 1652, a decade earlier - began writing Paradise Lost in 1661, and spent the next six years dictating the work to transcribers.

A supporter of regicide, Milton was also forced into exile himself, and faked his own death, as Charles refused to pardon - and sought to execute - any of those directly involved with his father's murder. Milton's friends held a mock funeral for Milton on 27 August 1660, just months after the coronation of King Charles II on 23 April 1660.

King Charles II commented that he "applauded his [Milton's] policy in escaping the punishment of death [execution for treason] by a reasonable show of dying", but insisted on a public spectacle nonetheless by having Milton's writings burned by the public hangman.

After eventually obtaining a general pardon from King Charles II, Milton was imprisoned, and released, likely due to political friends in high places. He died, aged 64, in 1674. His theological views were sometimes considered heterodox by the best Puritans, and his political views came close to getting him executed on several occasions. His poetry, however, has endured as some of the greatest works in the English language, especially Paradise Lost; much of his greatest work was written during his 22 years of complete blindness.

One of the main factors in King Charles II deciding to grant a pardon to Milton was, ironically, Paradise Lost. While originally written by Milton as a scathing criticism of King Charles II and the monarchy - depicting Lucifer Morningstar as a sympathetic rebel against God, with King Charles II claiming that is right to rule came from "divine ordainment" - Charles II enjoyed the work, and authorized its publication on 20 August 1667. We know this because a 1668 copy of Paradise Lost in royal bindings by Samuel Mearne, bound lovingly in a fine red leather made of goat skins tanned with sumac, and stamped in gold with the royal cypher of King Charles II, was found. The endpapers bore a watermark with the royal arms of Charles II.

Per one Miltonian scholar: "The most single important event in Milton's life was the event against which he struggled most: the Restoration of Charles II, [and his relationship with the King]. Had it not come, we might have never had Paradise Lost...certainly, we should never have had [it] in [its] present power and significance."

Milton followed up Paradise Lost with Paradise Regained in 1671, three years before his death, with advice for King Charles II, urging the hedonistic Charles to "reign over himself and his passions":

"For therein stands the office of a King, His Honour, Vertue, Merit and chief Praise, That for the Publick all this weight he bears. Yet he who reigns within himself, and rules Passions, Desires, and Fears, is more a King; Which every wise and vertuous man attains: And who attains not, ill aspires to rule Cities of men, or head-strong Multitudes, Subject himself to Anarchy within, Or lawless passions in him which he serves." - John Milton, Paradise Regained, Book II, lines 463-472

To summarize: "If we must have a King back again, my Lord, please try to be a good man, unlike your father, who fell to his pride, [which was also the downfall of Lucifer]."

To quote another source: "Though the passage begins by noting that the office of a King is to bear the weight of public concerns, it is the control of one's private concerns that truly set a King apart as a virtuous character. Indeed, so important is self-command that any wise or virtuous man who attains it is like a king; any king who does not practice [self-command] is nothing more than a mere subject, ruled by anarchy and lawlessness."

Milton's words, too, echo a work written by Charles' grandfather, King James VI/I of Scotland and England: Basilikon Doron ("Royal Gift").

Per Wikipedia:

"'Basilikon Doron' (Βασιλικὸν Δῶρον) means 'royal gift' in Ancient Greek, and was written in the form of a private letter to James' eldest son, Henry, Duke of Rothesay (1594–1612). After Henry's death, James gave it to his second son, Charles, born 1600, later King Charles I. Seven copies were printed in Edinburgh in 1599, and it was republished in London in 1603, when it sold in the thousands.

This document is separated into three books, serving as general guidelines to follow to be an efficient monarch. The first describes a king's duty towards God as a Christian. The second focuses on the roles and responsibilities in office. The third concerns proper behaviour in daily life.

As the first part is concerned with being a good Christian, James instructed his son to love and respect God as well as to fear Him. Furthermore, it is essential to carefully study the Scripture (the Bible) and especially specific books in both the Old and New Testaments. Lastly, he must pray often and always be thankful for what God has given him.

In the second book, James encouraged his son to be a good king, as opposed to a tyrant, by establishing and executing laws as well as governing with justice and equality, such as by boosting the economy. The final portion of the Basilikon Doron focuses on the daily life of a monarch.

All of these guidelines composed an underlying code of conduct to be followed by all monarchs and heads of state to rule and govern efficiently. James assembled these directions as a result of his own experience and upbringing. He, therefore, offered the 'Basilikon Doron' ('Royal Gift') to his son, with the hope of rendering him a capable ruler, and perhaps to pass it down to future generations.

Overall, it repeats the argument for the divine right of kings, as set out in 'The True Law of Free Monarchies', which was also written by James. It warns against 'Papists' (Roman Catholics) and derides Puritans, in keeping with his philosophy of following a 'middle path', which is also reflected in the preface to the 1611 King James Bible. It also advocates removing the Apocrypha from the Bible."

