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ugh-yoongi · 3 months ago

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ex-conomics | csc

you supported seungcheol through years of being an aspiring athlete, and all you got to show for it was your undergraduate degree and an awkward, stuttered apology when he dumped you to go semi-pro. now he’s back after an injury derailed his career, and there’s only one problem: you’re the only one available to tutor him. you - 0; the universe - 1. talk about no return on investment.

⚽ pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader ⚽ genre: exes to (lite) enemies to lovers; university au; angst, fluff ⚽ rating: while there is nothing explicit in this fic, there are two brief references to smut. while i can't stop anyone from reading this, i would prefer minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ⚽ warnings: cheol is some degree of famous, reader is a grad student/TA, mentions of an injury and coping with the aftermath of it, lots of economics talk that even i do not understand, swearing, one mention of alcohol, some misplaced jealousy, rom-com tropes, dino is kind of a loser but we love him anyway. probably a lot of other things i missed, but this is actually pretty tame for a fic of this length. ⚽ word count: 13.4k ⚽ thank you: a lot of people looked this over for me in the process and i'm sure i will forget some of them so if i do i'm sorry: @the-boy-meets-evil, @hot-soop, @highvern, and @haologram, who also gave me some wonderful ideas for the vlogs. thank you to MIT for opencourseware existing. i took microeconomics and dropped it, so i couldn't have done this without you. everyone in the discord server for helping me along the way and keeping me motivated. ⚽ author's note: i haven't posted a fic in nearly seven months, so i think it goes without saying that there are parts of this i like and a lot more i'm not 100% happy with. i'd love if this was more fleshed out and 10k longer, but i was able to write anything at all so it's good enough. this was written for the back to school with seventeen collab, hosted by @camandemstudios. thank you both for letting me participate! please make sure to check out the rest of the stories! everyone worked so hard and this collab was a ton of fun to participate in. <3

You look down at the paper. Back up at who handed it to you. Down at the paper again.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

The poor freshman kid laughs, all nerves, and even though the sound is grating, you remember what it’s like to be forced into work study. How far away graduate school seemed; how large your professors loomed over you with all their power and knowledge and credentials; how you constantly felt like the dumbest person in nearly every room you walked into for four straight years.

“Um—”

You sigh, just barely resisting the urge to slam your head onto your desk. “I—it’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Your words do little to ease Freshman’s nerves. He’s still hunched over in the doorway of your office, wringing his hands as he shifts his weight back and forth, in for a lifetime of body pain with the way he’s squaring his shoulders. “You’re sure about this, though? Like, I’m really not being set up?”

“I don’t think so?” he offers, slowly starting to turn green right before your eyes. “Dr. Lee ga-gave me the paperwork himself, I don’t think he would’ve messed it up? Oh no, did I mess it up? Should I go back to Student Services and conf—”

Good god, this kid’s anxiety is gonna stink up your office for weeks. “No need!” you interject. “I’ll just…” Sign it, you want to say, but the longer you stare at the sheet of paper the quicker you’re losing your resolve.

TUTORING REQUEST FORM Student Name: Choi Seungcheol Degree: Undergraduate Major: Business Course: ECON04101 Introduction to Microeconomics Instructor: Lee Yeonseok, PhD. Recommended Tutoring: High (3-4 hours per week)

You curse under your breath. Of the two names on the paper, Dr. Lee’s does not come as a surprise. He’s a notorious hard-ass with an infamous attrition rate—most students don’t last more than a week in any of his classes—but he’s also the sole reason you were able to pay for someof your grad school tuition out of pocket with all the tutoring money you made.

That, however, was two years ago.

“Does he know I don’t tutor anymore?” Stupid question. The kid stares blankly back at you, as if to say I don’t know any more than the people in Student Services, let alone Dr. Lee. It is literally my first year here. “I’m Dr. Ahn’s TA this year. I’ve got my hands full with her bullsh… stuff—”

Immediately, you know you’ve said something wrong, because the kid’s eyes light up, all that previous anxiety disappearing like smoke. “Wait, the same Dr. Ahn that teaches the crypto course?”

“No, that one died,” you say quickly. Kid deflates. “Anyway, I don’t really tutor anymore, especially for econ. As you can see”—you gesture vaguely around the cramped four walls of your office—“they’ve upgraded me. They even put my name on a little placard by the door! Go look! They spelled it wrong! If that doesn’t sum up this university I don’t know what does.”

You heave another sigh. Try to school your face and tone into something that exudes professionalism and finality. “Look, I’m sorry I can’t help you. I tutored Dr. Lee’s students for, like, three years in undergrad so I’m sure they just… forgot that wasn’t my actual job here. Who’s in charge of tutoring these days? I’ll shoot them an email and explain all this.”

Freshman gives you a name, and it takes less than a second to find them in the employee directory. You expect that to be the end of it, but he’s still taking up space in your doorway. You quirk an eyebrow. “Yes?”

The hand-wringing returns, along with an embarrassed flush that disappears beneath the neckline of his school-branded sweatshirt. “I just—um. Maybe you could, uh. Send that now? Before I get back there?”

You blink. “Don’t you have to go all the way back across campus? How slow do you think I type?” He shrugs, and you give up on the idea of getting rid of him. “Fine. What’s your name, anyway?”

“Lee Chan. I’m a sophomore. Do you know that guy?”

“Oh. I thought for sure you were a freshman, but you’re gonna need to be more specific, Lee Chan, Sophomore.”

“The guy they want you to tutor.” You freeze. The guy they want you to tutor is—“Choi Seungcheol,” Chan tacks on, and, yeah, you know—knew, you correct yourself—someone with that name, once upon a time.

But there are a lot of Chois and a lot of Seungcheols. It’s been years since you’ve spoken to the Seungcheol you knew, and that was when he’d broken up with you to—“I heard he’s a football player? Well, used to be, I guess. The girls in the office were freaking out so I guess he’s pretty famous, but I don’t know anything about sports, do you? They said they have photocards of him. I thought they only did that for idols.”

You think about being kids together in Daegu. Think about the exasperated looks you’d share when your parents would drag the two of you to festivals: Palgongsan in the autumn, Biseulsan in the spring; transformation and rebirth. Think about being eight years old and watching your father cram into the small space of the Chois’ living room, standing around the TV with Seungcheol’s dad, shouting at Park Jonghwan. Daegu FC made the FA Cup quarterfinals that year, and you think, of everything, that’s what you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

You think about falling in love slowly. Sixteen and clueless, the pair of you were. Didn’t really know any different, just that you’d look at him and feel butterflies. That you’d hold hands in secret. Text beneath the dinner table. That you’d watch him on the football pitch and be consumed by pride. That the future felt impossibly far away, that life would never catch up to the two of you.

You think about all the football jargon you didn’t understand—the academies, the teams, the implications. You think about, I’m thinking about trying out for the FC Seoul U-18, I just don’t think there’s much more I can do here in Daegu. You think about replying, Oh, I applied to university there.

You remember thinking it must’ve been fate, how easy that had worked out. How easy that first hurdle had been overcome.

You think about how fast everything happened. The try-out, the acceptance, the explosion. Remember being unable to go anywhere those first few months without seeing Seungcheol’s face, touted as the next big thing. Think about applying for scholarships when he was applying for international visas. Think about studying for midterms when Seungcheol was studying English for interviews.

You think about the last few weeks of your relationship, when it felt like you were desperately trying to cling to ghosts. Think about how Seoul had once felt endlessly big, both in opportunity and size, and how it now felt suffocating. You think about, So you’re just giving up? Is that what you’re saying? Think about, I don’t know what else to do. It doesn’t feel fair to you.

You think about all the places you’ve watched him. On countless football pitches; shy glances in school hallways; in the passenger seat, wracked with nerves on the drive to Seoul; poised above you in bed, hairline dotted with sweat as he rolled his hips, telling you how much he loved you.

You think about watching him walk out the door, and how you never watched him again.

So you fire off your email, concise and to the point about why you can’t tutor Choi Seungcheol in Introduction to Microeconomics, and turn to Lee Chan, Sophomore.

“No,” you finally answer. “Never heard of him.”

For all intents and purposes, your rejection should’ve been the end of it.

A few days go by. You hold office hours, attend lectures, work on your thesis when you have both the time and the energy. Try to ignore the feeling of bees beneath your skin, anxiety needling each time you check your email. You were well within your right to decline the tutoring request, but you can’t help but feel like you’ve done something wrong. That someone somehow knows who Seungcheol was to you and will pull you up on it. That those girls who’d gushed about him to Chan are somewhere laughing at your expense.

But you don’t hear anything at all about it… until you do.

Sunday evening. You haven’t moved from your couch in hours, some variety show playing in the background, barely audible over your keyboard clacking. Much to your detriment, you don’t write many papers these days, so you’re out of practice. Feels like you haven’t done anything besides formulas in years, all of your academic knowledge reduced to fucking math, so you’re about ready to toss your laptop out the window long before the email even comes through.

You see, From: Lee Yeonseok. You see, Subject: Choi Seungcheol - Tutoring.

Your stomach plummets to the floor.

You scan the body quickly. You see the words personal favor… friend of his father… urgent matter… and your hands start shaking. Whether it’s from the sheer audacity of this man or anxiety, you aren’t sure, but it’s not like it matters. There aren’t a whole lot of people on campus brave or dumb enough to go up against him twice.

“Motherfucker,” you spit, bitter the only taste in your mouth.

Where did you go wrong to wind up here? You’d followed the script: got the grades, passed the exams, received half of the required education for the Respectable Career, helped a few others along the way chase dreams that may or may not have been their own. You’d fallen in love. Only had a broken heart to show for it, but that’d been in the script, too: The First Love, followed by The First Heartbreak.

The split from Seungcheol was supposed to have been the end of that chapter. You’d planned on never seeing him again, and you never would have, had it been up to you. Apparently the universe has other plans, participation required.

“Did you spill onion dip on the rug again?” You startle, sending your laptop flying. Kaori, your roommate, is perched halfway in between the living room and the kitchen like a cryptid, clearly not expecting your reaction. “Oh. Were you watching porn?”

Face burning, you fetch your laptop from the floor. “In a common area? Kaori, please, I have far more decorum than that.”

She snorts, resuming her trek to the fridge. “See, that’s what I thought, but then I walked out here and you threw your laptop so fast it was like watching my ex get caught watching furry porn all over again.” She pries the lid off a large container of yogurt. “You think this is still good?”

“Dunno. What’s it smell like?”

She sniffs it and pulls it back to check the label. “Vanilla, I think, which is concerning because it’s supposed to be strawberry.”

You shrug. “What’s the worst that can happen, you get extra”—you pause, trying to remember the correct order of things, before giving up entirely—“...biotics?”

“Mm, so close. Care if I just eat this with a spoon?”

Nose scrunched, you wave her off. “Couldn’t pay me to eat yogurt on a good day, let alone if it’s expired. All yours, babe.”

Spoon in hand and a pleased smile on her face, Kaori collapses onto the couch beside you. You try to return your attention to your paper, try to find your momentum again, and it works for all of ten minutes before you’re groaning and slamming the top closed.

You don’t even need to look over to know Kaori’s staring. “What’s up with you?” she asks. Before she can answer: “Wait, is this serious? Because I can’t have a serious conversation in this t-shirt.” You steal a glance sideways. Ask Me About My Hemorrhoid! it says, and you exhale loudly. “Don’t breathe at me, I lost a bet.”

“And continued wearing it?”

She jokingly rolls her eyes. “God forbid a girl has hobbies.” Nudges you with her foot. “C’mon, spill.”

Kaori doesn’t know about you and Seungcheol. Most people don’t, aside from a few old classmates from Daegu who found you on social media and tried befriending you once he started making a name for himself in Seoul. After that, it was just easier to keep things private while you were together. New friends knew you were seeing someone but not their name or how long you’d been together. Any curiosity surrounding why the Choi Seungcheol was following you on Insta had been waved away easily. Our parents are friends, we grew up together. Then you broke up, and there wasn’t any evidence to delete, and he wasn’t following you on Instagram anymore, and it was easier that way.

So, yeah—even though you hadn’t met her until years later, Kaori knows you have an ex. She knows you’ve had a few flings and situationships in the time since, too, and it’s why she’s none the wiser when you ask, “It’s nothing, really. Just—do you follow football at all?”

“Nah, not really. The new guy’s pretty into it and keeps trying to get me to watch the games with him, but it’s so fucking boring? I dunno, I can’t get into it. Not in real life, anyway—I binged all of Captain Tsubasa in an embarrassingly short amount of time, though. Why?”

“Student Services asked me to tutor someone the other day and I had to turn it down. I just don’t have the time, you know? This semester’s already killer, and Dr. Ahn’s been riding my ass nonstop about grades. Turns out it’s some football player, so Dr. Lee emailed me asking me to do it as a personal favor, which means, on top of all the other shit I have to do, I’m now tutoring some football player four hours a week in Microeconomics.”

Her face distorts. “God, that guy’s such a prick. Like wow, you’re good at the economy! Good for you! Who cares! Why don’t you go balance the national debt or something instead of torturing university freshmen!”

You also wrongly assume that’s the last you’ll hear of it from Kaori.

Two days later, after Student Services replies to your email with the days and times you’ll be tutoring Seungcheol, she materializes in the living room to harass you.

“You didn’t tell me your football player was Choi Seungcheol.”

The panic is instant. You know how she means it, but it’s not how your body interprets it. All of a sudden it feels like an interrogation, an accusation, and a whopping serving of guilt takes up residence in the middle of your chest for not being entirely honest.

“Explains this weird text Ken sent me.”

She slides her phone over to you, open to her text thread with her current flavor of the week. Beneath an article about Seungcheol enrolling in classes at your school:

doesn’t ur roomie TA there Why are you calling her “ur roomie” like you don’t know her name?? Rude. Also yes. ask her to get me an autograph No babe pls he was my fav player before he got injured No 🙄 fine. can i come over later? Starting to think you’re using me for my roommate. Get your own job 🙄

You hand her phone back. “I didn’t think you’d know who Choi Seungcheol even is.” It’s the best you can do, even though it just digs you a deeper grave. “You said you’re not into football.”

“I’m not, but unfortunately I am into that stupid man.” She sighs, wistful and longing. “Babe, you have to understand. His dick is so big.”

You hadn’t wanted to stay in Seoul for your graduate degree, let alone the same university you’d gone to for undergrad.

You’d applied to schools all over—Japan, Europe, even a few in the States. Romanticized the hell out of NYU, went window shopping for an overpriced apartment, picked a favorite pizzeria based on nothing but vibes and online reviews. In those few months after graduation, there wasn’t a whole lot tying you to Seoul. Your and Seungcheol’s relationship had been old history by then, your parents split. Your dad stayed in your childhood home and your mother moved a few hours closer to her sister. They’d waited until your brother was old enough to be out of the house.

And it’d just been… a lot. Overwhelming. Some days you could barely shower or feed yourself, let alone move halfway across the world, so you’d stayed in the familiar and tried not to let it feel like failure.

But the good thing about familiarity is you learn its tricks, figure out the hiding spots. Early on, your first or second week of grad school, you laid claim to a study room on a floor of the library everyone else ignored. You write notes on the whiteboard with faded blue markers that are still there days later. The chair on the opposite side of the table is always exactly where you left it, the space between it and the table enough to only accommodate you. Sometimes you leave books—old paperbacks littered with notes in your writing—or papers, just to see if they move.

They never do.

And all of this is why it feels like a punch to the gut when that sanctity is tainted. When you’re halfway through a stack of Dr. Ahn’s exams and the doorknob rattles behind you. When you don’t even need to turn around to know who it is, because he still sounds the same, still has that overwhelming presence. You’ve always sensed him before you felt him.

“There you are,” Dr. Lee says, ambling into the room before you can protest. He, too, is overwhelming, just in different ways. Immaculate posture that anchors his slight frame that’s always dressed impeccably and expensively. Wears a watch that’s triple your tuition. Shoes polished so bright they’re nearly blinding. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

This time it is an accusation.

Well, you found me, you want to say, but just knowing Seungcheol is behind him, lingering in that half-study room, half-hallway space, is enough to keep you quiet. Like if you speak you’ll summon him closer and you’ll no longer be able to pretend this is nothing more than a nightmare.

You plaster on a polite smile. Say, “Ah, here I am, kyosu-nim,” and put all your energy into trying to glue Seungcheol to the floor with your mind.

Which is fruitless, because Dr. Lee moves further into the room. Gestures for Seungcheol to follow him with an impatient huff, and the study room is small, sure, and with three people it feels cramped, but that’s not the reason it feels like all the air’s been sucked out of the room.

Seungcheol looks… different. He looks as anxious as you feel, and he sticks close to the wall like he’s trying to disappear. Dr. Lee introduces him with grave importance, unaware of your history, and the forced smile he offers you almost looks embarrassed.

You know Dr. Lee is still hammering away, probably giving you a stern talking-to for rejecting his request the first time, but you can’t tear your eyes away from Seungcheol. Feels like the world around you has reduced to a pinhead, all hyperfocus; feels like your lungs are sucking in stale air one at a time.

“...his father is a very good friend of mine, so I expect…”

You expected to feel nothing. Seungcheol had left to chase his dream—one you’d always been so supportive of that it sometimes felt like your dream, too—and, perhaps naively, you thought the distance and the years would’ve been enough. You expected your heart to have hardened. You expected all those nights you spent crying to hit you at full force. You expected anger, hurt—indifference, at the very least.

“...as many hours per week as you both can manage…”

But you should’ve known better. Should’ve expected the butterflies, the way your palms grow clammy, the way your heart rate spikes. Should’ve expected everything to feel upside-down. You should’ve expected to look at Seungcheol and feel sixteen and in love all over again.

“...you are responsible for his academic progress…”

And that simply will not do. You’ve spent the last few years pulling yourself out of that hole, clawing your way back to something resembling normal. You’ve purged the thought of him from your mind—let his scent fade from your sheets, an old sweatshirt he’d left behind; forgot the way his lips felt against every inch of your skin; forgot the way his entire being lit up when he laughed; forgot the safety he encompassed, the way he whispered all those sweet nothings.

You cannot go there again.

So you roll your shoulders back, smile politely. Say, “Ah, kyosu-nim, Choi Seungcheol-ssi seems very intelligent, I’m sure he is capable of being responsible for his own academic standing, don’t you think?”

Dr. Lee cannot disagree without all but calling Seungcheol an idiot, so he hovers before you in shocked silence. Makes a show of huffing and checking his watch, like he’s all of a sudden remembered he’s late for something and being inconvenienced by this conversation he started, and then he’s halfway out of the library with a terse, “Discuss and figure this out amongst yourselves,” thrown over his shoulder.

You have an entire dramatic exit planned in your head. Gather your things, fake a phone call that makes you sound authoritative and important, and brush past Seungcheol wearing your nicest perfume as if all of this is so far beneath you you can’t even bring yourself to care about it.

Of course, you actually have to brush by him for any of that to happen, and since you’ve already decided you will not go there again, you quickly scribble your email address onto a piece of paper and slide it across the table at Seungcheol, who has steadfastly remained planted just outside the door. “Here’s my email. I don’t have time to discuss this right now.” Seungcheol cocks an eyebrow. You start throwing things into your bag haphazardly. You know you look frantic and affected, but there’s not much you can do about that. “What? Send me a copy of your syllabus and what you want to prioritize. It’ll be easier to get through this if we have a plan instead of winging it.”

He seems to catch on to your distaste because he mirrors it. Scoffs as he rolls his eyes and says, “Yeah, no use spending more time together than we have to,” and if you hadn’t gone years without speaking, you would’ve seen right through it.

But you did, so it stings all the same.

As it typically does, the planet keeps spinning after your run-in with Seungcheol.

You grade Dr. Ahn’s coursework. Try running off your anxiety at the gym, even though it’s pretty good at keeping pace with you these days. You meet Kaori’s maybe-boyfriend sneaking out of your apartment early in the morning and he has the good sense not to mention your ex, but you chalk that up to the mess of hickeys covering his neck and not any sense of social decorum.

Other people’s embarrassment saves you a ton of your own, you’ve come to learn.

Throughout all of this, Seungcheol only emails you once to send you his course syllabus. Doesn’t mention tutoring or provide you with his schedule or ask for yours, so when you’re sitting in a bar with your friends, three or four drinks deep and feeling a little petty, you forward him the original tutoring request and make sure to bold, underline, and highlight the “Recommended Tutoring: High” part for good measure.

He doesn’t take your bait—electronically, at least—but he does show up to your office hours the following Tuesday.

Bag tossed onto the floor, he flops unceremoniously into the chair across from you and says, in lieu of a greeting, “They spelled your name wrong. On the door thing.”

“I know,” you reply, your smile polite and terse. Incredible how he has the ability to raise your blood pressure in milliseconds. “What can I help you with?”

“Depends. How long do you have?”

“Well, considering you’ve shown up to my office hours on time, I’m assuming you already know I’m here every Tuesday and Thursday from four to six. So”—you glance at the clock above the door—“assuming no one comes by who needs my help more than you do, you have approximately one hour and fifty-eight minutes.”

Seungcheol is quiet for a moment as he takes you in. His stare is weighted; it makes you feel a little green around the edges. Clinical and sharp, so far removed from the way he used to look at you. You clear your throat. “I looked over your syllabus. The good news is there’s only a midterm and a final and the rest is problem sets. The bad news is there’s only a midterm and a final so they’re weighted quite heavily. You really need to know this stuff inside-out to have any hope of passing.”

“That’s why you’re here, right? Dr. Lee specifically requested you.”

You huff a breath through your nose. “I’m here as supplemental help. I can’t take your exams or do your readings for you. What else are you taking this semester?”

He sighs, sinking further into the chair, very much playing the part of the heir who has no interest in any of this. Which… is unlike him, you think, if you’re even allowed to. The Seungcheol you knew years ago took everything so seriously. Never clipped corners or took shortcuts. Anyone else would think him a spoiled, petulant child. “Business Accounting and International Trade.”

“Could be worse,” you note. “At least those three courses are tangentially related.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “Easy for you to say. I haven’t taken a fucking math class in years.”

You return it. “You remember how to add and subtract, don’t you?”

“I ruptured my ACL, not my…” He trails off, looking a little embarrassed that he can’t name a part of the—“Brain.”

Whatever you were going to quip back with dies on your tongue. It's the first time Seungcheol has broached the topic of his injury—the first you’re hearing of it at all, actually—and he says it like it’s a joke, like it’s not a thing at all, but the pain is all over his face. The bitterness of the situation he’s found himself in. The unfairness of it all.

And there are so many questions you want to ask that aren’t your place: if it’s fixable, if he’ll ever play again, how he’s coping. But you don’t really need to—you can’t imagine how you’d feel if someone suddenly pulled the rug out from under you. If everything contained within the four walls of your office suddenly disappeared.

Not that the man sitting across from you hadn’t already done that, but.

“Right,” you continue, as if he hadn’t said anything at all. You know Seungcheol—know he wouldn’t want you prodding, sticking your fingers in that particular wound. “I want you to take a look at this,” you say, handing over a printout you have saved from your undergrad tutoring days. “Tell me what looks familiar, what doesn’t; what does and doesn’t make sense.”

He looks down at the paper. Back up at you. Down at the paper again. “What the fuck is this?”

“I—what? Cheol, it’s my old notes on recitation. Surely you’ve already covered this—the syllabus says this is week one stuff.” He looks down at the paper again, and it’s so familiar, watching the life drain entirely from someone’s eyes.

You barely resist the urge to slam your face onto your desk a second time.

You meet Seungcheol at the sports center for your next tutoring session.

He likes the humidity and the smell of the chlorine by the pool. He also likes that it’s not the football pitch, so the two of you sit in the bleachers there and go over his lecture notes. Much to your surprise, Seungcheol talks a mile a minute. Has stars in his eyes when he says he finally understands elastic demand curves, supply shock; tells you he spent a whole hour making flashcards.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him so excited since your tutoring began—the first glimmer of hope you’ve felt since Dr. Lee cornered you in your library hideaway. None of this surprises you. Seungcheol has always been smart, even when football was his primary (and sometimes only) focus. He has more determination and grit than anyone you’ve ever met, so you’re not surprised he’s doing well, excelling, but you are surprised—

“Can I ask you something?” Seungcheol shrugs, shoves half a protein bar in his mouth and swallows without chewing. “Why are you… uh. Here?”

“At this university?”

“Not exactly. I mean, I am wondering about that, but I guess… why business?”

Seungcheol hums. Tucks his good knee to his chest and stares down at the pool. No one’s using it, and truthfully the two of you probably aren’t even allowed to be here, but you understand why he likes it. It’s nowhere near as secluded as the library and definitely not as air conditioned, but it is peaceful. Calm. The water laps against the coping in quiet, small waves.

“Ah, I don’t know. You know how it goes.”

You quirk an eyebrow. Never, in all the years you’ve known him, has Seungcheol done anything he didn’t want to do. All that grit and determination. “What about your father, then? Dr. Lee mentioned this was a favor to him. He’s a pretty important person to have in your Rolodex of favors.”

Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see what this is: Seungcheol’s father has new money; worked from the bottom up, made some smart investment decisions that finally panned out after Seungcheol left for Seoul. Started doing his own thing, made a name for himself. Last you’d heard from your mother, Seungcheol’s brother was second-in-command. Hell, even your own brother did an internship there.

So you know what this is: a father helping his son after his dream was shattered, life turned upside-down. You can’t blame him, even if you’ve heard the whispers from all the way across campus. That Seungcheol is washed up now, trying to nepo his way into his father’s company because of it; that all he knows is sports and he should’ve stuck to that, what does he know about business, why is he the one Dr. Lee went out of his way to help.

Doesn’t stop any of them from smiling at him, though; doesn’t stop them from asking for autographs or selfies.

But you also know this isn’t something Seungcheol seems willing to discuss, so you crack a joke—“I mean, business. God, who’d wanna go into that?”—and go back to what he was willing to talk about.

You’ve never hated elastic demand curves so much in your life.

Deep in the throes of tutoring—when you can’t tell if it’s week two or week twelve—you make it back to your apartment just before ten, head pounding.

The door flies open just as you’re about to punch in the code, and there stands Ken, looking far more put-off than you’ve ever seen him. Looks defeated, if you’re being honest, like someone mopped up all his emotions and wrung them out like dirty dishwater.

“Oh, hi,” you say hesitantly. The man in front of you seems too much like a caged animal to let your guard down. “Everything okay?”

He aborts a nod halfway. Mutters an apology as he brushes by you and stalks down the hall, disappearing around the corner to the elevators. Usually he’s a talker—you haven’t been able to avoid a Seungcheol-related conversation in weeks—so you’re a little stunned. Stand there stupidly for a while, and that’s where Kaori finds you a moment later.

“You gonna stand out here all night, or…?”

“Oh—yeah, right.”

You follow her inside. Toe off your shoes and put them in the rack. Focus on the sound of the kettle whistling instead of the overbearing tension in the room. Drop your bag off in your room, throw on a sweatshirt three sizes too big and a comfy pair of socks. Rummage through the fridge for leftovers, contemplate what mindless show you’ll watch as you eat, and you do not, under any circumstances, ask Kaori what happened.

You don’t have to. You knew what this was going to be the first time Ken spent the night—the way he looked mortified to be meeting you in the shared kitchen at seven a.m., wearing a look that begged you not to tell your roommate he was sneaking out.

I, uh, have an early class, he’d said. You know how it is.

Maybe you should’ve called him on it then. Issued a warning-but-not-really. She’ll get attached if you don’t tell her. She should know it’s different for you, if it is.

But you’d convinced yourself it wasn’t your place. Kaori wouldn’t want you in her business like that, so you stayed quiet, just nodded before watching him slip his shoes on and close the door behind him so quietly you wouldn’t have known he left at all if you hadn’t been looking. Gone, just like a ghost.

So, yeah, you know exactly why your roommate looks haunted.

“I’m a few episodes behind on this if you want to watch with me,” you offer, pointing at the television with the remote. It’s a lie—you’ve never watched this show a day in your life, which Kaori seems to know—but she contemplates it nonetheless. “Also, my mom mailed us some cookies. I think they’re in the fridge.”

“Why are there cookies in the fridge?”

You huff a laugh. “They were outside the door this morning before I left for campus. I don’t know—just saw who the package was from and was like, oh, this must go in the fridge.”

She nods. Grabs the container and joins you on the couch. Sticks her feet beneath your butt and doesn’t mention a thing.

The closest she comes is a few days later. Catches you right before you head out to campus and asks how tutoring is going.

“Not bad, actually.”

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes when she says, “That’s good. I’m glad things are going well for you two.”

Lee Chan, Sophomore makes his unexpected return at your office hours on an unsuspecting Tuesday.

“Can I help you?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just helps himself to the seat across from you. “Maybe,” comes his cryptic retort. “I was thinking about signing up for that crypto course next semester.”

You narrow your eyes. “No, you weren’t.”

He sighs. Looks a little panicked, like he can’t believe that didn’t work. “You’re right, you’re right. I, um—I wanted to come say thank you.” He pauses. “You know, for that… email you sent.”

You blink. “No, you didn’t.”

Lee Chan, Sophomore cracks immediately. Thunks his head on your desk and lets loose a pained sound. It nearly sounds like he’s wailing when he says, “I’m sorry! They put me up to it!”

What you’re able to piece together is this: Lee Chan, Sophomore has become a bit of a celebrity in the Student Services department ever since he met you, Choi Seungcheol’s tutor. And, like any smart, previously unpopular university student would do, he took advantage of it. Might’ve stretched the truth a little to make it sound like he knew more than he did, so now here he is, angling for information the girls with the photocards may or may not have paid him to get.

“They want to know about his girlfriend.”

“His what?”

What you’re able to piece together is also this: the Photocard Girls are certain Seungcheol is dating someone, based on little more than vibes. You suspect these vibes are their three degrees of separation, considering there was an abnormal amount of Change of Major files formed after his enrollment, but you tell Lee Chan that you don’t know anything and, even if you did, you wouldn’t put his business out there like that.

But some part of you still has this inexplicable urge to protect Seungcheol, so you match their offer with interest and tell him to say there’s nothing to report—not that you didn’t know, not that he couldn’t get anything out of you. Seungcheol isn’t dating anyone.

You don’t know if it’s true, but you figure that if it isn’t, he still deserves privacy.

Which is a notion you have trouble explaining a few hours later, when Seungcheol strolls into your office with a grease-stained paper bag full of cheese coin bread, offering one to you with a proud smile that drops slowly when you just stare in return.

“What’s wrong?”

Your mouth opens, closes, opens again. Nothing comes out, even though it should be simple. Some sophomore kid was just in here angling for information or the Student Services department is taking bets on whether or not you have a girlfriend would both suffice, but you cannot bring yourself to say the words.

What you settle on is, “Sorry, I just… had an interesting meeting before you got here.”

“Oh. Are you okay?”

You sigh. Tilt your head back to stare up at the ceiling. “It was about you, actually.”

Seungcheol chokes, starts stuttering over words you can’t make sense of. Says, “Me? Why? I passed my last exam—I mean, barely, but I still passed. And that wasn’t your fault! I didn’t study enough! I’ve been losing my mind over my International Trade class, that shit sucks—”

“It wasn’t about your grades, Cheol.”

“Oh.” Then, slowly, a lopsided, pleased smile overtakes his face. “Haven’t heard you call me Cheol in a while.”

“Seungcheol,” you correct.

He seems to forget all about the meeting. Tries again to offer you a coin bread before he threatens to eat them all himself, so you acquiesce mostly to shut him up, say you’ll bring the extras to Kaori. For some reason, you tell him about how much she’d loved the cookies your mom sent, and the nostalgia sets him off, gets him talking again, asking if they were the yakgwa she used to make when you two were kids.

They were, but you can’t seem to tell him that, either.

Seungcheol: sorry it’s last minute - running late. can you meet me at my place instead?

Seungcheol shared a location with you

You’re halfway to replying—I don’t think that’s appropriate—before you sigh and delete it. Midterms are only a few days away and you don’t have time to argue over where your tutoring sessions will be, so if Seungcheol wants to meet at his apartment that’s where you’ll meet him.

You read over the midterm notes on the train. Once, twice, and then a hundred more times until they’re nearly memorized, all so you can ignore the voice in the back of your head saying what a bad idea this is. That you have no business being on your way to your ex’s swanky part of town or integrating yourself into his life beyond tutoring at all. You shouldn’t know where he lives. Maybe you shouldn’t even have his phone number or answer his texts.

Not that there’s much you can do about it now, two stops away.

Seungcheol greets you warmly, if not a little rushed. Apologizes for the mess once you step inside, although it’s less “mess” and more “haven’t finished unpacking,” but there’s enough clear space to study at the dining table, so that’s where you set up, determined to keep things professional.

“Sorry again about this,” Seungcheol says, placing a can of cola in front of you as he takes the seat across. “I had to meet with my father and lost track of time, I guess.”

“Oh. How’s he doing?”

Seungcheol sighs, leans further back in the chair as runs a hand through his hair. A light brown, now. “Same as he always was, I guess. Talked about the business, about my brother. Can’t get him to shut up about that stuff most of the time.”

“The business is doing good, though.” You cough, clear your throat. “My, uh. My brother interned there during undergrad. I don’t know if your father told you that.”

You don’t know why you say it, because it’s clear from the brief flicker of pain on Seungcheol’s face that he hadn’t known, that no one had told him. And it hurts you too that they felt the need to keep it a secret, to protect Seungcheol from you even in tangential ways.

“He didn’t,” he admits, “but I’m sure he was happy to see him. He was, uh—he was glad to hear you’re my tutor. Said you were always smarter than all of us boys combined.”

You laugh. Hope it sounds casual instead of strained. “Well, no need to prove him right. Come on,” you say, tossing a study guide in his direction, “let’s get to work.”

Everything is alright for a while—nearly an hour at least. He has the formulas memorized and attributed to the correct equations. He can explain supply and demand, preference and utility, but things start to fall apart around budget constraints and constrained choice.

The formulas get mixed up. He grows frustrated when he doesn’t know the answers to your questions right away. Rolls his eyes and gets a little snappy when you correct him, try to explain things differently in a way he understands. At first he’s able to temper it, collect himself before things truly start spiraling out of control, but the longer the two of you sit there the more it all unravels.

He snaps, you snap back, and you can’t figure out why. You’ve survived this long in Seungcheol’s orbit even though you never thought you’d be around him again, and perhaps it was bound to explode eventually, but…

It’s the familiarity, you realize.

You and Seungcheol aren’t friends, though you’ve been playing at it for weeks now: meeting outside of the library or your office, the personal conversations bordering on reminiscing, being in his personal space. You don’t belong here. You don’t want to be his friend—you can’t be, not for real or pretend.

“That’s not what I’m say—”

“Then explain it better,” Seungcheol fires at you, eyebrows creasing. “You’re the tutor here.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m trying, okay? All I meant was—your answer isn’t wrong, but I know Dr. Lee and he’s going to want more than that in a response.”

“Right—not good enough, like I said.”

“I’m just asking you to expand on your answer—”

“And I’m telling you that’s all I’ve got. I’m not like you, all right? I don’t have all this shit just floating around in my head all the time. I’m not smart, I barely have any idea what’s going on half the time, and you sitting here being condescending about it is doing fuck-all to help.”

You inhale sharply, taken aback at the hostility in his voice. Suggest calling it for the night, say neither of you will be productive if you keep going like this, and neither of you bother to apologize.

So much of your relationship with Seungcheol was marred by clichés.

The two of you passing notes back and forth during class. You in the bleachers of all his games, screaming along to the team chants, waving a sign around with his name on it. Not realizing you had a crush on him at all until he liked someone else and it made your stomach hurt. Childhood friends turned lovers.

Another cliché: that it’s starting to feel like that all over again.

Seungcheol sits across from you in the library, econ textbook cracked in half in front of him as he pays no attention. Keeps grabbing his phone each time it vibrates across the table. Can’t fight the smile that forces its way onto his face when he reads whatever’s there.

Stupid, you think—both to do this and to think it’d play out any other way. Seungcheol left years ago. Probably lived ten lifetimes while he was away while you were here in this exact spot doing this exact thing. Barely lived half a life, just stuck your nose in textbooks and forced your way through.

“Cheol,” you say, trying to drag his attention back to the study guide. No use. He’s typing away, presses his tongue into the fat of his cheek as he responds. “Seungcheol,” you try again.

Also fruitless.

You have no claim here, you remind yourself—not to his time, not to him. He’s only here because someone else mandated it. You’re only here because someone else mandated it, but it stings all the same. Another reminder of what used to be, of what ended regardless of what you wanted. Another reminder that the role you used to play in his life is not the role you play now. That the space you used to take up created a vacancy, and eventually it was going to be filled.

And if this was anyone other than Seungcheol, if you were more emotionally evolved when it came to him, it wouldn’t gnaw at you as much. All of this would roll off your shoulders.

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

“If you’re not going to listen, then—”

“I am listening,” he interjects, but he’s not looking at you. Not looking at his textbook or his study guide. Keeps laughing and smiling at his phone, and it’s sick how bothered you are by it. That it feels like your stomach’s been turned inside-out with jealousy; with annoyance, because you don’t want to be here anyway, don’t want to do this anymore, and you’re wasting your time on someone who doesn’t appreciate it.

Perhaps he never did.

“What are we discussing, then?”

Still not looking up: “Consumer theory.”

You laugh—more a huff of air than anything, grin sardonically out of one corner of your mouth. Seungcheol sees none of it. “Wrong,” you answer, already expecting the way he shrugs it off. “I’m gonna skip ahead a few chapters, though. Consider it a freebie for your business class.”

It must be your tone that finally grabs his attention. Cutting, precise, purposeful. Seungcheol lowers his phone, quirks an eyebrow, wonders where this is going to go. It’s clear he’s pissed you off, that you’re itching for a fight. It’s clear the years of silence are finally coming to a head.

“Let’s talk about ROI. You know what that is?” You barely give him a second. “Return on investment. A performance measure used to evaluate the efficiency of an investment or compare the efficiency of several investments. So, let’s say I make one-hundred-thousand won on a ten-thousand won investment: my ROI is 90%. Are you following?”

He nods.

“Great, now let’s try something a bit more hypothetical.” You suck in a breath. “Let’s say I invest years of my adolescence into someone. A friend at first and then something more. Let’s say I played cheerleader, supported every hope and dream he had—went to every game, cheered him on, helped him practice his English. Held his hand and talked him down when the pressure felt overwhelming, when the only thing that felt inevitable was failure. Now, let’s say all I got in return was a stuttered, awkward apology as he dumped me and walked out the door. Let’s say that guy showed up again after years of silence just to once again waste my fucking time.”

The thing about pain is it’s not linear. What hurt five, ten years ago might not hurt today, but it might tomorrow; what hurt yesterday may never hurt again. The thing about pain is it lets you stick your head in the sand until it can’t anymore, and that’s where you are now: that window of time between Seungcheol walking out the door on the assumption you’d never see him again before he bulldozed his way back into your life has been slammed closed, locked up tight.

So you don’t even notice you’re crying until the room goes deathly silent and you can hear the drip drip drip of tears on paper. Until you watch Seungcheol’s hands flex and unflex in mid-air, stuck in that liminal space, wanting to reach out but knowing he has no right to. Until your chest aches so bad you’re sure you’re either about to break into stardust or cease to exist.

Until you say, “What, Choi Seungcheol, would you say my fucking return on investment was?” and he has nothing to say at all.

Kaori invites you to a party.

Just something small to celebrate the end of midterms and a classmate’s birthday. Nothing out of control or raucous, not even the kind of thing that’d earn a second glance from campus security. I won’t even make fun of you if you leave before eleven, is how she sold it to you, in addition to a small amount of begging and bargaining and a powerful set of puppy-dog eyes.

After everything the two of you have been through, you find it hard to say no.

So here you are, nearly eleven o’clock on a Friday, a cup of cheap beer in hand. A friend of a friend of a friend is wailing into a karaoke machine and although your ears are bleeding, it does feel nice for that to be your greatest worry. You aren’t thinking about your classes or how you’ve been prioritizing everyone else’s academic success. You aren’t thinking about whatever’s going on between Kaori and Ken. You aren’t thinking about Seungcheol.

At least you aren’t, until he walks through the door.

You’re going to continue not thinking about him at all—not about the fact he’s alone or how good he looks in a simple black T-shirt that’s a little taut in the shoulders. You’re not going to think about the way the air shifts, like the universe knows he’s important and is willing to accommodate. You’re not going to think about how Kaori catches your eye across the room, recognizes him from all her internet searches, and the way she mouths oh my god he’s so beefy at you.

You’re not going to think about how guilty you feel that she doesn’t know, because if you do you’re certain it’ll take over.

You watch Seungcheol work the room; watch as he floats between conversations, as strangers fall over themselves at the sight of him. How eager everyone is to give him something and how reluctant he is to take them. You watch as he winds up in the same circle as Kaori and how she must mention you, oh, your tutor is my roommate, because there’s a question in return before he turns and meets your gaze.

You wonder why the distance between you feels more insurmountable now than ever before.

Seungcheol finds you in your office.

It’s not a Tuesday or a Thursday, far later than four to six in the evening, but he doesn’t even bother knocking before he’s barreling in, stifling your space with his bad energy.

You haven’t seen him in nearly two weeks. Not since the party, if that even counts. Hasn’t bothered to reply to any of your texts or emails, and that was just fine by you, if that’s how he wanted to act, but it isn’t until he’s brooding on the other side of your desk that you realize you’re still aggrieved, too. Feels a little too familiar, him leaving you behind and in the dark.

So you don’t mean to—typically have much more professionalism than this—but when he tosses a stapled stack of papers with a barely-passing grade on your desk and says, “This is your fault,” the words come automatically and without forethought.

“Fuck off, Seungcheol.” It’s not your words that take him by surprise; more so the roll of your eyes, the accompanying huff. The impression that all of this is beneath you and nothing more than a mere annoyance. That however affected you were two weeks ago is not how affected you are anymore. “That’s what happens when you blow off your tutoring for two weeks because you’re a coward.”

He laughs, incredulous; unable to help the sound the tumbles out of his mouth. “I’m a—I’m a coward?”

“Yes,” you reply, tone giving away nothing. All he sees is feigned nonchalance despite the hurricane you feel brewing beneath the surface. “This,” you continue, pinching the corner of the paper between your fingertips and disposing of it in the trashcan beneath your desk, “is all on you, but do please let me know if there’s anything else you’d like to blame me for. I’m all ears.”

You don’t miss it: the way Seungcheol’s eyes grow wide at your ‘I’m all.’ The way he thinks you’re going to punctuate that sentence with yours, and it nearly has bile rising in your throat. Makes you want to scream, rip at your hair. If the last few months have taught you anything, it’s that you are still hopelessly in love with the man across from you—the man that continues to leave before he’s left, always at your expense.

So, yeah—Seungcheol is a coward, but only when it comes to you.

But he doesn’t look much like one now, gripping so hard at the edge of your desk that his knuckles have gone white, baseball cap pulled down low enough his eyes are barely visible. He’s always been overwhelming, always carried himself with an exaggerated arrogance even when it wasn’t warranted, always took everything so seriously, and maybe that’s why you’d thought he’d treat you the same way. Take you seriously. Wouldn’t just throw it all away on a maybe thing, and that’s why it's been years and you still aren’t over it.

Maybe Seungcheol is a coward, and maybe so are you.

Because not once since he’s been back have you been able to say what you mean. Can’t seem to tell him about the anger, the hurt, the heartbreak. Played it all off as petty nonchalance because you foolishly thought that would hurt him, that you’ve been reduced to simmering ash, no hope left for a fire.

“I could never blame you for a goddamn thing,” he says, voice so deep you could drown in it.

You so desperately want to know. You don’t want to know anything at all. You want Seungcheol to explain everything to you in detail and spoil the ending, but only if it’s guaranteed to be happy. Enduring another loss like the first time—you’re not sure you can take it. Not after you two have crossed paths like this, because you’ve never quite believed in fate but you think that has to mean something. That so much time and life had transpired and you two came back together.

Today, though, it doesn’t look like you’re going to get any answers.

Seungcheol straightens, looms at full height. Digs into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out a thumb drive. Wordlessly, he hands it over, and then he’s gone just as abruptly as he’d arrived.

Again.

Kaori wants to spend the weekend moping, and you can’t come up with a good reason not to join her.

She doesn’t mention Ken once. Not when she’s sobbing over A Silent Voice and Toradora! after that. Not when she keeps glancing at her phone every couple minutes to see if she has any texts. Not when you—only halfway paying attention between grading and your own assignments—suggest ordering something for delivery, maybe that new burger place down the street you heard was good, and Kaori shuts it down so vehemently you can only assume it was Ken’s favorite place.

Kaori just cries over the man with the big dick she never expected to take so seriously, and not even your stonewalling makes her feel ashamed of it.

And there’s respectability in that kind of openness and vulnerability. At least whatever she’s feeling is honest; at least she can admit she’s sad. You think watching Kaori process her breakup might help you process yours too, years too late, so you suck in a breath and ask, “Can I tell you something or is now not a good time?”

Kaori looks over at you. Dabs a soggy tissue at her eyes. “Well, I guess it depends,” is her answer, and she doesn’t shy away from how waterlogged her voice sounds. “If you’re going to tell me you’re a Takasu and Kawashima shipper, maybe, but if it’s anything worse I’m not sure I could take it.”

“I—what? Who even are they?” She gives you a half-hearted thumbs up. You sigh in response, sink further into the couch. “It’s, uh.” Clear your throat. “Do you remember when we met sophomore year? At that party? And I told you I wasn’t looking for anything and you said, and I quote, why not, I have a sixth sense for this kind of thing and I know that guy will have a huge—”

She hides her face behind her hands. “Ew, god, yes I remember that. My dick whisperer era. How embarrassing.”

“Right. And I told you I wasn’t looking for anything because I’d just gotten out of something.”

“Not really by choice, if I remember correctly. I told you if it was quiet it should’ve been loud, and then you never talked about it again.”

You nod. “I—yeah, that sounds like something I would’ve said.” You suck in a deep breath. “Listen, this is probably gonna sound bad considering I did never talk about it again, but—”

“Hey,” Kaori says, nudging you with her foot. Meant to be comforting, somehow. “It’s okay. There’s a lot you don’t know about me, too… most of which I’m not sure you should, actually.”

A laugh forces its way out, gives you a nice reprieve from the anxiety of the conversation you’re about to have. The need to explain it all, the need for advice. Maybe it’s not her—or anyone else’s—business, but you think you’ve kept this to yourself long enough. You and Seungcheol loved each other, once, and it seems foolish that no one knows.

Maybe Kaori had been right. Maybe love should be shouted from the rooftops; exist out in the open. Maybe something hidden in the shadows can never thrive in the light, and you knew it back then, deep down, but now it seems so obvious.

You think back to a few days before the library. Think about how things didn’t feel good but they felt okay. Think about the frustrated crease between Seungcheol’s eyebrows as he stared down at his textbook and how all you’d wanted to do was smooth it. Think about how you’d rolled your lips and tried not to laugh; how you thought it’d take a miracle to help Seungcheol pass this class.

Think about: What is the difference between the short-run and the long-run from the perspective of production theory?

Think about the short-run of your and Seungcheol’s relationship—that you’d burned bright and fast, even though it’d felt like a million years. Hadn’t dared to consider the long-run because anything beyond that bubble felt impossible.

Think about: Which of the following is not a property of isoquants?

Think about the way Seungcheol’s eyes lit up when he knew the answer. That they’re always linear, he said, and you smiled at his enthusiasm, raised your hand to high-five him and dropped it when he hadn’t noticed.

You think about the explanation—isoquants can be linear when inputs are perfectly substitutable—and what those graphs look like. Downward sloping, left to right. Think about how the graphs change when the isoquants are perfect complements.

L-shaped. Less straight as the inputs become poorer substitutes.

You know what your and Seungcheol’s graph would’ve looked like back then.

So it’s easy, almost, to tell Kaori everything. You tell her about growing up in Daegu, about the smell of the azaleas at Biseulsan in the spring. You tell her about how your parents had befriended the neighbors, how they had a kid your age, that that kid was Seungcheol—yes, that Seungcheol.

She’s able to anticipate the rest from there, but you fill in the blanks of what she can’t: being sixteen and falling in love, holding hands, the clandestine notes. All those football matches and how your throat would be hoarse from cheering. How nauseous you’d felt applying to university in Seoul, how excited you were when Seungcheol said he was coming with you. That, after you arrived, it felt like you were living in fast-forward. Barely any time to breathe or adjust; no time to just be you and Seungcheol. You had to be a student, someone responsible; Seungcheol had to be a phenom.

“Could you feel it was going to happen?” Kaori asks, now sat ramrod straight, all her attention on you. “Like, did you know?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Maybe I did? It’s hard to say now, all this time later. I know things definitely felt different, like life was pulling us in opposite directions.” You laugh, bitterness coloring the edges. “You couldn’t go two blocks without seeing him on some billboard, and I was just… normal, you know? I wasn’t some rising star athlete like he was, I just went to my classes. How was I supposed to compete with something like that?”

Your roommate hums, leans back into the pillows as she stares up at the ceiling. “I don’t think you were. Maybe that’s why Seungcheol was worried—maybe he felt like you were losing your own identity feeling like you had to keep up.”

You want to push back, argue that you weren’t, that you didn’t, but the truth is that it’s possible. That the shadows created by Seungcheol’s dreams were so massive you wouldn’t be surprised if they unintentionally swallowed you up. “It still wasn’t his choice to make,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

And Kaori already knows all about your hurt, listened as you explained it all and laid everything bare. So when she says, “Sometimes that’s just how it goes, though, babe,” it doesn’t feel condescending. “We do the best we can with what we’ve got at the time. You can say now it wasn’t Seungcheol’s choice to make, because it’s been almost five years and you’ve made a life for yourself separate from him. But the—god, this is gonna sound so patronizing, I am so sorry—but you guys were so young. No one has it all figured out at that age.”

