#sleek wooden coffee table
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Living Room Loft-Style in Atlanta An example of a mid-sized formal living room with ceramic tile flooring, white walls, no fireplace, and no television.
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nihilityuniverse · 4 months ago
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𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐱 𝐅𝐄𝐌! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
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ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ 𝗦𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁 𝗖𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿 ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇʏᴠᴀᴛ 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗕𝗼𝘀𝘀.
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MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
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Story inspired by Acheron's Lore, Power, and Personality...
ENG is not my First language
I do not own Genshin Impact or any of the pictures used.
Story also available om Wattpad: Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
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Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐
𝐋𝐢𝐲𝐮𝐞, 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞
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It had been three days since the funeral...
You sat on a couch, draped in a silky nightgown, your gaze wandering around your bedroom.
You couldn't help but wonder why, all of a sudden, maids and servants were bustling about your room and home, while Fatui Guards patrolled your residence.
You had always lived alone, cherishing the quiet and stillness of your home atop a hill in Snezhnaya. The solitude was your sanctuary, a place where you could exist without intrusion.
So... what had changed? You had never requested such an absurd arrangement.
And then your eyes fell on the huge pile of expensive-looking gifts stacked neatly on your coffee table.
'Why in Teyvat would someone send you so many gifts?!' you thought, annoyance bubbling up inside you. Slowly, you felt your patience waning, your eye twitching in irritation.
"Lady Innamorati," a maid's voice called out, breaking your thoughts. You turned to see a row of maids lined up, each bowing respectfully as your gaze met theirs before they knelt. The one who spoke wore slightly different attire, suggesting she was the Head Maid.
"We were sent by Pantalone," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "We are here to assist you in any way and to guard you."
"Why were you all sent?" you asked, your quiet and cold tone sending shivers down their spines.
"A-as compensation, Lady Innamorati," the Head Maid stammered in fear. "Pantalone learned that the escorts ran away the moment they saw you. He sent these gifts, along with maids and guards, as a form of apology."
When you remained silent, the Head Maid quickly added, "If this is a problem, we can leave immediately!"
You sighed, exasperated by the unnecessary fuss. "...I don't care," you muttered, dismissing the situation with a wave of your hand.
The other maids exchanged nervous glances before one of them, hands trembling, stepped forward holding one of the many gifts. "L-Lady Innamorati, would you like to open a gift from Pantalone?" she asked hesitantly.
You noticed her hands shaking and asked, "Are you cold?" Your gaze moved from her face to the others, who seemed equally uneasy.
"N-no, Lady Innamorati!" she shook her head quickly.
You sighed, realizing their fear. "You don't need to be afraid of me," you said in a gentler tone. "I don't bite, nor do I kill innocent people out of nowhere, despite what the rumors say."
Her face flushed with embarrassment, and the Head Maid stepped forward. "I must apologize for our behavior—"
"There's no need for an apology," you interrupted softly.
The maids exchanged relieved smiles, and the maid handed you the gift.
The gift was elegantly wrapped in luxurious paper, adorned with intricate designs and topped with a satin ribbon. You pulled on the ribbon, and the wrapping fell away to reveal a dark wooden box. Its surface was smooth and polished to a high sheen. You ran your finger over it, appreciating its fine craftsmanship before opening it.
Inside, nestled in velvet lining, was an exquisitely crafted set of red lipstick and eyeliner. The lipstick was encased in a gold-plated tube with delicate engravings, and the eyeliner's sleek design spoke of its high value.
Your eyes widened as memories from your past came flooding back. These items looked remarkably similar to those you had once cherished.
A rare smile broke across your face, a smile so uncommon that it felt almost foreign. In that moment, you might have remembered what it felt like to smile genuinely.
"Please convey my kind regards to Pantalone. I like this gift very much," you said with a light and soft tone, so gentle that the tension in the room dissipated. The maids visibly relaxed, their expressions softening.
"Yes, I will immediately relay your regards," the Head Maid replied, bowing deeply before exiting your bedroom.
"The makeup will surely suit you well, my Lady!" one maid said with an excited voice, her smile radiant.
"Then how about pairing it with these?" another maid suggested, presenting an incredibly high-quality box. Inside, nestled in plush velvet, lay an exquisite set of earrings and a necklace crafted from diamonds and crystals. The craftsmanship was impeccable, each gem catching the light and sparkling brilliantly.
"Another gift from Pantalone?" you asked, your eyes fixated on the pair of dazzling accessories.
"Yes!" the maid replied eagerly. "He wanted to ensure your happiness."
You examined the jewelry, appreciating the intricate design and the flawless cut of each gem. It was clear that no expense had been spared. The diamonds and crystals were of the highest quality, their brilliance unmatched. The necklace was elegant and refined, the earrings delicate yet striking.
"Such beautiful pieces," you murmured, tracing a finger over the diamonds. "Pantalone has truly outdone himself."
The maids exchanged pleased glances, their faces lighting up with pride at your approval. They had never seen you so engaged, and their excitement was palpable.
"Shall we assist you in trying them on, my Lady?" the Maid offered, her voice filled with anticipation.
You nodded, allowing them to help you with the delicate jewelry. As they fastened the necklace around your neck and secured the earrings, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The makeup and jewelry complemented each other perfectly, enhancing your natural beauty in a way that made you look even more ethereal.
"Thank you," you said softly, a rare smile gracing your lips once more. The maids beamed, their efforts rewarded by your approval.
As you sat back down, you couldn't help but feel a slight warmth in your heart. Despite the loneliness and the icy reputation you carried, there was a small comfort in knowing that someone, even someone as calculating as Pantalone, cared enough to send such thoughtful gifts.
Suddenly, the bedroom door burst open, and a Fatui Skirmisher barged in, holding an important-looking letter aloft. "Lady Innamorati...." He trailed off, his gaze fixated on your silky nightgown, which clung elegantly to your beautiful form.
"Hey! Don't look!" one maid shouted. "How dare you!" another maid scolded, rushing to shield you from his prying eyes. The skirmisher's face flushed bright red, and he quickly bowed.
"I apologize for barging in, my Lady! But an urgent letter from Her Royal Highness, the Tsaritsa, has arrived for you," he stammered, holding out the letter. One of the maids swiftly snatched it from his hand and ushered the skirmisher out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.
She handed you the letter with a bow, and you took it, breaking the wax seal to reveal its contents. As you read, your eyes scanned over the elegant script:
'Dear Innamorati,
I deeply regret the incident involving Childe. Please accept my sincerest apologies on his behalf.
Your presence is required in Liyue. Your mission is to capture Osial, dead or alive, and deliver him to Dottore for experimentation. This task is of utmost importance. Failure is not an option.
Remember, Innamorati, the fate of our plans rests upon your shoulders.
Her Royal Highness, Tsaritsa'
Your smile faded as you read the letter. "Liyue... The Land of Contracts," you murmured, the name conjuring up a flood of fragmented memories.
Your expression grew distant. Liyue was a place you had avoided for a long time, a place associated with pain and loss.
The memories were always hazy, shrouded in the fog of time, yet the underlying emotions were unmistakable. Something terrible had happened there, something you had been trying to forget.
The maids noticed your change in demeanor, their faces filled with concern. "My Lady, is everything alright?" the maid asked softly.
You took a deep breath, regaining your composure. "I will prepare for the journey to Liyue. Please ensure everything is in order."
The maids nodded, already moving to assist you in changing into more appropriate attire for travel. They brought forth a luxurious yet practical ensemble, suitable for the journey ahead and the potential battles to come.
Once ready, you stood before the mirror, your appearance now befitting the formidable 0th Harbinger. The makeup and jewelry from Pantalone added an air of grace and power, while your new attire showcased your readiness for the mission.
With a final glance around your room, you felt a mix of determination and resignation. The journey ahead would be perilous, but failure was not an option.
As you stepped out into the cold, snowy landscape, your mind focused on the task at hand. The fate of the Fatui's plans and the will of the Tsaritsa rested upon your success.
"Osial," you whispered to yourself, the name echoing in the frigid air.
"I will not fail."
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You stopped at the edge of the hill, gazing down at the city below, bathed in a sea of lights and floating paper lanterns.
The Lantern Festival was in full swing, painting the night with a warm, ethereal glow. Each lantern, carefully crafted and illuminated from within, drifted upwards like a myriad of tiny stars, carrying the hopes and wishes of the people of Liyue Harbor.
The city was alive with a joyful buzz, music and laughter echoing through the streets, creating a stark contrast to the cold stillness of your perch.
You didn't want to go. You knew that within the vibrant heart of this city lay the seeds of your deepest anguish.
A past marked by betrayal and suffering that made you question the worth of gods and mortals alike. Stepping into the city would mean unraveling the painful memories piece by piece, a torment you weren't sure you were ready to face.
Your right hand rested on the hilt of your sword, the cold metal a comforting reminder of your power. You could erase this land from existence with a single strike, rendering its pain and betrayal into nothingness.
"The land of betrayal and pain..." you whispered to the breeze, your voice cold and detached. Your gaze, icy and unwavering, locked onto the heart of the festival below.
The lanterns, symbols of hope and renewal, floated gently upwards, oblivious to the dark thoughts they illuminated. The streets of Liyue Harbor were a tapestry of vibrant colors, filled with stalls selling traditional foods, children chasing each other with sparklers, and performers enchanting the crowds with their skills. The air was thick with the scent of incense and the sound of festive music, creating a sensory symphony that seemed almost otherworldly.
But to you, it was all a cruel mockery.
This land, with its beauty and its light, held the shadows of your past. Each step you took towards it felt like a step into the abyss, where every smile and every laugh could trigger the painful memories you had buried deep within.
With one last look at the glowing city and the floating lanterns, you began your descent toward Liyue Harbor, your heart a battleground of emotions. The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with memories and challenges, but you knew you could not turn back. The echoes of your past would follow you, but so would the faint hope of redemption.
Your right hand tightened around the hilt of your scabbard, and you moved forward, ready to face whatever awaited you in the land of Contracts.
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sophrosynesworld · 5 months ago
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With all my love, pt 6
Our car drives out of Tokyo, the once vibrant neon lights dimming in the rearview mirror. Inside the vehicle, a heavy silence hangs like a storm cloud. 
Bakugou sits rigid beside me, jaw clenched, staring straight ahead. Izuku, in the driver’s seat, occasionally glances at us through the rearview mirror, his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel.
The bustling cityscape fades into the countryside, the stars now twinkling brightly against the night sky, freed from the city's light pollution. It’s been so long since I left the city, the last time was for our training camp at UA. What happened to us?
"Can someone please tell me what happened back there?" Izuku’s voice cuts through the silence, his eyes darting between us in the mirror.
Bakugou's grip tightens on his knees. I take a deep breath. "It’s complicated, Izuku. Katsuki and I... we’ve been going through some things." I sound like a mother breaking bad news to her child.
Izuku’s gaze shifts to Bakugou. "You two need to talk. This silence isn't helping anyone."
Bakugou scoffs. "Talk? She thinks I’ve been cheating on her."
Izuku's eyebrows shoot up, but he stays silent. For once, I’m grateful.
"You’ve been distant, Katsuki. Coming home late, missing our dates, disappearing for days. What else was I supposed to think?" My arms cross over my chest, frustration bubbling.
Bakugou sighs, running a hand through his hair. "You really think I'd do that to you? I’ve been hiding something, but it’s not what you think."
"What is it, then?" I question him, but he averts his gaze, staring out the window instead.
The landscape outside changes subtly, flat fields giving way to gentle hills and clusters of trees. Moonlight casts an eerie glow, illuminating our path.The car falls silent again, the tension thick as Izuku navigates through the dark roads. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Izuku turns down a dirt road, leading us to a modest house. Bakugou lets out a deep breath, his grip on the door handle tightening.
"Come on," he says gruffly, stepping out of the car and gesturing for me to follow. ‘
I follow Bakugou up the path to the house, my heart pounding in my chest. He stops at the door, fumbling with the keys before pushing it open. 
As we step inside, I take in the surroundings. The entrance hall is warmly lit by a small chandelier, casting a soft glow on the polished wooden floor. A plush rug lies beneath our feet, muffling our steps. The walls are adorned with tasteful art pieces, and a small table by the door holds a neatly arranged stack of mail and a decorative bowl for keys. I slip my shoes off next to him. 
Bakugou leads me into the living room, and I can't help but marvel at the space. It’s furnished and beautiful. The room is spacious yet cozy, with large windows that offer a view of a well-kept garden outside. A comfortable-looking sectional sofa dominates the room, adorned with an array of throw pillows in various shades of blue and gray. A coffee table sits in front of it, holding a few magazines and an empty vase. The walls are painted a soothing shade of light gray, complemented by dark wooden bookshelves filled with an assortment of books and knick-knacks.
A large flat-screen TV is mounted on the wall, and below it, a sleek entertainment center holds various electronics and neatly arranged DVDs. The soft hum of an air purifier is the only sound in the otherwise silent room. Everything is meticulously arranged, reflecting a sense of order and calm.
“I don’t understand what we’re doing here.” I tug on Bakugou's sleeve to get his attention, my frustration clear. The room is shrouded in dim light, with the moon casting its soft glow through the windows, painting the walls in a subtle hue of silver. “Why did you bring me into the middle of nowhere?”
He doesn’t answer for a moment, his back towards me as he walks towards the large glass window overlooking the garden. The soft rustle of leaves and distant chirping of crickets create a serene backdrop to our conversation.
“Whose house is this?” I ask, my voice rising with a mix of confusion and anger.
