#i just tap every thought i have into my notes and arrange it in a way that hopefully makes sense before i inflict it on a fic sjhdjsjd

[satorena]

#INTRO2MUNCH101

summ. when suguru “eat it off the bone” geto actually turns out to be suguru “flaps the left lip until she calls it a night” geto, he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew about his skills. . . talk about a rude awakening.

cw. explicit content. foul language. fem!reader. college!au. eventual smut (but not in the way you think. . .) mild modern lingo. allusions to music artists. cunningulūs. male masturbation. reader has a belly piercing. she’s also depicted mean by the boys. gojo cameos bc i can’t not mention him. tattoo artist!geto. substance consumption. lowkeyyy self-indulgent reader. 10k wc.

rena's note. this is a spin-off to p power, so i’d suggest reading that first to understand the correlation!

suguru geto is a simple man.

your pleasure is his pleasure. he’s always prided himself on being a pro at the art of cunningulus. honest— he’s always left with swollen lips, a heavily sprayed face and a solid five star ratings at the end of his work. his jaw feels tired out, scalp burning from consistent hair tugs, and his breathing uneven from lack of oxygen. but at the feel of plush thighs squeezing his face and the repetition of his name flowing into the air before getting squirted on, he remembers it’s always worth it.

no pain no gain, right?

wrong.

because here he finds himself, a hefty hour in since he first dove in between your soft legs, and there’s been absolutely no development. sprawled on your back on his sheets, arm slung over your eyes, and your breathing even. you look fucking bored, and his heart is sinking to his ass.

geto will use every trick he has in the book. he’s noticed overtime that girls have different bodies, therefore he needs different tactics to stimulate those bodies. he nips at your puffy bud, sucking on your clit for external pleasure. no use. fine, then he’ll push your thighs up some more for a deeper penetration of his fingers in your cunt— still no use. the only sounds being produced are his mouth slipping against his own saliva at your pussy because he can’t even get you wet enough.

the pit in his stomach grows larger. he wonders if maybe you’re just the silent type? he’s come across those before.

he’s getting nervous out of his mind, so shaky and uncoordinated that his hand slips and meets your lips for the umpteenth time— and only then do you release a guttural groan, the very first sound you’ve made in a long ass time. wait—

“did. . . did you cum?” he pants, pulling his sticky lips away from yours. his face feels moist, blood rushing all in his head and he’s lightheaded. but still, he has to know.

you push yourself up to your elbows, annoyance clear as day. he’s yet to seen this look on a girl after pulling every card known on the table, “yeah. . . to the wrong fucking house.”

oh fuck.

☆ ☆ ☆

he first spotted you chatting it up with your friends on the school’s soccer field, on a random tuesday afternoon, and he’s been hooked on you ever since.

the universe played a funny game, and he realized university truly is a small ass world. amongst your friends, he noticed a familiar face. one he’s been hearing and seeing of one too many times lately, on multiple separate and traumatic occasions— gojo’s girlfriend. suguru found himself bonding with her due to their familiar point of interest— that being gojo— and believes he can now make of her a friend.

geto watches his best friend’s eyes shimmer and he flashes his infamous million dollar smile. he really is obsessed with his girlfriend and she doesn’t even know— and geto finds himself wishing he had somebody he’d be this ecstatic over. must be nice.

“i’m gonna go say hi to my girl real quick,” gojo taps at his shoulder, and geto nods. he’s cool on it, he’ll wait back here until he’s done, or can make his way to his next class depending on whatever gojo and his girlfriend arrange. “you comin’?”

“i’m probably gonna head to our next lecture.” geto voices out, pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time. he feels gojo peeking over his shoulder, in which he assumes to verify if that would be necessary.

over forty-five minutes. damn it.

“that’s mad pointless, class doesn’t start till more than half an hour,” gojo says, and geto doesn’t see himself waiting around that long for a lecture. no way, “just come— her friends are chill.”

fuck it, he goes. naturally, gojo is all over his girl and her friends expect it. geto does give them a little wave when gojo introduces him. one of the girls mention having heard of him through a friend— something about a failed talking stage. mad federal, and the sheepish chuckle geto offers when you give him an unreadable look makes him want to crawl into a ditch.

so now you think he’s a whore. awesome.

and gojo’s smirk definitely doesn’t help him out. he doesn’t help out at all actually, so enamoured by his girlfriend that he leaves geto to fend for himself against a pack of wolves (read: nosy girls). he replies only when spoken to, nods when necessary and throws in a few “that’s crazy,” to which the girls fail to pick up he’s out of words to say.

well, everyone except you.

you’re quiet. in fact, the whole time, you haven’t said shit to him. you sit back and observe, occasionally typing on your macbook, or reapplying your lip combo. you didn’t have any words to say to him. even when your friends would talk to you, you gave them short answers and went back to listening to whatever was playing in your airpods. he could tell from that small interaction alone, you were the mean one out of your clique.

and fuck if that didn’t make him want you more. there was just something about mean women that made him want to break through their fake ass exteriors and watch them turn all soft and chummy for him.

blame it on his corruption kink.

gojo confirms his thoughts when they’re finally on their way to class. he kissed his girl goodbye and waved off her friends, to which they all (minus you) collectively cooed, “byeee gojooo!” which he found odd, but kept silent. he gave them a small nod before following his best friend.

they’re a few steps in the science building when the words slip before he can help it, ultimately cutting gojo’s rambling off, “yo, who was that girl?”

gojo glances at him before chuckling, “there was like seven of ‘em. which one?”

“the quiet one.”

it throws him off guard when gojo laughs hard. like, really hard. it attracts the attention of bystanders, who give him a crazy look but gojo ignores. as if they’d try to press him about his volume— the two were pretty adored around campus.

geto does find his reaction quite interesting, to which he cocks a brow and offers a chuckle of his own, “what?”

“oh, you definitely mean y/n,” when his laughter dies down, he finally answers. he lifts his shades to his hairline to swipe a tear. “she’s mean as fuck, bro.”

“right?!” geto laughs, tapping at gojo’s shoulder. it only charges gojo’s laughing fit back up, “i could tell from her vibe. she gives off those ‘men ain’t shit’ girlies on twitter. whole time, she’s probably laid up in bed with one.”

“you don’t even knowww,” gojo holds his shoulder and shakes him a bit. geto does in fact know, because he’s dealt with girls like her before. they’re always a good ass time. “she does men dirty. like, absolutely dogs them. heard one phone call too many.”

oh? even better than he expected. she’s probably the type that used to love hard before getting her heart trampled on and decided to seek revenge on all men. like, on some jennifer’s body shit. geto can’t help but smirk, “lemme see for myself. put me on.”

gojo falters in his step. his grip on geto’s shoulders loosen and his expression changes— not by much, but the once lighthearted smile switches to a skeptical one, “you serious?”

geto lets out a soft sigh, shrugging gojo’s hands off his shoulders. “don’t start asking too much. i did a favour for you and your girl, didn’t i?,” well, technically speaking it wasn’t like his comment had been the deciding factor for the two, but it did open gojo’s eyes. “you owe me one.”

“i don’t owe you shit,” gojo laughs, throwing his arm around geto anyways, “buuut you’re my boy and i’m not stingy. i’ll see what i can do, i know you’ve been getting a lil jealous of wifey and i.”

“shut the fuck up.” geto’s chuckles contradict his statement.

from that point on, it’s smooth sailing. gojo texts his girl asking if she’s seeing anybody. they have a little back and forth because his girlfriend assumes he’s asking for himself— which gojo gets all dramatic and throws geto under the bus for free. welp! it all worked out anyway since after he and gojo parted, you’d thought he was fine shyt. judging from your character, he doesn’t exactly take gojo’s words for what they are.

but he’ll take the opening, it’s as good as any.

time to plot.

☆ ☆ ☆

the second encounter was purely coincidental. and simultaneously embarrassing.

see, geto prides himself on his mysterious act— granted he was anything but. people see all that is gojo and automatically assume that geto has to be the cool one. it creates a perfect balance, no?

haven’t people heard of birds of a feather flock together?

so yes, he’s also a nerd. he typically enjoys spending his wednesday afternoons at dice board cafes because why not. it’s a chill, lowkey joint right off campus and not a lot of people gravitate towards, therefore the perfect spot to camp out before his evening lecture.

besides, his buddy choso works there and it gets him discounts. it isn’t the only reason he shows up, but it does help a lot on his pockets. being a student is awful, financially.

geto sips on his choco latte through a straw, browsing through the board games pamphlet as he decides what he’s going to play today. most of these games are pretty pointless if he doesn’t have an opponent, but he likes to think it helps develop his iq. he hears avenoir playing through the cafe and knows choso’s on aux.

who else could be playing this toxic ass shit?

he’s torn choosing between snakes and ladders or chess when he hears chimes at the front door, signalling somebody’s entered the establishment. he doesn’t think much of it, going on about minding his business when he hears choso say your name.

the latte enters the wrong tube and he chokes.

geto collects himself quickly, wiping any stray liquid past his mouth as his head snaps up. you’re propped up against the counter, and though he can’t see your face, he definitely recognizes your build. . . okay, yeah that sounds fucking pervy but if he stalked your page a few times, who’s business is it but his own? it’s not like you’d know. granted, he had got caught up liking one of your older photos but he took the like right back!

he debates on walking up to you. how would that even work without seeming desperate? you’ve been checking out all of his boxes so far— your face, body and attitude (question mark) are all tens. he does want to get to know you— at least be somebody in your life. but damn, why is he overthinking this? all he has to get up there and sweet talk you. he’s done this shit before.

“yo, suguru!”

shit.

purple orbs shift towards where his name was called, and lo and behold, there stands choso. and naturally, you look back to who was summoned, but god— social media does not do your face justice. he last seen you about a week ago, and had nothing but your instagram and his memory to rely on.

he makes his way to the counter and ignores you. doesn’t spare you a glance once— though he stands right at your side and watches you watching him through his peripheral. he nods at choso, “what’s up?”

choso, ever the genius, flicks his eyes between geto and you, before clearing his throat, “shoko just texted— somethin’ about a new client. how’s the studio looking?”

“booked all week,” geto answers truthfully, and he notices you’ve shifted your gaze, “little to no openings. why though?”

choso hums, jolting down online orders into a little notebook, “not even for a special friend?”

geto squints his eyes at that. there isn’t anybody he’d call a special friend that hasn’t already been booked or wouldn’t have his number to squeeze in an appointment. granted, he is a dnd warrior but even his friends know of that quirk of his, “depends. who’s the special friend?”

“me.” and he feels his heart skip a beat. fuck. he tilts his head over to the side, and good lord, your face card gave every girl on campus runs for their money. seriously, your facial features complimented you in a way that told aphrodite— the textbook definition of beauty— to go fuck herself, and hard.

“oh?” geto cocks a brow, and lets his eyes roam up and down your frame. shameless, yes, but he has a reputation to uphold. your rest in face makes his own look like child’s play, “didn’t realize we were on special friends basis.”

you click your tongue, “didn’t realize we were on lurking spam accounts but pretend we don’t exist the next day basis either,” you quip right back, picking at the white bow glued to your acrylics.

sassy. geto chuckles, now fully turning his body around to face you. you match his movements, and he toys with a ring on his middle finger, “guess you got me all figured out,” he pauses, shifting his gaze to choso, who’s already eyeing him. “sounds like you wanted me to reach out.”

“boy please,” you scoff, pausing your nail inspection. you let your hand hang, “you choked earlier because you heard my name. that corny nonchalant act isn’t the flex you’re thinking it is,” a huff escapes your lips, and geto feels blood rushing to his face. “your lurking ass was months deep into my page just a week ago— did you find any men ain’t shit vibes from the photo dump?”

choso stifles a laugh, and when geto looks at him, it dies into a cough. well damn, you really didn’t hold anything back. read him like a book actually— and it doesn’t help that gojo can’t keep his mouth shut for shit. it widens the grin on his face. he thinks he likes you.

“well,” geto smirks, “can’t say i have— means there’s still an opening.”

you furrow your brows, “oh? an opening to what exactly?”

“an appointment, of course,” he shrugs, running a hand through his hair. his locks are getting in his face, but the messy look always gets him compliments. might as well shoot his shot, “you know. . .” leaning his chin into the palm of his hand, “for a special friend.”

his double entendre definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by you. he watches how, despite the mean mugging, there’s a glint of mischief in your eyes. you’re squinting just slightly, almost as if you were weighing out the pros and cons. geto won’t break the eye contact first— he’s on a mission. he hopes the tired eyes look will be on his side this time.

tattoo or dick appointment— he would one hundred percent make an opening for you. anything to get his hands on your body.

“are we still talking about the tattoo parlour or . . .”

both you and he turn to choso, who’s watching the situation unfold. just count on him to ruin the mood, whether the obliviousness was feigned or not. choso tightens his brows at the look geto shoots him, “what?”

“i’m gonna head out,” you grab at your handbag, hopping of the seat. nicely played choso. you gather your items and slip them in your purse, sliding a few bucks across the counter. choso grabs the bills and stick them in the tip jar, nodding at her. “catch you in poly sci?”

“if you don’t skip again.” choso snorts and you flip him off, slinging your bag over your shoulder. you turn on your heel and make your way towards the exit, ultimately dismissing geto. that doesn’t feel too nice, he should probably stop that bad habit.

he rises to his feet before he can help it. his hand grabs at your wrist and notices how much smaller it seems in comparaison to his, and he hates the next words that leave his mouth, “what about me?”

you glance down at his hold on you, before looking back up at him, “what about you?” your face says everything your lips haven’t— you’re getting the ick.

he wants to wince. okay, yeah that was corny, “when do i get to see you?”

you drag out a mini hum, your gaze dancing over his silver chain around his collarbone, “dunno. you have my socials so i assume in the next hour.”

he tilts his head to the side, and the pad of his thumb grazes over your smooth skin. he doesn’t fail to notice the way your hand stiffens under his touch, “so if i slide in your dms in the next hour, i can expect an answer?”

a snort leaves your chest, and he can’t tell if it’s a condescending one or an amused one. what he does know, however, is that he’s going to be seeing you sometime soon. you take your hand back into your possession before laying it in the dead centre of his chest, pushing him back just slightly, “i’ll see you around, geto.”

his eyes trail over your figure, every step you take out of the establishment, slightly starstruck by the entirety of you— your boldness. the thrill he was beginning to feel felt like a high. he hasn’t met anybody this entertaining in a while.

“you’re so fucking corny.” he thinks he hears choso insult him from behind. he doesn’t pay him any mind, despite the middle finger that tips towards the ceiling. partynextdoor blasts in the cafe, specifically freak in you, and he hates how he finds himself relating to the lyrics,

room full of beautiful women but he only wants one.

☆ ☆ ☆

“you stalking me, pretty?”

“sure,” you nod your head, raking through the items on the clothing rack. you don’t spare him a single glance, picking a top off the rack and inspecting it, “if stalking means visiting the busiest thrift store on the busiest hour in the busiest city.”

geto lets out a small laugh, shoving his hands in the pockets of his cargos. you make him feel like a nuisance, like he’s a pest wasting your time. ironic, seeing as he wasn’t that much of a bother just last night, when you’d been indulging him in your inbox, “of course you’re the thrifting type.”

you pause your actions, price tag in your fingers as you side eye him through locks of your hair, “and you’re not?”

“didn’t mean it in a bad way, sweetheart.” geto shrugs, pulling off a cropped baby tee and bringing towards you. it has sequins sewn in the material, the gems writing out juicy couture. “this would suit you— belly piercing and whatnot.”

the top is cute, there was no denying so. a pretty shade of pink that suited your complexion, but letting his ego inflate bigger than it already was out of the question. he could tell your thought process from the judgmental look you offered, “oh god—you’re one of those fake ass, streetwearing fashionistas, aren’t you?”

geto blinks a few times, before letting out a sincere laugh. he’s been called a multitude of things before, but that one was new, “you got all that from me suggesting you buy this juicy couture tee? don’t all girls fiend over this vintage shit?”

“it’s that corny ass personality of yours,” you grab the shirt, throwing it in your cart. he wants to make a comment on that, but you beat him to the chase, “the phoney nonchalant act, the streetwear, your insta aesthetic— you’re so scripted.”

“my insta aesthetic?” he repeats, and doesn’t miss a step to catch up to you. your hands are back on the handle of your shopping cart, and if the way his elbows bump into your shoulders bothers you, you don’t make point in commenting on it. “who’s the lurker now, hm?”

you roll your eyes, pushing the strolley ahead, “don’t let it get to your big ass head. your feed screams you’re those toxic ass brent faiyaz wannabes,” he watches your fingertips rake through more clothings that pass your way, before you shoot him a glance, “let me guess— he showed on your spotify wrapped.”

his silence speaks volumes, and you click your tongue, “see? scripted.”

“and what about you?” geto counters when you make a pit stop. you pull away from your cart when a denim skirt catches your eye. you lift the skirt up to your eyes, before looking over your shoulder, cocking a brow.

“what about me?”

“the tweet reposts, the song choices for your highlights, the whole spiritual baddie persona,” he presses behind you, his chest meeting your back. he rests his chin atop your head, purple eyes landing on the clothing article that’s lowering in your hold, “if my page gives brent then yours definitely gives jhene.”

you’re mute for a second, and you chuck the skirt into the cart. you pull away from beneath him, spinning on your feet to face him, and you’ve got a scowl on your lips, “what’s wrong with jhene?”

“and you call me the toxic one.” geto pokes at your cheek. you swipe his hand away, and he laughs, “don’t get me wrong though— she makes good music. but let’s not act like she’s all innocent either,” his gaze lowers to your glossy lips, the fullness of the pair hypnotic, “a real freak. should i call you my pussy fairy?”

“do not,” you reply, weaving around him to make your way back to your cart. geto laughs, snatching a few things of the racks before dumping them in your stuff. you give him a deadpanned look and he whistles it off, feigning ignorance. “jhene’s a lovergirl. thought i was part of the men ain’t shit community.”

“you’re not gonna let that go, are you?” geto sighs. he owes gojo another thump in the head.

you roll your eyes, “thank your homeboy for that.”

“two things can be true at once,” geto fiddles with the hem of his jacket. he’s back at walking step by step with you, and you haven’t told him to fuck off yet, so he’s going to milk the opportunity out. “you’re mean but a lovergirl. you hate men but a real freak with them. right or wrong?”

you halter in your steps, and geto’s now a few steps ahead of you, so he looks over his shoulder to meet your bored expression, “i know you’re not trying to read me in the middle of value village.”

“no better time than the present,” he smiles, one that creases a dimple in his cheeks. “come on up— what are you waiting for?”

you stare at him some more, inhaling sharply, “mind you, i never invited you to join me,” you shake your head but comply regardless. cute, looks like you’re enjoying his company more than you’re letting on.

so he graces you his presence some more. he shops along with you, sneaks clothes into your cart when you’re distracted and asks you stupid questions. it’s a good time— to him at least, being able to get to know you some more without interruptions. naturally, you feign that his company is the bane of your existence, but he doesn’t miss the twitch of your lips when he taps his card into the reader at the check out.

hell yeah he’s got money to spend and is willing to show off if it means getting on your good side.

it’s only after he helps you bag your shit into your car, that he realizes this is where the both of you part ways. it annoys him slightly, but he doesn’t need to overstep his boundaries. he closes your trunk and makes his way to the driver’s side, where you’re already buckled up.

he taps at your window and the glass rolls down all the way, to which he leans forward. he’s in your line of sight now and you sigh, tilting your head sideways, “what?”

“do i get a goodbye kiss?” geto teases, honest, the boyish smirk he offers accentuating the playful undertone. the last thing he expects is you shifting in your seat, pushing yourself up and peaking your head out the window.

his smirk drops, brows jumping to his hairline. you’re really fucking close now, and for a split second he thinks you’re actually going to do it. he can see the flecks of colours swimming in your orbs, the tip of your nose bumps into his and your breath fans his cupid’s bow.

fuck, you smell really good. he bets you taste even better. his mouth is running dry, mindlessly darting his tongue out to wet his own lips. he doesn’t realize he’s let himself lean into your space, eyes narrowing on your mouth parting over his.

he’s pulled out of his trance when two fingers press at his forehead and push. he blinks his lashes, snapping back to reality as you sit back into your seat. you look amused— as if you’d played the funniest game right in his face and he’d been the star player.

“i’ll see you around, geto.”

and you drive off.

☆ ☆ ☆

“come back in a few weeks for a checkup. we’ll make sure the healing process is running smoothly. i’ll catch you soon.”

he lets out a tired sigh when the door finally closes, slumping into his seat and shuts his eyes. he’s exhausted— having woken up early for lectures and labs to back to back appointments with clients. this time around, the parlour is always booked and busy. students find it the perfect timing to get tatted to let it heal before showing it off in the summer.

it’s smart for them but idiotic for him. midterms are up, and the only time he has to study is in between appointments. he slides off his gloves and drags his seat towards his desk, redirecting his attention focus towards the blinding screen.

he feels a headache building at his temple, sipping at his iced coffee to keep him energized. contradicting, sure, but you didn’t have the luxury to be a beggar and a chooser when you were a full time student. the parlour he ran resided in his loft apartment, on the second floor. he enjoyed the comfort of his own home, spacious room and wide windows compared to outside stores.

his cat, nanako, purrs at his feet and he feels his heart swell. if there was one weakness he had in this world, it’d be her. he picks her up from the floor, presses her at his rib cage and nuzzles his nose in her fur.

“hi baby,” geto coos, and nanako lets out a sound. he continues to coddle her, fluffing her fur and rubbing at her ears, “it’s been pretty lively in here, hasn’t it? i knowww,” he coos, and as if nanako understands his words, she makes a pitiful sound that slightly shatters his heart.

geto decides to place her on his lap, her company serving plenty of motivation as he rolls back to his desk. he grabs the remote to his built-in speakers, turning the volume higher, before locking back in. exams are full of crap, and words are starting to jumble on his screen— he’s beginning to contemplate if this education shit is even worth the stress.

he’s an hour deep in jolting notes down on his ipad when he hears a knock at his front door. he scrunches his brows and glances at his agenda— he isn’t due for an appointment until another few hours. he sits it out, starting to believe he’d maybe imagined the sound. he knows it isn’t gojo since he’s celebrating an anniversary with his girl, and any other friend would’ve called to let him know they’re outside.

probably some jehovah witness shit, he thinks to himself, fingers hovering over his speaker remote to crank the volume back up. he turns back to his laptop screen, petting nanako mindlessly when his ipad flashes an instagram notification.

yourstruly.yn: open up

he jumps to his feet, chair rolling back. nanako flies to his desk, landing on all fours as she hisses at him for his suddenness. geto grabs her and kisses her ear, “sorry baby,” before sitting her on the floor. she walks off to her mini bean bag right at the foot of his desk, and he senses an attitude coming from her.

damn, he’d forgotten he squeezed you in last night in the midst of his sweet talking. that was truly a stupid move, he was already behind on studying, and because he likes to think with his head instead of his actual head, he’d fall even further behind.

he checks around the flat— picks up stray wrappers and fixes throw pillows, arranges his sheets. he was a clean man for the most part— he had been so distracted with his studies that there wasn’t much to dirty in the first place. his candles had already been lit so he knew the place smelled fine. he’s pretty positive his loft is clean enough to leave a good first impression.

he fixes loose hairs and straightens out his hoodie and sweats. thank fuck he’d showered not too long ago— he’s beginning to understand why his mother was always so insistent on being clean in case of random pop ups.

when he does finally open the door, there you stood. it was pretty chilly outside this time around, so he wasn’t surprised by the harsh wind flowing in and the clutch of your coat in your hold. your nose began reddening, and you sniffled, scowling from the cold.

you’re so cute, he sends you a smile, “hey.”

“hi,” you replied, sniffling again. “you ever planning on letting me in?”

“dunno,” he crosses his arms over his chest. he leans against the doorframe, ignoring the way he was starting to feel the frosty wind setting in his bones, “maybe if you ask nicely.”

you shoot him a deadpanned look, “move.”

“no.” geto smiles, “try again.”

“move, now.” a small pout is starting to form on your lips. he really liked testing your patience, since it always seemed to run low. you must’ve met your match— because geto always had time to fuck around.

“close, but not quite.”

“oh my goddd,” you groan, and that’s when he decides to let up. it really is colder than a bitch outside and he’d already kept you waiting while tidying up. he lets out a chuckle when you turn to the side, “i’m leaving— too damn cold for this.”

“alright, i’m playing,” geto widens the door. you stop your movements and glare at him. he aims an arm towards the inside of his loft, “don’t go, come in.”

you grumble something beneath your breath but comply, walking right past him. he follows behind you, shutting the door close and is immediately greeted back with warmth. you slip your shoes off and place them on the rack, before stepping in further into his apartment.

he slides his hands into his sweatpants’ pockets, catching up to you in the living room. your head is tilted upwards as you inspect the place though you remain in place. he stands beside you, bumping his shoulder into your arm, “so? up to your standards?”

you’re quiet for a while, letting your eyes roam around as the words build in your mind, “it’s typical,” you shrug but don’t elaborate. you’ve been staring at an art piece he’d done first year when he was fried out of his mind. you shift your gaze back to him, “where do i put my shit?”

“you can leave it in my bedroom, if that’s fine.” geto suggests and you nod wordlessly, to which he leads you to the second floor. he’s walking up the stairs and prays he doesn’t fall flat on his face— his socks can be a real bitch sometimes.

you both make it to his bedroom, with you trailing a little behind. he grabs a hanger from his mobile clothing rack, stretching an arm out to you, “i’ll hang your jacket here.”

you slide off the coat from your frame and hand it to him, to which he hangs on the rack. you circle around his bedroom with your tote on your shoulder, while he makes his way back to next to his desk. it’s pretty quiet for the most part, besides the music playing gently in the background.

your gaze lands on the cluttered items on his desk, noticing the half empty cup of coffee, notebooks and ipad on display, “did i catch you at a bad time?”

“honestly? yeah,” geto shrugs, before motioning at your tote bag. you slip it off and hand it to him, to which he sits at his nightstand, “but it’s my fault anyway, i squeezed you in a busy time. you know how exam season gets.”

“i can always reschedule,” you offer, checking your phone screen for the date, “it’s not that deep.”

“i don’t want you to leave,” geto slumps back into his seat and heaves out a sigh. he spins the chair around to catch you giving him a flat look. he leans back in his seat and spreads his thighs, smirking, “would you stay?”

“depends. are you going to be studying?” you quip, crossing your arms back to your chest.

geto ponders on what to say next. it’s not like he doesn’t want to tatt you up, but he really is caught in a bind. he also doesn’t want you to leave— not when he’s been wanting to see you since the last time he’d seen you. does he prioritize his wants or his needs?

he hums, “i’ll do whatever you want me to.”

you roll your eyes, scoffing as you make your way to his nightstand. for a second, he thinks you’re getting ready to leave and a weird feeling of disappointment settles in his gut. instead, you grab the bag and sit on the edge of his bed, pulling out your macbook and crossing your legs.

he smiles at that, “attagirl.”

“corny.” you mumble, chewing on your bottom lip as you begin typing away.

there’s a comfortable silence that fills the room. he’s back to browsing through his lecture notes, noting down valuable information and memorizing terminology. you don’t say anything either, but the sound of your nails typing at your keyboard blends well with his r&b playlist playing. sounds like you’re writing down an essay or report, depending on whatever your major is.

about half an hour into the silence, does he decide to break it. he looks over his shoulder to where you’re settled on his bed, “you good?” he checks up on you, and you let out a burnt out sigh. he knows exactly how you’re feeling.

“i guess,” you huff, twirling your necklace. your eyes are stuck on your screen, brows creasing into a scowl, “this shit is frying my brain though.”

“what are you writing?” he indulges, dropping his apple pen back onto his desk and spins in his seat to face you. maybe he’s also in due of a break— he’d rather be talking to you anyway.

“this crim report,” you answer, picking at your nail, “it’s not exactly hard but mad lengthy. i have to write a ten page report based on this article and how it contradicts societal norms.”

“ten pages?” geto whistles, rubbing at his chin. he’s settled deeper in his seat, naturally manspreading. you’re much better than him, he would’ve given up before even starting— reports were not his thing, “how far are you in?”

“i started this morning,” you hum, “so i’m four pages in.”

geto nods, “and when is it due?”

“tomorrow night.” you push your laptop off your lap. you close the screen shut and stretch out your legs, releasing a breathy moan as you relax your thighs. “i’ll do this shit later— my head’s starting to hurt.”

geto swears he’s never been so in sync in thought. he dismisses the idea of studying the second you had closed your macbook. probably a bad idea but at the moment, he couldn’t care any less, “want some entertainment?”

you cock a brow, “don’t say no stupid shit.”

“twenty one questions,” geto speaks nonetheless and finds himself beaming brightly when you scoff, “can’t a guy want to get to know you better?”

you ease yourself on his bed, slumping into his sheets as you exhale. you shift onto your side— a sinful curve at your side— tucking your knees and lean your head into your palm, “oh fuck off,” a breathless laugh and nanako makes her presence known, hopping right by you in the space between your body and the edge of the bed, “didn’t know you had a cat. she’s cute.”

“how’d you know she was a she?” geto wonders, surprised just slightly by how welcoming nanako was around you. she purred when you stroke at her fur, nuzzling further into your chest. nanako hated everyone— especially gojo, who unironically visited the most.

“instinct,” you shrugged but there’s a faint smile on your lips. not directed towards him, but his baby, “i also have a cat— he’s a fucking menace though.”

that’s one thing in common already, “like mother like son,” geto grins lazily when you flip him off mindlessly, and when you raise nanako in both your hands, he’s ready to warn you she isn’t a big fan of sudden movements— but when she mewls, the same sound she makes when geto brings home a new toy, the words die down in his throat.

he observes you both silently. you cradle nana as if she were a newborn infant, adoring and loving yet simultaneously careful and steadily. you’re cooing, calling her a sweet girl and rubbing at her ear, and nanako accepts you rather easily— too easily.

“woah.” was this those non-sexual turn ons people spoke about? for somebody so mean, you were oddly gentle with pets. he liked that— really liked that, so much that he pulls his phone out and snaps a photo of you two. but of course, because the universe loves to see him fumble, the flash goes off.

your head snaps to the side and he freezes. you narrow your eyes at him, slowly lowering nanako, “did you just—”

“so!” geto cuts you off, chucking his phone back onto his desk. it makes a loud cluttering sound, damn near knocks his drink all over, but ignores it, “my turn. what’s your cat’s name?”

“milo. and don’t cut me off—”

“milo the menace,” he cuts you off regardless, not wanting to have to decipher just what exactly possessed him to do that. he’s never done so, and he wasn’t about to explain why he’d done it just now. deflecting king! “i need to see the little guy. got any pics?”

you huff, extending a hand behind you to find your phone. when you clutch onto the device, you swing your legs off the bedside, always careful with nanako clinging to your lap. you lay her down on the floor, much to her dismay, before making your way towards him.

his eyes are stuck on your body before his mind can tell him to stop. not like it mattered much, your own eyes glued to your phone screen as you searched for the pictures he’d asked. you’ve got a matching tracksuit on— though the hoodie is cropped, thus exposing your navel piercing. he’d always had a thing for those, the pretty good jewel dangling below the button.

it didn’t help that your thong straps sat atop your waist.

he spreads his legs further open, and you stop right in between. for a moment, you’re stuck on your phone, and geto really wants to get those thighs straddling him. you look delectable— he’d pin your knees to your damn ears, sprawled on your back, and eat you out until you pleaded him to stop.

your hair was pulled back into a bun, and from this angle, he spotted scripture at the column of your neck. there was wording inked in arabic, and he made a mental note to ask you what it meant later.

geto leans back into his seat when you fold forwards, and he gets a good whiff of your vanilla scented perfume, tingling his senses in the best way, “found it?”

you nod your head, swiping through your gallery, “yeah, my bad,” you have a folder named ‘mimi’ and as expected, was filled off candid photos of your cat. he pays attention as you slide your finger on your screen, selfies of you both in the morning passing by.

“cute,” he isn’t talking about the cat, and his gaze flicks from the screen to your face. there’s still a considerate amount of space between you both, but he can see your eye colour much clearer this close up. you blink your lashes at him and he smirks, “anything else you wanna show me?”

you sniff, “don’t be gross.”

“i meant of milo,” geto definitely didn’t mean of milo. you cock a brow skeptically, and he mirrors the look, though the smile on his face grows, “what a cute lil thing,” his voice lowers and his words trail off. there’s a beat of a pause for a while, and his gaze falls on the plumpness of your lips, “you gonna let me pet your kitty?”

another beat of silence. you’re staring at his lips, and he wonders what you’re thinking. he can tell you’ve picked up on what he’s laying down (hopefully you in the next few minutes) but he can’t tell what your next move will be.

