#i felt obligated to say something since i feel like some people are going about this the wrong way

[satoruhour]

need reader to have a confession with priest!geto about how they feel guilty for touching themselves late alone at night and priest!geto helps them by just fucking their brains out as a “penance” for their sins.

yes, i’m okay in the head btw! (lie)

AU REVOIR, O HEAVEN !

wc: 12.2k

warnings: DARK CONTENT, SLOW BUILDUP, CORRUPTION, priest!geto, fem!reader, age gap (reader is in early 20s, geto in late 20s), long descriptive fic that goes in depth of christian lore, lots and lots of christian references / metaphors / analogies, comparison to Satan’s banishment and fall from heaven, religious themes used in inappropriate ways, questions of religion and life, multiple scenes of f! and m! masturbation, fingering, clit stimulation, virginity loss, both f! and m! receiving oral, cumshot, praise, degradation, spitting, sex in a religious place, p -> v sex, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink, multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut

for a small town like yours, it was a no-brainer that everyone knew everyone; and everyone’s drama as well. from the baker’s daughter being a whore to the mayor of the town being sacked for purposes that have since been twisted by word of mouth. that was another thing: word got around fast, and it was particularly suffocating in a conservative town such as yours. people were not outright about the obvious choices they favoured, but there was the older generation who were not shy to turn down progressive ideas.

because of that, the previous priest was kicked out because of the misuse of funds from mass collection and offertory. it was one thing to see a bunch of notes missing from the sack and the money counter but it was another thing to see that money going into funding a new strip club that was opening in the next town over.

it was simply unheard of, and the parishioners basically gave him a free ride to that very strip club by excommunicating him from his own church. it was unbecoming of a priest, especially in such a small congregation that everyone made sure the new priest to transfer here was a God-honouring one.

you hope he was. you’ve always felt the obligated need to serve your god and your parents. always the good girl, following the Ten Commandments, saving yourself for marriage. it was the natural order of a christian, and you could only hope that you’d get even a fraction of the eternal life they preach about in mass. but lately you’ve been having some . . thoughts, and you pray that this new priest could help you immensely, even if you had to do a hundred Hail Mary’s at the pews.

it was peculiar, the first time it occurred to you. the area where your body separates into two and forms two legs — the centre of it all, the middle where Eve had it covered in statues and paintings with a leaf, the middle where you had only learned of it in anatomical drawings. you knew what the vagina, cervix and the ovaries were, but seeing the convergence of pink and maroon between your legs confused you, even scared you.

and the next was when you’d had a guy come up to you whilst doing up your university application, saying something along the lines of how cute you were, would you like to grab a drink some time? and you were left dumbfounded and unable to answer. you let your eyes travel over his features, of the exposed arms of his button up shirt and the thickness of his forearms, you let your eyes skim over his plump thighs before you’re asked “are you okay?”

“n . . no sorry, i already have a boyfriend.” you lie through your teeth and all the guy does is sigh before walking away — but now you’re left with a bigger problem . . why was the thing between your legs throbbing? you swear you can feel your panties getting wet as well, but you aren’t quite sure why.

that night you’re lying in bed with a lewd website shining right in your face, as you’ve laid here for about two hours already, going through in your head whether you really wanted to do this. your hands had been clean, untainted from the moment you were born, but you imagine going to university and knowing not a thing about sex and that makes your whole body burn in embarrassment.

you chicken out and fall asleep.

“honey! come down here, i want you to meet someone.” your mother calls out to you, running about like she usually does. she’s always overworking — caring for the newborn, cooking the meals, cleaning the place. why don’t you ask dad to help sometimes? / nonsense! he works so hard and deserves a break! i don’t mind. / but he just lazes around at home after work . .

you’re pleasantly surprised to find a long-haired man at your front door, clad in a thick and loose turtleneck sweater with a gentle smile on his face. that uncomfortable feeling returns to your core and you land a hand to your stomach to calm the churning that’s happening.

“hello, and you are?”

you’d never think you would see one of God’s angels on earth in actual flesh in front of you. you’re convinced God is looking over you and you think you might see heaven when that silky voice repeats himself again.

“hi, kind miss, are you alright?”

“h . . huh? oh! yeah, uhm— who are you?”

your mother smacks you on your shoulder and sidles up to your side, holding onto your arm a little tightly that it hurts just a bit.

“don’t be rude!” she whisper-shouts to you, “this is geto suguru, and—”

“and i’m the new priest for the church.”

that catches you off-guard. he’s the new priest that was just transferred over? he looks anything but a holy man of God, what with his long hair and gauges in his ears; if you didn’t know any better you would think he was the one paying for the strip club instead. he seems to read your mind.

“i know i look . . a bit of a delinquent, miss, but i promise you the word of God is what i strictly live by. i honour and praise him with all that i can.”

“ah, i’m sorry if you thought i thought that way, father.” you mumble, giving him an awkward smile that he misses because he’s too busy focusing on the way you say father. you’re prepared to close the door on him already; the pulsing sensation between your legs isn’t fading and your whole body feels like it burns in hell. you rub your thighs together for some sort of relief, nothing.

“that’s usually the response i get, so i thought i would preface it first.” a little laugh leaves geto’s lips and if it wasn’t for you holding on for dear life on the door, you definitely would’ve buckled under your knees. “no hard feelings.”

“he’s a charmer, ain’t he?” there’s another sheepish laugh from the pastor at that. “told me he’s been going around giving cakes to all the people as a way to thank them for letting him take over the church.” your heart melts at that — he looked so hot and had a heart of gold, too?

“what cake did you get us, father?” you blurt out and you have no time to take it back, but the preacher doesn’t seem to mind. you also don’t seem to mind that barrier of authority that was established ever since he‘s introduced himself as the new priest of the church. it felt . . friendlier, less intimidating than the previous. it was probably mostly due to him not wearing his cassock or collar, though.

“chocolate.” that one word possibly ignited every nerve in you. the smooth lilt in his voice paired with the slight smirk. it was detrimental. you were going to hell, you were condemned to eternal damnation.

“how’d you know i liked chocolate?”

he shrugs, “lucky guess.” wrong.

he had come around the day before already, but you were too distracted with work and pressured with a deadline that music drained out everything else — one look at your side profile and the hard-working first year university student was all it took for geto to return again today with another cake of your liking. oh! you’re such a sweet one for asking what flavour we like; frankly, my dear boy, my husband and i don’t really eat cake but her . . loves it for some reason. i wonder where she gets the sweet tooth from, honestly.

geto could only thank his saviour that your mother had promised not to tell you he already came around yesterday. and it looks like she didn’t.

“i should get going, miss . .”

“(y/n).”

geto simply nods his head, resisting the urge to call your name pretty and only manages a decent call to your mother. “mrs (l/n), i’m heading off, thank you for having me. (y/n).”

you return his smile, hesitantly, inching the door close with immense difficulty — you wanted to see him walk away with that imposing height of his, of the proper gait he carried himself with and the politeness in which he greets people of the town.

that night you locked yourself in your room, muttering out some dumb excuse of having to study for a test when in reality you were more interested in the feeling between your legs. it both excited and scared you when you first find a comfortable position on your bed, stalling for a good half ’n hour before the clinking cutlery of dinner happening downstairs had brought you to your senses. there were countless articles open in your safari tab, none of which helped your growing dilemma — a tear in the Red Sea between the sin of pleasure and the liberation of acting on it. you felt like Moses, treading in the centre, on the fence.

one last text made you yelp out loud.

[8:03 pm, read]: R u coming down 4 dinner?

it was your mother, as if she knew what was happening behind doors.

[8:03 pm, delivered]: nope, sorry mummy. need to study for this test, its important !

[8:05 pm, read]: Alright, alright. I left out a serving of what we cooked tonite. Heat up if u need to with the microwave O.K.? Don’t sleep so late!

you simply favourited her message, losing all motivation from before; until your mind crosses over dinner and goes straight to that chocolate cake, and then to the person who had brought it.

“Farewell happy fields / Where joy forever dwells: Hail, horrors, hail.”

“geto . . geto suguru.” the name feels foreign. it does sound like a countryside name but it felt like he had come from the city instead. “geto . .” you sigh, letting your hands tremble and move along your body. they brush over your chest, over your nipples and you recoil a little from the strange feeling. they harden under your touch as you continue to repeat his name.

each murmur of his name is a step farther from God, dipping your toes into the waters of hell as your fingers travel lower, lower, lower. you press a finger against your clit unknowingly, and you let out a loud moan; you immediately slap a hand over your mouth.

but the pleasure’s too much, and so you try again. one hand goes back to your nipples, squeezing your tits and playing with them while your fingers rub pathetic circles along your core.

“su . .” you gulp. “geto—”

you pant softly to yourself as you continue to rub your clit, messy, inexperienced circles in whatever shape or form. as long as it felt good to you, you were doing it. you made sure to keep your moans in as your hips bucked into your hands, back arching off the bed in needy movements. your hands were getting tired, clutching at the bedsheets.

long hair, built physique, crucifix on his neck. funny, you never noticed that before, but now you imagine it clearly, dangling over your face. you’re imagining geto fucking you, thrusting his cock into you as he groans out your name.

you’re at the end of your tether, feeling the deep plunge of your body in Satan’s lair the same time you cum for the first time in your life and your body shakes so violently. you flail around on your bed, bite into your shirt, anything to keep you quiet from the immense orgasm you had just felt. your pussy clenches around nothing and your hand aches so much it might fall off, but it just feel so damn good that you only have a minute’s rest before you’re rubbing at your clit again.

scooping up a little of your cum, you marvel at the clear liquid, sucking on your finger to try the thing that’s always drenched your panties. and soon you’re conjuring the image of the long-haired priest yet again, never really studying for that test you made up or even eating dinner — all you do is rest and come again, each time more wrecked than the last time.

you dreaded going to church the next morning.

it had slipped your mind that service was to continue once geto has gotten settled down in the rectory, a small outhouse at the back of the church that had been revamped. you’re not sure on how father geto was able to get it done up so fast but, you’re not one to question.

with the short walk to church, you regret not eating the night before, groaning softly at the discomfort of your growling stomach. what you were more worried of though, was what would happen to you once you stepped foot in the church. was your body going to go up in flames? were you going to get ridiculed by the townspeople? were you going to get called out by father geto in front of everyone?

“what’s gotten you so worked up?” your father was walking behind and smoking, as always, not giving a shit about your mother and the newborn.

“nothing . . just, wondering if i got everything in my head for my test.” your mother coos, and your baby brother in the carrier thinks it’s because of him. he babbles into your mom’s shirt, giggling.

“you’ll do fine, honey,” the reassurance worried you only more. you were lying outright — you had no test, you weren’t even studying, you were busy—!

“i raised a smart girl, didn’t i?” you can only manage a smile, reaching the church within minutes. taking the chance to mutter a short prayer and a plea, you take a deep breath and that light from above Lucifer’s kingdom seem to call out to you again.

stepping into the simple but cozy church, you dip your hands in holy water. Father, Son, Holy Spirit along your forehead, chest and shoulders before you trail behind your mother, suggesting places for you to sit at the back. she only waved your hand away, pointing towards the front. we always sit at the front! why the sudden change? / nothing . . maybe thought we could switch it up a little.

the mass starts after a few minutes of waiting, and you have the luxury of wallowing in your self-pity and guilt for those few minutes, trying to get the very filthy imagery of father geto above you, father geto between your legs, father geto himself out of your head. you fail, it’s only amplified when the bell rings and the congregation stands up.

everyone waits in anticipation for the new priest in this small town, hoping he won’t disappoint them like the last one. but they already seem to be in good spirits as he makes the entrance down the very short church. two altar boys follow behind him in the procession, accompanied by an organist and a duo of choir singers, straining to have their voice heard over the loud instrument. he’s already made some friends, nodding to the excited kid who whispers and the shy girl who waves her hands at him. but while everyone feels anticipation in hopes of a good sermon, dread is only making your legs feel like lead, you feel lightheaded, dizzy even.

because whatever you had imagined last night was him in his sweater get-up, and it just now sinks in what a disgusting thing you were doing as you watch the rich purple of his chasuble sway alongside his stole — the very image of him in his priest robes (in Lent season too, not to mention) — meant to deter you from more thoughts, only fed your desires.

geto suguru made being a pastor look so natural, and attractive, that it was almost criminal.

“good morning, brothers and sisters, how are we all doing this morning?” there’s a few murmurs around, but geto doesn’t falter, instead pressing on with his very convincing, beautiful speech; as does he with the rest of the mass. he conducts himself with as much professionalism as he can, handling the Eucharist with proper hands, giving a sermon whilst giving you too many eyes, distributing Holy Communion with a gentle, accepting smile; your skin burnt when he handed you the body of Christ, a soft inaudible “amen” hanging off your lips.

father geto was all the talk after, some hanging around to catch a minute of geto’s time if they could and you were no different, purposely looping your arm through your mother’s and slowly down your pace.

“goin’ out for a smoke.” your father gruffly tells the three of you, two of which understands better. your newborn simply cuddles deeper into your mother’s breast, humming softly into the nap.

“’kay.” it was opportunistic, now, as your eyes flit around the place to find geto talking to two older ladies. he’s politely bent down to reach their heights better, chasuble now removed and simply in his alb, one patting his shoulder and the other giggling. you think you imagine it but his eyes dart over to you for a moment and then off to the other parishioners.

“how are you two lovely ladies doing?” you hear him before you see him and the voice startles you a little, jumping back from brushing your baby brother’s almost non-existent hair.

“fine.” it comes out kurt and abrupt and you burn when your mother nudges you like yesterday.

“think what she means is that we’re perfectly fine. how was your first mass?”

father geto looks around the church, recalls the altar boys, ingrains each church-goer into his head, “i hope the congregation likes me.”

“oh, nonsense! i’m sure they do,” your mother reassures. she was always good like that, putting others before her and making sure they see the best in themselves, “that was a very riveting sermon you delivered.”

“yeah—! yeah, i . . really enjoyed it, father geto.”

a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, “did you now?”

you nod, and he continues, “you enjoyed me telling you that sin was revolting?”

when he phrases it like that . . you swallow, “isn’t that what God’s whole schtick is?”

and that makes father geto laugh, because for such an innocent flower like you, you make it sound like you were forced to go to church and made to learn the basis of why God exists and now you just don’t know what to do with it. it’s common for people at their university age where they’re exposed to more views and mindsets, to question the religion you were born in and think about what it meant to be tied to a god you didn’t even really know existed, and when that happens, Christianity turns stagnant and boring.

“yes, pretty much, miss (y/n), but His schtick also involves forgiving anyone who has sinned against Him. after all, that’s what He died on the cross for.”

“y . . yeah, i know, father geto.”

you only realise now his purple chasuble matches his eyes, eyes that swirl with the colours of amethyst. they’re much brighter in the parish lighting, and they hold your stare much longer than yesterday. there’s the tugging feeling at your stomach again that goes right down to your centre and it throbs; your eyes flutter and blink to get you out of your head.

“good that you know . . of course, it’s not an invitation to sin. self-restraint and chastity still exists,” you hate how he puts an emphasis on the latter word, because he could be referring to anything, “but we need not be worried for our lives. we only need to pray and repent in prayer, and God will have mercy on us.”

but well, if God didn’t want you to sin, how then can he explain creating such an attractive person? if God valued his followers’ self control, why did he have to plant such lewd, inappropriate thoughts of his preacher in your head?

father geto could probably see your dilemma with how hard he was staring at you, and he only makes it worse by putting his larger hand on your left shoulder. it descends deeper to your upper arm and the skin there ignites—

“i hope you liked the chocolate cake.”

you manage a small smile, “haven’t had the chance to try it, sorry, father.”

“don’t apologise.” you forget your mother and baby brother is even beside you with how he talks to you. you’d love to be on his chest, hearing the deep rumbling of his voice or even have his hands be somewhere else but your arm. you don’t know how simply talking to you has got him doing everything in his power to restrain himself; not even a prayer from God could help.

“The mind is its own place, and in it self / Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.”

what you don’t know, either, that the hand on your shoulder was between his legs just last afternoon, trying so hard not to sneak under his cassock. he could barely keep his moans in, palming his bulge from above his robes at the mere thought of you. no touching means less sin, right? he comes to that pathetic conclusion easily, so all he does is bury himself in the outhouse after distributing his cakes, hips positioned over his pillow and he grinds.

the feeling for father geto was so archaic, been so long since he’s given up his life to God right after graduating university. all the carefree times that he’s experienced — drinking in dorms, going to parties, getting some nice quick fucks in between exams — were going to stop for good. but that doesn’t mean he stopped lusting.

lust. one of the seven deadly sins, a weak point for father geto’s journey as a pastor. it’s obvious now too that he hasn’t really left his older ways, bucking his hips into the fabric of his pillow. he thinks of you, your sweet little eyes and your cute outfit at home, he thinks of your face twisted into pleasure as he’s positioned between your legs.

father geto twitches, friction against the underside of his cock feeling so good after years and years of holding back — with a pretty face to think of, too. his hips ruts in short thrusts, desperate for that high and he chokes on a moan imagining your sweet voice begging to cum. and so does he, shooting such a large, hot load into his underwear that even his cassock is stained with his cum. but unlike you, he’s already thinking of his next round — if he’s doomed to die by lust, then might as well go all the way.

father geto spares a glance towards the door just to be safe before flipping over on his back, and pulls his robes above his lower half. the sight is dirty, underwear painted a darker colour and cum sticking to every part of the fabric. once he wraps a hand around his cock, geto is gone, pumping it so fast he might have gotten a burn along his length but it’s all rewarded by the second quick orgasm he reaches — spurting ribbons of cum all over his holy garments.

it’s why he didn’t have time to write a proper sermon for the morning mass. he was up all night, stroking himself — just, from the thought of you.

it was father geto’s turn to have uneven breaths as you asked if he was okay, hand on your shoulder shaking. but the visions of last night is overtaken quickly by his need to impress the other parishioners, and so he gives you a tense smile.

“enjoy the cake.” it sounded like an innuendo if you’ve ever heard one, but you mutter a soft thank you, before heading off back home with your family. that contact with your shoulder is all you can think of, giddy at the warmth of his hand and eyes.

“baby, could you open the door for me?” your mother calls out to you, hastily wiping her hands on her apron and abandoning the kitchen to tend to your crying baby brother.

“ok, mummy!” the doorbell’s been rung twice now, jogging a little to the door to prevent the person from waiting. you didn’t think to look through the peephole, a tight-knit (conservative) community made you trust anyone, opening the door to find father geto standing in front of you.

“o-oh. hi, father . .?”

he was dressed in his roman collar, a black shirt with a white strip around the neck and some black jeans. it wasn’t as casual as the first day, and it still held an ode to God even on a weekday.

“hi, (y/n).”

“ohhh! it’s father geto, come, come!” your mother bellows throughout the house, baby brother on her hip as she bounces him to get him to stop wailing. “are you hungry already?”

geto displays a meek smile, “a little, mrs (l/n), since you mentioned how big of a feast you were cooking.”

your mouth drops in recognition; was that why she was so preoccupied for the whole day? doing the maximum in the kitchen not just because it was for your father’s recent promotion at his job, but also for dinner with father geto.

“you’re having . . dinner with us.” it’s more of a statement to yourself than a question to the priest, but he still catches on and assists you by closing the door himself, and taking off his shoes. already, he looks part of the family, looking like a hard-working husband coming back from his job to you. instead, he’s answered the vocation of priesthood, and not matrimony.

“it looks like i am.” it’s such a sly comment, like he already knew the effect he had on everyone. this sucking up was just to get every church-goer to like him more, and it’s working.

geto is charming at the dinner table as he is at the parish, cracking jokes that make both your parents and you laugh, talking about his university life and telling a myriad of stories that he’s gone through.

“what did you major in in university, father?” it felt such a weird question, especially with an honorific attached to something that you were doing at the moment — it felt out of place that someone so close to your age was already pursuing a lifetime commitment of serving God.