"It's ours," he admits, turning around slowly, his voice low and strained. The moonlight catches the edges of his face, highlighting the contours and curves. "It was going to be the home we raised our children in."
My heart skips a beat as I process his words. "What are you talking about?" I press, confusion consuming me. "This isn’t our home."
He sighs, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "When you got hurt, it was one of the few times I’ve been afraid." His voice cracks, and I can see his shoulders tremble. "The doctors didn’t know if you’d ever wake up."
I want to reach out, to comfort him, but I stay silent. He needs to get this out.
"When you opened your eyes and called my name," his voice wavers, tears spilling from his eyes, "I knew I wanted to spend eternity with you."
I’m stunned. "You’ve been planning this since then?"
"Six months ago, I bought the land. I picked up extra shifts to build this. Every detail, every corner, designed with you in mind. I wanted to build this home for us, to show you that I’m serious about our future.”
I look around the room with new eyes. Everything reflects my tastes. My heart aches with the realization of his efforts. The soft gray walls, the comfortable sectional sofa adorned with an array of throw pillows, the sleek coffee table—every detail reflects my preferences, my style. The thought of him working tirelessly to create this place tugs at my heart.
"You’ve been working on this for six months?" My voice softens as I slowly begin to understand..
"Yeah," he murmurs, regret mingling in his eyes. "I wanted to surprise you. To make up for all the times I’ve been absent. But I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t want to ruin it."
I know I should be ecstatic, but anger ignites within me. "You kept this from me while I worried we were falling apart? Do you know how that feels?"
His expression hardens. "I was doing it for us! To prove I could give you everything you ever wanted!"
"But I never asked for this!" I shout. "I just wanted you, Katsuki!"
"I was trying to make things better!" he yells back. "I thought if I finished this place, you’d see how much I care!"
"What do you want from me?" I scream, tears spilling over.
"I want you to be my wife!" His voice cracks, the raw emotion behind his words slicing through the tension in the air.
I stare at him, shock consuming all of my words.
"What?"
Without another word, he storms to a drawer, yanking it open with a force that rattles the whole dresser. He pulls out a small velvet box, his hands trembling. "I wanted to propose to you here, in the house I built with you in mind." he says, his voice barely above a whisper, yet charged with desperation. "I love you more than anything and if I don’t ask you now, I might not be able to later. 
Katsuki drops to one knee before me, holding out an engagement ring that catches the light with a mesmerizing sparkle. The band is a delicate, platinum twist, leading up to a stunning solitaire diamond, flawlessly cut and glistening like a fragment of a star. Smaller diamonds are embedded along the band, adding an extra layer of brilliance. It’s breathtakingly beautiful. 
“Will you marry me?"
Tears blur my vision. "Katsuki..."
The weight of Bakugou's words hangs in the air, his raw admission still echoing in my ears. As he kneels before me, holding out the ring, time seems to stand still. My heart races, a whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. Shock, confusion, anger, and a glimmer of hope—all tangled together.
"No more secrets, no more running away. Just you and me, building our life together. Please, say you’ll be my wife."
I look down at him, the moonlight casting a soft glow on his face. His eyes are filled with a mixture of desperation and vulnerability that I’ve rarely seen. This strong, fierce man is baring his soul to me, and it breaks something inside me.
My hands tremble as I touch his face. "Yes, I’ll marry you."
Relief and joy light up his face as he slips the ring onto my finger. He pulls me into a tight embrace, the tension finally dissolving.
He takes a deep breath, his gaze never wavering from mine. “I know I messed up. I thought I was doing the right thing, building this place for us. But I see now that I was wrong to keep it from you. I was afraid, afraid that I wasn’t enough, that I couldn’t give you what you needed.”
Tears blur my vision as I kneel down to be level with him, our faces inches apart. “All I ever wanted was you, Katsuki. Not some perfect house, not grand gestures. Just you.”
He reaches out, his fingers gently brushing away my tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”
For a moment, we just sit there, on the floor of this beautiful house, holding each other. The anger and hurt begin to melt away, replaced by a deep, aching love. The road ahead is still uncertain, but I can see a glimmer of the future we could have together.
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yoonkinii · 5 months ago
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First date with Sukuna!
Warning(s): Minor cursing. Requests open (only for this AU) Masterlist (Check for more AU content!) Note: I apologize for any errors in my writing. I am the only one writing and editing so I may miss a few things that don't belong. Please let me know if you spot any. <3
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“You’ve been staring at your phone for like 20 minutes, just text him already.”
Shoko remarked from your bed, flipping through a fashion magazine she found lying around. She had come over for a study session, but it quickly turned into you telling her about getting Sukuna’s number and having no idea how to proceed. 
“I can’t.” You whine, cheek pressed against the surface of your low living room table. 
Your studio apartment, though compact, was efficiently designed. The entryway doubled as storage, with hidden closets lining the walls and a discreet door on the left revealing the bathroom. The entry all opened into the main living area, where the lines between living room, bedroom, and dining area blurred. A small sofa sat against one wall, accompanied by a flower-shaped coffee table, with a TV hanging on the opposite wall, perfectly positioned for viewing from either the couch or bed. 
The right side of the apartment is occupied by your bed, creating a cozy sleeping nook, partially obscured by a tall bookshelf acting as a makeshift partition. The evening sun filtered through the window above the bed, casting gentle shadows on the floor. Sheer curtains adorned the window, more for decoration than privacy since you lived on the fourth floor.
The kitchen, tucked into one corner, was a masterpiece of compact efficiency. It contained the essentials: a stove, microwave, and small fridge. Wooden cabinets above the counter held a few cooking essentials and acted as a pantry.
“What do you even mean by that? You got his number, just text him,” Shoko counters, sitting up from her position on your bed and making her way over to you. She plops down beside and, with a practiced swipe, unlocked your phone.  
You hiss, raising your head from the table and narrowing your gaze at her. “I didn’t give you my phone password so you could just go through it whenever.”
“What else am I going to do with your phone?” She replied nonchalantly.
“You are insufferable.”
She hums, her thumb nail lightly grazing her teeth as she deftly types on your phone’s screen. You realize too late what she was doing and lunge for your phone, snatching it out of her grasp. 
You gasp, dread filling your insides. “Why did you do that?” you screech, practically flinging your phone back onto the table as if it had burned your hand. You stood up, running your hands through your hair as you pace around the limited space of your apartment. “You just basically screwed me over by sending that text.”
Shoko rolls her eyes, picking up your phone from where you discarded it. “I did not screw you over.” She insisted. “Look, he’s typing.”
Practically tripping over air, you were by Shoko’s side in an instant, staring at the typing bubbles on the screen. A moment later, your phone dinged with a new message- from Sukuna. Shoko grinned, glazing at you. “See? I helped you out.”
“Holy shit,” you muttered, grabbing the phone and staring at the few simple words on your screen.
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Your stomach churned with anxiety. 
It had taken hours to get ready for this date, even with Shoko’s help. The fact that Sukuna had chosen a three-star Michelin restaurant didn’t ease your nerves- such a place was beyond your wildest dreams. Miraculously, you found something suitable for the occasion buried deep in your closet. 
You wore a sleek, off-the-shoulder black dress that hugged your figure perfectly. The sleeves flared slightly at the wrists, adding a touch of elegance without feeling too constricting. The dress’s hemline was on the shorter side, so you paired it with slightly sheer black tights. Completing the outfit were black pumps and a small purse slung over your shoulder, just big enough to hold your phone, wallet, apartment keys, and a few necessities. 
Taking a deep breath, you tried to calm your jittery stomach. The last thing you needed was a bout of nerves ruining your first date with the man of your dreams. Your inexperience with fancy places gnawed on you. What if there were specific forks you had to use? Or a certain way to speak?
Shaking off your nerves as best as you could, you finally stepped into the restaurant. The smooth sounds of jazz- saxophone and piano- immediately enveloped you, creating an atmosphere of refined elegance. The building was bathed in a dim glow, with soft light illuminating from bulbs hanging down from the veiling, reminiscent of a starlit sky. 
A hostess appeared before you, exuding an air of professionalism. Dressed in attire reminiscent of a butler’s uniform, complete with white gloves, she greeted you with a polite smile. When you gave her your name, her demeanor shifted slightly; her back tensed, and her eyes widened fractionally before she quickly regained her composure, making you wonder if you had even imagined it. 
As you followed the hostess, you took in the restaurant’s decor. White tablecloths covered the tables, each adorned with a lit candle and a bouquet of roses. Booths lined the walls, their half-circle seats echoing the elegance of the freestanding tables. In the center of the room, a dais hosted the musicians whose performance had captivated you to the point that you nearly collided with the hostess when she abruptly stopped.
Stepping back to create some distance, you meet her gaze. She smiles and tilts her head slightly, motioning for you to ascend the staircase you hadn’t noticed before. It was unusual for a restaurant to have a second story, so you didn’t bother paying much attention towards the ceiling. Now, you see a balcony-like area surrounding the walls of the building, offering a view of the first-floor patrons below. Tables similar to those on the ground floor were placed along the second-story banisters. 
Ascending the spiral stairs with the hostess following at a respectful distance, you reached the top and the hostess once again took the lead. She guided you past various tables to a secluded booth in a back corner, partially hidden by a sheer black curtain. The dark lighting made the booth hard to spot, adding an air of exclusivity and intimacy to it. 
Even in the dim light, you spotted him immediately, his pink hair unmistakable. His back was to you, giving you a few brief moments to take him in before you had to face him. He wore black slack, with the sleeves of his white button-up shirt rolled up to his forearms, revealing more of his intricate tattoos. Two bands of black ink encircled his wrists, their meaning being a mystery to you. You couldn’t dwell on his tattoos any longer as the hostess parted the curtain, gesturing for you to take a seat opposite of Sukuna. 
Your palms were sweaty; in fact, you felt a clammy discomfort all over. Biting your bottom lips, you slid into the booth, surprised by how deeply you sank into the cushion. 
A low chuckle from across the table snaps you out of your thoughts. Your head jerks up, and you find yourself staring at Sukuna. The first few buttons of his shirt were undone. Your mind goes blank as you take in the exposed skin of his collarbone and chest, revealing a peak of well sculpted muscles. 
“You should see the face you’re making right now,” he says, his voice tinged with amusement. He picks up a glass filled with amber liquid, taking a small sip and setting it back down. “I must say, I was quite surprised by how forward you were over text. No greeting or anything, just straight to business.”
Snapping out of your daze, you laugh nervously, your hands fiddling with the hem of your dress under the table. “Sorry about that.” You couldn’t help but apologize, worried that Shoko might have done more harm than good. You barely even knew Sukuna, having only encountered him twice and even those moments were brief. 
He hums, leaning back into his seat, his gaze fixed on you. You stare back, wide-eyed and unsure of what to do. His eyes roamed over your body, and he made no effort to hide what was doing. Your skin felt like it was on fire under his scrutiny. A smirk curled at the corner of his lips. 
“I never asked, but,” He pauses, his eyes locking onto  yours. “How old are you?”
“I’m 25.” 
“Oh?” He leans forward, forearms resting on the table. “That’s quite a big age gap between us.”
You couldn’t help the small pout that forms on your lips, your brows knitting together. “If a seven-year age gap is big for you, then I have a few questions. And I thought I made it clear I didn’t care.”
His eyes lit up with something akin to amusement. “So she does have some bite in her.” Sukuna raises a hand, and almost as if he had summoned them, a waiter appeared. Dressed similarly to the hostess, the waiter bowed slightly as Sukuna made a gesture at them. Without a word, a menu was placed before you. 
“Thank you,” you offered the waiter as you opened the menu. Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets at the prices listed. Everything was outrageously expensive; even a simple salad cost a small fortune. Your heart sank along with your pride. 
Guess I’ll have to work overtime for a while, you thought to yourself, your heart breaking slightly at the mere thought of having to work extra hours. 
The waiter returned with a glass of water, taking your order after setting down your drink. You cast a curious glance at Sukuna as the waiter took your menu. He never received one and didn’t even look at yours. 
“Are you not ordering?” You questioned once the waiter was far enough, worry lacing your tone. 
“They already know what I want,” He replied flatly. 
Letting out a soft ‘Ah’ of acknowledgment, you settle back against the booth, taking in your surroundings. It’s not every day you find yourself in such an upscale establishment, so you might as well savor the experience. 
“I take it this is your first time at a place like this?” His voice draws your attention back to him. His eyes are fixed on you, a brow arched in curiosity. 
“God no,” you laugh softly. “I’m in college right now, so there’s no way I could afford places like this.” You admit sheepishly, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 
“What are you studying?”
“Biology.”
“You want to be a doctor?”
You visibly deflate, your hands cradling the chilled glass of water, fingers gently tapping against its surface. “I used to think so, but the deeper I got into my degree, the more I realized how difficult it is. I think I’ll just become a nurse and work for my friend.”
Shoko is determined to become a doctor, claiming she wants to be her own boss and not have to answer to, in her words, ‘stupid old people.’ You wouldn’t mind working under her as one of her nurses. She’s also said she wouldn’t mind it either, so that’s your current goal. 
Sukuna hums, nodding thoughtfully. 
Biting the inside of your cheek, you study him, taking in his appearance. He arches a brow at your stare, almost daring you to say something. And you do. 
“Your piercing.” You begin, pointing to your own eyebrow to mirror his. “Did it hurt really bad?”
“No.” 
“No?” You echo, surprised by his response. Even with a high pain tolerance, it still must’ve hurt a little. 
“No,” He affirms. “I was shit face drunk when I got them.”
You blink at him. Once. Twice before a laugh you can’t hold back escapes you. Your hand covers your mouth, slightly surprised by your own reaction. Sukuna tuts his lips, a slight frown pulling on his lips. 