King James VI/I further instructed his son and grandson:

"A good monarch must be well acquainted with his subjects, and so it would be wise to visit each of the kingdoms every three years."

"During war or armed conflict, he should choose old-but-good captains to lead an army of young and agile soldiers."

"In the court and the household, [a royal] should carefully select loyal gentlemen and servants to surround him. When the time came to choose a wife, it would be best if she were of the same religion and had a generous estate. However, she must not meddle with governmental politics, but perform her domestic duties."

"As for inheritance, to ensure stability, the kingdom should be left to the eldest son, not divided among all children."

"Lastly, it is most important...that [a royal] would know well his own craft...to properly govern over his subjects. To do so, [one] must study the laws of the kingdom, and actively participate in the council. Furthermore, [one] must be acquainted with mathematics for military purposes, and world history for foreign policy."

"[A royal] must also not drink and sleep excessively. His wardrobe should always be clean and proper, and he must never let his hair and nails grow long. In his writing and speech, he should use honest and plain language."

King James VI/I further supplemented Basilikon Doron with a written treatise titled The True Law of Free Monarchies: Or, The Reciprocal and Mutual Duty Between a Free King and His Natural Subjects.

"It is believed King James VI/I wrote the tract to set forth his idea of absolutist monarchism in clear contrast to the contractarian views espoused by, among others, James' tutor George Buchanan (in 'De Jure Regni apud Scotos'), [which] held the idea that monarchs rule in accordance of some sort of social contract with their people. James saw the divine right of kings as an extension of the apostolic succession, as both not being subjected by humanly laws."

Milton's own Areopagitica was a follow-up on De Jure Regni apid Scotos by George Buchanan, and also to The True Law of Free Monarchies, as well as the idea of the "divine right of kings". It takes its title in part from Areopagitikos (Greek: Ἀρεοπαγιτικός), a speech written by Athenian orator Isocrates in the 4th century BC.

Most importantly, Milton also wrote on the concept of free will: "Milton's ideas were ahead of his time in the sense that he anticipated the arguments of later advocates of freedom of the press by relating the concept of free will, and choice to individual expression and right."

The concept of free will, too, was a major topic explored in Paradise Lost. Per one source: "In 'Paradise Lost', Milton argues that though God foresaw the Fall of Man, he still didn't influence Adam and Eve's free will. [...] God specifically says that he gives his creatures the option to serve or disobey, as he wants obedience that is freely given [or chosen], not forced. Some critics have claimed that the God of the poem undercuts his own arguments; however, Milton did not believe in the Calvinistic idea of 'predestination' (that God has already decided who is going to Hell and who to Heaven), but he often comes close to describing a Calvinistic God. God purposefully lets Lucifer (Satan) escape Hell, and sneak past Uriel into the Garden of Eden, and basically orchestrates the whole situation so that humanity can be easily ruined by a single disobedient act. In describing the Fall of Man before it happens, God already predicts how he will remedy it, and give greater glory to himself by sending his Son [Jesus Christ] to die, and restore the order of Heaven."

In Hazbin Hotel, Adam also describes the Calvinistic idea of 'predestination', and that "the rules are black and white":

However, "This possible predestination leads to the theory of the 'fortunate fall', which is based on Adam's delight at learning of the eventual coming of the Messiah [from his bloodline]. This idea says that God allowed the Fall of Man, so that he could bring good out of it, possibly more good than would have occurred without the Fall, and be able to show his love and power through the incarnation of his Son. In this way, the free will of Adam and Eve (and Lucifer/Satan) remains basically free, but still fits into God's overarching plan."

However, there is one major flaw with this, and that is that we don't know if Jesus Christ exists within the Hazbin Hotel universe or not. Yet Charlie Morningstar, the daughter of Lucifer Morningstar and Lilith, and the "Princess of Hell", is depicted as a savior-esque figure within the show who, like God in Paradise Lost, encourages lowly sinners to choose obedience to God out of their own free will. More interestingly, Charlie does not come from Adam's bloodline; yet, while Lucifer decries 'free will', Charlie supports 'free will' instead.

Perhaps is is merely because Charlie, being the daughter of Lucifer and Lilith, claims to want to fulfill Lilith's "dream" of humanity being empowered in Hell ("The mind is its own place, it can make Heaven out of Hell, or Hell out of Heaven" - Lucifer, Paradise Lost); however, I think it also stems from Charlie having a genuine belief that 'free will', and people choosing to do good instead of evil, is "good" and "Godly".

True to Paradise Lost, this is also in fulfillment of God's plan; and, according to one fanfiction, why God allowed Charlie to be born to Lucifer and Lilith, so that sinners may be redeemed through Charlie.