She snorts, runs a hand through her messy hair. “Shit, I’m nearly halfway to thirty and I still don’t know anything.” Adopts a frown. “What do you want now? Do you want closure? Want to try to fix things and become friends?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, biting at a hangnail. “He actually, um. The other day when he stopped by my office, he left me a USB drive? And before you ask, no I did not already look at it.”

“A USB drive? Who does this guy think he is, James Bond?” A pause. “Are you gonna look at it, though?”

You do.

Not until the silver, midnight light creeps in through your bedroom curtains and you’ve stared at the ceiling long enough; waited long enough for texts that never came, for divine intervention to, well, intervene. It never did—fair enough—so you decide to take fate by the reins. Grab your laptop, instant headache from the screen, stick the drive into the port.

It takes a second for it to load, but when it does: dozens of videos, organized by date. Vlogs, by the look of them—some from before your breakup but the majority of them from after.

You’re not sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this.

You click on the first one: a month and a half before both of you moved to Seoul. A fresh-faced Seungcheol appears on your screen, cheeks still round with adolescence. He’s in his room back in Daegu, can’t get the camera angle right. Nostalgia hits you like a ton of bricks as it pans to the side, to the wall behind his bed, and you see all his old posters. Mostly football players you couldn’t name, some girl group he used to love, a few movies. Just below them are some of the notes you’d written him in school, and they’re all you can focus on as he talks about how excited he is for the move.

The next: a few weeks after you’d started classes. By then, Seungcheol was well into the swing of things with Seoul FC. Already a big fish in a small pond, tryout offers from European teams starting to roll in. You can hear yourself in the background stressing over your first exam, wishing a generational curse upon your calculus professor. In the video, Seungcheol laughs, whispers like he’s telling the camera a secret as he talks about how nervous he is for his future. I don’t know why, he says, but it just feels like everything is about to change.

There’s a long pause between that one and the next. You understand why when you look at the date: three months after your breakup. Your hands hover uselessly above your keyboard. Whatever answers you’ve been looking for the last few years are probably in this video, but you can’t bring yourself to open it. Not right away, at least.

You click on a different one at random. Seungcheol’s somewhere in Europe, judging from the language on the signs behind him. Snow falls quietly—whenever he filmed this, it must’ve been early. No one else is around, and he cracks a joke that it’s a good thing, people would probably think he was crazy if they saw him. He doesn’t tell you where he’s going but he narrates the entire walk: points out a cafe he’s grown to love. The way to get to his practice stadium from where he’s standing. Pauses near a restaurant and laughs ruefully, shakes his head, says, I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but one of my teammates set me up on a blind date here and I got stood up. You’d probably think that was funny.

(You do. It also makes your chest ache.)

One from two years ago: Seungcheol in a hotel room, clearly nervous. He raises his hand to wave at the camera and you can see the corners of his nails bitten raw. Dark circles beneath his eyes; cheekbones more pronounced than you’ve ever seen them. On the screen, Seungcheol sighs, rakes a hand through freshly-bleached hair. Sucks in a deep breath as he says, I’m so nervous. I’m so—so fucking nervous and I don’t. Fuck, I don’t know what to do. I want to call you because you always knew what to say but that’s so fucking selfish. God, we haven’t spoken in years, and it’s my—that’s my fault, I know, so I brought this all on myself. I just want to hear your voice.

Another from a week after that: the color’s returned to his face, and he’s recording from what looks like a penthouse apartment. Sleek, modern; a small white dog napping on the bed beside him. He smiles, looks like he got his teeth fixed, looks like he’s no longer carrying around the weight of the world. Talks endlessly and excitedly about some tournament. Talks so fast you can barely keep up. Talks around words tinged with languages you don’t understand.

Seungcheol wins a championship. Records a drunk vlog from the same night, hair soaked through with god-knows-what—water, champagne, you don’t know. But he looks radiant. Looks like the culmination of two decades of dreaming. He looks happy, free, at peace. He looks like the reason he let you go, why he had to go away.

You scroll to the bottom of the files. Pause at the last video, dated seven months before the term started.

“Hi,” he says, and you can immediately tell everything is all wrong. Seungcheol’s in the dark, face only visible enough to see the tears tracking on his cheeks. “This is going to be the last one of these I make. I don’t know if you, uh—I’m sure you aren’t paying attention to me—my career—anymore, but. I, um. I got hurt. Ruptured my ACL. They’re not sure I’ll…” A sob escapes him. Has you wanting to climb through the screen to hold him, thumb away his tears, tell him everything is going to be okay. “They don’t know if I’ll ever play again.”

Seungcheol no longer looks happy, free, at peace. “Maybe you’ll be happy to hear that,” he continues. “Maybe it’ll help you to know I threw away our relationship for nothing.”

Cut to black.

The sudden silence is deafening. Has you desperately clicking back to the video you’d skipped, the one from just after your breakup. Seungcheol looks the same in that one, too, like the life has been drained out of him.

I don’t know why I’m doing this. It’s not like I’ll ever show these to you now, since I…

I’m sure I owe you an explanation. To be honest, I don’t know what I’m doing, I just—things have been so hard, and I’m still trying to make sense of it all. I feel like my life went from zero to a hundred before I could even blink and now I’m scrambling. I didn’t think it was fair to—to drag you through that. Me being away, moving to an entirely different continent. I have faith we could do it, I just. I don’t know, baby, I don’t…

You deserve to have your own life. Be your own person. I’m so scared that the world will never see you for who you are—so beautiful and intelligent and kind. You don’t deserve to be reduced to my partner. And if you ever see this, I know you’re gonna roll your eyes. Probably call me a mean name because I took the choice away from you, because you think I’m trying to be selfless and heroic, and you’d be right. It’s not fair, and I wish I could tell you I’m sorry.

I wish I could just… pluck out my brain and give it to you, because even if it killed me to do it, at least it makes sense to me. And I don’t—I don’t want you to think I’m not hurting. I’ve been sick to my stomach since I left. I know I’m making a mistake, I know I am, I just—how do I do what I think is right in the long-run when it’s not what I want right now, or ever?

I don’t want to get over you. I don’t want you to get over me, and that’s how you know I’m not acting selflessly, because you should. I want you to always be happy, I just… wish it was with me.

So, I’m going to keep making these. I’m going to take you along for the ride, wherever it takes us, because you should be here but I can only hope you can one day understand why you’re not. I’m so—I’m so sorry, I don’t…

I’m sorry.

I love you.

You fall asleep and dream that you were the one meant to meet him at that restaurant.

The first thing you do is make a call to your mother.

“Could you send another container of yakgwa?”

On the other end of the line, your mother tuts, motherly intuition audibly kicking into overdrive. Is probably wearing that all-knowing, sly grin she always does when you try to be coy and evasive. “What happened to the last container I sent?”

“Ah, you know Kaori loves those. They barely lasted an hour after I told her what was in there.”

She hums an acknowledgement. Sounds like she takes a sip of tea. “I remember someone else being quite fond of those cookies, too.”

“Well, they are the most popular cookies in the country, so.”

After haranguing you into admitting they’re for Seungcheol and not your roommate, your mother promises to send them quickly. A few days at most, which buys you enough time to figure out how you’re going to approach the man in question.

The vlogs have turned your entire world upside-down. Answered questions you hadn’t even known you had. Took all that anger and resentment you’d been holding onto and set it free, and now you’re just left with… a void. Want to mend things, and it makes you wonder if such a thing is even possible, if it’s too late, but you don’t let those thoughts get very far.

Instead, you let them spur you into action. Have you sitting in front of your laptop at your desk, office hours long since over, silence creeping in the more the department empties. The thrum of the airconditioning and the tick-tick-tick of the clock are all the only company you have.

You worry if it’ll show on camera, how out of sorts you feel: sweating from the nerves, dabbing at your hairline; cheeks warm to the touch. But you suck in a breath anyway, steel yourself. Look at your webcam and the daunting red circle…

And start recording.

He hadn’t gotten it at first. Not really.

There’d been a container of yakgwa outside his door with his USB drive taped to the top of it. No note—not that he needed one to know who it was from, but he wasn’t sure what it was. A goodbye? A please fuck off forever and never contact me again?

He’d just taken them inside. Ate too many of the cookies while feeling sorry for himself. Maybe had a glass or two of wine to compound the issue, and never, ever considered contacting you. Didn’t think he could bear it if you never wanted to see him again, but he just…

Well, he was drunk and alone and he missed you, and he’d rewatched all those videos he recorded a million times before when he was like this, so what was a million and one?

It’d been the same as every time before: he smiled at the happy parts, cried at all his old wounds. Wanted to reach through the screen and strangle his past self for including that part about the blind date, because he never wanted to date anyone who wasn’t you, why would he say that, felt mortified at the thought of you watching that—

And then there it was.

All the way at the bottom. A new video. One that hadn’t been recorded by him—

Hi, Cheol, you say, and that’s all it takes to reduce him to a sobbing, yearning mess. I’m not sure what to say here. I don’t really record much—sometimes for lectures when the professors are too busy, but never anything personal like this, but I watched every single one you made for me and I thought I should return the favor.

I wanted to tell you everything I’ve been up to since you left, but it hasn’t been much. I got my degree. Tutored a lot in undergrad—the same thing I’m tutoring you in now, actually. I was good at it and it felt good to have something that was mine, you know? I almost moved for grad school. Thought for a while I was going to wind up in New York, but then my parents divorced and it felt like too much, too scary, so I stayed. Kaori also stayed, so we got an apartment together. It’s not much, definitely not as nice as your place, but it’s good enough.

I don’t think I ever told you, but she was seeing a guy for a bit and he was… obsessed with you, to say the least. Thought you were the coolest person in the world. They aren’t seeing each other anymore. Ended pretty badly, but—speaking of which, maybe steer clear of Student Services for a while, too.

Sometimes it felt like failure that I wound up staying here. That I had scholarships from all these far-away, prestigious places and didn’t take advantage of them. That I gave into my fear. And now… I don’t know. Maybe there’s a reason I stayed behind. Maybe there’s a reason you ended up back here, too.

Whatever happens—I don’t want you to think I still blame you. Kaori says we do the best we can with what we’ve got at the time, and I understand now that’s what you did. Even though it hurt me, you were trying to protect me. I get it now. And I’m sorry you had to go through all of that alone. I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been to go to all these places you didn’t know. To have to deal with your injury, the loss of a dream.

You said in one of your videos that you just want me to be happy, and that’s all I want for you, too, whatever that looks like.

Here’s my address if you ever want to come by to talk.

I love you, too.

—and then he’d been up and out the door, feeling stone cold sober, running to the front of his building to wait for his ride.

Felt like the drive took hours. Must’ve hit every red light between his apartment and yours. Took the steps two at a time just to get to your door faster.

There’s a man already standing outside your door when he gets there. One that looks shocked to see him, stars in his eyes, and when Seungcheol says, “Oh, you must be Kaori’s ex,” he looks more like he wants the earth to swallow him whole. Embarrassed in front of his idol.

He knocks on your door and gets no response. Knocks again, harder this time, and he has to try really hard to stifle his laughter when your voice yells from the inside, “Fuck off, Kenji, I already told you she’s not here!”

“It’s me,” Seungcheol yells back.

There’s quiet again. Just enough time for it to feel like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest and follow Kaori’s ex down the hall.

Then you’re yanking the door open—slowly, so slowly, like you’re scared it’s not actually him. Your eyes are brimming with tears when they meet his own, and he doesn’t let himself think, just goes on instinct, when he grabs for you, hands on your cheeks, and presses his lips to yours.

Somehow you taste the same.

Somehow you taste like redemption.

You taste like home.

Seungcheol kisses you until the tears slow. Kisses you until the universe realigns, until he could map your mouth in the dark. Kisses you until all you’re all he knows again.

When he pulls away, you’re gripping at his sweatshirt, don’t want to let him go. He presses his forehead to yours, offers up a million more apologies, starts talking nonsense. Says he’s going to drop microeconomics, what the hell does he know, he barely has a passing grade anyway, what does it matter, he’s such an idiot—

And then you say, “You came back,” and nothing else matters.

“I always will.”

(Later on, as you’re trying to steady your breathing, slick with sweat, your thigh thrown over Seungcheol’s hip as he stares down at you, dopey smile on his face, you say, “Choi Seungcheol, don’t you dare drop that class. I have worked my ass off to get you to barely-passing.”)

if you’ve made it this far thank you so much for reading! i am still very new at writing for seventeen, so i hope this was acceptable. i'm now going to throw myself into the warped tour vernon fic and will hopefully not go another 7+ months without posting anything. 😭

i would love to hear your thoughts! <3

#seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #seungcheol angst #seungcheol au #scoups angst #seungcheol imagines #scoups imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #jewel writes

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kissenturine · 5 months ago

Text

𝐂𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 tartaglia x m!reader — 3.8k words, not proofread, minors do not interact

TO NOTE: amab reader, reader is a dom at first then switches halfway through, reader is mentioned to be wearing lingerie, light feminization (childe says pussy once), use of good boy amongst other pet names, light degradation, praise (for both reader and childe), childe sucks reader's dick, childe also eats reader's ass, cockwarming (childe can't take it LMAO), no aftercare written but it is given, childe licks ur fingers to clean them, mating press, dirty talk. lmk if i missed any!

KAI SAYS: almost 4k words of pure smut haha but like omg i wrote this so late at night with my tip so pls spare me AND!!! this is my return post so...

Tartaglia knows you’re doing it on purpose now, because how can you not be? He whimpers, his cheeks flushing a rosy pink as he feels you clench around him. “Baby, please.” He whines out, nuzzling his face into your neck. “I-I can’t—baby, it’s been thirty minutes.” Thirty minutes he’d been buried to the hilt in you; his dick hard and twitching as it stuffes you full.

Tartaglia whines. He could faintly hear the sound of you taking a deep breath, but that’s not what he was focusing on. No, he was focusing more on the way you squeeze him as you inhale. It was on purpose, he knew you couldn’t just be faking this.

With a deep breath, doing his best to steel his nerves, Tartaglia pressed his thumbs into the joysticks of his console again. “I…” He murmurs softly into the skin of your neck. “I don’ think I can beat this level.”

“No.” You coo in that sickeningly sweet voice of yours. “You can.”

Tartaglia nods his head, your encouragement helping lift his mood somewhat. But, true to his word, he dies yet again. Tartaglia lets out a pathetic whine when he’s greeted with the ‘You Died!’ Screen for the nth time tonight. This bet was made specifically with his torture in mind. You knew he would never beat this level, so to “motivate” him, as you put it, you would sit nice and still on his sensitive cock until he beat it.

“Can’t you move just a little, please.” Tartaglia begs, his dignity long gone. You’re evil for this, he thinks, but all of that is lost when you shift your hips slightly, his mind going blank at just the smallest friction.

He feels his tip bump your prostate, and Tartaglia knows he’s hit it when you moan out, your mouth right by his ear as his fingers press harshly against the buttons of his game console. “P-please!” He whines again. “I-I need you t’move, just a little, just a little, please.”

“Maybe, if you last another thirty minutes, I’ll consider it.” You hum, and Archons Tartaglia thinks he's losing his mind with the way your breath trickles over his ear. “But, if you make it through the level…” Your voice trails off, but Tartaglia knows what you meant.

If he makes it through the level, Tartaglia could finally fuck you. Push you against the bed, wipe that stupid smirk off your face, maybe make you sit on his face until you cry. The options, at least to him, are endless.

You trail your hand over the neck of his shirt, and Tartaglia’s eyes dart from the screen to you. You, all dressed up in your white lace panties and thigh highs, with your chest arched against his chest and here he was, still fully clothed.

Well, only thanks to you.

You, like the cruel man you are, wouldn’t let Tartaglia strip. You’d forced him to watch as you changed, stripping off your pyjamas and slipping on the lace lingerie while he sat there, half sure he was drooling. And then you’d gone and pressed him to the edge of the bed, forcing him to sit as you pulled out his leaking dick, not even bothering to pull his sweats all the way down. Then you sat your pretty hole on his dick, and Tartaglia couldn’t pull his eyes away from the way your ass practically swallowed him whole.

And then, began this whole ordeal of pure torture.

You’re sat on his lap, facing Tartaglia as his arms wrap around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder as he looks over your body and behind you to the console gripped tightly in his hands.

Tartaglia’s eyes dart to you, and they widen as he watches you shift on his dick, your tip forcing its way over the hem of your panties, now drooling pre all over his shirt. Tartaglia squeezes his eyes shut. You press a kiss right under his ear and Tartaglia twitches inside you. You let out a lewd moan and he doesn’t think he can take it anymore.

Not another thirty minutes, or another five.

Tartaglia’s hands shake, and he’s forced to watch his in-game character die again. “Fuck…” He whispers, trying not to roll his hips into your heat. “I… You’re torturing me. Can’t take this.” He whines.

You shake your head. “C’mon, baby.” You coo, using the nickname Tartaglia always uses for you. It sounds almost mocking the way it slips from your pretty lips, but he doesn’t dwell on it. “You might wanna hurry up, or I’ll have to pull out my old dildo to help me…”

No! Tartaglia thinks, and he voices such thoughts with the aggressive shake of his head against you. I can do better than a stupid dildo!

“P-Please don’t.” he says weakly. “I’m trying, I’m trying.” Tartaglia starts to concentrate on his console once again, doing his best to ignore the squeeze of your ass and the warmth of your walls.

Your tip drools pre across his shirt, twitching gently against the fabric. Tartaglia’s mouth waters. He wants to taste you, wants to bury his face between your thighs and lick every drop up. It’s an indulgence he wants to become reality more than anything.

“Can I at least touch you, please?" he asks desperately, gaze not leaving your tip. Tartaglia wants to be closer to you, to have a hand on your soft skin, to play with your dick that was so close to the cumming. He’s ready to do anything in order to make you cum, to feel you pulse around his dick. He’s losing his mind, and the game was the least of his worries. Tartaglia wants you.

"Touch me before you finish the level, and there'll be consequences." You hum. "And trust me, if you think this is bad, just wait until you see what I have in mind." you press your lips gently against Tartaglia’s neck, trailing from his adam's apple to that sweet spot right under his ear. "I'm sure you'd deprive some sick form of enjoyment from that, though."

Tartaglia whimpers at the threat. He doesn’t know what would be worse: the current situation or the punishment you offer. Sick form of enjoyment… His mind echoes. He would most likely enjoy anything you gave him right now.

And like an answer to his prayers, you shift on his dick again. Tartaglia watches as your tip pokes above the fabric of your lace panties, even higher than before. The used-to-be white was now a dark grey with the way your pre had stained and wet through the fabric. Your panties were completely soaked through, the bulge from your dick covered in pre from your leaking tip, poking just above the hem.

Slowly, you tug your dick out of the panties, making sure to slather your fingers in your precum before pressing them against Tartaglia’s lips. "Clean them up." You whisper, and the sound of your voice almost makes him melt.

The instant your fingers press against his lips, Tartaglia is eagerly licking them into his mouth, his tongue swirling your digits around and coating them in his spit. He didn’t hesitate to continue sucking on your fingers, despite knowing they were already clean enough.

“Such an eager boy,” You murmur as you yank your fingers from Tartaglia's lips. There’s a string of drool that connects your hand to his pouty lips as he gives you another pleading look.

“Will you let me touch you now?” He begs, “Please, I’ve been so good for you!” Tartaglia licks his lips, savouring the faint taste of you. He wants more, he wants to grab you by the waist and bury his face between your thighs and suck you off until you’re nothing but a mess inside his mouth.

You bring your fingers back down to your dick, swiping them over your tip and harshly pressing them against Tartaglia’s mouth. “Suck.” You command in a harsh voice, completely ignoring his previous question.

Tartaglia’s lips go back around your fingers again. He doesn’t need to be told twice when you’re the one telling him. He easterly laps at your fingers, ignoring the drool that threatens to spill from the corner of his lips. You press your fingers down against his tongue and he chokes lightly, lifting his blue eyes to meet yours,

When you finally pull your fingers out of his mouth, Tartaglia buries his head into your neck about to ask to touch you again—only for you to beat him to it. “You get two minutes to touch me, but you can only use your hands.” You start. “And, we have to stay in this position. No pulling out or thrusting." You press a kiss against Tartaglia’s lips. "Think of it as... encouragement to finish the level faster."

Tartaglia nods happily at your words, pulling off your neck to get a better view of you. “Thank you—thank you, baby, needed this.” He slurs as his eyes rake down your exposed body before honing in on your sensitive cock. He wishes you’d let him lick that instead of your fingers, but you were clear on your rules for the two minutes.

Tartaglia has two minutes, a whole two minutes to make you feel good. There’s no way he’s let them go to waste.

He wastes no time when the game is finally paused. Tartaglia cups your balls gently, feeling the weight of them in his palm. He massages them slowly, his thumb rubbing up and down the underside of your dick, feeling the warmth and the leaking pre that slipps down your shaft. Tartaglia knows nothing can make you cum in this position, but he can make you squirm, he can tease you.

His other hand wanders up, his fingers ghosting over your skin, drawing circles around your nipples before pinching them gently. He wants to hear you moan, to see you writhe. Tartaglia needs to know he was pleasing you. He gazes at your face, waiting to see a reaction, anything to show that he’s making you feel good.

Your eyes roll back and your dick twitches hard against Tartaglia’s hand. “T-Tartaglia…!” You moan out, your back arching into his chest. Tartaglia’s fingers pull gently at you nipples, tweaking and twisting the nubs between his thumb and pointer finger. Your eyes roll back and Tartaglia whines at the sight, sliding his thumb faster up and down your dick, rolling it over your tip before sliding it against your slit.

He feels your hole clench around his dick, and Tartaglia has to squeeze his eyes shut in concentration to stop himself from bucking into you. He’s about to roll his hand again when it’s suddenly pushed away from your leaking dick. You yank his hands off your nipples too, panting as you do. “Two minutes have passed.” You mumble.

Tartaglia knows you were close from the way you sounded to the way you jerked your hips into his hand. “I’m sorry.” He whines, sounding like he’s carrying the weight of the world in his heart.

With a deep breath, Tartaglia focuses back on the game again, he hopes that this time he’ll finally beat the level. He’s determined, he wants to make you cum, to please you. He needs to win.

You slump against his shoulder, clearly needy. Tartaglia sucks in a breath. You were so close. He thinks. His focus turns back to the game, moving the joystick and pressing the rounded buttons as skillfully as he can manage with you taking his cock to the hilt,

Tartaglia feels you lean forward, your hands dipping under the hem of his shirt. “I wanna see you…” You whine and his face flushes. Tartaglia doesn’t have time to respond before the game console is slipping from his hands and you’re tugging his shirt off his figure.

Another eternity passes as Tartaglia picks up the console once again, doing his best to beat the level. He closes his eyes—just about to give up when the victory music blasts throughout the bedroom. “Finally—fuck, fuck, baby.” Tartaglia groans, tossing the console and pouncing on you.

His lips press against yours, his tongue sliding over your bottom lip before pushing into your mouth. Tartaglia is kissing you harshly, his lips flush against yours as your tongue gently swirls with his.

He pulls away after a minute, both of your faces flushed and panting. “I-I’m sorry it took me so long.” Tartaglia apologizes. He wants to please you, make you cum, see you lose control just because of him. He was desperate to feel you squirm against him, he wants to see the way your face would twist in pleasure when he fucks you just right.

Tartaglia slowly pulls out, hissing as he leaves your comforting warmth and is met with the harsh, cold outside air.

“Let me take you, please…” He begs, his eyes filled with desire and the need to have you. Tartaglia wanted you—no, needed you. His hand wanders back to your dick, wrapping his palm around your shaft and quickly jerking you up and down at a messy pace.

Tartaglia would do anything to have you come undone on his dick.

“Uh-huh.” You whine, and Tartaglia thinks it’s cute how all your confidence diminishes the instant you're offered some dick.

He watches you twist your body to lay flat against the bed on your back. Slowly, your legs splay into the air before you pull them back and bend them at your knees. Your ass, all empty and clenching around nothing, is now fully exposed to Tartaglia. Your hole is stretched already, from the much too long of a time you spent just sitting on his dick. Your own cock lays across your tummy, twitching and drooling uselessly,

Tartaglia sucks in a breath at the sight of your hole. His dick is throbbing at the sight, pressing angrily against his tummy, so hard and needy. He wants to do nothing more than bury himself inside you, to feel your warm muscle clench around him once more.

Slowly, he lowers himself into a kneeling position right in front of you. Tartaglia dips his head to your ass, pressing light kisses across the curve of your thighs. He trails his mouth down to your dick, taking the tip into his mouth. His eyes roll back at the feeling of finally having you in his mouth. Tartaglia sucks harshly, bobbing his head up and down your length. He runs his tongue over the underside of your shaft.

Tartaglia swirls his tongue around your overly sensitive tip, watching and depriving pure enjoyment of the way your hips buck into his mouth messily. You throw an arm over your face, trying to muffle your breathless moans and flushed face. Tartaglia gives you a harsh suck for warning, letting you know that if you don’t remove your hand now, things would get worse.

You, of course, comply, pushing your hand to the sheets and clenching them in your fist.

Tartaglia hums happily, the vibrations travelling across your shaft. He feels you twitch in his mouth and your legs thrash beside his head, squeezing and pulsing by his ears as he goes faster, making sure to let the drool spill from his lips as he moves his head.