“Think that's funny, brat?”
You heave out a breath, sighing away to remnants of your laughter. “Hey, I don’t think that warrants being called a brat.” 
“Well you are laughing like an immature brat.” He snarls lowly, lips hovering against the rim of his glass as he takes another sip.
“I’m not sure that I'm the immature one. I wasn’t the one that got drunk and pierced their eyebrow.”
Sukunas eyes narrow on you, lips curling into a half-smile. “Cheeky,” He mumbles more to himself.
Talking to Sukuna felt surprisingly easy. Even when the food arrived, the conversation continued to flow smoothly, with you doing most of the talking. It was clear that Sukuna had a slight temper, evident in the way he grumbled to himself when the waiter made a mistake or how his brows knit together in frustration. Once, when the waiter accidentally brought over a drink neither of you ordered, Sukuna dismissed him with a curt “It’s fine,” but you noticed the way his eyes followed the waiter, as if trying to burn holes in his back. 
Despite his temper, his annoyance was never directed at you. He listened intently when you spoke, adding his own bits to the conversation. You learned that he got all his ear piercings at once, with the gauges being the most bothersome to take care of. His tattoos came a few years later, taking longer to complete because his tattoo artist wasn’t comfortable doing such a large project in one sitting.
Sukuna also shared that his “dumbass nephew” lived with him, usually bothering him and rarely ever shutting up. Despite Sukuna’s grimace while talking about his nephew, it was clear he cares deeply for him. He shows you photos of Yuji on his phone, from baby pictures to ones from elementary and middle school, grumbling about how Yuji sucked at math in middle school. You could tell that beneath his gruff exterior, Sukuna had a soft spot for his family. Why else would he have so many photos saved on his phone?
Time flew by in an instant, and before you knew it, the check landed on the table. Acting on impulse, you reached for your purse, intending to retrieve your wallet. But before you could even open your purse, the waiter swiftly whisked away the bill. 
“Wait-” You called after the retreating waiter, but he didn’t turn back. Sukuna observed you with a bored depression, his temples resting against his propped-up hand. With a resigned sigh, you reluctantly close your purse. 
“We could’ve split the bill.” You suggested, eyeing Sukuna across the table. 
“Like you could afford it,” he retorted coolly
Your face flushed, lips pressed into a thin line at his comment. Though it rang true, you still felt a twinge of guilt. Who knew how much this dinner had cost, and whether Sukuna could even afford it without consequences. 
“When a man pays for your meal, you should really be thanking them more than complaining.” Sukuna remarked. 
You fix  Sukuna with a hard stare until he sighs at your stubbornness, relenting. “Fine. You can treat me next time.”
Your heart skips a beat, eyes widening slightly at the implication behind his words. A smile spreads across your face involuntarily. “Really?” you repeat, practically beaming with joy. Sukuna rolls his eyes but he couldn’t hide the half-smile beginning to form on his lips. “If I knew you were going to light up like the damn sun, I might have said otherwise.”
You clicked your tongue, letting out a faux laugh. “Ha ha, too late to take it back now.”
Chuckling softly, Sukuna leans back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, looking at you with a hint of sincerity in his eyes.
“No, I guess I can’t.”
-
Tag List (open):@kalulakunundrum , @fushipurro
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tortillamastersblog · 7 months ago
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♕ No Matter What | Lena Luthor ♕
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Pairing: Lena Luthor x reader
Warnings: none
Summary: After an honorable discharge, you feel lost, not knowing what to do with the rest of your life. That is until your best friend Sam Arias takes matters into her own hands.
Next Part | Masterlist
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“Sam, I really don’t think this is a good idea,” I hiss as the elevator doors slide shut behind us.
The security guard we just passed in the lobby was eyeing me the entire time while Sam explained our business to the woman behind the reception.
She seemed to recognize the brunette, which was somewhat of a relief because the next time her eyes met mine she smiled politely.
The security guard’s stare however did not waver and it made my skin crawl.
Yes, he’s supposed to be intimidating and scrutinizing, it’s what he’s payed for after all, working for National City’s most infamous tech-billionaire, but it didn’t soothe the nervousness bubbling in my stomach.
“It’s a little late for that now,” Sam deadpans, raising an eyebrow. “You know, with you having already signed the contract and all…”
I roll my eyes at her theatrics and shove her gently. “God, you’re the worst.“
Yes, I did sign a contract, but it doesn’t change the fact that the person I’m supposed to be a bodyguard for has expressed her doubt concerning the necessity of my presence time and time again until Sam finally got through to her.
She also very much has the power to destroy my life and possible future careers if she doesn’t like me or my performance, which isn’t something I’m particularly excited about.
I clench and unclench my fists, the feeling of cold sweat running down my back doing nothing to soothe me.
Pull yourself together!
I haven’t been this nervous in a long time. The last time was over a year ago before everything went wrong.
“Hey.” Sam’s soft voice brings me back to reality and when I meet her eyes I find her watching me with genuine concern. “You’re perfect for the job, stop worrying about it and Lena is—“ she laughs softly—“Well, she’s Lena.”
I scoff. “Wow, okay. That is not helpful. . . at all.”
Sam giggles and before long the elevator stops its ascent and opens its doors, revealing a polished white hallway.
We get out and I follow Sam to a sleek wooden door.
This is it.
“Lena?” Sam knocks, but it’s more of a courtesy than anything else because she pulls out a key card the next second and swipes it through the reader next to the door. It beeps quietly, a green light flashing for a moment before the door clicks open.
“Lena?” Sam tries again, stepping into the apartment. I follow her cautiously and look around, taking in the open floor plan.
The white leather couches are elegant and tasteful, the glass coffee table between them reflecting the morning sun shining through the floor to ceiling windows.
There’s a fireplace which doesn’t look used and a couple of expensive looking paintings on the walls.
“Sam! You’re early,” a voice greets us and when I follow Sam around the corner my eyes land on her.
Lena Luthor.
She’s in her kitchen, which is also part of the open floor plan, standing behind the island and making tea.
Tea? I pegged her as a coffee person, what with all her early morning meetings and late night conferences.
Now slightly curious, I take a step closer and look her over.
She’s nothing like I expected. She’s wearing makeup, yes, and her hair is in a sleek ponytail which screams business, but her simple purple sweater and bluejeans make her look. . . soft.
“You must be Y/N.”
I snap to attention, hoping to God I wasn’t caught staring.
“Yes! Yes, that’s me,” I blurt out. “Nice to meet you Ms. Luthor.”
The young Luthor eyes me skeptically and simply raises an eyebrow when I step forward and raise my hand from her to shake.
I gulp and send Sam a helpless look.
“Lena, we talked about this,” she warns her friend with a pointed glare. “Play nice.”
The billionaire relents and takes my hand, shaking it once before letting go. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
Sam clears her throat which prompts the other woman to add, “And you can call me Lena.”
I laugh uncomfortably and waver her off. “Oh, no, that’s not necessary, Ms. Luthor.“
Sam and Lena both seem surprised by the refusal but neither of them linger on it.
“Alright then,” Lena says, taking a sip of her tea before turning to Sam. “I’ll see you at the office?”
“Yeah,” the brunette affirms. “Lunch?”
Lena smiles. “Sounds good.”
They share a quick hug and I catch a glimpse of Sam whispering something in Lena’s ear which makes the latter roll her eyes playfully.
“I mean it,” Sam warns as they break apart, though there’s a glint of amusement in her eyes.
Lena huffs and takes another sip of her tea, watching over the rim of the cup as Sam squeezes my forearm.
“Good luck,” she mumbles. “Try and have some fun.“
Ha! Fun. . . I bet that word isn’t even in Lena’s vocabulary.
I don’t voice my thoughts, simply bidding Sam goodbye when she squeezes my arm again and before long she’s gone, leaving me alone under the predatory gaze of my new boss.
Shifting uncomfortably in my spot, I look around the apartment once again while Lena finishes her tea.
Yeah, this was not a good idea.
I should have stuck to living off my separation pay and the little money I make teaching self defense classes.
It’s too late to back out now, I remind myself. The only thing making all of this bearable at the moment is the knowledge that my contract runs out in a year.
“Just take a seat, will you,” Lena says, the exasperation in her voice making my insides clench uncomfortably.
I get it, she doesn’t want me here and quite frankly I don’t want to be here either, but Sam was right when she came to me last week.
“You can’t keep waisting away in your apartment,” she’d said. “You need a distraction, and I’ve got the perfect job for you.”
Let’s just see where this goes, I think before moving to take a seat on the stool by the kitchen island.
Lena seems satisfied that I listened and places her empty mug in the kitchen sink.
“We’re leaving for the office in half an hour. You can stay here while I get ready,“ she informs me, checking her phone.
Then, without another word she turns and disappears into what I’m assuming is her bedroom.
It’s going to be a long year…
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I know this one’s rather short, but it’s just to get the story going.
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hd-junglebook · 8 months ago
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Falling For It
Part 6 - Word Count 3067
This was kind of fun to write, part 7 should be done by Friday...I hope.
Prev … Next
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Y/N descended the winding staircase, her bare feet padding softly against the polished wooden steps. The open layout of the Lakehouse allowed the warm glow of the moon to filter through the expansive windows, bathing the living room in a pale blue hue.
As she reached the bottom step, Y/N paused, her fingers absently twirling a lock of her long, tousled hair. She surveyed the room, taking in the scene before her with a small, contented smile.
In the kitchen, Quinn and Nico stood behind the sleek white marble island, their hands moving deftly as they prepared a colorful array of drinks.
Quinn, with his messy brown hair and vibrant blue eyes, laughed heartily at something Nico said, his head thrown back in genuine amusement as he poured a generous amount of tequila into a line of shot glasses.
Nico, tall and lean with a cleaner more sophisticated mop of his own hair, chuckled as he sliced limes with practiced precision, his brown eyes twinkling with mirth.
"Dude, if we keep this up, we'll be carrying people to bed tonight," Nico remarked, raising an eyebrow at Quinn's heavy-handed pouring.
Quinn simply shrugged, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. "Hey, it's not a real party until someone's not getting carried to bed." Y
/N chuckled softly to herself, shaking her head at their antics. Her gaze drifted to the living room, where Heather and Ang were sprawled out on the plush rug, their legs tucked beneath the dark wooden coffee table.
Heather bit her lip in concentration as she shuffled a stack of colorful cards while Ang leaned forward eagerly, her dark eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Ooh, I see some juicy dares in here," Ang sing-songed, waggling her perfectly arched eyebrows. "Tonight's gonna be wild."
Heather snorted, tossing a card back into the pile. "Please, you just want an excuse to make out with Jesper."
The soft, sultry beats of an R&B track drifted through the air, undoubtedly one of Luke's carefully curated playlists. Y/N felt a smile tug at her lips, the familiarity of the music and the easy camaraderie of her friends settling over her like a warm, comforting blanket.
She stepped fully into the room now, easily sliding behind ang and heather to sit on the plush cushions of the couch. Just as she began to get comfortable Quinn and Nico made their grand entrance, their voices echoing through the room as they carried the trays of drinks.
Quinn carefully set the tray down on the coffee table, the glasses clinking together melodically. Nico followed suit, his lean frame moving with an easy grace as he placed his own tray beside Quinn's. He straightened up, running a hand through his hair, and surveyed the room with a questioning gaze.
Quinn placed his hands on his hips, his brows furrowed in confusion as he took in the small gathering.
"Where is everyone?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of disappointment. "I thought this was supposed to be a party."
Ang chuckled, her dark eyes sparkling with mirth as she leaned back on her hands. "Oh, I have a feeling the real fun is just about to begin," she said, her voice dripping with anticipation. "These truth or dare cards are no joke."
As if on cue, the sound of laughter and footsteps echoed from the hallway, signaling the arrival of the rest of their friends. Y/N felt a flutter of excitement in her stomach, knowing that the night was about to take an interesting turn.
Y/N reached for her glass, the cool condensation kissing her fingertips as she brought it to her lips. She took a sip, the sweet tang of the drink dancing on her tongue, and settled back into the couch.
Quinn's face split into a wide grin as he rubbed his hands together like a cartoonish villain. "Perfect timing," he declared, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Let the games begin." He rubbed his hands together with such enthusiasm that Nico had to duck to avoid getting smacked in the face. "Dude, watch the merchandise," Nico grumbled, smoothing his hair back into place.
Quinn opened his mouth to retort, but the words died on his lips as his jaw suddenly went slack. His eyes widened comically, and he froze, his hands still held up in mid-rub.
Y/N, Heather, and Ang exchanged confused glances before following his stunned gaze to the doorway. There, trailing just behind Luke's tall frame, was a familiar head of sleek blonde hair.
"Lexi?" Heather whispered, her eyebrows shooting up to her hairline. Quinn remained statue-still, his expression a mix of shock and something akin to terror. Y/N bit back a laugh, knowing exactly why Quinn was so thrown off balance.
Ang leaned over to Y/N, her voice low and conspiratorial. "Ten bucks says Quinn's trying to remember if he ever accidentally liked one of her thirst traps on Insta."
Y/N snorted, nearly choking on her drink. She couldn't help but feel a little bad for Quinn, but the sight of him standing there, frozen like a deer in headlights, was too hilarious not to enjoy.
Luke, oblivious to the tension, greeted the room with a broad smile. "Look who I ran into on the way out of the bar, we almost left her there!" He draped an arm casually over Lexi's shoulders, missing the way Quinn flinched at the action.
Lexi's cool blue eyes scanned the room, landing on Quinn with a predatory gleam. "Quinn," she purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness.