“depends. . .” a soft whisper, and he feels your breath fanning over his cupid’s bow. you flick your eyes back at him, and he finally understands the whole siren eyes shit. through lidded eyes, your stare is intense— simultaneously pulling him in closer while pushing him back. you’re toying with him, and the hand he slides up from your thigh to your ass is enough fuel. “you any good?”

he brings a second hand to the other ass cheek, and urges you onto his lap. you comply, looping your arms at the back of his neck. he feels your nails grazing at his scalp and he holds back a lethal shudder. your weight feels amazing against him— his hard on poking and making its presence well aware.

“i’d like to think i am,” he knows he is, but playing humble always goes a long way. he lets his hands run over the cup of your ass, trails back up to your hips, and slides a finger beneath the thong strap. when he snaps the material at your skin, your back arches and you press your chest against his own.

“well,” you exhale when he noses into the crook of your neck, right above your tattoo. he’s littering wet kisses at your hot skin, your taste ever so sweet against his tongue. god, you must taste divine. at your jugular, he’s able to imprint your perfume into his mind. “only one way to find out.”

geto hums at that, relishing in the way you moan at a particular suck, and focus on nibbling at that spot once more. you’re tilting your head for easier access, hips grinding against his own for better friction. your hands are soft and cautious— they trail from his nape down to his chest, and further down to his waistband.

he’s on go, ready for whatever timing you’re on. though, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out by the way your fingertip traces right above his pelvis, that you’re both on the same page. he drags his lips from the column of your neck up to your jaw, and stops right above your parted lips.

he has another cocky remark on the tip of his tongue, in typical suguru fashion, but you beat him to the chase, glossy lips pressing against his. the kiss is short and definitely leaves him wanting more when you pull back as soon as you’d leaned in— but you’re a mere centimetre away.

you whisper, not before another kiss, “don’t disappoint me, suguru.”

and he’s never ran into bed so fast.

☆ ☆ ☆

the door slams shut.

he’s left with a painfully hard reminder in his sweats that he fucked up bad. he thinks he dissociated a little between the labia flapping to the coat zipping. it’s only when he notices that instead of hearing lip smacking sounds, he hears bryson tiller’s lame ass (no shade, his ego is simply wounded), that you really left.

fuck.

geto rushes back to his bedroom, the walk of shame up the steps enough to make him want to jump off— as he takes out his phone, immediately goes through his contact list and presses on the name. it rings twice before the call gets picked up.

“yooo!”

“you still busy?” geto asks, voice hoarse as he flops down on the edge of the bed— his now empty bed. damn.

“nah, just dropped off wifey,” gojo replies. he hears music playing faintly in the back, as well as the sounds of honking. he must still be in the car, “why, what’s up?”

“i fucked up.” geto sighs, running a hand over his face.

“oh?” he isn’t surprised to find out gojo’s surprised. he’s still surprised by how the events turned out and it’s barely been ten minutes, let alone five. “say no more, i’m on my way.”

geto hangs up. he throws the phone away, before falling flat onto his bed. he picks up your scent on his sheets, your warmth slowly disappearing— another painful reminder he messed up. where he’s expecting a wet patch of anything on his duvets, he finds nothing. zip. nada.

his eyes fall shut, “shit.”

☆ ☆ ☆

“and that’s pretty much the gist of it all.”

he exhales a cloud of smoke. more silence. geto’s starting to get sick of all this silence. it was radio silence with you and now even more radio silence from gojo. his hand never stops to rub at nanako, who’s been serving as a cuddling partner in this grand moment of crisis. the only person to ever have his back.

so, geto knew that confiding in his best friend this secret of his would be risky for a multitude of reasons. for starters, geto never fucks up. this would be ultimate blackmail content for him, and geto honestly doesn’t blame him. for two, he was just giving gojo shit about never having eaten pussy. that’s just downright humiliating. and for three, he has a girlfriend who he doesn’t keep anything from. on top of that— his girlfriend is friends with the main culprit here.

overall a bad idea. he does it nonetheless, because satoru is his best friend despite it all. he isn’t too shocked when the silence is filled with bellyaching laughter, though.

“wait— i’m cryinggg,” more laughter. gojo’s now kicked his feet off the couch and is doubling forward. his shades bounce off his head and hit the leg of the coffee table. he doesn’t pause his laughing fit one bit, not even when geto throws a throw pillow his way.

it bounces off his big head and geto scoffs, bringing the joint back to his lips, “oh fuck off.”

“my fault man,” gojo apologizes though he doesn’t sound apologetic. he’s leaning forward to grab his shades back, and he’s back to swiping stray tears. “that was a good laugh— shit.”

geto hums at that, extending the blunt towards him,“glad to hear my misery has brought you entertainment.”

“see, you get it!” gojo jokes, welcoming the joint. seems like he got cocky, however, his laughing mood not quite over as he inhales. he quickly chokes on the smoke, which fades back into cackling, “oh shit—”

geto sneers, annoyance quickly rising, “quit fucking around or pass it back.” he was being pissy, yes, but his pride had been curb stomped. and it hadn’t even been an hour ago!

“nah, nah, i’m good,” gojo waves him off, despite his free hand tapping at his chest. he collects himself soon enough, and takes another hit. this time it’s successful. geto lowkey hoped it would get caught in his throat again.

“sooo,” gojo drags out, melting into the couch, “what now.”

“what now?” geto parrots.

“what’s the next move?” gojo elaborates, fingertip tapping at the blunt, and ashes fall into the tray. the end of the stick crumbles in the same way geto’s ego had earlier. “you’re gonna keep letting her think you suck at giving head?”

geto throws his head back and sighs tiredly, “what else is there to do?” he hears the sound of sizzling in the background, “i fumbled bad, bro. you don’t think she already posted about me in her girls’ private story?” more sizzling and exhaling, “i’m the storytime of the day!”

he feels gojo nudge his thigh with his foot. he looks back and the joint is presented to him. he gladly accepts it.

“what even happened?” gojo wonders. and oh boy, if that isn’t the question of the day. geto is still trying to find the answer to that. had it been out of nervousness? had he gotten too cocky? had it been her?

“i honestly wish i could answer that,” geto slips the roach into his mouth. “i didn’t feel nervous until after i realized she wasn’t fazed,” he drags out a hit and ghost inhales, “maybe it was a sign from above— to shut the fuck up sometimes.”

“maybe,” gojo snorts, throwing his legs over geto’s lap. nanako hisses at the intrusion, but the white haired man ignores her, “don’t let yourself go out sad like this. hit her back up— whatever happened to loving challenges?”

“what kind of fucked up ass challenge is this?” geto mumbles, mainly to himself.

“if i was in your shoes— which i’d never be,” because he’s gojo, he feels the need to add, “i’d put my pride aside and talk to her. like no homo shit, but you’re a great eater— yeah, no, i’m taking that back instantly.”

geto looks as horrified as he feels, “quickly, even.”

of course, gojo laughs but proceeds, “the point is, you know you’re good at it. everybody fucks up once in a while— don’t let it define you though. think of it as a minor setback for a major comeback— if you care enough, you’ll put your pride aside and do something about it. if you’re this down about it, then it must mean something to you.”

geto can’t tell anymore whether gojo’s talking about the failed pussy eating attempt or you. regardless, he knows there’s truth to his words. has to be the weed talking.

“and who made you the pussy connoisseur?” geto snorts, pressing the bud of his joint in the tray. it sizzles weakly as he kills it, starting to feel that high course through his veins.

gojo sighs dreamily, “why my lovely lady, of course.”

“looks like she taught you well,” geto relaxes himself into the tight space of the couch, settling nanako on his chest. it’s now his turn to nudge gojo with his foot, his sock-cladded toe digging at his jaw. “woulda never expected this from a rookie just a few months ago.”

“well duh,” gojo swipes his foot away, “i aced that course. got my phD in cunningulusophy and all. even won valedictorian.”

geto laughs, resting his lids. he was starting to feel sleepy, indica will do that to you, “enroll me in whatever class you took— i may need to slut myself out for extra credit. my prof’s a tough nut to bust.”

“intro to munch 101,” gojo nods his head, shutting his eyes close as well. there’s a comfortable silence that fills the air for a while. and despite the fact that his sight manipulated, he could hear the smirk dripping off his tone, “if you ever need a letter of recommendation, i got you— alumni’s honour.”

“oh fuck off,” a mixed harmony of laughter and vibrating chests.

☆ ☆ ☆

fun fact: suguru geto loves showers.

the aroma of cleanliness enhanced by thick fog. the scorching water droplets trickling down his skin, the vulnerability of his nakedness inside these four walls. he strangely feels most at ease, most raw in this moment of solitude.

he’s able to gather himself too. there isn’t much to accomplish in a shower once you’ve gotten rid of the day’s dirt. so, he likes to take the opportunity to think. to think deep and hard.

his mind’s all scrambled up. it’s been about three days since you were last in his apartment, two days since he’d thought about it, and a day since he last seen you (granted it’d been on your story, virtually, but still).

this has been the biggest feat he’s faced in a while. if he recaps it, this is what’s he gotten: he invited you over. you came the next day. he didn’t cater to you the sole reason you came. you didn’t mind. you both studied for a bit. he asked about your cat. you ended up on his lap. he ended up in bed with you. you ended up leaving with a chunk of his dignity.

that didn’t explain shit, but it did remind him of his failure. it reminded him that he’d finally met his match. it reminded him he needs to start backing his shit up. it reminded him of how good you smelled and tasted down there. it reminded him of how pretty you looked.

his cock twitches and he glances down. it also reminds him he never ended up cumming, too engrossed in his anxiety to jerk one out.

he feels as though the glass doors of his shower protect him from reality. he’s hard, though mortified, but still hard. he’d spent a long time (two days) suppressing the memory away, but there was no way to mistaken your taste on his tongue. how sweet you smelled. how soft you felt—

geto fists at his dick before he can help it. his free hand plants at the wall before him, and he works his wrist. he twists at his shaft slowly and closes his eyes— behind his lids are photographic memories of you on his lap. memories of you on his bed. memories of the scent of your panties. memories of your tits in his mouth.

sure, you’d made more sounds off the foreplay for the foreplay— but that didn’t take away how turned on he’d been. how his dick twitched in his boxers. how he’d humped the mattress. how he’d moan in your cunt.

“y/n,” geto moans your name, sinful yet hushed, his hand working faster. his thumb grazes his over slit and his gut drowns in heat. he wants a redo. he deserves a redo— you deserved a redo. “fuckkkk,”

next time, he’ll get it right. and if he doesn’t, then he’ll want to try again and again and again— until it ends with your cunt clenching around his tongue and his face sprayed vigorously in your essence. until your thighs tremble around his face, your hand clawing at his hair and your back arched off his bed. until his name bounces off his walls and echoes so loudly his neighbours complain.

he wants a redo.

he jerks back as he paints the tiles white. the joints in his hand ache, the water from the shower head getting colder. geto pants heavily, chest heaving as his load is released from him. his cum drips from the wall and into the drain at his feet— but his dick is far from well spent. if he spends another hour in the shower, it’s nobody’s business but his own.

suguru geto loves showers.

☆ ☆ ☆

“oh. you actually showed.”

“redo,” geto pants, having sprinted from his apartment. he’d spent the next three days after his shower incident wallowing some more— at some point, it just annoyed him. though slightly underwhelming, he was on his phone in bed a few minutes ago, going through his camera roll when he’d seen that picture he took of you and nanako. his feet guided him to his car before he could help it. choso helped him out with the address.

“redo?” you parrot his words, leaning against your doorframe. you crossed your arms over your chest, and it’s only then he noticed your appearance— flimsy camisole and pink lace panties. fuck, he wants a redo now.

“i want a redo.” geto repeats, but is quickly hit with a gust of wind. he hadn’t brought a jacket with him in the midst of his impulse, and goosebumps were beginning to form at his skin. he shoots his shot, “you ever planning on letting me in?” talk about deja vu.

“dunno,” you play along, eyes narrowing. “maybe if you ask nicely.”

swallow your pride, he hears gojo somewhere in the back of his mind. he shakes that thought off quickly. this desperation had to be bigger than a pride issue— he was ready to get on his knees and beg her to let him in. pride? that had been drained to the sewers the second he busted all over his shower days ago.

“lemme in and i’ll make it up to you,” geto tries instead, taking a step closer, “please?”

that seemed to be the correct answer as you push open the door to your apartment further. you turn your back and geto lets himself drink up your backside— he hadn’t seen it last time but you had dimples sitting right above your perky ass. he watches your hips sway left and right, and even tilt your head back, a smirk etched on your face, “you comin’?”

you will be, “cute.” his lips twitch into a small smile, and closes the door behind him.

☆ ☆ ☆

fool him once? shame on him.

geto doesn’t allow himself to make the same mistakes twice. if one fuck up is enough to tear him down for a week straight then why the hell would he do it again?

you’re sprawled on your back, legs spread with enough space to fit his body in between. his hands plant on either side of your face, his bulge pushed up against your core. he feels your warmth through these layers of clothes, and he rolls his hips greedily, feeling himself already grow addicted. your chin is raised high, lids blown open as you stare at him all doe-eyed.

his brows pinch in the centre of his forehead. that faux look of innocence you’re offering is doing wonders to his dick. your tits sit beautifully beneath your top, arms back on him as you pull him in closer, and he lets himself fall prey to you. for a moment, the tip of his nose bumps into yours, lips ghosting over the other, hips colliding to meet yours.

“mhm, that’s it.” you let out a sigh, throwing your head back into your pillows. there’s an opening to your neck calling his name, and geto wastes no time to latch his lips there. he slips a hand beneath your tank top, fingernails grazing over your skin to creep up to your mounds. he flicks a thumb over the bud and you sigh blissfully again— he then cups the flesh.

he loves the way you squirm when he kisses down your body, “i got you, pretty,” stripped from your cami, his lips leave open mouthed marks all over your skin. from the column of your neck, to your breasts, down your torso and past your navel, “let me take care of you.” the lower he gets, the more intense your rawness reeks— and it’s a damned good smell.

he lands right above your clothed pelvis, and he inhales sharply. he won’t make the same mistake this time, he can feel it. there’s something lingering in the air, something indescribable— but he’s confident he won’t. because when he skips your cunt in favour to pamper your inner thighs, dragging his wet tongue all over erogenous zones, he spots dampening right where your clit would be.

bingo.

your hand cradles his hair, and the other props your body up by the elbow. he glances up at you, cock throbbing against your mattress. your beauty still renders him speechless— runs his throat dry and makes his tongue feel heavy. he doesn’t want to decipher what this means either, and decides to conclude he’s simply thirsty for you.

“suguru,” you call at him. he blinks and the hand in his hair snakes down his neck, and pushes him deeper. his nose nudges at your throbbing clit, and his tongue peeks out of his mouth to lick at the damp material before he can help it. two fingers hook at your panties and push them to the side, revealing glistening folds. your slick drips between your crack and stains your sheets. he thinks he hears his stomach growl a little.

another swipe of his tongue, this time in contact with the raw you, and a breathless moan rips from you, “don’t disappoint me this time.”

and he feasts.

☆ ☆ ☆

gojo’s woken up to a notification from his phone.

it’s still pretty late— or maybe early, and his pretty girlfriend is miles away in lalaland. she snores softly, cuddling into his side, and gojo’s ready to cuss out whoever dares potentially meddle with his girl’s sleep. he’s starting to get grumpy.

when his phone undergoes face recognition, he lowers the brightness immediately. he swipes through his notification center and notices an attachment sent by geto.

now that peeks his interest. he presses on the message.

suguboo: [1 attachment]

suguboo: passed intro2munch101 with an A+ 🫡

gojo can’t help the laugh that leaves him, though is quickly quieted down when he feels stirring at his side.

“well i’ll be damned.”

yes, gojo is obsessed with his girlfriend. also 10k words on geto???

[getyinyusedtoit]

you all don't want me to comment on your fics because this is the sort of shit i say

[anakinstwinklebunny]

hiii

so idk if your requests are open but could you please write some hcs about clayton Beresford as a husband and dad

Thank youuu ❤️

☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

HUSBAND/DAD!CLAY HEADCANONS

TW: at some point it contains filthy, crazy sexual content, so if you're sensitive to that or don't feel comfortable with it, please do not read it for your own safety and comfort.

Author's note: of course my requests are open! I just LOVE seeing notification from my inbox, so thank you very much <3 hope you like it

MARRIAGE

Clayton Beresford who after two delightful years of your relationship proposed to you. He took you to the fancy restaurant, and since it was something you did often, you hadn't have any suspicious. But have you thought about marrying him? Of course, yet, you wanted to give him time. You knew how his earlier marriage ended so it'd be out of your character to even suggest him taking your relationship to another level. But the ring you got was out of your wildest dreams - 4 carat round cut diamond ring that seemed to shine more than every star in the sky

Clayton Beresford who got even more all-about-you after wedding. Even more love making with no care in the world, long honeymoon, even more spent time together just more everything

Clayton Beresford who, despite his demanding job, always makes time for you. He’s the type of husband who will surprise you with small gestures; like leaving sweet notes in your purse or sending you flowers (mostly to your workplace) randomly just to remind you that he’s thinking of you.

Clayton Beresford who loves planning spontaneous weekend trips to your favorite places. Whether it’s a cozy cabin in the mountains or a luxury hotel in the city, Clayton enjoys these escapes to focus solely on you without any distractions.

Clayton Beresford who's big on surprises. He might book a last-minute trip to Paris (or any place on earth), arrange for a private dinner on the rooftop of the restaurant's building or just in the place you'd not be able to pay by yourself. Or buy you that piece of jewelry you casually mentioned months ago.

Clayton Beresford who has a strong protective instinct. He always ensures you’re safe, and anyone who might pose a threat to you or your happiness would have to face his wrath.

Clayton Beresford who depended on you doing the grocery shopping since he had never done that before (however after a few times he gained knowledge);

Clay glanced away for just a second, but when he looked back, you were gone. His brow furrowed as he scanned the immediate area, stepping away from the cart to see if you had wandered behind another display. But there was no sign of you.

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, frustration creeping in as he quickened his pace, determined not to lose you. Not in this place.

He began weaving through the aisles, his eyes darting around in search of you, listening intently for any sound that might be your voice. But the supermarket was huge, and the weekend crowd made it even more overwhelming.

With a groan of annoyance, Clay pressed on, moving faster now, his heart racing a little at the thought of losing you in this sea of people. Then, suddenly, his eyes caught a glimpse of you between rushing people. A glimmer of hope flickered in his chest as he turned sharply toward the sound.

You were standing by the dairy section, casually chatting on the phone as you picked up items. Relief washed over him, and he silently thanked whatever forces led him to find you.

Like a lost puppy or a child who had been separated from their parent, he hurried over to you, his earlier frustration melting into a quiet sense of relief.

Reaching for a carton of milk, you sensed someone close behind you. Turning around, you found Clay standing there, his expression a mix of worry and boyish vulnerability that made you smile. It was as if he had been a little kid lost in a big mall again.

You handed him the shopping list, tapping the line where it said 'bananas' with a knowing look.

Clay accepted the list with a determined nod. He was a grown man—he could handle picking up some bananas.

But when he reached the produce section, his confidence wavered as he stared at the six different types of bananas on display, his frown deepening in confusion.

It was supposed to be a simple task: grab the bananas and return to you. Yet here he was, staring at the display like they were some exotic species he had never encountered.

He didn't recognize any of the types, and he had no clue which one you wanted. So, with a loosing sigh, he carefully picked a bunch of yellow bananas, added some mini ones, and then tossed in a few green ones for good measure. Feeling a bit more confident, he placed them all in the cart and made his way back to you. A small, proud smirk forming on his lips as he approached.

“I got them,” he announced, a hint of pride in his voice as if he had just completed a great feat.

You glanced down at the cart, noticing the remarkable assortment. A smile tugged at your lips as you looked back at him. "Baby, but... they're all different kinds."

His smirk faded slightly as a flush of embarrassment crept up his neck. He glanced at the cart, then back at you “I know,” he admitted, his voice soft and a bit self-conscious. “I wasn’t sure which ones you wanted, so I just… grabbed a few to be safe.”

Your heart melted at his effort, and you stood on your toes to press a tender kiss to his cheek. "C'mon, we'll figure out these bananas together."

His cheeks flushed a deeper red at your affectionate gesture, and he looked down at you with warm, loving eyes, a shy smile curving his lips.

“Okay,” he murmured, feeling content as he started pushing the cart again, this time with you walking beside him.

PREGNANCY

Clayton Beresford who was shocked yet thrilled when he found out you're pregnant. He was always gentle with you but from that day he got on another level of doing everything in his power to make sure you're safe, happy and comfortable

Clayton Beresford who seemed to be hypnotized by your changing body (so obviously loved to have his hands on it, and you loved when he did)

Clayton Beresford who had to deal with your neediness for attention/affection;

"Baby, I'm already late. You know I can't stay longer," he sighs, slipping on his black cloak, the fabric rustling as he moves with familiar urgency.

"Are you sure you can't stay just a little longer?" you pout, leaning against the doorframe of your mudroom

He chuckles softly and walks over to you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist to pull you close to his chest "Baby, I'd love nothing more than to stay," he murmurs "But…" he sighs again, the weight of responsibility heavy in his voice, "you know I can't be late twice in a row."

He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, his muscles firm against your softer frame. The warmth of his embrace makes you want to hold onto him just a little longer.

"But I thought you'd make love to me all morning," you tease, your voice soft and playful "and then spoil me with a big breakfast."

His eyes softened after his large hands roam over to cup your pregnant belly, his fingers gently tracing over the curve "That was the original plan," his lips formed into a knowing smirk. His hands linger on your body, as if memorizing every inch before he has to let go. "But you know I've got to go to work…"

"But what if the baby comes out while you're not here?" you pout, feeling the warmth of his knuckles as they gently trace over your swollen belly.

He chuckles softly at your worry, his lips curling into a reassuring smile. He steps back slightly, his hands slipping from your waist to admire the sight of your pregnant form. "Babe, we've talked about this. The baby's not coming today," he says with a confident grin, glancing down at your round belly before meeting your concerned gaze.

"Yeah... right," you mumble, still not entirely convinced.

He can't help but smirk at how endearingly moody you are, especially when you pout like that. With a gentle touch, he wraps his fingers around your chin, tilting your face up so you're looking directly into his smiling eyes. "Don't give me that look," he murmurs softly, his voice filled with warmth as he leans in closer, his breath brushing against your lips.

"I'm gonna miss you," you whisper, your voice barely audible as the reality of his departure sinks in.

His gaze locks onto your big, sparkling eyes as he gently cups your cheeks. "I'm going to miss you too, baby. But I have to go to work," he murmurs with a tender smile, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips once more.

"I love you, you know," your voice lingering, trying to stretch out the moment just a little longer.

His smile deepens, touched by your efforts to keep him close, but he's all too aware of the ticking clock. "I love you too, more than anything. But if I don't leave now, I'll be late for a meeting with the board... and I can't afford to do that again," his tone a mix of regret and urgency as he gives you a sympathetic look, hoping you understand.

"But you're their boss," you protest softly, a pout forming on your lips.

He sighs, knowing that leaving without giving you something special will likely leave you moody for the rest of the day. Even though he’s pressed for time, he quickly pivots. "How about I give you a kiss for the road?" he suggests, a playful glint in his eyes as he shifts the mood.

"Okay," you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He smiles back, his hand finding its way to your cheek once more, tenderly cradling your face. He pauses, taking a moment to get lost in your sparkling blue eyes, savoring the connection before slowly closing his own and leaning in. His lips meet yours in a slow, loving kiss

Clayton Beresford who makes sure to lift up your pregnancy mood;

His heart sank at the sight of your tear-streaked face. Instantly, worry fills his eyes and he kneels beside you, his voice soft and full of concern. "Baby, what’s wrong?" He gently tilts your chin up with his fingers, urging you to meet his gaze.

"I feel so huge..." you murmur, your voice trembling with emotion.

"Baby, you know I love every part of you. Nothing could ever change that," he says tenderly, his words full of sincerity.

But your insecurities linger, and you turn to him, searching his face. "So you think I’m huge?" you ask, misinterpreting his silence as agreement.

He sighs again, feeling a pang of guilt at how vulnerable you are right now. Quickly, he tries to soothe your worries before they spiral. "No, no, love..." he insists, cupping your face with both hands, his thumbs brushing away the traces of your tears. "You’re not huge, you’re beautiful."

You glance down at your growing belly, frustration evident in your voice. "I barely fit into my pants."

He smiles softly, his gaze never leaving yours, understanding the deep-seated concerns you have about your changing body. "I know, sweetheart, I know," he murmurs, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. "But that’s just because of the incredible little life you’re carrying."

"You look absolutely radiant when you’re pregnant," he adds, his words filled with admiration, careful not to say anything that might upset you further.

"Yeah?" you sniffle, your voice small and uncertain.

He nods slowly, his eyes locked onto yours, full of love and reassurance. "Yeah, baby," he repeats softly. "You’re glowing, and you’re absolutely, stunningly beautiful. Anyone would be lucky to have you, pregnant or not."

"But what if after I push the baby out, I still look pregnant? And... and I have all these marks, and my body doesn’t go back to the way it was? And you'll leave me?"

His heart aches as he listens to your fears, unable to bear hearing you doubt the body he cherishes so deeply. "No, no, no, shhh, baby, no..." he murmurs urgently, his voice soothing as he tries to calm your spiraling thoughts. "I would never, ever leave you for that. My love for you knows no limits, nothing could change that."

His hands continue to tenderly stroke your face, his touch gentle and reassuring as he speaks. "I love you so much, sweetheart. The marks on your body from carrying our beautiful child—they'll only make me love you and your body even more."

"Yeah?" you sniffle, looking at him with tear-filled eyes.

his eyes filled with admiration and love as he nods "Yeah, baby. Because those marks are proof of your incredible strength, of the life you’ve nurtured for nine months.. and only an absolute goddess could manage that"

Clayton Beresford who every day remaided you how beautiful you are, what a treasure you are in his life that nothing could replace

Clayton Beresford who got more cuddly with you;

"Look at that… he’s a little boxer" his lips curved up as he felt the baby’s tiny movements beneath his fingertips. His voice was filled with awe, and there was a boyish excitement in his eyes that made you smile.

"He?" you asked, raising an eyebrow as you glanced up from your book. "How do you know it’s a boy?"

He shrugged, but the cheeky grin that spread across his features betrayed the certainty in his heart. He leaned closer, letting his chin rest on your bump. His touch was gentle, almost tingly at times while his long fingers made sure to memorize the path over your swollen skin

"Father’s instincts," he whispered

"Oh? Didn’t know you had those," you chuckled, your fingers threading through his tousled curls. There was something endearing about how intensely focused he was on your belly - his brow furrowed in concentration as he searched for more signs of the baby’s movements.

Clay still kept his, this time less wider, smile over his lips. He seemed to calm down under not only your touch but the feeling of your belly with his child right in his reach and right before his eyes. He shifted slightly, pressing his lips gently against your tummy. His lips lingered for a little longer, his expression changing to more surprised;

"Hush," he murmured softly, his hand stilling when he found the spot where the baby seemed to be resting. "I can sense him…"

Yet, the baby had quieted, and clay's lips formed into a pout. The frustration knitting his brows before he nuzzled to your belly "Can’t you encourage him to kick or something? I want to know that he’s alive…" he mumbled, his voice laced with a mix of concern and childish impatience (that you rarely saw before)

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his earnestness. "Clay, how am I supposed to encourage him? Maybe he’s sleeping."

He groaned softly, looking up at you with those soulful eyes, making it impossible not to find him utterly endearing. He looked like a grumpy child who hadn’t received the attention he thought he deserved and it was both cute and hilarious

"Well, I don’t know," he muttered, his hand still drawing small circles on your belly. "Talk to him? Tell him how cool I am… maybe he’ll be excited then and want to say hi."

You rolled your eyes playfully, still stroking his curls. "Baby, don’t be ridiculous… he's probably sleeping."

He huffed in response, still pouting but clearly knowing you were right. The baby was just asleep, and there was nothing he could do but wait. Still, the idea of his child not acknowledging his presence seemed to tug at something deep within him.

"I just want him to know that I’m here too," he mumbled

You smiled down at him, your voice soothing as you reassured him. "I bet he does, clay."

"Just imagine how cute he’s gonna be," clay mused, his voice softening as he let himself drift into the fantasy of fatherhood. "A baby version of me, running around, being a menace to everyone…"

You smirked, raising an eyebrow. "What if it’s a girl?"

His hand paused for a moment, the weight of the thought catching him off guard. For a few seconds, his expression was blank as he processed the idea of having a daughter. Then, slowly, his usual cocky grin reappeared, but with a touch of tenderness that hadn’t been there before.

"A baby girl," he echoed, as if trying out the words. "She could get your looks, though. I wouldn’t mind that. The second most beautiful girl in the world… and daddy’s little princess."

Just then, he felt a light flutter beneath his palm. His eyes widened in surprise, lighting up like a child on Christmas morning, the pout completely erased by a wide grin "There you are…"

The baby seemed to respond to his voice, shifting slightly as if acknowledging his father’s presence. He continued to rub gently over your belly, his touch loving and protective, showering the area with soft kisses.

"Already responding to me," he whispered, a wave of satisfaction washing over him as he felt the tiny movements beneath his hands. "Smart baby…"

clayton continued to soothe your belly, his hands and lips moving in a calming rhythm until the baby settled back into stillness. Even as the baby quieted, he wasn’t ready to let go. He lingered, enjoying the feeling of being close to both of you, his heart full and content.

"Guess he’s asleep again…" he said softly, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

"Or maybe he’s just tired of you," you teased lightly, brushing a strand of hair away from his face.

His eyes widened in mock offense, his pout returning as he looked up at you, clearly not appreciating the joke. "Very funny," he grumbled, his frown deepening. "I am the most interesting person this baby will ever meet—"

But despite his grumbling, you could see the love and excitement in his eyes, the way he couldn’t wait to meet the little life growing inside you. And you knew, without a doubt, that he would be the best father this baby could ever ask for.

Clayton Beresford who spoiled you way more during your pregnancy. More presents without occasion, more affection, more cuddles, just more everything there was to give

Clayton Beresford who was there on most of your doctor appointments. If he had a busy schedule, which happened often, he then couldn't appear (but you didn't mind, since it was just doctor appointment to check on your and the child's health, nothing more so much important for him to be there everytime)

Clayton Beresford who was obsessed with making love to you during your pregnancy;

"youre-youre so big--" you mewl underneath him

"I am, aren't I?" he panted, his hands gripping your plump hips tightly. "And you're so fucking tight, sweetheart." His words spurred him on, pushing deeper inside you to hit that sweet spot over and over again.

your eyes barely could keep themselves open from the sensation of having him again in your hole. Who would have known that your pregnancy hormones would make you so horny you would cry to Clayton about it. And him, being such a generous gentleman who loved his wife with all his being, how could just leave you like that? When you sobbed, begged for his touch

"Don't close your eyes," he commanded softly "Open them. Let me see the look on your face when I'm inside you."

your eyes reluctantly opened, at least they lingered between half opened and half closed. A moan rumbled through your throat as you took in the sight of his muscles that ripped whenever his hold grew too much

"That's it," he panted, his eyes locked onto yours. "Let me hear you." Clayton's breath hitched as he felt her body tremble beneath him. The way you moaned and your completely swollen breasts jingled with each thrust was driving him wild. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he warned you, picking up the pace even more.

PARENTHOOD

Clayton Beresford who was there for you for the whole childbirth. Encouraging you, giving you support, etc. He'd insist you'd hold the baby first, not him. And before he'd even hold the newborn, he'd make sure you're all safe and everything's okay;

After making sure you held the newborn first and you were all okay, he had time to take the baby close to his chest, his large, strong arms cradling the fragile newborn bundle with a tenderness that belied his powerful frame. The baby’s skin was a delicate shade of pink, still wrinkled from the birth, and Clay couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming surge of emotion as he gazed down at the tiny life nestled against him. The baby was so small, so impossibly vulnerable, and it made something deep within him tremble and break.

Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision as he gently stroked the baby’s cheek with a trembling hand. His touch was feather-light, his fingertips barely brushing the baby’s soft, downy skin and his hand looked enormous in comparison to the baby’s minuscule features.

“He’s so small…” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. His throat tightened as he tried to hold back the tears threatening to spill over.

“Are you crying?” you asked softly, a tired smile playing on your lips as you rested after the long and exhausting delivery

He glanced up at you and he felt a single tear escape and trail down his cheek “…No—yes… maybe…” he admitted, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He quickly wiped the tear away with the back of his hand, but it was clear that his composure was unraveling. He returned his gaze to the baby in his arms, his expression softening as he ran a gentle finger over the baby’s tiny hand, marveling at how delicate and perfect it was.