“my studies focused mostly on philosophy and theology. i minored in linguistics.” there’s a chorus of ooh’s that echo throughout the table, cleaning up the last bit of food on his plate before he continued. “i’m currently going more in depth for latin, which is a stunning language, beyond those who say it’s dead and should stay dead.”

that only makes him hotter, and you cross your legs beside him, looking at him from the corner of your eye at you play with the last meatball on your plate. the sauce leaves a trail of red from the tomato, somehow mirroring the murder of your old self — or what you thought it was. it was more of a knife wound, a cowardly stab in the arm.

that dinner with father geto only deepened your sense of guilt.

it was the way the priest was quick to stand just as your mother does, offering to help with cleaning up the dinner table. even when she brushes him off, he insisted, answering for her when he only silently takes the plates to the back. all your mom does is shake her head with a smile, letting you help as well. your father just watches curiously, entertaining the baby with his canned alcohol.

“i’m embarrassed i can’t fight back against you well enough to stop ya from cleaning up at my own house,” your mother confesses, already having used her last breath to tell him to not help with the dishes as well. you scrub at a stain on geto’s plate over and over, a stubborn one at that until you finally are able to get it out. it still leaves a faint red glow, though.

“it’s nothing, really, mrs (l/n), i’m happy to help whenever.” father geto’s eyes rake over your figure as you clean alongside your mother, heel bouncing up and down; to non-existent music or in impatience he wasn’t sure.

she just takes the soapy plate from your hands with a laugh, “c’mon, it’s okay, my dear. go entertain father geto.”

it was the way his courtesy shined through when he doesn’t enter your room until he has gotten verbal confirmation from you, guiding him in with a uneasy hand as he looked around your quaint little space. it was filled with photos, some plants, tons of research papers and a messy table to match, but all he did was reassure you. you take note of his flowing hair and the laid back hairstyle he liked to don when it wasn’t for mass.

“how is university treating you?” you’re stuck on being completely honest and lying with every answer, but father geto has a face that makes it difficult to lie to.

“it’s . . alright, i guess,” you settle on your bed, crossing your legs and hoping he wouldn’t pick up any of your essays. thinking is manifesting, though, and his hands naturally go for the paper with the many red markings on the front page.

“Paradise Lost? by Milton?” ah. that paper. you shoot up from the sheets before he can read it, because frankly your thesis in that paper was weak and wasn’t well supported, but you still believed it deeply. you were just having a little bit of trouble straying from your reverence for God. you only manage to clutch the top of your paper, but geto is adamant on reading it, piqued by genuine curiosity.

“the retelling of Milton’s Paradise Lost humanises the experience of Satan’s (or Lucifer’s) fall from glory . .” he trails off, reading over your evidences and analysis. you feel like you’re being read like an open book, laid out bare for vultures to pick at and for God to enumerate your sins until you felt no shame.

with his head still tilted down, father geto has to look up through his lashes and bangs, seemingly making you cower more and more in your spot as the unsolicited advice for your essay dies down on his tongue. the size of his hands has you hypnotised, and he decides it’s against his own values to give feedback about a text he so childishly brushed off when he was in university, even if he had to read it to complete four years in the seminary. geto places a hand upon yours and the heat is dizzying; you can’t help but think if he was just normal person, instead, holding your hand like this.

it was the way he let you explain yourself a little better through your own words. it was a premature essay, anyway, made to test out your close reading and citation skills. but he found your interpretation of Milton’s poem to be much more insightful than he expected it to be — you think maybe, your understanding of the text grows the more you learn about your body, how you like to be pleasured; you feel like Lucifer.

“i . . don’t necessarily think you are born into evil. it’s multi-faceted and loaded, this question. God our Father would do anything but create evil willingly, it’s just unfortunate that the people that bring up their offspring contribute to the shaping of their identity and outcome.”

“then, how . .” your lips twist as you think of a way to word the question, “how would that justify evil existing? wouldn’t the fact that evil is developed somehow meant that God created evil in some shape or form, in the first place?”

father geto rushes to answer but—

“why did he have to create the serpent that tempted Eve in the first place? couldn’t he have just left them alone in Eden?”

“...there to dwell / In adamantine chains and penal fire / Who durst defy th' Omnipotent to arms.”

you frown, not expecting the other to answer but instead just wallowing in your thoughts. you never thought the talk with father geto would turn into some philosophy lesson, but the more you chatted with him on the bed, the more the conversation seemed to steer that way.

your own faith wavers in the night, a quietness settling over the two of you like a cloak of stars. the mass of each star weighs heavily with your questions up in the air until you faintly hear his answer.

“i don’t . . know, miss (y/n).”

“ah! no no— sorry to dump everything on you, father geto,” you scratch the back of your head, “it was just passing thoughts. i’ve never thought to think of this before.”

it was morbid, it was macabre. it was like looking over and seeing a skeleton in your place instead of flesh and skin and yet each question after question ignites something in him that no one has excited before. he can already feel lust influencing the other six, pumping through his veins at a life void of God, void of religion, a free place to think of the omnipotence of a higher being that no one was sure really existed.

“it’s okay . . it’s natural to ask. it’s natural to inquire. God,” he nods like he was in a trance; the word feels weird on his tongue, “God would want this.”

that night you did anything but sin, clutching the essay between your hands and digging your knees into the floor with elbows on your bed until they ached and you prayed. you wished blessings on your family, you wished blessings on the parishioners, you wished blessings on father geto and you wished eternal damnation on yourself.

there’s a heavy pull on your heart when you go to sleep a few minutes after and the dream you have of your body turning to soot and burning with each feet into flames makes you crave salvation all the more — like all a bad dream, it will be fine as long as you pray, and pray, and pray.

but the flesh desires what the heart denies: the more you ‘hang’ with father geto (by God, he was perfectly okay with that word when you let it slip to your mother. he merely throws up a peace sign in a ‘cool’ way and then immediately cringes, but it makes you laugh), the more you find yourself attracted to his morals, to his ideals, to the natural way in which he exists. he could speak for hours on end, voice sounding like birdsong and a chilling breeze all at the same time.

his voice did wonders in your head, as well, coaxing you into betraying your own code; and you betray it easily. that phantasmic voice leaving you to remove your top and pinching your nipples as soft little moans leave your mouth. the imaginary sway of his crucifix above your face while you harshly abuse your clit and dip a finger into you for the first time. the feeling is so foreign and weird that you shamelessly think of the slight lilt of his voice helping you: “it’ll feel better soon, (y/n). c’mon, finger your pussy for father geto.”

father geto had a natural talent for talking and preaching. that downturn of tone like hitting a dead-end when he holds a point above your head (“but”) and then resolves it into perfect cadence like chords ending a phrase when he proposes a solution (“God will take care of everything”). he does it so much you think he’s rather convincing himself more than he’s convincing you, though.

“perhaps this parable that Jesus uses tells us rather to look within ourselves, to look within the vineyard that is us. the owner have done everything: kept the roots tied so it would not be trampled, making sure they get all the sunlight and water it needs, yet . .” he pauses a little, looking at the almost full parish now that he’s won over the hearts of your town. his eyes flit down to you at the second pew, shooting you a quick smile.

“and yet he yields sour grapes. we pray, we act civil and diplomatic, we are giving, but are you truly doing it for the glory of God? is that maybe why we only get the sour grapes — not satisfied with the ‘thank you’ after doing a favour or silence from God after praying daily?”

geto looks over the last bits of the scribbled sermon, a little more coherent than last week, but still done with thoughts of you. there’s multiple smudges of his words that he has to squint and stutter a bit, caused by the frantic cleaning of his cum upon the paper.

“we all . . naturally expect things back, but to be Christian, to be a follower of Christ, we would have to abandon all thoughts of that.” father geto’s mind wanders to last night as his eyes look for you again. “we would need to be generous, to be kind without needing anything in return.”

father geto integrates into the church easily, shown in how his sermons capture the hearts of many. albeit, they never really take in the true meanings of the preachings he gives, but it’s enough for geto if they nod and mutter amen like fools in mass; whatever they do out of it is out of his hands.

but along the many preachings he does, there is one subject he fears approaching: lust, the one thing that threatens the downfall of his vocation and yet he cannot get enough of it. each walk and meeting with you only heightens his desire, makes his cock throb beneath his robes. each sunday he wishes he could split his soul in half — one as the confessor and one as the confessing — and repent in the confessional box.

“today’s gospel from Mark, chapter 6 talks about lust, briefly.” there’s a shake in his voice, eyes now scrambling over the congregation to find you in a much more revealing top contrasting with the out-of-place cardigan you have on. he’s sure it was mrs (l/n) that had made you put that on before you left the house; the house where he’s memorised the placement of your shoe rack and how your door creaks when it’s opened too quickly. geto is so fucked.

geto clears his throat before continuing, seeing you adjust your body for a moment, “King Herod is tempted by his flesh when he sees one of Herodias’ daughters dancing, so much so that she tempts him to commit murder. a clear beheading, just from giving into her body, and when she asks of him, he delivers like a dog. this calls us to truly think of the desires that we possess. they need not be sexual,” soft whispers emerge, a taboo subject, “they can also be related to money, to power.”

“lust for more things turns into greed when we act on that initial lust,” geto is sweating by now. he pulls lightly on his collar when you press your arms together in retaliation and he has to look away from the way your tits perk up so perfectly.

you had to know what you were doing, surely. partially — you were feeling cold, but you stifle a smile when you realise how geto’s eyes linger a little longer on you, or rather your chest, before he coughs and continues,

“when we are driven so terribly by the feeling that we abandon all morals just to please this person, thing on earth is when we tread into dangerous territory. no earthly possession must make you feel this way,”

the irony settles in his bones after he says it and his dick twitches at the thought of having you under the podium right now, sticking his fat cock down your throat while you struggle to keep the gagging noises to a minimum.

“no matter . .” a gulp, “how rewarding the aftermath must be.”

father geto knows you both are braving the edge of God’s merry kingdom. it is just a matter of who falls first.

“your place is in the kingdom of God, meant to fulfil eternal life with Jesus and the Lord which is what we all should be keeping in mind and working towards, ignoring all the distractions that will soon fade and die off.”

geto coughs again in the mic and breaths shakily, finally tearing his eyes away from you before he concludes the sermon and eases into the Offertory and Eucharist. he buries himself so deep in the procession in order to get you out of his mind, and it’s shown in the haste in which he carries the mass. it feels like he rushes so much that even the day outside follows too, because evening seems to arrive earlier than usual.

the sun sets outside, illuminating the altar. it taunts you like reminding you of the beauty of your faith; it deepens the need developing in your core.

“body of Christ.” you can faintly hear it being repeated over and over at the front, just a few steps away from your turn and you wish you weren’t standing behind your dad’s hulking figure so you could actually prepare yourself for father geto. you’re greeted with his cascading hair tied up into a bun and the cup containing Jesus’ body, gold and shining. you see your stretched reflection before your eyes snap back to the pastor in front and you will your hands not to hail routine.

instead, you stick out your tongue for the father to put the communion on and you take in the little panic of his hands and the choked sentence of body of Christ. his eyes drift down to your pink tongue, to the small twitch it does when he places the host on it and he cannot wait for you to get out of his sight, lest he be overtaken by the sin he particularly preached about just minutes ago.

“any test to study for tonight, darling?” your mother asks after dinner, meaning to ask after seeing you be so fidgety like you needed to be somewhere.

“uh . . no, not exactly, but i do have something i need to do.”

“oh! what is it, sweetie?” she doesn’t read your expressions, you mannerisms, so you were safe from that, but you willed your voice to not break. your body is on fire, you needed to quell your needs, now.

“just— i promised father geto i would meet him later for a confession, since he’s so busy, he could only propose a late timing,” no, you didn’t. either way, you give a reason, explain yourself before she can speculate, works every time.

“oh, okay . .” she trails off, seemingly unaffected, “just don’t get home too late, alright, darling?”

you nod even though she’s too focused on the dishes, pressing a hand to her back in thanks and she carries on, carefree, while you sprint to your room. lock the door, get your phone out.

“ . . ings turns into greed when we act on that initial lust . .” the words recorded just hours ago leave the phone speakers on a low volume, already lighting a flame in your pussy when your hand brushes over the microphone and he stops at the same time, “when we are terribly dri . .”

you sigh loudly when your hand starts to make its way down to your centre, rubbing slightly to the sound of his voice. your clit is just begging to be touched, begging for your inexperienced hands flicking your nub in every which way. impatient, your hands dip into your cunt and your jaw drops open at the intrusion of your fingers, just as your eyes widen and your imagination has never worked as well as it does now.

you can see geto’s amethyst eyes boring into yours, you can see his hips fucking into yours and yet it doesn’t give you the same kick as you think it would — you’re fucking yourself with your fingers even faster, circles on your clit increasing in speed and messiness and you smear your juices all around.

“father— father geto—” it was pathetic, the way you moaned for a man of God, but the feeling of your cunt clenching around what you wished was his dick was too good, the coil in your stomach still feeling rather uncomfortable but welcoming and you’re unravelling with a silent scream soon, back arching off the sheets.

“s . . suguru, f-fuck,” the swear word feels weird on your lips, as with his first name, but the trembling of your virgin body is so delicious that you just keep rubbing and rubbing, taking so long to come down from your high as your pants get heavier and heavier. and then his face starts to fade off, eyes turning into lilac air and you’re glancing towards the crumpled essay on your bed with guilt festering in your chest.

“ . . mptations of the flesh are childish, are temporary. they lead you to do foolish things that have no place in the kingdom of God. we may repent and put it past us but the memories that our tainted bodies possess, they remember the sinful things that you did.” the recording of father geto dies out as with his powerful conclusion, speaking so loudly into the mic that it screeches with feedback, you remember. you don’t even know where the guilt builds up from, in your torso and your heart, despite questioning the faith you were in for all your life.

if God did not want us to sin, why did he create temptations and ask us to pray for forgiveness?

you roll over and remove your fingers with a small whine, taking up your phone and opening up the contact with father geto hesitantly. it was meant to be a strictly professional exchange like the conversations he’d had with many other parishioners: updates on the church, changes in mass timings, but your chat was filled with questions from you and answers from him. you didn’t dare ask him anything out of the faith.

[9:37 pm, delivered]: uhm. father geto? are you there?

oh god, it’s you. the you who on the second walk around the town exchanged numbers with him because he found your thoughts so intriguing.

[9:39 pm, read]: Yes, Miss (Y/N). What is it?

you take a deep breath. better to ask for that confession, you couldn’t risk your mother asking about it tomorrow.

[9:40 pm, delivered]: is it alright to have

[9:41 pm, delivered]: can i come over to the church, for a bit

father geto straights up in the rectory, getting closer to the socket where his phone was charging and hovers over the screen. his hands are clammy when typing a response and he manages it in about three minutes.

[9:44 pm, read]: Of course, my dear. The doors of the church are open for the congregation at any time.

bidding goodbye to your mother, you stay on the lit path to the church and you’re bathing in anticipation, too excited to see father geto that you bump into a dark shadow. almost resembling a hard wall, hands emerge from its sides to clutch at your biceps.

“miss (y/n), what is it? what has gotten you up so late at night?” if he was still in university, he would’ve laughed at how he asked that question. hundreds of texts of u up? that mimic the nature of the question right now. 

“i was hoping . .” you ignore the tingly feeling of the way in which his hands leave goosebumps along your biceps and then to your forearms. finally, they clutch your hands between his, meant to be like a warm hug but instead is like fire, licking at your fingers and wrist like you’re at the stake. “i was hoping that i could, request you for a confession?”

the priest across you swallows with a nod, swiftly putting a hand across your back to lead you to the booth. you both could’ve done it perfectly fine in the pews, sitting across each other. “the confessional is where we will feel the strongest compulsion of Christ. come,” he answers your question before you can ask it, “take your place on the kneeler behind the curtains.”

father geto showers in the same sea of anticipation when he makes sure you’re okay before heading over to his side of the confessional. he’s imagined this scene over and over — you on the pew kneeler, breath warming the velvet curtains — he cannot help the bulge that forms.

the first words he speak behind the curtain shock you, voice sounding so close yet so muffled and distant.

“come, now, (y/n), make the Sign of the Cross with me.”

Father, Son and Holy Spirit

upon your head, chest and shoulders you do it, taking a deep breath before you start. “bless me, father, for i have sinned. it has been . . about five years since my last confession.”

geto nods, the soft carry of your voice in the late night having an effect on the priest. the hold he has on the crucifix of the rosary is so tight it makes an indent on his skin, the only thing on mortal flesh to keep him from falling.

“What though the field be lost? All is not lost; the unconquerable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield.”

your thighs rub together, hot breath sending chills down your clutched hands and down your arm as you ponder over the things you’ve done — “i’ve . . lied to my mother at times, to my friends when they ask me where i’m from. i have stolen money for my own needs, n-not— that high of an amount but um . . still a fair amount.”

“what did you need to buy, sweetheart?”

the name surprises you, but you simply ignore it. “i wanted new clothes — was all the rave at uni when the girls wore miniskirts and little tops. unfortunately it didn’t suit me.”

geto swears under his breath when the image of you in such skimpy clothing infiltrate his thoughts. his curiosity overtakes him; overwhelmed with emotion, he never had the chance to see what you were wearing before he pulls back the curtains and hopes your eyes are closed and they are: pulled tight with quivering eyebrows. there, like a sinning Christian is you in a thin camisole, cleavage showing beneath your arms. he peers lower, gasps softly to himself when you’re wearing a skirt.

“father? father, what’s wrong?” you think you hear the swift swoosh and the rings of the miniature curtain clatter.

“n—nothing is wrong, miss (y/n). are there any other sins you want to confess?”

you swallow, “i . . i’ve wished misfortune on my father.”

not the sin he was hoping for but he wasn’t surprised; his head moves in understanding. he had seen your father — merely a ghost in the house and hardly contributing to fostering the family. it goes against what Mary and Joseph stands for as the Holy Family, but father geto has seen a lot of absent fathers and incompetency to truly be taken aback anymore.

“i’ve also . . i’m not sure whether to tell you this, father geto.”

your breaths were all you could hear in the silence of the church, an eerie quietness settling as if the critters and animals of the earth strived to listen to your ultimate sin, too. Beelzebub, Asmodeus, possibly even Lucifer himself clawed themselves up from hell to eavesdrop.

“of course you can, my dear.” the wind through the wooden confessional box sounds like the hisses of the three demons, like they have had holy water sprayed on them from the mere sounding of his voice; but they look hopefully for a server of Christ to fall exactly like they did.

“it’s, related to my body, father. i,” gulping, you continue with a prompt from the other, “i’ve had this growing need, like, one has when they’re hungry. they have the need to fill their stomachs. or— or a sudden pain you have to massage yourself through, like a cramp in the arm of sorts.”

“well . . is it your torso or your arm?”

“it’s . .” you spare a glance towards your centre under your very, very short skirt, the familiar pulsing of your clit turning more and more prominent. “it’s related to my pussy, father.”

you hear a choke from the other side, and then you realise your choice of words.

“ah— m-my bad! i meant my . . vagina, father geto.”

“no— no u-uhm, the previous term was fine. could you describe what you did? how far did you go so i c-can . . give you the appropriate penance?”

behind the curtains, geto have already started palming his bulge, massaging the ache in his length that still continues to grow and harden. the way you describe is so terribly innocent and unknowing, a deepening urge to corrupt you running through his veins.

“i played with um— my breasts, first. i pulled up my top and felt around my nipples, but i got impatient and . .” geto hangs on to every word of yours, shifting to get his robes out of the way. it was just like the first night: his underwear stained with so much pre-cum it’s probably changed the colour of the garment. he peels it away and the lack of restraint leaves him sighing softly while you ramble on—

“i tried playing with that . . thing between my legs.” you recall the quick google search from that first night, “i played with my clit, father.”

geto stifles a groan into his hand just as he starts to stroke himself softly. “y . . yeah, and?”

“i tried to um . . fit my finger in. it was uncomfortable, at first,” you cannot ignore the pull of your core; your hand shimmies past the clasped hands and down to your skirt. you have no panties to swipe to the side: you came here without any. your finger rubs gently at the throbbing bundle of nerves, a soft whine leaving your lips before you remember you’re in the midst of a confession.