As Lexi sauntered into the room, Quinn shot a panicked look at his friends, silently pleading for backup. Y/N, taking pity on him, stood up and clapped her hands together.
“Okay losers, we ready to play?”
The room erupted into cheers and whoops, effectively breaking the awkward tension. Quinn shot Y/N a grateful look, mouthing "thank you" as he quickly busied himself with distributing drinks. Y/N grinned, shaking her head in amusement.
As everyone began to settle into their seats, ready to start the game, the room suddenly fell silent. Y/N glanced up, curious about the sudden hush, and felt her jaw drop.
There, standing in the doorway, was Jack. And he looked absolutely delicious.
He was wearing a fitted black button up that clung to his toned chest and arms in all the right places, just the few top buttons left undone along with dark wash jeans that hugged his muscular legs. His light hair was artfully tousled, as if he'd just run his fingers through it, and his blue eyes sparkled.
Y/N swallowed hard, her mouth going dry as she openly stared at him. She knew she was probably drooling, but she couldn't help it. Jack was a vision, and she wanted nothing more than to drink in every inch of him.
Unbeknownst to Y/N, she wasn't the only one affected by Jack's entrance. Across the room, Lexi's blue eyes were raking over Jack's form, a predatory gleam in her gaze. She licked her lips, a small smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.
Jack, seemingly oblivious to the attention he was garnering, scanned the room for a place to sit. His eyes landed on the empty spot beside Y/N, and he began to move towards her, a warm smile on his face. She threw her legs back onto the plush carpet, expectantly waiting for him to sit.
With a speed that seemed almost inhuman, Lexi leapt up from her seat and practically pounced on Jack. She grabbed his arm, her perfectly manicured nails digging into his bicep as she yanked him towards her.
"Jack!" she exclaimed, her voice sickly sweet. "Come sit with me!"
Before Jack could protest, Lexi had dragged him over to her spot, pushing him down onto the couch beside her. She immediately curled into his side, her hand resting possessively on his thigh.
Y/N felt a surge of jealousy course through her, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She glared daggers at Lexi, silently fuming at the blonde's audacity.
Jack, for his part, looked mildly uncomfortable with Lexi's aggressive display of affection. He shot Y/N an apologetic look, his green eyes filled with a mixture of regret and longing.
Y/N forced herself to take a deep breath, trying to quell the anger and disappointment swirling inside her. She plastered a smile on her face, determined not to let Lexi see how much her actions had affected her.
"Alright, let's get this game started!" Quinn declared, his voice overly bright.
Heather reached for the stack of truth cards, her fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. She plucked a card from the top and read it aloud, her voice wavering with nerves. "What's the most inappropriate place you've ever had a makeout session?" she read, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson.
The group erupted into a chorus of "ooh"s and whistles, everyone leaning in closer to hear Heather's answer. She bit her lip, her eyes darting around the room before finally settling on her lap.
"Um, well..." she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "It was at my grandparents' 50th anniversary party. In the coat closet."
The room exploded with laughter and gasps of shock. Ang clapped her hands together, her eyes wide with glee.
"Heather, you little minx!" she exclaimed, reaching over to give her friend a high five. Heather ducked her head, a small smile playing at her lips despite her embarrassment.
"Okay, okay, let's move on," she said, pointing to Quinn, signaling his turn. He quickly grabbed a dare card from the pile.
His eyes widened as he read the card, and he looked up at the group with an embarrassed grin. "Let the group choose someone to spank you five times.” He sighed out, annunciating the words.  "Dawson, get over here” he stated.
Dawsons eyes widened, but he couldn't hide the small smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Alright, Quinn," he said, standing up and cracking his knuckles. "Bend over."
Quinn looked like he was about to pass out, but he slowly stood up and turned around, bracing himself against the back of the couch. Dawson stepped forward, his hand raised, and brought it down on Quinn's backside with a resounding smack.
He yelped, his face burning with humiliation as Dawson continued to spank him, each strike eliciting a new round of laughter from the group. By the time it was over Quinn was red-faced and panting. As he sat back down, wincing slightly, Lexi reached for the next dare card. She read it silently, her lips curving into a wicked smile, before looking up at the group.
"Kiss the person you find most attractive in the room on the lips," she read, her eyes immediately locking onto y/n’s before turning to Jack next to her. Y/N felt her stomach drop, a wave of jealousy and anger washing over her as she watched Lexi lean over to Jack.
Without hesitation, Lexi straddled his lap, her hands cupping his face as she leaned in and captured his lips in a deep, sensual kiss. Jack's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't push her away. Instead, he seemed to melt into the kiss, his hands coming up to rest on Lexi's hips as she continued to ravish his mouth.
Y/N could feel the heat of rage burning in her cheeks, her heart continued to hammer against her chest uncomfortably. She wanted nothing more than to march over there and rip Lexi off of Jack, to yell in jacks face on the man she'd just been kissing upstairs, of the man that’s taken her on dates every week since they fatefully crossed paths again.
But she forced herself to stay seated, her jaw clenched so tightly she thought her teeth might shatter. She watched as Lexi finally pulled away, a self-satisfied smirk on her face as she climbed off of Jack's lap and returned to her seat.
Jack looked dazed, his lips slightly swollen and his hair mussed from Lexi's fingers. Ang turned to Y/N, her eyes wide with shock and concern.
She could see the hurt and anger burning in her friend's eyes, and she reached out to give her hand a comforting squeeze. Y/N forced a small smile, silently thanking Ang for her support, before turning her attention back to the game.
As the night wore on, the drinks continued to flow, and the dares became increasingly more outrageous. Y/N found herself grateful for the distraction, throwing herself into the game with a newfound determination. She laughed and joked with Nico and Dawson, purposefully avoiding any interaction with Jack or Lexi.
Hours later, the room was filled with the sound of drunken laughter and slurred speech. Y/N, who had been pacing herself throughout the night, seemed to be the only one still relatively sober. She watched as her friends stumbled and swayed, their inhibitions lowered and their judgment clouded by the alcohol.
Feeling the need for a moment of solitude, Y/N slipped away from the group and made her way into the kitchen. She hopped up onto the counter, her legs dangling as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm the swirling emotions inside her.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't hear Jack enter the room until he was standing right in front of her. Y/N's eyes snapped open, her heart skipping a beat as she took in his disheveled appearance.
His hair was a mess, his shirt wrinkled and untucked, and his eyes were glazed with a mix of intoxication and something else Y/N couldn't quite place.
"Y/N..." he began, his words slightly slurred. "I... I need to talk to you."
Y/N felt her chest tighten, a mix of anger and longing warring within her. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could get a word out, a voice called her name from the other room.
"Y/N! Come on, we're playing another round!" Quinn shouted, his words followed by a chorus of drunken cheers.
Y/N hesitated for a moment, torn between her desire to hear what Jack had to say and her need to escape the uncomfortable situation. In the end, her pride won out, and she slid off the counter, brushing past Jack without a word.
She stalked over to the table where Quinn had set up a new round of drinks, without hesitation, she grabbed a glass and downed its contents in one gulp, relishing the burn of the alcohol as it slid down her throat.
She reached for another, and then another, her mind growing fuzzy as the drinks began to take effect. She could feel Jack's eyes on her from across the room, but she refused to meet his gaze, instead focusing on the laughter and chatter of her friends.
the night blurred into a haze of drunken revelry, Y/N found herself letting go of her inhibitions, her anger and hurt temporarily forgotten in the chaos of the moment. She danced and sang, her laughter mixing with the others as they lost themselves in the heady rush of alcohol and adrenaline.
But even as she let herself get swept up in the madness, Y/N couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something had shifted between her and Jack, that the events of the night had set into motion a chain reaction that she was powerless to stop.
Y/N stumbled out of the house, the cool night air hitting her flushed skin like a refreshing balm. She inhaled deeply, the scent of pine and lake water filling her lungs as she made her way towards the shore.
The moon hung heavy in the sky, its silvery light casting an ethereal glow over the rippling water. Y/N kicked off her shoes, not caring where they landed as she waded into the shallows.
The water was cool against her skin, sending a shiver up her spine as she moved deeper, until she was waist-deep in the inky depths.
It was only then, with the muffled sounds of the party fading behind her and the vast expanse of the lake stretching out before her, that Y/N allowed herself to break.
The tears she had been holding back all night spilled down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs as she tilted her head back to the sky.
"Why did you do this?" she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. "Am I not good enough for any man?"
The moon stared back at her, silent and unblinking, offering no answers to her desperate pleas. Y/N felt a surge of anger rise within her, her hands clenching into fists beneath the water's surface.
She thought back to all the moments she and Jack had shared, the laughter and the dates, the stolen touches. Had it all been a lie? A cruel game he had been playing, stringing her along while he pined after her best friend?
"If he wanted her, he should have just told me," she choked out, her vision blurring with fresh tears. "Instead of making me think that maybe, just maybe, he could feel something for me too."
She closed her eyes, letting the tears fall freely as she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold together the pieces of her shattered heart. She had been so sure that Jack was different, that he saw her for who she truly was.
But now, with the image of him kissing Lexi burned into her mind, she couldn't help but question everything. "Was it all a lie?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the waves.
The thought was too painful to bear, and Y/N felt her knees buckle beneath her. She sank into the water, letting it engulf her as she cried, her tears mingling with the cool, dark depths. She didn't know how long she stayed there, her body racked with sobs as she poured out her pain to the uncaring moon.
But eventually, her tears ran dry, and she was left feeling hollow and numb, the anger and hurt giving way to a dull, aching emptiness.
Slowly, she rose from the water, her clothes clinging to her body as she made her way back to the shore. She knew she couldn't stay out here forever, that eventually she would have to face Jack and the rest of her friends.
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herhangisey · 2 years ago
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Onestohome - Platin
Coffee tables, side tables and tv unit are essential pieces of furniture for any living room. They provide a great way to organize your space and add a touch of style to the room. Whether you're looking for something modern or traditional, there is sure to be something that fits your needs. From sleek glass coffee tables with contemporary designs to rustic wooden side tables that bring a cozy atmosphere, you'll find something here that will make your living room look amazing.
Coffee table are a great addition to any living room or office space. They provide the perfect place to put your coffee, books, magazines, and other items. Side table are also great for placing lamps and other items you may need close at hand. TV units are perfect for displaying your television and all its components in one convenient location. All these pieces of furniture can be used together to create a stylish and functional living area or office space.
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sweetheartsaku · 4 months ago
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༄ MISSION: OUR SUMMER― doves in the wind
𝜗𝜚 ―K.TAEHYUN 【태현】 VERSION || NIGHT EDITION.
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SUN BEAMS SIMMER its sparkles on the rustic wooden table. the sound of gentle chatter fills the empty silence in your head, coffee mugs clinking, machinery whirring, customers conversing. your gaze goes around, wondering the story behind all these people. one might fall in love with this coffee, one might be at the lowest point of their life, one might be aimlessly wandering.
but you know for sure, you're with the love of your life.
"one caramel frappé with an extra sweetener and one iced coffee, both in regular please." taehyun grazes his soft fingertips on the counter of the cozy cafe, before pulling out his wallet to pay for the drinks. you quickly place your hand on top of his, insisting you pay.
"tae, my love, this is the third cafe you've paid for today. i'll do it."
"no no, this whole thing was my idea. remember?" he whispers with a smile, tapping his sleek (black) card on the credit card scanner. he sneaks a light and seamless peck to your temple.
you look back up― a rosy, pink dusts your face. taehyun tugs you by the hand, eyes still glued on the order being prepared. watching the kitchen become even more astir than it already was.
suddenly, your eyes meet the glass display of pastries of all different assortments. macaroons, small cakes― larger ones on the bottom, mousses, cookies of unique shape, pies and tarts, donuts and sandwiches. anything you could ever imagine.
this place was practically a drink and pastry haven.
"taehyun, i think this place might be the one."
you find yourself at a small wooden table of your own, small plates of treats decorating the table. his boba gaze meets yours, squeezing your hand a little lighter. he props your interlocked hands on the table, close to his lips, bringing them close.
the cold and warm beverages arrive at your table, thinking this view of the 4th coffee of the day would be sickening, there is no other emotion than pure awe at the sight of the drinks. taehyun's warm caramel frappe, his favourite drink saved for the last cafe, in its foamy, refreshing glory.
meanwhile, your simple iced coffee glistens under the summer rays seeping through the large window nearby. you chose to have another cold drink here, cooling yourself off from the merciless sun. you clasp the hem of your shorts, right above your knee.
"it looks like you're itching to drink it. just take a sip, honey." taehyun says, swirling his drink with his wrist before taking a sip.
you quickly pick up your drink, letting its cold and sweet flavours melt into your mouth. if the drinks were this good, imagine the pastries!
you finally reach the end of your little delights, slightly disappointed your taste testing had to come to an end. but luckily for you, you both still had a little bit of beverage left in your drink. before you could pick your cup up, taehyun grins and asks if you'd like to go to the nearby park. you answer eagerly, loving the idea of ending your afternoon at the park with your lover.
you walk out the chilly and refreshing cafe, stomach satisfied and a pearly smile plastering your face. a short stroll along the fresh green garden's stone pathway leads you to a mesmerising park. it's sprinkled with life, little kids running around, birds pecking at the ground and greenery rustling at the occasional cool breeze.
he brings you to an area slightly more secluded, a section where the amount of people you could count on two hands. you both take a seat on the dry grass; a couple meters from the glistening lake. leaves trickle past, and taehyun lies down, lifting his hand to his forehead to protect his eyes from the sun. you smile, taking a look of everything around you. suddenly the scorching heat from cafe to cafe didn't matter anymore, and the slightly bitter iced coffee from the second store didn't matter anymore. the sunlight reflects off the city buildings in the distance, onto the lake's ripples. light clouds littered the air as a fresh breeze bites your cheek― tickling your soul sending a chilly shiver down your spine. the warm aura of the sun and the people around you bring this park back to life, with its abundant sense of home and sweetness.
there's absolutely no other way i'd spend this thursday afternoon.