When the newborn's hand wrapped around clay's finger, he felt like his new heart might explode from overwhelming feeling. It was so cute, the baby’s grip firm and warm

“He’s holding my finger…” he murmured, his voice filled with pure, unfiltered awe

The baby continued to cling to his finger, his tiny hand gripping the large digit with a determination that was both heartwarming and humbling. Clay smiled through tears and a mixture of pride and amazement shined in his eyes as he gently caressed the baby’s hand, utterly mesmerized by the strength in such a small being.

“Such a tight grip… I’ve already created a little warrior,” he mused with a soft chuckle, his voice laced with pride. He looked down at his son, his heart brimming with a love so profound it was almost overwhelming. “You’re going to be strong, just like your momma” he added, his tone filled with admiration.

“…You have your momma’s eyes, you know?” he whispered, his voice barely audible as a fresh wave of emotion washed over him. There was a hint of pride in his voice, but also something deeper, something reverent. The sight of those eyes, so familiar and yet so new, made him feel as though he was looking at a piece of you—a part of the woman he loved more than anything in the galaxy.

As if sensing the weight of the moment, the baby cooed softly, his tiny body wriggling uncomfortably against the confines of the blanket. You watched the first interaction between your husband and your child and it was the most endearing thing you experience. Delivery was hard, damn it hurt like hell, as if devil himself teared your insides but as soon as the baby was out, all the pain was forgotten

“You don’t like that, huh?” he murmured, his voice filled with amusement as he gently traced soothing circles over the baby’s cheek “I don’t blame you… I’d hate being swaddled too.”

Clayton Beresford who is the kind of dad who’s always one step ahead when it comes to the safety and well-being of your children. He’s vigilant about who they spend time with and ensures they grow up in the safest environment possible.

Clayton Beresford who, despite his often serious demeanor, has a major soft spot when it comes to his children. He’s not afraid to get down on the floor and play with them, and he’ll often indulge them in things other might not—like staying up a bit past bedtime for just one more story.

Clayton Beresford who enjoys spoiling his kids, whether it’s with the latest toys, gadgets, or extravagant birthday parties. However, he’s careful to balance this with teaching them the importance of gratitude and not taking things for granted.

Clayton Beresford who, if you have a daughter, is wrapped around her little finger. He’s the type of dad who will attend tea parties, help with ballet practice, and learn how to braid hair just to make her happy;

"Hold on, baby, I'm almost finished," he murmured, his voice a soft yet deep rumble as he focused on working his fingers through the strands of your daughter's hair.

"Maybe we should just ask Mommy," she whispered, her small voice carrying a hint of doubt.

"No, no," he shook his head gently, a determined glint in his eye. "We don’t need Mommy for a braid. Daddy can do it just fine."

Clay's fingers moved clumsily but with care, tugging her hair a bit too tightly at times. His brows furrowed in concentration as he carefully looped the strands together.

"But Mommy always likes to help," she insisted, her tone hopeful.

"Daddy likes to help too," he replied, his voice tender but resolute, wanting to prove himself to his little girl.

He paused for a moment, examining his work with a critical eye. The braid was far from perfect—slightly uneven and a little messy, held together by a hairband that seemed to be doing more of the work than the braid itself. But as he looked at it, a small, proud smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"See? Not so bad, huh?"

Clayton Beresford who is big on teaching his children responsibility from a young age.

Clayton Beresford who made sure to pay attention to your kids after he came back from work. Even if he was extremely tired, he'd rather fall asleep with your baby boy in his arms than leaving you alone to deal with the children

Clayton Beresford who found you as his inspiration. You, with kids most of the time, still having energy to take care of him and the house. So, as soon as he changed his clothes after work, he replaced you in duties so you'd have your alone time.

Clayton Beresford who, if you had a son, played all the games the boy wanted. Like toys where the boy came up with some plot, plastic cars, playgrounds outside;

Clay sat on the floor, carefully stacking blocks into a tall tower while his son sat comfortably on his lap, his tiny hands occasionally reaching out to help—or hinder.

"What do you want to eat?" you asked softly from the kitchen doorway, watching the two with a fond smile.

Clay glanced up at you, a playful gleam in his eye. "You?" he teased, genuinely curious about your preference.

But before he could say more, the boy clumsily knocked over the tower with an excited shove, sending the blocks tumbling in all directions.

“Hey! You just destroyed Daddy’s masterpiece,” Clay said in mock offense, though his voice carried a warm, playful tone. He looked down at him, who was dissolving into giggles, his face scrunched up in pure joy.

"Well, I was thinking pasta... I'm really craving it," you said, your giggles mingling with theirs.

Clay's heart swelled as he watched you enjoy the moment just as much as he was. Turning back to the toddler, he gently poked his son’s side, earning more bubbly laughter from the little boy. “We don’t normally allow such behavior in the tower-building world,” he joked, his tone still light before turning his gaze to you "But pasta sounds good tho.."

With a grin, Clay stood up from the carpeted floor, scooping the boy up by his armpits and swinging him side to side, much to the toddler’s delight. "C'mon, you little silly guy, let's go help Mommy with dinner,"

Clayton Beresford who, no matter what interests or hobbies your kids have, is fully supportive. He’ll invest in lessons, equipment, or anything else they need to pursue their passions, always encouraging them to follow their dreams.

Clayton Beresford who, no matter how busy his life gets, always prioritizes family. He ensures that you and the kids know that you’re his number one priority, making time for family dinners, vacations, and just spending quality time together.

Clayton Beresford who propritazed your time together. His kids were important but you were more important. So, regularly he hired a babysitter (a trusted one), and took you out on dates (or on a vacation but then your parents took care of the children) so you could focus on each other and on the bond you share without screaming kids

Clayton Beresford ho didn't mind making you pregnant again (if you even wanted to be pregnant again);

"Fill this beautiful cunt with my seed once more?" He growled, plunging back into you with a single powerful thrust that made you both cry out in pleasure "you want that love? Be pregnant again?"

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @ysrjune (sad about her not being her anymore..) @divineani @erosmutt @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @fuckmyskywalker @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex

(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

[charliemwrites]

it is my borfday. I am now 20 whole years. So I ask: 1fur1 reaction to readers borfday? I have 1fur1 thoughts but they aren't ready yet... They're still cooking

Happy Borfday!!!!! Two decades 🎉🎉

Okay just for you, bean - I’ll make it a full part too, even. This is very fluffy up until the end when it gets just a hint of spice.

(No human boys in this one, sorry!)

You haven’t said a word about it all week - and why would you? You live alone with three dogs. It’s not like they care that it’s your birthday; or even understand what time is, really. (Except for dinner time of course.)

But the day of your birthday dawns, a little rainy. You let yourself sleep in a bit, mumbling five more minutes three times in a row when Ghost nudges impatiently at your cheek.

Eventually you do get up though, giving each of your boys a crooning “good morning” and laying kisses on their precious heads. You stumble to the kitchen to start your coffee, even pull out the fancy beans you reserve for special occasions. While it’s brewing, you start gearing up the boys for their morning potty. The precipitation is mostly mist right now, but you’d rather them not smell like wet dog.

You’re trying to belt a wiggly, impatient Johnny in when your phone rings. Huffing, you tap at the speaker icon and try to wrestle the stupid hood over his big-ass ears.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart!” your mom trills through the phone.

At the noise, Johnny thankfully goes still. You finish securing his raincoat and turn to Konig. Thankfully, he’s much more cooperative about getting dressed - even if he takes every opportunity to lick your face.

“Uh, thanks,” you answer. Honestly, you were hoping she’d forget.

“What are you doing today to celebrate? Going out with friends? Maybe a date…?”

You roll your eyes as you finish adjusting Konig’s (custom) raincoat.

“Definitely not. I was just gonna stay in, order some food, drink some wine…”

You haven’t even finished before your mother is protesting.

“No, no, no, you need to do something special! Not every day is your birthday.”

And thank fuck for that, you think, shaking your head.

“It’s not that big a deal,” you insist. The boys crowd as you lead the way to the back door and prop it open. They seem oddly reluctant to leave your side. You assume it’s the rain and shoo them off, your mother still on speaker.

“Well if you won’t do anything, I will.”

“Ma, you really don’t need to—“

“Dinner will be at 6:30. Don’t be late!”

And she hangs up. You groan, run a hand down your face. Well. At least it’s only dinner. You can still do the rest of your plans.

“Boys!” you call, noting that they’re mostly just congregating at the edge of the yard. They instantly return to your side, even Johnny - who has a tendency to make you chase him in the rain.

They each file inside, sit and behave while you remove their raincoats and hang them to dry. As usual, they follow and crowd while you make up your coffee. Add a bit of whiskey just for fun; you won’t need to drive for a while.

The boys climb onto the couch with you, happily arranging themselves in a warm circle. Konig at your back like a living pillow. Johnny on your right, head in your lap. Ghost just in front, pressed against your shins and warming your feet.

You settle in with a contented sigh and sip your coffee. Even put on a show you’ve been meaning to get to.

Midway through the episode, Ghost slips off the couch and slinks off. You notice in the back of your mind, but he tends to be the moodiest of your boys and figure he just wants some alone time.

When he comes back, you hum at him, kissing his muzzle as he takes your other side. As the next episode is loading, Johnny hops down.

“Biiiiig stretch,” you coo, grinning as his back legs extend. He wags, licks your hand in parting, and trots off. You hear the doggy door clatter, figure he didn’t do all his business after all.

About an hour later, the doorbell chimes. You jump, but… the boys are oddly quiet. Usually they’d be rioting that someone dares come to the door. This time, though alert, not so much as a growl.

Put off, you pad to the door and check the peephole. Just a delivery man with a… frankly monstrous bouquet.

You open the door, prepared to tell him that he’s made a mistake. But he says your name and address and tells you happy birthday, gently handing it over.

You blink as he saunters back to the truck, almost don’t notice Ghost standing sentinel right beside you.

“Huh,” you muse, finding him watching you. “Who d’you think ordered me flowers?”

He makes a little “ruff” noise. You snort and close the door. It’s a beautiful arrangement, you must admit. All your favorites. It even came in a vase!

You inhale the sweet scent and sigh, unable to keep from smiling. Usually you think flower arrangements are a bit silly, so expensive for something that will last so little time. But it’s been ages since you last got one and someone clearly put thought into it.

You offer each of the pups a sniff, laughing when Konig sneezes a bit. You set the vase on the kitchen counter where it won’t become a casualty of any enthusiastic tails and you’ll get to look at it regularly. Try to look for a card but there isn’t one.

Hopefully, whoever sent it will reveal themselves by asking if you like it.

You settle on the couch again with a lingering smile, scratching at Ghost’s ears when he presses his face against your shoulder.

Another hour passes in peace when there’s another knock at the door. Again, the dogs stay eerily quiet. This time, you’re greeted with a huge bag of items.

You unpack it on the couch, Johnny sitting by your knee. A new plush blanket, a pretty mug, a video game you’ve heard good things about, the next book on your reading list, your favorite candies, and even an expensive new pair of headphones (since Johnny ruined your last ones).

You let him sniff curiously at each item, amused by his involvement in your gift unwrapping.

“Wow,” you breathe, staring at your pile of gifts. “This is more than I’ve gotten in years. I don’t even know what to do with it all.”

You start by eating some of the candies. Johnny’s tail wags furiously the entire time, even when you remind him that candy is Not For Him.

At some point in all the craziness, Konig’s scurried off somewhere. Not surprising, you figure. All the guests must have made him shy. He’s not a fan of really anyone but you.

Eventually he returns, though, and you’re sure to welcome him back with praises and kisses before he climbs into his spot. You happily return to your show, scratching absently at your snuggly pack.

Just around noon, there’s one last knock at the door. Your favorite takeout place, including a box of the really good German pastries that you never let yourself get more than once every other week. Fresh baked too!

You hum happily as you eat, wishing you knew who to thank for it.

“I feel utterly spoiled,” you laugh as you save the rest of the pastries for later. “I definitely don’t deserve all this.”

A deep bark nearly startles you. Konig. He hardly ever makes a peep!

“Listen to you, baby!” you coo, wiggling your fingers to entice him closer. He comes to your side instantly, chin on your stomach, staring up at you with big mismatched eyes. “Such a lovely voice. Ich liebe dich, Herr Konig.”

He wags happily at you, a big, silly canine grin on his face. When you duck down to hug him, he leaves kisses all over your face and neck.

By evening, you’re in a good enough mood that you’re not completely dreading the visit to your parents’ house. You get dressed, kiss each of your boys goodbye, and leave.

It’s not… bad per se. Sure, your mom makes your sister’s favorite meal, and your dad doesn’t even realize why you’re there at first. Your sister’s husband also keeps making weird comments about you being single and your biological “clock” but—

Well, you’re just there for dinner. At least your mom made homemade cookies; a classic you’ve always enjoyed. But not even that is enough to make you stay longer than absolutely necessary, making your excuses that Konig still gets separation anxiety.

The drive home is long and you feel exhausted from putting on the “grateful daughter” song and dance. When you pull up to the house, though, you perk up when you see another package.

It’s a… basket? You carry it inside, too dark to see what it is on the porch. Immediately greeted by the boys, you don’t get a chance to look at it at first. But once you do…

It’s a self care basket, you think. A ridiculously nice bottle of wine, a bath bomb, body cream, sugar scrub… a bottle of the lube you always use. New lingerie. A toy. Not just any toy either. One you’ve been putting off buying because it’s close to a hundred pounds and you’ve got three big boys to feed.

At first you think it’s your ex but…. No. No, everything in this basket is things you’d pick for yourself. Things he never knew you well enough to buy. And he’s too cheap besides - and too much of a stuck up dick to ever dream of patronizing adult toys.

You hesitate over it. But….. well, you’ve already brought it inside. Doesn’t matter if you use any of it or not; and it’s stupid to let it go to waste.

So you feed the dogs and wander to your room.

And it. Is. Decadent.

You linger in the bathtub for way too long, giggling at the sparkles in the water, sipping wine and nibbling on German pastries. Even sacrificed one of the roses from the bouquet to let the petals float in the water. Start the first couple chapters of your birthday book, sigh and talk nonsense to your boys, all of them lingering in the doorway but behaving.

And when you finally get to bed, you run the battery out achieving your “birthday orgasms”. (Remain shockingly uninterrupted by any of the boys.)

Sometime before midnight your dream of gentle hands cleaning you up, pressing kisses everywhere. Voices whispering “love you” and “happy birthday”.

It’s the best one to date.

(Again, happy borfday!! I love you and I hope this was a good gift 💕)

Main Story | Konig pt.2 | Price pt.1

Masterlist

[fangswbenefits]

The Arrangement (9) - The Arrangement

Chapter summary: Ava proposes an arrangement, and things get out of control with Astarion... once again.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Alcohol. Innuendo. Body worship. (almost) Fingering. Sexual tension.

Word count: 6k

Series masterlist . Ao3

Ava extended the palm of her hand across the table, expecting you to comply with her silent request.

But you weren’t so easily swindled, especially when too much of her story was beginning to rub you the wrong way.

As such, you feigned complying by placing your hand atop hers, whilst your other carefully unsheathed the dagger at your hip.

Her face held a honeyed smile that you didn’t return, and your watchful eyes followed her every move, 

But before her knife could come close to your skin, you got on your feet, sending the chair sliding across the floor before you made a lunge for her, plucking her from her seat with one hand and pressing her back against the cabinet behind, your dagger firmly held against the side of her neck.

She did try to swing the knife in her hand, but you immediately caught hold of her wrist and squeezed tight until she dropped it on the floor.

“Sharp reflexes,” she noted with a curt smile.

You held her in place with the weight of your body, the sharp edge of your blade ready to slice through her skin.

“You sound surprised.”

She smiled again. “It is uncommon for sorcerers to be so skillful with anything but a staff and fancy hand flourishes.”

“Not many have the opportunity to learn from a seasoned rogue.”

Astarion had taken a liking to honing your dexterity, even when constantly remarking you’d never rival his.

However, in this particular moment, it did come in handy and his teachings had paid off.

“Unfortunately for you,” Ava said, her smile dropping slightly. “You are not the only one with tricks up their sleeve.”

And before you could question her remark, you felt the cool sting of metal tapping against your neck, just above the faint bite marks from the night before.

For a moment, the grip on your dagger faltered, but you quickly regained composure, not easing the blade pressed against her skin.

“This is coated in a most agonising poison.”

You offered a devious smile. “What a coincidence – so is mine.”

“Astarion’s?”

“Touché.” 

A homebrew recipe that he had once shared with you.

Travelling together with Astarion had given you the opportunity to broaden your skill set and that covered knowing how to brew most basic poisons.

She did look far too amused for someone who you could easily incapacitate should she stray but a little.

“And here I thought we had made some progress.”

Her taunt made you snap at once. “How much of an idiot do you take me for?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Idiot?”

You pushed harder into her, causing the glass jars inside the cabinet to rattle. “Your story sounds a little too convenient. You were a monster hunter for decades, then had a sudden change of heart, and tracked down Astarion to aid him,” your words were venomous enough to match the poison coating your blade. “I’m sorry if I have a hard time believing someone could just abandon their principles all at once and even go as far as to kill their own kin.”

Her arm was gripping yours, but you didn’t flinch, your eyes boring into hers. “You don’t have to believe me. I wouldn’t either, to be frank. However, you shouldn't be passing judgement when it comes to others having changes of heart.”

You remained silent.

“You took a leap of faith with Astarion, did you not? You trusted him even after learning he could easily turn on you,” she went on, her voice now firm and low. “But he didn’t. He proved he could change, even when it goes against his very nature as a vampire spawn.”

Another wave of anger flared inside you.

How could she even compare this situation to that of Astarion’s? She was nothing like him. She didn’t know the first thing about the two of you. 

“You utter sweetened words and use my bond with him to make me sway,” you said in a low warning tone. “But I simply don’t like you. It’s not even about you wanting my blood – it’s how you so easily take and take from him and expect me to compactuate with it.”

Ava scoffed, trying to push you off of her but to no avail. “So is that why you’re here? To stake your claim?”

" Claim? Astarion is his own person.”

She chuckled darkly. “Yet here you are, speaking on his behalf. Enlighten me on how that works.”

Her words tore through your flesh more effectively than the knife she held to your neck ever could.

You immediately let go of her as if suddenly burned by her touch and took a few steps back, falling silent.

Was that the impression you gave her? That you were taking away his free will on this matter? Would he think the same if he knew how close you had been to sinking your dagger into her?

Shame.

Guilt.

Your chest felt impossibly heavy from the weight of your doubts, and you dropped your arm at your side at once.

Ava adjusted her dress as she straightened up, but there was no triumphant smile on her face. “I am not the enemy. You don’t have to trust me – Hells, you don’t have to like me – but he does to an extent, and I already said that I do not take a single drop of his blood without his full consent, as I won’t take yours.”

It was starting to overwhelm you just how hard Ava was to decode. You wanted to trust her word and to believe that helping her with your own blood could be helpful to Astarion in the long run, especially if there were people out there who wanted to hurt both of you.

But you just couldn’t bring yourself to fully digest her reasoning without asking the proper questions and double checking.

You were once told: “Never swallow before chewing.”

“Why did you kill your group, then? Why not just leave?”

Ava’s pleasant features turned sour as she returned to her seat. “There are no fiercest shackles than those of the mind. I know it. Astarion knows it,” she said nonchalantly, placing her knife on the table. “Not that I expect you to resonate with this as I’m sure you’ve lived a sheltered life.”

You’re wrong…

On so many levels.

But you weren’t going to give her leverage on your past.

Not even Astarion was aware of the intricate details of your upbringing.

“Sorcerers are born with an innate talent for magic wielding,” she went on, her eyes fixed on you. “I wouldn’t be surprised if your family in Baldur’s Gate ranked up high with the rest of the nobles.”

You narrowed your eyes, lips still pressed shut.

It was unfair that she was drawing all these assumptions in regards to you when they couldn’t be further from the truth.

There had never been privilege. 

The magic coursing through your body was what made you nearly lose it all once…

But silence was your best weapon now.

“Not everyone has that privilege – I know I didn’t. I was forced to do the bidding of others, because that was all I knew growing up until Astarion’s case put things into perspective. Sure, I did expand my knowledge on Alchemy here and there, but I was never allowed to openly practice it,” there was a faint hint of sorrow in her voice that nearly made you feel sorry for her. Nearly. “So long as they lived, I would never be truly free as they would make sure I’d painfully regret leaving them. But I was done hunting those who could use a second chance, which was exactly what you offered Astarion.”

Her answer absolutely floored you. 

Your mind wanted her explanation to not make any sense.

You wanted a reason to hate her.

A reason to tear her bond with Astarion to smithereens.

Yet here she was, giving you seemingly truthful justifications to her deeds, which further troubled your heart and mind and completely defied your anger.

Eventually, you slid your dagger back in its holster with a long sigh. “Who’s after us?”

She crossed her legs. “I have my suspicions, but I need more time.

As much as you wanted to take her vague answer at face value, your common sense spoke louder this time.

“How can I be sure you’re not just feeding me some fable to cover up your own tracks?”

She chuckled almost in disbelief. “You truly are a tough one to crack, no doubt. I have a solid alibi, if that is what you’re requesting.”

“Go on.”

She paused briefly as if pondering her next words. “I was with a patriar.”

Hold on…

“Who?” you immediately shot back.

“Someone from the Parliament of Peers.”

Now, this piqued your interest. “ Who?”

“Rob Sorel.”

The wealthy baldurian merchant with an uncanny reputation for being ruthless when his interests were involved? The man whose wealth could easily overshadow that of a duke?

That seemed like a stretch.

A very unsettling stretch. 

You crossed your arms. “And what were you doing with such an influential patriar, especially so late at night?”

Ava gave you a long and hard look, lips tugged upwards, unveiling her amusement. 

Oh.

Oh.

“His influence reaches beyond Baldur’s Gate and I am able to gain exclusive access to wares that aid my research.”

You felt tempted to ask what the trade off was, but judging from the way her face twisted deviously, you could tell it probably revolved around carnal pleasure, which you refused to know the sordid details of.“Feel free to have Wyll cross-check this information as I’m sure Rob has mentioned my name.”

This nearly sent off alarm bells ringing in your head. “Wyll had never heard your name before I told him.”

She chuckled again, drumming her nails on the wooden surface of the table. “Oh, but he has . Ava is short for Avalar. I have had long dealings with Rob and he will uphold my alibi. Feel free to ask.”

Against your better judgement, you began to feel less… wary of her.

Not that you were able to fully let go of your gut feeling, but every answer was delivered with almost no hesitancy on her part and, truth be told, you would quickly be able to catch her if this involvement with a patriar was nothing but a desperate lie.

A sudden knock on the door made you jolt in place.

It was Wyll. “We ought to get going. Are you done?”

Your eyes remained fixed on her. “Yes. We're just going over some details.”

He didn't reply again and you saw Ava raise her eyebrows. “Details?”

You ignored her remark. “Will you try to track whoever is after us, then?”

“I will.”

You swallowed. “What's the price?”

She rose to her feet and took slow yet sure steps towards you until she was close enough for you to fully see the olive green colour of her eyes.

“Let's just say our interests are temporarily aligned.”

Bullshit.

“You wanted my blood.”

“I want your blood, yes. But I will settle with running a few more experiments after he's fed on you, if you accept this condition, that is.”

As far as you were concerned, you would rather she stopped meddling with anyone's blood, but Astarion seemed so confident in her promises…

Maybe there was a chance of success… maybe she could truly help with their hunger.

Maybe.

“Only after you tell Astarion about this discovery of yours in regards to his blood mixing with mine,” you said firmly. “Or I will.”

She nodded, offering a sweet smile.

“Don't think of this as payment, though. A mere transaction. An arrangement, if you will.”

You were starting to dread that term as of late. It was as if everything revolved around transactions and that it was the only way people knew how to properly function and establish relationships with others.

Slowly, you nodded and, for the second time that night, Ava extended her hand to you, only this time you took it in yours. 

A mysterious smile settled on her lips until you pulled her closer to you, lowering your voice, “I still don’t trust you.”

“I’d be disappointed if you did.”

You glared intensely into her eyes, hardening your face. “Any small step in the wrong direction, and you’ll hear from me.”

She nodded. “Deal.”

Then you gave her a firm shake before letting go and exiting her room without even looking back, as you were in dire need to distance yourself from the overwhelming events of tonight.

Wyll hurried to your side, glaring at you inquisitively. “So? What did you find out? Is she to be trusted?”

“Do you know a woman who goes by Avalar?”

He tapped his chin pensively for a moment. “Avalar? That name does sound familiar. Wait – she is Avalar? The merchant?”

You nodded as you made your way down the staircase, feeling the uncomfortable and draining presence of the mage slayer right behind you.

“She is connected to Rob Sorel, right?”

He hesitated at first, grabbing your arm and bringing you to an abrupt halt as you reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Lord Sorel isn’t one to trifle with idly. If she is indeed who she claims to be, then we must keep an eye on her.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine, already feeling that you might have given her the benefit of the doubt too quickly.

Wyll turned to one of the Fists by his side and gave him a silent command to which the man nodded and exited the tavern.

“She said she was with him on the night we were caught, and that Sorel will vouch for her.”

The commotion around the two of you from the rowdy and very much intoxicated crowd made it nearly impossible to hold a proper conversation.

“I will dig around,” he said with a raise of his voice, guiding you to the door.

But you yanked free from him, which earned a wary look from the other Fist.

“I need a drink. Please.”

The Fist spoke before he could, “My Lord, I don’t think we should linger any longer.”

You rolled your eyes and promptly made your way to the counter, squeezing past a few smelly individuals who grumbled in 

Bork appeared rather quickly in front of you, and you blinked twice.

“What can I get you, missy? ”

Wyll was by your side at lightning speed. “Are you sure you want to have a drink? Now?”

You never felt a particular interest in indulging in alcoholic beverages, but you craved it now more than ever.

“A pint, please.”

Bork’s lips parted into a devious smile and you tapped your fingers impatiently as he shifted to work on your request.

“You are not one to hold your liquor, if I remember correctly, my friend,” Wyll noted, already placing one gold piece on the counter. “Mayhap you ought to take a sip or two before we leave.”

He was absolutely correct, but you also needed a quick way to numb your restless mind. 

At worst you’d get a bit too intoxicated.

At best, you’d find a way to, hopefully, sleep through what was left of this night.

As Bork set the mug in front of you and eagerly collected his payment, you grabbed it with both hands and proceeded to down the sweet liquid.

In one go.

Wyll’s hand tried to ease your eagerness, but you slapped it away with a chuckle. 

“Why do I have the feeling I will have to carry you home after this?”

By the time you were through with the ale, you realised you had made a severe mistake.

If Wyll had not been there to steady your unbalanced feet, you would have certainly tripped on the nearby stool.

Fuck…

By the time you made it back home, it was more than evident you should not have drunk all of it.

But it seemed that your brain was starting to morph a sense of guilt into finding anything within your grasp to be rather hilarious.

Even when you almost bumped into the mage slayer stationed outside your house.

You gave them a wide grin and a pat on the shoulder as if he couldn’t easily split you in half.

Wyll pushed the  door open and guided you inside with both hands gripping your shoulders for added support.

“Easy now. Mind the step.”

You completely disregarded his warning, which led to you almost losing balance if not for his strong arm that looped around yours, pulling you back.

You giggled.

He was truly a sweetheart.

Inside, you were met with the dim flickering of a few candles that provided enough brightness to spot the love of your life.

Wait.

Love of your life?

Scratch that. What a ridiculous overstatement. 

“What in the sweet Hells took you so long?” Astarion said with a scowl, rising from his chair and heading straight towards you like an arrow.

You giggled again, throwing your arms in the air. “You stayed up and waited for me!”

Astarion halted abruptly in front of you, hands on both hips. “I don’t sleep as I’m sure you’re aware. What is wrong with you?”

Wyll patted your back reassuringly. “She…drank a pint, and – well… this is the result.”

Suddenly, there were two Astarions standing next to each other and you yelped in shock, flinching back. 

“Why are there two of you?” you asked, pointing at them.

Both of them cocked an elegant eyebrow. “Two of what?”

Odd.

They moved and spoke in perfect unison. 

If one Astarion was already such a headache at times, you couldn’t even begin to fathom what two Astarions would be capable of. 

Driven by curiosity, you tried to reach out to one of them with your hand, but grasped nothing but air as your vision corrected itself and only one Astarion was left.

Really odd.

But entertaining.

He quickly gripped your gesticulating arm by the wrist. “Will you stop it? You’ll hurt yourself.”

The sudden proximity made your stomach turn dangerously, but you were far too amused to care. “ You’ll hurt yourself ,” you mimicked poorly, earning another scowl.

“I let you out of my sight for a few hours and this is the result,” he said with a sigh, then turning to Wyll. “Why would you let her drink a whole pint?”

Wyll rubbed the back of his neck. “She insisted, and I figured she could use the distraction.”

“What happened with Ava?” Astarion pressed.

Oh, Gods… not her again. “Will everyone please stop talking about her? Gods!”

He then pulled you closer to him, not letting go of your wrist, but easing his grip.

His beautiful eyes met yours and you felt yourself swoon, feeling the image of Ava dissipating into thin air.

Gods… he was the most beautiful man to ever grace this earth, no doubt.

Books should be written on his beauty and songs should be sung in his honour.

You felt yourself smile widely at him, feeling a rush of heat flood your face.

You’re so handsome…

His brows immediately furrowed.

Oh.

Shit.

You had said that aloud.

But you stood by it.

Astarion was so very handsome.

The only man who could make you yearn for him and have your heart and soul enamoured by all of him.

Then his face gradually softened. "Well, good thing there are no newshounds nearby. Can you imagine the headlines in tomorrow’s paper about the hero of Baldur’s Gate making a fool of themselves?”

You felt so giddy and drunk in his beauty that you just nodded at every word that spilled from those full lips that you wish you could just–

Whatever you say, handsome…

“Where’s Shadowheart?” you heard Wyll ask.

Astarion shrugged. “No one else is here, and it’s not as if I’m their mother.”

He was so snarky and it just made you almost melt under his touch.

“I can stay if need be.”

You rapidly turned to face Wyll, and immediately felt dizzy as Astarion steadied you. 

“Please stay! We can have a party!” you suggested with a dramatic pout.

Behind you, Astarion scoffed. “I’m quite sure dear Wyll is busy with his Duke duties, darling.”

Wyll chuckled. “I always make time for my friends.”

“Well, I can take it from here,” he retorted and you could spot a hint of disdain in his voice.

So attractive…

Astarion then lifted your arm and wiggled your wrist. “Say goodbye to Wyll, sweetheart.”

You giggled dramatically again. “Goodbye Wyll!”

He took a step forward and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “I’ll be back tomorrow once I have an update on what we discussed.”

Astarion pulled you away from him at once with a gasp. “Keeping secrets from me? Oh, you two lovebirds.”

Hold on!

No! You weren’t that close to Wyll.

As you were about to protest, Wyll spoke, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you sound jealous, Astarion.”

“What is there to be jealous of, I wonder?”

You nodded vehemently, finding it utterly amusing how he sounded so territorial all of a sudden.

Adorable man.

Wyll gave a lighthearted chuckle before turning to leave. “Well, I’m sure I can think of a few reasons.”

You laughed way too loudly at his remark, which caused Astarion to click his tongue in annoyance.

Adorable.

The door closed shut behind him, and Astarion immediately spun you on your feet to fully face them.

“What were you thinking? Drinking a pint?”

You couldn’t care less about what he had to say in this moment, and simply glared at his face, your hazy mind reminding you just how much you adored him.

And before you could restrain yourself, the words tumbled from your mouth. “I… I really like you.”

Idiot.

A deafening silence settled around you, and you began to feel an increasing wave of nausea as he merely glared at you.

Then you giggled, trying to disperse the awkwardness as fast as possible.

He didn’t laugh with you, tugging at your hand instead. “I think it’s time to get some sleep, darling.”

Too bad you were clearly incapable of walking in a straight line, which earned his attention. Without a warning, you felt your balance shift rapidly as he scooped you in his arms, effortlessly carrying you along the dim corridor.

“Put me down! Astarion!”

Instinctively, you looped your arms around his neck for support, but still trying to wriggle out of his fierce hold.

“I don’t need to be carried… please put me down,” you whined. “I - I will curse you!”

An amused smile tugged at his lips. “How very ferocious of you. I suppose we should have gotten you drunk more often back then. I’m sure our foes would have fled in horror at the sight of you.”

You slumped into him with a pout. “Mean.”

He pushed the door to your room open with a nudge from his shoulder, before easing you back on your two feet again.

The room was plunged in darkness and you felt him shift away from you, setting alight a single candle next to your bed, and you blinked a few times to adjust to the clarity.

You were now entering the less amusing stage of your insobriety and you could feel yourself scowl at him, clumsily crossing your arms.

“I should have hexed you.”

“Darling, the only thing you’ll be hexing in that state is a doorknob.”

You snorted at his playful jab. “I was perfectly capable of walking!”

“Into a wall? Yes, indeed.”

He then moved back to your side, helping you out of your cloak and quickly wrapping a blanket around you.