“but i . . i got it into my pussy soon enough. and then i put in another finger.” there was a more audible grunt from the other side, the confessional weirdly heating up immensely as you follow your confession: two fingers easily glide in from just how wet you were.

“when?” there’s a strain in father geto’s voice when he asks it, maybe because he was trying so hard to keep quiet. his jaw is locked as he pumps his cock slowly because his tip is leaking so much that even a simple movement would give him away.

“w-wha—?”

“w-when did you first start . . touching your pussy, (y/n)?” hearing a priest say such a lewd word makes you clench around your fingers.

“after you came to deliver t-that chocolate cake . . father geto.”

“f-fuck—” geto squeezes his eyes shut and it’s like he’s a university student again losing his virginity for the first time by the hands of some random chick pumping him. the implied confession has him stroking faster; it was after that trip he made to your house, it was after seeing you stand at the door like a good little girl, it was because of him, right? right?

you snap back the curtains and your mouth waters at the scene: father geto hunching over the little window that separates the two of you and his head hung low; his cassock gathers around his hips and his cock— good Lord, his cock was so big, clutched tightly between his left hand. his tip was weeping, an angry red as it continued to push out globs of pre.

“f-father!” geto doesn’t seem to care, giving you a drunk and nonchalant glance as he continues to stroke his shaft. he knows it’s wrong, doing this in the house of the Lord but it feels so fucking good. “y-you—”

you’re at a loss for words, pointing to his exposed bottom, but even though you’re speaking out against him, you can’t help but follow his hand as it moves up and down like a spell. his eyes are simply pleading, hips bucking up and you would think he was a parishioner instead. shaking in the presence of God, in the presence of you—

you stick your hand past the squeezy window, drawing his interest and before you know it you’re blindly bumping into his erection. there, he silently grabs your hand, guiding it to his shaft. he uncomfortably leans down to look at your face, eyebrows still furrowed but your tongue stuck out and his dick twitches in your hand.

“s-shit, baby . .” geto swears under his breath, and again when you pull on his dick to the window. uncomfortably his body lightly slams against the partition, a soft thud coming from the booth as his head collides with the wood, “(y/n) . .”

he can’t see you, but he can hear you. “may i, father geto?”

you don’t wait for his answer, gauging mainly from the heavy breaths coming from above you. they really do need to change the confessional, too, because you can clearly hear every word he mumbles out from the holes in the partition.

“shiiit—” when you kitten lick his tip, collection the pre-cum that continues to leave his tip, and it feels better than his Rite of Ordination and when he finally got to host his first mass. it’s better than that prophetic dream he has of God calling him to serve Him and the churches in the city with church-goers of boring faces and predictable stories.

here was a rural place, a place where he never expected such a pretty girl to practice the Christian faith, only to falter in the presence of a pastor. he’s gotten such a cute little slut to corrupt. you start to bob your head slowly, unsure of what to do apart from putting his cock on your mouth. your teeth grazes his skin a little and he hisses.

“no teeth. suck in your cheeks,” he cannot see you but he wishes he can, and he knows you listen to his advice when he feels only the smooth glide of your mouth and he wishes it was your pussy that you fingered.

“going deeper, darling,” geto grunts when he pushes his cock past your mouth and into your throat, the sweet gag you do making him dig his forehead deeper into the uneven wooden partition. he can hear your struggling sounds, the muffled moans with his cock down your cavern. but he cannot go any longer without seeing you and reluctantly he pushes you off, still holding your hand and you seem to catch his drift soon enough.

you’re as eager as him, bouncing off the kneeler and leaving your side of the booth, and you’re opening the door to his. the reality of the situation fully sinks in, geto standing there with his cock dripping with your saliva and your camisole pulled down under your tits.

“oh . . baby,” geto coaxes you into him, under a little spell of his when you trail in a light as a feather. you don’t resist his hands pushing you down to your knees, and just like earlier, you’re sticking your tongue out and the priest looks at you from under hooded lids.

“did you touch yourself to me, little girl?” it comes out stronger than intended but you seem to like it, even when your answers are cut off by him slapping his tip on your tongue. it’s so heavy, his cock, and thick too that you can help but suckle on it when you get the opportunity.

“ever since that day, father geto.” you look drunk, swirling your tongue around the tip and continuing to talk, “i . . i imagine you above me and sometimes i dangle my crucifix thinkin’ it’s yours.”

a small laugh escapes the priest. “did you now?” it’s reminiscent of the time where you praise his sermon. his laugh is cut off as you continue to suck him off, hands still confused. he helps you by bringing your hands to the places you can’t reach and you follow like second nature. “dirty fucking slut, aren’t you?”

“i promise i didn’t know anything before this . . father.” you look up at him through your lashes, big doe eyes proving every last bit of your innocence. aht, partially. you did watch a video of this chick blowing her boyfriend, cumming with your own fingers in your throat, wishing it was geto’s cock in your mouth instead.

but having a real cock in your mouth? it was divine, better than the body of Christ in melting on your tongue. your ministrations speed up, the obscene noises of you gurgling reverberating in the wooden box late at night. it would be even worse at the altar where it would echo everywhere.

“y—yeah, baby, that’s it, that’s it . .” his eyes are shut tight, intoxicated on the way your warm mouth feels. you whine into his shaft, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from how deep he was in you.

“mmf— mmph!” your moans sends vibrations up his body, interrupted when geto thrusts his hips into your mouth suddenly and your nose meets with his pubes, eyes rolling back from the muskiness of his body. it smells like incense and sweat, filling your senses as he keeps you right up to his hilt.

“ohh . . fuckfuck fuucck—!” the father pulls you off to let you breathe, pleasantly surprised when you start pumping him violently, tongue stuck out again. there’s a hint of light from the outside that highlights the pinkness of your tongue and he’s never wanted to cum this badly before.

“i’m cumming— baby, baby, i’m g’nna c-cum—” there’s a long, drawn out whine from father geto upon feeling the warmth of your hands stroking his cock so obediently, resting his tip on your tongue where you’d willingly drink his cum like wine. geto shoots his load into your mouth and is the loudest he’s ever been; he doesn’t care who hears him, he doesn’t care if he gets transferred out tomorrow, all he wants to think about is you on your knees and your nipples hardened from confessing to him. he’d like to bet that your pussy was drooling too, hips bucking into the soft skin of your hands.

some of his cum gets onto your face and on your lips, and geto almost cums again when you use his tip to smear his seed around your face, sucking lightly on his tip.

“dirty girl . .” he pulls on your biceps to bring you up, and your lips meet instantaneously like you were meant to be separated for eternity, doomed only to meet for one day a year. it’s messy and sloppy, drool drips from your sides of your mouths as your lips merge together.

“was that your first kiss, baby?” father geto can tell by how you don‘t know how to follow his lead, teeth clashing and breathing uneven.

“am i that obvious?” you frown, feeling self-conscious, but geto is quick to reassure you.

“father geto’s going to teach you everything you need to know, alright?” he brings you in with a finger to your chin, hovers over your lips like a tease.

he teaches you everything you want to know and more, like how the front of the church looks like and how cold the marble of the altar feels against your back as he eats you out and the sensations are all too much for you. he teaches you that using God’s name in vain is alright when it comes to moaning out how good he makes you feel and how your penance is whatever he makes it out to be he teaches you how you can take not one, not two, but three fingers up your pussy.

they’re so much thicker than your own, one hand pushing on your shaking thighs to keep them open while his three fingers move in and out of you. you’re leaking so much, your virgin cunt dripping like holy water down the white marble and onto the matching marble floor.

he teaches you his first name and he makes sure you say it.

“su—suguru . . god, r-right there—” he latches his mouth onto your clit, suckling and flicking his tongue impatiently because he just wants to see you cum. your legs stretch out to knock over a candelabra and the clatter of the metal against the ground is enough to wake up a whole village but you. don’t. care.

your hips grind onto his tongue, feeling the borderline painful stretch of his thick fingers in you but they reach all the right spots that you can’t find it in you to care.

“you taste so good—” geto spits onto your cunt and goes back to sucking on your clit, “pussy’s so fuckin’ sweet, holy fuck.” your noises come out of you non-stop as you bury your hands in his hair, finally knowing what you sound like in an unrestrictive space under the apse.

father geto teaches you how to take a cock up your cute, tight pussy, not bothering for a condom when basically all of your clothes have been discarded throughout the night. it’s almost midnight and your mother have fallen asleep on the couch, unaware her sweet, sweet daughter is losing her virginity in the place she was baptised, where she got her first communion.

the first push into your drenched cunt is painful, mushroom tip stretching you out slightly as you clutch tightly onto his forearm, brows knitted together at the girth of his cock.

“been wanting . . to fuck this pussy so bad, baby,” geto grunts it out, obsessed with how his length slowly disappears into you. he can feel each ridge of your gummy walls, hugging him so snugly that there’s several moans that leave his lips, “have you been— thinking ’bout this as much as i h-have?”

your jaw stretches beyond your limit when he eases himself inch by inch into you, thanking the hells below that your vision was finally coming true. above you there’s that same crucifix, sterling silver with amethyst stones embedded into the design, you remember, catching the light of the lone spotlight above the both of you. there’s a similar glint in father geto’s purple eyes.

“all the time, father—” you moan out, pulling him by his necklace to your lips that are more experienced now, each minute that passes is one more atom of your body turning black from the fire that licks at you from below the altar. you kiss the lips of your parish priest, whimpering slightly when his hips buck and you feel the stretch more clearly now.

“is this what Isaac felt when Abraham tried to bind him for a sacrifice on Moriah? helpless, confused, betrayed?”

geto lets out a hum, sucking hickeys into your neck and you think it’s a million times better than questioning a God that never showed himself, who never really had the intentions of the people in mind, who created sin to watch the downfall of men while he enjoys his time in his kingdom.

if this was what was meant by losing yourself to your devils, you would gladly shake hands with Lucifer and hope the warmth of the fire in hell would be a hug warmer than any hug you’ve received by people of the Christian faith.

“well, baby, do you feel helpless?” thrust “confused,” thrust “and betrayed?” thrust

he punctures each word with a snap of his hips and the pain gives way to pleasure and soon he’s already lost in the comfort of your pussy, hips starting a pace easily that emphasises just how wet you are. the echoes of your weeping cunt and the lewd slapping of his balls into your ass is like the bell ringing during mass, loud, resonating, it shakes your whole body.

“mmfuck . . helpless, m-maybe,” you whine out, legs wrapping around his back, “confused, n-not— suguruuu, yesyesyes!”

you try again, “n-not really. betrayed . .”

you feel like a sacrifice, but it was willing, of a confession that has led to this lewd showing of just how much the temptations of the flesh were insanely undeniable. there’s a murmur of i don’t think i can last much longer into your ear, cock driving into your tight pussy so harshly you’re hoping the small altar doesn’t move.

“b-betrayed, i think—” you squeal when father geto angles his hips up and it kisses your cervix just nicely, sending multiple chills down your body. your moans penetrate the holy air, hair splayed out like a painting and geto knows this is better than any Eucharist he’s ever tasted.

you clench around his fat cock, and he twitches, switching to short, pathetic thrusts into your pussy and he cries out your name as he cums deep in you, giving you all of his seed deep in your womb. your breath catches in your throat at the feeling of your first load, the warmth already hooking you in and you pull so hard on his hair he has no choice but to follow your hand.

you let him handle you deep into the night, taking you off the altar and pushing you up against it, entering you again and you brace yourself against the marble.

“s-sorry, sweetheart, you were saying?” he also wants to apologise that he hadn’t made you cum just yet, but your pussy’s so fucking heavenly he just has to be in you again.

“i-i feel a little betrayed,“ you sag over the altar, back arching into his hold. father geto is fixated on the movement of your ass fucking back onto him, “that a priest would break his m-marriage to God for me.”

“i thought they were supposed to be men of God,” you barely manage to form sentences. geto’s laugh at that startles you, as with the hand grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling. payback. you love it, however, a sweet Christian girl turned into a slut, and the last bits of the thread unravels when father geto reaches around to rub your clit.

“’m gonna— cum, suguru—” you whine out, body turning to mush with how hard he rams into your pussy. by now there’s a ring of white around the base of his cock, your juices slowly starting to coat it, too and Lucifer succeeds at sin yet again.

you cannot blame Eve when the serpent is as beautiful and cunning as geto suguru, nor can you blame her when his thick cock just reaches so deep into you, tip kissing your sweet spots and his hand impatiently drawing messy circles on your bundle of nerves.

“that just makes it the best though, right?” geto breathlessly says, “a holy man fucking a virgin raw in a holy place where prayers are said.” your legs are spreading further and further, his sweaty body engulfs yours, you’re dizzy, “you’re too tempting, sweet girl. tempting enough for me to want to abandon priesthood just so i can be buried in this pussy for fucking eternity.”

and you cum, head and heart going a hundred miles per hour as your body trembles in his hold. “there we go, little slut, thereee we go . .” you can feel the chill of the sterling silver into your back and his smile before he orgasms a second time into your waiting pussy, a second, heavy load let go into your pussy. it’s so warm and filling, and you already want more, more, more.

lust for more things turns into greed when we act on that initial lust.

“aw,” father geto coos at your fucked out face, flipping you around to give you a sloppy kiss and forcing himself to his knees just to watch his cum drip out of you, “does she want more?”

“always, father.” you answer with a drunken smile, putting a leg on his shoulder. again, your finger hooks around his crucifix, and you drag the priest down deeper into hell, somewhere father geto would‘ve always ended up.

somewhere where he would renounce his priesthood and worship something, and someone: you.

“Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav'n.”

a/n: LOOOONG MAN WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS. also i put the author’s note at the bottom this time bc i wanted to format of the fic to look the best without my goofy words ruining it! hope you guys liked it :) / tagging @crysugu @omgeto @kazushawty @suguruplsr @hydrovillette @slttygeto @hyomagiri @jabamin

part two ✶

#I WORKED SO HARD ON THIS PLSSSS SUPPORT #ITS 4AM AND I HAVE 9.30 CLASS TMR BYEEEEEE #xozombiee #asks #jujutsu kaisen geto #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk thirsts #jjk drabbles #jjk geto x reader #suguru geto x you #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #geto x you #getou suguru x reader #getou smut #getou x reader

[moonpetrichors-blog]

hiii! i love ur avatar writing and i was wondering if u could write something about neteyam x reader, where they're childhood best friends but then some na'vi guy start to show interest in the reader and neteyam gets all jealous and realize than maybe he's in love with them? idk if this make sense, english is not my first language, sorry :((

All Mine

Tags: Neteyam x Omaticaya!Reader, Aonung x Omaticaya!Reader (Only Slight), Fem!Reader, Childhood Friend Romance, Friends To Lovers, Jealousy, Anguished Declarations Of Love, Neteyam Loses His Cool For Once

Warnings: Neteyam Daydreaming About Punching Aonung LMAO

Neteyam was walking along the beach with his siblings when he spotted you, talking to the Olo'eyktan’s son. It had never crossed his mind before that you, his childhood best friend, would eventually find someone to romantically pursue. Was it wrong to realize he wanted you to himself, and not in the arms of another boy?

OMG IM SO OBSESSED W THIS IDEA!!! If theres one trope I love, its a jealous love interest 🤭 also, trust me when I say ur English is perfect!! Fun fact but English is also my second language and growing up I was ass at speaking it LMFAO so ur not alone 😭☠️

Yellow Hyacinth - Jealousy

* ˚ ✦ 1663 Words • Read below the cut

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-╰┈➤ ❝ [02/01/23] ❞  

It had been roughly a week since you arrived on the Awa'atlu village's shoreline. When you initially arrived, the Olo'eyktan's son harassed you relentlessly.

There were many things he liked to call you. Freak, weirdo, dimwit, you name it.

There was nothing freak-like about you, per se, but the fact that you were from the forest made you a target to Aonung's bullying. What skills could a woodland girl teach sea people? It was dreadful that you had to hide among them in the first place.

Technically, you had no obligation to go into hiding with the Metkayina clan, but you felt as if the Omaticaya had nothing left for you when your childhood best friend, Neteyam, informed you that he and his family needed to flee.

When Neteyam initially told you that he had to abandon your clan, including you, you wailed into his arms as if he had just perished. You couldn't bear the thought of not being with Neteyam, even if it meant compromising your clan's safety.

The truth is, you overreacted so harshly because you’ve had feelings for Neteyam for years now. You’ve always been unsure if he reciprocated, but there were moments between the both of you where he’d send mixed signals; you didn’t know what shifted or when, but there was just something between you both that felt like you were more than just friends.

And now he wouldn’t be able to stay and see how your relationship would unfurl.

Maybe you were foolish to persuade Jake Sully into bringing you along, but he eventually agreed (albeit reluctantly), since you and his son made each other happy. Neteyam was pleased when you told him you were departing with him.

So there you were, well acquainted with the Metkayina, and accompanied by your dearest friend. Aside from Aonung's pestering, you could put up with it since you knew Neteyam would safeguard you.

However, the more time that you spent with the sea people, the more you began to suspect that it was only you who had detected something between you and Neteyam. You stopped sending hints, even if he overlooked them unintentionally, as it stung too much to persevere.

Aonung eventually stopped attempting to harass you, and you even developed a pleasant friendship with him. Tonowari, his father, had him apologize for his poor behavior; after that, he was actually fairly delightful to converse with.

This was your life now.

...

Neteyam sauntered along the coast, followed by Kiri and Lo'ak. He couldn't take his mind off you; were you safe? Was Aonung bothering you yet again? His father had chided him that he didn't need to be at your side all hours of the day, but he didn't quite understand why his father was amused when he talked about how Neteyam behaved with you. You were his best friend, of course he’s worried!

Regardless, Jake instructed him to keep an eye on his siblings, so he didn't have much of a choice in abandoning them and running to your rescue. Not with Lo'ak prowling behind him in search of trouble.

Neteyam maintained his walk, thinking to himself that he was exceedingly fortunate that you had left the clan for him, and although he wouldn't say it, he was overjoyed.

What he wasn't so thrilled with was how he'd discovered you'd grown closer to that jackass Aonung. You could talk to anybody you pleased, and he knew you were far too pure-hearted to entirely dismiss the Olo'eyktan's son, but why did he feel so bitter whenever he saw you together?

Speak of the devil.

Kiri pointed you out, but when she saw who you were with, she shuddered. “Look, it’s Y/N! And... Aonung.” She deadpanned.

Neteyam was paying little heed to what his sister was saying. No, he was paying close attention to how you were giggling at whatever Aonung said.

What the fuck?

Lo’ak nudged his shoulder. “Bro?”

Lo'ak waved his hand in front of Neteyam's face, which he instantly swept aside. What exactly did Aonung say to make you laugh that hard? You only laugh when you're with him!

Neteyam was practically seething, his fists clenched into balls, as Kiri and Lo'ak snickered to each other out of his earshot. If Kiri didn't know any better, she'd suppose Neteyam was thinking about the finest ways to strangle a (what might as well be) merman.

And truly, he was.

Lo’ak held his fist to his mouth to stifle his laughs. “Dude, are you jealous?”

Kiri placed a hand on Lo’ak’s shoulder, and looked away with a smile plastered to her face. “He totally is.”

Neteyam’s rage was now being directed towards his siblings. “What? No I’m not! Why would I be jealous?”

Lo’ak was still chortling when he pointed behind Neteyam, motioning that he should probably look. He turned around indignantly, and saw that Aonung had a hand on your arm. He was close. Too close for his liking.

And that look. Anyone could see that Aonung was flirting with you. He was maintaining direct eye contact with you, narrowing his gaze. He appeared to be listening carefully to what you were saying, but his smirk paired with his eyes passing over your lips indicated otherwise.

Neteyam just wanted to pummel his stupid, blue face in.

Kiri and Lo'ak burst out laughing as they witnessed Neteyam storm over to where the two of you were. He aggressively inserted his own hand where Aonung's own had originally been, shoving your body into his own by the shoulder. The unexpected intrusion caught you off guard.

“Oh! Neteyam!”