TAGLIST: @hyukassubi @lun4kazumii
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straykids-97 · 1 year ago
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Letters to the Moon
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“Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows anybody.”
Changbin likes to push you until you're flustered. Until you feel like you can't take it anymore... But then pull you back and keep you where he wants you...
Warnings: Strip poker, gambling games(poker and rummy), mentions of drinking, teasing, mirror sex, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), slight choking, size kink, (Duh, it’s Changbin), lmk if I forgot anything! (Also, it's kinda edited, kinda not so there are probably errors lol)
Word Count: 3.04k
Knowing Seo Changbin had changed your life. You didn’t know how to truly exist without him at this point. It was like he was everything you were missing, everything you could have dreamed of. Wrapped in a sweet little bow, hiding in a box was the sweet, doe-eyed, giggly man you had come to love so much that it hurt. You were addicted to his angelic smile, his teasing manner, and his morals. He was strong in every sense of the word. Changbin knew when to push and when to pull. He was an equal giver and equal taker. That also meant that sometimes, he pushed a little too hard, and his sportsmanship borderlined bullying. 
Such was the fate of your weekly game night. 
You hold your head in your hand, cards in the other, sighing in defeat. You sort of regret teaching Changbin poker. He was quick to learn, and even quicker to start beating you. You had only one once, and that was because Changbin got up to get the pizza at the door, and you peaked at his cards while he wasn’t looking. You were convinced that somehow he had to know what was in your hand. But, even after repositioning so that you were out of the way of your living room mirror, he still bested you. 
He clapped his hands together, pumping a fist in the air as he boyishly giggled, “I win. Yes!” He happily took a massive bite of the pepperoni pizza as you tossed your cards onto the table, frowning. “This isn’t fun if you’re always winning.” You grumble. “It’s fun…” he trailed off, reaching over and putting another piece of pizza on your plate, “For you.” You drag the plate across the wooden coffee table and heave a tired sigh. 
You both eat in silence for a while until Changbin holds up a finger, “What if we play a different game.” You give him an annoyed look, “What kind of game?” You watch as he pulls out his phone, a devilish smile on his face. His phone screen illuminated his thick, black-rimmed glasses as he flipped through his phone to find what he was looking for. You narrowed your eyes and watched him cautiously as he held his phone over the table for you to read. Grabbing the sleek device your mouth falls open as you read the game that he had looked up. 
“I heard someone talking about it once… And I've thought about asking you to play ever since you taught me how to play poker.” You can’t believe your eyes or your ears. Changbin was proposing that you two play strip poker. There was silence for a moment before you scoffed and handed him back his phone, “In order to play that kind of game, it would have to be sorta even. You’re winning all the time. I would be naked before you even have your shirt off.” You watched as his face fell a little, “But… What if we play a different poker game? That way you have a bit of an advantage.” You pursed your lips in thought. He had a point; but an unfair point… But was it really unfair when he just learned how to play poker a few weeks ago and was now beating you left and right? 
“Fine… We’ll play rummy. Same rules, sort of.” You snatch the deck and begin to explain the rules of the all-to-familiar game. “Alright, let’s start.” You pull out your phone and start a tally for points. “So, if I get more points, I win the round?” He asked, making you nod. “Yes. Since we’re playing by points and not by who goes out.” He bobbed his head, “Alright…” He shifted his hips, resting his weight on his elbows as he studied his cards. 
The first round went to you. Finally. You grin and tap your chin as you look at your boyfriend, thinking about what you want him to take off first. “Pants.” You decided, swiping the cards to shuffle. You watched as he rose to his feet and quickly untied his black sweatpants, shoving them down his legs. “Always pants with you.” He snorts, folding them nicely on the edge of the couch and settling back on the floor. He adjusted his glasses and he took a sip of his drink, dragging his cards to his awaiting hands, looking at them as you looked at yours. You try not to let it show that you have no hope of winning unless he somehow gives you something. 
Which he doesn’t. 
You sigh and toss the cards in the middle pile. Changbin leaned against your gray couch and cocks his head forward, scanning your figure shamelessly You feel your face heat up, and you think that maybe having those mixed drinks probably wasn’t helping. “Take off your bra.” He demanded. You can’t help but giggle at his request, thinking he make you take your socks or pants off like you did him, but no. 
You reach behind your body and unlatch your bra. You pull the gray fabric out from the collar of your shirt and gently place it beside Changbin's pants. After he dealt the cards, you see that this would most likely go in your favor. Or at least you thought, but Changbin managed to win purely on points. You grumble and gather the cards to shuffle as he leans back, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth and eyed you. “Pants.” He ordered, leaning forward to gather his cards as you stood up and shimmed out of your tight yoga pants, sloppily folding and putting them on top of your bra. 
Two more rounds went by and now Changbin is in his boxers and the only thing left covering your body was your baggy t-shirt. It was really his, but you wore it. You gently placed your panties on the pile of clothes and huff. Whoever wins this match, remains clothed. You rolled your head around on your shoulders, “Alright, deal ‘em.” You wave your hand at your boyfriend who chuckled at your antics. Without saying a word, he slides your five cards across the table. 
You quickly flip the cards and you try not to let your face show it but you only need one card to lay down. In a matter of two rounds, you could very well be out. You glance up at Changbin as he arranges his cards, his dark eyes flicking up to you as he adjusts himself so he is more comfortable on the floor. He must have a good hand, you think as he flipped the cards over. A seven of spades, just what you needed. But, it was his turn. So, he takes a card from the deck and places a nine of diamonds on the pile. You take a quick glance at your hand and slowly reach for the cards, swiping the two cards off the table and placing the seven down next to the six and five of spades. Discarding the 10 of hearts in your hand, you settle against your couch, looking at the two cards in your hand. The nine of diamonds and the 3 of clubs. You could use them as trash cards if you needed to. 
You watched as Changbin swiped the 10 you just put down and monitored as he tossed three cards on the table, a set of 10s. You bit your tongue, he’s already got more points than you by double. Then, to your shock, he places a 4 of spades down, playing on your 5 and tossing the random card in his hand in the discard pile. You groan, tossing the two cards in your hand on the table. He grinned at you as he swiped the cards off the table, “I win.” You sighed, standing up to collect your clothes to put into the dirty laundry, not wanting to stick around for the gloating part. 
“Where are you going?” he shouted from the other side of the couch. You turned to see him kneeling on the couch, hands on the back of it, eyebrow raised as you stood at the edge of your hallway. “To put my clothes in the laundry?” 
“I believe I won,” he began to say, launching himself over the back of the couch, his biceps flexing at the movement. “So, that means I get to see you naked.” He quickly swiped the pile of laundry from your hands. You put your now empty paws on your hips, “Changbin-” You start to complain, but he tutted at you. “Ah, ah,” he holds up a finger, “rules are rules.” You glared at him, “Are you serious?” He bobbed his head once, “Of course I am.” He took a step back, “Shirt.” You huffed, slowly reaching for the hem of your shirt but then stopped, “I don’t have to do this. You already won the game.” You try to turn and begin to wave him off but he’s quick to catch your wrist. You yelp in surprise as he tugged you to his chest. 
“You can’t cheat me out of my prize.” He hummed, backing you against the hallway wall. You hit the wall with a thud, “Changbin, stop. You’re not being fair.” You whined as he slid his hands under your shirt to your hips. “Fair? You’re the one who’s whining and complaining about not winning.” He playfully snaps at your nose and you lean away, gripping his wrists, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You retort as dryly as possible, trying not to squirm as his hands begin to wander up your sides. He pauses for the briefest of moments, quirking an eyebrow as his tongue prodded his cheek. You knew that look, that was his, “Oh, really?” look. You start to protest but Changbin is faster and stronger than you are. 
Before you could process what he was doing, he had your shirt over your head, and hands pinned to the wall using your shirt. You pant, lips parted as he leans into your face, his free hand coming to trail soft, teasing traces against your jaw. Changbin twirls a piece of your hair around his finger, biting his lip as he giggles, “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about… stop being so coy.” You stare at him for a few moments, “You just wanted to get me naked.” You watch as a seductive grin spreads across his face, air sucking through his teeth as he pinned your hips to the wall with his. “I always want to see you naked.” He hummed, placing an open-mouthed kiss on your jaw. 
You can’t contain the shudder that rips through your body as he laps at the skin of your earlobe. Your brain starts to turn to mush the moment his hips grind against yours, and you try not to turn into putty in his hands, but it is hard. 
He dropped your hands and you instantly tossed your shirt to the ground, wrapping your arms around his neck. Changbin tapped your thighs, signaling you to jump up. You oblige without having to be told again, and he catches you, wrapping his hands around the backs of your legs. You whimpered in his mouth as he carried you back to the couch, tossing you onto the soft surface. 
You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching intently as he stripped his boxers off, tossing them off behind him. He pressed into your body, causing you to shudder. He grins down at you, “Since I won, I think I should get a bonus.” You roll your eyes, “You’re pushing it, mister.” You warn, making him chuckle. “Hear me out,” he presses a soft, heated kiss to your lips. You wanted it to last, but he of course has other plans. You groan, “Binie-” You start to complain but he only pulls away for a moment. He shifts so that you’re on top, his back resting against the back cushions of your couch. 
You never were on top. Changbin always wanted to be top, not that you were complaining, man knew what he was doing. You frown down at him, “Changbin, I don’t know-” You start to worry but his lips on yours stop you from continuing. He wraps his hand around the back of your neck, the other ghosting down your side to your hip. The hand that was around your neck gripped you tightly, and he growled into your mouth, “I won, so I decide what my prize is.” You shudder at his dominance and let him guide you down to his length. You fist the fabric of the cushions as he groans, thrusting up softly as you settle against his hips, completely stuffed full of him. 
You gasp when he pulls your hips a few inches, scooting his to the edge of the couch for balance. He looks up at you, lust in his eyes as he bites his bottom lip. He slowly rolled his hips upward, and for the briefest of moments, you both go rigid. Changbin’s fingertips dig into your hips, making you squirm to adjust. “Fuck,” you whimper as he tests the waters, rolling his hips up again. You pant into his shoulder, making him groan, “Baby…” he groans, wrapping his arm around your waist. He held your body close to his, burying his face into your hair as he found a steady rhythm. You mewl into his skin, digging your fingers into his sides as he began to thrust harder. 
You panted heavily into his arm, “Binie,” you whined, shuttering as he groaned, “Fuck, this is-is amazing.” He praised, gripping your ass cheeks, pounding up into you. You moan, pulling away so you can balance yourself using the back of the couch. You glance down at him to see that his gaze keeps bouncing between your breasts and behind you. You nearly ask what he’s looking at but when you twist your head you see exactly what he was talking about. 
Normally, Changbin can’t get enough of your breasts. He’s normally licking, nipping, and sucking at your nipples and the skin surrounding them from the moment you get your shirt off. The only other thing that could rival them was your ass. He swore from the beginning he was an ass man, but these days, he wasn’t so sure. It was too cute to see the visual of him being torn between watching your ass bounce in the mirror or your breasts bounce in his face. He whimpered, his face pressing into your side as he pulled you into his body, angling his hips so that he could thrust deeper into you. 
You forget every thought as you stare behind you in the mirror, watching as he fucked into you from beneath you. The sight alone could make you- you squeeze your eyes shut, your breath catching in your throat as you come. You let out a soft squeal of ecstasy as you shatter, earning a low moan from Changbin. 
He thrusts into you a few more times, drawing out your orgasm until you were shaking. He pulled himself out of your weeping hole and you protest, “Changbin-” You stop when you feel him push on one side, pulling on the other. You turn around in his grasp and let him position your body how he wants. Your feet were on either side of his spread legs, and you were leaning against his tacky chest. 
You could die with how exposed you were, the reflection of your bodies in the mirror showing how filthy Changbin really intended to be with you tonight. He wastes no more time and guided himself back into your cunt and you let your head lull between your shoulders. Changbin wraps a hand around your throat, growling into your neck, “Don’t stop looking.” He demanded. You shudder, holding his hips as you look forward. Changbin looked determined as his free hand snaked between your spread legs to your clit, causing you to yelp as he rubbed soft, slow circles. Compete the opposite of how he was treating your pussy. You emit a low, pathetic whine as his thumb and fingers press into your neck, your head spinning lightly as you squeeze his cock, coming yet again, as if on demand. Your nails dig into his skin, surely leaving marks that he’ll hear about later. 
He didn’t care about that right now. The only thing he wanted more than anything in this world was to watch you come undone on his cock until you were screaming, begging, pleading for him to stop. But he knew how far to wind you up before letting you go. 
He was good at that. 
He doesn’t stop those sick movements, alternating releasing the pressure from your throat and rubbing your clit faster when he did. Building you up to watch you fall off the edge of bliss each time in the mirror. 
You feel him twitch and he lets out a sweet melody of curses and moans, before biting your shoulder and coming inside you. You watch as his hips stutter and falter altogether. You both pant for a few moments and then he lazily pulls his cock out from inside you, slumping against the couch. He pulls you off his lap and crawls up the length of your body until his between it and the back of your couch. “Fuck.” He panted, placing his hand on your stomach and nuzzling your neck. All you could do was nod, too fucked out to really form words yet. 