Tartaglia pushes his lips down to your base bringing a hand to fondle your balls gently and you whine, your back arching off the bed. Your hand goes to tangle itself into Tartaglia’s hair, pushing your dick deeper down his throat. “I—holy shit—I’m c-close!” You whine, and that was enough of a signal to pull off your dick.

Tartaglia smears kisses across your ass, ignoring your desperate whines and cries, before eventually leading to your puffy hole, all nice and stretched for him. He’s quick to bury his mouth against you, already feeling his brain go mushy at the feeling. His tongue slips into you easily, and you whine at the feeling.

Tartaglia fucks his tongue into you with great fervour, not even caring for his hard dick. All he can think about is the taste of you on his tongue, the way your hole clenches down so nicely against his mouth and those sweet, sweet moans of: “M-More, please, need you so bad!” That slip from your lips and get his hips rocking his dick into the side of the mattress.

Tartaglia’s tongue pushes and prods into you, again and again until he hears you moan loudly. His eyes dart up, barely able to catch the way your back arches. Your legs shake around him yet again, your thighs squeezing around his ears, which only drives him to thrust his tongue into you further. Drool slips down his chin, but he doesn’t care, all he wants is to taste you again, and again, because, fuck, if he died right here, between your thighs, he would die a happy man.

“Right there!” You cry, Your legs threatening to squeeze tightly on Tartaglia’s head. He pushes his tongue in again, thrusting it in and out of your hole with a scary precision, making sure he hits your prostate every time.

“O-Oh, my—fuck, can’t take it!” You whine and he smirks against your tightening hole. “I need you, please, please, please, pleasepleaseplease!” You’re a complete mess, babbling nonsense as he eats you out, eyes rolling back and legs shaking in ecstasy,

All it took was him shoving a finger in, curling it in time with his tongue, for you to cum. Tartaglia eagerly pulls off your ass, watching as your dick twitches against your tummy and ropes of cum shoot from your member. He waits until you're finished before pressing his face against the mess you just made and licking it clean.

Tartaglia looks up at you from his position against your belly. “I….” He whines. “I’m still hard.” He gives an apologetic smile before going back to his first position in front of the bed, this time standing up. He lifts your collapsed legs, throwing them over his shoulders as he slaps his cock beside your limp one.

As quickly as he can, Tartaglia grabs the bottle of lube from the nightstand and smears it all over his shaft. “Help me out, pretty boy.” He whines and you whimper at the nickname. Slowly, you push yourself onto your elbows just enough to push your hand to his dick and help him spread the lube.

Tartaglia doesn’t even bother to continue once you start, only throwing his head back with a loud groan. “That’s it, o-oh, archons you’re good at this.” His eyes squeeze shut and Tartaglia has to stop himself from cumming on the spot for the nth time tonight. He doesn’t even bother to lube your hole, only murmuring a sweet, “This pussies wet enough for me, right?” before he’s pressing a messy kiss to your neck.

“Not a pussy.” You slur, but he doesn't take any mind.

“D-Don’t worry, baby.” Tartaglia coos as he presses his thick tip against your weak hole. “Promise it’ll feel so good…” He wants to be inside you, to make you come again and again.

And suddenly, he’s halfway in, the thick of Tartaglia’s shaft being swallowed almost whole by your pretty ass was almost enough to make him cum right then and there. You whine lowly, back instinctively arching into him, forcing yourself deeper onto his dick.

“Fuck, baby, look what you do t’me.” He groans, pulling out so it’s just his tip stuck in your pretty, clenching hole. Tartaglia fucks his tip into you, watching it messily slide out then in, then out then in, over and over again until he can’t take it anymore and can’t help but want more.

Tartaglia—like the pathetic man he knows he is—can’t take it anymore. He pushes in fully, but just before he does, spits a large glob of drool from his lips to the tip of your spent cock watching it twitch under the feeling. He laughs, watching your dick twitch back to life. “And to think you get off to me spitting on you.” He murmurs, before finally thrusting in fully, in one, harsh movement.

The moan you let out is so pretty and high, and Tartaglia can feel his balls grow heavy at the sound. Your voice isn’t nearly as loud as the lewd squelch of his dick pressing in, in, in and against your prostate, his tip knocking easily at it.

Tartaglia pistons his hips into you, basking in the moans and pleas for “more, more, more!” that slipped from your pretty lips. He’s pounding into you, and Tartaglia watches your head fall back against the pillow. Your hands shake as you desperately reach out to grab onto the sheets for leverage as he pushes your legs up, leaning down onto your body as he forces you into a mating press.

And, oh, Tartaglia feels like he just slipped so much deeper into you, and with the way your walls squeeze and clench and you moan his name like a mantra—Tartaglia is sure he’s just died and reached heaven.

His thrusts start to lose their rhythm, but they still manage to fill you up so much that, before Tartaglia can process what’s happening, you're crying out, your ass clenching so tightly against him he thinks he sees stars.

“I—I’m close, ‘m so close!” You cry and Tartaglia can’t help but bury his face into your neck as he thrust into your ass.

“Me too, baby.” He whimpers out. Tartaglia reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his much larger ones, before letting out a loud moan. “Together, please, baby, cum together.”

And you’re eagerly nodding your head, a mix of “yes” and “please” leaving your lips. Tartaglia isn’t even pulling out anymore, just knocking his hips against yours—no rhythm or pattern, just instinct as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Cummin’ o-oh—fuck!” You whine and Tartaglia instantly does too, feeling the way your dick spurts thick ropes of white onto your chest and his only drives him to the edge. He buries himself as deep as he can before collapsing onto you, pressing his full weight onto his hips. Tartaglia shoots a thick load of his seed into your awaiting hole, whining in content as he feels you milk his cock, squeezing down on him.

You’re panting, laying on the bed with Tartaglia pressed on top of you. His arms snake around your waist, tugging and twisting your connected bodies so that he’s spooning you, his chin resting on top of you’re head.

After a minute of rest, Tartaglia’s arms squeeze around your waist. “Love you, so much.” He murmurs tiredly.

“Promise?” You giggle back, despite the feeling of your exhaustion weighing heavy on your eyelids.

“Always an’ forever.” Tartaglia whispers sweetly. His arms encircle your waist, pulling you closer as the two of you bask in the afterglow in each other’s arms. “I’ll love you, always and forever.”

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lawchwan · 1 month ago

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the man of my romance book (ace)

summary: just ace giving you the most mind-blowing sex requested: @weasleyjumpeer reader: fem!reader disclaimer: piv, references of stalking, reader wears glasses and reads books, squirting, very rushed, reader is slightly shorter than ace, confusing timeline wtf, references of cunnilingus, Ace is referenced to have a big dick (but nothing's explicit about it because it's about technique, not size), unprotected sex-reader might get pregnant uh oh!, manhandling, dirty talking, references of filming/recording, did i mention that it's lowkey rushed... i'm sorry genre: smut a/n: hi, hello... its been a minute... so i had multiple factors on why i disappeared, one being that i am a busy woman with a job, went through the loss of a dear family member and other factors I don't want to get into. furthermore, i had a draft ready for this, and i accidentally deleted it, which led to me losing my shit and motivation. but here i am rn, and i hope i don't disappoint thanks to my hiatus. I do sincerely apologize, however, to keep you waiting for three—almost four months. i hope you enjoy this piece :)

crossposted on ao3

The night bloomed with the moon's gleaming essence shining through the room as it highlighted the discarded clothes thrown due to the immense desperation and lust shared by the two individuals who had known each other not too long, yet not too short.

Ace has had his eyes on you for so long, his friends and crew were just mere muffled background sounds, as you were sat across his with a book laid in front of you on the other side of the cafe. His gaze juxtaposes admiration and lust, with your figure, your hair, your perfect skin, and your facial expressions when the little words on the stack of papers cause you to react subtly, he has been examining you.

Unbeknownst to him, you did catch up to his examination and tried your best to keep your attention away from him. But how could you? You would be lying if you said he wasn't candy to your eyes. Shirtless with tattoos painted all over his body, cowboy hat that concealed the greasy top of his long curly hair, manspreading with his arms splayed across the booth seat behind him and his crew, freckles that can be seen from afar that speckled across his face; he was the embodiment of the protagonist you would read in your dark romance.

His crew set sail on your island for a while and you would see him frequently, wherever you went, it was guaranteed that he'd be there, almost as if he was intentionally stalking you and knew where you were going.

Still, though, you kept your eyes on your book, not giving him the satisfaction of providing him the attention he sought and instead hoping he could grow the courage to come over and ask for a date, or a good fuck.

Ace suddenly stood up, eyes still glued to you, causing his crew to look up at him curiously, as he moved out of his seat and walked over to you, almost like you've entranced him to come over without looking at him.

You sensed a tall presence looming in front of you, resulting you in getting out of the reading world and going back to reality to meet with the fine man standing in front of him. You two held eye contact, almost like you’ve unintentionally entered a staring contest, waiting for one of you to speak. Ace gaped his mouth, wanting to say something but his voice failed him as it cracked, making him clear his throat and scratch his neck, his flustered pink tones radiated up to the surface of his tan skin. You began laughing as you covered your mouth, making Ace’s skin crawl in embarrassment.

“God dammit, I fucked up,” Ace thought to himself, nerves getting the best of him. He should have walked away and faced the music of mockery from his crew, but what he didn’t expect was you extending your hand, signaling him to sit while you pushed the seat away with your foot.

Ace looked down at the chair and then back at you, bemused like a dog getting a new command from its owner, before sitting down while you simply closed the book and put it in your bookbag. You smiled at him as Ace nervously tried to recollect himself.

“Sorry, I am not usually one to stumble on my words… or go through a second puberty,” He muttered the last sentence, in an attempt to make it incoherent for you, yet you heard him loud and clear, making you chuckle in response.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, besides, I think that voice crack was adorable,” You teased, making Ace scoff back at you. You got closer, placing your arms on the table, extending your arm for a handshake, making Ace look down at the hand then back up at your beautiful yet alluring smile.

“I’m (Y/N)”

The curly-haired pirate reached out and shook your hand back, mirroring your grin.

“I’m Ace, but I guess you know that already, since y’know…” He shifted his eyes and cocked his head, which you nodded back as you scrunched your face with a smile as you found him endearing right then and there, pirate or no pirate, he was adorable.

—

Adorable.

Time passed and you once thought he was adorable, and he was, but you assumed he was a nervous wreck with a deceiving look. You certainly didn’t mind breaking his shell, but he certainly exceeded your expectations when he slowly leaned in to kiss you when he wanted to drop you off from your guys’ date. You were astonished by how good his lips were on yours, for a nervous fellow, he sure kisses like he isn’t. When he pulled away, your lips were chasing after his, causing him to smirk as he held your chin firmly, almost like he caught you underestimating him.

“I can do more if you want to, but I’ll save it for another time…” He husked his voice, as he teasingly leaned in, running his thumb across your bottom lips before he leaned back and walked away backward.

“Good night, babe,” His departure almost felt like a mixture of goading yet exhilarating anticipation of what’s to come the next time you see him.

He might be the death of you.

—

Some more time has passed and the term “adorable” is not a word you would give at the moment when he has you wrapping your legs around his hips as he carries you to your bedroom with his lips attached to yours with sheer fervor. As soon as you mentioned that you lived alone, Ace jumped at the opportunity to get closer to you however he wanted. It was a risky move from your end, letting know a man you knew.

He has you where he wanted you to be as you are to his. You gripped the back of his neck and tugged on the hairs revealed from his cowboy hat. With the feverish atmosphere, his hat was tipped back to his back as he pushed you onto a wall and began his attack on your neck. You gasped a beautiful sound that Ace intentionally tried to extract as he nipped on the sweet spot by your neck, making you throw your head back as you began to let out breathy moans.

Ace pulled back and looked down at you, his freckled face was flushed with desire while his eyes had lust and plead shown between his bangs as he pants.

“Where’s your bedroom?” Ace whispered, lips still close to yours and his thirst was quenching the more he looked at you in your most lustful state. You told him where it was through your huffed tone and he didn’t hesitate to carry you into the bedroom before he threw you into the bed with such strength.

He carried you and threw you onto the mattress like you weighed nothing—it seemed as though his muscular physique was not for show after all. You were astonished by his roughhousing, yet he left you no room to react as he pinned you down onto the bed, his large hands encapsulating your wrists with his lips remaining attached to your lips. Your breaths were shaken with anticipation as his lips began their exploration across your soft skin. He tongued from your jaw down to your collarbone, while his calloused fingers reached for the hem of your shirt and began lifting it to expose any skin. With your shirt out of the way, his lips began attacking your body again, this time he began grazing his teeth around the soft skin of your breasts, just above your bra line. You arched your back to allow room for him to reach around and remove your bralette, only for him to pull away, hold onto the fabric, and begin ripping it from the center, leaving the piece ripped in half. You gasped at the sudden motion while he just groaned at the sight of you sprawled half-naked with eyes wide and blown with desire.

“Oh, fuck, baby…” He growled, before reaching down again and began open mouth kissing your supple breasts, making you whine at the exhilarating sensation of his warm mouth around your nipple.

“Ace…~” You breathed with hooded eyes as Ace roamed lower with his hands following along, goosebumps arising from your skin. Ace didn’t respond immediately instead he just smirked looking up at you teasingly as he nipped at your mound.

“Hold on, baby… we’ll be here all night, I just want to give this sweet…” Ace paused looking down at your breasts again and began kissing the side of it and massaging it before leaning onto the other breasts to give it the same attention, “Breasts of yours some love… you’ll let me right?”

—

And some love your breast was given by him, and he meant it.

And many more, as time passed and Ace showed no sign of stopping. His gapped and moaning mouth was covered with nothing but your sweet nectar while his rough hands were gripping your hips as he was thrusting into you at such a pace no man could maintain. His hair fell forward while his necklace swayed along with the beat of his thrusts. Your legs spread as you began screaming out his name while the tip hit a pleasurable spot you never thought existed, a promise that Ace had mentioned while he was getting ready to eat you out.

“I’ll make sure your neighbors know of me as the guy who fucks you good instead of a criminal, no good pirate,” he chuckles darkly as he placed himself between your legs, face inches away from your glistening pussy, “I know you like that shit, I know girls like you would love to be fucked by pirates who do nothing but wreak havoc, am I right, pretty girl? Tell me I’m right because I know I am…”

And Ace maintained that promise as you attempted to cover your face with a pillow due to the volume you were producing thanks to Ace’s rough yet pleasurable thrusts, only for him to chuck the pillow across the room with such aggression and grounds your wrist onto the mattress, leaving you no room to wiggle yourself away.

“No, no, baby, I need to hear you, I need to hear you become a mess for me.” Ace gritted his teeth as he groaned out strings of curse words while you were calling out his name like a prayer.

“Oo~ Ace~ Fuck yes!” You whimpered as the heated sensation was enflaming your insides—a funny correlation with having fire fist Ace ramming his hard cock into your pussy. A pussy that craved nothing but a specific type of pleasure that only a man like Ace can achieve, a one-of-a-kind man, and Ace knew of that and he relishes the fact that your body craves him and him only.

Even though you two don’t know each other for long, you gave him a sense of confidence no girl ever gave him. He knows he’s a good lover, but you made him a lover that a pornstar would envy to have. Especially with how you were writhing underneath him, whimpering out begs and his name.

Ace…

Oo fuck me, Ace~

Sounds like he would love to have recorded, it’s a shame he left his den den mushi somewhere in the apartment and a camera back on the ship, he would have used it to his advantage.

The sounds of squelching skin-to-skin sounds, dubbed with your combined moans of pleasure were music to Ace’s ears, especially with how you were approaching your orgasm.

“I’m—fuck—I’m coming!” You whined out as your moans started to border onto panting, making Ace hit a deeper spot as he tried to keep with your pace. He nodded with a smirk as he panted out, “Same here, baby… come on, come for me and I’ll come for you…”

And with those words, you arched your back as Ace sent you to a space where you could only see white with how you rolled your eyes, thanks to the overwhelming pleasure he had put you through. Ace nearly fell on top of you as he landed on your shoulder, biting onto it as he came inside of you. After the two of you began catching your breaths, Ace pulled away to look at you before he placed his forehead and gave you strings of passionate kisses.

He pulled away, not after you bit his bottom lip to bring him back close to you, making him chuckle. You smiled up at him shyly as he just looked at you with such glamor and adoration.

“Wow… no one has ever fucked me like this…” You whispered, making Ace snort out a laugh as he shook his head, “You thought it was over?” Ace responded with a menacing smile on his face.

You widened your eyes, he fucked you this good, and there’s still more?

Your shock state unsettled Ace, his smirk dropped due to the lack of response, “unless you want us to stop—”

“No!” You exclaimed, making Ace flinch and you tight-lipped your mouth shut after you made a fool of yourself. Thankfully, Ace only chuckled and kissed your lips, the intention undetected yet the ardent intensity was present.

“You’re so cute,” Ace comments after pulling away from the kiss. He pulls himself up, only to look down at the scenery below him with a gasped delight. Your eyes followed his, and there you saw was a puddle of your essence staining your bedsheet, mixing with Ace’s pearly cum that fell out your pollen.

You gasped as you felt a rush of embarrassment coursing through you, yet you oddly had no sense of shame in your system. You looked up at Ace, shyly, hoping he doesn’t give you a reason to feel otherwise. Thankfully he leaned in again with another feverish kiss, before pulling back with a smirk, lips barely touching.

“Want us to create more of a mess in the shower? The floor? Or more on the bed? Anything you want, baby, because I’m not done…”

And you hoped it wouldn’t end anytime soon…

characters are owned by oda. i will not tolerate nor accept translation, reposts on other websites, or plagiarism. divider made by mmadeinheavenn.

#one piece headcanons #one piece smut #one piece x reader #portgas d ace x reader #ace smut #ace fic #one piece ace #ace x reader #portgas d ace smut #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace x you #portgas d ace x you #portgas d ace x y/n

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goldfades · 6 months ago

Text

★ ALWAYS AN ANGEL, NEVER A GOD ─── CC²² (part 2/2)

❪ requested -> "Can you write something about cc and reader being enemies and hating eachother. but they are on two different teams so they play against eachother and something happens during one of their games and they take their hate out on eachother with smut?" ❫ part one!

─ warnings | nsfw under the cut, read at your own discretion. lots of shit talking, just rivals shit yk how it is. fingering but it's kinda soft (like the actual fucking part), lots of praise and a sprinkle of degradation (if u can even call it that) cause u know me.

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my wcbb masterlist!

EVER SINCE THE GAME AGAINST Iowa, you were determined to keep up the keep up the momentum and prove that your victory was no fluke.

In the weeks that followed, you poured your heart and soul into every practice, honing your skills with a relentless intensity that left your teammates in awe. Every drill, every scrimmage, every mere second on the court was a chance to improve, to get one step closer to your ultimate goal (you weren't sure what it was at this point, to prove yourself to Caitlin or the world).

But it wasn't just about proving yourself on the court. Caitlin's words lingered in your mind, a constant reminder of the unresolved tension between you. The memory of that heated encounter in the hotel hallway replayed in your thoughts, the desire and frustration mixing into a potent cocktail that fueled your determination.

You found yourself replaying the moments of that game over and over in your head ─ the way you intercepted Caitlin's pass, the exhilaration of your dunk, and the look of pure rage in her eyes (and of course, the kiss that followed). You thrived on those memories, using them as motivation to push yourself beyond your limits.

"Good job, Y/N!" Hailey called out during one particularly grueling scrimmage, her admiration evident in her voice. "What, did you have an energy drink before or what?"

You gave her a playful shove as you shrugged, wiping the sweat from your brow as you walked toward your water bottle. "Just trying to stay ahead,"

Hailey shot you a knowing look, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "This isn't just about staying ahead, is it?" she teased. "It's about Caitlin."

"You can't say her name out loud like that," you joked as Hailey laughed. You didn't bother denying it, the truth too obvious to ignore. "Maybe," you admitted, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

As the season progressed, your hard work began to pay off. You dominated the court with a newfound confidence, your skills shining brighter than ever before. The media took notice, your name becoming synonymous with excellence, just like Caitlin's.

But even as you basked in the glory of your success, you couldn't shake the lingering thoughts of Caitlin. You wondered how she was doing, whether she was training just as hard, whether she thought about you as often as you thought about her.

You kept repeating the moment in your mind, over and over again, feeling some kind of weird excitement at her words.

"I'm not fucking you until we win," she replied, her voice low and husky, the words a mere whisper against the charged silence that enveloped you both. "Until I get the trophy, until your team loses."

However, you knew that pushing her buttons would make the hook-up a whole lot more satisfying. You thought about that particular part a lot more than you should have, the challenge in her voice igniting a fire within you that you couldn't ignore.

Then, one day, the schedule for the next season was released, and there it was ─ the match against Iowa, the game that would determine once and for all who would come out on top. The date was set, and you felt a surge of excitement and nerves at the prospect of facing Caitlin again.

The weeks leading up to the game were a whirlwind of preparation and anticipation. Your coach pushed you harder than ever, knowing how much was riding on this matchup. And through it all, Caitlin's words continued to echo in your mind, a constant source of "motivation", if you could even call it that.

Finally, the day arrived. The arena was packed, the energy palpable as fans from both sides filled the stands. As you stepped onto the court, your heart pounded with adrenaline, and your eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on Caitlin.

She stood across from you, her dark gaze intense and unwavering. You could feel the heat of her stare, a silent promise of the battle to come. As the referee signaled the start of the game, you took a deep breath, centering yourself for what was about to unfold.

From the very first whistle, the game was a fierce clash of skill and determination. You and Caitlin matched each other move for move, your rivalry playing out in a series of fast breaks, sharp passes, and contested shots. The tension was palpable, the crowd hanging on every moment as the score remained neck and neck.

As the clock wound down, the score was tied, and the pressure mounted. You found yourself with the ball, Caitlin guarding you closely, her eyes locked onto yours with a mix of challenge and desire. With a quick move, you faked left, then darted right, driving towards the basket with all the speed and agility you could muster.

As you drove towards the basket, Caitlin moved to intercept your path. With a swift motion, she blocked your shot, sending the ball ricocheting off the backboard. The force of her block knocked you off balance, and you stumbled, falling hard onto the court.

You hit the ground with a thud, the impact jolting through your body as you landed awkwardly on the hardwood floor. Pain shot through your limbs, but it was nothing compared to the sting of defeat that washed over you in that moment.

Caitlin stood over you, her dark gaze intense and unyielding as she glared down at you with satisfaction and you hated it. There was a silent challenge in her eyes, a reminder of the relentless rivalry that defined your relationship both on and off the court ─ you could practically read her mind, "I'm getting the trophy."

As the referee blew the whistle to signal a turnover, Caitlin offered you a hand, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "Good try, Y/N," she taunted, her voice laced with a hint of amusement. "Maybe you should uh, stick to defense."

As Caitlin extended her hand towards you, a smirk dancing on her lips, something inside you snapped. Maybe it was the sting of defeat or the frustration and anger that had been building within you throughout the game, and you couldn't hold it any longer.

With a scowl, you swatted Caitlin's hand away, ignoring the lingering pain in your limbs as you rose to your feet on your own. "Shut up, Caitlin," you spat, your voice dripping with venom as you glared up at her. "You're just a self entitled bitch who thinks she owns the court,"

"I do," Caitlin stepped so she was directly in front of you. You looked up at the brunette, suddenly feeling small under the weight of her imposing presence. Despite the anger that simmered beneath the surface, you couldn't deny the intensity of the moment as Caitlin's dark eyes bore into yours.

"You don't get to talk to me like that," she continued, her voice low and dangerous, a warning laced with barely contained fury. "And didn't I tell you to cut the fucking attitude?"

You just scoffed, however some sick part of you liked this, the way she was talking to you. As much as you wanted to deny it, there was a certain allure in the challenge she presented, the promise of tonight making the whole thing a lot harder to resist.

Caitlin's proximity was overwhelming, her presence towering over you. You felt a surge of defiance rising within you, fueled by the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

"And what if I don't?" you shot back, your voice laced with defiance as you met her intense gaze head-on. "What are you gonna do about it, Caitlin?"

Caitlin's jaw clenched, a flicker of anger flashing in her eyes before she regained her composure. "You wanna find out?" she retorted, her tone sharp and cutting as she leaned in closer, her breath hot against your skin.

You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks, a mixture of fear and excitement swirling in the pit of your stomach. Despite the tension between you, there was an undeniable thrill in the air, a palpable energy that crackled between you like electricity.

But before anything could escalate, Hailey's arm yanked you away, breaking the charged moment between you and Caitlin. The sudden interruption jolted you back to reality, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you were pulled back into the flow of the game.

With a sharp exhale, you forced yourself to focus, pushing aside the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. The game had resumed as quickly as it had been interrupted, the intensity of the match returning with renewed vigor.

But despite your best efforts, Iowa proved to be a formidable opponent, their skill and determination matching your own at every turn. As the final seconds ticked away, the score remained neck and neck, the outcome of the game hanging in the balance.