You beamed at his arrival right away, but Aonung frowned. Before you could enquire what Neteyam was doing, he stared daggers into Aonung's head, and hauled you away from him by your bicep. Aonung remained there stunned, staring at your back as you walked away.

“What the hell?”

Kiri and Lo'ak tripped over themselves on their way over to Aonung, howling with laughter, and Lo'ak smacked his shoulder in amusement.

“Sorry cuz, you never stood a chance!”

Aonung’s cheeks darkened deeply. He was thoroughly mortified; he had no idea you were and Neteyam were like that! (You’re not.)

...

Neteyam began to lose confidence throughout the walk once he had pulled you much further away. While you shouted at him to let you go, he inwardly cursed at himself, wondering why he had just done that.

Does he like you?

Your vehement protests about how Neteyam was causing you pain eventually ceased falling on deaf ears. His rage vanished when he realized he'd been treating you like a ragdoll for the entire walk, and he immediately felt horrible. He let go of your arm and buried his face in his hands, ashamed that he had done such a thing to you in the first place.

You rubbed your sore arm, and nudged his shoulder gently. “What’s wrong?”

He looked way too upset, and you rarely saw him like this, if ever.

“Why was Aonung looking at you like that?”

That struck you with irritation. “Are you serious? That’s what this is about?”

His eyes darkened at your words. How could it not be?

You started to raise your voice. “You cannot be for real. You’re just my friend, why are you being so overprotective? If Aonung likes me, that’s my business! Not yours!”

Neteyam snatched your wrist again, evidently upset by what you just uttered. He didn’t know what he was saying anymore. “The only person that can look at you like that is me!”

You went quiet for a time, then realization dawned on your features. “Hold up... do you like me?”

Suddenly, Neteyam’s gaze softened, and he could no longer be furious with you. “How could I not?”

He released your wrist, unsure of what to say next. When he noticed your prolonged silence, Neteyam whirled around, prepared to walk back to his home and cry his frustrations out. He was fighting back tears already; what was the point of telling you this anyway?

You gripped his shoulder and forced him to swivel around and face you. Neteyam could not cover his face, and he felt humiliated because he didn't know why he was acting in this manner. Why was he weeping over a silly look?

He was caught by surprise when you cupped his face in your hands, and wiped the stray tears away. Your irritation had completely dissipated. “You have nothing to be worried about.”

He sniffled. “Why?”

“Because I’ve liked you since forever, but I didn’t think you liked me back. There were so many mixed signals, and you never picked up on my hints, either!”

Neteyam was taken aback. He was at a loss for words.

You rolled your eyes. “Just kiss me, you big idiot.”

Your hand that was on his shoulder was now suddenly imprisoned in his grip, and he jerked you towards his body, lips crashing into yours. He pressed against you with ardor, as if you'd vanish if he didn't embrace you like you were the last Na'vi on Pandora.

Your nimble fingers found purchase in his braids. His hands slithered around your waist, drawing you flush against him, effectively deepening the kiss. He needed you so near that he could only sense your lips against his. When you would try and pull away, his desperate kisses would follow.

You feared Neteyam had forgotten you needed to breathe, because you had to roughly pull his head back by his braids to eventually get him to halt his feverish actions. The minimal bit of pigment on your lips had now smeared, a mark left by Neteyam that claimed you as his. Who the hell taught him to kiss like that?

As you both merely stared at each other, stunned, Neteyam spoke through labored breaths. “All mine?”

“I’m all yours.”

Bonus!

Lo'ak sipped his fruity iced drink, having witnessed the entire exchange from a distance. He patted Aonung's back.

“You wish that was you, huh?”

Aonung punched him.

#↳˳💿;; ❝ inbox ᵕ̈ ೫˚∗: #↳˳🖤;; ❝ oneshot ᵕ̈ ೫˚∗: #avatar #avatar 2 #oneshot #oneshot avatar #oneshot avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #avatar 2 the way of water #metkayina #metkayina clan #omaticaya #omaticaya reader #female reader #neteyam #neteyam x reader #avatar neteyam #avatar neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam x you #neteyam sully x you #Aonung #aonung x you #aonung x reader #childhood friend romance #friends to lovers #jealousy #anguished declarations of love #angry neteyam

[navybrat817]

Where Did the Time Go?

Pairing: Best Friend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You decide not to drink during game night, which leads to an interesting conversation with Bucky. Word Count: 1.6k Warnings: Light angst, tension, friends reconnecting, unrequited feelings (or so you think), slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (yep, he's a warning) Previous Part of AU: We'll Always be Friends A/N: More Dreamboat and Butterfly from my Reconnect AU! ❤️ Beta read by @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You weren’t sure what exactly happened between dinner and now, but you decided that the fun game night wouldn’t include drinking. You hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since your meal. Even then, you were pretty sure you didn’t have much. Sharon brought out a bottle of wine before everyone finished eating and you took a sip of your glass out of obligation. If she noticed you didn’t finish your glass, she didn’t say anything, which you appreciated.

But you should’ve known that Bucky would catch on.

“Not drinking tonight, huh?” He asked as he took a seat beside you on the couch. Steve and Sam set up a game table and were already a couple of drinks in. So were Sharon and Natasha. You weren’t worried about them though. They could hold their liquor.

But can I hold my tongue if I drink? Or am I using that as an excuse?

“Not tonight,” you replied, holding up your cup of water. “Sticking with water.”

“You’re acting like we need a designated driver when we’re not going anywhere,” he joked, throwing his arm around behind the cushion, the same way he had at the dinner table. “Afraid I’ll kick your ass in Mario Kart if you get a little tipsy?” He asked, grinning when you smiled. “We can have a tournament? Just the two of us?”

“Hey, one of us might need to go on a liquor or snack run. You never know,” you said, setting your water on the table before you sank into the couch. “And it isn’t exactly a tournament if only two people are playing, is it?”

“It can be. We make our own rules,” he smiled as he moved a little closer. “Remember the time we had a tournament? We went to that shady looking liquor store after Sam spilled the last bottle of rum. The guy behind the counter had a bunch of clown masks.”

You laughed a little. How could you forget? “Yes! We had to open the living room window so we could breathe. And the cashier was actually a sweet guy, but you glued yourself to my side before that because you were certain the guy had bad intentions,” you said. Bucky and his protective streak made you feel important.

Until you weren’t.

Bucky must’ve noticed the change in your demeanor since he stopped chuckling. “Seriously though. Are you okay? Are you not feeling well?”

“I feel fine. I just don’t need to drink tonight,” you said, touched that he showed concern for you before a weird expression crossed his face. “What? Do I have something in my teeth?”

“No. You’re, um,” he tapped a finger on his knee as he tried to find the words. “There isn’t a specific reason you aren’t, is there? You're not…” he trailed off, but his eyes drifted long enough to your torso to fill in the blank.

You never understood the expression about eyes widening to the size of saucers until you experienced it just then. “Are you asking if I’m pregnant?” You whispered, careful not to speak any louder than that. The last thing you needed was the group questioning why Bucky asked such a question. “If so, the answer is NO.”

The sigh of relief Bucky let out, you weren’t sure what to make of it. “Sorry. I'm sorry. You don’t owe me an explanation for why you aren’t drinking. I just. I don't know why my mind went there.”

You couldn’t exactly tell him you're worried about getting plastered and revealing how you felt about him. Drunk confessions worked for some, but you didn’t think the odds were in your favor. “I still can’t believe you asked that,” you half teased, pointing at your stomach. “Not to mention, I haven’t been laid in ages. So, unless it happens via immaculate conception, that’s never going to be the case.”

The odd expression was back on Bucky’s face. What was his deal? “When was the last time you went on a date?” He asked with more interest than you expected.

“Months ago. Minimum,” you said, looking up at the ceiling as you tried to recall the exact day. “His name was Nick. We went on a few dates and he was nice enough, but he ended up getting serious with someone else. Haven’t gone on another date since.”

The clench in Bucky’s jaw almost made you smile. He had no reason to look so upset on your behalf. “I’m sorry. It’s his loss.”

“Don’t be. I’m kind of used to it,” you said with a nonchalant shrug.

“What the hell does that mean?” He asked, facing you on the couch and blocking the view of your friends at the table. “What exactly are you used to?”

Why does he sound upset? It's not like I’m not his girl.

“It means I’m used to guys not picking me,” you said honestly. As much as it hurt to think that way, saying it didn’t hurt as badly. “Think about it, Bucky. In all the time you’ve known me, when have guys ever flocked to me? When have you ever seen a guy take a chance on me when Natasha and Sharon were there? They haven’t and that’s just the way it is.”

“That’s bullshit. You’re perfect. And maybe people do see you, but you don’t see them,” he argued, quickly closing his mouth when he saw your expression. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“No, I think that’s exactly what you meant,” you said, sitting up to put some distance between the two of you as hurt filled his eyes. “I see just fine, thanks, but please enlighten me. Who saw me? Who did I overlook? I’d love an example.”

There was no reason to get so defensive, but did he understand how you felt? People gravitated toward Bucky and your friends. They always had. You, on the other hand, were on the outside of the house looking in. It was tiring to be the one knocking on the door.

“What about your old friend, TJ? You’re telling me he didn’t see you?” He asked, a hint of bitterness in his voice. It wasn’t a tone you heard from him before. It didn't suit him.

“TJ?” You asked, confusion written all over your face that you couldn’t fake if you tried. “TJ Hammond? My old family friend? Um, no, he definitely doesn’t see me.”

Not even close.

“He stayed at your place after Steve’s party,” he said, running a hand through his hair as he avoided your gaze. “Bet he couldn’t wait to see you. Probably went over the second you got back from the trip.”

Wait, is he jealous? What the hell?

You laughed a little, unable to help yourself when he raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, he did stay at my place for a bit after Steve’s birthday bash a couple of years ago. He had an issue with his boyfriend.”

Bucky did a double take, which would’ve been humorous if not for the stricken look on his face. “Boyfriend?”

“Yeah. The guy he dated at the time was a HUGE asshole and they had a falling out. His parents refused to let him go back home, so he stayed with me. And I couldn’t kick him out. He needed a friend,” you said, your brows pinching when you recalled how TJ cried on your sofa. It was a heartbreaking sight. “He has a new boyfriend now who treats him well and he couldn’t be happier. And I couldn’t be happier for him.”

Bucky blinked a few times. “So, you two. You never…?”

“TJ and I? No. Never dated, hooked up, anything,” you smiled with a shake of your head. “We adore each other, but in a brother and sister kind of way. I mean, we’ve known each other since we were in diapers. Even if I did find him attractive, nothing ever would’ve happened. You, Steve, Sam, you guys are much more his type.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, his face a bit pale. You worried for a second that he was going to get sick. “I thought you two hooked up,” he said more to himself than to you.

Where the hell did he get that impression?

“No, we didn't and we never will,” you said again before something he said dawned on you. “Wait, how did you know he stayed at my place? He asked me not to tell anyone where he was and I respected his wishes.”

Going through the dates again in your head, it wasn’t long after TJ stayed with you that Bucky brought Dot around as his new girlfriend. You knew you lost your chance to admit your feelings because he had someone by his side. Someone who wasn’t you.

“Come with me,” Bucky said, taking your hand and pulling you up from the couch before you had a chance to argue. It was hard to keep up with his long strides and he didn’t look back when Steve called after the two of you.

“What’s going on?” You asked as he pulled you outside and slammed the door. You watched as he took a few breaths, like he was trying to steady himself. “Talk to me, please.”

“I wasted two years,” he whispered, tilting his head to look at the sky. “Two fucking years.”

What is he talking about?

“I don’t understand,” you said.

“I made a huge mistake and I regret it,” he said, squeezing your hand as he faced you. “And I can't go the rest of this week without telling you. I wasted enough time.”

“Tell me what? Bucky, what did you do?”

And can we come back from it?

That literary edging. I'm sorry! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes #best friend!bucky barnes #best friend!bucky barnes x reader #dreamboat and butterfly #reconnect au #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes au #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes x reader #sebastian stan

[mitch-the-silly]

Totally love your works. I have an angst idea 😆 so fem!reader and Vox have been in a long term relationship, like during the time Alastor was gone. Now that he's back, he's become his obsession and starts to neglect reader and brushes any affection she's trying to give and receive off. When she finally tries to talk to him about how he's focusing all his energy on the radio demon, he basically goes off on her and says how it's the only thing that matters. She, feeling unimportant, leaves and it's not until he sees her things gone from their shared place that he realizes he fucked up.

Can lead to him groveling like a simp and end in fluff comfort and makeouts. Or can end there if you wanted to leave your readers in suspense if you want to do it in two parts 😈 muaha I'm evil.

RAHHHHHH!!!!

I took some time with this one because I had to cook it up with care. When I tell you Alastor and Vox's dynamic is what I BREATHE FOR-

Now add someone else to the mix on Vox's side- This is something I've been waiting to write for WEEKS-

RAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

I was going feral writing this- Anyway, enjoy your angst >:DDD

This is a two parter!!!

Vox x fem!reader

Angst!!!

"Can't Seem to Hold Me, Can't Seem to Let Him Go" Pt.1

Part 2

It was a privilege to receive affection from Vox. Not even that, but it seemed that if it wasn’t for you, his life was boring and mundane. Nothing truly got him all excited and manic anymore, and he was starting to hate his life a little bit. He was already at the top of the game, he and the rest of the Vees were the most powerful overlords. What else was there to do around here?

But, well, all was not bad, he had you. While the power he held had a kick to it, there was nothing like the drug of rivalry. But with Alastor gone, he had to settle for the next best thing, love. Oh, it ought to be an adventure. And that drug had such a kick, oh he was obsessed with it.

And that’s where you came into the picture, he met you at a nightclub. So pretty and talented, just the kind of people he loved to surround himself by, just what he wanted, just what he craved… And you kept him as entertained as he needed to be. To the point that he felt like perhaps he was sort of falling in love with you. Oh, how the bliss of forgetting his fights of the past with a pretty woman. He’d allowed his heart the validation it needed and he figured if someone loved him as deeply as you did, truly everyone loved him.

Of course, he still had to balance Velvette and Valentino, but that was the mundane part of his power-hungry scheme. The mixture, of your attention and doting intertwined with his total control of the population… oh he was living the life… truly. Or at least that was what he tried to tell himself. Ever since Alastor disappeared, he felt a hole in his heart. Something that couldn’t quite be quenched by all the power the world had to offer or the women this land had to throw at him.

It was the pure thrill of obsession that he missed, that he craved, but no one was a worthy opponent to him anymore. Alastor was gone. Alastor… his one and only obsession… what was he to do now? He could not fathom being this bored and empty all eternity. But what could he do about it? Nothing but sit and sulk, truly. But to himself, of course, he knew that telling you this would just leave you confused about your position in his eyes. And he truly did care about you, but… you were the only interesting thing in his life, and his one fatal flaw was always wanting for more.

You had your arm linked with Vox’s, ascending from his TV surveillance room onto the upper floors. You tapped his shoulder, catching his attention. “You’ve got a little somethin’.” You chuckled, pointing at the corner of his mouth. “Let me get it.” You giggled, gesturing for him to lean down. He obliged and you wiped the edge of his lips with your thumb.

“Forgot to get that spot. It’s hard to get all of them, you know? You should start cleaning up your own mess.~” He teased.

“It’s not my fault someone wanted to make out down there…” You huffed jokingly, linking arms with him again. You two stood still, smiling like cardboard cutouts as you waited for the elevator doors to open. The second they did, a crowd surrounded you two. Asking both of you all sorts of questions. It was always this way, an everyday routine since Vox was a celebrity, and by dating him, so were you. Every public area you were in was nothing but camera flashes and microphones. It was a bit much at times, but Vox enjoyed it so much, that you didn’t seem to mind too much. Once their questions were answered, and Vox shooed them away, you two went to your destination freely. And you continued to do this for days and days after that. You loved your routine, and found peace in the sort of monotony you two had.

But oh no, no good thing lasts forever. An unlucky morning, you found yourself in Vox’s surveillance room, sitting on his lap, enjoying each other’s company. It was a day like no other, truly.

“Look at that!” He shouted, pointing at one of his monitors, “What does it feel like to be with someone so rich and fucking powerful, baby? Just look at how easily they flock to me~” He chuckled, caressing your face.

“Oh~ You’re just the perfect mastermind~ I’m the luckiest sinner in hell~” You cooed, kissing the bottom corner of his screen, leaving behind a red lipstick kiss stain.

“Why don’t you kiss a bit higher?~ You missed my mouth entirely~?” He cooed back, fake pouting at you as to request you kiss his lips.

You obliged, leaning closer to him, but just before you planted your kiss, his face blared with an incoming call screen. His ringtone was so stupid, but it was charming nonetheless. You saw who was calling him: Velvette. She was either calling to annoy him (which you totally respected; annoying Vox was your favorite pastime after making out with him), or because she needed something important. So you sat back down in his lap as Vox answered the phone, passing the call from his face to a television.

“Hello there, Velvette! How are you this… hellish morning?~” Vox chuckled, picking up his coffee mug and taking a sip from it, after which he pecked your lips. He was a huge fan of flaunting you to his fellow Vees.

“Oh cut the shit Vox. I need you up here. Now.” Velvette demanded, side-eyeing you slightly, but then smiling when you looked at her.

Vox, continued to tenderly touch you, caressing your cheek, not even looking at Velvette anymore, just admiring your precious face. “Whatever could be the problem, dear?”

“Well, your little boy-toy, is wrecking my department while I’m trying to pull together a show! And-” She paused, to turn behind her, Valentino could be heard in the background as flying body parts flew behind Velvette. It was most definitely another Valentino tantrum. Vox had no choice but to turn to her now… “So get your ass here! Now. And don’t bring your girlfriend, it’s NOT going to make Valentino feel any better, you know how he’s always bitching about her.” Velvette yelled, after which she turned around to yell at Valentino, immediately hanging up afterward.

Vox sighed, the adoring smile he gave you morphing into an annoyed frown. “Stay here, doll. I have to stop another tantrum…” He picked you up and placed you on his chair. Then he walked away, muttering under his breath about how tedious having to check on Val was and how he hated his life.

A bit of pity overcame you, but you figured it was simply the burden power came with. You frowned at being left out of the situation, but you smiled at the realization that you didn’t have to sit there and wonder what came of this whole fiasco. Vox’s cameras! Oh, they were all over the place, and you knew how to work the surveillance room perfectly.

So you began to observe him, watching him talk to some paparazzi, announcing a new product or line, perhaps, then leaving towards Velvette’s department. And ‘in shambles’ was an understatement when it came to describing what you saw in there. Models running around, Velvette yelling at some designers, Valentino had definitely thrown the place off course, but you knew Velvette had it under control. She was always on top of things.

You observed how she spoke to Vox, shooing him up to Valentino’s tower… You hated that place. You would have started off there if it wasn’t for Vox seeing you first. And oh the stories you’ve heard about it… You didn’t talk to Valentino much, but the very few times you did he was very passive-aggressive. You didn’t like him much, but you understood that the porn industry was something Vox needed to have control over in order to have the power he desired. You weren’t too fond of… his history with Vox, and you didn’t even wanna know if they still had something going on. You preferred to stay in the shadows about it. If anything was still happening, you were sure it was because Vox needed him in check. And Valentino was a tricky one for sure, but you’d rather not think about the subject.

You observed Vox enter Valentino’s quarters, his room was full of that red smoke he always had around him. You knew it was a drug of sorts… it made you sick to your stomach to think that maybe Vox was under it too… But, again, not something you liked to think about. Vox approached him and the second Valentino saw him, he got up, smashed his cocktail glass on the floor in pure rage.

You weren’t one to criticize people’s maturity (it’s not like your Vox wasn’t quite the man-child at times), but you hated the way Valentino tended to pounce at first signs of anything. His short temperament sort of pissed you off. Or maybe it wasn’t his temperament that ticked you, it was probably the attention Vox gave it. You proceeded to listen to their conversation, Valentino complaining about another one of his employees… Typical of him. It didn’t surprise you it was Angel Dust who he was bitching about. He always bitched about his star employee.