He noticed, chuckling at you, “Aw, too hard?” You shake your head at him, “No,” your voice is froggy and rough from the amount of breathy moans and pants that he drew from you. You clear your throat, “No.” He grinned at you wickedly, “Then, you wouldn’t mind a round two?” You groan, “Oh no,” you push him away as grinded against your hips, “I don’t think so.” He glowered, “Aw, why not?” You shake your head, not looking at him. “I don’t think so, not tonight.”
“In the morning then?” He asked, placing a soft kiss on your cheek. You roll your eyes at his ravenous hunger, “The morning is a different story. We’ll see how sore I am.”
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anodeorain · 1 year ago
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Lady Dimitrescu x Y/N
Tags: cigarettes, alcohol
Notes: this one is a nameless drabble. I’ve been feeling kinda down for few days now and this came out. hope, you enjoy.
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Another sleepless night. Another careless walk around the giant castle. Your steps echoes through the hall as you sneak around the dim lit rooms. The silence sends shivers down your spine, you even can hear your own heartbeat.
You hold the candle that barely illuminates the hall. Gliding your fingers against the cold sharp wall you continue your small journey to the library. The windows are covered with thick materials. You never knew why but other maids gossiped about it, saying there are formidable things outside you never wish to see. You shiver just from the thought of it but keep walking. Finally, you reach the stairs. You’ve been working here for the past few years, you obviously know every inch of stair’s floorboards and which of them creak and crunch under your feet.
You quietly walk upstairs, as slow as you can, making sure you make no sounds. As you get on the third floor you look around, ensuring you’re all alone. You see familiar door. The one that leads to the huge library with impressive amount of books. But still there’s another door, you can’t say anything about it. It’s been locked since your arrival.
You can notice a thin stream of light on the floor from behind the secret chamber’s door. It’s slightly ajar, you can say. It’s the first time you catch such thing. You spin your head around, making sure for one last time there’s no other soul on the floor, before quietly sneaking toward the massive ornamental wooden door.
You pull the doorknob just a little more, tiptoeing inside. The room is large, walls painted mostly in green. The huge lacquered piano stays in the middle of the room. The room also has a small loggia and few coffee tables with couches around them. Seems like someone gave performances here long time ago. The layer of dust covers everything in this room, including dried flowers in luxury decorated vases.
Two candles on top of piano’s music shelf lit up the room. Candles stay on both sides of handwritten sheet music. You take a look at it but you can’t distinguish anything. You slowly reach your hand to the keys, touching them with the tips of your fingers. They feel sleek and chill under your fingers.
Heavy clicking sounds echoes through the third floor and you gasp, turning your head toward the door. You immediately head off to the darkest corner of the room, covering your mouth with your hands as you sit on the floor, too terrified to breathe.
You and Lady Dimitrescu have been in a weird sort of relationship for about a year now. She let you sleep with her in her bed sometimes. She treats you with delicious food twice a week. She gives you an opportunity to take a bath in her own bathtub. You are have sex but still, Alcina is a dark horse. She delicately avoids most of topics you want to discuss with her. You’re lucky enough if The Lady is in a good mood which means you will not be punished for bringing some topics up. You barely know her, you can’t read her emotions and you never know what’s on her mind.
The door opens slowly and a tall figure ducks through the door. It’s the countess. She wears a long dark crimson nightgown and black heels. Her hat is placed on top of her head. Sometimes you think she never takes it off. The dim light from candles frames her curvy silhouette. The Lady looks around, placing the large bottle and her favorite crimson goblet of one of her wines on the tiny table nearby the piano. She frowns for a second before taking a seat at the piano.
Her long pale fingers touch the piano keys. The sound of the first note echoes loudly in the room and your heart starts thumping against your rib cage even harder. Lady Dimitrescu presses another key and another and another until the beautiful, sad music comes together. You see Alcina tapping the foot as she plays, her nimble fingers going over the keys over and over, sticking every note. It does sound magnificent. You even could compare that to some famous compositors. You never knew your Lady is the one herself.
The countess stops playing. She opens the bottle of wine, pouring some into the goblet. She swirls the wine in it before gulping the wine and pouring some more. She takes a pack of cigarettes, lights one up. The harsh smell of tobacco comes across the room and reaches your sensitive nostrils. You squeeze your nostrils with your fingers, breathing through your mouth now as you are about to sneeze. The Lady puts one hand on the keys, tapping them slowly as she keeps smoking and sipping the wine.
“Did you enjoy my performance?”
She asks, her voice is cold yet you can tell she’s smirking. Alcina doesn’t turn to you, she takes her goblet and gulps the wine.
“How do you know I’m here?”
“Oh, Draga Mea, I can smell your blood rushing through your veins from miles away. Such a divine scent of fear.”
Lady’s voice becomes lower and she slowly turns around on her chair, facing you now.
“Such an rebellious pet. I bet, you earned a punishment today.”
A devilish grin comes upon her crimson lips, sending chills down your spine. Alcina beckons you with her finger and you slowly walk toward her, tugging on your dress as your anxiety level increases. Lady Dimitrescu seems tranquil and you can notice sadness in her eyes.
“What’s the matter, Alcina?”
You ask in a soft tone. She doesn’t respond. The countess wraps her muscular arm around your waist and pulls you close, letting you sit on her lap. You look up at her, catching sorrowful smile. She hands you her crimson goblet.
“Be a dear, hold it for a minute, pet.”
You carefully hold the goblet as Alcina pours herself more wine. It’s sticky and smells like blood, you scrunch your nose and she lets out a chuckle. She puts the bottle away and gently wraps her large palm around your wrist, pulling your arm up. Her dark cherry lips wrap around the rim of the goblet as she sips the wine. The bloody liquid runs down her chin. You stare at her open mouthed as she continues sipping the wine. The view puts you in a trance. You reach your hand to her face, gently wiping the wine off her face with your thumb. She lets out another low chuckle and rolls her eyes.
Finally, Alcina takes the empty goblet away from your small hand and smiles, placing it on the table. You keep your gaze at her and she raises an eyebrow at you.
“What is it, Y/N?”
She asks and you shake your head lightly, blushing. You feel embarrassed and want the ground to swallow you up. Lady Dimitrescu laughs, running her hand through your hair, bowing down to kiss the top of your head.
You both sit like this for few minutes. Alcina passes her hand through your hair and you lean against her chest, enjoying the physical contact. The countess stares at nowhere, deep in her thoughts and you can not let yourself to disturb her. She speaks first.
“I feel so betrayed. I am doing my best to be greatest in her eyes. I deserve it… To be worthy of her attention and love. I demonstrate her my honor and loyalty and it is still not enough.”
The countess sighs as she finishes her small monologue and lights a cigarette, her lips tremble as she takes a drag. She pulls you closer to her body, you feel the coldness of her pale grayish skin. Alcina’s shoulders shake slightly and she presses her fist against her mouth. She takes a deep breath before looking down at you.
“They are better. Heisenberg hates her, Moreau is a hideous whiner and Donna is a creepy lunatic. And yet, I am not the one to merit her consideration. Dear, dear… How very unfortunate.”
Lady Dimitrescu lets out a muffled snigger and looks down at you again. She puts her forefinger under your chin, tilting it up, making you look at her. Surprisingly, you don’t see a single tear in her dead, ashy eyes, that used to glow with vivid gold.
Alcina stays quiet, staring into your eyes, looking for support and care. Her eyes stray around your face, almost crying out for help. You cup her face, caress her cheeks with your thumbs, feeling her leaning into the touch. Your eyes locked to one another’s. She is the first to make a move. The countess lean closer, pressing her bitten lips against yours, leaving a red mark on them. The kiss is soft yet sorrowful. She pulls away, looking away from you.
“You may go, Y/N. It is getting late, you should get a proper amount of sleep.”
Lady’s voice is cold again, there is no space for emotions anymore.
“No.”
You disobey, making Alcina feel annoyance.
“Listen. I don’t need any pity and sympathy. These feelings are miserable.”
She spits out the last word, seizing a bottle by the neck, raising it toward her lips.
“I want to stay to make sure you’re okay. I wish I could show you the sympathy but I’m aware, you don’t appreciate that kind of emotions. ”
Lady Dimitrescu stays silenced, not being able to respond to your words. Thousand of thoughts run through her head and she sighs.
“Play your song again for me, Alcina. Please.”
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oh-stars · 8 months ago
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Interior Design
Modern
a Stobin Month 2024 prompt | 289 words | CW: N/A | Rating: G
--
“We are not buying a neon couch,” Steve says, crossing his arms. 
Robin rolls his eyes. “We finally have our own space that is fully ours to decorate and you want a boring leather couch?” 
“It’s not boring! Think of all the pillows and blankets we can add!” Steve walks over to the other display set, where the chunky, black leather couch is delicately styled with beige knit blankets and small throw pillows. He takes off the blankets and folds them onto the sleek, wooden coffee table, then grabs the brightly multi-colored blanket off the bright orange couch Robin likes. “And this way, we can change the atmosphere every week if we wanted to.”
“I just don’t want our place to be…” 
“Stuffy?” Steve asks softly, rubbing his neck. 
Robin winces, but nods. “I like the pillows and blanket idea,” she adds, motioning to it. “It’s your place too, so it should be a blend of us.” 
“With the black couch,” Steve says slowly as he moves to stand beside Robin, “we can get that abstract coffee table you like.” 
She gasps, practically vibrating with excitement as she spins toward the direction of the blobby, gloopy table she fell in love with earlier – with its bright yellow plastic and clear glass top. Robin had talked herself out of it because it was too big, too expensive to commit to when they didn’t know what the rest of the living room would look like. 
“This couch,” Steve says as he motions back to the display, “is like a foundation piece, right? It’s modern, sure, but it’s basic enough that we can put whatever we want with it and it’ll look good.” 
Robin grins. “I like the way you think, dingus.” 
--
Thank you @lady-lostmind for beta reading!
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lavenderpanic · 9 months ago
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NEW FIC
Okay I've been messing around with this idea for like months and i only have like 3k words written and I wanted to test the waters to see if this is something you guys are interested in reading.
Brief synopsis: Bucky, a 23 year old college dropout, lives with his fiancé Brock Rumlow by the small New England college Brock is a professor at. Between his OCD and his anxiety and the gender dysphoria his fiancé assures him is all in his head, he struggles to find purpose and happiness. That is, until his fiancé's graduate student, Steve Rogers, moves into town and disrupts everything Bucky thought he knew.
Excerpt below cut, TW: OCD, DV, intentional midgendering/deadnaming, SH behaviors, coercion
Bucky peeks his head into the living room. There are only three men besides his fiancé, but the conversation is already too loud. Brock always says Bucky is just especially sensitive, that he has a naturally nervous predisposition, that’s why he’s best suited to staying home most of the time. He’s right, Bucky is sensitive, to noises and lights and crowds. Brock is so kind to not force him to go out. When he was a kid, his parents always thought he was faking it for attention, so they’d make him go to church and school and the grocery store even when he was overwhelmed. Brock never makes him leave if he doesn’t want to. And sometimes, even if he does want to, Brock knows it’s better for him to stay inside.
“Jamie, why don’t you bring out the drinks?” Brock calls.
Bucky’s back stiffens and he takes a slow breath. The men probably won’t even want to talk to him, they rarely do, beyond simple pleasantries. He just needs to smile and look nice. He grabs the silver tray of gin and tonics and walks into the living room with a timid little smile. He recognizes two of the men, other professors from the university, Rollins and Sitwell, he actually took a course with Rollins before he dropped out, but he doesn’t recognize the third. He looks barely older than Bucky himself, with his sandy hair and round, blue eyes, like perfectly ripe blueberries.
He doesn’t dress like the other men, either. During their classes, sure, they may dress nicely, in suits or button-ups with pressed slacks, but when they get together outside of that, they nearly always wear jeans, maybe a nice shirt or a sweater if they care enough that night. But the younger man, the blond, he’s dressed up like a vaguely homosexual humanities major from a nineties movie about a college in New England. Sweater vest, pants in a cinnamon-y kind of brown, a cream-white shirt rolled up to his elbows.
Brock pecks Bucky’s cheek as he places the tray down on the coffee table, next to the platters of carefully-selected crackers and nuts and cheeses that Bucky has spent the last two years learning how to curate. Brock’s real particular about shit like that. “Thanks, babe,” Brock says gently.
“Dinner should be ready soon,” Bucky whispers, sidling up close to him and glancing at the other men. “Like… half an hour more, I think? The potatoes just need a bit longer.”
“Of course, babydoll,” Brock murmurs, then kisses Bucky’s cheek again. “Go on, you don’t have to stay in here.”
Bucky smiles thankfully and disappears back into the kitchen. It’s a gorgeous kitchen, Brock wanted to gut it and rebuild it all marble and sleek, but Bucky begged him to keep it the way it is. It has beautiful hand painted tiles and dark-stained wooden cabinets and the most perfectly-worn brass fixtures. Brock finally agreed to keep it the way he bought it, if only because Bucky’s the one who spends so much time in the kitchen.
The kitchen smells glorious, the whole apartment does, really. Like thyme and garlic and the orange-cranberry cake he baked this afternoon. The potatoes in the oven are a soft golden-brown, encrusted with herbs, and the steak is resting on the counter. He did a good job. Brock will be happy with him. He didn’t mess up like last time.