And then, with a final buzzer, it was over ─ Iowa emerged as the winners, the thrill of victory evident on their faces as they celebrated their hard-fought win. As the reality of defeat sank in, you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment, the bitter taste of loss lingering on your tongue.

"God fucking damn it," you muttered under your breath as you glared toward them.

As if on cue, Caitlin turned around and met your gaze. Her expression was satisfaction, a silent acknowledgment of the victory she had secured over you and your team. You felt a surge of frustration rise within you, the bitterness of defeat stinging like a fresh wound.

──

"Y/N?" The reporter's voice pulled you back into reality as you shook your head, opening your eyes with a very forced smile.

You nodded your head. "Yeah, sorry. Zoned out, uh... can you repeat the question?"

The reporter gave you a sympathetic smile before repeating the question. "I was just asking for your thoughts on the game and the performance of both teams, particularly Caitlin Clark. She had a standout performance tonight."

Yeah, of course she fucking did, you wanted to shout but you just nodded. "Yeah, she played a great game," you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil brewing beneath the surface. "She's a talented player. Iowa put up a tough fight, and they deserved the win tonight."

The interview was slow and it felt every answer you were giving was fake but you were livid. As soon as it was over, you practically ran out of there. You needed to blow off some steam, and you had no idea how–

Oh.

You had forgotten about the entire thing until that moment and despite all the anger, your stomach twisted in excitement. However, it was a year ago and you weren't even sure if Caitlin meant what she said, she was probably just really angry because of how the game ended, much like how you were feeling right now.

As you mulled over the memory, a sense of longing washed over you, mingling with the lingering anger and frustration that still simmered beneath the surface. Despite everything, despite the rivalry and the animosity, there was an undeniable attraction between you and Caitlin, a magnetic pull that defied your comprehension.

Then, your phone buzzed inside your pocket.

Cait: got the trophy 🥇 Cait: did you think i forgot?

You had forgotten you even had her number, it was from so long ago. The text made your stomach drop (in a very, very good way) as a rush of emotions flooded through you. Surprise, excitement, and a hint of apprehension all mingled together as you read Caitlin's messages.

It was as if the past year had been condensed into those few simple words, reigniting the unresolved tension between you with startling clarity. However, you couldn't shake the nagging doubt that lingered in the back of your mind ─ was this just another game to her? Another way to assert her dominance and superiority over you?

Cait: where u at?

And that was all it took for her to win you over. You knew you were letting your heart do all the talking but right now, you just wanted to feel good. Was that so bad?

──

The knock on the door shouldn't have startled you as much as it did, especially since you had been waiting for it. But still, when the knock echoed through the room, a shiver of anticipation raced down your spine.

You took a moment to steady yourself, to quell the fluttering nerves that threatened to overwhelm you, before crossing the room to answer the door.

As you swung it open, Caitlin stood before you, her presence commanding and intoxicating all at once. She was wearing a black hoodie and sweats, the hood was up and she looked too good. Your eyes scanned her body and you saw her lips quirk up into a smirk.

You felt your stomach leap out of your body at the sight, and you felt like you were gonna go insane, were you ovulating?

"Hey," she greeted, her voice husky with desire as she stepped closer, closing the distance between you with deliberate intent.

"Hey," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you met her gaze head-on. Despite the tension that lingered in the air, there was an undeniable pull between you, a magnetic force that drew you together like moths to a flame.

And as Caitlin's lips crashed against yours in a searing kiss, all doubts and fears melted away. In that moment, nothing else mattered ─ not the rivalry, and certainly not the consequences, nothing except the intoxicating desire that pulsed between you and Caitlin.

Caitlin's hands gripped your hips as she closed the hotel door with her leg, effortlessly. Her lips stayed on yours as her hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and contour with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine. The heat of her touch seared through you, igniting a fire that blazed hotter with each passing moment.

Lost in the heat of the moment, you pressed closer to her, your body molding to hers. With a low growl, Caitlin lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around her waist as she carried you further into the room. Every touch, every kiss, only fueled the pure need that raged between you, driving you both to the brink of ecstasy.

And as you surrendered yourself to her, you knew that this was just the beginning ─ the beginning of something that would consume you fully despite resisting it for so long.

She dropped you onto the bed and broke the kiss, her eyes dark as she gazed at you. You were both breathing heavily as you tried your best to maintain eye contact, despite the pressure that was building your lower stomach.

"Didn't think you'd answer," Caitlin finally spoke, her voice breathless as she began climbing on top of you.

"Why?" You asked as she latched her lips to your neck, sucking harshly as you gripped the sheets beneath you.

"Because you're stubborn," Caitlin murmured against your skin, her breath hot and heavy as she trailed kisses along your jawline. "But I knew eventually, you'd realize that there's no point in all that whining,"

You let out a shaky breath, her words igniting a fierce hunger within you as you arched into her touch, craving more of her intoxicating presence.

"I knew all you wanted was for me to show you why I'm better," Caitlin teased as she began stroking your sides.

You wanted to counter, to say anything back to her but you couldn't ─ she already had consumed you and you couldn't of any reason why you'd want to resist her any longer.

Caitlin pulled your lips into another harsh kiss, pulling a moan out of your lips. That seemed to encourage her because next thing you know, she's pulling your shorts off. Her hands eventually found your neck, pushing you into the mattress as you both moaned into the kiss.

Caitlin pulled away for a second, pulling her hoodie over her head and gazed at you, expectantly. You mirrored her actions and you were left only in your bra and underwear, you felt embarrassed under her gaze until she pulled you into a deeper kiss.

Her hands gripped your face and pulled you from the kiss, earning a disappointed whimper from you. "Look at me,"

You met her gaze, the intensity of her dark eyes holding you captive.

"You're fucking beautiful," Caitlin murmured, her fingers tracing the outline of your jaw.

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, the sincerity in her voice disarming you completely. You nodded, swallowing hard as you tried to steady your breathing.

Caitlin's hands moved to the clasp of your bra, her touch gentle yet deliberate as she unhooked it, letting it fall away. She leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, "I'm gonna make you feel so good, you're gonna forget how much you hate me."

A soft moan escaped your lips as her hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch of your skin with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity of her gaze. You arched into her touch, your body responding to her every move with an urgency that left you breathless.

As she trailed kisses down your neck and across your collarbone, you felt the last of your doubts melt away, leaving you completely vulnerable and exposed.

Her hands found your thighs and squeezed them, her fingers slowly drawing closer to the place you'd wanted her all night. Caitlin's finger slowly began stroking your clothed pussy, her eyes watching your every movement.

You let out a broken whimper, your head falling back on to the mattress before her other hand gripped your face, guiding your gaze back to hers.

"What did I fucking say? Look at me," Caitlin spat, her voice a mix of authority and desire. You forced your eyes open, meeting her intense stare, the heat between you building with every passing second.

"So fucking wet, all for me," she murmured, as continued stroking your clothed heat; she could feel it pulsing all because of her and it made her ego skyrocket even more.

Caitlin's finger moved and before you could voice your disapproval, she slowly slid your underwear off. You were completely naked now, you could feel her eyes rake over you fondly. She spread your legs again, further this time ─ each leg was placed at her sides, leaving you completely exposed and vulnerable under her gaze. Caitlin's eyes darkened with desire as she took in the sight of you, her breath hitching slightly.

"So pretty," she murmured, almost to herself, as she trailed her fingers lightly up your inner thigh, sending shivers of anticipation through your body.

You squirmed beneath her touch, a mix of excitement and impatience coursing through you. "Cait," you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper, filled with need.

She looked up at you, her eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. "I want you to remember this," she said, her voice low. "Every time you think you can challenge me, every time you think you can beat me, I want you to remember how I make you feel right now."

With that, she leaned down, her lips finding yours in a deep, hungry kiss that almost knocked the breath out of you. Her hands continued their exploration, moving with a confidence that left you trembling with anticipation.

"Do you still think I'm a bitch?" she murmured against your lips, a teasing edge to her voice.

You could barely form a coherent thought, let alone a response, but managed to shake your head, a breathless, "No," escaping your lips.

"Good," Caitlin replied, her lips curving into a satisfied smile. "Because I want you to know exactly who's in control here."

And with that, her finger slid into you perfectly. You let out a surprised moan, your back arching against the mattress. "Oh, fu-fuck."

Her finger began thrusting in and out of you, swiftly. You were so soaked, her finger was moving easily in and out of you. Caitlin's hand gripped your hip, pulling you closer into her.

She slowed down her movements and you let out an disapproving huff, her gaze intense as she looked down at you. "Why did you hate me? Were you jealous?"

Did: as in, past tense.

Her tone sounded almost amused but there was an edge of seriousness to it. "What?"

"I thought that's what it was," her finger slowly began moving again, causing your breath to hitch. "I don't think that's what it was now," she continued, her voice contemplative. "I think it was something else."

You could barely focus, your mind clouded with the sensation of her touch, but her words cut through the haze, making you confront something you'd been avoiding. "I don't hate you," you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I never hated you."

Caitlin's smirk grew, she knew exactly what she was doing. Her finger continuing their slow, torturous rhythm. "Then what was it, Y/N? Why all the anger?"

"Because," you gasped, struggling to form coherent thoughts under her relentless pace. "Because you always got to me. You always made me feel... things I didn't want to feel."

Her movements stilled for a moment, her eyes searching yours. "And now?"

"Now," you swallowed hard, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Now, I can't stop thinking about you."

A slow, satisfied smile spread across Caitlin's face, her fingers resuming their movement. "Good," she murmured, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. "Because I don't plan on letting you forget this anytime soon."

Her touch became more quick, driving you closer and closer to the edge once again. The intensity of the moment was almost overwhelming, the culmination of all the pent-up anger and unresolved tension between you. She added another finger slowly, causing you to let out another breathless moan as your back arched.

"Take it, come on. I know you can," Caitlin's fingers never faltered as she gazed down at you. "Fuck, who's the princess now, huh?" she spat as she finger-fucked you, your legs beginning to shake.

As the pleasure built to a fever pitch, you felt yourself letting go of everything ─ the rivalry, the anger, the fear ─ and surrendering completely to the sensation.

"Cait," you moaned, your hands gripping her shoulders as you reached the brink, your body trembling with anticipation.

"That's it, fuck," she whispered against your lips, her breath hot and ragged. "Let go for me."

And with a final, shattering wave of pleasure, you did, your body convulsing in her arms as you cried out her name. Her finger rode you through it, your chest heaving as you slowly came down from your high.

"Can't believe I did that with just my fingers, baby." The pet-name left her lips effortlessly as she broke you out of your reverie. You couldn't believe it, either.

Her fingers slid out of you and she pushed your lips open, forcing them into your mouth. You sucked them clean as she looked down at you, her shitfaced smirk was back.

You rolled your eyes as she removed her finger with a pop. "Yeah, well, don't get too cocky," you shot back, trying to regain some semblance of control even though your body was still trembling.

She laughed, the sound was unfamiliar but genuine; it made your heart flip. "How can I not? I mean, Jesus, I had you literally tell me you never hated me while I was knuckles deep inside you. It was one finger too-"

You groaned loudly, cutting her off as her laughter slowly died down. "I just wanted to cum,"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," you countered, finally meeting her gaze. She had the same cocky ass expression, the one you've always hated ─ but now felt different, somehow.

"Thought I told you to cut the attitude, Y/N," she teased, her fingers trailing along your arm, sending shivers down your spine. Her eyes bore into yours, the intensity of her gaze sending a shiver down your spine.

You felt a surge of defiance rise within you, refusing to back down. "And what if I don't?" you challenged, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest.

Caitlin's smirk widened, a glint of amusement and something deeper flickering in her eyes. "Then I'll just have to remind you why you shouldn't,"

She leaned in and pressed her lips against lips in another heated kiss, her hands roaming your body with a renewed sense of purpose. The teasing edge in her touch drove you wild, a tantalizing reminder of the power she held over you.

"You're impossible," you muttered against her lips.

"And you love it," she shot back, her breath hot against your skin as she moved to kiss along your jawline, her hands exploring every inch of you. The sensation was intoxicating, every touch sending waves of pleasure through your body.

As she continued her relentless assault on your jaw, you couldn't help but surrender to the moment, letting go of all the anger and frustration that had once defined your relationship. In that instant, all that mattered was the connection between you, the raw, unfiltered desire that pulsed through your veins.

"Do you regret it?" Caitlin's voice was softer now, almost vulnerable, as she paused to look into your eyes.

You shook your head, a small smile playing at your lips. "No," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "No, I don't."

Caitlin's eyes softened, her expression shifting from playful to something more tender. "Good," she murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Cause neither do I."

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

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lordsukunas · 8 months ago

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the thorn in your side.

synop: nobleman!gojo being annoying asf, but he’s also kinda cute?

tags: fem!reader, royal au, gojo is a nobleman, reader is crown princess, reader is a lil mean to him but it’s really just playful banter, slight suggestiveness..? and by slight i mean very slight. not historically accurate (don’t jump me)

note: dk where this came from. prob all of the historical manhwas thats been on my fyp but wtv. uhh this is lowk fun tho, might make more of this if i have motivation!

“princess! i got a favor to ask.”

“ohhhh, princess!”

“hey, princess?”

your eye twitches in irritation. how many questions can one nobleman have in one day? you’ve answered each one with the dignity and grace expected of a future queen, but there’s only so much of that dignity and grace one can have.

you look up from your book, bright cerulean eyes staring down at you. “yes, lord gojo?”

his grin widens, and you have to resist the urge to slap it smooth off of his face. “do you know where i can find those little cookies? y’know, the ones you had at the banquet last week?”

... seriously?! he’s asking you about macaroons?!

“i believe you’re consulting the wrong person about that. perhaps you should ask the head chef.” your voice is strained, as if answering satoru’s questions for the umpteenth time today is making you physically ill.

satoru sighs and leans back in his chair, one long leg crossed over the other. “yeaaah, but i wanna ask you. since you’re the princess n’ all. unless...”

he tips his chair closer to yours, and his warm breath ghosts across the conch of your ear. tingles dance down your spine and heat creeps up the back of your neck. does he have regard for personal space?

“perhaps our kingdom’s queen-to-be is too dumb to know where macaroons come from?”

you should just ignore him. satoru’s entire purpose, it seems, is to just get on your nerves and force you to lose your well-maintained composure. you know this. and yet...

“i am not dumb, satoru. it is you who’s the idiot, considering you cannot seem to use basic logic to realize their origin,” you snap, words coming out in a hot, angry rush.

you are sick of him testing your patience, sick of his silly little grin and glossy pink lips, and stupid, ugly eyes that always seem to have a twinkle of mischief in them. how dare he speak to you that way? he’s only a nobleman, and you could easily strip him of that title.

a soft chuckle from satoru interrupts your mental tirade. what is he laughing for? is he laughing at you?

“what’s so funny.” you fold your arms over your chest, your brows knitted together.

“oh, nothing. it’s just...” he laughs again. it’s a soft, light sound, quite unlike the usual hearty and loud giggles and barely stifled snickers. yuck. “this is the first time you’ve used my first name, princess.”

ah.

did you really?

your mind replays what you said, and, unsurprisingly, he’s right. you called him satoru, not lord gojo.

the heat now burns your cheeks, and you look away, focusing your gaze on the nearly infinite rows of books in the library. “a mistake. even i make them, but do not think that will be happening again, lord gojo.”

satoru simply hums, drumming thick fingers against the table. “ah, but my name sounds so nice coming from your lips. are you sure it won’t happen again? perhaps in a different, more intimate context?”

how hard would you have to throw a book to get him to finally shut up?

you all but shove yourself out of your seat, tucking your bookmark in between the pages. you smooth out your gown and get rid of invisible specks of dust. “that... will not be happening either. good day, lord gojo. i hope i will you in the future.”

without waiting for what would definitely be some cheeky response, you spin on your heel and exit the library, rushing down the castle’s halls.

why does satoru gojo have to be so infuriating?!

#﹒writing #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk gojo #jjk gojo fluff #gojo fluff #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo #gojo satoru

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scoutswritingcorner · 8 months ago

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The Monster That Lurked

Alastor x GN!Reader

A/N:Hey hey! I'm in a really angsty mood and decided to write a full fledged fic about my own work of ‘Monster In The Woods’!!! YAY!!! ALSO A FRIENDS TO LOVERS DEAL- SUE ME. Also you can picture Human Alastor or Alastor anyway you want cause I don’t really describe him much except for what he is wearing and I picture Alastor a certain way in my head. This got long I apologize.

TW: Set in the 1920-30’s, Human Alastor and his murders. Pre-established relationships, cheating, Alastor “stealing” you away from your husband.Alastor and Reader have known each other for a long time already. Reader is also some sort of fucked up, in like the murder way. Talks about cheating, fighting, Gore, Christianity and religion in general. MURDER VERY MUCH MURDER

Word Count: 7k

1927, the days filled with laughter and partying whilst listening to jazz standing with your husband..well you were waiting outside a sleazy bar for your husband, the same drunkard that your father had married you off to. He wasn’t your first choice neither was he your last choice. You would’ve been fine not marrying anybody and just living your life hidden from prying eyes, you would rather be somewhere in the Louisiana bayou with Alastor. Just sitting and listening to him ramble on about a new show he was talking about or how some poor lad got on his bad side.

But yet you were standing on the sidewalk in front of a sleazy bar with even sleazier patrons as you stared at your husband through one of the windows as he hit on the same poor dame that served him. He cheated all the time and yet you never cared, was it because you never truly loved him or was it the fact you’d rather picture his own death while he begged god for his sins. You couldn’t tell anymore and a part of you didn’t want to know anymore. The other part of you wanted to delve deeper into your own thoughts, wanted to open the door that was locked and barricaded for your own good. You wanted to understand what it felt like to rip flesh from bone and see how long it would take for him to lose consciousness from the blood loss.

A loud honk from a passing car made you jump out of your skin and look around, feeling the small box in your pocket, it was supposed to be for your husband but he didn’t deserve it, he would’ve just sold it eagerly for some kind of money to waste his life away. That’s fine you knew a man who would appreciate it more than him anyway. The same man whose voice was happily broadcasted on every radio for miles around, you could practically hear his smile through the radio static and fuzz. Your heartbeat a little faster than it should’ve just thinking about him, he was your friend and that was it. Friends don’t have crushes on friends. This was just a way to spoil him for being a good friend of yours. Right?

You couldn’t bother him right now, you knew better so you did what you always did. Went back home and made yourself busy until he eventually made his way over to your house. He was always quick enough to get to your house before your drunken husband did but stayed around long enough (i.e in the early hours of the morning) so you wouldn’t have to deal with anything unnecessary and you eventually went to bed. Then he would’ve disappeared for a few days but he came back around. You didn’t question him or his ways, you knew better. A part of you did want to question his motives but you held your tongue like you always did.

Your husband wasn’t a necessarily violent man..just dumb and constantly drinking, said some nasty words too. If it wasn’t for you, Alastor would’ve probably done him in by now. Especially when he was talking bad about his Mother, you saw the way Alastor stared at your husband. The same angry look you gave him when he had gotten on your last nerve. But before Alastor could get to him, some other patron did. Knocked your husband’s nose sideways and a tooth completely out. Bastard deserved it completely and till this day you don’t visit that place. You needed a fucking drink thinking about your husband but the bastard drunk your house completely dry.

A knock on your front door snapped you out of your thoughts and as you turned towards your front door, the man of the hour had walked through your door. A huge grin plastered on his face, one hand holding a bottle of whiskey and in the other today's paper. “Ah ha! There you are, My Dear!” He called out his suit absolutely spotless. A smile formed on your lips as you grabbed two glasses from the cupboard, waving him towards one of the only rooms your husband doesn’t enter. “You had me worrying there for a moment,” He said tilting his head back towards you as he led you to the parlor room, “Maybe that husband of yours was back from wherever he was lurking.” He finished his smile falling into a snarl, Alastor was also not a huge fan of your husband from the start. You never asked why as you both didn’t want to think of him during your little time together.

“Please..you know better than I do that he’s hitting up on a poor dame at the bar.” You replied, sitting the glasses down on the table causing him to make a noise in acknowledgement, “At this point, Alastor..I’m believing you're a mind reader with how you just appear with whiskey in hand at my front door.” At that? He let out a loud belly laugh leaning in closer to you allowing his gaze to soften as he stared at your features before he leaned away opening the bottle of whiskey. This was going to be a long night for the both of you and you had forgotten all about the gift.

~~~

A couple weeks had passed since you last saw Alastor in person but you didn’t fret, he had called the next day to tell you he had made it back home safely. Something he had picked up ever since you had asked him to stay the night so long ago, you were-..are still scared of your own thoughts. The ones that dare creep out, the ones who tell you to crack open your husband’s chest and rip out his still beating heart. The ones who you don’t dare tell a soul and you sure as hell won’t tell Alastor, he’d think you're insane. But you knew..you were slowly losing yourself and everyday it was one step closer to killing your husband.

Walking into the kitchen and rolling your eyes seeing your husband looking like hell, “Hungover John?” You hissed out as you moved past him a grunt falling from his lips in reply, “Shut the fuck up..” He hissed out speech still slurred as half assed venom dripped from his tongue. “I wasn’t the one up at 1 in the morning drinking with that no good radio host.” You froze your hand twitching towards the knife on the counter but stopped yourself, “I wasn’t the one who was at the bar drinking his sorrows away whilst trying to bed another dame for the twentieth time this week.” You hissed back, sending a glare towards him.

John stood up fully and walked towards you getting into your face, hand raising to no doubt strike you. But nothing came as someone cleared their voice, an icy cold tone to it. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Friend.” Alastor..fuck you forgot about him and his way of just walking into your house. You had drunkenly given him a key one night, ‘Just in case’ you told him. You were glad that you did because as soon as he heard Alastor’s cold voice he immediately backed up and stormed off deeper into the house.

Alastor’s cold gaze had followed the poor idiotic man as he disappeared into the home before they snapped back onto you. “Are you alright?” He asked the venom and anger laced in his voice gone but you saw how his eyes still held his anger, like they did when that fool had talked bad about his Mother. You often had envy and wished that you could know a mother’s gentle hand guiding you towards a better life. But criminals only give birth to criminals, your mother had left the Earth so long ago you don’t even remember what she looked like anymore but sometimes when you look into a crowd you see a familiar figure and a part of you becomes elated before it crashes and burns into the ground.

“I’m fine, Alastor.” You replied softly as you glanced down the hallway where your husband stormed off. Alastor sat silent watching your face keep still but the sadness in your eyes was apparent, he knew you yearned for freedom and solace. He knew how you would rather be a thousand miles away from your “husband”- God he hated that word and man, if he could’ve he would’ve killed him a long time ago. Walking over he softly hummed, “Let me take you out on the town, Dear…a way to get your head cleared.” He whispered, reaching over and carefully placing his hand on your shoulder. He watched your eyes once almost so lifeless and dull flicker to life at the thought, “All day?” You asked, glancing at him, the warmness in your eyes returning, a small smile forming on your lips. Hook…line…and sinker, he’s got you right where he wants you, perfectly safe in his hands.

“Of course, Dear! Now go on, go get dressed!” he hummed his smile, returning as he guided you to go down to your own bedroom which was supposed to be the guest bedroom. You never explained why you had moved bedrooms but he didn’t need to guess or ask. It was abundantly clear to anyone who had stepped foot in your household, this “marriage” wasn’t full of love. It was only necessary and after the first year of it, you had grown cold. That man had taken away any semblance of your hope and happiness for a better life. Alastor hummed a tune that played from his radio broadcasts as he looked around your home, he’s seen the decor and fake photos that hung up on the wall a million times but yet it never gets old. Especially when he’s staring at the photo of you on your wedding day, the way the smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “What are you still doing here?” A slurred voice asked, causing him to calmly look over. His smile grew wider at the sight of the boy in front of him. That wasn’t a man..far from it. “Good to see you at least a little sober, Jonathan.” He hummed, dodging the question thrown his way.

“Shut the fuck up, Alastor.” John threw back, moving closer as Alastor’s eyes darkened. Just a little closer..and then he’d be gone for good. “John!” You yelled out making the man flinch and Alastor’s heart raced, oh how he loved hearing that venom lace your tongue; it was always a delight to see how commanding you were when you wanted to be. When Alastor first met you, you were quiet yet happy and you hadn’t been married to this fool. Such a lovely little mouse minding your own business when you had accidentally bumped into him. He wouldn’t believe anyone if they said meeting you would change his life. You had spilled wine on his suit, yet you didn’t freak out when you saw his eyes flicker angrily. Only apologized and paid for his new suit with the money you had been saving up to leave for good, he wouldn’t find that out until a year later.

John looked over at you with anger but soon he once again stormed out of the house cursing you and Alastor. Alastor looked over at you with a gentle smile returning to his lips as he guided you to the front door. “Come now~ Let’s paint the town red, Dear” He called out laughing at his own little joke making you roll your eyes at his antics. Silly man.

~~~

Hours happily passed by and the day turned into night from swinging into tailors and from jazz clubs to socialite parties so you both could secretly judge people between hushed breaths, he eventually led you down to a park that was lit up with lampposts every so often before sitting down on a park bench under the moonlights soft glow. Your laughter had died down into a comfortable silence as you glanced over at Alastor. His leg crossed the other one, “I haven’t seen someone so eager to play the fool in one of those parties.” He laughed out, tapping his thumb on his knee, “Something on my face, Darling?” You jumped and looked away, “No no..sorry I..I’ve been lost in my own thoughts recently, Alastor.”