For more on differing interpretations of 'free will', I suggest reading: "Free Will and the Diminishing Importance of God's Will: A Study of Paradise Lost and Supernatural" by Kimberly Batchelor (2016)

Excerpt: "'Paradise Lost' –and Milton’s purpose for writing the poem— is rooted deeply in postreformation Arminianism and this is apparent in its employment of free will. Chapter 1 argues that Milton turns to free will as a tool to justify the actions of God. Freedom of choice is God-given, and sets up a morality in which right and wrong are dictated by God. Chapter 2 shows that in 'Supernatural', free will is not given by a higher power; and, in fact, free choice functions as an act of defiance against God's will."

This raises the question: Is 'free will' given by God, using Lucifer as his vessel, in Hazbin Hotel, as in Paradise Lost? Or is 'free will' not given by a higher power; and, in fact, an act of defiance against God?

This brings us back around to our first question: Why is an apple, or 'malus', used to depict the "fruit of knowledge", especially if 'malus' means 'bad or evil', whereas Milton depicts 'free will' as God-given?

Well, for one, Lucifer still chooses to associate himself with apple symbolism and imagery, despite being skeptical of free will:

Based on the introduction to Episode 1, Charlie also views 'free will' as a gift (Miltonian), whereas Lucifer appears to view it as a curse.

However, Charlie also notes that it was through the 'gift' of free will that the "root of all evil" entered the world, for if mankind could choose to be good, then they could also choose to be evil ('malus').

John Milton states in Paradise Lost: "Of Man's First Disobedience, and the Fruit Of that Forbidden Tree [malus], whose mortal taste Brought Death (evil, malus) into the World, and all our woe."

Thus, the use of an apple specifically is likely a tie-in to what others have been speculating about a character that series creator Vivienne Medrano (Vivziepop) alluded to a while back: "The Root of All Evil".

However, "Roo" itself is depicted as possessing the body of a human woman, presumably Eve, the first one to eat the "fruit of knowledge":

Thus, we can discern that "Malus" likely refers to this character. (Also see: "Maleficent", a name that also uses the root word "mal", "evil".) As for Roo's intentions, if Charlie is "good" - and, if, in fact, Alastor was sent by "Roo" (Eve) - then they may want for Alastor to work on their behalf to "corrupt" Charlie, or make sure the hotel never succeeds.

This is because demonic power is tied to human souls, and there are "millions of souls" in Hell, which likely fuels the great power of "Roo". The more souls there are in Hell, the more powerful "Roo" becomes. The Overlords also get their demonic power from "millions of souls".

The deal between Eve and "Roo" might even be the first contract, or deal, between a human soul and a demonic entity; in exchange for 'free will', and the knowledge of good and evil, Eve allowed the "Root of All Evil" to inhabit her body, and to escape the void or prison it was confined to by Heaven (Hell?). (For one cannot be 'all-good' unless you attempt to 'eliminate' or 'ablate' evil; and, in Greek mythology, Zeus imprisoned the Titans in Tartarus for all of their evil deeds.)

Another possibility, brought up in an article by Gillian Osborne, is that Lucifer sees the "fruit of knowledge" as an apple, but it may appear as different fruits to different people, depending on how they view it. This also fits with Lucifer and angels being able to easily shapeshift.

In Paradise Lost, only Lucifer describes the fruit as an "apple" (malus), as he associates malus with "bad, evil", while the narrator also describes the fruit as "a mix of different colors" and peach-like. This then begs the question: "Did the fruit of knowledge of good and evil become 'evil' because Eve harbored resentment towards Adam?"

Quote: "Lucifer (Satan) gives Eve yet another hint that this tree may be more complicated than he wishes her to believe: although elsewhere in Milton's poem Eden is heady with its own newness, sprouting spring flowers left and right, the tree of knowledge is already old: its trunk is 'mossie'. Nevertheless, Lucifer claims to wind himself around the tree 'soon'; the quickness of his reported arrival stands in contrast to the timescales required to cover a fruit tree with moss (PL 9.589). Placing Lucifer's winding body between these two timescales—an easeful present and the inhuman scale of natural history—Milton suggests that there is something dangerous in entangling the past with the present. Yet, 'Paradise Lost' also makes deep biblical history feel like present politics for its readers. When Adam and Eve wander out of Eden at the end of the poem, they famously make their way not only into an earthly paradise, but also into the present. Eden's mossy apple tree therefore represents the pitfalls of conflating nature and history, of seeing any action in human history—even Eve's eating of an apple—as natural, if by nature, we mean inevitability. For Milton, history, unlike nature, is directed by humans, progressive, and, like the reading of 'Paradise Lost', hard work. While trees may inevitably collect moss the longer they live, Adam and Eve's labors in the garden, and our labors of reading, require agency and effort. Milton's poem refuses mourning the loss of Eden, [and the perfection of Heaven], in favor of a perpetual, melancholic, recreation of paradise: a present perfecting."

To quote Twisted: The Untold Story of a Royal Vizier, which also draws inspiration from John Milton's Paradise Lost: "It's an unfortunate situation...but you do have a choice [i.e. free will]."

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