He decides to start on the icing for the cake, a simple powdered sugar icing, perhaps with a squeeze or two of orange juice. He plucks the leftover orange from the ceramic fruit bowl and places it down on the counter before going to the cupboard and reaching for the paper bag of icing sugar. He has to stand on his tiptoes and lean against the counter and he’s still barely tall enough to brush his fingers against the bottom of the bag. He gets a loose grip on it when–
“Oh, hey, do you need help with that?”
Bucky whirls around in surprise, sending the bag tumbling to the ground. Nearly half of it flies out in a sugary cloud, painting the antique tiles an ashy grey. On the other side of the cloud stands the blond, the young man who Bucky still hasn’t been introduced to.
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” he says with wide eyes.
“No, no, my fault,” Bucky whispers. Brock is going to be so mad with him for making such a bad mess. He’ll need to really mop it, maybe twice or even three times, fine sugar is almost impossible to clean properly. “Sorry.”
“No, nonsense, do you have a broom or something, I could–”
Bucky shakes his head quickly and gestures for Steve to return to the men before he finds his voice. “‘S not your fault, I can clean it. Do you… you need something?”
“Yeah, I’m sorry, Rumlow just said there would be seltzer or soda or something in here. I’m not much of a drinker,” he laughs apologetically.
“Oh, yeah, of course,” Bucky nods. He opens the fridge to reveal shelves upon shelves of perfectly organized food, labeled tupperwares, straight lines of soda cans. “Any flavor you prefer?” Bucky asks quietly.
“Yeah, lemon would be great, thanks.” Bucky hands him a silvery can with a little lemon slice embossed into its front, careful not to slip into the mess of sugar. “Oh, I’m Steve, by the way. I’m a PhD candidate, I just moved here. I’m, um, TA-ing for one of Rumlow’s courses, and I’m teaching one myself.”
“Ooh, that sounds interesting,” Bucky hums. He struggles to think of an intelligent-sounding thing to say next. “What are you, like… getting your PhD in?”
Steve starts to say something, he nearly launches into what must be a very rehearsed recitation of his field of study, but Brock appears in the doorway next to him a moment later, places a hand on his far shoulder like they’re pals. Brock’s easy smile falls from his face when he sees the pile of sugar in the very center of the kitchen. Bucky instinctively takes a step back at the displeasure written into every line of his face. “What’s taking so long?” Brock chuckles, but there isn’t any humor in it.
“I’m really sorry, man,” Steve chuckles, ducking his head in faux-embarrassment. “I knocked over the sugar when I went to open the fridge, stupid mistake.”
Brock’s posture softens a bit, his shoulders drop and he stops glaring at Bucky quite so menacingly. “Yeah, she can clean it up, don’t worry about it.”
Bucky shoots Steve a little thankful grin as the two men walk out of the kitchen. He manages to salvage the sugar that didn’t fall out of the bag and does his best to brush as much of the mess on the floor into a trash bag as he can. He’ll clean the rest tonight, once everyone leaves and he can really scrub at the tile.
He doesn’t get the chance to make the icing before he has to plate up dinner, but that’s fine, the men usually like to drink and talk a bit in between dinner and dessert, so he should have plenty of time to ice the cake in between. He sets five plates full of potatoes and steak and grilled asparagus on the table and calls in for the men. He sits at Brock’s side. He doesn’t have steak, he doesn’t really like to eat meat, it feels weird against his teeth, but he does love potatoes and asparagus. He manages to finish off his plate, which earns him a small nod of approval from his fiancé.
“So, Jamie, what do you do?” Steve asks, once there’s a lull in conversation.
Bucky takes a shaky breath and glances to Brock before answering. “I really just take care of the home, I don’t… work or anything.”
The focus is quickly drawn away from him, and he doesn’t mind. He really doesn’t have anything interesting to add to any conversation. Not unless the topic is baked goods or bookshelves or something. He isn’t good at small talk, but it’s okay, because people don’t usually want to talk to him anyway.
He clears the table while the men chat in the living room. He notices Steve glancing at him through the doorway that connects the living room to the dining room, which makes him a bit uneasy, but people who meet him through Brock usually are a bit surprised to realize he’s so young. There’s only a seventeen year gap, but Bucky knows he’s still quite young. Most people don’t expect a forty-year-old professor to have a twenty-three-year-old fiancée at home. Bucky doesn’t mind. Brock doesn’t, so why should he?
He makes the icing once the table is re-set with clean dessert dishes, a simple icing, vanilla and powdered sugar and milk and a bit of orange juice. He drizzles it neatly onto the bundt cake and places it on the table proudly and waits in the kitchen until the men decide they’re hungry again. Steve sits next to Bucky this time. Brock on one side, Steve on the other.
“Shit, this is good,” Steve curses under his breath. The other men are too busy talking about something Bucky doesn’t understand to compliment him, but he doesn’t mind, he doesn’t need to be thanked for doing what’s expected of him. “Is this from, like, scratch?”
“Yeah,” Bucky whispers, grinning a bit. “It’s a recipe I developed. I have a lot of time. I made a lot of lemon blueberry cake this summer and I thought I could adapt it for autumn.”
“Are you gonna eat some? Seriously, this is like… better than bakery quality.”
“Oh, I’m not hungry,” Bucky lies. He’s on a diet. Not a strict one, but he absolutely couldn’t fit a whole slice of cake into his daily calorie allotment. Maybe if he doesn’t eat breakfast or lunch tomorrow, he could have a leftover slice after dinner.
He busies himself in the kitchen, packing up leftovers and wiping down the counters, while the men say their goodbyes. As expected, moments after the door shuts, Brock appears in the kitchen. “You need to clean the floor,” He says, as if that hasn’t been the only thing on Bucky’s mind all evening.
“I will,” Bucky promises earnestly. “Did I do good tonight?”
“Well, darling,” Brock corrects with a little chuckle. “Yes, you did very well. Such a lovely hostess,” he teases, which makes Bucky’s cheeks go a bit pink, he never does like when Brock makes such a point of calling him a woman, but he knows he meant it as a compliment so he doesn’t protest.
“Thank you,” Bucky grins.
“Come to the bedroom once this is all cleaned up, alright?”
“Alright,” Bucky parrots nervously. He’ll have to hurry up his cleaning, Brock gets mad when he thinks Bucky is procrastinating sex. Bucky doesn’t want to be punished tonight. Having to see so many people already exhausted him, and he narrowly escaped a punishment for dropping the sugar all over the kitchen floor.
But still, he presses a polite smile onto his face and nods and Brock leaves him alone to clean. After two passes with a mop, there are only a few sticky streaks left behind. He’ll really scrub it clean tomorrow, but Brock probably won’t notice in the interim.
Bucky reluctantly shuffles up the stairs to the bedroom. Brock is laying down on the bed, laptop balanced on his thighs. Bucky resists the urge to remind him not to wear outside clothes on the fresh comforter, just barely, Brock gets annoyed when he gets all obsessive about that kind of stuff. Bucky perches delicately on the end of the bed and waits for Brock to finish whatever he’s typing up. He rushes Brock, sometimes, because he’s selfish with Brock’s time. He’s trying to get better, though.
Finally, Brock closes his computer and places it on the side table. He looks at Bucky for several tense breaths. Bucky fidgets anxiously. Is something wrong? Is he doing something wrong? He glances down unsurely at what he’s wearing. “I noticed you were doing it again,” Brock finally states.
“Doing what?” Bucky whispers.
“Scratching your arms.”
“I haven’t been,” Bucky defends quickly. His hands immediately go to circle his forearms, he crosses them over his chest protectively.
“I saw you doing it tonight,” Brock says slowly. “Take off your sweater, Jamie. And roll up those sleeves, too.”
Bucky pulls his knit sweater over his head, then bunches up the long sleeves of his dress to his elbows so his forearms are visible. All along his arms, blanketed by a sheer layer of iridescent scars, soft violet bruises blossom alongside irritated-looking scratches, some newer than others. He looks away, embarrassed. He truly didn’t notice he was doing it, it’s been a habit for so long that he rarely registers it. Brock coos with mock-sympathy and sits up a bit, gesturing for Bucky to scoot closer. He does.
“Baby, you need to stop doing that, look how ugly they are. You’re just making it harder for the scars to heal.”
“‘M sorry,” Bucky mumbles. Brock takes him by the wrists, turns his mottled arms this way and that. After a few moments of inspection, Brock drops his arms again and reaches his hands for his belt. “No, please, I’m sorry,” Bucky whispers desperately, shrinking away from his fiancé as discreetly as he can manage.
“Hands out.”
Bucky lifts his hands up, facing the palms toward Brock. They’re trembling, but he knows better than to refuse. Brock carefully folds his belt in half and strikes Bucky’s palms, ten times, in close succession. Bucky flinches, but he never takes his hands away. Brock is right to discipline him. He’s right, he needs to break this habit. It is ugly. He’s ugly. Brock deserves better than that. “Thank you,” he says quickly, as Brock tosses the belt to the side and leans back against the headboard.
“I’m just trying to help you, darling, you know that.”
“I do,” Bucky nods, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. Brock always keeps the house so freezing. Bucky usually doesn’t mind, but he always feels so shaky when Brock makes him get undressed. His fingertips turn all blue.
Brock undoes his pants, spreads his legs to either side of Bucky so he can crawl forward and situate himself on his stomach. He takes Brock’s dick out of his pants and strokes at it a couple times, but it’s already erect. He takes it into his mouth and sucks gently at the head, he wants to prolong this part to hopefully avoid having Brock fuck into the back of his throat for too long. He hates that. One time he got sick, and Brock got so mad, even though Bucky kind of felt, deep down, like it was Brock’s fault. Since then, every time Brock starts gripping onto his hair and thrusting down his throat, he feels panic tugging at his lungs and nausea pooling low in his stomach.
Thankfully, he leaves Bucky in control for most of the blowjob, he lets him wrap his hands around the length left out of his mouth and stroke at it, which keeps him mollified, even if Bucky should try a bit harder to deepthroat him. Before he can come, he lifts Bucky off of his dick. Bucky blinks and sniffles unsurely as oxygen floods into his lungs. He didn’t–
Bucky flinches as a string of come lands over his eye. Another one, in his hair. He breathes shakily and retches shallowly and waits for Brock to be done. Thankfully, Brock isn’t very chatty after sex. He just throws a few tissues at him and starts scrolling through his phone, dick still hanging out of his undone fly. Bucky used to crave intimacy and conversation afterwards but nowadays he’s just so excited to run off to the shower and have a few minutes to himself.
He starts running the shower in the conjoined bathroom before he even starts undressing. He usually likes to let the mirror steam up so he doesn’t have to look at himself more than necessary. It’s not that the dresses and lipstick and frilly blouses don’t make him dysphoric, and he can still see the contours of his body, his chest, his waist, even through the thin layer of steam collected on the mirror, but it makes his evenings just a bit easier.
Sometimes he dares to use Brock’s body wash, the one that smells like, according to the bottle, a volcano, which makes Bucky giggle a bit. Brock rarely notices when he does, and Bucky can usually pass it off rather easily, oh, we’re almost out of mine, if he mentions it. But tonight he doesn’t. Tonight, he scrubs himself down with his apricot-sweet gel and lathers his hair until it’s sleek and shiny with coconut shampoo and conditioner. Sometimes, he tries to buy nice girly things, scents that make him happy, in some lame attempt to convince himself that he can be happy as a woman. That he can embrace it, embrace the delicate femininity Brock so desperately wants him to embody. So far, he hasn’t had much luck.
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lifeofpriya · 2 months ago
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sinner req ml! "i brought you flowers." "for what?" "there has to be a reason?" like that’d be so cute
hiii!!! i hope y'all enjoy this fic 🤭❤️
Unexpected Beauty
wc: 2.6k
You're sitting in the quiet sanctuary of your small apartment, the only sounds being the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the distant murmur of the city outside. The afternoon light filters through the blinds, casting a warm glow across the worn wooden floorboards. You're lost in thought, scrolling through your phone, when you hear a knock at the door.
"Surprise!" Jannik says, beaming as you open the door. He's holding a bouquet of flowers, their vibrant colors standing out against the neutral tones of your living room. You can't help but smile back at his unexpected gesture.
The bouquet is a mix of roses, tulips, and daisies, their stems wrapped in simple brown paper. The smell is faint but sweet, tickling your nose as you take them from his outstretched hand. "What's this for?" you ask, eyebrows furrowed in pleasant confusion.
"Just because," Jannik says, his eyes lighting up with a playful glint. He steps inside, his sneakers squeaking against the floor. You close the door behind him, still holding the flowers in disbelief. "I know we don't have an anniversary or anything, but I saw them at the market and thought of you."
You look at the bouquet again, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "They're beautiful," you murmur, running your thumb over the velvety petals of a rose. The thorns are carefully removed, leaving no trace of the danger they once posed.
Jannik shrugs off his jacket, revealing the sleek lines of his athletic build beneath a simple white t-shirt. He heads to the kitchen, his movements fluid and graceful, despite his towering height. You follow, watching as he opens the fridge and pulls out a vase filled with water. "Let's get these beauties in some water," he says, his accent wrapping around the words like a warm embrace.
You place the flowers on the counter, and he carefully arranges them, snipping the stems and placing each bloom just so. His focus is intense, his hands gentle. It's a side of him you rarely see outside of the tennis court—his tenderness for something so delicate. The vase is soon filled with the bouquet, a riot of colors that brighten the space.
"There," he says, stepping back to admire his handiwork. His grin is wide, his cheeks flushed with excitement. He's like a child who's just given you a hand-picked bouquet of dandelions, and you love him for it.
You lean in, planting a soft kiss on his cheek, "thank you."