He looked over at you, you were unusually silent the whole night. “Can I tell you something?” You asked, watching as you finally looked over, oh he could never get used to those eyes of yours and that darling little smile was everything to him. “Of course, Darling.” He reached over and carefully plucked a stray leaf from your shoulder, his attention fully on you. You looked down, hands trembling..you had to tell him, you could tell him right? “Nevermind it, you’d think I’d gone insane.” You corrected and cleared your throat leaning back into the cooled bench. You felt uncomfortably hot despite the cold air, winter was right around the corner.

Using his hand to rub at his chin as he hummed your favorite tune he played on air, this piqued his curiosity much more than he’d like to admit. “I’d never think such a thing, my friend!” He replied throwing his hand up in the air as if to actually try and swat those thoughts away from your mind. “Tell me whenever you feel ready to do so, my Dear!~” He was always willing to listen to you even if it was about nothing, your voice was practically music to his ears. Closing his eyes as a cold breeze hit his face as he continued to hum along to fill the silent night, he suspected it was your..’husband’..the cause of all your misery. The way your honeyed voice was now constantly laced with venom and authority as if you had to fight to even allow your voice to be heard. Your silence had felt like an eternity for him but he knew it had only been a moment or two, he didn’t realize how addicted to your voice he had become.

“I..I’ve been having thoughts.” You started making him look over at you, his eyes narrowing in concern at your form, how small you had looked at the moment. He had leaned forward and took his jacket off before draping it over your figure not minding how the cold nipped at his skin but he didn’t interrupt you, he knew better to do so. “Angry thoughts..well they started out that way but now they’ve turned into something more..violent.” You explained carefully pulling his jacket closer to your frame, eyes casted off in the woods. You imagine some man standing there, blood covering his hands and drenching his shirt, a wicked smile on his face as he looked up into the night sky and laughed out loud for god to hear him.

Alastor followed your gaze as his humming slowed down until it completely stopped to allow the silence to fill the air, his smile pulling into a more sinister one at how he finally understood. The same one that happened to find its way on his lips after killing his latest victim, he quickly rubbed his hand over his mouth allowing the smile to drop before you could catch a glimpse of it. “I think of what it would feel like to rip flesh from bone..to finally choke him out..I want to know what it feels like to snub out a life..his life. I’m not a violent person and these thoughts terrify me, I try to keep them hidden but…sometimes they slip out.” You finish up finally noticing how tight your throat felt and the tears falling down your face. It felt great to finally get that off your chest but now the anxiety of it all set in, would he rat you out to the police? Would he hate you?

“I don’t remember when they started. Was it when I was forced to get married to him? I’d tell myself I can save enough money and start somewhere new..but then I’d miss you..miss your early morning show and our late night talks.” You confessed spilling your problems out onto the sidewalk like a drunkard when he had spilled his guts on the pavement. You were pathetic in your own way. Alastor watched you for a few moments before carefully pulling you into his side, using a handkerchief tucked into his vest pocket to carefully wipe your tears away. “No more tears, dear friend.” he whispered, allowing you to hide your face into his shoulder as his arm wrapped around your waist.

He was at a crossroad in his own mind, should he tell you not to go with it? He wouldn’t want you to go into this dirty mess. But he also wants you to feel the rush of adrenaline when snubbing out a life, he wants to help. But either way if you did or didn’t he’d take care of it..in some way or another. No one should hurt his little mouse in such a way and get away with it. It was silent for a long time as you calmed yourself and he held you with a softness that was foreign to himself and most others.

“I always..I always imagined running away with you..to some old house down near the bayou.” You whispered out feeling the familiar chain that hung on his vest, the one hidden under his jacket. He leaned his head against yours and hummed in reply. It sounded picture perfect in his mind.

~~~

You sat at the church pew next to your ‘husband’ and kept your head down as you listened in on the priest doing his normal sermon. The only time your husband had decided to not be drunk and clean up for once in his life was always on Sundays or when his family was coming over. Something you always ran away from, you stayed in the empty parlor with a glass of water and a small book. His mother was never kind to you nor his sisters, you chose to ignore them and their gossip. Especially when you had to be seated around them in a church talking about a man who you possibly didn’t believe in but was instead forced to hear this priest talk about whatever was in the bible. Your hands clasped together as your mind kept drifting off.

It had only been two days since you told everything to Alastor, your feelings and how you wished to murder your own husband. You haven’t been able to talk to Alastor since which was fine, he was a very busy man after all. Lifting your head up as you felt your husband nudge your leg with his own, you sent him a glance ignoring how he was practically glaring at you. “Don’t embarrass me infront of my family” He hissed out as you glared at the wall. “They already know how rocky our relationship is, John.” You hissed back, about to leave but someone sat next to you keeping his head down, “Sorry I’m late, Dear Friend.” Alastor whispered, making the anger dissipate in a matter of seconds, “Mother wanted to go see an old friend,” He hummed and got comfortable next to you.

After an hour or maybe it was a good 10 minutes you couldn’t tell but Alastor had successfully dragged you away and out of the church under the guise of it being important and he couldn’t dare interrupt the sermon. You didn’t care now as you laughed at some joke that was pointed towards your husband, walking down the street arm in arm as he used his other hand to dramatically explain everything that’s happened between the hours you both had parted. The crying and confession long gone in your mind as you pointed out the flaws in his story but he had only reached over and pinched your nose between his fingers with only a half hearted threat of keeping his ‘secrets’.

As you both walked down the street the laughter and conversation lulled into a peaceful silence. “Where are you taking me?” You asked, feeling a familiar presence in your pocket, the gift you had forgotten about for weeks now. “Just for a walk through the park, Dear.” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, a smile had formed on your face but your eyes still had that faraway look in them. Guess you were going back into your own head again, “I got you something a while ago and forgot it in my jacket” you called out reaching into your jacket and pulling the small box out, you didn’t want to bring up the fact it was supposed to be a gift for your husband. Alastor abruptly stopped in his tracks and looked at you, “You didn’t need to do such a thing, Dear.” You only smiled at him and gave him the box, “I know..but I wanted to give it to you.” You whispered out watching as he opened the box, his eyes widening. It was one of the newer pocket watches that you’ve had your eyes on for a long while now, “Dearest I..I couldn’t take this.” He replied carefully, taking the watch out, flipping it open and smiling. “But you can..and you will cause it’s for you, Al..”

You loved seeing him smile like that, something that you had rarely seen when you first started hanging out. It’s still mostly rare, especially when he’s had a hard day or the simple fact that you sometimes don’t see him for days on end. He put the pocket watch back into the box carefully, “Guess I’ll have to find to pay you back now?” He hummed out placing the box into his pocket causing you to sigh, “You know you don’t have to do such a thing, Alastor. I..I don’t deserve it.” Only criminals give birth to criminals and criminals don’t get nice things.

“Oh but I think you do,” He replied and leaned down to gently tap your forehead, “Despite what those thoughts of yours tell you.” You blinked and stared at him, “You know me too well,” You huffed turning away from him. “Not well enough!” He called happily following after you and quickly catching up, long legged bastard. You looked up at him as he held out his arm, “Are you sure about that, Alastor? I think you know me better than most people.” You said carefully taking hold of his arm, he chuckled and quicked his step making you practically had to speed walk to catch up with him.

The night truly didn’t stop until you were almost on the verge of passing out from laughter and how sleep creeped up on your shoulders. Alastor’s arm was snuggly wrapped around your waist to keep you upright as the sandman was practically calling your name. “Come on now, one foot up the step.” He whispered as he guided your sleepy self up onto your own porch. “I can walk fine, Alastor. I’m not drunk,” You whispered, shaking your head trying to fight off how your eyes grew heavier. You don’t like being up past a certain time in the early mornings but for Alastor you would’ve done it a million times over….Maybe you did have a crush on him but he wouldn’t love you back in a million years.

You don’t remember when you got into your bedroom, did you black out on him? Yet he was still holding you against his chest as he swayed you to an imaginary rhythm. “And here I thought you had fallen asleep on me already.” He whispered out, causing you to jump out of your skin for a second before you huffed, “Sorry, didn’t mean to do so.” You replied leaning back to try and smooth out his shirt, now noticing his jacket was draped near the door of your bedroom. “Nonsense, I find it comforting in a way that you trust me to fall asleep near me.” He replied watching you, his bow tie had been undone for a couple hours now but watching the way you had subconsciously fixed it for him made his heart race and butterflies erupt in his stomach.

His mind wandered off watching as you blinked the sleep from your eyes to make sure he still looked presentable. He wondered sometimes what it would be like if he married you instead of that idiotic man. “..Don’t leave for too long this time, Al..I know I’ll eventually hear your voice on the radio but sometimes it’s not the same..” You whispered out glancing back up at him, his gloved hand reaching up to cup your face tracing the bags under your eyes with his thumb, “I’ll try, Cher..” He replied as he leaned down to press his head against yours. He couldn’t promise it but he’d try especially since he has been working so hard on his plan to get rid of that idiotic husband of yours.

You leaned your head up, allowing for your noses to brush against one another. His arms were still wrapped around your waist, one of his hands splayed on the middle of your back. Then it had hit you, all those times he had pulled you away from your husband and took you to the places you loved..was he silently courting you? Had he been doing so for days now and you were just too stupid to notice? You gently cupped his face and watched as he had opened his eyes, when did he close them? “I..Alastor? Have you been courting me?” Your voice was only above a whisper making him freeze in his tracks. He was silent for a long time before he nodded and sighed. “I have been yes,” He replied and you felt your face warm, seemingly all of the tiredness from before had dissipated.

His gloved hands came up to carefully grasp onto yours as your thumb caressed his cheek, a faint scar that had healed overtime. You remembered when you saw the scar, yet you never asked, figuring he would’ve told you when he decided to do so. He had yet to say a word about it so it must’ve not been important. In the years that you had known him, you’ve grown to love him and to be wary of him all at the same time. He was a wild mutt waiting to sink his teeth into any fresh meat he could find, he wasn’t the one to be tamed or “domesticated” and you surely would never think to tie him down to a preconceived notion such as marriage or a family life. It took someone truly special to worm their way into his heart and that was a tough act, nonetheless, he had picked and prodded at the worst parts of you wanting to see how quick it took for you to finally snap at him, show your fangs and reveal your weak spots to him. He loved the game of it.

Yet here he was, the same wild animal that used to raise his hackles and bare its sharp teeth was essentially laying down and showing his belly to you. He’d disappear to find his fill and get those fangs bloodied before he’d make his way back to you. Maybe everyone who told you to stay away was right, he wasn’t a man to stick around but here you were inviting the man into your home day after day because you just couldn’t get enough of him.

Blinking your thoughts away you focused on Alastor, how he had leaned closer to you. “May I?” He whispered, ever the gentleman he was, his hands carefully squeezing yours as you nodded your head a small smile on your lips. Wordlessly, he closed the gap and gently kissed you. At first it was such a small kiss but you didn’t want it to end, you just got a taste of what it felt like to be loved..actually loved and it felt amazing, that one small kiss turned into a bigger one as his hands fell down to hold onto your sides.

You would be asleep until lunch the next day, the memory still fresh on your mind as you awoke to find a small gift box on your bedside table. You were going to kill Alastor.

~~~

You sat in an office, legs crossed as you watched the lawyer in front of you collect some papers and give you a passing glance every so often. “Now, it’s to my knowledge you are looking to file for a divorce?” The man asked, causing you to nod, “Now is there a reason for this divorce?” You huffed, how many times did you have to explain it? “Infidelity, I’ve caught him one too many times and I’d rather make this quick.” You huffed out venom lacing your tongue as you watched the older gentleman nod and produced some papers.

After an hour of signing papers and making everything on record you had finally gone home. You didn’t even greet your husband when you walked inside, just placed the papers on the table and left for the day ignoring how he yelled out for you. You had walked all the way to the park, the same park Alastor had walked you to all those weeks ago and you spilled your darkest secrets out into the open. Sitting on the same bench as you watched people pass by as your eyes drifted to the woods, you also knew Alastor was an avid hunter and you’d be alone for a while longer as deer season came around. You’d be alone with your husband and your thoughts. You hoped this divorce would go through but it was a slim chance and then you would rightfully be kicked out of church for thinking of doing such a thing. Laughter rang in your ears as you got lost in your own world, your eyes glued onto the Doe walking out of the collection of trees to find something to eat on.

As the doe finally found something to snack on it had turned its head up and towards you. A small part of you felt a twinge of dread as you stared at the doe and the other part felt calm as the feeling started to grow and settle into the pit of your stomach, your breathing slowed down considerably before the doe had run off seemingly spooked away. You frowned and watched as it disappeared further into the woods. Gloved hands clamped down onto your shoulders making you jump up in surprise and let out a loud scream as Alastor’s laugh was heard from behind you.

You turned on your heel ignoring the passerby who looked on in confusion, “I’m going to kill you, Alastor.” You hissed out trying to hide the prominent blush on your features and how your lips creeped up into a smile. He smirked, he knew you didn’t actually mean you would kill him. Your version of ‘kill’ meant you would simply get him back later in some kind of fashion. You were a smart person after all. “I’m sorry, Dear! You were so out of sorts you looked primed for me to scare you.” He hummed and moved to sit down on the bench, his hand patting the spot next to him. You let out a loud sigh sitting next to him, “What’s on your mind?” He hummed out fixing his gloves before moving to brush imaginary dust off his pants.

You were silent for some time trying to figure out the words in your head, “I gave John divorce papers today.” you whispered out causing him to look over trying to hide the growing smile on his face, you still haven’t brought up the kiss you both shared the night before and you were scared to do so. “Really?” He hummed, leaning back against the bench using one hand to tap a melody on his knee, “I’m just waiting for him to sign it and see if the court will..allow the divorce to happen.” He didn’t answer and looked ahead as the conversation lulled into a comfortable silence. Your mind raced as another cold breeze hit you in the face, what would you do if the court denied the divorce? Would Alastor still..be by your side? The thoughts raced and raced but before you could delve deeper, a warm inviting hand was placed onto your shoulder causing you to look over at him confused but leaned into the warmth.

“It’s going to be okay, Dear. Don’t let those thoughts run you ragged now.” You nodded at his words and smiled, “Figured you’d be out hunting by now.” That made him let out a small laugh as his smile grew wider and went off on a tangent about hunting and how to actually be a good hunter.

You’d be fine.

~~~

You’d be fine.

Those were the words echoing in your head as you were now standing in your kitchen hands on the counter as you stared down at the broken glass cup as you heard your husband yell at you. The amber liquid is now spilling onto the wooden floor, your cheek burned like hell and you tasted the iron in your mouth as you unclench your jaw allowing your teeth to free themselves from your tongue. You stormed over to the phone and used the rotary dial to call a familiar number that you had stuck in the back of your mind. Alastor. You don’t remember the start of the conversation. All you could mumble between the stinging pain and blood in your mouth was, “Come over..It’s an emergency.” Before hanging up abruptly.

The next few moments were quick in your mind but you knew it took far much longer to do as your hands trembled. Grabbing whatever heavy metal object you could find in the vicinity, as your husband turned to face you once more. The fear in the man’s eyes as you swung and hit him in the face, breaking his nose with a sickening crack. He fell to the floor, his hands moving to cover his nose as he stared up into your empty anger filled eyes, god..it felt good to see him as nothing but a pathetic ant beneath your feet. It felt invigorating as you dropped to your knees one hand holding him down as you continuously bashed the item into his face until he was nothing more than a lifeless body surrounded by a pool of his own blood.

You stared down at him and then the blood covering your hands as tears formed into your eyes and a sob bubbled up from your throat but you weren’t sad. Far from it..you were relieved as you looked up at the ceiling falling flat on your ass as you started to laugh between horrid sobs. Your hands grasping at your shirt laughing louder until your cheeks hurt from how long you were smiling and as Alastor finally came into your vision. The smile faltered for a moment as another loud sob wracked your body, “I did it, Al..I did it-” You choked out as you curled into yourself. “It felt so fucking good..I felt fucking invincible.” You hissed out blood dripping from your mouth and onto the floor. “Oh god- I finally fucking did it.”

Alastor walked over calmly and quietly, his hands clasping on your shoulders. His suit was long gone as when you called him he was in the middle of getting ready to go out ‘hunting’ but when he heard your desperation, he rushed over immediately. “You did and I’m so proud of you, Dearest..but go get cleaned up and I’ll deal with the mess, yes?” He whispered into your ear as you let out another sob allowing him to help you stand up on your two feet. As he helped you to your own bathroom and got you fresh clothes, he went back to the freshly dead body in your kitchen and smirked. “Got what you had comin’ old boy.” He hissed out before starting to get to work cleaning up the mess.

It didn’t take him long to clean up but now he had to find a way to actually get rid of the body. In your backyard? No, that's too suspicious..in the woods? Maybe but he doesn’t want you to have another breakdown. But he would have to wait until night time so right now? He’s going to have to play the part just in case people start to suspect something. He looked around and draped a blanket over the body before dragging it towards an empty room.

When he had walked back to the kitchen, he had watched as you were carefully cleaning up the shards of glass. Walking over he had finally noticed the blooming bruise on your cheek causing a part of him to be angry. “He hit you?” He whispered out helping you stand up, “Yeah..after we got home after the court denied the appeal..said I embarrassed him and broke a cup over my head before slapping me.” You whispered your speech slurred from your swollen tongue making you flinch, “What do I do now?” You whispered out, allowing him to gently grab your chin, “I don’t know what to do, Al..” His eyes softened and he sighed, “Sit down and I’ll cook something for you, Dear. We are gonna have to wait till nightfall.” He hummed, pressing a gentle kiss upon your head.

Later that night, he had helped you bury your ex husband deep in the forest, he mostly did all the dirty work but he did explain how to hide a body.

~~~

It was now 1931, four years after you had killed your ex husband and a year after the economy collapsed. You and Alastor had moved in with one another and while not officially married by the courts you both loved one another and acted as such. Wearing a wedding ring on your finger told everyone you were either remarried or you still loved your poor ex husband that was murdered in cold blood by the rampant serial killer that was on the loose. Which would be far from the truth.

His family blamed you for his murder, calling you every name in the book and berating you for ‘kicking him out of the house’ which also wasn’t the truth. Yet another lie your ex had spun to keep his pride intact, you didn’t care in all honesty. The man was gone now..killed by your hands.

But here you were walking down the dark streets of New Orleans to get back home to your loving Beau, you had heard through the grapevine he was having a rough day and hoped to cheer him up that night but as you continued to walk down the street you realized that you were being followed. But maybe not maybe it was just your paranoia, but still you felt like a waiting duck, taking a turn down an alleyway and then another hoping to lose the trail of whoever was following you.

It wasn’t until you had gotten to a familiar part of town out near the bayou that you felt relatively calmer but then that was stomped on when you heard a yell from behind. You looked back thinking it was one of the friendly neighbors but it wasn't. It was the man from before the same one who was following you. You dropped the book you were holding and broke out into a sprint down towards where your house was, trying your best to dodge anything that could hurt you. Then a loud shot rang out and it sounded like thunder causing your body to freeze up for a second. But you continued to keep running, you just needed to get home..you could see the smoke billowing from the chimney and the soft glow of the lights inside.

Your heartbeat was banging on your chest as you ran, you were almost there..you could see Alastor inside before a loud SNAP echoed through the silent air as you fell face first into the ground.

You scrambled to get up sobbing as you looked back to see a trap digging into your leg, its sharp teeth scraping against bone as you sat up watching as the man got closer. “Fuck fuck-” you hissed out as you started to painfully get the jaws of the trap unstuck and scrambled off ignoring how your leg was burning. You yelled out for Alastor before another loud shot echoed through the air. The constant buzzing of the cicadas had gone silent as you fell to the ground gasping for air. Oh god it hurt, your hands moved to clutch your stomach as you looked up at the man, pistol in his hand pointed right between your eyes, “You killed my brother.” He hissed out his voice breaking as you teared up and begged him to let you go.

Tears cascaded down your face as he yelled, whispering some prayer that spilled past your lips and then the night went silent. As the gun had fallen down the hammer hit the ground first causing the gun to be set off, the bullet flying into the sky of the New Orleans Bayou. You trembled laying on the ground sobbing as you brought your hands up to see blood covering them the moonlight had casted down upon you as you sobbed out. There was movement before your head was lifted up and cradled into your Husband’s chest. His familiar cologne invades your senses in a comfortable way as he shakily tries to stop the bleeding.

“It’s going to be okay, Cher..I’ll fix you right up.” he whispered into your hair as he pressed his hand onto your stomach. You were bleeding out too much as your breathing started to slow. No no it wasn’t supposed to end like this, tears raced down his cheeks as he pulled you closer as your hand weakly grasped around his sobbing out how you didn’t want to die. But he knew he couldn’t help you, he was far too late to properly help you and it was too far to get you to a doctor. “Sing me a song, Al?” You whispered out, “One last song?” he nodded and cleared his throat, watching as the light in your eyes slowly faded as he sung your favorite song.

He stayed like that for an extra hour, holding your lifeless body to his and singing all your favorite songs before he finally had the courage to find a place to bury you properly, making sure that when the sun rose the next morning it’s first rays it sent out over the bayou would hit your grave. You always did love watching the sun rise and listening to his broadcasts.

He would meet you again, he just knew it. He just didn’t know when.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor hazbin hotel #gn reader #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x gn!reader

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rispwr · 2 months ago

Text

expect the unexpected - myg - os

pairings : idol! myg x bartender! reader

sypnosis: meeting an idol at a bar as a bartender? Especially the fact that it was your favourite idol, was definitely was not in your expectations, knowing well the media is all around you both.

word count: 5k+

contents/warnings: smut, ykyk, idol x fan, s2l, fast burn or whatever u call it, unprotected sxx, public media hate?, full of suprises, pwp, oral(fem recieving), slight tit play,

Not proofread

The pounding bass of the club reverberated through my chest as I worked my way behind the bar, pouring drinks with precision and a smile, despite how tired I was feeling. The club was packed tonight, bodies swaying under neon lights, laughter and chatter mixing with the pulsing music. It was another typical Friday night, one where I’d usually lose myself in the rhythm of the job, letting the hustle and bustle distract me from anything going on in my personal life.

But tonight, something felt different. There was an odd tension in the air, or maybe it was just my own nerves after hearing earlier in the day that there was going to be a high-profile guest at the club. I didn’t know who it would be, but the manager had warned us to be on our best behavior. I usually was, but the anticipation had been gnawing at me all evening, especially as the hours ticked closer to closing time.

I wiped down the counter for the hundredth time that night, glancing at the crowd every now and then, hoping to spot the mystery guest. Maybe it would be someone cool, like an actor or a famous DJ. Little did I know, my whole world was about to shift in the next few minutes.

The door opened, and I noticed someone walk in, but it wasn’t just anyone. It was him.

Min Yoongi.

My heart skipped a beat, then pounded furiously in my chest. Oh my god, it’s really him. Min Yoongi, the man I’d admired for years, the genius behind so many of my favorite songs. His music had been my escape, my motivation, my comfort on so many days. And now, here he was, stepping into the very club where I worked. My hands were shaking just thinking about it.

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry, as I watched him casually approach the bar. His presence commanded the space, even though he moved with such a laid-back aura, his black leather jacket clinging to him effortlessly. He glanced around briefly before his eyes landed on me, and I froze, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

Stay calm, Y/N. You’re a professional. You can’t freak out right now.

"Good evening, sir. What can I get you?" I somehow managed to ask, though my voice came out shaky. My palms were sweating, and I was sure my face was flushed.

Yoongi’s gaze softened as a small smirk played at the corners of his lips. "Does the drink come with the bartender making it?" he joked, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine.

I chuckled nervously, trying to play it off like I wasn’t completely losing it on the inside. "You’re very funny, sir," I replied, forcing a smile. Act normal, Y/N, act normal.

His eyes lingered on me for a moment longer than I expected, and I could feel my heart racing again. "What can you recommend?" he asked, leaning slightly on the counter, his eyes still locked on mine.

I was momentarily speechless, my brain scrambling to function. What was a good drink?

I bit my lip, trying to focus despite the intensity of his gaze. "Aperol Spritz," I blurted out, my voice still shaky. It was a safe choice, something light but classy. I was hoping he’d go for it.

"That sounds good," he said, giving me a warm, gummy smile that nearly melted me on the spot. His smile—it was even more beautiful in person than I’d ever imagined.

I quickly turned to grab the ingredients, my hands trembling slightly as I started mixing the drink. I could feel his eyes on me, and it was driving me insane. The way he leaned against the bar, so casual, so effortlessly cool—it was like a scene out of a movie, one I never thought I’d be part of.

As I focused on mixing the drink, I heard him speak again, his voice low and curious. "What time’s your shift end?"

My hand faltered for a moment, nearly spilling the Aperol. "Uh, 10 p.m.," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant, though my heart was thudding in my chest. Why was he asking about my shift?