The simple gesture was enough to melt your defiant demeanour at once.

The two of you stood there in silence, eyes locked and you found yourself wishing he’d kiss you, but you knew he never would.

Astarion valued consent above all else, and he would not cross any lines. Each time you had gotten ahead of yourself in terms of sobriety, he always reigned you in.

And that was just one of the many things you adored about him.

How safe he made you feel and how you knew he’d never take advantage of your vulnerability. 

“You need to properly rest,” he urged, ensuring the thick fabric around you was tucked properly in place.

Just as you were about to head to bed, you felt the room tilt to the left and you yelped, clutching onto him for support.

“I’m going to fall!” 

The walls around you began to swirl and sway and your own legs wobbled.

A genuine laughter rumbled across his chest as he patted your back. “You silly little goose. Your warped mind is playing tricks on you.”

That term of endearment caught you slightly off guard and your heart fluttered.

Gods…

Why was he so easy to love?

Or was this the alcohol talking? Were you truly so far gone, that the alcohol was merely making it easier to surface your feelings?

Either way, you wouldn’t voice them, and allowed him to guide you to your bed, helping you to slip under the bedsheets. 

It felt rather good being taken care of this way. 

Maybe he didn’t think of this as anything but a nuisance, but you were grateful, nonetheless. 

“Thank you…” you mumbled in a whisper, gripping his hand.

The ceiling was now begging to spin dangerously fast and you had to close your eyes to help with the overwhelming sensory overload. 

He didn’t reply back, but you felt him tugging his hand away from your grasp.

A sudden shiver of panic coursed through your body. “Please stay? You always leave…”

Please…

He relaxed his cool hand against yours.

Slowly, you peeled back an eyelid only to see him easing onto the spot next to you over the covers.

You turned on your side to glare at him and he mimicked you, meeting your eyes in silence.

“How do you feel?”

In love.

“Well…”

He nodded and you smiled warmly at him, probably looking rather silly, but too mesmerised by his face to even look away.

“May I touch you?” you asked hesitantly.

He arched his brow, but nodded.

You lifted your hand and with a single finger, you began to slowly trace the bridge of his nose, admiring how he didn’t just look perfect…

He felt perfect…

“You’re so beautiful…” you sighed, feeling the slight bump of his nose as you trailed down to his lips. “So… so beautiful.”

He chuckled deviously. “I’m all for praise, darling… do go on.”

And you wanted to, but you were beginning to feel lightheaded, and your hand dropped from his face and your eyes dropped close.

“Or not…” you heard him say.

His voice seemed so distant now as drowsiness enveloped your senses. A part of you wished you could trace all of his face with the pad of your finger, worshipping every inch of him.

“Please, don’t leave…” you found yourself repeating.

He clicked his tongue. “I will if you vomit on me.”

You giggled, managing to shift closer to his body and rest your head on his still chest. “Deal, handsome…”

Your heated body welcomed his coldness, and it didn’t take long for your busy mind to progressively quiet down as you drifted off into a pleasant sleep.

It was the soft click of a door being shut that roused you from your sleep. With eyes still closed, you flipped onto your back with a pained groan as your body was hit with the aftermath of last night.

“Rise and shine,” Astarion’s honeyed voice filled the room.

You stretched yourself with a yawn, feeling your mouth dry as sawdust and an overwhelming thirst that nearly made you sob.

“I’m never drinking again…” you whined pitifully. 

The mattress dipped slightly next to you. “Well, how do you feel today?”

“Like death…”

“Your breath definitely reeks of it,” he said, voice dripping with disapproval. “I drew you a bath, as I anticipated you’d need one.”

At this, your eyes flew open. “Is this your chivalrous way of telling me I stink?” you grumbled, trying to make sense of your surroundings. 

The curtains were no longer drawn and the faint light bleeding from the top and bottom was enough to tell you the sun had already risen. 

He took your hand in his, tugging gently until you were sitting in front of him with your legs crossed. “Darling, you’re free to bask in that dreadful stench for all I care.”

You shot him a serious glare before bursting into laughter. “Good point. I need to get off these clothes…”

Astarion helped you on your feet and you carefully paced across the wooden floor and into the washroom.

A pleasant smell hit you as you stepped inside, with him following closely behind.

“I borrowed a few bath salts from Gale,” he informed, pointing to the round tub in the middle of the room, almost filled to the brim with steamy water. 

You glared at him in disbelief. “Borrowed as in… stolen?”

He shrugged.

You knew him too well.

“He does have a decent selection, yet manages to always carry the most interesting smells around,” he said, bringing you over to the large basin under a round mirror. “I minced peppermint and it should help with your breath,” he added, handing you a glass of water.

You did as he advised and took a gulp, rinsing your mouth eagerly before spitting the content onto the basin.

“So… are you going to tell me how the conversation with Ava went?”

Wiping your lips clean with a rag, you gave him a look.

“It could have gone worse, I suppose.”

“Charming,” he said. “Worse as in ‘I almost killed her’ or ‘She made me want to pluck my eyes out’?”

“All of the above, maybe,” you said with a roll of your eyes.

To be fair, after hearing her reasoning, she didn’t come across as that bad. But you couldn’t help but to still feel wary of her intentions in the long run.

Astarion was studying your face intensely as you emptied the glass of water to quench your thirst, the minty aftertaste doing wonders to your throat.

“Anything in particular I should know about?”

Besides her wanting to take my blood? Nothing at all, you thought grimly.

You merely shook your head.

“I’ll be waiting outside, then.”

Right.

Bath time.

You took a quick look in the mirror and nearly groaned out loud from the sight of your weary face.

Just as you were trying to strip the shirt you had on, you huffed in annoyance, which earned his attention before he slipped out of the washroom.

“You need help.”

You tried to pull the sleeve, but your body ached too much to comply. “I need help.”

Astarion slowly crossed the room again, and swiftly helped you out of your shirt.

You hissed as his cold knuckles brushed against your bare stomach. “Cold, cold…” you said, teeth jittering.

Being naked in front o fhim had long lost some of its inherent sexual meaning. It used to make you feel too exposed and only when the two of you were about to indulge in one another.

Now, it felt like something casual.

His stare didn’t linger on your breasts for too long or on your now hardening nipples.

“I apologise,” he said with a smile. “Let’s get you out of these next.”

Skilled fingers worked on the front of your trousers, undoing them slowly before carefully dropping on one knee and pulling them down along your thighs.

You had to look away to hide the rush of heat that had settled on your face.

Now that felt too intimate…

He tugged at your underwear next and shiveres began to prickle along your body.

You suddenly felt too exposed. 

Astarion had seen you this bare since you last slept together before reaching Moonrise Towers.

And this new predicament had your heart strumming hard in your chest.

You slipped out of your trousers and looked down to meet his crimson eyes. “What?”

“May I kiss you?”

You swallowed. Hard. “Where?”

He leaned in to press his cold lips to the dip of your hip, lingering for a few seconds before pulling away and rising to his full height again.

Gods…

“Do you need my help getting inside?” he asked and you could see it .

You could see the lust in his eyes.

You could hear the faint innuendo in his words.

And you could feel the familiar throb between your legs increasing.

“Yes…”

He promptly gripped your hand and you lifted each leg to dip into the nicely heated water, its surface covered in frothy suds. 

Slowly, you lowered yourself into a sitting position before leaning back.

Astarion placed a folded towel under your neck, so you could easily relax against the wooden tub as you sank below the waterline.  

“May I wash you?” he asked, settling himself on his knees behind you.

You immediately nodded, gripping the edges and trying your best to ignore the swell in between your folds.

It was almost embarrassing how easily he could turn you on with mostly his words and intonation. 

Your eyes fluttered shut and you jolted briefly when you felt a soft sponge being dragged from your neck and down your breasts.

A sigh parted your lips and you arched your back instinctively, just enough to raise your nipples above the waterline as he grazed each of them in circular motions.

You instantly clenched around nothing, knowing fully well that it would have driven him insane had his cock been buried inside you.

A second moan was heard when he started planting soft kisses along your jaw while his hand kept on gliding the sponge down your abdomen.

“Does that feel good?” he whispered in between kisses.

Your legs parted as you welcomed his ministrations. 

With his other hand he gripped your jaw and applied enough pressure until the back of your head hit his chest, his thumb caressingly you lovingly.

A strained whimper erupted from you when the sponge reached your folds, deliciously caressing the growing swell in between.

Your hips rolled a few times to increase the friction and you begged the Gods above to have him use his fingers instead…

“Please… Astarion…”

He planted a lingering kiss on your lips, pressing the sponge against you so you could grind desperately on it.

“Does it feel good, darling?”

“Use your fingers… please…” you begged against his lips, squeezing your legs together to trap his hand as you gripped the edges of the tub for support.

He chuckled darkly, dropping the sponge and he had to cover your mouth with his other hand to muffle a loud moan as he slid one finger along your folds.

“Do you remember how many you could take?”

Your eyes rolled shut as lust clouded your senses, hips rolling at a faster pace.

All you remembered was struggling to fit his cock inside at first…

The pad of his finger teased your swell a few times before he moved to place it at your entrance.

“Answer me.”

You could cry from the despair alone as he refused to slide a single one inside.

“I - I… two? Astarion… please… ”

He chuckled teasingly in response, and you 

The door to the washroom burst open, causing him to detach from you at once.

Shadowheart.

You let out a yelp, sinking until you were neck-deep in water.

“Ever heard of knocking?” Astarion’s words were dripping with poison.

“Even heard of not greeting people with... that?”

From this position you were almost at eye-level with his lower half, giving you a privileged view of his rather generous bulge, strained against his own trousers.

You felt heat flare in your cheeks as you remembered just how easily he would drip precum for you.

She hurriedly crossed the room and threw a robe at you. “Dress up. Quickly .”

Lust quickly turned into panic from the way Shadowheart glared worriedly at you.

“What happened?”

“Gale is leaving,” she said. “We just received word from Waterdeep that his contact has been killed.”

TBC

[your-nanas-house]

That stupid thong

◇ Pairing: Dad's Best Friend!Cillian Murphy X Best friend's daughter!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut, masturbation, drinking, mention of pee (not in a kinky way), pub bathroom (male), Dad's Best friend x best friend's daughter dynamic, thongs, bit dark (?)

◇ Summary: Cillian has a night out with his friends but meets Y/n in the same pub.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. Part of the "Au/series" My Dad's Friend. "Part 1 here".

The place was full, people were coming in and out of the place, screams and laughter adding to the noisy atmosphere of the pub.

Cillian didn't fit in it that much due to his personality but that didn't stop him from going, just to enjoy a Guiness beer on tap. Fresh alcoholic drink that always managed to keep him on a good mood since it was a perfect excuses to meet friends.

It was the first time he went out on his own since his best friend's daughter went to stay to him for the summer. The first weeks were spent arranging and explaining things since it had been ages since the last time she visited Ireland.

Cillian didn't want to leave her alone, as his most protective part as a parent came out every time she did something that 'grown ups' did. Understandable since the responsibility of his 'kiddo' was on his shoulders and having no particular experience with freshly off age girls he struggled a bit, hesitating in every move.

The cold drink was refreshing as it went down his throat, the music was loud but not uncomfortable with the noises of the tv. There weren't many people but it was bit crowded, not enough to not recognize everyone in there, though.

As Cillian continued his evening with friends, chatting and laughing while enjoying beers after beers, something caught his attention. With the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar colour that made him turn around to check further... just to see Y/n with a boy taking a seat at a table near a corner of the pub.

It felt strange someway, seeing her dolled up for what looked like a date when he still remembered her sweet chubby face and princess dresses as their tea dates. 'Guess they became beer-dates over time', Cillian wondered while gulping down his beer again.

She was wearing a short skirt with a nice pattern that matched the color of the long-sleeved shirt she had on, one that delined her breasts perfectly making them seem rounder than when she just had a bra on. The actor could tell.

As his light blue eyes kept wondering back to her his left hand remained on the cold glass and the other subconsciously rubbed the fabric of the thong he had still in his pocket. He didn't do it on purpose, he was in a rush and just put on the first pants he had seen, finding just in the car the thong he had stolen.

"Will you excuse me a second?" Cillian murmured out, standing up from the stool to start approaching the spot where she was, ignoring the reasonable thoughts that kept popping in his head telling him to leave them have their date but after the beers he had, the alchol was dominating his mind.

"Kiddo? What are you doing here, you didn't mention a date" his low voice declared, his eyes scanning the Irish boy that was sitting next to her before meeting the embarassed gaze of his best friend's daughter

"Well it was a last minute thing and I was bored at home so.... yeah" she replied with a shy smile, hoping not to be in trouble for the choice of the pub or anything else but luckily one of Cillian's friends waved him over calling him just in time before he could ask further questions.... at her or worse at her date.

The rest of the night went smoothly, the older actor stayed to enjoy old times with his friends as he kept a close eye on Y/n just in case she needed something or anything happened.

Not a close eye enough, though, since towards the end of the evening he couldn't see them anymore so he called it a night and searched a cab while heading to the bathroom of the local.

It was a small bathroom, with two water-closet and some urinals close to the door.

The older man's hand reached for the door when a noise caught his attention, more like a voice that cursed under their breath making him recognize immediately who it was but not yet where from.

The bathroom was empty or so it seemed... except from one of the water-closet which had the door locked. The door didn't touched the ground allowing anyone to see the feet of who was inside— allowing Cillian to see who was inside. Allowing him to understand what was going on inside.

A thud of a back hitting the wooden door caught him by surprise, startling a moment before he made his way to the urinals with silent steps. Y/n's voice could be heard faintly as the young woman moaned softly out, nearly covering the sounds of the heavy breathing of the boy she was with.

Cillian could easily imagine the activity they were doing if he closed his eyes while unconsciously unzipping his pants. She was probably pressed against the door, her legs wrapped around the hips of the boy, her chest maybe bare since the corset was being pulled down to expose her young breasts for the male's eyes.

Feck, the actor thought as he glanced down at his now free cock which was hard thanks to his thoughts and the sweet noises, and didn't allow him to do exactly what he had gone to the bathroom for or at least not with some effort.

He stayed silent in the same room, listening carefully, enjoying a bit too much his best friend's daughter's noises and the new addictions of the act like the thuds of the thrusts, the wet noises coming probably from her wet cunt, plus the heavy breathing that matched his.

If the older man had had a mind less blinded by alcohol he would surely have stopped his hand which was now wrapped around his cock, stroking it in hard but slow motions, following the rhytm of the thrusts he could hear.

The wet noises filled his head as he spit in his hand and continuing where he left, checking slightly the door while masturbaring at the sounds, his eyes glued to the wood till he saw Y/n's thong fall on the dirty ground of the bathroom. Almost as a reminder of the thong he still had in his pocket and that wad screaming at him to take it and use it however he liked it.

His peak was getting closer and closer as he automatically reached for the fabric, wrapping it fast around his cock never stopping his quick wrist movements that made his body shake as soon as he came, biting down his lip and shooting his cum in the urinal.

It took me some minutes to recover from his peak and as soon as he was back to his sense completely, his hands tucked himself back in, moving the thong back in his pocket before leaving quickly the bathroom to head out of the pub.

On the way out Cillian could finally clear his mind, the fresh hair blowing straight to his face as if to wake him up by his dizziness and clear up his mind, as pity slowly started to crawl in him.

"Fuck" he murmured under his breath, inhaling deeply to calm down as he rested a moment against a wall to allow his body to relax till the cab arrival.

It didn't took Y/n very long to exit the place as well and look around to see if she could still see Cillian anywhere or if he had already headed back home before her. But there he was, facing a wall about to pee after all the drinks he had and since he never had the chance to do it earlier.

"Uncle Cilly—" she murmured, pulling him casually in a more private place, covering for him as some paparazzi tried to catch some scandal to put in newspaper and spread all over the world

"We should head back home, hm?" Her voice whispered out, glancing slightly at him before turning her back quickly to search the cab discretely.

[basketfullofgrapes]

Strategic Allignment

Alex Morgan x Reader imagine

The dining room of my father’s mansion was a monument to old money, a place that could easily have served as the backdrop for some dull historical drama about the aristocracy: glimmering chandeliers that cast shadows over the polished mahogany table, velvet curtains that hung like somber reminders of the walls closing in.

The air was thick with something far worse than just fine wine. It was the scent of suffocating expectations. I knew it, and Alex Morgan, the American soccer prodigy sitting across from me, seemed to know it too. Both of us, trapped in the tangled web my father had woven for us, had adopted the same uncomfortable posture, shoulders stiff, eyes darting away from the elephant in the room—the very one sitting right between us, looking smug at the head of the table: my father.

I could feel the weight of his gaze, trying to drill through me, but I wasn’t going to let him win. I never did. With a flick of my wrist, I broke the silence, my voice smooth but with the bite that had earned me a reputation. "Let me get this straight," I said, leaning forward slightly, letting my sarcasm bleed through every word. "You’re marrying me off to her because… what? You ran out of business partners to exploit?"

My father, unfazed as always, didn’t even blink. His hand rested perfectly on the table, a symbol of control, as though this whole conversation was a mere inconvenience. "It’s not exploitation, sweetheart," he replied, the words falling from his mouth like he had rehearsed them a thousand times. "It’s strategic alignment. The Morgan and Y/L/N families merging through this arrangement will benefit both parties immensely."

The word "alignment" hung in the air, as though I should care about it. My eyes narrowed. "‘Strategic alignment’? Is that what we’re calling human trafficking these days?"

The tension that settled in the room could’ve been cut with a knife. Alex, sitting stiffly in her seat, didn’t make a sound, her face betraying a blend of confusion and forced politeness. But I caught it—the slight cough, the faintest hint of amusement trying to escape her lips as she swallowed her water. At least someone found this entire circus amusing.

"You know, Dad," I continued, tapping my fingers on the table for effect, "you’ve really outdone yourself this time. A soccer star and a business contract all rolled into one. What’s next? Marrying me to the next tech CEO to boost our Wi-Fi signal?"

My father’s eyes flicked to me with a glint of frustration, but he held his ground, ever the image of indifference. "Y/N, this isn’t up for debate. The wedding is in two weeks. You’ll thank me someday."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, instead meeting his gaze with a blank stare. "Oh, sure. I’ll send a heartfelt thank-you note from the honeymoon—assuming I survive the sheer embarrassment of this circus."

Alex shifted in her chair, finally breaking the silence with a soft laugh, one she quickly tried to stifle. "For the record," she said, her voice calm but carrying an undertone of awkwardness, "I didn’t agree to this either. I was just told it’s happening."

I turned to her, my smirk finding its way back onto my face. The sarcasm practically dripped from my words. "And you’re just going along with it? What, they promise you unlimited cleats and a lifetime supply of protein shakes?"

Her lips twitched, and for a second, I thought I might actually crack her, but she quickly masked it, her poker face coming back with a practiced grace. "No, but the idea of spending the rest of my life with someone so… charming was hard to resist."

I leaned back in my chair, studying her for a moment, then let out a low chuckle. "Ah, sarcasm. A girl after my own heart," I remarked, tapping my fingers on the table with a thoughtful expression. "I knew there was something about you that wasn’t just… football and bright smiles."

Just as the words left my mouth, my father, finally losing his patience, cut in. "Enough," he said sharply, his voice more commanding than ever. "You two need to make this work. I don’t care how. The media rollout starts tomorrow, and you’ll be acting like a blissfully engaged couple by then."

I couldn’t help it. The sarcastic impulse was too strong. "Blissful?" I repeated, my voice dripping with mock enthusiasm. "Got it. Should we practice our public displays of affection now, or do you have a PowerPoint on it first?"

"Y/N..." His voice dropped to a growl, a tone that was supposed to be threatening but only made me roll my eyes harder.

I stood up from the table, stretching lazily as though I wasn’t bothered by anything. "Relax, Dad. I’ll play nice," I said, tossing my napkin onto my seat. "But I’m going to need a drink, though. Or twenty."

As I turned to leave, I heard Alex’s voice behind me, light but sincere. "For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about this. It wasn’t my idea either."

I paused at the doorway, glancing back at her. My smirk returned, sharp and calculating. "Don’t apologize yet, Morgan. You haven’t even seen me in action."

Her eyebrow arched in genuine curiosity. "Should I be scared?"

I gave her a wink, then turned and left the room without another word. "Terrified," I called over my shoulder, my voice carrying the weight of a promise I wasn’t sure either of us was ready for.

I was nursing a glass of wine in the library when the door creaked open. Alex stood there, framed by the dim light from the hallway, as though unsure if she was stepping into enemy territory or a sanctuary. She hesitated, her fingers wrapped around the doorframe, her posture stiff. It made her look almost… human. Vulnerable, even.

I didn’t bother glancing up from my glass, the liquid swirling lazily in the crystal. "Let me guess," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm, a perfect match for the situation. "You’re here to discuss our ‘strategic alignment.’"

There was a beat of silence before she chuckled—genuine, unguarded—and stepped further into the room. "Actually," she said, her voice steady but laced with something that could almost be called concern, "I came to ask how you’re holding up. This can’t be easy for you."

I slowly raised my eyes to meet hers, a dry laugh escaping my lips before I could even stop it. "Aw, concerned about me already?" I leaned back in my chair, letting my smirk widen. "You’re making this fake marriage feel so real."

She raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering behind her eyes. "Are you always this sarcastic, or is it just because of this... situation?"

"Who, me?" I lifted my glass in an exaggerated gesture, swirling the wine, letting it settle before speaking again. "This marriage is just the cherry on top of the disaster sundae my life’s been serving me. The sarcasm is practically a reflex at this point."

Alex shook her head, her lips curling into a small smile that she couldn’t quite hide. "You really are impossible, you know that?"

I looked at her, meeting her gaze for the first time since dinner, and for a split second, I saw the flicker of understanding in her eyes. It was strange, the way it almost felt like we were in this together, despite the fact that neither of us had chosen this.

"Yet here you are," I said with a soft chuckle, raising my glass to her, a mock toast. "To impossible people and ridiculous situations."

She didn’t hesitate this time. Her fingers tapped the edge of her glass, though she didn’t have one in her hand. Her eyes locked onto mine as she mirrored my motion, her voice light, yet edged with something darker, almost resigned. "And to the fact that we’ll probably kill each other before the wedding."

I couldn’t help but laugh, the sound escaping from deep in my chest. It was a laugh of recognition, like she understood exactly what I meant. Maybe it was just my sarcasm speaking, or maybe it was the truth we both saw hanging between us. I leaned forward, the glass in my hand glinting under the low lights. "That’s the spirit," I said, savoring the words with a devilish smirk.

There was a long pause, and for the first time that night, the silence didn’t feel heavy. It wasn’t the awkward kind that hung over dinner, suffocating the air with every word. No, this felt almost like… mutual acknowledgment. Like we were on the same page, even if we didn’t want to be.

She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest, her face still half-hidden in the shadows. "You know," she began, her voice low, almost thoughtful, "I didn’t ask for this. Neither of us did."

I took another sip of my wine, letting her words linger in the air. "No, but here we are anyway," I said, my voice flat, like it was something I had resigned myself to long ago.

Alex nodded, her eyes flickering to the fireplace across the room, though her focus was clearly somewhere else. "I hate how your dad thinks he can control everything. I don’t even know why I’m here, honestly. Just doing what I’m told." She exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. "But I get it. He’s not exactly the type to give you a choice, is he?"

I couldn’t help but let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, believe me, if I had a choice, I’d be anywhere else right now. Anywhere but here, pretending to be engaged to you, a woman I’ve barely said five words to."

She looked at me then, her expression softening, just a little. "You’re not the only one stuck in this, you know."

I didn’t know what I expected her to say, but something about the honesty in her voice caught me off guard. I thought I was the only one dealing with the weight of this mess, the only one battling the invisible chains my father had wrapped around me. But here she was, feeling just as trapped, maybe more.

I set my glass down with a soft clink, leaning in slightly. "Yeah, well," I said, my voice quieter now, almost contemplative, "just because we’re stuck in the same situation doesn’t mean we’re going to get along."

Her gaze was steady, unwavering, as she met my eyes. "No, it doesn’t," she replied with a quiet intensity. "But we might as well make the best of it. For whatever it’s worth, I’m not here to make this harder on you, even if I seem like the enemy."

The words hit harder than I anticipated, and I almost found myself speechless. She wasn’t just some stranger being shoved into this. Alex Morgan, soccer icon, was just as much a victim as I was in this ridiculous charade. For the first time that night, I saw her as something more than just a pawn in my father’s game—a woman who didn’t ask for any of this.

I didn’t respond immediately. Instead, I leaned back in my chair, letting the silence stretch between us, allowing the weight of the situation to settle. She wasn’t wrong. We were both caught in this, for better or worse. And maybe, just maybe, there was a way out—or at least a way to make it through the storm.

"I suppose," I said, my voice low but tinged with something closer to resignation than sarcasm, "we’ll have to see how long we can last without driving each other insane."

Alex’s lips twitched in amusement again. "I don’t know about you," she said, her voice lighter now, "but I’m aiming for a solid six months before I snap."

I laughed, the sound escaping more freely this time. Maybe we weren’t as far apart as I thought.

"Six months?" I said with a grin, the sarcasm creeping back into my tone. "I’ll give it a week. You’ll be begging for a divorce before we even get to the aisle."

Her smile widened. "That’s the spirit," she said, matching my playful challenge.

And just like that, despite everything, the weight of the world seemed a little lighter. Maybe this absurd contract my father had drafted wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe, just maybe, it was the beginning of something else entirely.

[cc--2224]

Worth The Wait

Pairing: Tech x F!Reader

Summary: You wear your favourite sundress knowing Tech has too much on hit plate to appreciate it, but you need to do the supply run anyway, so where's the harm in making him wait?

Warnings: This is very much 18+ Minors do not interact! Minimal plot, lots of teasing, slight edging?, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it!), oral (m receiving), jealous/possessive/somewhat dom Tech

Notes: Requests are still open! And if you'd like to be added to a tag list, feel free to message me or fill out this form!

Word Count: 2.8k

Masterlist

It was always too hot on Pabu. Too hot to keep your armor on all the time, even too hot to wear your blacks all the time. You genuinely didn't know how the batch could wear so many layers on this island.

With it being your turn for the supply run, you decided to mitigate the heat by wearing your favourite sundress. You rarely had a chance to wear it and it complemented you so well. Besides, it wasn't as if you needed to suddenly go away on a mission any time soon, you were just going to the market.

An added bonus was that wearing such a dress was a sure-fire way to tease Tech. You had been together for a few months, since everything had calmed down and you were able to finally relax on Pabu. Your mutual feelings were known well before that, but the timing was never right. 

It surprised you how clingy he could be. He always came off as someone who was very protective of his space, which wasn't untrue, he was just also protective of your space.

So when you wandered out of your bunk in your little sundress knowing he was knee-deep in repairs on the Marauder, it added a sense of mischief to your outfit. 

"I'm heading out for the supply run, I'll be back soon." You called over to him, glancing to the array of tools splayed out around the floor. 

His head poked out from under the console and he looked at you, eying you up and down. You saw him visibly swallow before he spoke.

"You are wearing that?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I? It's hot out."

"N-no I mean... you look beautiful, but I cannot go with you to–." He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, feeling guilty for coming across so jealously. He sighed and looked back at you "Thank you for going on the supply run. You have my list, correct?"

"No need to thank me, it's my turn. And yes, I have everyone's lists." You smiled then opened the ship's door. "Oh and, when I return, you'll be the only one to see what's under my sundress, if you'd like." 

You winked then exited the ship before he could respond, however you heard the loud clattering noise of tools falling over.

You decided to take the long way to the market. After all, it was a beautiful day, the sun was shining, and the warm breeze tickled your skin. And if it meant Tech had to wait longer to see you when you got back, so be it. 

Villagers greeted you as you passed them, the occasional fisherman stared maybe a few seconds too long, but you didn't pay it any mind, and eventually you made it to the market.

You decided to peruse the market stalls for a while, looking at the different trinkets and items for sale, making sure you were picking the best quality items, examining each piece of fruit closely when you got to the produce stands to ensure you weren't buying something bruised, chatting with the stall owners about their selections.

By the time you had finally crossed off every item from the various lists and arranged for them to be delivered to the Marauder the following day, it was already evening. You sighed looking off into the sunset beginning to dip into the ocean below, and decided you shouldn't torment Tech any longer. 

You walked back toward the landing port, this time hurrying a little bit, until you eventually reached the Marauder. 

The door opened for you and you stepped in, it was quiet, no longer sounds of Tech's repairs, nor was there sound of anyone else on board. You shrugged, assuming you were alone and began walking toward your bunk.

"Stop." A voice rang out from the cockpit. The door was open but you didn't see anyone, until the pilot chair spun around.  Tech did not seem pleased. He sat with his arms folded over his chest and one leg crossed over the other. 

"It is nice of you to finally return." He said, bitterly. You smirked in response. 

"I'm sorry, my love. The supply run took me longer than intended."

"Did it? Or were you purposefully extending your stay?"

How did he know? You played it cool and walked toward the cockpit slowly, making sure he had a full view of you at all times.

"Do you truly believe I would make you wait all day?" 

He leaned back, head resting against the back of the chair as he took you in. "Yes, I do, if it meant it would increase my need for you." 

You stopped a few feet away from him. "Did it work?"

He uncrossed his legs, revealing a prominent bulge under his blacks, your mouth watered at the sight. "You tell me. This is after I had to take matters into my own hands."

You took another few steps forward, closing the distance between you. Your hands rested on Tech's face, tilting his head up toward you. "I'd say it worked." You smiled before capturing his lips with yours. 

His tongue pushed past your lips, deepening the kiss, and you moaned into his mouth.

Tech's hands found their way to your hips, gripping the soft fabric. You broke away from the kiss, peppering his face with soft kisses over his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his jaw, and finally his neck. 

He reached down, bunching the fabric up as he dipped his hand under your dress, gripping your thighs before slowly sliding up, intending to start removing your panties, only when he got to where the waistband should have been, he found nothing.

His eyes widened slightly before he looked up at you. Your bottom lip was sucked between your teeth.

"You wore this without any undergarments?" His voice a little more than a whisper.

"I told you, it was hot outside." 

He swallowed thickly, you could tell he wasn't entirely sure if he should be disappointed or turned on. 

"Besides, it's not like anyone saw... I think."

His grip tightened on your thighs. "You think?"

"I mean, a few of the fisherman couldn't keep their eyes off of me." 

You knew full well that no one saw under your dress. The breeze was never strong enough to blow your dress up, and it was long enough to cover you. But you couldn't lie, the effect you were having on Tech only added to the hot coil you felt in your abdomen.

"Another test?" He asked, seeming to call your bluff. 

"Who's to say? I don't know what they saw." You smirked as you began kissing him again.

His hand moved around to your ass and he squeezed the flesh. "It had better be a test." With his other hand, he reached up and placed it on your jaw, holding you so that you were looking into his eyes, you noticed that his pupils were blown wide behind his goggles. "You are mine. No one else's. I am the only one who gets to see you like this. Understood?" 

You nodded as best as you could with his hand gripping your jaw. "Ye-yes, sir." 

He let go of you, and stood up from his chair, looking down at you as he towered over you. You felt yourself clench around nothing with just his dark expression alone.

"Now, since you have made me wait all day, I think it is time I got what I wanted. Would you agree?"

You nodded, "Yes..." 

"Good girl." He grabbed your shoulders and spun you around so that you were facing the viewport with your back flush against his chest. You felt his cock press into you through your clothing and you stifled a moan.

He walked you forward until you were at the console and he gently pushed your back down, bending you over in front of him.

You heard a faint beep from behind you and you realized he was recording this, not that you minded, he had discussed it with you in the past, but usually it meant he had things planned.

"Open your legs." He ordered. You did as you were told, spreading your legs for him. He pushed the fabric of your dress up over your ass, out of the way, and then with his other hand he grabbed your wrists, pinning them behind your back. It took you a minute to adjust but he assured his grip wasn't too tight as to make you uncomfortable.

He took a minute to free himself from his blacks, before his hands returned to you. The hand that wasn't holding your wrists slid up your thigh before gripping the soft flesh of your ass again. 

Before long, his hand trailed down between your legs. He ran his long fingers between your folds before pushing two into you. You moaned as he began stretching you, pumping his fingers in and out, building the heat your felt in your core. 

You whined when he pulled his fingers out of you completely, feeling the loss already, but those whines turned into whimpers as he began circling your clit with expert precision.

"Mmph, Tech," You moaned. The pressure began building further in your core. "Keep going."

"Does that feel good, mesh'la?" He asked, picking up the speed slightly.

"Y-yes!" You could feel yourself tighten, you knew you were getting close. The pressure in your abdomen getting almost unbearable. "F-fuck, Tech I'm so c–"

Just as you felt yourself about to snap, he withdrew his hand. You squirmed against the console, "Tech, please!"

"You are not the only one capable of torment." You couldn't see him but you knew he was smirking behind you. "That was for making me wait all day for you." 