Jannik laughs, the sound echoing through the room. "It's nothing," he says, but his eyes tell a different story—they sparkle with joy at your reaction. He takes your hand and leads you to the couch, the bouquet now a centerpiece on the coffee table. You both sit down, the cushions molding to the shape of your bodies.
He reaches for the remote, but you stop him. "Let's not watch TV," you suggest, not wanting to break the moment. "Tell me about your day instead."
Jannik's eyes meet yours, his smile softening. He leans back, squeezing your hand. "It was good," he starts, his voice a gentle rumble. "Training was tough, but seeing these"—he nods to the flowers—"made it all worth it."
You listen intently as he recounts his day, the rhythm of his words painting a vivid picture. His voice is rich with the passion he has for his sport, his eyes lighting up as he describes the thrill of a perfect serve, the satisfaction of a well-placed volley. Each word is a glimpse into his soul, his dedication palpable.
The conversation shifts to your day, and you share the mundane details of your own routine—work, errands, the little moments that filled your hours. Yet, with Jannik, even the most ordinary events seem to sparkle with significance. His genuine interest in your life is a warm embrace, his nods and smiles encouraging you to continue.
As you speak, you notice his thumb tracing patterns on the back of your hand, a gentle reminder of his presence. It's these small, intimate gestures that make your heart flutter, reminding you of why you fell for him in the first place. His dedication to tennis is matched only by his commitment to you, and you can't help but feel a sense of pride in being with someone so driven and successful.
The room feels cozier with Jannik in it, his warmth radiating like a miniature sun. You curl your fingers around his, your thumb brushing against his, creating a silent conversation of comfort. The light from the setting sun kisses his skin, highlighting the contours of his face.
"So, what do you think?" he asks, breaking the spell.
You look at him, confused for a moment before realizing he's referring to the flowers. "They're perfect," you reply, meaning every word. "They really do brighten up the place."
Jannik nods, his eyes still on you. "And you," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You're the one who makes everything brighter."
You feel your cheeks flush, a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the setting sun. He leans in, and you meet him halfway, your lips pressing together in a soft, lingering kiss. It's a moment of pure contentment, unmarred by the chaos of the world outside.
As you pull away, you notice the bouquet on the table has started to wilt slightly. "They need more water," Jannik says, jumping up with surprising agility for someone so tall. He fills a glass and carefully pours it into the vase, his movements precise and calculated, much like his shots on the tennis court.
You watch him, a smile playing on your lips. "You know, you're pretty good at this," you tease, nudging his arm gently.
Jannik laughs, a sound that's both deep and light at the same time. "It's all about taking care," he says, his eyes meeting yours. "Flowers, like people, need the right amount of love and attention to thrive."
You can't argue with that. The way he looks at you, it's like you're the most important person in the world. The flowers are just a symbol of the effort he puts into your relationship, the little things that remind you he's thinking of you even when he's on the other side of the globe, smashing aces and breaking hearts on the tennis court.
The evening stretches before you, filled with the promise of a quiet dinner in, maybe a movie. Jannik's schedule is hectic, so these stolen moments of normalcy are precious. He heads to the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge for something to cook. You offer to help, but he waves you off. "I've got this," he says with a wink.
You watch as he moves with an athlete's grace, the muscles in his arms flexing as he opens cabinets and drawers. He's so at home in your space, it's easy to forget that he's usually on the road, living out of a suitcase. The sight of him here, in your kitchen, is more surprising than the flowers.
The sound of pans clanging and ingredients being chopped fills the air as Jannik starts to cook. The aroma of garlic and olive oil wafts over, making your stomach rumble.
You decide to help after all, rising from the couch and joining him in the kitchen. You stand close, feeling the heat from the stove and his body meld together. You grab a cutting board and start chopping vegetables, matching his rhythm. The kitchen isn't large, but you move around each other with an ease that comes from knowing each other's patterns.
Jannik glances over at you, his eyes lingering for a moment before returning to the stove. "Thank you," he says, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. The simple act of cooking together feels like a dance, a shared moment of comfort in the chaos of your lives.
The kitchen is a whirlwind of activity, but the air is thick with the scent of love and companionship. You peel off your cardigan, the warmth from the stove adding to the coziness of the room. The sound of sizzling fills the space as Jannik adds the vegetables to the pan, and the smell of garlic and olive oil becomes intoxicating.
You both laugh as you accidentally bump into each other, your hands colliding mid-chop. Jannik's laughter is contagious, and you find yourself giggling, the stress of the day melting away. You catch his eye, and for a moment, you're lost in the depth of his gaze, the connection between you as palpable as the heat from the stove.
As the meal comes together, the apartment feels alive with the sounds of sizzling and the clinking of glasses as you pour wine. The bouquet on the table seems to have absorbed the light from the room, casting a soft, romantic glow across the dinner setup. The flowers are a reminder of the unexpected beauty that can bloom in the most mundane moments.
Jannik plates the pasta, twirling it expertly onto the plates. He adds a sprinkle of cheese and a dash of basil, his movements a silent symphony of skill and care. You carry the plates to the small dining table, setting them down with a soft click. The table is already set with candles and a simple white tablecloth, creating an intimate atmosphere that feels like a celebration of your love.
You sit across from him, the bouquet of flowers a vibrant third wheel at the dinner party of two. You dig into the food, the flavors exploding on your tongue. Each bite is a testament to his thoughtfulness—his way of saying 'I love you' without the need for grand gestures or fancy words.
As you eat, you notice the way the candlelight flickers in his eyes, creating pockets of shadow and light that dance across his face. He looks up from his plate, catching your gaze, and for a moment, you're lost in the depth of his gaze. "What?" he asks, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Nothing," you reply, blushing slightly. "I just… I'm happy."
Jannik's smile widens, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He reaches across the table, placing his hand over yours. "Me too," he says, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin. The intimacy of the gesture sends a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself leaning into his touch.
The conversation flows easily as you eat, the candles casting a warm glow on the table, flickering shadows dancing across your plates. You talk about your dreams and fears, the hopes and doubts that make up the fabric of your lives. Jannik listens intently, his eyes never leaving yours, even as he takes sips of wine. You can see the wheels turning in his mind, processing every word, every nuance.
The meal is simple, yet it feels like the most gourmet feast you've ever tasted. The pasta is al dente, the sauce a perfect balance of acidity and sweetness that coats your mouth with every bite.
Jannik watches you eat, his eyes warm with pleasure at your enjoyment. "I'm not half bad, am I?" he asks, his smirk playful.
You laugh, shaking your head. "No, you're definitely not," you reply, your voice filled with affection. "You might have a future in the kitchen if tennis doesn't work out."
Jannik rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "I'll stick to the court for now," he says, his grip on your hand tightening briefly. "But I'm always happy to cook for you."
You finish your meal, the conversation meandering from one topic to the next. As the candles burn lower, casting longer shadows, you can't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. It's not the flowers or the dinner—though both are appreciated—it's the simple act of sharing space with someone who gets you, who goes out of their way to make you feel special even on the most ordinary of days.
Jannik stands and starts to clear the dishes, his movements efficient despite the lingering effects of a long day. "Let me help," you offer, standing up.
"You've done enough," he says, his eyes twinkling. "Just sit back and relax."
You obey, watching as he deftly navigates the kitchen, placing dishes in the sink. The sound of running water and the clank of cutlery is soothing, a gentle reminder of the domestic bliss you've found in each other's company.
As the last plate is rinsed, Jannik turns off the faucet and dries his hands. He walks over to you, taking your hand again. "Let's dance," he says, pulling you to your feet.
You look at him questioningly, but the mischief in his eyes tells you to just go with it. He leads you to the living room, where he's set up his phone playing a soft, romantic tune.
The music fills the space, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Jannik pulls you into his arms, his hand resting on the small of your back, guiding you gently. You follow his lead, the movements feeling natural and easy. His hand is firm but gentle, the perfect mix of strength and care.
You've never been much of a dancer, but with Jannik, it's like you've been doing this for years. His steps are slow and deliberate, matching the rhythm of your heartbeat. You lean into him, your cheek resting against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.
The bouquet of flowers watches over you both from the table, a silent observer of your shared happiness. The candles cast a warm glow on the walls, painting the room in a soft amber light that makes everything feel more romantic.
As you sway to the music, Jannik's hand slides up to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing against your skin in a gentle caress. You lean into him, your breathing syncing with the rhythm of the song. The warmth of his body envelops you, a safe haven from the outside world.
The music shifts to a slower tempo, and Jannik pulls you closer. Your bodies move as one, the fabric of your clothes whispering against each other with every step. The dance isn't about technique or flair, but about the connection between you, the unspoken language that speaks louder than words.
"I still can't believe you bought me flowers," you murmur into the crook of Jannik's neck as you sway together. His arms tighten around you in response, his hand on your lower back guiding you through the dance.
"There has to be a reason? Can't I just do something nice?" Jannik whispers into your hair, his breath tickling your ear. His voice is low and intimate, resonating through you like the bass of a love song. You tip your head back to look at him, his eyes searching yours for an answer.
"It's just… it's not like you to be so spontaneous," you admit, your voice laced with curiosity.
Jannik's smile softens, his eyes searching yours. "I want to make sure you know how much you mean to me," he says, his voice earnest. "Even when there's no grand occasion to celebrate."
You look down at the bouquet, the flowers still vibrant despite the passing hours. "They're a perfect reminder," you reply, feeling the warmth of his embrace.
Jannik's hand slides down to your waist, his fingers tracing the fabric of your shirt. The music plays on, a soundtrack to your shared moment. You're not a dancer, but with him, you feel graceful, your movements flowing like the notes of the song. His hand is steady, guiding you through the dance, as if you've been partners for a lifetime.
Your cheek is still pressed against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. It's comforting, a reminder that amidst the chaos of his tennis career and your own life, there's a constant in the form of this man. He's your rock, your safe place, and the way he looks at you, like you're the only person who matters in the world, makes your heart swell with love.
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lizzisimss · 1 year ago
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ancientevangelions · 5 months ago
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Save me, Ancient Evangelions! I have been thinking really hard about which aesthetics Shinji and Asuka would use to decorate their homes. Do you have any ideas?
This is what their house looks like in my fics: Asuka and Shinji buy a modest-sized house. Their bedroom has a nice plush Western-style bed, which Asuka likes to style with decorative pillows in reds and blues. Shinji is more minimalistic, but he loves Asuka to be spoiled. Asuka has a large closet full of clothing, and Shinji keeps his modest collection of outfits in a dresser.
They have an oversized couch for snuggling and watching TV, and Asuka has a few gaming systems. They have a nice coffee table where they keep some photo albums and several photos of their favourite trips and moments together around the house. Shinji has a well-stocked cleaning closet and a few tools to help fix the house and help his neighbours.
They have a shared office with a lovely desk, a laptop, and lots of beautiful stationery and pens.
Asuka loves to put up photos of nature, landscape paintings, birds, etc. Shinji has a small shrine devoted to their ancestors; Asuka and Shinji pray together, lighting incense and offerings to honour them. They have a few houseplants. Asuka buys them, but Shinji learns all about them and cares for them. Shinji also feeds the neighbourhood stray cats, and one of them may live in the house full-time now.
They have a nice Japanese kitchen and a small dining table. They sit down daily to eat dinner as a couple and often invite friends over. The furniture is often wooden, well-built, and beautiful.
They have a washing machine and dryer between their bathroom and the toilet (they are separated by doors). Shinji likes to hang the washing on the line outside. He has very old-fashioned tastes, preferring antiques and other lovely and well-made items over sleek and modern items. Asuka likes beautiful things and sometimes imports German decor. She loves her Cuckco clock especially. I think that covers the main points <3 Hope you enjoy it!
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mirrorthoughts · 1 year ago
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WIP Wednesday
I actually just wrote this and I don't know if it actually will be part of The little things eventually or just stay a standalone that gets shoved into my pocket soulmates-series as a small unrelated one-shot :D
But the thought of polyamorous pocket soulmates didn't let me go, so. Have a little hint of pocket soulmates/lysals Stetopher xD
It was the sound of babbling voices that woke Stiles from his slumber way too early. He grumbled, rubbed his eyes and glanced towards the sleek wooden side table Peter owned. After their run in with the hunters last night, his soulmate had insisted on taking him here to satisfy his frayed wolfy instincts and well, Stiles had been way too curious to say no. So he had told his dad where he would be and listened to his dad’s litany of threats against Peter if the guy would even touch him in the wrong places - not that Stiles was ready to go there just yet - and then he had spent the night in one of the most comfortable beds he’d ever slept in. Just to be woken up by their three lysals. Wait. Stiles shot up and stared at the three little guys running and… playing tag? on the side table. Of course he immediately recognized Petey and Spark - which also meant that Peter was still somewhere close in the apartment - and then there was that third little guy who looked uncannily like… “It’s Christopher.” Stiles flinched and looked to the door where Peter had appeared, already dressed and looking like he was ready to go somewhere. He also looked as if he’d bitten into a lemon, but, well. Stiles could kinda relate? “I’m going to get us breakfast. Then we can talk. If you want to get up, coffee’s in the kitchen, towels are in the bathroom and your clothes from yesterday are in the dryer. Make yourself at home, sweetheart.” For a moment Peter’s face morphed into a smile just for Stiles, then he looked back to the lysals and sighed. “Come on you two, I want to get going,” he said and left the room without waiting for Spark and the Chris-lysal who suddenly… plopped and split into two identical looking versions of himself, one following Peter with Spark and one staying on the side table with Petey. Stiles stared after Spark and the Chris-lysal, still stunned into silence. “…What the fuck??”
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