"Why?" I asked before I could stop myself, focusing on the drink to avoid looking directly at him.

"May I take you out?" His words hit me like a ton of bricks, and I almost dropped the glass.

I choked on my own breath, coughing slightly in surprise. Did I just hear that right? My idol, the man whose music had shaped so much of my life, was asking to take me out? It felt surreal, like a dream I didn’t dare believe was happening.

"Sir—" I started to protest, my mind racing with confusion, excitement, and nerves all at once.

He cut me off, that same playful smirk still on his lips. "Just get my number then."

Before I could even react, he reached over and gently grabbed my wrist, pulling out a pen from his jacket. My breath hitched as I felt the warmth of his fingers on my skin. With a few quick strokes, he scribbled his number on my wrist.

"Call me. Please," he said, his voice softer now, more sincere. His eyes met mine again, and for a moment, everything else in the club disappeared. It was just me and him, locked in this surreal moment that I knew I would remember for the rest of my life.

I blinked, still trying to process everything as I finished making his drink and handed it to him. He took it with that same easy confidence, his fingers brushing against mine briefly before he lifted the glass to his lips.

The way he drank the Aperol Spritz—quickly, effortlessly, like it was water—was somehow the hottest thing I had ever seen. My eyes were glued to him, watching as he downed the drink with a casual grace that left me even more flustered than before.

When he set the glass down, he gave me one last smile before standing up from the bar. I watched, completely starstruck, as he slowly made his way out of the club, disappearing into the night like some kind of ethereal being.

For a few seconds, I just stood there, still clutching the bar counter, my mind reeling from what had just happened. My idol—Min Yoongi—had not only spoken to me, but he had given me his number.

Holy cow.

It felt too good to be true. I glanced down at my wrist, at the messy numbers scrawled there, and my heart skipped another beat. This wasn’t a dream. This was real.

I was still buzzing with excitement and disbelief as I continued working, but my mind kept drifting back to Yoongi, to the way he had looked at me, the sound of his voice, the feel of his hand on mine. The rest of my shift flew by in a blur, and when 10 p.m. finally rolled around, I couldn’t get out of the club fast enough.

As soon as I was out the door, I pulled out my phone, staring at the numbers on my wrist. My fingers hovered over the keypad, nerves bubbling up inside of me. Should I really call him? What if this was all a joke, or worse, what if he didn’t even remember me?

But then I thought about the way he had smiled at me, the way his eyes had lingered just a little too long. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t a dream.

Taking a deep breath, I finally dialed the number. The phone rang once, twice, three times, before a familiar voice answered.

"Hello?"

My heart leaped into my throat, and for a second, I couldn’t find my voice. "Uh, hi... it’s Y/N. From the club."

There was a brief pause on the other end, and then I heard his soft chuckle. "Ah, the bartender. I’m glad you called."

I bit my lip, trying to hide my giddiness. "Yeah, well, you kind of gave me no choice," I teased lightly.

"Fair enough," he replied, amusement in his voice. "So, what do you say? Still up for going out?"

I glanced around, my nerves suddenly replaced with excitement. "Yeah, I think I am."

The morning sun filtered softly through the curtains as I sat at my vanity, carefully applying the finishing touches to my makeup. I was feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness; today wasn’t just any day—it was my first real date with Min Yoongi after i literally spent the whole night talking to him. The Yoongi. My heart raced at the thought of spending time with him outside of the club, just the two of us, with no distractions.

I had barely finished putting on my lipstick when my phone rang, causing me to jump slightly. I grabbed it quickly, seeing his name flash on the screen.

"Hey," his deep voice flowed through the line, smooth and warm. "I'll pick you up. Send me your address, pretty."

I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my lips. Pretty. He called me that so casually, yet it made my heart skip a beat every time. I tried to sound nonchalant, but my voice betrayed me with a soft chuckle. "Oh, okay," I replied, fumbling as I typed out my address and sent it to him.

He responded with a simple "Got it. See you soon," and I hung up, staring at my reflection for a moment longer. Okay, Y/N. You’ve got this. Just be yourself.

I opted for something casual but cute—an airy summer dress that I felt confident in, paired with my favorite sandals. I didn’t want to overdo it, but at the same time, I wanted to look good. After all, this wasn’t just any date. This was a date with Yoongi.

As I finished getting ready, I heard a knock on the door. My heart leaped, and I quickly checked my reflection one last time before rushing over to open it. The moment I pulled the door open, there he was.

Yoongi stood there, dressed in a simple yet effortlessly stylish outfit—a white button-down shirt, slightly rolled up at the sleeves, paired with black slacks. His black hair fell softly over his forehead, and his eyes twinkled with amusement as he took in my appearance.

For a brief moment, he didn’t say anything, just looked at me like I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. My face flushed under his gaze, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him.

"You look..." He paused, his lips curving into a small smile as he ran a hand through his hair. "So damn pretty."

His words made my heart flutter, and I laughed nervously, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "Thanks," I murmured, trying to play it cool, though inside I was melting.

He extended his hand toward me. "Shall we?"

I took his hand, his fingers warm against mine as he led me out of my apartment. As we walked to his car, I couldn’t help but steal glances at him, still in awe of the fact that this was really happening. Yoongi—the man whose music I had adored for years—was holding my hand, and we were about to go on a date. It felt like a dream, one that I never wanted to wake up from.

Once we reached his car, Yoongi opened the passenger door for me, his actions gentlemanly and smooth. I slid in, my nerves settling slightly as I buckled my seatbelt and watched him move to the driver’s side. He got in and started the car, and soon enough, we were on our way.

"So, where are we going?" I asked, curious.

He glanced at me briefly, his smile returning. "It’s a surprise," he said cryptically, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he spoke.

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "A surprise, huh?"

"You’ll like it, I promise," he added, giving me a reassuring look. I trusted him, though I couldn’t deny that the mystery only added to the excitement bubbling in my chest.

As we drove, the conversation flowed easily between us. Yoongi was surprisingly easy to talk to, despite his usually quiet and reserved demeanor. He asked me about my work, my hobbies, and what I liked to do for fun, and I found myself opening up to him in a way that felt natural and comfortable.

In return, he shared little snippets of his life, telling me funny stories about his friends and how much he loved producing music. He talked about his love for quiet places, the serenity of sitting by a river with a notebook, just writing. It was moments like these that made me realize just how thoughtful and introspective he was—a side of him that wasn’t always visible in public.

After about thirty minutes of driving, we pulled up to a secluded park just on the outskirts of the city. It was beautiful—quiet, with large trees providing shade and a lake glistening in the sunlight.

"Wow," I breathed as I stepped out of the car. The peacefulness of the place immediately put me at ease, and I couldn’t help but smile at the thoughtfulness behind Yoongi’s choice.

He came around the car, taking my hand once again as we walked toward the lake. "I figured we could have a picnic," he said, nodding toward a small basket he had in the backseat.

My heart swelled at the idea. "A picnic? Aren't you scared we might caught by the media?" I grinned, looking up at him.

His ears turned a slight shade of pink, and he shrugged. "i don't really care about what the media says. i'm a human aswell"

I squeezed his hand gently, touched by the gesture. "well then, i love it"

We found a perfect spot under a large tree, the shade providing a cool relief from the warm sun. Yoongi laid out a blanket, and soon we were sitting together, the gentle breeze carrying the soft sounds of nature around us.

He opened the picnic basket, revealing an array of snacks—fruit, sandwiches, even a small bottle of wine. It was simple but thoughtful, and I couldn’t help but feel incredibly lucky to be here with him.

As we ate, we continued talking, sharing more stories and laughing over silly things. At one point, Yoongi picked up a strawberry and held it out to me. "Here," he said, his eyes glinting with a mischievous sparkle.

I giggled, leaning forward to take a bite, but at the last second, he pulled the strawberry away, smirking. "Too slow."

I playfully glared at him, crossing my arms. "Not fair," I pouted.

He chuckled, and after a moment, he held the strawberry out again, this time letting me take a bite. The sweet taste of the fruit was nothing compared to the warmth that spread through me from his teasing smile.

Time seemed to pass effortlessly as we lounged together, enjoying the serenity of the park. At one point, Yoongi leaned back against the tree, closing his eyes as he soaked in the peaceful atmosphere. I took the opportunity to study him, admiring the way the sunlight filtered through the branches above, casting a soft glow on his face.

He looked so at peace, so content. And it made me feel the same.

After a while, he opened his eyes, catching me staring. A soft smile tugged at his lips as he reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from my face.

"You’re beautiful, you know that?" he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I felt my cheeks flush, my heart doing a little flip at his words. "You’re not so bad yourself," I replied, trying to hide my embarrassment with a playful smile.

He chuckled softly, but the way his eyes lingered on mine told me that he meant what he said.

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden hue over the park, Yoongi stood up, offering me his hand. "Come on," he said, his voice soft but insistent.

I took his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. We walked along the edge of the lake, the water reflecting the fading sunlight in a way that made everything feel almost magical. The world around us seemed to quiet down, the only sounds being the gentle lapping of the water against the shore and the occasional chirp of a bird in the distance.

At one point, Yoongi stopped walking, turning to face me. His expression had softened, a look of quiet contemplation on his face.

"I’m really glad you agreed to come out with me today," he said, his voice low, almost hesitant.

I looked up at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. "I’m glad you asked me," I replied, my voice just as soft.

For a moment, we just stood there, the world around us fading into the background. It was just me and him, standing by the water, sharing a moment that felt almost too perfect to be real.

And then, without saying a word, Yoongi gently pulled me closer, his hand cupping my cheek as he leaned in. My heart raced, my breath hitching as his lips brushed against mine in the softest, sweetest kiss.

It was slow, tender, and filled with a warmth that spread through my entire body, leaving me breathless.

When we finally pulled away, his forehead rested against mine, both of us breathing softly in the quiet evening air.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible, but I could hear the emotion behind it.

I smiled, my heart swelling with a warmth I hadn’t felt in a long time. "For what?"

"For being here. For giving me a chance," he replied, his eyes soft and sincere.

I reached up, gently brushing my fingers through his hair. "You’re worth it," I whispered back.

It had been a whirlwind of a week since Yoongi and I started going on dates regularly. We’d been keeping things low-key, not caring too much about what the media might say. It was blissful—no pressure, no complications, just us. Every date felt like a slice of heaven, whether we were sneaking out for late-night drives or staying in to watch movies on the couch. Yoongi had a way of making everything feel easy, and for a while, I let myself believe that this little bubble we created could last forever.

But nothing ever stays hidden for long, especially when you're dating one of the most famous people in the world.

I was lying on my bed, doing my skincare routine with a sheet mask on, absentmindedly scrolling through my phone. I wasn’t expecting to find anything upsetting. In fact, I was enjoying the downtime, a rare moment to myself. That was until I stumbled upon an article that instantly made my heart sink.

"Min Yoongi of BTS, spotted at a bar months ago, writing his number on a bartender's wrist."

I froze. My fingers hovered over the screen as I read the article in shock. The photo attached was blurry, but it was definitely me. I recognized the scene instantly—the night Yoongi had come to the club where I worked and had asked for my number. I remember being so shocked and flustered, and now the world had access to that private moment.

My heart pounded in my chest as I scrolled down, reading article after article, each one with more intrusive headlines. My stomach twisted in knots as I clicked on the comments section of one post.

"I found her IG!" "Is this the bartender?" "She’s dating Yoongi? How dare she!" "She’s not even that pretty."

Each comment was worse than the last. The hate spilled across the screen, words laced with venom from people who didn’t even know me, yet somehow felt entitled to tear me apart. My hands started shaking, and my eyes stung as I continued to read.

Suddenly, the door to my bedroom opened, and Yoongi walked in. He looked relaxed, his usual calm self, but that all changed the moment he saw me. I was still lying on the bed, mask on, my phone gripped tightly in my hand. He crossed the room in a few strides, his expression instantly softening with concern as he approached.

"Y/N, you okay?" he asked, his deep voice low and soothing.

I didn’t answer him right away. Instead, I kept scrolling, my heart sinking further with each hateful comment. I felt the bed dip as Yoongi sat down beside me. He leaned over, glancing at my phone. The moment he saw what I was looking at, his expression darkened.

“Baby, don’t listen to them,” he said softly, reaching for my hand, but I pulled it away, still glued to the screen. I felt numb, my mind racing with thoughts about how much this could affect Yoongi’s life. The last thing I wanted was for my presence in his life to cause problems for him. I’d seen what rabid fans could do, how cruel the internet could be.

"She’s using him for clout." "Yoongi deserves better than her." "She’s just a nobody. How did she get his attention?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to look anymore. My body trembled, and I let out a shaky breath.

"Y/N," Yoongi's voice was firmer now, but still gentle. He reached out again, taking the phone from my hands this time. I didn’t resist. I couldn’t. He set it aside, his body shifting as he leaned over me, his arms wrapping around me tightly, pulling me into his embrace. His warmth was familiar and comforting, but I was too upset to melt into him like I usually would.

"Yoongi, I…" I struggled to find the words. "I don’t want to ruin your reputation."

He sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of my head, his arms still holding me close. “Baby, listen to me. This doesn’t change anything. I don’t care about what those people say.”

I opened my eyes, tears welling up as I looked up at him. "But what if they don’t stop, Yoongi? They’re already finding my social media, my pictures… It’s only going to get worse."

Yoongi gently brushed the hair away from my face, his eyes locking with mine. “I don’t care about them, Y/N. I care about you. They don’t know us, they don’t know you. And honestly, if they can’t accept that I’m dating someone, that’s on them. Not you.”

He leaned down, smashing his lips against mine, the kiss filled with urgency and a need to comfort me. My body responded instantly, my heart aching as I kissed him back, my hands gripping onto his shirt. His lips were soft, but the kiss was passionate, filled with emotion. He pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against mine.

"Y/N, I love you. I love you, not what the media says, not what the fans think. You’re the one I want, the one I’ve chosen," he muttered between small kisses, his lips grazing mine as he spoke.

I let out a shaky breath, my heart racing, but I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. “Yoongi… I love you too. But I’m scared. I don’t want this to ruin everything you’ve worked for. I don’t want to be the reason you lose your fans.”

His eyes softened, and he brushed away the tears that had escaped down my cheeks. "You’re not ruining anything, okay? If people can’t handle the fact that I’m happy with you, then that’s their problem, not yours." He kissed me again, slower this time, his hands cupping my face gently. "Please don’t leave because of this. I need you."

His words sent a wave of warmth through me, but the doubt still lingered. I pulled away slightly, biting my lip. “But what if it gets worse? What if the media digs into my past, or my family? What if it becomes too much for you?”

Yoongi let out a small sigh, his fingers trailing softly along my jawline. “I’ve been dealing with the media for years, Y/N. They always find something to talk about, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll protect you from all of that, I promise.” He paused, searching my eyes for a moment before continuing. “we need a fandom cleanse anyway.”

I looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the sincerity in his gaze. This wasn’t just about protecting his reputation—he truly cared about me, about us. And in that moment, I realized that no matter how much hate or negativity came our way, Yoongi and I had something real, something that wasn’t going to be torn apart by strangers on the internet.

“I trust you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I really do.”

He smiled softly, his thumb brushing against my cheek. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time since I saw that article, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. Yoongi wasn’t just saying empty words—he meant it. And I knew that no matter how tough things got, we’d find a way to navigate through it together.

We lay there for a while, tangled up in each other, the world outside fading away as I found comfort in his arms. He held me close, his steady heartbeat calming the storm inside me. Eventually, the anxiety that had been gnawing at me began to fade, replaced by a quiet resolve.

Yoongi kissed my forehead, his voice soft as he spoke. “Let’s just focus on us, okay? Don’t let those people get into your head. I love you, and that’s all that matters.”

I nodded, snuggling closer to him. “I love you too, Yoongi.”

Yoongi’s lips trailed down my neck, leaving a trail of warm, electrifying kisses as he pressed closer, his body hovering over mine. I could feel his breath against my skin, each kiss making me shiver with anticipation. His hands roamed over my body, soft but firm, as if he was memorizing every curve. I let out a soft whimper, my head tilting back to give him more access, and he took the invitation eagerly, his lips finding that sensitive spot just below my ear.

"Yoongi…" I whined, my voice barely a whisper, breathless from the way his mouth moved against my skin. His name slipped past my lips, a plea hidden in the sound, and I felt him smirk against my neck.

“Hm?” he hummed, his voice vibrating against me, sending a jolt through my body. He moved to my ear, nibbling lightly on the lobe before pulling back just enough to look me in the eyes. “What do you need, baby?” His voice was low, teasing, but I could see the dark hunger in his gaze.

I bit my lip, feeling the heat build up inside me, my heart pounding in my chest. "Need you…" I moaned lowly, my body arching beneath his as I tugged on his shirt, wanting nothing more than to feel him closer.

He groaned softly, his lips grazing mine before he kissed me again, deeper this time, his tongue slipping past my lips in a slow, deliberate dance. The intensity made my head spin, and I could feel my body reacting to him, craving him.

Reaching for my phone, I unlocked it with shaky fingers and quickly scrolled through my playlist until I found the perfect song to match the mood—“Pretty When You Cry” by Lana Del Rey. As soon as the haunting melody filled the room, I dropped the phone to the side, letting the music set the atmosphere.

Yoongi’s eyes flicked to the phone, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips as the song played. “Good choice,” he whispered, his voice a mix of admiration and desire. He kissed me again, this time rougher, more intense, like he couldn’t hold back anymore.

The music filled the room, the sensual beats of Lana’s voice blending with the sounds of our breathless kisses and the soft moans escaping my lips.

"i love you so much y/n. from the moment i saw you i already loved you" he says in between the kisses. "may i?" he asks me and without hesitation i nod. nothing will be ever hotter than a man asking for consent. making sure i'm comfortable and alright with what he's doing.

he slowly goes down to my lower part. sliding down my shorts, revealing my damped panty with a wet patch on it "so wet. all for me? hm?" he coos, rubbing circles on my clothed clit, my back arching just from his touch. "already? i'm not even doing anythig yet baby" he says chuckling. his teeth then bites on the hem of my panty, sliding it down to get full access of my cunt. "are you ready? we can stop if you want" he assures me "fuck no..keep going yoongs" i reply to him, shaky voice.

his tounge then starts to circle my clit, making my eyes roll back. him, smiling at the lewd noises i make, enjoying this. my hands makes it's way to his hair, tugging it. his tounge then starts to do it's magic. "fuck yoongs! they were right! your tounge technology is insane" i whimper, broken words, unable to speak fully with all the pleasure he's been giving me. "i-im coming!" i mewl, tightening my grip on his hair "yes baby, cum on my face yeah?" he says in between. i then couldn't take it anymore.

i felt my orgasm nearing, releasing white liquids on his face. he then faces to me, fuck he is so hot. especially with my liquids on his face. i then take off my shirt revealing my naked breast, i then cup his face, smashing my lips onto him, mixed with lust and love. "yoongs need you..fuck me please" i whimpered onto him, making him give me a smirk. he then starts to unbuckle his belt, sliding down his pants, revealing his erected cock, leaking with pre cum. "i'm clean, on birth control" i said "great" he replies, diving back onto the kiss.

his hands makes it's way to my breast, playing with my nipples as i feel his tip enter me "fuck, you're so tight" he grunts in between the kiss "you're mine, alright?" he says, deep voice, making me absolutely crazy. "fuck...yes i am" i reply, whimpering. "good girl" he chuckles, as our body releases wet noises and the bed creaking rhythmically in every thrust he makes. "yoongs..i'm close" i breathly said, not even a whisper nor a whimper anymore. "come with me baby yeah? cum for me" he says, biting his lips, looking at me.

"open your eyes. i want you to see who's making you cum" i then try my best in keeping my eyes open. i then felt my orgasm nearing, releasing my liquids once again. "baby wait for me, i'm almost there" he howls, "fuck, want me to cum inside you? hm? you'd like that don't you??" he says, while leaving a chuckle. "min yoongi!" i scream as i felt his release inside me, filling me to the brim, our liquids mixing with each other.

assurance sex is fucking great.

he then falls on top of me giving me a peck on my cheek "i love you, will you be my girlfriend?" he says revealing his gummy smile "yes i will" i give him a smile back, happily knowing i have him as mine, and me as his.

#rispwr #bts x reader #bts smut #yoongi #mintyoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #min yoongi #bts suga #suga bts #idol x reader #fic : expect the unexpected

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little-diable · 1 month ago

Text

Kinktober 5 - Harvey Specter

Finally time for the next Kinktober drabble! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

🖤 Toys 🖤

Warnings: 18+, smut, edging, semi public/bathroom, use of toys in public

Pairing: Harvey Specter x fem!reader (800 words)

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

header by my love @theanythingbuthuman

She was struggling. Pearls of sweat were sticking to her forehead while deep breaths were sucked into her lungs. This had been going on for hours, hours where she had been pushed closer and closer towards the edge, only for the tortuous vibrations to stop seconds before she could cum.

(Y/n) hated herself for giving in to her husband’s games and she hated him for knowing her body all too well. And yet she didn’t find it in herself to ask him to stop, addicted to the lust thumping through her veins and the almost painful pulsing of her bundle of nerves. Even though she wanted to kick the point of her heel against Harvey’s shin, set on wiping the knowing smirk right off his lips, she found excitement in the way he looked at her with knowing eyes.

Jessica kept speaking, explaining a new case to (y/n), Harvey, Mike, and Lewis, but god, she couldn’t care less about whatever her boss was sharing. All (y/n) tried to do was sit calm, breathe normally and focus on not making a fool of herself. She counted the seconds passing by, tried to switch her gaze between Harvey and Jessica, all until the vibrations started again.

Her body grew tense, teeth brushing along her lower lip to stop any sounds from leaving her. She could only be grateful for the distraction of the others, not picking up on the way (y/n) was close to losing it. Harvey’s eyes flickered back to her the second he upped the strength of the vibrations, fully enjoying the way (y/n) had to tighten the grip her hands had on the armrests of the chair, how her posture was all too tense. She was close, ready to give in after hours of torture, but he wouldn’t let her cum when others were around, not for now at least.

The vibrations stopped seconds before she could let go, drawing an inaudible whimper from (y/n), whose eyes fluttered close for a moment or two to collect herself. But the second Jessica ended the meeting, she was out of the room, rushing towards the bathroom - very well knowing that her husband would follow her any moment now.

Her eyes found her reflection in the mirror, allowing (y/n) to study herself, her wide pupils and her slightly swollen lips, before the vibrations set in again. She clung to the edge of the sink, didn’t even look up as Harvey stepped into the bathroom before locking it behind himself, “I have to say, I’m impressed, baby.”

“Fuck you!” Her voice dripped with anger and desperation, words that drew a gritty chuckle from Harvey. A moan managed to claw through (y/n) as he pressed himself against her back, with one arm finding the sink to keep her trapped, while the other held onto the remote. His lips found the back of her neck, kissing the spots that made her skin burn as the vibrations grew stronger. “Please, Harvey, let me cum, I can’t do this any longer.”

“Mhm, are you sure you want it?” He was toying with her, letting her hold onto one last invisible string while her pulsing bundle grew more and more overstimulated. A delicious kind of pain was clinging to her, whispering to her to hold on and drag it out even longer, but her mind clung to the upper hand, whimpering to her husband.

“I need it, need it badly. Please, Harvey.” Tears were about to roll down her cheeks, a sight Harvey couldn’t help but chuckle at. She looked at him in the mirror, studying his smirk and the adoration swimming in his eyes. And with one last kiss pressed to her neck, he murmured a soft “Cum for me, baby”.

White flashes buzzed through her body, leaving her trembling as she came. Relief stuck to her, a sensation so sweet (y/n) couldn’t stop herself from whimpering again. Harvey held onto her, stabilising her trembling frame while her orgasm slowly let go of her.

“That was pure torture.” (Y/n)’s whispers made him chuckle in delight once again. Harvey slowly turned his wife in his grasp to look down at her before pressing a kiss to her swollen lips.

“We both know you love it, baby.”

#Harvey Specter smut #Harvey Specter x reader #little-diables kinktober24 #Harvey Specter #suits #kinktober

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stqrglr1 · 4 months ago

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Quick drabble. . .

Genre: smut, established relationship

Warnings: smut smut smut, mdni, oral(male rec), gagging, ball fondling, precum slipping(it makes sense when you read), some pet names (good little girl… etc)

Sucking hoon off pls i would love to 🫶

You’re so horny. Youve been horny all day. You’ve been imagining sucking your boyfriend sunghoon off all day at work. It’s been so hard to focus on any work thinking of coming home to him man spread on the couch. You like to think he spreads his legs like that just for you. An invitation to come between them. For your pretty face to have a place to rest. For your lips to actively kiss and suck along his pretty thighs. You love his legs. You love to make out with and suck on the delicate skin between his shaft and thighs.

He twitches and groans when you suck on a sensitive nerve in the crease and my god you lose it every time he does. Letting out a gargling moan, legs squeezing, hands massaging his legs subconsciously harder and harder. You love placing your hands on his thighs for support as you lick his length slowly, rolling your tongue around to massage and flick the gorgeous veins pulsing along his beautiful cock. The weight of you using him for stability making him curse your name “fuckk y/n” his toes clench and he spreads a little wider for you.