"But I–" any protest you had died on your lips when you felt him line himself up at your entrance. 

He pushed his head in, letting you adjust before sinking in the rest of the way. You pushed your hips back into him, trying to feel more of him and he responded by snapping his hips forward.

"Gods, you feel so good around me." He pumped his length into you slowly, and dragged himself out even more so, determined to feel your warmth on every inch of him. 

"Go faster, please," You whined. "Please, Tech."

"I am quite content at this pace." 

"Please, I'll... I'll never make you wait again I–" you were on the verge of begging. 

"And what about those fishermen? You can't stop them from looking at you." 

"I'm yours, Tech. Only yours. Only you can make me feel good, only you f-FUCK–" Your pleas were interrupted by him slamming into you, quickening his thrusts. 

"Go on." He offered. 

"On-only you... can fuck me li-like this," you praised between thrusts. 

"And who do you wear these pretty little dresses for?" His asked, pulling at the fabric bunched around your hips.

"Just... just you!" 

"You have done well." His grip loosened on your wrists. "You may touch yourself."

Your hand flew to your core, tracing circles around your clit, you moaned into the console as you chased your high. 

Tech's hands explored your body, feeling the soft material of your sundress, wanting nothing more than to rip it off of you, but he knew that would make up upset. His hands soon wandered down toward your ass and they began prodding your soft flesh before affixing themselves to your hips.

You heard him groan behind you as your walls began clenching, suffocating his cock. "That's it mesh'la." 

His thrusts grew faster, more erratic. He was chasing his own orgasm, spurred on by the feeling of your pussy tightening around him. 

You continued circling your clit with your fingers, feeling your own build up once again. Tech's hands dug into your hips, pulling you toward him each time he slammed into you. As you neared your orgasm, his name and praises fell from your lips over and over again, until finally you reached your peak.

You cried out his name as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Your walls squeezed his cock, sending him tumbling over the edge after you.

He stilled as he shot his release into you, moaning as he painting your walls with his seed. 

When he pulled out of you, you straightened yourself up, turning to face him as he tucked himself away. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him with such an intensity that it nearly sent him falling backward.

"I'm sorry," You told him after pulling away from the kiss. 

His eyes widened, "Do not apologize, I am not upset with you. I would wait years for you, a few hours is nothing." 

He smiled at you, leaning down to kiss your neck. You caressed the back of his head as he continued to litter kisses all along your neck. You moaned when you felt his teeth sink into you, before kissing the mark he left.

"And that will be so people know that you are taken." 

"Even still, let me make it up to you." Your lips found his again, holding him close to you as you bucked your hips into him.

"Mmm," He moaned into your mouth, feeling himself start to stiffen again. "What did you have in mind?"

You kept eye contact with him as you slowly sank to your knees in front of him. His hands found their way into your hair as you ran your hands up and down his thighs, pulling his blacks down from his hips and kissing the soft skin. You left a trail of kisses leading toward his hardening cock before you took it in your hand, kissing along the side of it, helping to coax it along until he was fully erect.

You kissed his smooth head gently and he shuddered as your breath fanned over it before you took it into your mouth slowly. You gently swirled your tongue around it, tasting both of your juices on him as well as the new beads of pre-cum that leaked from the slit.

He guided your head further and you took more of him into your mouth. Your cheeks hollowed out as you sucked, and his grip on your hair tightened when he felt your tongue tracing the vein on the underside.

"Stars, you are incredible," He praised, his voice shaky. You hum in response, the vibrations eliciting a moan from him. 

You took as much of him as you could into your mouth, and when he hit the back of your throat you gagged. This seemed to edge him on, when he felt you choke on his length, he took more control. Guiding your head so that he was essentially fucking your mouth, using you to get his relief. 

The way he thrusted into you made drool spill from your lips and down your chin, tears pricked the corner of your eyes, but it also had you moaning around him.

His head fell back in pleasure for a moment as he felt your muffled moans radiate through him, before his gaze turned back to you, looking utterly fucked as you took his cock. 

You peered up at him through your lashes as your tongue flattened against the underside of his cock. He let out a shaky breath and his eyebrows knitted together. 

Tech could feel his release building up again as you continued to bob your head around him. 

He was more delicate with his thrusts, but his pace quickened. He kept a firm grip on your hair, and he once again began chasing after his own high. 

It didn't take long from there for him to unravel. His breaths grew unsteady and your name fell from his lips more times than you could register. He thrusted a few more times before he stilled, head falling back once more, a quiet groan escaping his throat and his cock twitched as he shot his release down your throat. You swallowed around him, making sure nothing was wasted, and when he was finished, he slowly pulled himself out. 

You hastily wiped your drool away from your mouth and you rose to your feet. 

"Am I forgiven?" You asked softly.

"There was nothing to forgive. But your efforts were certainly appreciated." He smirked and clicked off the recording from his goggles.

"You're finished recording already?" You reached up and placed a hand on his cheek as you stepped closer to him.

"Mesh'la, I do not believe I could go another round without rest." He admitted quietly. 

"You're right, you could use something to drink. Or maybe to eat?" Your eyes gleamed with mischief once again when you saw the understanding in his. "Why don't we go to my bunk so I can show you everything under my dress, as I promised?" 

He leaned toward you, kissing you again. You reached up toward his goggles, pressing the record button before smirking at him and pulling him by the hand toward your bunk.

[muniimyg]

4.5: say it 》 series m.list

note: some feelings, some banter,, some smut at the beginning of the 3rd scene <3 have fun,, enj !!! do we like yuna and tae? vibes on... the jealousy? lmk what u guys think !!!mwah <3 updating sooon

taglist request: send a request with the title of this fic “c2u” // DO NOT comment here or on the masterlist . it gets confusing and i prefer answering and tagging through asks !!!

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @taetaecatboy @pb-n-juju @miss-rainy-days @firesighgirl @whoa-jo @vantxx95 @pamzn @kakixaku @casspirit0705 @tae165 @prdshobi @sopebubbles @leefics @ggukkieland @bebebutbetter @yoongimentita7 @boraength @era-genius @4ksj @vampcharxter @miss-jupiter @floweryjeons @taegijns @jeonqkooks-main

fic taglist: @mint--yoongs @ellesalazar @bloopkook

//

Soccer was something Jungkook was known for on campus.

It never occurred to you just how well-known he was until now… Yet, it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. Jungkook had quit the team out of boredom and curiosity only to be begged back in as if he’s their ace.

Okay, fine. 

… He probably is the ace. 

Jungkook comes off as too perfect. It’s quite irritating, actually. He has decent grades, a fun friend group, and a well-balanced lifestyle. You can’t help but hate that being a part of his routine for the past few weeks has you in this emotional state: needy. 

You’ve never felt this way before. 

Before the arrangement between you and Jungkook was made, you two barely saw each other. His life consisted of school, soccer, and friends. You only ran into him at parties or friendgroup outings. Having one class with him every other semester has to be the closest you two have ever been. 

You’ve never missed anyone before and although there’s an underlying warm feeling—your feelings of frustration and annoyance have never been stronger. His absence may have gotten your heart to grow fonder of him—but your anger and resistance to him continue to linger. 

It’s almost like a haunting feeling. 

As much as you want to carry on with your day and act like you aren’t waiting for his clingy text messages; you can’t help but itch and wonder what he’s doing and who he’s with. Though his text messages yesterday provided you with some sort of comfort and assurance, you can’t help but feel uneasy about all of this. 

About him. 

“Earth to ____?” Yuna waves her hands in front of your face. Snapping out of your thoughts, you offer her a warm smile. “Geez, you’re so out of it these days… Are you feeling sick?”

You shake your head. 

For a moment there, you were so lost in thought you forgot where you were. For a brief moment, you look out the window and notice the gloomy clouds before turning back to your space. The library is fuller than usual and Yuna is sitting in front of you with her laptop and notebook. She’s been talking for the past 20 minutes about… 

Something. 

You can’t recall.

Maybe you should start listening to her more… You’re truly the worst friend ever. 

“You look worried… Do you have an exam you didn’t study for or something?” Again, you shake your head in response. Yuna hums as she taps her fingers on her chin. Thinking to herself, she creates a solution. 

“Do you wanna come with me and see Taehyung?” 

You raise an eyebrow at her. “Why would I want to see Taehyung?”

She shrugs, putting her hands up in defeat. “…. Was just suggesting.”

Leaning towards her, you cheekily ask; “fess up. Do you have feelings for him?”

A gasp escapes her lips as she covers her mouth with her hands. Yuna furrows her eyebrows together and looks at you in panic. “Is the ____ interested in my love life? For the first time in forever? When did you get a nose job? You’re so nosy!”

You cover your nose and glare at her. 

“Shut up! Jungkook just mentioned that—”

“Jungkook, huh?” Yuna switches her hand placement immediately. She leans forward to you, putting her elbows on the table, and rests her chin on the palm of her hands. “What’s up with you two? I must’ve been wasted as hell that night at karaoke because if what I saw was true… Boy, do you owe me a girls night…”

Gulping, you keep your chin high. “What do you mean? What did you see that night?”

“He’s into you.”

“Jungkook is into everyone—”

“Yeah, right!” Yuna disagrees passionately, earning a few hushes from other students nearby. In a whispering tone, she continues. “Jungkook barely pays attention to the guys—his own friends! He does what he wants, shows up when he wants, eats what he wants and maintains his slutty figure, and parties when and with who he wants—I think… He wants you. He kept giving you fuck me eyes all night… And you! Don’t act all innocent. I saw you sulking like a little bitch! Which.. Is new? I’ve never seen you clingy before… Not with any of your exes... Not even with me."

You roll your eyes at her. Though her words rang true, you refuse to yield. If Yuna, the densest human in the world, can figure you out... You're fucked.

“You’re right.”

Yuna’s eyes light up. “Really?”

“You were sooo wasted that night.”

After a few hours of studying, you and Yuna pack your things up. She practically begs you to come with her as she meets up with Taehyung. In all honesty, it didn’t take much convincing. For some reason, you say yes with the tiniest bit of hope that Jungkook would be with him. 

Although, you don’t ask.

Hurrying out of the library, Yuna instantly spots Taehyung. With a toothy smile, he waves and picks up his pace. He greets Yuna with a pat on her head and you by nudging your arm. 

“Where’s Jungkook?” 

Shrugging, you look around as if you could spot Jungkook. Shyly, you answer, “thought he was with you.”

“He came home late yesterday…” Taehyung says as if it mattered for you to know. “I assumed he was with you.”

In response, you shake your head at him. “Nope. I haven’t seen him in a while… Last time was when we got coffee—”

You wince at the memory. 

“You okay?” Yuna’s face falls concerned. Taehyung looks at you rather confused. She hits his arm and confides in him. “See what I mean? She’s been like this all day.”

Taehyung tightens his lips as he gives your odd behaviour some thought. “Maybe she’s sleep-deprived. Are you sleepy, ___? You look a little tired.”

“Maybe the break-up is finally hitting her. Do you miss him, ___? Is that it?” Yuna suggests rather passionately. “You know, I miss him! He was a good boyfriend and you seemed happy—”

You huff, feeling defeated. “I’m just tired. I guess I’m more tired than I realize. I think I should just head home… I’ll catch up with you guys next time.” 

Yuna shoves Taehyung away and pulls you in a hug. She sways you two side to side and cries; “my poor baby, ____! Feel better, okay?”

Laughing, you ask Taehyung to help you peel your best friend off of you. When Yuna lets go and gives you space, her eyes suddenly squint as if she has just seen something unpeculiar. Then, she rubs her eyes to be sure.

“Is that Jungkook?”

You turn your head and feel your heart clench.

It feels conflicted. 

Yes, that was Jungkook.

… But with whom? 

Before you can escape or avoid eye contact with him, Taehyung has already waved them over. Jungkook nods, acknowledging you all. He crosses the street and you turn around, keeping your head low. You do this because for some reason you feel all shy… Like you didn’t just have sex with him a week ago—in front of a mirror. 

“Whose that?” Yuna asks, disregarding the fact that the two were practically a three feet away.

“Who knows,” Taehyung scoffs. “Secret girlfriend? Sneaky link? Who knows with that kid.”

Yuna gasps. “No way! I thought he was into ___—”

“Hey,” Jungkook greets brightly. Taehyung and Yuna greet him with the same energy. He offers a big smile as he stands beside you and pinches your waist. You itch away and avoid eye contact. From the corner of his eye, he catches your behaviour and feels confused.

In a low tone, only loud enough for you to hear; he mutters, “Don’t ignore me. That’s fucking annoying.”

You don’t move. Still, you ignore his seductive words.

He tilts his head at you but figures you’re just in a mood. Shifting his focus, Jungkook breaks the ice. “Where you guys going?”

“I just met up with them like a few minutes ago,” Taehyung explains. “We were gonna grab dinner but I think—”

“Hi, I’m Yuna!” your best friend interrupts Taehyung. She stretches her hand out for the girl to shake. She takes Yuna’s hand and shakes it. “This is Taehyung and my best friend ___!” 

You raise your head and offer a short-lived smile. A simple, “hi,” is all you manage to choke out. 

Mina has short brown hair and pretty eyes. She’s a little shorter than you and has Jungkook’s towel hanging on her arm.

You feel sick.

“Nice to meet you guys! I’m Mina, Jungkook’s friend…” she pauses and lets out a shy laugh. “Actually, I’m more of his fan than I am his friend.”

Like a groupie? Ew.

Jungkook joins her and laughs. “She usually sits around with her friends on bleachers and watches our practices. We’ve been catching up since I got back in with the team. We were going to get dinner too.” 

Taehyung and Yuna nod, taking in the information. “Well, do you want to join us?” Yuna suggests. “___ isn’t feeling well so she was going to go home. It’d be nice to have better company! ___’s been so out of it today—”

You shush her. 

“You okay?” Jungkook brings his attention to you. 

It feels like you’ve just been kicked in the stomach. When did Jungkook’s gaze ever feel this… weird? It’s difficult to describe but it’s like you’re nervous or something. All you can really do is nod in response. 

“I’m okay,” you assure him. 

“You sure?” he presses, taking a step closer to you.  

He’s much closer to you this time and your body betrays you by staying still. You don’t move. You don’t even flinch. If anything, you take a deep breath and inhale his scent. It’s comforting after all the days you’ve spent away from him. From the corner of your eye, you can see Yuna begin to get excited to be witnessing this moment. When you can sense that she’s about to explode in best friend behaviour, you make your move. 

“Can I talk to you?” you blurt. “Please? It’s about that thing…”

Jungkook blinks. 

“Sure,” he doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll catch up with you guys later. Text me the address. I’ll just drive ___ home so we can talk.”

You're thankful he says this. You're thankful he goes along with your request without question. For a second there, you weren't sure if he was on your side.

Rather, you worried if he liked you enough to choose you regardless of the mix-signals and thus far constipated interaction.

Mina offers a warm smile in return, but you can’t help but notice the disappointment in her eyes as Jungkook takes your tote bag off of your shoulder and carries it. He assures Mina that he’s leaving her in great hands and that he’ll be there no later than 30 minutes. 

“I parked my car that way,” Jungkook points towards the end of the street. “Let’s go?”

“Yeah,” you almost stutter. “I’ll see you guys next time. Nice to meet you, Mina.” 

“You too! Feel better,” she says sincerely. “See you in a bit, Jungkook?”

“See you in a bit,” he promises. Mina takes his word for it.

Jungkook bids his last goodbye before grabbing your wrist and practically dragging you to leave. As he does so, you watch Mina, Taehyung, and Yuna wave you two goodbye. Even a few feet apart, you can practically hear Yuna begin her gossip session. 

“See? He’s so into her!”

Unlike last time, there was no issue. 

Oh, it was up. 

Jungkook hisses at your touch. 

As you take his cock out, you run your thumb across the tip. You pump him, feeling his velvety skin follow the way you move your wrist. He’s thick—practically two hands on deck kind of thick. In fact, he looks even bigger in your hands. Maybe it’s the LED lights in his car or the fact that he hasn’t cum since your last meet-up—but he was bigger than usual today. If anything, it made you drool. 

Dipping your head low, you stick your tongue out and move his cock with your hands. You slap it against your needy tongue before closing your mouth and sucking on it. 

Bobbing your head, Jungkook can’t resist. He grabs a fistful of your hair and begins to push your head up and down. He holds your head close, making sure his dick touched the back of your throat. You gag and he takes that as a sign to let go. Pulling away, you take a quick breath in before puckering your lips at him. 

He shifts from his laid-back position and leans forward. Jungkook wraps his hand around your neck and brushes his thumb against your puffy lips. 

“You know how I like it,” he utters. “Missed this fucking mouth. Begging for kisses?” 

With hopeful eyes, you nod. 

“Anything my girl wants,” Jungkook leans in and kisses you slowly. He pulls away after just three kisses. “... My girl gets.”

“Kiss me lots,” you whine. 

Jungkook’s stomach turns. If it could do flips, that’s what it does. He would be an idiot not to know why you were acting this way… Yet, he still wanted to have fun. 

“Make me cum and I’ll kiss you all you want.” 

With that, you get back to it. 

You spit on his dick as you pump him at a slow pace. His hands travel to your shirt, pulling at the neckline to see your cleavage. You let go of him to lift your arms. Without hesitation, Jungkook helps remove your shirt and admires your breasts in a plain black bra. 

Suddenly, you shift your position. The passenger seat is extremely uncomfortable considering you’re giving him head… But this part must be the hardest part. You lean your body towards him more, prioritizing your breasts. Somehow, you manage to bend a certain way and slip his dick in between your tits. 

“Holy shit—” Jungkook cries as he begins to lose it. 

You bite your lip, trying your best to make this work. You hold your breasts closer together as he begins to pump himself. Every time Jungkook lifts his hips to dig himself deeper in, you can’t help but like the way the head pops up.

It’s almost cute. 

The position doesn’t last very long. You begin to cramp and Jungkook misses your mouth. So, you switch back to giving him a blow job. Then, that doesn’t last very long because Jungkook can’t do it anymore—he can’t hold it in. His breath hitches as you suck his dick. He throws his head back and hisses your name. 

“___,” he cries, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Then, he cums. 

He spills himself into your mouth and you swallow. As he empties himself, you take it upon yourself to lick his dick clean. Today, his cum tasted sweeter than usual. You wonder if his diet changed or if you just haven’t tasted him in a while.

Jungkook stares in amazement as you finish him off. He can’t help but let his mind spin as his body tingles from the sensation you caused. When you finish, you straighten yourself out and he hands you your shirt. Putting it on, you sit yourself back properly in the passenger seat and sigh in relief. Jungkook tucks himself back in.

“Good talk,” you joke, attempting to lighten the mood. 

Oddly enough, you feel awkward. What were you supposed to do now? After you two got into his car, it didn’t take much time before you threw yourself at him. Happily, he received your kisses and took it upon himself to drive towards his place. Parked outside his home, the coast was clear. You gave him head and now you feel stuck. 

Jungkook notices the panic in your eyes and reaches his hand out. He places them on your upper thigh, causing you to look at him. 

“What’s up with you?” Jungkook can’t help but ask. “You miss me too much?”

You scoff, “as if.”

He laughs, moving closer to you. Jungkook rubs your thighs innocently and squeezes it. It’s comforting for some reason… You like the way he touches you. 

“Spit it out, pookie.”

You shrug. “Nothing. Just wanted to give you head. You can take me home now.”

“Ha!” Jungkook taunts you. He then removes his hand from your thigh and reaches for his phone on the dashboard. Looking at the time, his eyes widen. 

“Shit!”

“What?”

“It’s been an hour? Mina called me like five times. I’m late—no, I missed it.”

Giving him head didn’t take an entire hour.. No, it was the flirting and the clingy talk that took majority of the time. Convincing him to let you give him head? That wasn’t even a conversation that needed to be done. It was always yes for you. So, you took your time.

Flirting.

Kissing.

And giving him a sloppy blowjob that completed the 1 hour mark of stalling.

Your lips curve into a small smile. Looking away, you feel a sense of relief. You aren’t proud of yourself but… This was something you could live with. As you stay silent, you think of what you could possibly say in this situation without coming off suspicious. 

But, your silence lasts a second too long.

“Wild guess but… Did you give me head so I’d miss the dinner?” Jungkook theorizes. 

You turn to him, eyebrows knitted together and your head slightly tilted to look confused. “Are you blaming me for missing the dinner?”

“Are you gaslighting me?”

You’re tongue-tied. For the first time in forever, you have no come back. Your brain can’t think of any words. Slowly and then all at once, you felt like a stupid idiot sitting in his car. Had you gone too far? You’ve never seen yourself act upon jealousy like this… You have no excuse. You have no explanation. You don’t feel like yourself. 

“Mina’s pretty. Is she your type?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer your question. Partly because he didn’t want to entertain whatever you had stirring up in your mind and partly because he didn’t want to feed tour ego.

“___? What’s up with you?”

“I don’t know.”

He sighs, not knowing whether he finds this irritating or cute. Why would you sabotage something so meaningless? Dinner with friends? It’s not like you weren’t invited either… His thoughts lead him to one question: “I think you’re acting jealous. Are you jealous?”

Unsure of what to do, you decide to give up. “Are you going to be mad at me if I admit that I am?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is this you admitting that you are?”

You reply in silence. 

“___?”

“Give me a fucking minute, okay? I’m trying to figure out if I should lie or not,” you groan. Taking a moment, you look into his eyes. “Am I supposed to lie, Jungkook?”

Now, he feels choked. “Maybe.”

You blink at him. 

Before you can stop yourself from the words that have been spiraling through your head all day—you confess softly; “I’m jealous.”

His head begins to spin. Is this what post-orgasm depression is? The pit of his stomach feels weird… 

Taking a deep breath, you shift your body to face him as best as you can. Fidgeting with your fingers, you push yourself to admit the ugly truth: “I don’t think I can lie about it… Jungkook, I don’t like it. I don’t like seeing you with other girls and I’m annoyed you have a little fan club. So, yeah. I sucked your dick so you’d miss your little date. I’m sorry, it was selfish of me… So, go catch up with her if you want…. I was out of place. I don’t care anymore—”

“Yes you do,” he cuts you off. 

You gulp, noticing the way his eyes have lit up. 

“Say it,” Jungkook insists. “Say it and I won’t go.”

With shifty eyes, you ask, “really?”

In all honesty, he wasn’t looking for a specific word or phrase. He just wanted you to say it. Say something. Make this fuck session mean something.

Jungkook breathes, “I’m all yours if you want me to be.”

“Yikes…” 

He shoots you a glare. You’ve ruined the moment. 

Jungkook reaches over and unlocks your door. “Fine. I gotta get going. You can walk home from here, right? Mina won’t mind me being a little late—”

You hit his chest with an annoyed look on your face. 

He smirks, “say it.”

“Jungkook,” you begin. “Don’t make me feel this way, okay? The second you continue this vibe, I’m going to expect more from you and that’s not what we—”

“Then expect more,” Jungkook scoffs. “It’s simple, ____. If you’re jealous, tell me. If you like me, tell me. If you hate this and want out—give me at least two weeks’ notice so I can emotionally prepare.” 

A part of your heart feels like it’s being tugged. Was he always this good with words? For some reason, you find it humorous. “You bring up confessing a lot… Are you trying to tell me something, pookie?”

“Please,” Jungkook laughs. “I’m not here to play stupid games and win stupid prizes. I’m not confessing until I have you absolutely in love with me… Pookie, this jealousy thing? It’s just the start. Just a little longer and you’ll be standing outside my window in the pouring rain, begging for me.”

In response, you make a puking face at him. “Shut up. The minute you get jealous, I’ll make you eat your words.”

He leans in and puckers his lips. “Why waste your time getting me to eat my own words when I can eat something else?” 

You cup his face and squish his lips together. Pressing your lips against his, you pull away quickly with a cheeky smile. “Keep entertaining your little fan club and you’ll be eating nothing.”

He rolls his eyes at you. “It’s not my fault they watch while we practice—”

“Jungkook.”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

He does just that.

Jungkook buckles your seatbelt and then his. Turning on the engine, he pulls out of his driveway and begins to drive you home. It’s a short 15 minute ride, but it’s filled with your rambling and constant shuffling of songs in his playlist.

As he stays silent, half-assed listening to you; he soaks in your presence and can’t find a single fibre in his body to be mad at you. He knows that what you did tonight was unacceptable. You had caused Mina to look like she got stood up and jeopardized a perfectly peaceful night by earning him a place on Taehyung’s hot seat of questions later tonight… But it’s okay.

With the smile on your face and the way you hesitate to reach for his hand as he drives; he can’t but help to feel like it’s worth it. Your hand will take his without a second thought one day. One day, you’ll be a part of the little fan club you hate so much. One day, it’ll work out because it has to.

If he never goes through these exact moments with you, maybe he wouldn’t have known his feelings for you… But, he does and it’s so clear to him.

Jungkook will wait for you.

[bratzkoo]

pov | kim seokjin

Author: bratzkoo | navi Pairing: married! seokjin x f! reader Word Count: 9K Genre: fluff, more fluff Rating: PG-13 Possible Warnings/Note: Inspired by Ariana Grande's song "pov"

Summary: reminiscing your 20 year marriage with seokjin.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @aretha170 , @jinniegenie , @mooniyooni .@we8joon​ , @njrwifey​

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

The warm afternoon sun filtered through the gossamer curtains, casting a soft glow across the living room. You sat comfortably on the plush sofa, your fingers absently tracing the intricate patterns on the throw pillow beside you. Across from you, perched on the edge of an armchair with a determined look on her face, was your daughter, Minjee. At sixteen, she was the spitting image of you at that age, but with unmistakable traces of her father in the curve of her smile and the twinkle in her eyes.

"Okay, Mom," Minjee said, her voice filled with a mixture of excitement and nervousness as she fiddled with her tablet. "I'm ready to start the interview for my project. Are you sure you're okay with me recording this?"

You couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. "Of course, sweetheart. I'm happy to help with your assignment. What's the topic again?"

Minjee's face lit up. "It's about long-lasting marriages and the secrets to their success. I thought, who better to interview than you and Dad? Twenty years is a pretty big deal!"

A warm feeling spread through your chest as you thought about your husband, Kim Seokjin. Twenty years of marriage, and he was still the best person in your world. "Well, I'm flattered you chose us. Where should we begin?"

Minjee tapped her stylus against her chin thoughtfully. "How about we start at the beginning? What was your first anniversary like?"

As you began to speak, the room around you seemed to fade, replaced by vivid memories of a time that felt both distant and as clear as yesterday...

-

*19 years ago*

The restaurant was dimly lit, casting a romantic glow over the intimate table for two. Candles flickered between you and Seokjin, their dance reflecting in his warm brown eyes as he smiled at you from across the table. One year of marriage, and still, every time he looked at you like that, your heart skipped a beat.

"Happy anniversary, my love," Seokjin said, raising his glass of champagne. The bubbles caught the light, creating tiny fireworks in the flute. "To many more years of happiness together."

You clinked your glass against his, the crystal singing a clear note. "To us," you echoed, taking a sip of the crisp, effervescent drink.

As you set your glass down, a waiter approached with a covered silver platter. With a flourish, he lifted the dome, revealing an artfully arranged plate of what appeared to be some kind of nut-crusted fish.

Your eyes widened slightly, a small frown tugging at the corners of your mouth. Before you could say anything, Seokjin was already addressing the waiter.

"I'm sorry, but there seems to be a mistake," he said politely but firmly. "My wife has a severe nut allergy. We specifically requested no nuts in any of our dishes."

The waiter's face fell, a look of mortification replacing his earlier pride. "I am so sorry, sir, madam. This is completely unacceptable. I'll have the kitchen prepare a new dish immediately."

As the waiter hurried away with the offending plate, you reached across the table to squeeze Seokjin's hand. "Thank you," you said softly. "I can't believe you remembered about my allergy."

Seokjin's eyebrows knitted together in concern. "Of course I remembered. It's important – it's part of who you are." His expression softened into a tender smile. "Besides, how could I forget the time you almost died at that company picnic because someone forgot to mention there were walnuts in the brownies?"

You laughed, the tension from the near miss with the nutty dish dissipating. "Oh god, don't remind me. I thought I was going to have to use my EpiPen on our third date!"

"Well, it certainly made for a memorable evening," Seokjin chuckled. "I knew then that life with you would never be boring."

As you waited for your replacement meals, the two of you fell into easy conversation, reminiscing about the past year of marriage and all the little moments that had brought you closer together.

When the food finally arrived – a beautifully prepared, nut-free sea bass for you and a succulent steak for Seokjin – you both dug in with gusto. The flavors were exquisite, but what made the meal truly special was the company.

Between bites, Seokjin reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, wrapped package. "I have something for you," he said, a hint of nervousness in his voice as he slid the gift across the table.

Your eyes lit up with curiosity as you carefully unwrapped the present. Inside was a delicate silver bracelet, adorned with tiny charms. As you examined it more closely, you gasped in delight.

"Jin, this is beautiful! But... wait, is that...?" You peered at one of the charms, a miniature paintbrush.

Seokjin nodded, his eyes twinkling. "I know you've been talking about wanting to take up painting again. I thought this might be a little reminder to pursue that passion."

You continued to examine the charms, each one representing a different aspect of your life or personality. There was a tiny book for your love of reading, a musical note for the songs you liked to hum while cooking, and even a little cat charm that looked suspiciously like the stray you'd been feeding in secret.

"How did you know about the cat?" you asked, looking up at him in amazement.

Seokjin's laugh was warm and full of affection. "You mean the one you think I don't know about? The one you've been leaving food out for every night? I've seen you, love. I think it's adorable."

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks. "I was going to tell you... I just didn't want you to think I was trying to adopt another pet so soon after Mochi passed away."

"Hey," Seokjin said softly, reaching out to take your hand. "I know how much you loved Mochi. And I know that caring for that stray doesn't mean you're trying to replace him. It just means you have a big heart. It's one of the things I love most about you."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but they were happy tears. "Jin, I don't know what to say. This bracelet, the way you notice everything... I feel so seen, so understood."

"That's my job," he said with a wink. "To know you better than anyone else in the world. Speaking of which..." He signaled to the waiter, who promptly appeared with two dessert menus.

You shook your head, laughing. "Let me guess – no chocolate ice cream for me?"

Seokjin's eyes widened in mock horror. "I wouldn't dream of it! I still remember the look on your face when I suggested we get chocolate ice cream on our second date. I thought you were going to break up with me on the spot!"

"It was a close call," you teased. "But you redeemed yourself with that strawberry sorbet."

As you perused the dessert options, settling on a shared plate of tiramisu, you marveled at how well Seokjin knew you. It wasn't just the big things, like your allergies or your aversion to chocolate ice cream. It was the little details – the way he'd order your coffee just the way you liked it without asking, or how he'd instinctively know when you needed a quiet night in versus a night out with friends.

When the tiramisu arrived, artfully presented with two spoons, Seokjin raised his dessert spoon in a playful toast. "To knowing each other better with each passing day," he said.

You clinked your spoon against his, your heart full of love and gratitude. "To a lifetime of learning and growing together," you added.

As you savored the rich, coffee-infused dessert, you reflected on the past year of marriage. It hadn't all been smooth sailing – there had been arguments, misunderstandings, and moments of frustration. But underlying it all was a deep sense of partnership, of being truly known and accepted for who you were.

Later that night, as you lay in bed with Seokjin's arms wrapped around you, you whispered into the darkness, "Thank you for today. For everything."

You felt his lips press a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "Thank you for marrying me," he murmured back. "For choosing to build a life with me. I can't wait to see what the next year brings."

As you drifted off to sleep, the weight of the bracelet on your wrist was a comforting reminder of the man beside you – the man who knew you better than anyone else in the world, and loved you all the more for it.

-

*17 years ago*

The hospital room was a flurry of activity. Monitors beeped steadily, nurses bustled in and out, and your breaths came in short, panting gasps as another contraction gripped your body. Fifteen hours of labor had left you exhausted, your hair plastered to your forehead with sweat, but there was no giving up now.

Through it all, Seokjin was a constant presence at your side. His usually immaculate appearance was disheveled, his hair sticking up at odd angles from running his hands through it nervously. But his eyes never left your face, and his hand remained firmly clasped in yours.

"You're doing great, love," he murmured, using his free hand to gently wipe your brow with a cool cloth. "Just a little longer."

You managed a weak smile between contractions. "Easy for you to say," you panted. "You look like you're about to pass out."

It was true – despite his attempts to appear calm and collected, Seokjin's face was pale, and there was a sheen of sweat on his upper lip that had nothing to do with the warmth of the room.

He let out a shaky laugh. "Me? Never. I'm cool as a cucumber. Cool as a... as a... oh god, is that more blood?"

The nurse checking your vitals shot him an amused look. "Maybe you should sit down for a minute, Mr. Kim. We don't want you fainting on us."

Seokjin shook his head stubbornly. "No, I'm fine. I promised I'd be here for every moment, and I meant it." He squeezed your hand tighter, as if to reassure himself as much as you.