And you could tell Vox was uninterested, observing him text on his phone as Val ranted. Funny enough he was texting you. You found it so cute how perfect his grammar was over text. He loved to portray himself as refined and superior in every aspect.

Val’s rambling again

What do you wanna get for dinner?

I was thinking, maybe… Chinese?

What do you think, Doll?

After which, a phrase Val said caught his attention and he indulged him with a response. Response which was met with more screams and whines from Valentino. And just as you were about to text Vox back with the answer to his question, you saw how Val took Vox’s phone and smashed it into the wall. You sighed in annoyance. You were about to switch off their conversation until you heard Valentino say where Angel Dust was…

He was living with Lucifer’s daughter? Angel Dust living with Princess Charlie? This only meant he could be in one place, that hotel you heard her announce. Valentino rambled about going there and killing everyone there, which Vox immediately shut down. It was his perpetual situation. He always had to put Valentino in his place, reminding him that his delusions were not to be acted upon.

He always talked to Valentino like he was a child. He did the same to you too, but it was more loving… You were sure. When he spoke to Valentino that way, it was more condescending. You liked to hear that even Vox thought this was stupid. Either that, or he was using his TV Show Host Voice to get through to him. You huffed at the sight of Vox lighting a cigarette for Val, listening to what they were talking about again. Since you’d zoned out while mentally criticizing Val.

“You know…~ Angel isn’t the only one spending time at this ratty hotel with the devil’s Princesa~...” Valentino cooed, turning back to Vox who was messing around with some of Vaelintino’s things.

“Oh? Who else is in there? Someone who… owes you money?” Vox replied, as uninterested as before, but still attempting to put up a facade for his fellow Vee.

Valentino laughed at his response, “Someone who owes us much more than money~...” He chuckled, shaking the ashes off his cig.

Vox lifted a brow, pretending to care. But he was about to care about what Valentino had to say, very soon.

“The Radio Demon is there…~” Valentino cooed.

Vox’s demeanor switched in a millisecond. The mere name sent shivers down his spine, his hypnotic eye bulging on his screen as he dug his claws into the nearest piece of furniture. He began to crackle with electricity, his voice was low and extremely reverbed. "W̵h̵a̷t̸ ̴d̴i̵d̸ ̷y̶o̷u̷ ̷j̵u̵s̶t̶ ̷s̴a̴y̷.̵.̷.̵?̶ ” He muttered, turning slowly to Valentino.

You could see something in him change. It was a bit scary in all honestly, you knew Vox to be one to put up masks, but this one… it was one you didn't even know he had up.

“Oh, you heard me~.” Valentino replied, grinning back at him.

“Alastor… came back and he is with Lucifer’s d̶a̸u̶g̸h̴t̴e̵r̶ … and that wasn’t the F̷I̷R̷S̴T̴ ̵ F̷̺̕Ủ̷̺C̵͕̕K̵̟̚Ị̵̉N̸̺̂G̸͖̍ ̵͔̽T̷͍͊H̸̫͘I̸͇̒N̴̪͘G̵͙̿ ̸̦͠Y̵̜̎Ọ̴̍U̶̫̎ ̸̪͘T̴͓̕O̸̙̎L̵̼̓D̴̛̥ ̶͊͜M̷̮̆Ē̷̫?̴̧̆!̶͎̕ ” Vox roared, grabbing Valentino by the collar.

The taller demon brushed this gesture off, walking away from him, “Hey~ Killing Alastor is your kink~!” Val chuckled, sitting on a countertop near some monitors.

Without wasting a second, Vox zapped towards the little surveillance Valentino had in his room. You could barely see what was on that screen, but it was enough for you to be able to tell that The Radio Demon was in that footage. You watched the way Vox observed him. It was obsessive, so attentive and careful. It… it made you a tiny bit jealous, in all honesty. For the past seven years, he’d only looked at you that way, or rather, he’d never looked at you that way and to that extent at all.

You observed Vox mutter about Alastor, (ignoring Valentino’s complaints about Angel Dust) he was buzzing and crackling like crazy. Was he livid? Excited? You just couldn’t tell. But you didn’t have much time to think, because, in the blink of an eye, Vox wrapped his conversation up with Val and zapped his way out of his tower.

After which, you heard the doors to the room you were in open up. You got up, seeing Vox approach you. You tried to speak to him, but he shoved you to the side. “Not now Y/n. Go upstairs.” He commanded.

Sitting in his chair, he pressed a button, connecting himself to the machine before him. He was getting ready to broadcast.

His behavior took you aback. You couldn’t believe he’d done this to you. But what else could you do? He’d ignored you.

So you went up the elevator, observing his display via television.

He was losing his fucking mind. Spiraling. You’d never seen Vox like this. And yet, one would think he’d be pissed by this new discovery… but he was… genuinely smiling… you’d never seen him this happy.

Shit got interesting when Alastor responded, however, beginning his radio broadcast. Of course, Vox broadcasted this on the channel too with the intention of beating Alastor on air. A mistake he was sure to pay for. You watched Alastor tear him to bits, hearing even that Vox had asked Alastor to be a Vee and him rejecting the offer as the reason for their rivalry.

And then it clicked… Vox saw Alastor as his main priority. And if what Alastor said was true… Vox’s approach to this refusal was “If I can’t have him, I must destroy him.” Of course, you weren’t allowed to ponder on this much, since Vox began to glitch.

He was losing his patience, spiraling more and more, threatening Alastor until he caused a blackout and ending his broadcast.

Over the darkness of the room you were in, in the distance, you could hear the ominously menacing voice of Alastor as he warned Vox that the time of his reign was over… you could imagine what this made Vox feel. He’d essentially lost the argument by losing his composure.

Alas, you were sure you could try to find him downstairs. He confided in you, you were sure about this. So after a huge blow to his ego such as this, you had to go to him and console him. So you made your way back to his surveillance/broadcast room. You opened the doors to see him crouched down over a screen. He swiped through the footage of everyone in the Bee district speaking. “Where is he? Where is he broadcasting from?” he cried out, switching from screen to screen, checking every camera on every sector on the Pentagram. “He put a fucking tower in that hotel?!” he raged.

“Vox…” You mumbled softly, approaching him.

“Not now.” He blurted bluntly. “Ughh… I need to meet with the other two… Alastor’s return brings in a new set of problems.” He chuckled. And while he tried to sound as annoyed as possible, you couldn’t help but see that light in his eyes. One you didn’t even know was missing. He was obviously enjoying himself, but why? Why was he this excited?

“Don’t overexert yourself, ok?” You suggested, trying to look out for him.

“Don’t overexert myself? Alastor is fucking back! I’m not sleeping until this fucker is taken down!” He spat back, walking off.

You let him be, it seemed to be important. But as days went by, he began to spend less time with you to the point in which he began to ignore you. He’d shove you to the side to spend his day obsessing over sabotaging Alastor. Days passed and he shut you out, completely cutting you off in order to spend more time feeding his obsession. You couldn’t stand this, you had to tell him to turn your way.

So you went to his broadcast/surveillance room, observing the way he peered over his screens. Spreading rumors and lies about Alastor in order to smear his image. He muttered as if he was spiraling, speaking things that sounded like gibberish when paired with the sound of his revered and staticized voice.

“Vox…” You spoke, trying to catch his attention.

“W̶̥͗H̸̠͒A̵̳̓T̵̩̏?̷̲̕!̵͎̓” Box yelled, turning to you in annoyance.

“I need to talk to you.” You spoke, a bit taken aback by his reaction to you speaking to him.

“I’m too busy for that. Another day, sweetheart.” He spoke, shrugging you off.

“No, another day will not do. I want to speak now.” You demanded.

“Now’s not the time to be a brat. I’m busy and that’s final.” Vox huffed, attempting to get you to leave.

“Why are you ignoring me?! Ever since Alastor came back, you haven’t even said more than three sentences to me! Am I not important to you?” You cried out, getting all up in his face. If he refused to acknowledge you, you were going to make it impossible for him to do so.

“Hey hey hey! I’m busy! Go bother someone else, this is important!” He protested, pushing you away from him.

“You’re not listening to me!! Am I not important!?” You screamed, shoving his arms away from you.

“Alastor is important to me right now! Does that answer your question?!” He yelled back, turning away from you to do as he had before.

You stood there in shock, he’d essentially told you that you weren’t important to him. What was truly important to him was Alastor and the sabotage of his power. So you walked off, running away from him.

Vox did not realize what he’d done. He was too obsessed and preoccupied with his own obsessions that he didn’t seem to notice that he’d driven you away…

#rahhhhh #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel vox #vox #vox x reader #hazbin alastor #valentino hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #vox hazbin #vox hazbin hotel #i had so much fun

[avatar-anna]

I was thinking you could do a “5 times y/n told Harry she was pregnant” for the young!dad series !! That would be so interesting especially since in the last piece you mentioned that Harry already had a feeling she was pregnant before she even told him

The Thing About Having Six Kids

so i got this ask and a couple others that were kind of about the kids' birth/pregnancy a while ago, and went with five different instances about each kid in the youngdadrry universe. it's all surrounding their birth, finding out about pregnancies, etc. enjoy!

Young Dad! Harry x Young Mom! Reader

Simone

(a text conversation between Harry and Y/n)

Y/n: i'm pregnant

(one day later)

Y/n: Harry?

Harry: Are you sure?

Y/n: i'm sure

Y/n: i have four different pregnancy tests to prove it

Harry: I don't know what to say.

Y/n: the 24 hours it took you to respond kind of told me that

Harry: I'm sorry about that. It's just...a lot

Y/n: it's fine i guess. at least you finally responded.

Harry: Did you think I wouldn't?

Y/n: honestly? yeah. it's not like we're married or in love or anything. you don't even live in the same country as me

Harry: What are you going to do?

Harry: I know but I wouldn't just like disappear on you

Harry: I was just shocked that's all

Y/n: idk. i'm still trying to figure out a way to tell my parents

Harry: Shit my parents!

Y/n: that's kinda where i'm at right now

Y/n: but i think i want to keep it

Y/n: the baby

Y/n: fuck that sounds crazy to say. i have physics homework due tomorrow but let me stop and make a life altering decision really quick about whether i want to have a baby or not

Harry: I'm sorry. You know...

Y/n: for getting me pregnant? knocking me up? putting a bun in the oven?

Harry: It seems too early to joke about this

Y/n: it's keeping me from freaking the fuck out at the moment

(ten minutes later)

Harry: I want to talk about this properly and figure this whole thing out but I have to go

Y/n: please don't feel obligated or anything. this was just a courtesy

Y/n: i don't expect anything from you. i get it if your management wants you to delete my number and never see me again. i just thought you should know.

Harry: What are you talking about?

Harry: Y/n?

3 missed calls from Him <3

Collette

"Let's have another baby."

Y/n was close to nodding off, so it was very possible that she was dreaming. She looked behind her. It was dark in the bedroom, but Harry was close enough that she could see him, could see that his head was propped on his elbow so he could look down at her.

"What did you say?" she asked, because she needed to be sure.

"I...I want another baby," he said, voice soft even though they were the only two people in the room. Simone was fast asleep in her own bedroom, tuckered out after a long day of playing at the park and eating ice cream and fingerpainting with Harry. Now that One Direction was officially on hiatus, it was just the three of them—Y/n, Harry, and Simone. Y/n thought it would take some getting used to, living a relatively normal life. But their little family actually fell into it quite easily.

Perhaps a little too easily.

"Say something."

Y/n hadn't realized she failed to respond, but to be fair, that was a pretty big bomb her husband just dropped. Her husband. They'd been married for a few months now, but it still felt surreal, which was probably why the idea of having another baby felt too far from reality to comprehend.

"I just...I don't know what to say," Y/n said honestly. "I—I'm not sure we're ready for that."

"We weren't ready the first time," Harry said when Y/n finally flipped on her other side to face him. This seemed like a conversation he really wanted to have, so she thought facing him would probably be best. "I just think this might be the time, you know? I don't have an insane schedule anymore, there's no more management to say that we can't, and I've always thought about giving Simone a sibling. Don't tell me you've never thought about it."

"I...I have," Y/n said.

She did think about more kids. As young as she and Harry were and as impossible as their relationship seemed at times, Y/n couldn't help but think about wanting more. She loved Harry, and she'd been loving these moments they'd been able to share as a proper family recently. Harry was right, if they wanted to have another baby, now would be the time.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he said as she felt more than saw his hand push some hair away from her face.

"What happens when you start working again?" Y/n asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I know you, H," she said. "And I love you. Everything about you. And one of the parts that make you who you are is the music. This...this little bubble we're in, I love it too, but I know you'll want to go back to it someday. And then you'll go on tour for ten months, and I'll be alone to raise two kids by myself for a majority of the year."

It was harsh, but she trusted him enough to take it. This was the thought that always held her back. Y/n thought about the possibility of expanding their family on more than one occasion, especially in recent weeks when things have been practically perfect. But the reality was that Harry would want to go back to work. She knew, maybe better than anyone, the desire he had to make his own music, to create and write in ways he couldn't while in the band. And perform. Harry loved to perform live. Y/n knew that this time spent with just their family was fleeting, and she cherished every minute of it, the same way she knew Harry did. It was only a matter of time before he went back to work, and she wasn't sure she could raise Simone and a newborn without him.

"That's...That's all over now," Harry said. When Y/n tried to protest, he continued on. "What I meant to say was, the ridiculous schedules, the strict rules about when we can and can't spend time together, the separate hotel rooms. Mama, things can be different now."

"But management—"

"I bought out my contract," he said. "I haven't really given it much thought in a while because I just want to be present with you and Simone, but I've got a few people in mind for new managers. People who will prioritize our family."

This was certainly news to Y/n. It was hard to talk about Harry's management or the harsh thumb they pinned him under, so oftentimes it was a topic they avoided. Hearing him say this now, knowing how much money it would've taken to buy out his contract...that was a huge deal. As far as she knew, the other boys were just sticking with it until the contracts were finished. But Harry went and did what Y/n didn't even think was possible.

"Our family," Y/n repeated, and for a moment, she could see it. The three of them becoming four. It was crazy to think about, to think so far ahead into the future, but Y/n wasn't scared by it.

"Let's have another baby," Harry said again.

Looking at him, Y/n's heart squeezed in her chest. He'd been growing his hair out for a while now, and it was long enough that it reached just passed his shoulders. She loved it, thought it made him look older, more mature. And okay, hot. And Simone loved it too. She loved braiding it and putting bows and flowers in it or just twisting it around her finger. His shoulders were broad and lean, though he'd put on a little muscle in his arms from doing handiwork around the house, something he claimed he loved to do even though Y/n had heard him curse from another room while he worked on his latest project.

She looked at his face, the one that looked so different yet so similar to the one she'd met when she was seventeen. She wondered what those teenagers would think of the people they'd become, of the things they'd seen and experienced.

She thought about it. The baby-to-be. It would have Harry's eyes and smile, her nose and hair color. If it was a girl, she could wear matching outfits with Simone, if it was a boy...Well, they could maybe still match. Y/n thought about all the baby clothes—the adorable little onesies and shoes and mittens to keep the baby from scratching their face while they slept. She didn't let herself think of the late nights and sore boobs and dirty diapers. In this moment, she just thought about all the good feelings, every perfect moment that could be.

"You promise things will be different? I can't—I can't do it alone," she said, needing to hear him say it again.

Harry didn't try to kiss her, he didn't put his hands on her waist or pull her to his chest—all tactics he would normally use to distract her. This conversation was too serious, too important, and she loved him all the more for understanding that.

"I promise, Y/n," he said, taking her hand in his and squeezing it. "I will never make you regret living this life with me."

"That's not what I—"

"I know, but I just...I needed to say it."

He needed to make that promise to her, to himself. Life had not been easy, and Y/n knew Harry blamed himself for a lot of the hardships they faced.

"I don't," she said, kissing their joined hands. "And I won't. Ever. "

Harry grinned, and Y/n could tell even in the dark that his gaze was a little watery. Still, he inched forward and said, "So...?"

Y/n leaned forward and kissed him, her leg slotting between his. "Let's have another baby."

Maeve and Jules

"I'm sorry, did you just say twins?"

"I did. I'm seeing two heartbeats here. See?" The doctor said, pointing at the monitor she'd been observing closely the last five minutes.

Y/n couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. It was one thing to be pregnant (again), but an entirely different one to be pregnant with twins. "That's—"

"Amazing," Harry breathed.

Y/n turned her head away from the monitor to look at her husband, whose eyes were glued to the screen with a look of wonder in them. As she'd begun to process her own feelings about housing not one but two babies in her belly for nine months, she hadn't really considered how he might feel about it.

Looking at him now, she could tell he was ecstatic.

Y/n was still panicking a little, but seeing the elation on Harry's face was comforting. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it hard, needing to feel the warmth of his palm to ground her.

"Hey," he said softly, bending down to kiss the top of her head. "This is a good thing. Unexpected, but good."

"I know," Y/n said, letting out a shaky breath. "I know it's just...a lot. I mean...twins?"

"Nothing we can't handle," Harry said, kissing her cheek.

His confidence was reassuring. Maybe he was freaking out on the inside and not letting it show for her sake, but Y/n felt better about the situation at hand and was ready to continue with the appointment.

To the doctor, she said, "Are they healthy?"

The doctor smiled warmly. "They are. It looks like one of them is about a week behind, but that's nothing to worry about."

"Really? They're twins. That doesn't seem possible," Harry said, his brow furrowing adorably.

"It's rare, but it is possible. Fraternal twins can be conceived as much as twenty-four days apart," the doctor said.

Y/n understood perhaps a split-second before Harry, but when he did, he turned as beet red as she felt. The doctor didn't seem to mind their embarrassment, though she'd probably seen all sorts of couples and situations. Y/n imagined there wasn't much that the doctor hadn't seen before.

The appointment wrapped up pretty quickly after that. Harry snuck out of the hospital through a separate door while Y/n set up her next appointment. She met him in the staff parking lot, where he was standing by the passenger door to help her in. Harry gave her a quick kiss before closing her in and walking around to the driver's side. As he drove, Y/n was thinking about a number of things—twice the amount of clothes, twice the amount of crying, twice the amount of diaper changes. She was excited at the prospect of having a baby. It was a conversation she and Harry had before they started trying, but the idea of twins was a lot to wrap her head around.

She looked at Harry, wanting to ask how he felt now that they were alone, but she stopped herself.

Harry had one hand on the steering wheel, the other covering a wide grin. He was blushing a little too, and Y/n couldn't help but ask what had him smiling like an idiot.

"I'm trying to figure out which times," he said.

"What do you mean which—Are you kidding? Which times we conceived the twins?"

"Aren't you curious?" Harry asked. "Twice, babe. I put a baby in you twice. I mean, one of them had to be when we were on the yacht, right? I always feel good after we have sex, but I feel like we really outdid ourselves there. Clearly."

Y/n just looked at her husband in shock. "You are..."

"What? It's cool!" Harry insisted, but he was laughing too. "And it takes the edge off a little. Come on, you try."

So he was more nervous than he was letting on. That was comforting in its own way too, but Y/n appreciated his attempts to lighten the mood. They could have a serious conversation later, but for now it was fun to just forget all of that. Just for a moment.

Y/n gave him a dry look, trying to appear like she wasn't impressed until she eventually rolled her eyes and smiled. "Mm...I agree with the yacht, and...when you came back from London."

"Really?" Harry asked, more curious than surprised.

"Yeah," Y/n said with a little sigh as she remembered the night in question. "That was a good night."

It was one of those rare occurrences where Simone was in her own bed and Collette managed to sleep for more than a couple hours. They'd spent the whole night catching up and giggling like idiots and kissing and enjoying the pleasure of being truly alone with each other. Y/n loved those moments with Harry, where everything was just so simple and easy and it was just them having a little fun. They definitely should've been catching up on sleep while they could, but neither of them wanted to, so they stayed up with tired smiles and slurred movements until they heard Collette's cries through the baby monitor.

"It was. We should do that again sometime," Harry said. Taking Y/n's hand, he kissed the tops of her knuckles.

"You just want to go for triplets," Y/n teased, even though she knew that wasn't what he meant.