You love when he spreads wider at the feeling as you bob up and down his shaft with your pretty mouth. Makes you feel so good like you’re being his good little girl, heat floods between your own legs. You feel the warmth of your wetness begin to soak your panties. The more you grip and suck him the more you drip down your legs. Youre going insane on his cock, saliva dripping down your chin excessively to the point theres a puddle of your saliva and wetness pooling on the floor under your knees. You slip a little and fall deeper into hoons cock. Causing a deep gag to fall from your lips. The slight fall causes you to grip so hard on his thighs that you tear a little skin. He gnaws his bottom lip at the pain, clenching forward a little causing his balls to tap your chin.

The chain reaction of the nerves being touched lightly making him squirm in his seat a bit. You take this as a chance to grip the weight of them in your palm. Switching hands to shaft and mouth to balls every so often just because you know he loves the wetness of your saliva on them. He whines so lovely every time. The intense pleasure getting to him his breathing gets a little shallower as he gasps for air to fill his lungs.

The pleasure coursing powerfully through his veins. You feel his skin grow hot and flushed. Almost burning to your touch. He’s close. But he cant form words all he can do is mumble and whine loudly. Hands flailing from griping his own chest to your hair, not forcing you on him because you’re doing so good, but to give you motivation to keep doing what you’re doing. It’s working so well. You’re actually doing so perfectly. He cant take more he thinks but oh my god it’s so perfect, he wants this to last forever. You feel him tense trying to hold back, but you gently rub his thighs letting him know it’s okay to let go. You feel his hips twitch and stun as he shoots a flood of cum into your mouth. You gargle on it with a hoarse moan. Making him curse and jut his remains into you. You pump him in your mouth slowly letting his cum drip onto your chin all over your breast. You love the mess of sucking his orgasm dry.

“Mm so yummy hoon.” You lick your lips. Lapping up the droplets on your chest and shove them in your mouth, you hear the shuddered gasp leave his mouth as he watches. “Wanna taste?” You say as you crawl up his body to his mouth giving him the bitter taste of himself on you.

#sunghoon #enha scenarios #enha smut #enhypen #park sunghoon #sunghoon smut #hard hoon hours #sunghoon drabbles #thinking of divk #thinking of dick #i wanna suck his dick #i wanna suck him off soooo badddd #park sunghoonxreader #sunghoon x reader #enha x reader

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reneesghostinthelivingroom · 8 months ago

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I’ve been waiting for someone to write for both Carmilla and Velvette x reader! I like the idea of reader being the mediator between their girlfriends, given how vastly opposite Carmilla and Velvette are. They’re just a very relaxed and calm person, until something pushes them over the edge and suddenly they’re hella deadly. I like to image how they’d react to that.

Devil in a Calm Sea

|| Carmilla Carmine x Velvette x fem!reader

(i myself am poly)

|| Warnings: Valentino flirting with reader, swearing because it's Hazbin Hotel, fight between Valentino and reader (sort of?) more like reader is just defending herself (with a chair)

|| Summary: reader is in an Overlord meeting, keeping Velvette and Carmilla in check. Valentino keeps flirting with reader and reader loses it.

Requests open! (won't be done quickly, im only writing when i have motivation and that doesn't seem to be happening a lot rn so it might take a while. just be mindful and patient with that)

~~~

Your girlfriends were on different ends of extreme. Especially when it came to each other. You? You were the calm one. Tended to not react or cause a whole lot of drama. You were their voice of reason. A saving grace that kept the whole relationship together. Carmilla often showed her appreciation for you, taking you on special romantic dates. Velvette would be more subtle with her appreciation. She didn't want you going and getting the wrong idea that she has a soft spot for you or something. That would be ridiculous. She absolutely does have a soft spot for you and you damn well know it, shh. Dont let her find out.

You leaned against the wall of the meeting room where Carmilla was holding a meeting with the other Overlords. Much to your disliking, Vox and Valentino were there. You yourself weren't an Overlord but you were there to support your girlfriends. Your task was to make sure they didn't get into a fight. Easier said than done. Especially with Valentino getting on your nerves the whole meeting.

He kept sending you all these flirtatious looks, winking at you, licking his lips with that stupidly long tongue of his whenever Velvette and Carmilla weren't watching. It was clear he wanted you under contract with him and it was beginning to really piss you off. He was always like this. It was disgusting. No, disgusting wasn't right. It was too light of a description for the way he acts.

You try to ignore his antics, focusing on either Velvette or Carmilla. Watching your girlfriends instead of him. Anyone but him. As the meeting ends, you're about to walk over to your girls when Valentino blocks your path. He was much taller than you, so it wasn't difficult.

"My, you're just gorgeous aren't you~" He leans down to get a good look at you, you take a step back. Carmilla notices what's happening first but before she can react...

You pull your arm back and slap Valentino hard. The room goes silent as everyone stares in your direction. What just happened?

Valentino blinks a couple of times, he was shocked. Did you really just dare to do that to him? You? A pathetic sinner? Please.

He grabs your wrist but (before your girlfriends could intervene, they really wanted to) you grabbed one of the chairs with your free hand and slammed it into his body as hard as you possibly could. Making him stumble back.

"Don't fucking touch me!" You shout. You shouted. You never do that. Velvette and Carmilla were stunned to see how easily you were defending yourself. Carmilla was the first to recover and rushed to your side, holding a protective hand in front of you as she glares at Valentino.

"Get out. I would advise you not to come to any meetings for the foreseeable future." Carmilla says, her tone a scary level of calm.

Valentino gets off the floor and stares past Carmilla, looking at you in pure confusion and shock. Your audacity was disgusting. To him, your girlfriends were quite amused.

You wanted to keep fighting. You were going to kick his ass. You lunged forwards but Carmilla grabbed you and set you on her shoulder to keep you from doing anything. She held you there with ease despite your efforts at escape. They were pointless. Which you soon realized.

Before Valentino could get the chance to say or do anything else, Carmilla left the room with you. Velvette didn't immediately follow. But you knew why. You could hear her screaming at Valentino with Vox's voice following, trying to settle Velvette with very little success. At this point, the only one that could calm her was you. But Carmilla had her grip on you as she brought you to her office and seated you down in her chair.

She scans over your body, making sure you weren't hurt in any way before she speaks in a soft tone. Vastly different from the one she had used on Valentino just moments before.

"Are you alright? I don't believe I have ever seen you so..." She tries to find the right word. Violent? No, violent was too harsh of a description. Pissed? Pissed was too light. There was nothing that quite fit the way you had lashed out.

You folded your arms across your chest, a glare in your eyes that wasn't directed at Carmilla. She knew that though it still startled her to see it.

"He fucking deserved that. He'd been flirting with me the whole fucking meeting. Should've hit him harder." You muttered the last bit under your breath, Carmilla raised an eyebrow.

How did she not realize Valentino was flirting with you? Usually she was much more observant than that. Especially when it came to you. She was going to say something before her office door opened. Revealing Vox, who was holding Velvette in stretched out arms to keep her away from him as she thrashed around in his hold.

"Let me go you fucking mutated TV!" Velvette shouted, biting Vox's hand. You can't tell me she wouldn't.

"Shit! Okay, fuck." Vox drops her and Velvette lands on her ass, making her glare at Vox who ignores her and looks at Carmilla and you.

"She's your problem now." Is all he says before he leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

Carmilla sighs and glances at Velvette, who was grumbling complaints under her breath as she stood and walked over to the two of you. Fixing her outfit.

"Fucking bastard." Velvette grumbled, sticking the middle finger at the door before looking at you." Val's a bitch. Hit him harder next time."

"Velvette!" Carmilla scolds, you smirk and gesture to Velvette while looking at Carmilla.

"That's exactly what I'm going to do."

Carmilla narrows her eyes at you. God, the two of you were going to drive her insane one of these days.

#x reader #fem reader #canon x reader #fanfic #wlw fiction #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin #hazbin hotel #velvette x carmilla #velvette x carmilla x reader #carmilla carmine #carmilla x reader #hazbin velvette

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blackbleedingrose · 6 months ago

Text

Long Lost Morningstar - Part Four

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing(s): Seven Virtues' x reader (platonic), Charlie x reader (platonic), Lucifer x reader (platonic), Lilith x reader (platonic)

Genre: Angst/Betrayal

Warning(s): Cursing, lies, betrayal

Notes: FINALLY! I'm sorry this took me forever to post. I was, and still am, dealing with some school stuff. Truthfully it was a little rough trying to get this one out - along with school and work, I am losing motivation to write this. It could be that I burnt myself on Hazbin after reading so many fanfics for days on end until I eventually got tired. I'm still going to be writing this either way, I'd feel bad to suddenly stop out of nowhere. Funny thing is I'll probably feel motivated again once the second season airs. Oh, well. I'll post part five when I can and am able, so please bare with me and hopefully enjoy this long part for the time being. Thank you for your support - I'm really writing this for the ones reading this series and am grateful for your patience.

Words: 3,298

"I-Is that. . . my name? W-Why would my name be in Lucifer's court record?".

After learning about the exterminations (Y/N) wasted no time flying to the archangels' castle - her home.

She needed to know if they knew about the exterminations, and if so. . .

No, there's no way.

The Virtues' duty were to help remain peace and order - there's no way they'd be okay with the murdering of sinners.

Still, the fear and pain she felt for Charlie and Sera's betrayal made her impulsive.

So much so, that she flew past the archangels' secretary and burst through the doors of the meeting room where they were discussing important matters.

The archangel's were shocked to see (Y/N), who had just interrupted their meeting, looking completely disheveled and breathing heavily.

This behavior would normally be unacceptable, and if it were any other seraphim or angel they would be scolded and punished depending on severity of the offense.

But this was their little (Y/N), whose never interrupted their meetings without reason (or when she was a curious infant who somehow wandered in).

Michael stood up from his seat and flew over to his distressed daughter, "(Y/n). What's the matter?".

(Y/n) struggled to catch her breath, her mind and heart racing.

Michael placed his hands on her shoulders, "Deep breathes, sweetheart. Try to calm down". He gently cooed at her trying to help her find her breath and calm her nerves.

When (Y/N) had finally caught her breath she looked up at her father staring right into his eyes, "Did you know?".

Michael furrowed his brows confused, "Know what, sweetheart?".

(Y/N) took a deep breath before looking at him with sorrowful eyes, "About the exterminations."

Michael and the other archangels' were even more confused than before, "What exterminations?".

"The exterminations of the human souls in Hell."

The archangels' eyes widened in shock and disbelief. Michael looked down at his daughter with slight sternness, "What do you mean?".

(Y/N) went on to tell them all about what had happened at the trial from Charlie's hotel, Angel Dust, Sera's betrayal, to Adam's threat towards her cousin.

To say the archangels' were pissed would be a gross understatement.

How dare Sera and Adam play God and order such an atrocity right under their noses - and for it to be going on this long!

They were embarrassed to have been so ignorant.

Michael felt very uneasy about (Y/N)'s interaction with the Princess of Hell.

Yes, he had been aware his brother had birthed a child in Hell and hadn't seen an issue of (Y/n) of knowing as he was confident the two would never meet.

Well, that back fired horribly.

He couldn't discuss that with (Y/N) right now because, other than letting curiosity get the better of her once again, she hadn't done anything wrong.

She was clearly out of sorts with worry. She didn't need anything else but reassurance and comfort.

"Thank you for telling us. Don't worry, we'll be sure to handle this," Michael said trying to comfort his daughter.

"B-But, Charlie," (Y/N)'s breathing spiked, "A-Adam threatened t-to, to!". Tears flowed down to her red cheeks, her eyes red and puffy.

Michael gently shushed her wiping her tears, "Calm down, sweetie. We'll handle everything, especially Adam. Just go to your room and try to relax. I'll tell the staff to get you some tea."

(Y/N) shook her head, "B-But I need to help Charlie. I-I need to do something -,"

"No." Michael's tone was stern but gentle. "This is for the higher ranking angels to handle and you're too emotional right now to think clearly. Let us take care of this."

"Listen to your father, (N/N)." Azrael said his grin more menacing than usual. "And don't fret over Adam, we'll make sure to deal with him personally."

The other archangels' agreed without question. Adam wouldn't get away with making their precious niece cry.

(Y/N) realized her father was right, she was too emotional right now.

She was in no condition to deal with this as she was.

After saying goodbye to her family, (Y/N) went to her room to try and calm down.

Feeling completely exhausted and emotionally drained, (Y/N) passed out the second her head hit her pillow.

The next day (Y/N) woke up later than usual and saw a note on her beside table.

It was from her father telling her not to worry about her duties that day and to just rest.

(Y/N) was grateful to her father, but she was so restless about the trial and the upcoming extermination.

She got ready for the day and went down into the courts archives.

Maybe there was something she could use in the courts records to help Charlie.

Since she was a stenographer, a seraphim, and Michael's daughter no one questioned her being there.

In fact, many of the simps angels there were more than happy to help her.

(Y/N) declined most of their help, not wanting to garner unnecessary attention to what she was looking for or why.

She continued doing this for days making sure to cover her tracks so her father and uncles didn't catch wind of her little excursions.

Which was why most of them were in the dead of night.

She hadn't heard a word of what her father or uncles' were going to do about the exterminations.

But the times she's seen Adam and Lute, the two were still their cocky and douchey selves.

So, she knew the extermination was still on.

Why?

Why haven't the archangels' done anything yet?

What were they waiting for?

A small part of her wondered if they ended up agreeing with Sera and Adam and wanted to keep the exterminations on, but she quickly pushed those thoughts aside.

The archangels' duty was to follow the laws of Heaven, and the exterminations clearly went against that.

There's no way they'd be okay with keeping it going.

Still. . . they weren't working fast enough.

The month was almost over.

So, she continued researching wanting to find anything that would prove Sera and Adam wrong about Hell and prove Charlie's hotel worked or could work.

One night while everyone had turned in, (Y/N) snuck into the ancient archives - court records that dated over billions of years ago.

Maybe there was something in the older court records she could use.

She spent hours going through file after file, pulling out possible references to use, and making piles based on the dates.

The long hours started to get to her, the bags under her eyes more prominent with each passing minute.

Without realizing, her eyes lids shut and she slowly drifted to the side accidently knocking over a large pile she hadn't checked yet.

*THUD*

The sound of the falling files scared her awake.

"Oh shit!"

(Y/N) rubbed her eyes awake before going over to the scattered files. She really hoped no one had heard that thud.

As she was gathering all of the loose documents, there was one file folder that caught her eye. Labeled on the tab was 'Morningstar vs Heaven'.

Morningstar? That was Charlie's last name but this file was in one of the older court piles meaning this file was about -

"Lucifer. . .".

She's never read her uncle's trial record before. . . but if he was anything like Charlie then maybe there was something in those documents that could help her prove her cousin's dreams and beliefs.

After all, it was because of Lucifer's desire and dreams to show humanity free will that gifted humans the ability to dream and choose to be better.

She knew her father would frown at her view on Lucifer, but she had always thought there might have been some merit behind her uncle's choices.

She started to collect the documents, sometimes glancing over certain parts that caught her attention. However, as she was going through the files she saw something in one of the documents that she had never expected to see.

"I-Is that. . . my name? W-Why would my name be in Lucifer's court record?". (Y/N) bit her lip deciding if she should look through it or not.

In the end she decided to go through with it and read the document. It was probably nothing, just her mind playing tricks on her. She had been up for hours, after all.

However, the moment her eyes scanned through each line her heart dropped into her stomach.

Sera: Take the child.Court angels: (takes the infant (Y/N) Morningstar from the arms of her parents, Lucifer Morningstar and Lilith)

"P-Parents?".

The rest of the documents recounted Lucifer and Lilith's guilty verdict, their sentencing to Hell, and the courts final proceedings.

(Y/N) wanted to refuse everything she had read, wanting to call it all lies.

But stenographers, especially in Heaven, cannot lie when recording. The magic imbedded within the typewriter wouldn't allow it.

Still, it just couldn't be true. . . Maybe this was another (Y/N), one she's never met. There was no way it was talking about her.

However, before (Y/N) could attempt to convince herself even more she noticed one final document lying on the floor. She recognized what kind of document it was immediately.

It was a Heavenly Ordinance.

She slowly reached for the golden paper and started to read it.

"By Heavenly decree, it is now ordered that all residents, and new ones to come, are forbidden from tempting humanity or breaking Heaven's rules. All residents must obey and turn from all misguided thoughts, dreams, and or endeavors. All violators will receive punishment. It is also ordered that the Heavenborn seraphim, (Y/N) Morningstar, is now under the care of the Seven Virtues; specifically Archangel Michael Demiugros. The infant's name will be changed to (Y/N) Demiugros. The child will have no connection to Lucifer Morningstar and Lilith, and will be told Michael Demiugros is her father/parent who crafted her from stardust. All Heavenly residents aware of the child's true lineage are forbidden from speaking on the matter. All violators will be punished severely."

(Y/N) felt like she couldn't breath.

Her hands were shaking, her heart pounding in her chest.

Oh, God.

She wanted to deny it and believe all of this was some sick prank.

But even she knew no one in Heaven would dare fake writing a Heavenly Ordinance, let alone play such a cruel prank or joke.

Besides, the Heavenly Seal at the bottom of the document was proof of its authenticity.

Heaven would never allow a fake to be placed with the court records.

It took a while for her to calm down.

Looking at the clock mounted on the wall, she saw how late it was.

The court angels who had the early morning shift would be here in two hours.

Wiping the tears that had gathered in her eyes, she used her magic to help clean up her mess and put all of the documents back into their original places - except for one.

When she started to put Lucifer's file away, she stared at the ordinance.

She paused for a moment before folding it up and shoving it into her pocket.

After everything was put away (Y/N) went back to her room with her mind buzzing and heart racing.

She woke up five hours later to the sound of her alarm.

She felt absolutely exhausted.

At first she thought it had all been a dream, a really bad dream.

But when she checked her pockets and pulled out the folded up golden paper, she knew it wasn't.

She was heartbroken.

The feeling of betrayal and hurt plaguing her soul.

Why?

Why did they lie to her?

Why did they do all of this?

Now everything made sense.

Why she was so restricted from practically everything.

Why everyone in her family kept her so close and away from any of the higher seraphim duties.

Why she really looked like Lilith. . .

To top it all off, the person she had believed to be her father this whole time was actually her uncle.

She truly didn't know how to feel, and she wondered if Charlie knew.

Probably not given how shocked the Hellborn had been to hear she had a 'cousin'.

Though, now she knew why she felt such a strong connection to Charlie.

They were sisters.

And if Charlie hadn't known about her, she doubted Lucifer or Lilith did.

She wondered what else Heaven has lied to her about.

. . . Did they even love her?

If she really was the spawn of the ones who damned humanity, did they only keep her for their own benefit?

Have they actually hated her this entire time?

These thoughts brought tears to her eyes.

The rest of the day as she continued on with her duties, she thought back to her family and her newly discovered ones.

Whenever she interacted with her family in Heaven, she did her best to keep up appearances.

There was no way to tell what would happen if they found out what she knew.

So, she decided to bite her tongue.

No matter how much she wanted to scream and cry.

She wondered if they were even going to do anything about the exterminations.

She was starting to doubt it since she hadn't heard anything new; though, would they even tell her?

And Adam and Lute were as smug as ever.

That made her angelic blood boil.

Did they really hate Lucifer, Charlie, her, and sinners so much that they would allow this atrocity to continue?

Even though it went against everything Heaven stood for?!

No.

(Y/N) wouldn't stand for this.

If she was going to help Charlie, she would have to take matters into her own hands.

Luckily, Michael and her other uncles' taught her basic combat.

Hopefully that would at least help her fed off a few exorcists.

The next few days leading up to the extermination, (Y/N) secretly stole some angelic armor and weapons.

She eavesdropped on Adam and Lute trying to find out their plans and the exact time of the extermination.

She even continued to gather information for Charlie to help prove her hotel could work.

She acted as she usually did in front of others to avoid suspicion.

She planned to sneak out the night before the extermination to help Charlie and her hotel prepare for the fight.

She was a little nervous about seeing her newly discovered sister, and possibly her biological father, but she knew she would have to suck it up and wait until after the battle was over.

The morning before the extermination, (Y/N) felt more than prepared - she had everything she needed before tonight.

Everything was going according to plan.

"What seems to be the problem here?" Michael asked the court angel who seemed to be a bit out of sorts.

"W-Well, sir, there seems to be a document missing from one of the court records".

Michael rose a brow, "Okay? Which records?".

"U-Um. . . one of the ancient records, sir."

'Ancient records?'

Michael's brows furrowed - why would a document be missing from one of the oldest records in Heaven? Hardly anyone uses or reads them. They're mainly there as historical records now.

"Strange. . . Which record was it then?"

The court angel gulped, "U-Um. . , i-it-"

Michael glared slightly annoyed, "Just say it!"

"I-It was from Lucifer Morningstar's, s-sir!"

Michael's eyes widened, "Lucifer's?"

"Y-Yes, sir. We noticed some of the court records had been a little out of place the past couple of days, but thought nothing of it as everything was neatly put back. But this morning one of the court angel's found a feather between Lucifer's record, and when they opened it they saw one of the documents inside was missing."

Michael frowned, "Which document?"

". . . The Heavenly Ordinance, sir."

'The Heavenly Ordinance? Why. . . Why would anyone take that?'

"This was the feather that was found inside the court record."

The court angel presented Michael a singular feather. It was beautiful and the design looked very familiar -

Michael's breath hitched as he looked closely at the feather. He snatched the feather out of the court angel's hand looking at it even closer.

'No, no, no - it can't be!'

Without another word Michael flew out of the room leaving very confused and concerned court angels'.

'There's no way! She cannot possibly know!'

Lost in his own frantic thoughts, Michael failed to notice a certain archangel in his path, and proceeded to crash right into him.

"Woah, Michael! What's the rush?" Azrael asked wincing from the impact.

Michael looked at his brother, fear in his eyes, "Azrael. I-It's terrible. . . (Y-Y/N). . . S-She-"

"(Y/N)? Did something happen to her?" Azrael asked worried. He's never been his brother so distressed before.

"S-She. . . She knows."

Azrael furrowed his brows, "'Knows?' Knows, what?"

"About Lucifer. . . the truth about Lucifer and Lilith."

Michael proceeded to tell Azrael the events that happened taken place in the courts archives.

"That's strange," Azrael hummed. "Just as strange as the report I just got that some angelic armor and weapons are missing."

Azrael saw Michael's expression morph into one of absolute horror and waved his hands trying to dismiss his brother's thoughts, "But it could all just be a coincidence!".

Placing his hands onto Michael's shoulders, Azrael looked into his eyes, "Michael. You know (Y/N). As curious as she is, she's not reckless or stupid. She knows her place in Heaven and wouldn't dare ruin that. Have more faith - after all, you are the one who raised her."

Michael calmed his nerves as he listened to his brother's advice. He's right. (Y/N) was raised right and she would never do something that would jeopardize her place in Heaven. Someone else had to have misplaced the document, armor, and weapons.

. . . Still. . .

He couldn't shake off the ugly feeling in his gut.

Hours had passed and it was now late into the night.

To everyone around her (Y/N) was her normal graceful, polite, and dutiful self.

Almost like she hadn't been stressed out the entire month worrying for her cousin, who she recently discovered was actually her sister, and finding out her entire life has been a total lie.

She really played the part of the obedient seraphim quite well.

But right now, she was anything but.

Right now she was the sleep deprived heartbroken, scorned girl who no longer knew who she was or who she could trust here.

But, she was going to find out.

While the rest of the castle was asleep, (Y/N) changed from her night gown into light but durable angelic armor.

She wore her long blonde hair in a high ponytail and carried a long angelic spear on her back (along with a few angelic daggers and a whip on her hips).

Once ready, she quietly unlocked her balcony door trying to make as little noise as possible.

She could feel her nerves shake.

She's never been in a real fight before.

She knew what she was doing was dangerous; and if found out, could lead her into a world of trouble.

Looking back behind her she glanced over her room.

Her eyes landing on a picture frame found sitting on her vanity.

It had a photo of when she was little.

In it she was hugging Michael with her favorite duck plushie in her arms.

They both had such big smiles.

Sadness filled her heart as tears pricked her eyes.

Had it all been a lie?

Well. . . either way, she would find out later.

Charlie needed her right now.

She smiled sadly at the duck plushie laying in her bed silently wishing for luck.

Steeling her nerves, (Y/N) internally prepared herself for the battle ahead.

What she wasn't prepared for was to come face to face with Michael the moment she turned around.

Taglist:

@soobryu @kyo-kyo1 @miyako-night20 @charliecharlie65 @unknow-sama @myluckymoon @lbcreations-blog @moonchaos18 @sirenetheblogger @jagharamira @el-hajj @azharyy @glowymxxn @itsmonicabc @lxkeee @aria-tempest @glowinthedarkbones1150 @sashaphantomhive @0strawberrysorbet0 @serenity-loves-red @snowy-violet @aishallnotbefound

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #hazbin x reader #hazbin charlie #hazbin michael #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lilith #hazbin hotel lilith #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel reader insert #hazbin hotel michael #hazbin azrael #hazbin hotel azrael

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