Just then, another contraction hit, stronger than the ones before. You cried out, gripping Seokjin's hand so tightly your knuckles turned white.

"Okay, Mrs. Kim," the doctor said, taking her position. "I think we're ready to push. On the next contraction, I want you to give it everything you've got."

The next few minutes were a blur of pain, effort, and encouragement from both the medical staff and Seokjin. Despite his own nervousness, his voice remained steady, coaching you through each push.

"You can do this," he said, his face close to yours. "You're the strongest person I know. Our baby is almost here."

With one final, monumental effort, you pushed with all your might. There was a moment of intense pressure, and then... a cry. A beautiful, piercing wail that filled the room.

"It's a girl!" the doctor announced, holding up a squirming, red-faced bundle.

You collapsed back against the pillows, tears of joy and relief streaming down your face. Seokjin was openly weeping, his eyes fixed on the tiny life that the nurses were quickly cleaning and wrapping in a soft blanket.

"Do you want to cut the cord, Dad?" the nurse asked, offering Seokjin a pair of scissors.

He nodded, unable to speak. With shaking hands, he cut the umbilical cord, officially separating your daughter from you for the first time.

Moments later, the nurse placed the swaddled infant in your arms. You gazed down at her in wonder, taking in her scrunched-up face, the downy hair on her head, the tiny fists waving in the air.

"Hello, little one," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "We've been waiting so long to meet you."

Seokjin perched on the edge of the bed, one arm around you, the other hand gently stroking the baby's cheek. "She's perfect," he said in awe. "Absolutely perfect."

As you both marveled at your newborn daughter, a name that you had discussed months ago suddenly felt right. "Minjee," you said softly. "Her name is Minjee."

Seokjin nodded, tears still glistening in his eyes. "Minjee. Our brilliant jewel."

The next few hours passed in a blur of tests, checks, and a steady stream of nurses and doctors coming to ensure both you and baby Minjee were doing well. Through it all, Seokjin remained by your side, alternating between gazing adoringly at his new daughter and fussing over your comfort.

It wasn't until late in the evening, when things had finally calmed down, that Seokjin suddenly sat up straight, his eyes wide. "Oh! I almost forgot!"

You looked at him quizzically as he scrambled for his phone. "Forgot what?"

"Your post-birth meal!" he exclaimed, already dialing a number. "I promised you anything you wanted after the baby was born, remember?"

You chuckled softly, careful not to disturb the sleeping Minjee in your arms. "Jin, you don't have to-"

But he was already speaking rapidly into the phone, placing an order that made your mouth water just hearing it. When he hung up, he had a triumphant grin on his face.

"Sushi, steak, and fries," he announced proudly. "All your pregnancy cravings in one meal. They'll be here in about an hour."

You shook your head in amazement. "I can't believe you remembered all that. I'm pretty sure I mentioned the sushi craving once, months ago."

Seokjin's expression softened as he looked at you and Minjee. "I remember everything you tell me," he said simply. "Especially when it comes to making you happy."

As promised, an hour later, a veritable feast arrived at your hospital room. The nurses raised their eyebrows at the spread but said nothing as Seokjin carefully arranged the food on the rolling tray table.

You inhaled deeply, savoring the mix of aromas. "This smells amazing," you said, realizing just how hungry you were after the ordeal of childbirth.

Seokjin beamed as he helped you sit up more comfortably, adjusting your pillows and making sure Minjee was secure in her bassinet next to the bed. "Eat as much as you want," he encouraged. "You've more than earned it."

As you tucked into the eclectic mix of foods, savoring flavors you'd been denied for months, you couldn't help but marvel at the man sitting beside you. Even after fifteen grueling hours of labor, even in the face of his own nerves and exhaustion, he was still thinking of ways to care for you.

"Jin," you said between bites of perfectly seared steak, "thank you. For everything. For being here, for staying calm-"

He snorted. "I wasn't that calm."

You smiled. "You were calmer than you think. And this-" you gestured at the food, "this is above and beyond."

Seokjin reached out to take your hand, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your skin. "You grew and delivered our child," he said softly. "You're a superhero as far as I'm concerned. The least I can do is make sure you're well-fed and comfortable."

Just then, Minjee began to stir in her bassinet, little whimpers quickly turning into full-fledged cries. Without hesitation, Seokjin stood up.

"I've got her," he said, carefully lifting the tiny bundle into his arms. He cradled her against his chest, swaying gently and humming a soft lullaby.

As you watched your husband comfort your newborn daughter, you felt a surge of love so powerful it brought tears to your eyes. This was your family – the life you and Seokjin had created together.

"I love you," you said, your voice thick with emotion. "Both of you, so much."

Seokjin looked up from Minjee, his eyes shining. "We love you too," he said softly. "More than words can express."

As you finished your meal and settled in for the night, you couldn't help but feel that your little family was complete. Little did you know, the adventures were just beginning.

-

*13 years ago*

The sun was just beginning to peek through the curtains as you sat at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee cooling in front of you. Your fingers drummed nervously on the smooth wood surface as you waited for Seokjin to join you. Today was the day you'd finally voice the thoughts that had been swirling in your mind for months.

Seokjin entered the kitchen, his hair slightly mussed from sleep but his eyes alert. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat across from you, his brow furrowing slightly as he took in your tense posture.

"What's on your mind, love?" he asked gently. "You've been quiet all week."

You took a deep breath, gathering your courage. "Jin, I... I've been thinking about making a change. A big one."

He reached across the table to take your hand, his thumb tracing reassuring circles on your skin. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. We're in this together, remember?"

His words gave you the strength to continue. "I want to resign from my job," you said in a rush. "I want to focus on homeschooling Minjee and... and become a stay-at-home mom."

You held your breath, waiting for his reaction. Your career had always been important to you, and you knew Seokjin respected your dedication to your work. Would he think you were throwing it all away?

To your surprise, Seokjin's face broke into a warm smile. "Is that all? Here I was worried you were going to tell me you wanted to move to Antarctica or something."

You let out a surprised laugh, feeling some of the tension leave your shoulders. "You're... you're okay with this?"

Seokjin squeezed your hand. "Of course I am. If this is what you want, what you feel is best for you and for Minjee, then I support you completely. But can I ask what brought this on?"

You sighed, gathering your thoughts. "It's been building for a while now. I love my job, you know I do, but lately... I feel like I'm missing so much with Minjee. She's growing so fast, and I don't want to look back and regret not being there for these important years."

Seokjin nodded thoughtfully. "I understand. And homeschooling? That's a big commitment."

"I know," you said, your voice gaining confidence as you spoke. "But I've been researching it, and I really think it could be amazing for her. We could tailor her education to her interests, give her one-on-one attention... And honestly, I'm excited about the challenge."

"Well," Seokjin said, a twinkle in his eye, "if anyone can pull off being a full-time mom, teacher, and still manage to keep me in line, it's you."

You laughed, feeling a weight lift off your chest. "So you really think we can make this work? Financially, I mean?"

Seokjin's expression turned serious. "We'll make it work. My job as head finance manager is stable, and we've always been good at budgeting. It might mean some adjustments, but nothing we can't handle together."

You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by his unwavering support. "Thank you," you whispered. "For understanding, for supporting me... for everything."

He stood up and came around the table, pulling you into a tight embrace. "Hey, that's what partners are for. We're a team, remember? Your dreams are my dreams."

As you melted into his embrace, you heard the patter of little feet coming down the hallway. Moments later, a sleepy-eyed Minjee appeared in the doorway, her favorite stuffed rabbit dragging behind her.

"Mommy? Daddy? Why are you hugging? Is it a special day?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.

Seokjin scooped her up, peppering her face with kisses until she giggled. "Every day with you two is a special day," he declared. "But yes, we might have some exciting changes coming up. How would you like to have Mommy teach you at home?"

Minjee's eyes widened. "Really? We can do school at home? Can we have recess in the backyard?"

You laughed, reaching out to smooth her tousled hair. "We can definitely have recess in the backyard. And maybe Daddy can be the gym teacher when he gets home from work."

Seokjin puffed out his chest dramatically. "I'll have you know I'm an excellent gym teacher. We'll start with the fine art of dad jokes and work our way up to actual exercise."

As Minjee dissolved into giggles and Seokjin began to demonstrate his 'dad joke workout routine', you felt a sense of peace settle over you. This was the right decision, you were sure of it now.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of activity. You submitted your resignation at work, feeling a mix of nostalgia and excitement as you said goodbye to colleagues and cleared out your desk. Seokjin was by your side every step of the way, helping you research homeschooling curricula and transforming the spare room into a bright, cheerful classroom for Minjee.

On your last day of work, you came home to find the dining room table set with your favorite meal, a bouquet of flowers in the center, and a banner hanging across the archway that read "Congratulations on Your New Adventure!"

"What's all this?" you asked, feeling tears spring to your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that week.

Seokjin emerged from the kitchen, wearing an apron and balancing a tray of appetizers. "This is your graduation party," he announced proudly. "You're graduating from one amazing career to another, and that deserves a celebration."

Minjee ran up to you, brandishing a handmade card covered in glitter and stickers. "I made this for you, Mommy! It says 'World's Best Teacher' because you're going to be my teacher now!"

You knelt down to hug her tightly, careful not to smudge the glittery masterpiece. "Thank you, sweetheart. I promise to do my very best."

As you sat down to the feast Seokjin had prepared, you couldn't help but marvel at how lucky you were. Many people might have balked at such a drastic life change, but Seokjin had embraced it wholeheartedly.

"I propose a toast," Seokjin said, raising his glass. "To new beginnings, to following your heart, and to the best teacher-mom in the world."

You clinked your glass against his and Minjee's cup of juice, feeling a surge of love for your little family. "And to the best support system a person could ask for," you added.

As the evening wore on, filled with laughter, good food, and excited planning for the future, you found yourself watching Seokjin. Even after a long day at work, he was fully present, helping Minjee clean up her craft supplies and insisting on doing the dishes despite your protests.

Later that night, as you were getting ready for bed, you caught Seokjin's eye in the bathroom mirror. "You know," you said softly, "I couldn't do this without you. Your support means everything to me."

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. "You could do anything you set your mind to," he said firmly. "But I'm honored to be by your side for all of it. We're partners in this life, remember? Your dreams are my dreams."

As you leaned back into his embrace, you felt a sense of excitement for the future. There would be challenges ahead, you knew that. Homeschooling wouldn't always be easy, and adjusting to life as a stay-at-home mom would take time. But with Seokjin by your side, you felt ready to face anything.

"Partners," you echoed, turning in his arms to face him. "Always and forever."

He leaned in to kiss you softly, a promise sealed without words. As you fell asleep that night, Seokjin's steady breathing beside you, you felt a profound sense of gratitude. This new chapter of your life was just beginning, and you couldn't wait to see where it would lead.

-

*10 years ago*

The afternoon sun streamed through the large windows of your home classroom, where you sat at a small table with Minjee, guiding her through a particularly tricky math problem. Your daughter's brow was furrowed in concentration, her pencil tapping rhythmically against the paper as she worked through the steps you'd shown her.

"I think I've got it, Mom!" Minjee exclaimed suddenly, her face lighting up as she scribbled down the final answer.

You leaned over to check her work, a proud smile spreading across your face. "That's perfect, sweetheart! You've really gotten the hang of these equations."

Minjee beamed at the praise, but her smile faltered slightly as she glanced at the clock on the wall. "Is Dad going to be home for dinner tonight?"

You felt a small pang in your chest at the question. Seokjin had been working longer hours lately, taking on additional responsibilities at work. While you were immensely proud of his dedication and success, you couldn't deny that his absence was felt keenly by both you and Minjee.

"I'm not sure, honey," you answered honestly. "He's been very busy at work lately. But I'm sure he'll try his best to make it home."

As if on cue, your phone buzzed with a text message. You picked it up, hoping to see Seokjin's name, but instead, it was a reminder about the parent-teacher association meeting you'd volunteered to host next week.

You sighed, feeling the familiar tug of conflicting responsibilities. While you loved being home with Minjee and wouldn't trade it for the world, there were times when you missed the structure and social aspects of your old job. And lately, with Seokjin working such long hours, you'd been feeling the weight of managing everything at home largely on your own.

"Mom?" Minjee's voice pulled you from your thoughts. "Can we be done with math for today? I want to work on my art project."

You nodded, pushing aside your worries for the moment. "Of course, sweetie. Why don't you go set up in the living room? I'll clean up here and join you in a few minutes."

As Minjee scampered off, you began tidying up the classroom, your mind still churning. You and Seokjin had always been a team, supporting each other's dreams and sharing responsibilities. But lately, it felt like the balance had shifted, and you weren't sure how to address it without sounding ungrateful for the life you'd chosen.

Just as you were finishing up, you heard the front door open. Surprised, you glanced at the clock – it was barely past five.

"I'm home!" Seokjin's voice called out, followed by the sound of Minjee's excited squeal.

You made your way to the living room, where you found Seokjin scooping Minjee up into a big hug, his briefcase and jacket discarded by the door.

"You're home early," you said, unable to keep the surprise from your voice.

Seokjin set Minjee down and crossed the room to you, pulling you into a warm embrace. "I missed my girls," he said simply, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

As you relaxed into his arms, you felt some of the tension you'd been carrying start to melt away. But you knew you needed to talk about the thoughts that had been weighing on you.

"Jin," you started, pulling back slightly to look at him. "Can we talk later? After Minjee's in bed?"

A flicker of concern crossed his face, but he nodded. "Of course. Everything okay?"

You gave him a small smile. "It will be. I just... there are some things I think we need to discuss."

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of family dinner, helping Minjee with her art project, and the usual bedtime routine. Throughout it all, you could feel Seokjin's eyes on you, clearly worried about what you wanted to talk about.

Finally, with Minjee tucked in and the house quiet, you and Seokjin settled onto the couch in the living room. He took your hand in his, his thumb tracing familiar patterns on your skin.

"What's on your mind, love?" he asked gently.

You took a deep breath, trying to organize your thoughts. "Jin, I... I'm struggling a bit lately. With the balance of everything."

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I love being home with Minjee," you hurried to clarify. "I don't regret that decision for a second. But lately, with you working such long hours... I feel like I'm juggling everything on my own. The house, Minjee's education, the day-to-day stuff. And I miss... us. The team we used to be."

Seokjin's face fell, a look of guilt replacing his confusion. "Oh, love. I'm so sorry. I didn't realize... I've been so focused on work, on providing for our family, that I didn't see how it was affecting you both."

You squeezed his hand. "I know you're working hard for us. And I'm so proud of you for that. I just... I guess I'm feeling a bit lost. Like I'm not sure where I fit anymore, beyond being Minjee's mom and teacher."

Seokjin pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you. "You are so much more than that," he said fiercely. "You're my partner, my best friend, the love of my life. And I've been taking that for granted lately. I'm sorry."

You felt tears prick at your eyes, relief flooding through you at finally voicing your feelings. "I don't want you to feel guilty," you said. "I just... I think we need to find a better balance. For all of us."

Seokjin nodded, his expression thoughtful. "You're right. We do. And we will. Starting right now."

He stood up suddenly, pulling you to your feet. "Come on," he said, a familiar twinkle returning to his eye.

"Where are we going?" you asked, laughing despite your confusion.

"To the kitchen," he announced. "We're going to make a plan. Like we used to when we were first married, remember?"

You followed him, a warm feeling spreading through your chest as you remembered the many late nights you'd spent at the kitchen table, planning your future together over cups of tea and sheets of paper.

Seokjin pulled out a notepad and two pens, setting them on the table with a flourish. "Okay," he said, his tone serious but his eyes sparkling. "Let's figure this out. Together."

For the next few hours, you and Seokjin talked, laughed, and occasionally argued as you hashed out a new plan for your family. You discussed ways for Seokjin to cut back his hours at work, ideas for getting more involved in the community to give you more adult interaction, and strategies for sharing household responsibilities more evenly.

As the night wore on, you found yourself remembering all the reasons you'd fallen in love with this man in the first place. His willingness to listen, his creativity in problem-solving, his unwavering support of your dreams and needs.

By the time you finally crawled into bed, the first light of dawn was starting to peek through the curtains. But you felt lighter than you had in months, secure in the knowledge that you and Seokjin were still the team you'd always been.

As you curled up next to him, his arm automatically wrapping around you, Seokjin pressed a kiss to your temple. "Thank you," he murmured.

"For what?" you asked sleepily.

"For reminding me what's really important," he said. "For being my partner in every sense of the word. I love you, more than ever."

You snuggled closer, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. "I love you too," you whispered. "Always and forever."

As you drifted off to sleep, you felt a renewed sense of hope and excitement for the future. You and Seokjin had faced challenges before, and you'd face more in the years to come. But together, you could handle anything life threw your way.

The next morning, as you all sat around the breakfast table, Minjee looked back and forth between you and Seokjin, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Did something happen?" she asked, her voice tinged with worry. "You both look... different."

You exchanged a smile with Seokjin before turning to your daughter. "Nothing bad happened, sweetheart," you assured her. "Your dad and I just had a good talk last night about how we can spend more time together as a family."

Seokjin reached across the table to ruffle Minjee's hair affectionately. "That's right, kiddo. In fact, I was thinking maybe we could start having a weekly family game night. What do you think?"

Minjee's face lit up with excitement. "Really? Can we play Monopoly? Oh, or maybe that new strategy game I got for my birthday?"

As Minjee rattled off a list of potential games, you caught Seokjin's eye over her head. The love and determination you saw there made your heart swell. You knew there would still be challenges ahead, but you felt ready to face them together.

-

*5 years ago*

The soft strains of classical music drifted through the house as you stood in front of an easel in the spare room, now converted into a makeshift art studio. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, illuminating the canvas before you, where splashes of vibrant color were starting to take shape into something resembling a landscape.

You stepped back, tilting your head as you considered your work. It wasn't perfect by any means, but there was something deeply satisfying about seeing your vision come to life through brush strokes and paint.

"Mom! Dad's home!" Minjee's voice called from downstairs, interrupting your artistic reverie.

You glanced at the clock, surprised to see it was already past six. You'd been so engrossed in your painting that you'd lost track of time completely.

Quickly wiping your paint-stained hands on a nearby cloth, you made your way downstairs to find Seokjin hanging up his coat, Minjee already regaling him with tales of her day.

"...and then in science class, we dissected a frog! It was gross but so cool, Dad. I think I might want to be a biologist when I grow up. Or maybe a vet. Or maybe..."

Seokjin caught your eye over Minjee's head, his lips quirking into an amused smile at your daughter's enthusiasm. As Minjee paused for breath, he took the opportunity to greet you.

"There's my beautiful artist," he said, pulling you in for a quick kiss. "How's the masterpiece coming along?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Hardly a masterpiece, but it's coming along. I got a bit carried away and lost track of time, I'm afraid. I haven't even started dinner yet."

"No worries," Seokjin said, already rolling up his sleeves. "I'll whip something up. You two can fill me in on your day while I cook."

As you settled at the kitchen island with Minjee, watching Seokjin move efficiently around the kitchen, you marveled at how much had changed in the past five years. True to his word, Seokjin had made a concerted effort to balance his work and home life better. He'd delegated more at the office, started coming home earlier most days, and had become much more involved in Minjee's homeschooling.

And you... well, you'd discovered a passion you never knew you had.

It had started innocently enough, with you joining Minjee for her art lessons as a way to encourage her creativity. But something about the feel of a paintbrush in your hand, the endless possibilities of a blank canvas, had awakened something in you.

What began as a casual hobby quickly grew into a full-blown passion. You'd taken online classes, joined local art groups, and slowly but surely, your skills had improved. The spare room had been transformed into your studio, and you found yourself spending more and more time there, losing yourself in the joy of creation.

Seokjin had been nothing but supportive, encouraging you to pursue this new interest with the same fervor he applied to everything in life. He'd even surprised you on your last anniversary with a set of professional-grade paints and brushes, along with a promise to watch Minjee anytime you wanted to attend a workshop or art retreat.

"Earth to Mom," Minjee's voice broke into your thoughts. "Dad asked if you wanted carrots in the stir fry."

You blinked, focusing on Seokjin's expectant face. "Oh! Yes, carrots would be great. Sorry, I was just thinking about how lucky I am to have you two supporting my art journey."

Seokjin's expression softened. "We're the lucky ones," he said. "Watching you discover and nurture this talent has been amazing. Speaking of which..." He trailed off, a mischievous glint in his eye.

You raised an eyebrow. "Speaking of which, what?"

"Well," he said, turning back to the stove to hide his grin, "I may have done something. A surprise, of sorts."

Minjee perked up at this. "Ooh, what kind of surprise? Can I know too?"

Seokjin chuckled. "You already know, squirt. In fact, you helped me plan it."

Now you were really curious. "Okay, you two. Spill it. What's going on?"

Seokjin exchanged a look with Minjee before turning back to you. "I may have... submitted some of your paintings to that local art show you were too nervous to enter. And they may have... accepted them."

Your jaw dropped. "You what? Jin, I... those weren't ready! I'm not ready! I can't-"

"Yes, you can," Seokjin interrupted gently, coming around the island to take your hands in his. "Love, your work is beautiful. It deserves to be seen. And you deserve to be recognized for your talent."

Minjee nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, Mom! Your paintings are awesome. Everyone's going to love them!"

You felt a mix of emotions swirling inside you – fear, excitement, gratitude, love. "I don't know what to say," you managed finally.

Seokjin pulled you into a hug. "Say you'll do it. Say you'll let the world see how amazing you are."

As you buried your face in his shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent, you felt a surge of courage. This man, who had supported you through career changes, parenthood, and now this new artistic endeavor, believed in you completely. How could you not believe in yourself?

You pulled back, looking from Seokjin to Minjee and back again. "Okay," you said, your voice stronger now. "Okay, I'll do it."

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of preparation. You spent hours in your studio, touching up paintings and agonizing over which pieces to display. Seokjin and Minjee were your constant cheerleaders, offering encouragement and honest feedback in equal measure.

The night of the art show arrived all too quickly. As you stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your outfit for the hundredth time, you felt a familiar wave of nervousness wash over you.

"You look beautiful," Seokjin's voice came from the doorway. You turned to see him leaning against the frame, looking handsome in a suit, his eyes warm with pride and love.

"I'm terrified," you admitted, smoothing down your dress again.

He crossed the room to you, taking your hands in his. "I know. But you're also brave, and talented, and absolutely incredible. You've got this."

You took a deep breath, drawing strength from his unwavering faith in you. "Okay. Let's do this."

The art show was held in a converted warehouse space, the white walls lined with paintings and sculptures from local artists. Your pieces were displayed in a small corner, but to you, they might as well have been in the Louvre.

As people began to mill around, examining the artwork and sipping wine, you felt your nerves return full force. But then you felt a warm hand slip into yours – Seokjin, a steady presence at your side. On your other side, Minjee stood tall and proud, eagerly pointing out your paintings to anyone who would listen.

"And this one," she was saying to an elderly couple, "is inspired by our family camping trip last summer. See how Mom captured the way the sunlight filtered through the trees?"

You felt a lump form in your throat as you watched your daughter enthusiastically promote your work. She had grown so much, no longer the little girl who needed help with her math homework, but a confident young woman with a mind of her own.

As the evening wore on, you found yourself relaxing, even enjoying the conversations with other artists and art enthusiasts. People seemed genuinely interested in your work, asking about your techniques and inspiration.

Near the end of the night, a woman in a stylish blazer approached you, a business card in hand. "I run a small gallery downtown," she said, her eyes bright with interest. "I'd love to feature some of your work in our upcoming showcase of emerging artists. Would you be interested?"

You felt Seokjin's hand tighten around yours, a silent show of support. You took a deep breath, feeling a surge of confidence. "Yes," you heard yourself say. "Yes, I'd be very interested."

As the woman walked away, promising to be in touch, you turned to Seokjin, your eyes wide with disbelief and excitement. "Did that really just happen?"

He pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "It really did. I'm so proud of you, love. You took a chance on yourself, and look where it's led."

As you stood there in his embrace, surrounded by your art and with Minjee beaming beside you, you felt a profound sense of gratitude wash over you. This journey – from career woman to stay-at-home mom to budding artist – hadn't always been easy. But with Seokjin by your side, supporting you every step of the way, you had found a path that felt truly yours.

"Thank you," you whispered, looking up into his eyes. "For believing in me. For encouraging me to follow this dream."

Seokjin's smile was soft and full of love. "Always," he said simply. "Your dreams are my dreams, remember?"

As you left the art show that night, your hand in Seokjin's and Minjee chattering excitedly about your potential gallery showcase, you felt a sense of excitement for what the future might hold. Whatever came next, you knew you'd face it together, as you always had.

-

*2 years ago*

The waiting room of the doctor's office was quiet, save for the soft ticking of the clock on the wall and the occasional rustle of papers as the receptionist worked at her desk. You sat rigid in your chair, your hand clasped tightly in Seokjin's, as you waited for your name to be called.

The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of tests and specialists, all stemming from some persistent symptoms you'd initially brushed off as just part of getting older. But Seokjin, ever attentive, had insisted you get checked out. Now, here you were, waiting for results that could potentially change everything.

"Mr. and Mrs. Kim?" a nurse called, appearing in the doorway with a clipboard.

You stood on shaky legs, Seokjin's arm immediately going around your waist to steady you. As you followed the nurse down the hallway, you felt a mix of fear and gratitude – fear for what you might learn, and gratitude for the man beside you, solid and unwavering in his support.

The doctor, a kind-faced woman in her fifties, greeted you with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Your heart sank, already anticipating bad news.

"We've got your test results back," she began, her voice gentle. "I'm afraid it's not what we were hoping for."

The next few minutes passed in a blur as the doctor explained your diagnosis – a chronic autoimmune condition that, while not life-threatening, would require significant lifestyle changes and ongoing treatment to manage.

You sat in stunned silence as she outlined treatment options and potential side effects. Through it all, Seokjin's hand remained firmly clasped in yours, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin.

"I know this is a lot to take in," the doctor said finally. "Do you have any questions?"

You opened your mouth to speak, but found you couldn't form words. Seokjin squeezed your hand gently before addressing the doctor.

"What can we do to help manage the symptoms?" he asked, his voice steady despite the concern etched on his face. "Are there dietary changes we should make? Exercise routines?"

As the doctor answered his questions, you marveled at Seokjin's ability to stay focused, to think practically even in the face of such daunting news. He asked about support groups, about the latest research, about how this might affect your art career.

By the time you left the office, laden with pamphlets and prescriptions, you felt overwhelmed but not alone. Seokjin's arm was around you as you walked to the car, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm of your thoughts.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly as you buckled your seatbelt.

You took a shaky breath. "Scared," you admitted. "Overwhelmed. I don't... I don't know how to process this."

Seokjin reached over to take your hand. "That's okay. We'll process it together, one day at a time. We've faced challenges before, and we'll face this one too."

As you drove home, Seokjin outlined a plan of action – researching the best specialists, looking into natural remedies to complement your prescribed treatment, adjusting your diet. His calm, methodical approach helped soothe your frayed nerves.

"What about my art?" you asked suddenly, a new wave of worry washing over you. "What if the medications affect my ability to paint?"

Seokjin glanced at you, his eyes full of determination. "Then we'll find new ways for you to express your creativity. Maybe we'll explore digital art, or sculpture, or any other medium that works for you. Your talent isn't confined to just one form, love."

His unwavering faith in you brought tears to your eyes. "What did I do to deserve you?" you whispered.

He brought your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "You're you. That's more than enough."

The next few months were challenging as you adjusted to your new reality. There were good days and bad days, days when the medications left you too fatigued to get out of bed, and days when you felt almost normal.

Through it all, Seokjin was your rock. He took time off work to accompany you to doctor's appointments, researched recipes for anti-inflammatory meals, and even learned how to give you injections when your hands were too shaky to do it yourself.

Minjee, now in her last year of high school, stepped up in ways that made your heart swell with pride. She took on more chores around the house without being asked, and spent hours researching your condition, often presenting you and Seokjin with the latest studies over dinner.

One evening, about six months after your diagnosis, you were sitting in your studio, staring at a blank canvas. Your hands ached too much to hold a brush, and frustration burned in your chest.

Seokjin found you there, tears of frustration streaking your cheeks. Without a word, he sat beside you, pulling you into his arms.

"I can't do it," you sobbed into his shirt. "I can't paint. What if I never can again?"

He held you tighter, his chin resting on top of your head. "Then we'll find another way," he said softly. "Your art isn't just what you create with your hands, love. It's how you see the world, how you interpret beauty and emotion. That hasn't changed."

You pulled back to look at him, wiping your eyes. "How are you always so positive?"

His smile was tender as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. "Because I have faith in you. In us. We've weathered storms before, and we'll weather this one too."

Inspired by his words, you began to explore new forms of art. On days when your hands cooperated, you painted. On days when they didn't, you experimented with digital art, or dictated vivid descriptions of the images in your mind for Seokjin or Minjee to sketch.

Slowly but surely, you found a new rhythm. Your art evolved, taking on new depths as you channeled your experiences into your work. The local gallery that had shown interest in your pieces before your diagnosis reached out again, this time proposing a solo exhibition.

"Resilience," you decided to call it. A showcase of your journey, from your early landscapes to your latest mixed-media pieces that incorporated digital elements and traditional painting.

The night of the exhibition opening, you stood in the gallery, surrounded by your work. Seokjin was by your side, as always, his arm around your waist, a proud smile on his face.

"You did it," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You leaned into him, feeling a surge of love and gratitude. "We did it," you corrected. "I couldn't have done any of this without you."

As you mingled with the guests, accepting congratulations and discussing your pieces, you caught sight of Minjee across the room. She was animatedly explaining one of your paintings to a group of her friends, her face alight with pride. Your heart swelled at the sight of your daughter, now a young woman on the cusp of starting college, so confident and passionate.

Later that night, as you and Seokjin were getting ready for bed, he pulled you into his arms, his eyes shining with emotion.

"Do you remember," he said softly, "twenty years ago, when we first got married? If someone had told us then about all the ups and downs we'd face, all the challenges and triumphs, do you think we would have believed them?"

You thought about it for a moment, then shook your head with a smile. "Probably not. But I wouldn't change a single moment of it."

Seokjin's arms tightened around you. "Neither would I. Every step of this journey has just made me love you more."

As you drifted off to sleep that night, wrapped in Seokjin's embrace, you felt a profound sense of peace. Life hadn't always been easy, but with Seokjin by your side, you had faced every challenge head-on and come out stronger for it.

- Back to the Present

The warm afternoon sun filtering through the curtains brought you back to the present moment. Across from you, Minjee was still poised with her tablet, a look of awe on her face as she finished jotting down notes from your trip down memory lane.

"Wow, Mom," she said, her voice soft with emotion. "I knew you and Dad had a special relationship, but hearing about it like this... it's incredible."

You smiled, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "Your father is an incredible man. We've had our ups and downs, like any couple, but he's always been my rock, my biggest supporter."

Minjee nodded, her eyes shining. "I hope I find someone who loves me even half as much as Dad loves you."

"You will, sweetheart," you assured her. "Just remember, love isn't just about the big romantic gestures. It's about the everyday moments, the small kindnesses, the willingness to stand by each other through thick and thin."

Just then, you heard the front door open, followed by Seokjin's familiar voice calling out, "I'm home!"

Moments later, he appeared in the doorway of the living room, his salt-and-pepper hair slightly tousled from the wind outside. Despite the lines that time had etched around his eyes and mouth, his smile was as bright and warm as ever.

"How are my favorite girls?" he asked, crossing the room to press a kiss to the top of your head before ruffling Minjee's hair affectionately.

"We're good, Dad," Minjee said, batting his hand away with a laugh. "Mom's been telling me all about your love story for my project. It's pretty amazing stuff."

Seokjin's eyes met yours, a lifetime of shared memories passing between you in that single glance. "Well," he said, his voice warm with affection, "when you're married to the most amazing woman in the world, it's hard not to have an amazing story."

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks, marveling at how, even after all these years, Seokjin could still make your heart flutter like a lovestruck teenager.

"Alright, you two," Minjee groaned, though her smile betrayed her feigned disgust. "Save the mushy stuff for when I'm not around."

You all laughed, the sound filling the room with warmth and joy. As Seokjin settled onto the couch beside you, his arm automatically going around your shoulders, you leaned into his familiar embrace.

Twenty years of marriage. Twenty years of love, laughter, tears, challenges, and triumphs. As you sat there, surrounded by the two people you loved most in the world, you felt a profound sense of gratitude wash over you.

Life hadn't always been easy. There had been moments of doubt, of fear, of frustration. But through it all, Seokjin had been there, his love a constant beacon guiding you home. Together, you had built a life filled with love, creativity, and resilience.

You turned to look at Seokjin, finding his eyes already on you, filled with the same love and adoration you'd seen on your wedding day two decades ago. Without words, you both leaned in, sharing a soft, tender kiss.