"I'm not that crazy," he said, but his smile told her he was thinking about the possibility. Maybe just a little. "I'm excited for this."

"Yeah? What do you think? Boys? Girls? A boy and a girl?"

Harry shrugged. "Our track record would suggest girls, but..."

"You never know," Y/n finished for him.

Geneva

"We have some pretty big news to share."

Once a month, the Styles family held a Zoom call with their friends and family who were scattered across the globe. Since lockdown began, there was a lot of adjusting—online school, not being able to go to the park to play, being at home all day. It was a lot for everyone, but Harry and Y/n did their best to make the adjustments smoother. And when they needed a break, they set up the monthly Zoom calls.

They were mostly just to catch up. Once all the children went to sleep, Harry and Y/n stayed up late talking to other adults about everything and nothing, maybe even played a different drinking game or two to round out the night before they went back to being parents. Tonight was a special night, though.

Multiple faces looked at Harry and Y/n expectantly through their computer screen. Both of them were sporting big smiles as Y/n leaned on Harry's side, one of his older sweatshirts covering her body and the almost imperceptible bump that was beginning to show now. Today was the first day she'd begun to show, and Harry nearly lost his mind with excitement. Finding out Y/n was pregnant had been somewhat of a surprise, but when she told him, he was over the moon. He's started to suspect, having recognized some of his wife's symptoms by now, but they'd been waiting for the right time to tell their families and friends, and tonight was the night.

"What's going on, darling?" Anne asked.

Neither Harry nor Y/n could barely contain their excitement, which probably gave away the news before they actually said anything. However, in their own eagerness to share the news, neither of them saw a few people on the call sporting knowing looks.

"We're having a baby!"

Cheers went all around as everyone congratulated the couple. Questions were asked about due dates and how far along they were and what they were going to do about the lockdown situation. Everything was just as Harry had hoped it would be.

And then things took an interesting turn.

"Who won?" Jeff asked.

"Won? What do you mean—"

"If my math is correct, which I'm pretty sure it is, I believe it goes to Gem," Sarah said, looking down at her phone. "She went with three and a half months. Glenne narrowly missed with three. No one had four so it goes to Gemma."

A collective groan went throughout the Zoom, leaving Harry and Y/n very confused.

"Did you place bets on us?" Y/n asked, sounding more astonished than offended.

"When lockdown became permanent, we knew it was a matter of when not if we would be getting the announcement," Jeff explained. "Someone has a physical copy of the pool somewhere."

"And all of you did this? Mum?" Harry said, brows raised higher than Y/n had ever seen them. When Anne nodded sheepishly, Y/n had to stifle a laugh. "So none of you were surprised?"

"I love you, dear, and I'm so so happy for you, but since you were seventeen, anytime you've come to me with big news, it's been about having a baby. For my own sanity, I've just come to expect it."

Harry looked down at Y/n, who was grinning behind her hand. For her husband's sake, her gaze softened as she reached up to kiss his cheek. "I mean, they have a point. Even you guessed it before I told you."

As the shock finally wore off, Harry smiled. He supposed it wasn't the worst thing in the world. So, he and Y/n were predictable, even though they hadn't really been trying this time around. They were in love and had a lot more time together currently. Things were finally back on track for them and their relationship troubles seemed behind them now. They were happy, and as long as his family was happy, some light teasing and bet placing seemed harmless.

He did pin everyone on the screen with a mock glare before moving on, though. "You guys made a whole pool. Really?"

"Yeah. Can you believe Jeff thought it would take eight months for you to get pregnant?"

"It was for the adjustment to lockdown period!"

"Eight months?"

And on and on it went. Harry just smiled and rested his hand over Y/n's belly, thinking about how much it would grow in just a few short weeks.

Natalia

"I want Mommy!"

Harry sighed and pulled his only son into his lap, pushing the curls away from his face and wiping the tears from his cheeks. "I know you do, JuJu."

Harry and the kids were waiting to hear from Y/n's mother, but he hadn't gotten so much as a text. He was anxious, worried that something was wrong, but Julian's crying served as a good distraction for the time being.

Julian continued to cry, still not understanding why he couldn't see his mother when he'd become so used to seeing her everyday. Harry would've been with Y/n had it not been for the little boy's crying, and he made the split-second decision to stay home while Y/n delivered the baby with her mother as support. He'd never missed any of his children's births, but for this, he could stay behind.

"She'll be back soon, bubba, I promise," Harry said, kissing Julian's cheeks and holding him close. "Should we go play with your Lego set? I know you've been excited to build it. Maybe we can build something to show Mummy when she gets home."

Julian shook his head and continued to cry into Harry's neck. Realizing his son was content to be miserable, Harry didn't ask again. He sat with Jules for a while, holding the boy to his chest and running a hand through his hair until his sobs turned into sniffles, and the sniffles into long, slow breaths. He waited a few extra minutes before taking Julian up to his room and setting him on his bed, making sure to place his favorite stuffed animal in his arms before leaving him to sleep off his troubles. As he walked away, Harry sort of wished he could do the same.

Every birth had been different. When Y/n had Simone, it hadn't been extraordinarily long, but it was extraordinarily stressful due to their young age. Collette was a fairly quick birth, perhaps a little too quick, seeing as Y/n barely made it to a hospital bed before the baby started crowning. The twins came early, which was apparently common for twins, but that didn't make it any less surprising to Harry and Y/n, especially because Harry was at the grocery store and Y/n was at the park with Simone and Collette and a nanny who was also there had to call an ambulance. Even still, Geneva's birth was probably the scariest, only because of all the rules and regulations brought on by Covid. Y/n's mother quarantined for two weeks so she could stay at the house while Harry and Y/n went to the hospital, as Y/n could only have one person in the room with her.

And now a year later, they were doing it all over again. Harry had been confident that this birth would go off without a hitch, that everything would be just fine, but the lack of word from his wife or mother-in-law made him nervous.

Later that day, Harry was still waiting. He'd gotten a text from Y/n's mother, which let him know that Y/n still wasn't ready to push but that they were getting close. That was an hour ago, and Harry had to believe that it was all happening now.

And he was missing it.

He knew being here with the rest of his children was important. That they were worried about their mother and probably found Harry's presence comforting. He just wished they could all be there in the waiting room instead of at home and fifteen minutes from the hospital. The not-knowing was killing him, and he was pretty sure his kids could sense it.

"Daddy?"

Harry's eyes flicked to where Collette was standing in the doorway of his bedroom. She was in her pajamas, a shirt and matching pair of bottoms with her favorite cartoon on them. Harry had been pacing around his room, his phone gripped tightly in his hand as he waited for someone to call him, but seeing his second daughter standing there, squinting at the light from his bedside table lamp told him he was up a little later than normal.

"Hi, peanut. What are you doing out of bed?" he asked.

Collette shrugged, her hair catching the light. She wiped at her nose and stepped further into the room until she stood in front of him. "Mommy always braids my hair before I go to sleep."

"She does, doesn't she?" Harry agreed. "She's kind of the best, huh?"

Nodding, Collette turned toward his bed and climbed up on it, looking at him expectantly. Even after having four daughters, Harry wasn't an expert at braiding hair. The girls always went to Y/n before school, and she did each of their braids or ponytails or pigtails happily. Harry always made sure to watch with a keen eye, and practiced on Y/n when she let him. He supposed now it was time to put all his practice to work.

The braiding didn't take long, and Harry didn't do half bad, in his humble opinion. Collette was just going to sleep in it anyway, so he wasn't too bummed by the few loose strands that he'd somehow missed.

He'd finished rather quickly, though Collette didn't slide off the bed to go back to her room. In fact, she nestled under the covers on Y/n's side of the bed, mumbling, "Night Daddy," before falling asleep. Harry didn't really mind. It wasn't the first time one of the kids stayed in his and Y/n's bed, and tonight, he figured he could use some company.

What he wasn't expecting was all of his children to stumble into his room. First it was Maeve, then Jules, then Simone, and finally Harry went to get Geneva, just so it was a proper sleepover. No one fought for space—which was a first. All the kids just found their spot and went back to sleep as if they were in their own rooms. Harry resisted the urge to take a picture so as not to wake anyone up with the flash of his phone's camera.

He hadn't planned on falling asleep. One moment he'd been watching a football game with the volume off, and the next he was blinking his eyes open as the sun began to stream in through the curtains. All of his little ones were still fast asleep, though Harry knew that would change soon. Maeve and Simone woke up early to watch morning cartoons, and Geneva would want her bottle within the hour.

Harry began to shuffle around and prepare for the usual morning routine—brush teeth, ok prepare the bottle, make breakfast for the early risers—when his phone rang. Startled, Harry rushed over to where his phone was plugged in, a huge grin splitting his face when he realized it was a video call from Y/n.

"Hi," Harry whispered, careful not to wake anyone up. "How are you? How's the baby? Is everything—"

"I'm fine, H. Everything's fine. Everything's perfect," Y/n said, a sleepy smile on her face.

Hearing that helped his heart stop racing, but only a little, as excitement flooded his veins. Y/n called him, which could only mean that—

"Wanna meet your daughter?" Y/n said, and even through the phone, Harry could see tears line her eyes.

Harry nodded, too overwhelmed with love and anticipation to form words. Quickly, he found an unoccupied spot on his bed and carefully sat down.

Y/n passed the phone to her mother who angled the phone so that Harry could see the baby, whose face was just barely visible through a pink blanket. He immediately felt tears well in his eyes, his throat going dry as he looked down at his daughter. Even through the phone, he felt every emotion he'd ever experienced when meeting his children for the first time. It was the most unique experience, Harry always thought. He'd seen and done so much, yet he still thought there was nothing like looking down at his newborn baby for the first time.

"Is that baby sister?"

Harry looked behind him to find Julian peering over his shoulder. Jules looked at the sleeping baby curiously, taking in his sister's little nose and tiny fingers and pouted lips. Then, he said, "Is Mommy there too?"

The camera panned up to Y/n, who was smiling and blowing kisses to Julian. "Hi JuJu, my love. I've missed you!"

"Mommy!"

"Mommy?"

"Mommy's home?"

Now everyone was up and crowding around Harry, taking turns talking to Y/n and baby sister, who had yet to be given a name. No one seemed to mind, though. If anything, they were more concerned about when Y/n and the baby would be coming home so they could have a party.

"Soon, my loves. The doctor wants me and the baby to stay one more night to make sure we're healthy. You think you can be good for Daddy?"

There was a chorus of yeses before everyone said their goodbyes, the novelty of a new baby sister wearing off when there were cartoons to be watched downstairs. Harry kept Y/n on the phone while he got Geneva's bottle ready, wanting to stay on the phone as long as possible.

"I know you must be tired," Harry said an hour later. He was in GiGi's nursery and watching her toddle around and play with her toys while talking to his wife.

"I'll hang up soon. I want you to get as much screen time as possible before I go," she said, turning the camera to where the baby was sleeping in the bassinet beside her hospital bed.

"Have you given her a name yet?" he asked.

Y/n shook her head. "I know we decided on one, but I wanted you to be with me when I said it for the first time."

"I love you," Harry said as his heart melted to mush.

"I love you too," Y/n said. She lifted the baby out of the bassinet, cradling her head with the expertise of someone who'd done it for years. Looking at Harry through the phone she said, "You wanna do the honors?"

Laughing out of pure bliss, he nodded. With all the tenderness and care he would've used if he'd been there in person, he said, "Welcome to this crazy, crazy world, Natalia Styles."

#harry styles #young dad! harry #young mom! reader #young dadrry #young parent!harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles x y/n

[eumivrse]

warning(s) pure angst, jjk chapter 120 SPOILERS

arguments with kento are always the worst.

you’ve learned over the years that you’d probably prefer it if he would just scream back when he’s mad rather than being dead silent.

because when he’s angry, he doesn’t speak. he just gives you space to cool off, then he always makes sure to kiss you before you sleep. a way to let you know that tomorrow is a new day and he still loves you the same even if things are heated; that you can always talk it out with him.

you hate it because he always, always apologizes first even if it’s your fault sometimes, but you always appreciated his way of communicating. it’s as if he would rather take the jab every time than have you mad at him.

however, he couldn’t do so that day— october 31, 2018. he had to go to shibuya and left with tension between the two of you. you don’t even remember what exactly you argued about— all you recall was that it ended with you both saying something that could’ve easily passed as unforgivable, words specifically chosen to wound each other’s feelings.

and as per, kento gave you your space and left with you having the last word.

except you never got that good night’s kiss.

when news reached you, you didn’t even react. how could you? the last words you said to him was “then leave already,” with the coldest, meanest tone you’ve ever spoken to him in.

you just stared at the wall for what seemed like days. people were calling you non stop, but your phone was turned off. you hadn’t even left your shared bedroom. the comforter still had his scent on it and you’re afraid that it’ll disappear if you get up for even a minute and then his passing will feel real.

it wasn’t until ino stopped by to drop off his cellphone— one of the only traces he left that night— that you did something else besides laying down. you stared at kento’s scuffed lock screen, sitting at the dim dining room table.

his wallpaper was a photo of you. he took it while you were eating in the very place you’re sitting in right now and you begged him for days to delete it. he insisted that you looked pretty so you let him be. he’d always been like that, so stern with others but he had such a soft spot for you.

you knew his password because it was your anniversary date, then the messaging app opened as soon as you punched the numbers in. it’s your chat, the last conversation you had on there was him asking if you wanted to eat outside because he was free the next morning and you obliged. that was the night before you had an argument the next day and lunch plans were cancelled.

he had an unsent message— all typed out, but he never pressed the send button for some reason.

he was apologizing for hurting you.

he said that he knows it’s been tough for you these days and how he should’ve seen the signs sooner instead of thinking everything’s okay.

then he apologized again for not being able to kiss you goodnight, and for being a shitty husband that couldn’t tend to his wife’s needs.

the message concluded with “i miss you, my precious girl. make sure to eat and sleep well, i’ll make it up to you soon.”

kento’s death hadn’t hit your reality until those words on the screen registered in your mind. your dry, pale lips from barely drinking water trembled, eyes welled up in tears for the first time since you found out. so many different emotions crashed over you in such little time, your chest felt tight and you let go of his phone, clattering onto the wooden table.

“then leave already,” replayed in your mind over and over and the way his face turned pale from your harsh words. with how things turned out, it almost sounded like you were sending him on death’s row and it made you feel like you’re responsible somehow.

guilt loomed over you like a stormy cloud for making him feel like he wasn’t good enough for you and you wonder how different the future might’ve turned out if you’ve at least gave him a hug before he left.

if you could’ve just set your pride aside and kissed him goodbye like he does with you before you sleep.

and if he still loved you the same at his final moments.

#yikes #why am i feeling guilty lolol #mentally preparing myself when it gets animated #might not be accurate to the plot but tbh idc #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk angst #nanami angst #kento nanami #nanami kento angst

[stayinlimbo]

Returned Call

wc: 765, genre: exes to lovers(?), warnings: cursing in beginning, slightly unedited

note: although i feel this could be read as a stand-alone, here is the sequel to Missed Call you guys were asking for. i hope you enjoy ♡

Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice message system: You know. Lee Minho. Not available. Voicemail. Speak. 

Fuck you, Lee Minho. No, seriously, fuck you. 

Tell me why I was contacted by not one but three of your dancing buddies within the past twenty-four hours about how you’ve been moping around and trudging through your routines for the past week. 

They were all essentially the same. You haven’t been the same since we broke up, is there any way we could reconnect, give you one more chance, blah blah blah. 

You must be doing really bad if one of them was Hyunjin, of all people. 

Two months too late, don’t you think?

As if any of this was my fault.

…

I was getting better before you called, you know?

I finally fixed my sleep schedule. I won’t lie, it took longer than I’d like to admit to break the habit of staying up late for you. At least I was already used to sleeping alone. 

I reconnected with some old friends since I couldn’t talk to Jisung as much without being reminded of you. They can still read me like a book, even after all these years.

I even went on a date. 

Granted, it was with myself, but I like to think it still counts.  

…

You know what I realized on my “date?” And while out with my friends? And on the sleepless nights I spent staring up at my childhood bedroom’s ceiling?

I had forgotten what it felt like to be seen. To be appreciated. To be loved. 

It seems like you’ve come to that conclusion as well, because you’re right. I deserved better. I deserve better. I may have ended our relationship, but I wasn’t the one who left first.

I remember our last kiss, paired with another one of your lies I foolishly kept believing in until I finished the movie night you promised you’d be home in time for. And I remember waking up on the couch with a sore neck to see your fatigued silhouette entering the front door, barely sparing me a glance as you dragged yourself towards the bedroom. 

You didn’t even look sorry. 

How could you, I guess, if you left everything back at the studio?

…

I used to admire your passion, Minho. I hate that I still do. You pour everything you have, everything you can possibly give, into what you love. So why couldn’t you do the same for us? For me?

You say you love me, but why does it feel like I lost something I'm not sure I ever had? 

…

Where did we go wrong? What did I do wrong? I gave everything to you. I gave you my heart, my body, my entire being. I gave you everything until there was nothing left to give.

I never asked for anything outlandish. I think it’s reasonable to want to talk with your partner, to share your lives with one another. I think it’s reasonable to ask about when you’ll be home for our anniversary without being yelled at in front of your friends. 

You want me to be proud of you? You want me to be happy about one of the very things that ripped us apart?

Yes, you’re selfish, but I’m no better. 

…

Maybe this is my fault. After all, no one should feel obligated to love someone. I just never thought it’d apply to us. 

…I wish I could hate you. I really do. 

But all I see is your stupid face smiling at me when I close my eyes. I hear your laugh ringing in my ears when I remember the ways you said or did something ridiculous to make me feel better after a stressful day. I still feel the warmth of your body wrapped around mine when we did wake up next to each other, our legs entwined together to where it was impossible to escape. Not that I ever wanted to. 

I want you to keep smiling at me. I want you to hold me. I want you to miss me. I want you to want me. 

Because I still want you. 

…

I want to give you a second chance, Minho. If things could be different this time, if we could be different. If we could share ourselves, wholeheartedly, as lovers, and not strangers.

I want to fall in love with you again, Lee Minho. 

…

Call me back, when you get the chance. You can keep the shirts for now.

Just please, don’t make me regret this.

liked this work? want to let me know how i did? please like, comment, and/or reblog; they are greatly appreciated my asks are always open ♡

taglist: @linospuddin @linocz @spicyhyunn

ending note: I hope this didn't disappoint. I really tried my best to make it work with all the angst in here :D. I also tried incorporating parallels from Missed Call so hopefully that wasn't too annoying or anything <3

#lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #lee know #lee minho #skz x reader #lee know scenarios #skz fic #lee know angst #lee know fluff #stray kids x reader #stray kids minho #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #stray kids fic #skz #kpop imagines #skz scenarios #skz angst #skz fluff #lee minho x you #lee minho x y/n #stray kids x you #stray kids x y/n #stayinlimbo

[ravenromanova]

Under the stars

Pairings: Tfws Bucky x Female reader (reader is steve’s sister)

Warnings: Mentions of death, Minor violence, Smut 18+!!!!, Daddy kink, Breeding kink, Dom Bucky, Sub reader, Spanking. Angst, Fluff

Summary: It’s been 3 years since you and Bucky broke up and now you’re attending a party for Sam aka The man taking up your brothers mantle. Bucky attends the same party since he’s his partner and when he sees you he decides to say something. What happens when you see and talk to the man who broke your heart again.

Word count: 3.4k

Main masterlist - Send me requests!!!

~

You step out of the black S.U.V with the help of your driver and bodyguard Mason. He takes your hand as you step out in your black stilettos and strapless red dress. You look over at him as he shuts the door and he gives you a reassuring nod. Sucking in a deep breath and swallowing your nerves you take his hand and walk into the party.

The bright lights and loud crowd are enough to make you wanna throw up. In all reality the only reason you’re here is because Sam begged you to come. And you also felt obligated to come since he is taking up your late brothers mantle as Captain America. You look around the room in attempt to either find Sam or the bar. Luckily for you, you saw the bar first.