"Ugh, guys," Minjee's playful complaint brought you back to the present. "I said save it for later!"

You and Seokjin broke apart, laughing. As you settled back against his side, his arm tightening around you, you couldn't help but smile. This was your life – imperfect, challenging at times, but filled with more love than you had ever dreamed possible.

And as for the future? Well, with Seokjin by your side and Minjee blazing her own trail, you couldn't wait to see what the next twenty years would bring.

[villainofmyownstory]

Blurry

masterlist

next ->

pairing: exhusband!Captain John Price x fem!Reader

summary: You visit your ex-husband, in your once shared home. The memories are painful. But only for you. Unfortunately, after that one bloody mission, John doesn't remember you. The memory of your life together, blurred in his mind.

tags: afab reader, hurt, ex lovers, ex-husband, recollection of death, loss of memory , ambiguous/open ending

1.6 k words

author's note: Once I wrote some random thoughts about our gorgeous captain. Today I've put it all together. Comments welcome, let me know if it's worth writing another part, because I don't know what to think. I guess I like sad stories…. and can't get the ex-husband plot out of my mind. Sorry not sorry <3

——————————————————————————————————

The clock ticked quietly somewhere in the distance, deep in the corridor, steadily, rhythmically. The water in the kitchen tap dripped, quietly reminding you that you need to change the gasket but also to fix some other things in the flat. Even though you moved here a few months ago, you still don't feel at home. You feel uncomfortable. Like a guest in a hotel. All the objects seemed foreign, belonging to someone else. Or maybe nobody's. Everything has been renovated, painted, bought and new. Just for you.

Cat curled up in a ball, lies next to you on a small red sofa. And in front of you on a small, vintage coffee table steams warm coffee. Another one that day. The only meal for many weeks. You rub your eyes, even though no more tears have appeared in them for days. It still burns you and you feel this tingling under your eyelids. Something like fine sand, irritating your eyeballs and hurting the soft delicate flesh of your eyelids. You try to take it in stride. On days like these, weekends, holidays, when you are left alone in a small flat. You fall apart into millions of pieces. Alone. The pain under your ribs, the pressure in your sternum, your throat squeezed like in a vice. Memories haunt you at every step. A constant battle with the past, something you beg for every sleepless night to finally go away. To be finally erased. You should burn the photos, throw away the gifts. Bury the past at last. To move on. After all, this is what you wanted. A lot of time fighting, trying. Days of sweat shed, of anger, of trying again and again. And in the end, powerlessness.

Sunk in your thoughts, you stare, with heavy eyelids, at the empty space under the TV. Once, in another warm home, the shelf was filled with DVDs of one's favourite films. Classic.

A familiar sound interrupts your gloomy rush of thoughts. Looking at the phone screen, you smile slightly. Your boys have been calling every day. ‘Hi Johnny’ You say with a grunt, trying to chase away the sad thoughts, not letting him know that you are tormenting yourself with the past again.

You should not agree. The paperwork you signed, and the arrangements in the documents, were approved, many months ago. That was not the deal. This is not how you discussed the contract. This is not why you are sitting here now. Yet, you can't say no to them. Not after all they've given up their lives, made sacrifices and…

Sitting in an old rusty cheap car. In your familiar driveway, in this new, friendly neighbourhood. You hesitate to get out. Your hands are sweaty, in a firm grip on the worn-out steering wheel. So you give yourself a few minutes to calm down. You never wanted to show them, him, that you were continuing to suffer badly. That you haven't really moved on.

You have to be tough.

As the door finally slams shut behind you with a quiet click, the same scent reaches your nostrils once again. Earthy and heavy from the cigars and the cherry wood burning in the fireplace, a slightly sweet smoke with a subtle fruity aftertaste, with a slight bitter note. A scent so familiar, so close. But it's not your scent. The resignation has been signed. The decision had been made. There was no going back. Johnny stands in front of you looking at you apologetically. ‘Sure I understand. Duty calls.’ You say gently squeezing his shoulder in a gesture of understanding. Or maybe you want to convince yourself that you're not angry. There's no problem. Some kind of confirmation that it's not their fault you have to be here again. That you are standing in this big modern house, from a dream project . In the place that was supposed to be your home.

Of course boys hired 24/7 nursing. But also they themselves, his squad soldiers, alternated days and nights here. They practically lived here. So if the medical caretaker went for a few days' holiday and the three men had to go on a sudden urgent mission for a few days. It was your job to be here and help. You couldn't let them down. You could not say no. You could not answer the phone. Pretend it doesn't concern you. You had to be here. You had to be strong. For him.

When you are finally left alone in the hallway and the big car disappears around the corner. You feel that hole in your heart, opening up again. Those missing pieces to fill it. They are just behind a thin, wall. A couple of steps. A few seconds.

When you finally stand in the large room, as usual, dark curtains hang from the ceiling to the floor, covering the terraced windows. The semi-darkness of the room has always accompanied him when he watches movies. You stare at his profile illuminated by artificial television light. Despite the years spent in the army, the many litres of blood shed, the many scars on his body. He continued to watch the same films. War movies, classics. The screams and gunshots accompanied him since he opened his eyes and when he closed them. It was already burned into his mind. Written into his gut. It's just a shame that this one fucking wound, made him forget. He forgot about you. ‘Hi.’ You say uncertainly standing in the corner of the couch. You can't look at him.

You don't want to see the ocean blue of his irises, the wrinkles around his eyes. The slightly grey hair. The little freckle on his nose. The fidgety trimmed beard - which his boys were now taking care of. ‘Oh, mornin’ ‘ His voice seems even deeper to you, slightly hoarse. Perhaps already stranger. ‘How are you feeling today. Captain?’ You spit out the last word like a poisonous snake. You want to say something completely different. To shout what you said to him every night. Every morning intertwined when you were here, together. Alone. ‘You don't have to be so official, ma'am. I'm out of the army.’ John is gallant as ever. It's the same every damn time. Ma'am, lady. Miss. He's never said your name since that day. Forgotten. That hole in your heart, never to be filled by his pieces again.

The conversation goes on as usual, John again thinking you are just another medical assistant employed by his former teammates. Brothers in arms. Brothers in war. Brothers in the last of the battles. You want to shout to him how much you hate him, how much you despise him. How much it aches you. How much it hurts you that he doesn't remember anything. A bloody mission. Yet, as usual, you sit and listen once again to the same questions, the stories. As if you've turned on that worst episode of your favourite show again. The last one.

Every time he leaves. During every time he was away. On every such occasion. You were ready for the funeral. The black dress continued to hang in that wardrobe, a few rooms away.

Perhaps it would have been better if it had simply been buried six feet underground. In an oak dark box. Cold and with an equally empty head about you. Maybe it would be easier for you that way. You've already said goodbye to one light casket with his last name on it. Because that hole in your heart was much bigger than the missing fragments of your husband, ex-husband.

For a longer monologue, more memories, of his past work. Of his previous life. What you counted as ‘before’. Because what was ‘after’ was a blur. No matter. John stares at you, finally taking his eyes off the TV. The end credits move lazily across the large TV screen. You smile slightly when your gazes finally meet. He is handsome still. Maybe even more beautiful than you remembered him. It would seem that the man's calm face does not hide his wounded, hollow mind.

Physically he looks maybe even better than during his time in the army. In fact, better than at the time of your marriage. Unwittingly the corners of your mouth gently lift up. Doubtless Simon has been training with him, the hard workouts and the proper diet prepared by the new Captain are yielding great results. A well-deserved successor. A plain red t-shirt lightly framed John's broad, muscular shoulders. Grey casual sweatpants once too loose were now gently stretched around his massive thighs.

You don't have the strength to explain to him once again who you are. So when he once again addresses you as a total stranger you don't react. You wanted so badly to climb on his thighs, to punch him in the chest, maybe even scratch him. To make him feel some kind of pain at least for a moment, that thing you feel non-stop, something to bring you two together again. Feel his heart beat faster, and enter his mind, scratch out every shadowy particle. To brighten and put your memories there. Ours.

Nothing in this house resembles that life anymore. There are no pictures here. There are no flowers. There is no more laughter and joyful banter. No more singing and quiet murmurs of delight. The three of you are gone.

Finally, as you lower your gaze to his hands, which hesitantly stroke the fabric of the armchair. The image is blurred. Finally, tears well up in your eyes. You can no longer see a trace of the ring. No lighter stripe stands out on the slightly tanned skin. There is no faint hollow in the fleshy part of his worked-up ring finger. Although everything is a blur. The gold glistens gently reflecting the soft light of the television. The object that was such an important symbol. A vow. A promise. As if playfully winking at you.

[kunasthiast]

My God (2)

If last night's events are already stressful as it is, today's much worse than ever. With a visit to your father's office, what could go wrong?

Oh yeah, everything!

a/n: okaaaaay, so i'm halfway Chapter 3 as of posting this one >.<

I reaaally appreciate all your notes, reblogs, & comments for the taglist – it makes my heart flutter so much & it gets me so excited to finish this story already T^T

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff + angst, Yakuza AU, Enemies to Lovers Word Count: 2,877 All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

<- previous • next ->

Taglist: @cr1sta11y @idk-bro-gay @tojis-ball-sack @thepurpleempath @fangirl-332 @jijijihanji @thedondiva45

As the first light of dawn crept into your room, a small gap in the blackout curtains that you forgot to fully close last night betrayed your efforts to keep the morning at bay. Yep, definitely starting the day this bad, how else will the rest of the day be like?

“Fuck,” you exclaimed so early in the morning. Or so you thought. Grabbing your phone from your nightstand, you tapped the screen to peek the time. 

9:54 AM.

With a groan, you closed and threw your phone somewhere in your room and laid down on your stomach. Face clearly being suffocated by your pillows. This life sucks.

“Why does it have to feel this way?” You said with a groan.

Flipping around, and lying on your back, you stared blankly at the ceiling. Absolutely feeling so devoid of everything in life. Your eyes are as empty as the void. It’s like everything was sucked out of you.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you walked over to the window and yanked the curtains shut, shutting out the intrusive light. The darkness offered a slight comfort from the harsh reality of the day ahead, but you knew you couldn't hide forever.

With a heavy sigh, you forced yourself to your feet and began getting ready for the day. Each movement felt like a chore, every action weighed down by the burden of disappointment and betrayal. I hate everyone already.

As you made your way downstairs, the familiar sights and sounds of your family's mansion served as a stark reminder of the life you were born into. Despite the opulence that surrounded you, you couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at your insides.

Walking to your father's office, you braced yourself for the inevitable confrontation that awaited. The door loomed ominously before you, a silent barrier between you and the truth that lay beyond. 

With a heavy sigh, you told yourself, “Here goes nothing.”

Summoning all your courage, you pushed open the door and stepped inside, steeling yourself for whatever may come. Little did you know, the events of the day were about to take a turn you never saw coming.

—

“Okay, first of all? What the fuck!” You erupted, your voice dripping with anger and disbelief as you confronted your father.

His face tightened in disappointment at your choice of words, “Language, dear,” he chided, his tone laced with irritation.

Yeah, never mind all the fucking respect he deserves. Scoffing at him, you paid his scolding no mind, too consumed by the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. 

“Might I remind you,” pacing back and forth, you continued with your voice trembling with pent-up rage, “that you promised me a lot. A fucking LOT of times! That I’m the next head, only to have you pass it over to Sukuna – who by the way isn’t even a part of our family. I’m your family, your flesh and blood, damn it! I’m not even processing this properly yet and now you’re telling me that you already got me on a fucking arranged marriage to someone from the Gojo family? Oh, fuck off, father!” 

Your father remained unmoved, his expression unreadable as he calmly countered your tirade. “Honey, it’s just the way it is. Take it or leave it. And, for once, try to act like a respectable daughter,” he retorted, his words like a slap in the face, dismissing your turmoil cold-heartedly.

His indifference fueled your frustration further, and you fought to contain the seething anger threatening to boil over. “I can’t believe this,” you muttered, the weight of betrayal heavy in your chest with your fidgeting fingers.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, your father returned his attention to his book that you unfortunately cut him off from reading earlier, effectively ending the conversation. “I’m busy. Come back when you’re done with your tantrum. Now, leave.”

“I’m not gonna do as you say this time. I’m not gonna marry anyone from that fucking family,” you confidently declared with the fire still burning within you. “I’m not gonna be your fucking pawn, father. I’m leaving this family. So, deal with it.” 

Fuming with indignation, you stormed out his office. And, let’s not forget, you slammed the door hard when you left.

This is not the day I’ve envisioned to have today.

—

Back in your room, the weight of the recent events bore down on you like a heavy burden, pressing against your chest with a suffocating intensity.

Yet, there are no tears threatening to fall down anytime soon, just the palpable heartache and silent screams echoing through the depths of your soul. Please, I’m too strong for this.

As a way to make yourself calmer, that can help you gather your thoughts, you decided to go to your restaurant. Yes, the restaurant your father gifted on your 18th birthday. It’s apparently his gift symbolizing his support for your aspirations outside the family’s legacy. 

A bitter scoff escaped your lips, “Well, fuck legacy.” Words heavy with anger. As you made your way out your room towards the mansion’s carport, you know in yourself that you got to leave this place. “Yeah, I won’t go back home here,” you mutter to yourself as you approach your car.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, you revved the engine, the purr of the powerful machine echoing throughout the carport. But, as you were getting ready to live, your thoughts inevitably turned to the arranged marriage your father and the Gojo family had arranged.

Just the mere mention of this family sent shivers down your spine. Yeah, I fucking hate that family. They’ve been your family’s rival from the start. Always the territorial disputes, the dirty, underhanded tactics, and the arrogance that runs throughout every family member.

And, then there was Satoru – the one your father chose as your groom. Well, he has no choice, Satoru’s the only heir of his family, definitely of flesh and blood.

To call him attractive would be an understatement – Satoru has that magnetic, alluring charm that was impossible to ignore. Heck, he’s beautiful. With those azure eyes, fluffy white hair, and velvety voice, he’s every woman’s dream – except you. You’re not even sure why you think his hair’s fluffy!

But, all beautiful things have ugly sides. And his was a huge ass dent to his looks. He’s a fucking asshole. Clenching your jaw, you tore yourself away from your thoughts and the carport, steering yourself towards the way to your restaurant.

The drive to the restaurant made you forget everything for a moment. With each passing mile, you felt the tension in your shoulders begin to ease. As you pulled into the parking lot, the sight of your restaurant filled you with a sense of calmness. 

Stepping out into the cool embrace of the wind, you savored this feeling that offers a temporary calmness within the raging storm inside you. 

“I’m so glad to be back,” you murmured to yourself.

Pushing open the door to the restaurant, you were greeted by the familiar sights and sounds of the bustling kitchen, the savory aroma of spices and herbs filling the air. Your staff, surprised by your unannounced visit, immediately greeted you with a mixture of surprise and fear. You rarely visit. Rarely.

You may own this business, but, you couldn’t really care less about the business side of these things as you’re too busy learning everything your father taught you with. And, this one’s not a part of it. Or, so you think!

He just gave this one to you when he learned you love to cook – which definitely by the way is a short occurrence in your life. You were bored, you learned how to cook, you made everything you’ve been craving for, and now you were bored, again.

But, you can’t deny the calmness that cooking brings you. It takes you out of your thoughts and just focus on prepping and cooking everything up.

Uraume, your most trusted confidante and your restaurant’s head chef, immediately approached you with a knowing look.“You’re only here when you’re stressed,” they remarked, their tone a mixture of sympathy and understanding.

You chuckled wryly as you made your way towards your office. “Yeah and today is no exception,” you replied, the weight of the previous events pressing heavily upon you. “I’ll whip something up in the kitchen. You know what to do.”

As you entered your office, you felt the sense of zen and calm wash over you. With each passing moment of taking in the familiar surrounding, the tension began to ebb away. You slipped into your chef’s jacket, your mind already buzzing with ideas for today’s creations. 

Glancing at the clock, you noted the time – 11:21 AM. Perfect timing. Your restaurant is supposed to open in a few minutes, but you instituted a rule long ago: when you were here, no one is allowed to enter the kitchen, and the restaurant will be closed to the public.

A tub of orange chicken sounds nice.

—

Sukuna's luxurious penthouse was filled with the soothing sound of water coming from the shower as he emerged from the steam-filled bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. With a flick of his hand, he silenced the insistent ringing of his phone, its screen lighting up with a call from Uraume, his most trusted confidante.

Walking across the marble floor towards his bedroom, his thoughts drifted to you, your demeanor from last night.

He knows you’ve been expecting to become the next head. He knows how frustrated you are feeling after the announcement has been made. He just knows. And, it amuses him to see your reaction, the way you wore your emotions so openly. He’s keen on observing you.

“Cute,” he mused to himself with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Dressing himself in a black slack with an unnecessary tight black folded sleeves, definitely outlining his sexy physique, topped with a suspender, Sukuna admired his reflection in the mirror. Yeah, more like it. His demeanor exuding with such confidence, power, and authority.

Adjusting his reading glasses, his mind buzzed with what’s to come for the day – negotiate with the Naoya from the Zenin family regarding the territorial disputes, dealing with the underground firearm deliveries he missed last night – all in a day’s work for a man of his calibre. 

Yet, amidst the chaos of his busy schedule, thoughts of you lingered, an unexpected distraction in his otherwise meticulously organized life.

Shaking this off, Sukuna stepped out onto the expansive balcony overlooking the city skyline. Before he could go on with his day, there was one matter that demanded his attention. Gotta see princess first.

As he reached for his car keys, Sukuna’s thoughts went back to you, a nagging reminder he couldn’t quite shake. How the fuck are you doing now. And, he can’t believe he’s this worried about you.

Brushing aside the thought for the nth time, Sukuna exited the penthouse with a confident stride, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

As he was walking towards the elevator, his phone buzzed with an incoming text message. Glancing at the screen, a smirk tugged at his lips as he read the words: “She’s here.”

“Talk about coincidence,” he chuckled to himself.

Yeah, he can’t wait to meet you.

—

Sukuna stepped out of his sleek black car, the sharp click of his shoes against the pavement. He approached the entrance of the restaurant – which has a sign that says ‘closed’ – and his gaze fixed with a single purpose: to see you.

Pushing open the door that Uraume left unlocked for him, he stepped into the warmth of the restaurant, the savory aroma of the spices and herbs enveloped the cool air. The whole place is completely deserted with only Uraume sitting at one table. 

“Where is she,” Sukuna commanded as Uraume pointed towards the kitchen as their answer.

Sukuna’s eyes swept across the room, his gaze setting on the bustling kitchen where you were too focused on. There was a flicker of intrigue in his eyes as he watched you move, completely absorbed in your culinary hobby. You once told him that it was just a hobby and it sticked to him.

As he approached to observe you, the noise of the kitchen seemed to dim. Sukuna’s presence filled the space around you. Sensing him, a prickling sensation at the back of your neck sent a shiver down your spine. Can’t this day get any better?

Turning, you met his gaze head-on, your expression guarded. Yeah, still attractive. You roamed your eyes on his whole physique, with a quick glance at his folded arms that showed his defined biceps. Okay, wrong move because the fluttering pterodactyls in your stomach are back.This made you sigh and cut your gaze off him.

“What do you want?” You asked, your voice tinged with a hint of irritation and skepticism. Sukuna’s smirk only widened at your boldness, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“I came to see you, princess,” he replied smoothly, his tone dripping with charm. You swear even without looking at him, you can see his smug smile that you want to wipe off his face and kiss – okay, what the fuck was that?

You rolled your eyes at his flirtatious tone and breathed heavily to clear up your thoughts, choosing to focus on your cooking instead. Sukuna’s presence is a distraction you didn’t need, especially not today. To top it off, you’re not ready for another confrontation.

“I don’t have time for your games, Sukuna,” you retorted, your voice firm. “If you’re here to eat, then see yourself out.”

Sukuna chuckled at this with his hands unfolding to raise it to a low surrender pose, “I don’t have games for you, princess. You know that. Just came here to check in on you.”

“How did you even know I’m here?”

“Uraume.” Oh, yeah. Even though Uraume’s your trusted confidante, they also are Sukuna’s trusted confidante. It just works like that.

Sukuna’s response only fueled your frustration further. The pterodactyls in your stomach long gone. Of course, Uraume would rather reveal your whereabouts to him that tell you how they even got close with Sukuna. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of annoyance at that.

"I assure you, princess, I mean no harm," he reassured, his voice smooth as silk. "I simply wanted to see how you're holding up after last night.” Yeah, he’s here to gloat.

Last night. The mere mention of it sent a wave of emotions crashing over you – anger, betrayal, frustration. You clenched your jaw, fighting to keep your composure in front of him.

“I’m fine. You can have the fucking title as the head of the family all you want. I’m out of this family,” you replied curtly. Sukuna raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and skepticism, as he leaned casually against the wall near the door.

“Why leave?” He challenged, his voice dripping with casual disdain. “You’re just proving to your father that you’re not deserving to be a head. Too weak for this shit, princess?” 

“Oh, fuck off, ’Kuna. You don’t know anything,” you shot back, your tone sharp with annoyance.

Sukuna’s facade of nonchalance faltered for a moment, replaced by a feigned hurt expression. “It hurts my pride that you don’t acknowledge me that much, princess,” he said, his words clearly laced with mock sincerity.

“I can see it in your face,” he continued, his tone shifting to one of quiet intensity. “You don’t think I deserve to be the head.”

“Because you really don’t,” you retorted, your words cutting through the tension like a knife. “You’re not even blood-related to father, to us. Just a stranger who climbed up the ranks.” Yeah, you’re quite harsh on this one.

Sukuna’s smirk only widened at your brutal honesty. “Yet, a stranger better than the supposed one-and-only heir,” he quipped, his amusement evident.

Fed up with the conversation, you flipped him off. 

Sukuna chuckled, his laughter filling the space between you that made your eyes roll – you swear, you almost blacked out from that eye roll.

“Well, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me. I’m just a phone call away, princess. You know and I know that I’m on your speed dial,” he said with a wink and a smug smirk yet his tone is surprisingly genuine and a bit flirtatious.

But before he could make his exit, you called out to him, the desperation evident in your voice. “Wait.”

Oh, fuck his captivating eyes. Fuck his infuriatingly sexy smirk. Fuck the way his muscles strained against his tight shirt. Fuck those damn eyeglasses that he doesn’t even have to wear because he has a clear vision! Fuck everything, it’s all too much. I just need a way out so fuck my plan, too.

Sukuna paused, turning back to fix his gaze on you with a newfound intense curiosity glinting in his eyes. “Missed me already, princess?” His lips curled into a smug grin as he spoke, a hint of amusement lacing his words. 

Your heart pounded in your chest as you gathered the courage to blurt out the unexpected request. 

“Marry me, ‘Kuna.”

[cod-imagines-fanfiction]

Jealous Alejandro kidnaps Valeria's girlfriend to be interrogated by the 141 (2k words, part 1)

Summary: Inspired by one of my headcanons for Valeria. Valeria has gifted you a whole wing in her massive residence in Las Almas. Alejandro infiltrates the mansion to gather intel and finds you, Valeria's girlfriend. You are kidnapped by Alejandro and interrogated by the 141 on Valeria and her whereabouts. Got a bit carried away and will make a part 2! Link to fanfic on A03

Notes: Sorry for butchering Mexican Spanish, I Google-translated everything! Also tagging @lesvii in case u wanted to read it! TW: mentions of cheating, toxic Alejandro, threat of violence.

It was another beautiful night for you at the rich luxurious mansion of your girlfriend Valeria Garza, the infamous cartel mogul of Las Almas and Latin America. In the lowest basements of the estate sat enemies, tied on their chairs and ruthlessly interrogated by Valeria's henchmen. Blood stains littered the floor, the moans of these victims muffled by the layers of concrete that stood between them and the world above the surface. And much further above, on a secluded and spoiled part of the estate, you stretched lazily on a golden bathtub filled with hot water and bubbles, feeling the dolphin-shaped taps that winked at you with diamond eyes as you played around with the water. Your bathroom was filled with the scent of lavender and honey and you enjoyed another night of hard-earned relaxation. It wasn't easy being this loved and spoiled, but someone had to do it! Sure, Valeria had a prominently dark side that demanded constant attention, and could be a handful to love. Valeria needed three warm homemade meals every day, love each morning and night and a massage break during her siesta, and you met all of her wishes. In return, Valeria loved you hard and expensively.

Today was an especially tough day because Valeria needed to leave for a business trip.

"It's just three days, okay mi amor? I'll be back before you know it," she fussed over you at her doorstep, one of the few times she'd let you be seen by her henchmen. Ever since you were moved into Valeria's residence, she had scarcely left your side. And now here she was, needing to leave for some kind of business meeting that she refused to elaborate on. You knew it must've been important because you would hear various personnel discuss it carelessly when they thought you weren't listening from your balcony. And it must've been very important if it meant keeping her away from you for days. "But what about morning cuddles?" You sulked and held on to her shirt with the tip of your fingers. It was a bit self-indulgent and dramatic, but you really were going to miss her, and Valeria loved to feel needed anyway, so such pathetic displays were more than welcome. "I'll call you whenever I can, okay? Now give me a kiss."

And that's how you ended up having to amuse yourself for several days.

And that's when Alejandro decided to infiltrate the Las Almas residence.

You were soaking in the warm water, completely oblivious to the fact that your girlfriend's ex-lover was eyeing the residence for a vulnerable entry point. As you lathered your body in oils and creams, he was butchering the guards and dumping their bodies behind the bushes. As you sat on your Queen sized bed ready to rest for the night, he stood behind the door, listening. Alejandro had guessed that this must be Valeria's private area of the mansion because it was significantly nicer than the rest, and that said something. Whereas the rest of the mansion looked like it came from a luxury housekeeping catalogue, this part was more...personal. It had a personal touch to it, a woman's touch. And he knew Valeria had no interest in interior decoration. He passed hallways with floral and sensual pieces of art, past vases with carefully arranged flowers that probably had a deeper significance than he realised. Past a fully stocked kitchen with something freshly cooked on the stove, past a well-used sitting area decorated with pictures of two women smiling at the camera. Jealousy tugged at his heart at these displays of domesticity. He pulled a spy cam cord from his pocket and slid it underneath the door. And there on the bed, amid fluffy cushions and blankets, sat you.

And he remembered exactly who you were.

"Hermano, all good in there?" Soap's voice came through in his earpiece, jolting Alejandro from his revenge fantasy. "Si, be out in five," he whispered and pulled the camera back. It'd be more efficient to knock on the door and wait to take you with chloroform, but he could bet on his life that you were not part of the cartel. This was very much a regular civilian woman, a little trophy wife. And trophy wives can't fight off military personnel. Alejandro rammed through the door and lunged for you before you even had a moment to turn around. Having tucked yourself in your blankets, you had no time to even get up before this strange man put his hands on you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Strange men with various insignias on their uniforms paced around the residence as you were pushed forward and towards the garden. The man was with Mexican Special Forces, that much you could tell. He laughed darkly and tightened his grip on you. "So, big El Sinobre left you behind, eh? Not so big and scary now, are we?" To your horror and surprise, a helicopter was lowering itself to the ground and shone a bright light on you, like you were a criminal. You wanted to protest that you hadn't actually done anything, but you were guilty by association. Another man leaned out of the helicopter and extended his arm to grab you. "That don't look like cartel to me, brother," a slightly Southern American accent decorated his speech as he grabbed your elbow and chucked you in. The Mexican man followed you along with some others. "She's the next best thing after Valeria, trust me. She'll come running to us in no time."

"Hermano, you sure about this? There are different rules for civilians." Another man spoke, a man with a mohawk and the Union Jack flag on his vest. The helicopter started raising itself off the ground and took off to God knows where. You were in your pyjamas still, feeling silly and vulnerable, too afraid to say anything. Valeria always warned people to stay quiet in front of enemies, and you couldn't be blamed for anything you hadn't said. "I'm positive, Hermano. I know how she works. We take something from her, and she'll come looking." The man sat right across from you, his eyes never leaving you. He was tall and dark, around Valeria's age you'd guess, maybe older. There was a menacing look in his eyes, as though he couldn't stand to look at you, yet his dark eyes never left yours. There was something else lurking underneath that you couldn't put your finger on. It was almost like hatred, though you couldn't understand why he'd hate you personally - you'd never seen him before. And yet he spoke of Valeria with such familiarity...it chilled you.

Next thing you knew, you were in some headquarters. Masses of soldiers marched to and from the facility, taking the time to glance your way as the men brought you to one of the warehouses. Amidst the uniformed men with pounds of kit on themselves, you felt naked. Within the warehouse was a metal container that, to your horror, seemed to be your new resting place. You were thrown on a chair and the container sealed shut after them. "She's being surprisingly cooperative so far," the man with the skull mask grumbled as he leaned back with his arms crossed. "Either that or poor thing doesn't speak English," said the American.

"I can speak English," you whispered and nodded to them, the first thing you said so far. "Perfecto." The American clapped his hands and walked towards you. He lowered himself to your level and brought his face menacingly close to yours, so close you could feel his breath on your cheek. "Now, we can do this the nice way. Or we can do this the army way. What will it be, sweetheart?" He stared you down with his blue eyes and you noticed the scar on his cheek; a clean slice on his combat-hardened face. You swallowed hard. "The nice way." He grinned with satisfaction and raised himself. "That's what I like to hear."

The man who kidnapped you stepped forward, towering over you and not bothering to lower himself like the American. "Where's Valeria?" He spat her name out like poison and your heart sank. "I don't kn-," you'd started saying but stopped when you saw how his eyes darkened. "She doesn't tell me anything. She keeps her business separate from me." "And who exactly are you?" The masked man spoke, his deep voice reverberating within the container. The Mexican man scoffed and paced around mumbling to himself. "This should be good." "Alejandro, please." Another man scolded in a whisper. Alejandro glared at him and shook his head, then looked at you with a deep frown that contorted an otherwise handsome face. His eyes, you realised, were looking at your fingers, one of which wore a thick golden band.

"I'm her partner." You resisted the urge to play with your ring, afraid of making any move in front of them. The American laughed loudly, making you jolt in your seat. "A cartel run by a lesbian, eh? Man, I love my job." "She's not a lesbian," Alejandro snapped quickly. The American stood up taller. "My friend, I think you need to cool off." "¡Anímate y díselo!" He yelled at you. "Alright, now hold on. How do you two know each other?" The American demanded as he pointed to you and Alejandro. "I don't know him," you mumbled and shook your head. "Mierda! You know perfectly well who I am." He exploded again. The man with the mohawk and the other Mexican man looked at you wearily, moving a little bit closer to you in light of Alejandro's outbursts. "I'm sorry, I really don't," you said with a wavering voice. That seemed to really set him off. Alejandro charged at you while swearing. "Vete al infierno hija de puta-"

The two men reached forward and drew him away from you. "Alejandro-" "Calm down, Commander." He shook them off then span around and looked at you again, his firsts curled on the handles of his vest. "Okay, go on. Speak." "I already told you she doesn't tell me anything! She doesn't want me to be involved and she doesn't tell me where she goes. I just take care of the house and that's it. And she'll be mighty pissed when she sees I'm gone." You threw your words at him.

"And now, you," the American pointed at Alejandro. "Valeria served in the Mexican Army, same unit but different squads. Until she betrayed us for the cartel. That's how I know her."

Suddenly, you realised who he was. You'd heard whispers about him amongst Valeria's friends. She would frequently be teased about 'moving camps' and being a heartbreaker. One of them even joked about how you were a homewrecking housewife. Valeria made sure you didn't see those people again. You thought it was all part of a big joke, until now. That part of her past, you guessed, must be him.

The American looked at you and you nodded. "Yes, she did that when we first met. But I don't know anything specific, she didn't tell me." The man who called Alejandro 'commander' looked at you closely and he, too, seemed familiar. He was also part of the Mexican Special Forces and seemed to be paired up with Alejandro. He had large, round brown eyes that were not unkind. He spoke up: "I remember her too. Valeria and she met just a bit before Valeria left the Mexican Army." The American looked at you with disdain after that, and the other man continued. "But she's not lying about not knowing Alejandro. Valeria kept her out of our business." You looked at him with relief and he looked away.

"Well we just pulled a heck of an operation to weed this one out, and we're not leaving until we get some answers," said the American man. "And I don't believe for a second that you're entirely clueless. Now you can either start singing or I'm gonna show you the difference between the military and me."

Notes: Thanks for reading! Link to part 2 :> Link to part 3

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

DC

midnight sun by merils

Who would win: four men with guns who just happened to get Red Robin to walk into a trap, or one royally-pissed Kryptonian juggernaut?

Yeah, it's not even a contest.

reasons are better than rules by destiny919

"No one will actually explain Father's rules to me," Damian blurts out. "They tell me we don't kill, and killing is wrong, and Father would never do it, but no one ever actually says why! As if repeating the rule is the same as explaining it! As if I am supposed to just know, when I do not!"

Drake is quiet, eyes on something in the distance that Damian cannot see. "Damian, may I tell you a secret?"