“I’m gonna head to the bar you stay here and I’ll find you if i need you okay?” You told Mason and let go of his hand ans he gives you a soft smile and nod.

You saunter over to the bar and as the very handsome bartender for a vodka cranberry. Only a few seconds later he’s handing it to you. Thanking the man and handing him $10 you take your drink and so stand at a high top table. You look around the room and take in the memorabilia of your brother.

You sigh as you see pictures of him and you in the war, smile at the pictures of him and the other avengers. Deciding that you wanna go look around you walk over to what looks like another exhibit. There’s pictures of Steve and you as children, There’s a statue of him that makes you tear up a little. About fifteen minutes go by and you see a collage of him and Bucky. The breath hitches in your throat you you decided that you needed some air.

You push past the sea of people before you finally get to the balcony. You go and hide in a corner where you know no one can see you. All the feelings you’ve pushed down for three years are starting to come up. Losing Your brother, Nat and Tony, You’re breakup with Bucky, Your trauma you’ve left untreated. It’s all too much for you and you sit against the wall.

Time feels like it goes by extremely slow as you look up at the stars. You mutter an ‘i miss you guys’ to the stars before standing up and making your way back inside.

~Inside from Buckys perspective~

Bucky sees you the moment you walk inside the party. Sam had told him that he had invited you tonight in the midst of conversation. Bucky had tried to not give away the face that he was excited to see you again. It had been a little over three years since he told you he needed a break and then left without another word.

He didn’t mean for it to happen like it did but the pain of losing three of his friends mixed with him still dealing with his demons from HYDRA, he no longer thought he was good enough for you. So he did what he does best and ran. Bucky quickly regretted that and was soon the most miserable man on the planet.

Him and Sam were fighting more since Bucky was being careless on mission and being a dick more too. He also developed a drinking habit even though he couldn’t get drunk. Sam had told him after a talk you two had that you didn’t wanna hear about or talk to Bucky. So he told Bucky not to contact you anymore after he had called you like ten times, his heart broke but he agreed.

He missed you like crazy and when Sam had told him you were coming he knew this was fate giving him one more chance. And he sure as hell wasnt gonna let it just slip by. So naturally when he saw you walk in with the red dress he loved so much he knew the stars her aligned for the night.

He watched as you walked in with some man and he immediately tensed up. When he saw you leave the man and go to the bar he was gonna make his move til he saw you walk over to the exhibit, He knew you should be alone so he waited. Bucky didn’t want to upset you further when he saw you walk out. He waited til you came back inside.

~Back inside your perspective~

You walked back inside and got another drink before trying to find either Sam or Mason. Unfortunately for you they were nowhere to be found. You huffed and tried to text Mason but got no response. You just decided to stand at a table and just people watch. Everyone around you was dressed to the nines and you felt a little out of place but you reminded yourself of why you were there.

The thoughts that plagued your mind were soon cut off when you smelt a very familiar cologne followed by an even more familiar voice. ”Hello Doll” He says from behind you. “It’s been a while” You hear as you turn to face him and your breath hitches.

It makes you a few moments to take him in before speaking. He’s wearing all all black suit, with his hair tied off into a low bun at the base of his neck. He has his metal hand out and showing it proudly and not covered with a glove and he looks damn good.

“Hi James” You finally say after an ungodly amount of time. He smiles and walks to the other side of the table across from you.

“You look good”He smiles softly “I didn’t expect to see you here” He lies as he takes a sip of his whiskey.

“Well i could say the same” Your reply is a little shorter sounding than you’d like but you cant help but feel a plethora of emotions as he’s in front of you.

“Well Sam and i are partners so i came to show my support as his partner and friend along with Steves old partner” Bucky replies and you wince at the mention of your brother but are happy that Bucky and Sam are getting along.

“Well im glad you’re doing something good for yourself and other people. I’m proud of you” Your response catches the both of you off guard and you try to play it off. “I came because Sam begged and i figured i should be here to honor steve a little” Out of instinct Bucky grabs your hand and rubs this thumb over your knuckles. You take comfort in the moment before your heart breaks all over again remembering your last conversation.

Bucky had just gotten home from a week long mission and he did not look okay. You tried to talk t him when he walked into your shared apartment but he ignored you. You huffed and followed him into your bedroom and sawn him packing.

“You have another mission so soon?” You asked as you titled your head and saw he was packing more than just stuff for a mission. Bucky ignored your question and continued packing.

“Bucky? i asked you a question” Concern was dripping off of your words as you reach for his arm. He rips his arm away from you and faces you.

“I need a break” Is all Bucky says before he takes the two duffel bags, Leaves his keys on the bed and walks out without another word. That night you waited for him to come home but he never did. Then a week later Sam tells you that Bucky is at his house.

And that was the last time either of you spoke to each other until now. You snap out of your thoughts and pull your hand away from his and go to walk away not being able to handle this.

Bucky follows you out when you walk to the balcony again. You press your back against a wall and run a hand through your hair as you try to holdback tears. He comes up to and places his left hand on your shoulder and you jump from the touch of the cool metal. You back away from him as tears start to fall.

“Go away James- i cant do this” The words come out softer than you expected.

He sighs and his heads hangs low. “i-im sorry y/n when i saw you walk in tonight and i just had to talk to you and tell you how sorry i am for how i left” Bucky doesn’t meet your gaze and just stares at his feet as he talks.

“Just don’t okay? because if you were actually sorry you would’ve have left me James” You say as you scoff in disbelief at him and just look up at the stars instead of at him. He comes closer to you and puts his hand on your back for comfort.

“I’m sorry y/n i fucked up big time. And i didn’t realize it til it was too late. But i wanna fix this. us” He point to the each of you with a pleading look in his eyes.

You sigh and grip the railing before looking at him. As you face him he lifts his head and meets your gaze. His eyes are filled with pain and regret and you can see that very clearly.

“James i- i dont know” Your voice faltered as you spoke. “You broke me. It took me months to be able to talk to anyone or just be a person again. Don’t get me wrong yes i miss you. But i cant trust you” Bucky just looks at you and takes your hand in his without saying anything.

“Please dol- y/n please let me make it up to you. Let me love you properly this time. I know i fucked up i was a coward, i convinced myself i wasnt good enough for you so i did what i thought was best and left- im so fucking sorry y/n please” Bucky pleads as he puts hi metal hand against your cheek. Almost immediately you lean into his cool touch and sigh.

“That wasnt your choice to make, If i didn’t think you were good enough or whatever i wouldn’t have been in love with you since the fucking 30’s i know you think that your past is to fucked up to deserve love, but what about mine? What about what the red room made me? You aren’t the only one who lost parts of yourself but when Steve went back you were the only thing i had left… and then you well left.” You lock eyes with him as you voice shakes when you speak.

He sighs and decides to take a leap of faith. Bucky walks closer to you and wraps his flesh hand around your waist and pull you close. You can feel his breath on your lips as you look at him. He doesn’t say anything as his metal hand moves to the back of your head, Bucky leaned down and connects your lips. And even though a part of you wants to you don’t pull away.

In fact you relish in the kiss and try to fight him for dominance but end letting him win. It’s a combination of teeth and tongues but neither of you care. You both has missed each other a lot more than anticipated. You don’t even know how much time has past when you two break the kiss and finally get some air.

“Take me home” Is all you whisper after a few seconds of looking at each other. Bucky wastes no time in grabbing your hand and leading you out the building. You shoot Mason a message telling you are going home with someone and you’ll see him tomorrow. Once you and Bucky get outside he throws you over his shoulder and walks over to his car.

“I can walk you know” You giggle as he smacks your ass and tells you to hush. He gets to the car and open the passenger door and puts you in along with buckling you in before getting in on his side.

Bucky starts the car and speeds off to his apartment which is luckily only a ten minute drive, but with how desperate he is to touch you he’s gonna cut it in half. You place your hand on his thigh and lean your head on his shoulder as he drives. Slowly you move your hand over his clothed cock and he groans.

“Behave” He turns and looks at you and you stick out your bottom lip and pout.

“But daddy i’ve missed you” Your hand moved up higher and gently palmed his cock through his pants. Unfortunately for you, you didn’t get very far in your teasing as he pulled in to the driveway.

“You’re fucked now Malyshka” His voice was rough and deep as he parked the car. And before you could even register what was happening your door was open. He threw you over his shoulder yet again. You squeal at him and playfully smack his back. He pays you no mind as he unlocks the front door and carries you up the stairs.

He opens his bedroom door and throws you on his king size bed. ‘strip’ He commands and you are quick to rid yourself of your heels first, Then you make a show of taking off the dress that clings to your body. Slowly and ever so painfully you unzip the dress and let it slowly fall down to your breasts.

“Oh fuck Kotenok” He groans as you are finally left in your dark red lingerie set that he actually bought for you years ago. “Come here” Before you know he’s at the end of the bed and your back is pressed against his chest. His hands roam your soft skin and you moan as he teases your clit a little.

“Please daddy no teasing tonight been too long.” The desperation evident in your voice. Bucky was quick to turn you around and toss you on your back.

“Fuck i’ve missed you” He admits as he crawls up to you and hovers his body over yours. His lips are quick to connect to the sweet spot on your neck and his hands find your breasts. Quicker than you can fathom he’s removing your bra and takes a nipple in his mouth.

“Fuck daddy” The words come out broken as you moan at the contact. He takes your nipple and brings it between his teeth and nips it slightly and your back arches.

“Please fuck me” He quickly obliged and removed your panties but not without kissing all over your plush thighs. He’s quick to open up your wet folds with his metal fingers. Bucky moans at the sight of your wet pussy in the moonlight that had shone through the window.

“So pretty Malysh” You dont have a chance to respond as he takes no time in devouring your pussy like he’s starved. Taking the sensitive bundle of nerves in between his lips he sucks until he pulls out a moan from you.

“S-So good” You incoherently mutter and he takes that has his sign to stick two of his metal fingers in you. Involuntarily you grind yourself onto his hand and his flesh hand holds your hips down and he speeds up.

“Fuck baby you’re so tight. Did you not let anyone touch this pretty pussy the whole time we were broken up? Did you save this pussy for daddy?” Not trusting your voice you just nod your head and he mutters a ‘good girl’ as he fucks you harder. He adds a third finger while sucking on your clit and in no time your hands are tangled in his hair and your cumming on his tongue.

“Ive missed how sweet you taste malysh. Now get on all fours and put that pretty ass in the air for me.” Bucky commands and you do what you’re told. You stick your ass in the air with a little wiggle and soon get a firm smack to the ass and you moan at the contact.

He comes up behind you and runs his hard cock over your pussy to collect your slick on it. You back your ass up on him as a sign for him to fuck you already. With a chuckle he takes the hint and one of his hands grasps your hips while the other lines his cock up with your hole. Both of you let out a pornographic moan when he bottoms out.

“Oh fuck daddy i’ve missed you so fucking much” You scream as he starts up a slow pace since he doesn’t wanna hurt you… yet. His pace stays slow for a few more minutes before he decides to ruin you. He grips your hips and pulls you back on his cock as he fucks you. You lose all upper body strength and fall face first into the pillows with a loud moan.

“You feel so fucking good malysh fuck im gonna fill you up so good and maybe even put a baby in you” He says and the idea of you having his kids drives you insane.

“Please please put a baby in me daddy. I want you to breed me” You plead with soft cry. His eyes blow out with lust as you speak and he thrusts into you harder and faster than you’ve ever had. You can feel the coil in your stomach about to snap again as he snaps his hips into yours.

“Yea? you’d like that wouldn’t you? being my little fucking breeding slut. Use you like the fucking slut you are” He asks but he already knows the answer. And honestly the idea of getting you pregnant makes him even hornier.

“FUCK DADDY PLEASE” You scream as you cum all over Buckys cock which in turn leads him to cum as well as he feels your walls clench down on him.

“Oh fuck” Bucky moans as his head falls back and he fucks his cum into you before slowly pulling out. When he pulls out you roll over to on your back panting. You move the hair that’s suck to your forehead in attempt to collect yourself. Bucky gets off the bed to go grab a towel from the bathroom so he can clean you. He makes his way over to your fucked out body and smiles softly at the sight of you back in his bed.

“Come here Malyshka let me clean you” You nod your head and open your legs. Wincing at the cold cloth you try to move away from it but he doesn’t let you. “its okay once i clean you we can go to sleep” He says quietly as he finishes and throws the towel on the floor.

Bucky lays next to you and lays you on his chest along with covering you both with the comforter. Neither of you say anything as you just revel in being with each other again. Even though a little part of you is still unsure about this, being with him again you decide your gonna give it a try anyway.

“I want to try again” You’re the first one to speak and break the silence. You can physically feel the deep breath Bucky let down and you look up to see him with tears in his eyes.

“Thank you Malysh. I promise i wont hurt you again.” As he speaks you can tell he means what he says and you send him a soft smile at his words.

“I love you Bucky” You say finally using his nickname again. He can’t help but smile like a fool and kiss you passionately.

“I love you too doll, Now get some sleep its been a day” You nod your head and cuddle into his chest before falling into a deep sleep.

Bucky smiles as he looks down at you asleep. He finally got his girl back. He turns his head and looks out the window at the stars and smiles.

“Thank you guys” He mutters before closing his eyes drifting off with you in his arms and a smile on his face.

~The end

I do not give permission for my work to be translated or posted on other sites

#bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes one shot #bucky x reader smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky fluff #bucky smut

[minhosbxtch]

Heat Kissed

Eris x Reader

Just a short fluffy moment

No warnings I think :)

The only sound in your spacious bedroom was the occasional turn of pages from the book in your hand.

You had just taken a shower and put your hair in a towel to dry for a bit before picking up your latest book. You hadn't read this one before. You had read most of the books in the Autumn Court library since marrying Eris.

Eris had seen your love of books and immediately taken you to the library where you read all day, curled up in a large armchair while Eris was working on reports at the desk.

That used to be how you spent your days but lately, Eris has had to have meetings almost all day about how he would reign. Beron's mysterious death had left a large gap and many people questioned how Eris would rule. Would he be cruel and heartless like Beron?

The answer was clearly no.

He had shown you that side of him years ago before you married him. He had bought you flowers, books, little trinkets, or anything that caught your eye. Not because he felt obligated to, no, he wanted to. Eris wanted to shower you with gifts to show he loved and appreciated you in ways he could not express in words, thanks to the lack of affection from Beron.

But the people didn't know that. So he showed them. He invested into helping poor families or people affected by the war. He invested more money into food sources and orphanages.

He showed his people true concern, something that most of them had never seen by a leader.

He was waiting before he declared you his High Lady. Most of the males still had outdated views on females. Eris, not wanting to expose you to that, told you he would, but not until he didn't have to worry about you being hurt.

You squealed as you continued to read about the main character who had just gotten gravely injured. You continued to read furiously as villain saw and chased the guy--

Suddenly, the door to the bedroom burst open as Eris stormed into the room. He didn't say a word to you as he walked to the bathroom and gently shut the door behind him.

It wasn't anything personal. He made sure you knew that. Some of his advisors were similar to his father and it made him furious. So, instead of him taking his anger out on you, he would go in the bathroom and come out when he was cooled off.

He had to watch as his father abused his mother mentally, and physically and made sure that he didn't accidently yell at you.

You knew he would come out when he was ready so you continued reading.

A couple chapters later, Eris emerged, having changed into a set of comfortable pants and holding a brush in his hand.

Not saying a word, he went over and sat on the wide couch, tucked next to the window. Shrugging off the covers, you went over and curled up in his lap with your book, as usual.

Eris gently took the towel from your head and using a brush to gently comb your hair.

Every night you both would sit on that couch and you would read, sometimes aloud, while Eris did your hair. Or, when a meeting was particularly bad, he would do your hair while ranting to you.

You had a feeling tonight was one of those nights, considering his body was giving off a larger than normal amount of heat.

Instead of pushing him, you gently set your book down on the table and waited for him to start talking.

He started to take a few strands and wrap them around his finger before channeling a bit of heat to dry them into perfect curls.

Eris did this several more times until he finally let out a heavy sigh before saying, "Honestly I should get rid of some of them."

"What'd they do this time," you asked softly.

"So lately I've been changing laws to where females have rights and aren't fucking used as property? Well some of the older advisors are being a more than usual pain in the ass," Eris said fuming.

You knew that wasn't the full story. They were always pains in the ass but it must be worse than usual since Eris was cussing and radiating a large amount of heat, to the point where you had started to sweat.

Pressing your lips together you asked, "Was that it or were they being worse than usual?"

Eris' hands paused in your hair and he went silent for a few seconds. "It's nothing they were just making some unnecessary comments," he said sharply.

Making comments about you is what that meant.

You raised an eyebrow at him. It was nothing new.

The advisors had made their distaste about you clear from the moment they heard you were sharing Eris' bed. Of course they would be. You took their chance of them trying to marry off their daughters to the High Lord.

"Well that's nothing new. They always talk shit and you know that," you said gently.

Eris huffed a breath before saying, "You're acting like that makes it better. They talk shit about my fucking mate right in front of me. They act like you don't deserve me even though I'm the one that's not worthy."

You turned your head around slowly to face him fully. "Eris fucking Vanserra. You better listen to me. Next time you lie to me I will smack the shit out of you."

"Oh darling," he purred, "I don't think you remember where that gets you. Usually I'm the one smacking you."

Your eyes went wide before quickly turning back around.

You could feel him chuckle through your back.

You felt his hands gently begin stroke your wet hair again before continuing to pick strands out and curl them around his fingers.

His fingers moved in a steady rhythm as his heat, which was blazing earlier, lessened to a warm comforting blanket over you both.

Several minutes later after he was finished, you stood up and went to go get ready for bed after a forehead kiss from Eris.

After you finished, you grabbed the book on the nightstand and crawled back into bed beside Eris.

He immediately shifted his head onto his lap as you propped the book up and started to read aloud, absentmindedly stroking his hair.

There was something about these moments that you just loved. Maybe it was Eris. Maybe it was just spending time with him. Maybe you just wanted him to keep you from freezing to death.

Probably all three.

But it was probably him trusting you enough to be vulnerable with you. For him to lay in your lap and fall asleep was an amount of trust he had for no one else.

Noticing he was asleep, you set the book down before turning extinguishing the candle by your bed.

You gently untangled Eris' limbs from yours as you attempted to get into a more comfortable position.

Bitch, you thought.

If you laid down you'd fall off the side of the bed.

Fine. If he wanted to get on your side you'd just get up and go to his side.

Cursing softly, you attempted to rise without waking him. You felt an arm wrap around your waist and pull you back. Eris flipped you over him so you were laying on his side.

"Where you going?" Eris asked, voice husky with sleep as his nose prodded your skin above your ear.

"You took my side so I was going to take yours," you responded, smiling softly.

He sighed, protesting, "You could have just woke me up."

Humming in response, you closed your eyes.

The last thing you could feel was Eris' smile against your head before kissing you and saying, "Goodnight Little Fox."

#eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #eris x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #eris acotar #eris fluff

[sluttywonwoo]

thinking about sharing a bed with yeosang for the first time and you wake up to his dick hard against your ass and he’s so embarrassed but when you push your hips into his, he can’t help but push back

“yeo?”

it’s the first thing he hears when he wakes up, his name spoken in your voice, so pretty and still sleepy and just a little bit gravelly. he doesn’t even want to open his eyes yet, just wants to pull you closer and hold you in his arms for a bit, so he does. until he feels it.

it doesn’t click right away. he realizes he isn’t flush against your body because there’s something in between you and him, and then he realizes that the something in question is attached to him. yeosang yelps and scrambles away from you in shock, nearly falling off of his own bed in the process.

you try to turn around to face him but yeosang begs you not to, going as far as to hold your shoulders in place so that you physically can’t.

“yeosang, what-”

“i’m so sorry,” he rushes to apologize. “this was not how i wanted to wake up this morning. i swear i wasn’t trying anything. it, uh, just happened. it wasn’t on purpose, i promise!”