Marvel

Thirty Hours by polaroid15

The sun sets. Peter breaks three toes and hits his head hard against concrete. There’s a steadily bleeding wound in his side that he’s staunched with his webbing and tries not to acknowledge it when it burns. He can still walk in a straight line, which is good. He’s starving and tired and cold. It’s been fifteen hours.

Or, Peter doesn't take any breaks during a lengthy fight with the Avengers. The mind-melting fever that follows really should have been expected.

Clone Wars

An Hourglass In Hand by ecarian

“I thought daemons didn’t eat,” Rex noted once, during a celebration feast, as he and Cody watched Boga devour her meal with some fascination. Varactyl she may be, but she was a tiny one. There wasn't much interior space for the truly momentous amount of meat she was ripping into.

Boga daintily rubbed her beak against a folded serviette that looked kind of like a bird, and said, prim, “I can do anything a human can do.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan said mildly, from where he’d been tapping at a datapad. “Shall I save you a portion of these reports then?”

Set My Mind at Ease by Eightbitpale

Marshal Commander Cody - clone commanding officer of the 7th Sky Corps, second in command of the 212th attack battalion and, currently, the proud caretaker of one still-warm lightsaber - was having a very long day.

Actually, fuck that. It had been more than a long day. Long days were Cody’s bread and butter, practically his comfort zone. Marshall Commander Cody ate stim shots for breakfast and every shiny this side of Coruscant knew it. Long days were his bitch.

No, this had been more than a long day. Today had been a bad day.

———

The one where Cody and his general try their best to tell each other that they care. At least they’re trying.

Your Smile In Stone by ecarian

Wooley: can we arrest people for yelling this early?

There were two figures standing at the foot of General Kenobi's statue with their backs to Wooley, an adult with a hood, and a child with light hair. The child was pointing at a puddle of Temple tookas who were curled up in General Kenobi’s lap, lounging in the stone folds of his robes, the bend of his knee.

Wooley: belay that. Child nuisance.

The Goblin Emperor

Sweet Hope by baladric

Maia Drazhar arranges a festival, meets his gay aunt, falls in love with his secretary, and misses his mom through it all.

"In the way of true stories, there was no discernible beginning. Perhaps it had begun that first day, in the shabby receiving room at Edonomee; in the cockpit of the Radiance of Cairado; at the mooring mast of the Untheileneise Court, with that first smile.

The pith of the matter was that Maia Drazhar was wildly, tremulously in love, and love had made fools of much wiser men than he."

In All Its Forms by Anonymous

Before his father ruined everything, Nurevis Chavar only thought to introduce the new emperor to all the most beautiful things life could offer.

When he found himself free from relegation again after his father's death, would the emperor whose friendship he had sought so long ago wish his presence at court? And, if he could return to court, would his emperor wish his friendship again?

[thef1diary]

Royally Fucked | Two

— Rekindled Autonomy

series masterlist

wc: 3.2k

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

─────────── ♛ ───────────

Juliette walked briskly through the palace halls, her heels clicking against the marble floors. Daniel walked beside her, his pace matching hers effortlessly. Behind them, a few guards trailed, managing the carefully packed luggage for their trip.

“We’ll be departing in an hour,” Daniel began, his voice calm and steady. “The flight is approximately three hours. Once we arrive, we’ll head directly to the hotel where I’ve arranged for a private suite. Security measures will be put in place at all locations we’ll be visiting.”

Juliette nodded, noting the precision in his briefing. “And the charity event?” she asked.

“It’s scheduled for tomorrow evening. Today you’ll have time to rest or attend to any other matters. I’ve coordinated with local security to ensure seamless protection throughout our stay,” Daniel replied.

Juliette sighed, feeling the weight of her responsibilities pressing down on her. The upcoming charity event was crucial, not just for her but for the entire kingdom. As the sole representative this year, all eyes would be on her, scrutinizing her every move. This heightened her unease about the sudden change in her routine, with Daniel replacing Oliver. If she had a few more days with Oliver, she would be at ease, having known him well. But now, with a new face and unfamiliar habits, she would have to adapt quickly to maintain her composure and fulfill her duties effectively.

As they continued walking, she couldn’t help but notice Daniel’s professional demeanor, despite her initial reservations about his cheerful personality. His efficiency and attention to detail were impressive, even in the short time she had spent with him. Though she remained cautious, she couldn’t deny his competence. For now, he had yet to make a mistake, and that gave her a small measure of reassurance.

Juliette cast a sidelong glance at Daniel. “You’re covered all bases, it seems,” she remarked.

“I aim to please, Your Highness,” Daniel responded with a bright grin.

As Juliette and Daniel made their way through the main palace doors towards the waiting convoy, she noticed the lineup of vehicles prepared for their departure. The primary car, sleek and black, awaited them at the forefront, accompanied by a second vehicle carrying additional security personnel. Behind them, a support vehicle handled their suitcases for the trip.

“Your ride awaits, Your Highness,” Daniel announced with a flair, opening the door to the primary car. With a slight bow, he ensured Juliette settled into the back seat before closing the door and taking his place behind the wheel.

As they pulled away from the palace, Juliette glanced out the window, the familiar sights of her home fading into the distance.

Daniel glanced at her through the rearview mirror. “Is there anything you’d like to add to our itinerary, a place you’d like to explore?”

Juliette turned her gaze from the window to meet Daniel’s eyes in the rearview mirror. His gaze momentarily felt intrusive, especially with her mind focused on the upcoming event and little else, she felt like he could read her thoughts. She feigned thoughtful consideration of his question, lightly tapping her chin with a finger while avoiding direct eye contact.

Shaking her head gently, she replied, “not really. Let’s stick to business and back, that’s how it always is with Oliver. It’s risky going off-plan.”

She realized immediately that she hadn’t meant to compare Daniel to Oliver so directly, especially since Daniel had done nothing wrong as of yet. Glancing out the window again, she hoped her slip up hadn’t given him the wrong impression.

Daniel’s expression remained calm as he drove through the city streets, his focus on the road ahead. After a moment, he spoke, his voice gentle yet firm. “I understand your concerns, Your Royal Highness. Safety is important, but you know, I’m your bodyguard. It’s my job to worry about your safety, not yours. If there’s anything you want to explore while we’re there—or anywhere—please don’t hesitate to let me know. It’s my responsibility to find a way to do it safely.”

Juliette appreciated his reassurance, though she remained conflicted. Oliver’s approach had always been cautious and predictable, which kept her secure but somewhat stifled. Daniel’s openness to spontaneity was both refreshing and unnerving. Despite his words, she still wondered how she could navigate this newfound freedom without compromising her responsibilities or endangering herself.

As they approached a red light, Daniel turned to glance at Juliette, his gaze soft and understanding. “Your safety is my priority,” he affirmed, his tone unwavering. “I’ll keep you informed every step of the way so you’re never in the dark. But if you find yourself worrying about your safety with me by your side, then I’m not doing my job properly.”

He paused, a faint smile playing on his lips as he waited for Juliette’s reaction. “And one thing you should know about me, Your Highness,” he continued, his tone lightening slightly, “I always ensure I do my job well.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips despite her best efforts to maintain a composed demeanour. As they continued their journey, Juliette found herself pondering what else she might want to do, a luxury she hadn’t allowed herself to consider before. Thoughts of exploring new places, trying different things, and perhaps even visiting a quaint cafe she’d heard about, lingered in her mind. She remained lost in these musings for the rest of the car ride, the idea of Daniel as her bodyguard slowly growing more appealing.

Finally, they reached the airstrip. Daniel exited the car first, opening her door with a polite gesture. Juliette stepped onto the tarmac, the sleek polished exterior of the private jet gleaming in the sunlight. A set of stairs extended down to meet her, each step lined with plush carpeting. As she ascended, a gentle breeze passed through her hair, giving her a sense of serene anticipation.

At the top of the stairs, the flight crew greeted her with warm smiles and respectful bows. “Welcome aboard, Your Highness,” the lead flight attendant said, her voice courteous and professional. “Please let us know if there’s anything we can do to make your flight more comfortable.”

Juliette nodded graciously, feeling a touch of royal pride mixed with appreciation for their attentive service.

Inside, the plane was the epitome of luxury and exclusivity. Soft, cream-coloured leather seats lined the cabin, each one spacious enough to recline fully. The walls were adorned with subtle, elegant accents of gold and rich wood paneling. Overhead, soft lighting cast a warm glow, creating an ambiance of comfort and refinement.

As she settled into her seat, Juliette ran her hand over the armrest, feeling the smooth, supple leather beneath her fingers. In front of her, a small table was set with fine china and crystal glasses, ready for an in-flight meal. The air was lightly scented with a delicate floral fragrance, adding to the overall sense of opulence.

Daniel had entered the cabin behind her, giving her a reassuring nod before taking his seat nearby. Juliette felt a surge of excitement and a renewed sense of freedom, one she hadn’t realized she lacked until it was offered to her. She began to appreciate the subtle yet profound difference Daniel brought to her life.

─────────── ♛ ───────────

As the plane cruised smoothly through the sky, Juliette relaxed into the plush seat, savouring the luxury around her. The soft hum of the engines and the gentle sway of the cabin created a sense of calm. She glanced over at Daniel, his attention occasionally flicking to the view outside.

The conversation flowed easily between them, and Juliette found herself more comfortable than she had anticipated. She was surprised by how Daniel’s easygoing nature seemed to balance the formality she was used to.

“You seem awfully dressed up for a flight,” she teased, her tone light. “Aren’t you going to relax a bit? The king isn’t here to see you.”

Daniel chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Even though the king appointed me to you, I work for you, so you tell me, Your Highness.”

Juliette raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on her lips. “In that case, I suppose I could ask you to relax a bit. Surely, you’re not always on duty.”

Daniel's smile widened as he nodded, unbuckling his seatbelt and standing up. He unbuttoned his blazer and removed it, revealing a crisp white dress shirt beneath. As he rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, Juliette’s gaze was drawn to the tattoos that were unveiled—delicate designs that hinted at a story beyond the palace. As he turned, his shirt clung slightly to his back, accentuating the subtle contours of his muscles, and the shoulder gun holster strapped above his shirt was an indication of his duty as a bodyguard.

She caught herself staring, her eyes lingering on how his shirt stretched over his shoulders and down to his defined arms as he turned to face her. Daniel noticed her gaze and with a playful glint in his eye, chose to sit in the seat right next to her.

“Is there something about my attire that’s caught your attention, Your Highness?” he asked, a teasing edge to his voice.

Juliette quickly averted her gaze, a flush rising to her cheeks. “Just…assessing the level of professionalism,” she retorted, attempting to regain her composure.

He chuckled. “Well, I must say, your scrutiny is most flattering. But if you’re hoping for a less formal look, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until night falls and we’re in our hotel room.”

Juliette faked a gasp, her eyes widening in mock surprise. “Wait, did you actually pack something other than suits for this trip?”

Daniel grinned, leaning in slightly. “You caught me. I did manage to pack a few casual pieces. But let’s keep that between us, shall we?”

Her curiosity piqued, Juliette leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “So what’s the plan for these casual pieces? A secret mission off-duty?”

“Perhaps,” he replied, his tone matching hers. “Or maybe just for a quiet night where I’m not on high alert. You didn’t expect me to wear a suit to bed did you, Your Highness?”

Juliette smiled, the playful banter easing her nerves. “Touché, but I must say, the idea of seeing you out of your formal attire is intriguing.”

Daniel chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “I will keep that in mind. Speaking of secret missions, have you decided on where you want to go?”

She nodded, causing Daniel to spark up, leaning closer as he solely focused on her next words. “Ever since you mentioned charming the guards with pastries, I’ve been craving some myself. I’ve heard there’s a quaint little café in the city that’s supposed to have the best pastries. What do you think?”

“Pastries, huh?” Daniel’s smile widened. “I think that sounds like an excellent mission. We’ll make it our first stop once we land.”

Juliette blinked, momentarily surprised that he had actually agreed so readily. Quickly, she composed herself, adopting a more regal posture. “That’ll be great, thank you, Daniel,” she said, trying to mask the underlying excitement with a tone of practiced poise.

He nodded respectfully, yet his grin was unwavering. “Your wish is my command, Your Highness. Besides, a trip to a café sounds like the perfect way to start our adventure. And I have to admit, I wouldn’t mind trying those pastries myself.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll just have to see if they live up to their reputation,” Juliette replied, her formal demeanour softening ever so slightly. She was trying to maintain the image of a composed princess, a role she perfected over the years. Yet, with Daniel, the anticipation of the simplest pleasures were difficult to conceal entirely.

As she looked out the window, watching the clouds drift by, Juliette found herself reflecting on how different this trip felt. It wasn’t really the café that excited her, but the newfound ability to choose where she wanted to go. She hadn’t realized how much she had been missing out on the simple joys of life until now.

As a princess, she was accustomed to making decisions, but they were always governed by the pressures of maintaining an image of poise, perfection, and adherence to strict safety protocols. Over time, she had lost sight of the fact that her choices were often not truly her own. The act of making a personal decision now almost felt foreign, a habit she believed had vanished under the weight of her controlled life. Daniel’s presence, his easygoing nature, and his genuine interest in her happiness were making her see things from a new perspective and slowly rekindling a sense of autonomy she hadn’t felt for years.

Juliette felt a flutter of excitement, looking forward to not just the destination but the journey itself.

As the plane began its descent, Juliette looked out the window. The vast landscape below slowly became more defined, the daylight bathing the city in a warm glow.

Once the plane had landed and taxied to a stop smoothly, the flight crew efficiently began preparing for disembarkation. Juliette stood, smoothing her dress while Daniel buttoned up his blazer, back in bodyguard mode.

They exited the cabin, stepping onto the tarmac where a sleek black Bentley awaited them. The vehicle’s glossy finish reflected the afternoon sun, emphasizing its luxurious appearance. An attendant approached Daniel, handing over the keys with a respectful nod.

Daniel took them with a grateful smile and moved to open the back door for Juliette. Before he could, she placed a hand on his arm, stopping him.

“I’d like to sit in the passenger seat if that’s okay,” she said, her eyes meeting his.

Daniel hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

With the flight crew quickly loading their luggage into the trunk, Juliette made her way to the front passenger seat and settled in. Daniel joined her in the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors and starting the car.

When the engine roared to life, Juliette noticed Daniel’s smile, the rumble of the powerful vehicle palpable underneath them. She couldn’t help but comment on it with a smile tugging at her lips. “You seem very comfortable behind the wheel, do you like driving?”

Daniel’s grin widened, a gleam in his eyes. “Absolutely. I guess you could say I've got a passion for driving. Every time I start one up, I still get tingles.”

Juliette raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Daniel continued, his hands deftly maneuvering the car as they pulled away from the tarmac. “I could probably drive with my eyes closed.”

She laughed softly. “I hope you don’t plan on trying that anytime soon.”

“Don’t worry, Your Highness,” Daniel replied, his tone playful. “I’ll keep my eyes wide open on duty.”

The cityscape began to unfold around them as they left the private jet behind, heading straight for the café she had mentioned. The car glided smoothly through the city streets, Daniel skillfully navigating the traffic with a blend of confidence and finesse.

Soon, they arrived at the quaint little café. Daniel parked the car smoothly, the powerful engine settling into a quiet purr before shutting off. They both stepped out, the enticing aroma of fresh pastries already wafting through the air.

Daniel conducted a quick scan of the surroundings, his professional instincts still at work. He subtly assessed the area for potential security concerns and ensured that the entrance was unobtrusive yet secure. He also mapped out any security cameras as well as any other possible threats. Once satisfied with his brief check, he glanced at Juliette, who was genuinely smiling while taking in a deep breath, savouring the moment.

When she glanced at him, he returned her smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Lead the way, Your Highness.”

Juliette led the way into the café, her excitement barely contained. The interior was as charming as the exterior suggested, with cozy seating, vintage décor, and an array of pastries displayed in an inviting glass case.

As they entered, a warm greeting from the café staff welcomed them. Juliette's eyes sparkled as she scanned the menu, her attention drawn to a selection of pastries she had heard about but never tried. Daniel, maintaining his usual demeanor, stayed close, his awareness subtly tuned to the environment even amidst the relaxed atmosphere.

Juliette turned to him with a grin. “So, what’s your recommendation? I’m open to anything you think is worth trying.”

Daniel chuckled, scanning the display of tempting treats. “I’d say we start with a few of their specialties. They’ve got a reputation for their éclairs and croissants. And I hear their hot chocolate is pretty excellent too.”

Juliette nodded enthusiastically, her gaze lingering on the pastries. As they approached the counter to place their order, Juliette couldn’t help but feel a sense of liberation. For once, she was making a simple choice without the constraints of royal duties or security protocols overshadowing her every move.

Daniel, meanwhile, kept an eye on the café’s patrons and the entrances, ensuring everything remained as secure as it should. His relaxed demeanor and focused attention balanced well, allowing Juliette to enjoy the moment fully.

With their order placed, they found a cozy table by the window. As they waited, Juliette couldn’t help but glance at Daniel, noting how effortlessly he combined professionalism with a genuine interest in her enjoyment.

Their conversation flowed easily as they chatted about their favorite pastries, their personal tastes, and even some light-hearted anecdotes. Juliette felt a rare sense of ease, her usual reserve melting away in the comfort of the café and Daniel’s company.

As they shared their treats, Daniel teased with a playful smile. “I told you, a little charm and a few pastries go a long way. Might even win you some hearts.”

Juliette raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Is that what you plan on doing?”

He shrugged casually, “I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

Once they finished their pastries, Juliette and Daniel returned to the car. The drive to the hotel was smooth, and soon they were pulling up to a luxurious, historic building that exuded elegance and charm. The grand entrance was adorned with polished marble and gold accents, and the hotel’s opulent façade glowed warmly in the late afternoon light.

Daniel parked the car and stepped out first, quickly arranging for their luggage to be unloaded by the hotel staff. He then opened the door for Juliette, his professional demeanor in place but with a subtle hint of satisfaction in his eyes.

Juliette took a moment to admire the grandeur of the hotel before turning to Daniel. “Thank you for a wonderful start to the trip,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of genuine appreciation.

Daniel smiled, his eyes twinkling. “This is just the beginning, Your Highness.”

They entered the hotel together, the soft click of their footsteps echoing in the elegant lobby. The day promised new experiences, and as they approached the check-in desk, Juliette felt a rare sense of anticipation. It was a feeling she hadn’t indulged in for a long time, and it was one she was beginning to savour.

─────────── ♛ ───────────

NO TAGLIST

[dollsvampi]

Echoes of the Tide

Frank Castle x Reader

Description: Haunted by emotional wounds, only to seek solace in Frank's arms longing for a path to healing. [Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Life, Emotional Vulnerability] (Pet names used: Baby, Darlin') [No use of Y/N]

Warnings: Mentions of Trauma, Familial Dysfunction & Guilt, Emotional Distress. (3.2K words)

A/N: First post ever lol bare with me. I didn't like this sitting in my notes on my phone so why not share

Every once in a while, you reach that breaking point—a moment where everything feels too heavy to bear. A dull, residual numbness settles in, aching deep in your chest. It feels unbearable, as though your mind is trapped in an endless cycle—spinning aimlessly before crashing into an invisible wall, only to start again. You're stuck, caught in a loop with no way out.

Is this what shutting down is?

Only a few words passed between you and those around you it was hard to connect when you didn’t feel like yourself. It was as if you were caught in plunging, rushing water, one foot forward and the other behind, your body twisted mid-motion with arms outstretched, grasping for something to hold onto. You couldn’t take another step; your hips frozen, your body trying but failing to move forward. Instead, you were drowning in an endless tide of swimming thoughts, unable to tear your gaze away from the weight of the past.

No, it wasn't often you felt like this, but it was inevitable feeling overwhelmed and hollow, from the weight of the trauma of it all. Just thinking about or seeing your family can bring on a wave of triggers. Most of the time you check on them and it simply brings dread.

Sitting on one of the kitchen island stools to prep a few things for dinner, your brows are slightly furrowed in concentration. Meanwhile, Frank is polishing and cleaning his guns. He had a direct line of sight of you, studying you cautiously. He noticed each and every little thing about you. "Baby, you alright?" Frank didn't want to push—testing the waters. He didn't want to outright inquire; How come you weren't yourself? How come you didn't strike up a conversation? How come you aren't laughing? How come you aren't playing music?

The poor man thought back to his own actions—had he possibly done something wrong or forgot to do something? Glancing up from the scattered ingredients, you manage a faint smile, "Yeah." He didn’t believe you, but then again, neither did you. Your family, though—they would have, without question.

"I was thinking..." the vigilante, sharp and observant, piqued your curiosity. You hummed in acknowledgment as he went on, "We should eat outside and finally test out that hammock we got."

You thought some fresh air might be nice as you cleaned up the kitchen island, "Sounds good." Frank rose from his seat, heading off to store his guns, but paused. He walked over to you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his free hand lightly squeezing your hip, "Alright, I’ll go get started outside."

Once the food was prepared—delicious and fresh—it was carefully arranged in its respective containers and plates, ready for the little backyard feast. Frank quickly cleaned off the table and chairs before setting up the hammock. Propping it up was effortless—it was a sizable design made for two. The framed canvas, adorned with pastel blue stripes, even came with a matching pillow.

It took several trips to retrieve the food, beverages, and utensils. Frank assisted with the final touches of setup, including bringing out the speaker you have. He handed you his phone almost immediately after turning it on and connecting it, "Go on, play music."

You'd shared your playlists with Frank long ago; he knew exactly what music helped you unwind and relax. He needed you to be at ease. With a few taps on his phone, music began to play softly through the speaker, loud enough to fill the atmosphere but quiet enough for conversation. Frank wanted to bring up the subject, but he held back. He knew you well—when you were upset, your appetite was the first to go, which he didn't want. Patience came naturally to him when it came to you, so he decided to wait for now.

Sitting down and fixing each other's plates, you look around the backyard. The hammock was a nice addition, "Hey that hammock is not bad." He hums, as he glances where you are looking, "Easy to install too." Your eyes don't stray from the space as Frank begins to eat, "We really should get some shade, some trees would be nice."

The man was going to town on the food, which brought a smile to your face. "I wanted to put up the canopy tent, but some trees would be nice darlin'," he was subtle in his reasoning. You could definitely use some sunlight with the way things have been. He gestured with his hand, "We can get some smaller ones, and add on to the garden."

Frank is a man who resolved your words were law. As the both of you continue eating, you give it a good thought to how plans should be. "Yeah, maybe a decent-sized one, right at the edge where the small field begins." He followed your eyeliner yet again, "Perfect, anything my baby wants."

Lowering your gaze slightly you shook your head. Whatever he was doing was working, the sweet-talking, the way he had said it with conviction fulling meaning what he had said. The music in the background is a way to ground you. What had been circulating in your mind is distilling. You were now able to talk about what had been going on, you aren't completely shut.

Maybe you caught on—it was a sweet gesture. Yet, your thoughts still lingered on your family… how something so simple could never be accomplished with them.

The two of you finished the rest of your meal in comfortable silence. Your gaze wandered, taking in the surroundings—the chirping of distant birds, the slow drift of fluffy white clouds across the sky. As you closed the lid on the bowl, your focus shifted, flitting between the patches of grass and the outhouse door, until your eyes began to glaze over.

"You haven't said much all day darlin', what's on your mind?" Frank's eyes were steady on you, and you had to get it off your chest. You couldn't tell him that it was nothing. It would be wrong not to. How was he supposed to understand if I kept holding back?

'Secrecy has a way of evolving—sometimes into something different, and other times into something far worse.' Frank had told you, almost in passing, as if it were a lesson learned from his own experiences. He’d seen how secrets, no matter how small or harmless they seemed at first, could twist into something darker over time. He spoke from a place of understanding, the kind born from years of keeping things buried—things he’d witnessed, things he’d done, and the weight it left on him. You knew he wasn’t just talking about others; he was speaking from his own scars.

Taking a deep breath, after so long being submerged you've breached the surface. "It's just- I don't know what to do... or feel with my family," you couldn't settle your eyes on him just yet. "With these people, it's this guilt, the sense of loss and not belonging. The exclusion they do or just the pure disfunction... it's a lot of things Frank."

He could see how it took you a lot to get to voice this, "That's a lot to carry and even worry about." There were brief mentions of what you had endured, and it really did anger Frank because you didn't deserve that.

"I know I've mentioned but all this stress is inevitable especially how they live out their life. At times I do believe I'm the burden. It's-" You do gesture you often make to stop yourself from crying. Frank knew what you were about to say and immediately cut you off. "It's not your fault, baby. Look at me... look at me." He moves his chair to sit closer to you placing a hand on your shoulder. "It's not your fault." You meet his eyes as tears begin to form in yours. "There you are, breath okay."

Frank grounded you as you focused on your breathing, steadying yourself. Finally, you continued, "Every time I check in or see their posts, I just feel like such an outcast. It’s a reminder that I can never truly be myself around them, and if they ever found out, it’d turn into a whole mess." You can practically hear the comments and insensitive remarks.

"Forget about what they might say, baby. Just be yourself." His voice was steady, resolute. He would defend you without hesitation, daring anyone in the world to challenge you or your worth.

"I know, Frank. With the way my family obsesses over their image, it’s almost impossible not to absorb some of it. All they ever do is critique others. Minding their own business is the last thing they’d consider. They love to nitpick, always searching for the smallest reason to argue or stir up drama." As you spoke you could feel the way he was gently squeezing your shoulder, his thumb moving soothingly.

"That’s not on you, though. You don’t have to carry their baggage or let it shape who you are. Let them exhaust themselves with their nonsense—none of it changes the fact that you’re better than that." He shifted slightly, his hand still on your shoulder, and his gaze softened. His movements were slow and deliberate, with a sense of calm assurance.

Culture played an important role, with traditions deeply ingrained across generations, creating an even greater sense of immersion. The idea that some individuals were unwilling to embrace new perspectives, choosing instead to cast others out, was a harsh reality.

You sigh, placing your hand gently over his. "This is why I feel bad. I mean, it's not entirely their fault either. I see how they choose to live their lives. It makes me feel like I should be doing something to help. But their world just revolves around their beliefs."

He says nothing at first, but his hand moves to hold yours, as if he is carefully considering your words. Finally, he speaks in his consistent, no-nonsense tone, "You cannot bear their burdens for 'em. All you can do is make your own decisions, ones that will keep you standing. If they can’t see that, that’s on them, not you." Frank leans in slightly, realizing that you're still torn. "I get it. You're worried about what they'll say or do if you stand your ground. But you cannot continue to live in fear of their judgment. You've already carried enough for them. You have to put yourself first."

His words hit harder than you had expected, sinking in deeper than you wanted to admit. There is natural hesitation, your chest tightening, as if you were in cold harsh water. You try to push down the gnawing feeling of guilt. That fear still lingers, like a shadow you can't outrun.

You glance down at your intertwined hands, resting on your thigh, as if they can offer some relief, and in the rhythm of the music that envelopes the both of you.

You couldn’t help but think about how they’d always handled things—like when your boundaries were crossed, or when your choices didn’t align with theirs. It was never about understanding or compromise, but about control and making sure you fell in line with their beliefs. The idea of standing up to them felt like a storm waiting to break.

"It still eats at me. Every time I see them, it’s like the facade falls into place. We all act like nothing was ever left unsaid—thanks to my parents, I guess. They’re the biggest hypocrites I know." You squeeze Frank’s hand gently. "I was made to believe my problems didn’t matter, that my family had enough on their plate, so why add more? There are things I still don’t know about my own family, things they’ve kept from me. And it makes me wonder—am I even worthy of knowing? Am I not family?"

Frank scoffs, shaking his head. "Christ." He knew that tactic all too well the 'don't say anything to protect either party.' It was a way of keeping everything buried, even if it meant pushing the pain aside. He got an even clearer picture of your constant restraint that kept you from truly speaking your mind. The aftermath of emotional scarring has left its mark, no matter how hard you try to hide it.

Uncertain if Frank would say more, you felt the urge to continue. "I have to force myself into a certain mindset whenever I visit... and prepare for the possible worst, just in case. That's what has been eating at me most of the time, even taking sleep away. It certainly was worse when I was younger."

Frank acted without hesitancy as usual. He was all too familiar with bracing for the impact of something that never felt safe. "You shouldn’t have to do that. No one should have to armor up just to face their own family." He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, his eyes hardening in his seriousness. "But no matter how hard it gets, you don’t have to face it alone. You’ve got me. What did you do to keep your head straight, huh?"

The question brought a faint smile to your face—a real one, the kind that had been absent for far too long. You nodded toward the speaker playing your favorite tunes. "Listening to music. I had to distract myself however I could. Sometimes, I’d read or write down the things I wanted to say but—" You shook your head, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill, your chest tightening at the way he's so close to you, and outright providing you with unwavering warmth.

Frank reached up, cupping your face gently with his free hand. "It’s okay, baby. Let it out if you need." His voice was steady, but his gaze searched yours, piecing together what you’d shared. He could see how writing had been more than a distraction—it was survival. A way to give your thoughts a voice when no one else would listen.

You huffed a bitter laugh. "And that’s when I think—if I could just open my mouth and defend myself... but I never know how to say it right. I wish I really knew how to articulate what I feel to them." Your hand tightened around his wrist, grounding yourself in the comfort of Frank’s steady touch. His thumb brushed gently across your cheek, a silent reassurance that he was there.

You lowered your gaze to your lap, the words catching in your throat as the weight of it all pressed down. Frank’s jaw tightened, his heart sinking at the pain etched across your face. He couldn’t fathom why anyone would put you through this, why they’d leave you carrying such a heavy burden. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right.

The silence was pierced as you dropped your hand from his. "And to be real honest with you, Frank..." your voice trembled, and your lip quivered as you tried to keep it together.

His heart breaking at your vulnerability.

"I—I wouldn’t want you to go through that... to see it happen," your voice cracking under the weight of the admission. Tears welled up, and before you could stop them, a helpless cry escaped your lips. You turned away, trying to hide your face in your hands, but it was too late.

Frank exhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment as if willing himself to take your pain away. Then, with the utmost care, he let go of your hand only to pull you into a firm, grounding embrace. "C'mere," he murmured, wrapping his arms tightly around you.

You buried your face in his shoulder as the sobs overtook you, his presence the only thing keeping you from falling apart entirely. One of his hands moved soothingly up and down your back, the occasional pat adding a silent rhythm of comfort. "Let it out, baby," he whispered, pressing the side of his head to yours.

Frank held you as though shielding you from the weight of the world, his jaw tightening as he listened to your cries. It hit him hard—how selfless you were, even in your pain. You’d been so considerate, worrying about how your situation might affect him when you were the one left battered by it all. The thought of you constantly lying, draining yourself to keep the peace, or worse—standing up for yourself only to be torn down again—cut him deeply. "

"'S okay," he said softly, his voice a firm anchor. "I've gotcha baby. 'S okay."

You cried into his arms until the tears subsided, leaving you drained but calmer. Slowly, you regained your composure, sniffling softly as you leaned back to meet his gaze. Frank’s hand was already there, gently wiping away the lingering tears on your cheeks.

"I love you so much," you murmured, your voice still shaky but full of gratitude. You couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the comfort of having someone like Frank by your side.

"I love you," Frank's tone filled with conviction. His arms tightened around you slightly, pulling you closer as if to shield you from the world. "I’ll always be here for you," he added, pressing a firm, reassuring kiss to your cheek.

The tenderness of his words made your chest ache in the best way, and you fought the urge to cry again—this time out of happiness. Tilting your head back a bit, you let your gaze drift to the yard.

"Ah, shit," you muttered suddenly, catching sight of something.

Frank raised an eyebrow, already poised to ask what was on your mind.

"We really should try out that hammock," you said, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Frank burst into a deep, genuine laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest and catching you off guard. You turned to him, grinning as you joined in his laughter. Before the moment could pass, he leaned in, closing the space between you and placing soft, lingering kisses all over your face, his affection as natural as breathing.

The weight you’d been carrying felt just a little lighter. You couldn’t help but lean into him, letting the laughter fade into a quiet peace. "Let’s go," Frank said softly, his lips brushing your temple before he pulled back, his hand still resting at the small of your back.

Together, you rose, the promise of something simple yet meaningful—like testing out that hammock—feeling like exactly what you needed.

The hammock swayed gently beneath you, cradling you like a soft ripple on calm swift waters. It was steady, unlike the turbulent currents that had once consumed you. Where your mind had felt like it was drowning in endless waves, here was something solid yet pliable—a quiet buoy against the storm.

Frank beside you, his presence like the anchor that helped you beach. The two of you settled into the rhythm of the hammock's sway, the soft creak of its frame blending with the distant chirp of birds. The past felt far away here, as if it couldn’t touch you in this cocoon of stillness and warmth.

For the first time in a long while, the tide in your chest seemed to ebb, leaving behind a strange but welcome calmness.