“it’s okay,” you assure him, “i know that people with penises can’t really control that in the morning, right?”

relief floods yeosang’s entire body when you say that. “right! i didn’t want to get hard at all. i mean, not that i don’t want to at all with you, i do! want to get hard, that is. around you. for you. you make me hard all the time! no, i mean when it’s appropriate… well i guess there hasn’t been an appropriate time so that makes me sound like a liar but you do make me hard-”

“yeosang,” you say, feeling around for his hand, which he purposely withholds from you until you find his wrist and manage to interlace your fingers with his. “we’re dating. we’re supposed to be attracted to each other. it’s okay.”

you hear him sigh. “i know, but we haven’t… done that yet. we haven’t really talked about it and i was trying to take it slow with you because i don’t want you to think i’m just trying to get into your pants.”

you laugh even though you don’t mean to, slapping a hand over your mouth to stop the sound from escaping.

“baby, i know you’re not just trying to get into my pants. you didn’t even kiss me until we’d been going on dates for two weeks.”

“i wanted to respect you,” he says. you can hear the pout in his voice.

“and i appreciate that. but now i’d like for you to disrespect me.”

your words stun your boyfriend into silence. yeosang’s mind goes fuzzy, his brain fills with static, and embarrassingly, all he can get out is an “um, what?”

instead of repeating yourself, you take the hand that you’d been holding and place it on your chest, right over your heart (or more specifically, your boob).

yeosang is frozen at first. he’s not sure where you’re trying to take this. he can feel your heart racing beneath his palm. you’re just as nervous as he is, just as excited as he is. it’s enough to kick some confidence into him.

he cups your boob a little more firmly than before. you had simply just placed his hand on top of it, not wanting to push him beyond what he was comfortable with.

your reaction is immediate. you sigh, head lolling to the side to ask for a kiss. yeosang is happy to oblige and scoots closer to you so that he’s able to pull you back into an embrace.

he kisses you as he switches to your other boob, not wanting either to feel left out. you push your ass back into his hips, making him gasp against your mouth. he’s just as hard as he was when he woke up, harder now, if that were even possible, and you’re doing nothing to help combat that.

yeosang has been dreaming about this since the first time he saw you and now it’s actually happening. he felt lucky enough when you agreed to sleep over after dinner last night. he couldn’t believe you were going to be sleeping in his bed, taking a shower in his shower, wearing his clothes to bed (you hadn’t packed any of your own since the sleepover was impromptu) and now you were making out with him and grinding on him like you were equally excited about all of these developments.

“take-take the shirt off,” you plead.

“no,” he says, which surprises even himself because who is he to deny you of such a request? especially a request where you’re trying to get naked? but then he hears himself say, “i want you to keep my shirt on,” and it makes a little more sense.

truly, when you had walked out of the bathroom in his t-shirt and shorts last night, yeosang thought he might cum his pants on the spot. he took a shower right after you, desperately jerking off as soon as the water was warm enough, muffling his moans with his fist as he pumped his cock with his other hand. it only took a handful of strokes before he was cumming all over his stomach…

he struggled not to get hard all over again when he came back into the bedroom and saw you in the shirt in his bed. he knew it was going to be a long night.

“here, baby,” he says lowly, nudging your thighs apart with his knee. “wanna grind down on me?”

“god, yes,” you moan, eagerly accepting his thigh between your own.

he can feel the heat of you, even through all the layers of fabric, and it makes him lose just a little bit more of his composure.

“better?”

“so much better, yeo,” you whimper. fuck, he’s never heard you whimper before. “it was starting to ache.”

“poor thing,” he tsks. “you must be pretty wet, huh?”

you nod, your hair tickling yeosang’s nose as your head moves.

one of his hands makes its way down to the waistband of your shorts. “can i feel?”

“you can do anything you want to me,” you breathe.

he kisses the back of your neck, hoping you can’t feel the way he’s positively beaming against you. “likewise.”

#answered #emily 🌸 #ateez smut #atz smut #yeosang smut #kang yeosang smut

[cozage]

The Daughter's Return Part 3

Chapter 26: Thereafter

Start From Beginning | Table of Contents | Read on AO3

Characters: female reader x Portgas D. Ace Word Count: 1k AN: This is more of an epilogue of sorts. There's not a lot of dialogue, but it does kind of wrap everything up. I really have enjoyed writing this, and I hope you have enjoyed it as well :) thanks for a fun time and a great ride. I could say 5,000 more things about this fic and how much I love you for supporting it, but let's finish this up :)

It had taken Ace a few days to make the house liveable, but plenty of people had opened their homes for you to stay in while you all finished the essential repairs. They never made you feel like a burden, and even though you tried to keep to yourselves, they were eager to get to know you.

You had expected to pay for all the tools you needed, but the townsfolk on this island were kind and generous. Several families had lent Ace tools, and some had even come by to offer their help. Even though you were on a hill outside of town, people dropped in throughout the day, bringing baked goods or hand-sewn linens as welcoming gifts. 

So much for privacy. You had more of it in your shared bunkhouse on the Moby Dick. 

But you didn’t find yourself irritated by the townspeople’s check-ins. While most of them asked basic questions about your past and eyed Ace’s scarred back, they never pried. And even better, they always seemed to know when it was time to leave. 

After a few weeks, you had fallen into a strange pattern of familiarity. Even as your belly grew bigger, you tried your best to help Ace as much as you could every day. In the morning, you would get up and make him coffee. He would always scold you, claiming that you were the one who was supposed to be pampered right now, but he continued to allow you to do it for now. 

You all would eat a quick breakfast, and then begin to work on house improvements. The morning was the best time to work, since it was still cool out. The two of you patched up holes in the walls and began to decorate the inside of your little two-bedroom cabin. The projects never seemed to end.

And every morning while you worked, Mr. Cheddle would deliver a newspaper, and you would invite him in for breakfast. If he declined, you would send him some kind of snack to thank him for bringing the paper up the hill. You knew he didn’t mind, but you still felt obligated to send him away with something. 

You’d leave Ace to go make lunch, and usually find some variety of baked goods on the counter from someone welcoming you to the town. You often found yourself wondering if people would ever stop sending you things, or if you would become someone who baked for your neighbors just for the hell of it. 

At lunch, you would read the paper and update Ace on anything interesting. Afterwards, the two of you would typically walk to town together to find something to do. Some days you would shop, others you would go your separate ways. Whether it was tea with Arabelle, or a walk in the park with Crilly and her three dogs, or even sitting at Sellie-Tien’s shop and catching up on gossip, you always found something to do. 

And as the sun set, you and Ace would walk back up the hill, talking of your time spent apart, and even stopping to chat with others along the road. 

What a strange life you were living. How mundane it all was. And yet…perfect. 

On one particular day it had been too hot for you to work, even in the morning. And with nothing to do, you decided to read the News Coo early. You kept your eyes peeled for any words of Luffy, but there had been no news of him since his stunt at Marineford. 

However, today there was far more interesting news on the front page. One you had been waiting for. 

One about Portgas D. Ace.

“You’re dead!” You cheered, holding up the News Coo to show Ace. 

Ace dropped his tools and ran over to you, reading it over quickly. 

“They made a grave for me and everything,” he said. “Impressive.” 

“It helps that they took your hat,” you mentioned. He pouted at the thought. 

“I’m gonna miss that hat.” He handed the paper back to you. “What about you?”

“Still nothing.” You read through the article once again just to make sure you hadn’t skipped anything. “I doubt they’ll officially say I’m dead.”

“Really?” Ace asked. “Why’s that?”

“Because they reported it wrong once,” you admitted, setting the paper down. “They can’t do that again. Can you imagine the embarrassment?”

“But they won’t bother us here.” Ace looked out over the ocean. “They don’t have jurisdiction.”

“That’s why Marco chose it for us,” you said. “It’s quiet. Out of the way. Nobody will bother us. It’s perfect.”

“Seems like a more than fair trade off,” Ace said, and you nodded in agreement. 

“We finally get to have our happily ever after.”

Ace smiled at you, kissing your cheek. “And I can’t wait to spend it with you. Our perfect little family.”

---

Sengoku stared long and hard at a small piece of paper with little hearts doodled all over. Against everything that he knew and had been told, the card sat between his fingers in perfect condition. 

Garp walked into the room, full of drive and purpose. “Listen Sengoku, I need to tell you something. I-“

“I know,” he said. “You’re going to retire. But before you turn in that resignation letter, I want to give you something.”

Sengoku handed off the piece of paper covered with hearts. “Do with this what you will. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve never seen it.”

Garp examined it, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw the name written across it in perfect cursive. Ace. 

“Where did you get this?”

“We took it off Portgas D. Ace when he arrived at Impel Down.  We thought it belonged to him, but that must not be the case, since he’s dead now.”

Garp held the card in his hand carefully. The paper slowly inched away from him. “So who’s it belong to then?”

“Probably nobody,” Sengoku shrugged. “I’m about to retire myself, and that little scrap of paper seems like a lot of paperwork and a lot of personal investigation. I just don’t have it in me. Especially for some pirate who we all saw die. Take it off my hands for me. Do something with it, just don’t tell me what. As a favor.”

“Yes sir,” Garp said, tears in his eyes. “Thank you.”

“No Garp,” Sengoku said. “Thank you.”

--

Tag list! @taeyoge @teiza @tojislawyer @trafalgardnami @bloopbopsblog @dancingnewcat @dxestyi @flooofity @nyxthedragon01 @deadsnothere @h-rhodes1598  @morgyyyyyyy @trafalgardvivi  @fiestynatureweeb @frogpogjoghurt @beepboopcowboy @ms-portgas @luvyallbabes @appalost @zuchkaa @saybeyonce @stray-npc @kitsunechan707 @theyluvmesblog @heartysworld @aira-needs-sleep  @mothmomjay @ophelias-flowerss @aqualein @sehyojae @fanficwriter5 @forgotten-blues @amberash05 @firefistnoct @depressed-but-make-it-cute @stuckinthewrongworld@lizpoir

#one piece #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #one piece x reader #one piece x you #portgas ace x you #portgas ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #ace x y/n #ace x reader #portgas d ace #portgas d. ace #cozage #✧˚ace✧˚

[alwaysonf1]

oopsy?

Pairing: Charles LeClerc x Hamilton!OC

Genre: Slice of Life; Fluff

Word Count: 4.4k

Warning: Canadian NHL team shit talking. Middle fingers.

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: N/A

As much as Iman doesn’t mind and is one hundred percent on board for all the filming and hanging out with the drivers, she's happy that it’s not an every day of the week and every class kind of thing. There’s a level of mental capacity it takes to deal with the people around her while doing this that she can’t maintain every day.

But today isn’t one of those days. Today they’re at a track and that’s one of her favorite places to be no matter where it is.

NOLA Motorsports Park hasn’t seen any real IndyCar action since twenty fifteen, but it’s still a place that some teams use when they want to test and practice in a place where it wouldn’t really be expected. Though there were times they did open the public stuff and in about a month there would be a McLaren sponsored karting tournament for kids already in and new to the world of motorsport. 

Iman looks forward to that day because she enjoys helping the kids with their races and even more so helping them understand how their karts work. She was even going to be in charge of a more informational segment that she knows is going to be boring as hell, but hopefully insightful for kids and their parents.

The sport can be hard enough getting into it and she wanted to make it easier for them. Even if she felt a little like a fraud speaking as her path hasn’t really been from the ground up like half the kids there.

But at the moment what she’s most happy about is that she isn’t the one making the drive to the track. The place is over an hour from her apartment and though it rarely feels that long it’s nice to have someone else to do it. 

Though she could do without being sandwiched between her brother and her new frenemy, Lance.

“It’s a Canadian sport. And they are original, how could you dislike them? They have more championships than Seattle has in years playing. I mean I like them too, but come on, Iman.”

The entire rant is funny and it’s the same argument they’ve had twice now after he found out that she enjoys hockey. They’ve talked a little about football too, but the moment she enacted her duty of humbling a Canadian it’s been a back and forth of him being flustered over her dislike of almost all the Canadian teams in the NHL. Most of it being due to her disdain for certain players - most of which for petty reasons and some because they’re assholes.

She reaches out and pats his leg, giving him a soft and kind look that’s only playfully condescending.

“How about we pick this back up when a Canadian team breaks their thirty year streak of not winning the Stanley Cup. Something multiple players in Seattle have done in that time period.”

“You went there?”

“I went there.”

Lance huffs and puffs. He tries to say something, but every time his mouth opens he closes it again. If I didn’t notice the way he wanted to laugh and the resignation in his expression I would fear I’d genuinely offended him, but I know I hadn’t. Poor man knew it was the truth, even if it was a painful one.

“It’s their year.”

“Who’s year?”

He sighs. “I don’t know. One of them.”

“Leafs?”

At that he makes a face that can only be read as disgust.

“You’re mad at me and you don’t even like them.”

“I’m obligated.”

“I get it.”

Because she does. That conditionally and sometimes fake patriotism got the best of her too.

She opens her mouth to bring them back to common ground by shitting on Vegas, but for the tenth time there’s a pull at some strands of hair at the back of her head. Eyes narrowed she turns her head to look at her brother. Who doesn’t even bother to look away or remove his hand.

“Why?”

Lewis shrugs.

Rolling her eyes she reaches up and pulls on one of his braids, earning a swat to her hand.

“Don’t pull my hair,” he says.

“Then don’t pull mine.”

And he does it again.

Like the child she sometimes is, she goes to retaliate, but the van rolls to a stop and she settles for glaring at him.

“Ha.”

“Oh, shut up.”

With the last word she follows the others out of the van, “accidentally” kicking Lewis on her way out. By the time he’s out and able to get her back she’s already standing at the front of everyone barely suppressing a gleeful smile. He joins the group and flips her off in a covert way and she does the same.

Not them doing that on the low mattered since the cameras weren’t focused on the group yet. Every camera person is huddled together talking amongst themselves.

“Is that a McLaren indycar?” Alex asks.

“Sure is.”

Daniel raises his hand, a broad smile on his face. “Are we going to get in it?” 

“Maybe.”

That seems to shock everyone, but there is some giddiness to it. One would think that a group of men who raced for a living and who would be back to doing it in about a week wouldn’t be so eager to get into a car. But then again that’s the driving force of why some of them do it for a living.

Before anyone can say anything else Anne walks up and the camera surrounds them. Anne gestures to Iman and she takes her cue.

Iman hitches her thumb backward. “This is where I do a lot of my internship work during the school year. Though it’s not often used for pro-racing, it is used for testing. And that’s what McLaren’s Indycar team is doing here for the next month or so. And today you’ll be helping me with work. 

“All of you know there is some level of secrecy going on with this stuff, but everything you see and hear today will be things that are known to the public or that no one cares about anyone else knowing. Plus, this testing is for this past season's car, not the coming one.

“We’re going to get a tour of the place and then get to work. Any questions before we get things going?”

The group is quiet and after a few seconds Iman nods and then turns. She leads the group up to the pit lane where McLaren mechanics await them. There are greetings and then another explanation of what they’re doing there. Then they’re led off on a tour of the spaces. They field questions from the drivers and to round out the tour they end up back in front of where they started.

“Okay, so we’re trying to figure out what went wrong with this engine during one of the races this season. We had to replace the whole thing and it didn’t become a priority to take it apart and find out, so that’s what we’re doing now to see if there’s anything we need to change in the future,” the head mechanic says.

He looks around at everyone in the way one does when ensuring that they have a listening audience.

“Okay, so you’ll see what Iman and our team do to figure that out. I know this could be more exciting, but we decided this is a good glimpse to really show what she does and in a way we’re comfortable showing. You’ll pair off and our people will explain what’s going on. Feel free to ask questions and point out any oddities you see, we need all the eyes on this that we can get. It’s all preliminary, so they won’t be at it for long and then that’s where the fun begins.”

He shares a mischievous smile with Iman and by the looks of everyone it makes them a bit unsettled.

“What does that mean?” Lance asks.

Iman shrugs. “You’ll see. Now go get changed.”

They do what she says even though she could see the questions they want to ask. 

About ten minutes later everyone returns in coveralls. Iman is already dressed in the clothes she works in so she’s sitting on a rolling chair when they return.

“Ready?” she asks.

They nod.

“Okay, I’m not going to treat this like a class room so everyone in groups of two and then you’ll be with one of us.”

Much like all Iman’s years of school, all the drivers freeze. Then they all scramble toward their chosen person. Despite the small group - or because of how small it was - some end up losing out. It takes all of her not to burst into laughter when Carlos goes for Charles and Lewis snatches up the Monégasque. Which means Carlos is with Daniel. The man pouts while Daniel grins ear to ear, but you could tell it was more playful. 

Lewis and Charles laugh at their antics and Iman knows that those two groups are going to be a chaotic mess.

And because she’s so busy holding back giggles at their nonsense, she misses the chance to grab a group that doesn’t contain her brother. She knows that part of this whole thing is wanting them to be together, but she would be a bad little sister if she didn’t act indignant about it.

“I guess I’m stuck with you too,” she says, rolling her eyes.

Lewis grins. “Yes, you are. You’ll love it. Won’t she Charles?”

Both men turn their heads to face each other and they share similar grins. Then they turn to her and she sees devious intentions in their eyes. Iman feels like they’re plotting against her and she doesn’t like that.

“Of course. We are a delight,” Charles says.

Now she really knows they’re going to be a handful. Though she hopes putting them to work will help.

“Sure, you will be. How about using that delightfulness to help me disassemble this.”

She gestures to the problem engine. She’s to take care of that one while the others look at two others. Both of them cling to their little creep show and then finally nod and help her disassemble the thing. Lewis is a little competent in it because she always talked about it and forced him to learn, but Charles is a little surprising to her. But it’s nice to only have to give a little guidance and get to focus on her work.

Of course she gets so into it that she forgets that she should probably talk to them a little after Charles clears his throat. By the sounds of it he’d been trying to get her attention for a little while.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“You work for McLaren?” he asks.

“This year.”

“Only this year? They seem very okay with this for such a short time.”

“Once before, but for a shorter amount of time then. I’ve done about four internships, two of them with them. One in Nascar and another for a different IndyCar team.”

“Wow, that’s a lot. How do you find the time?”

“I don’t. Just chaos twenty-four seven.” She laughs. “But to be fair, the first IndyCar was when I was a senior in high school. They were doing a program for kids of that age to get them interested and I was a test subject. Since my mother worked for them it was more likely they’d get better feedback versus the kids who might be scared saying anything could get them blacklisted.”

“Really?”

Iman smiles. “Really. There weren’t many issues and nothing major though, so it was fine.”

“No, I mean in high school?”

“Yup. It’s what happens when you tell the people in your life what you want to do for a living and they have the connections. The moment my mom knew I was serious she had me applying everywhere and brought me in to shadow her and anyone else she could have agree. I was annoying, but good enough that they didn’t tell her to stop.”

Talking with Charles is easy and the conversation is one that helps her focus on the task of disassembling the unnecessarily greasy mess that is her side of the engine. Something is peaceful about it too. Nice even.

When she looks up and past Charles to her brother Iman sees a weird expression on Lewis' face. It’s one he wears when he knows something or thinks he knows something and a weird smile. She wants to question it, but thinks better of it. Knowing Lewis it will irritate her and there is a part of her brain that is sure she knows what that look is for and she refuses to address it.

Not stepping into that shit show. Nope.

“Okay, what happened?” Lewis asks.

“It stopped the car completely and then when we went to check it there was a small-ish fire.”

“Excuse me?”

“I was the furthest from the fire, Lew.”

There’s some grumbling, but his expression and body language mellows out. Not much though. For some reason Iman looks to Charles for support, but instead she’s on the receiving end of a look that gives off mild anger and a silver of disappointment. Of course she doesn’t know Charles well enough for her to fully understand his expressions, but she’s familiar with the reactions of siblings.

Iman groans. “Oh come on. Not you too.”

“I’d be mad at my brothers for it as well,” Charles says.

Lewis fist bumps the man and they both stare Iman down as if expecting something like an apology from her. One that she isn’t willing to give, because while she gets the worry and is appreciative of it - especially when Charles barely knows her - this is her job. She’s made a career choice and these kinds of situations are the kind of shitty parts that she expects and that need to be expected. Especially from people who’ve seen their fair share of chaos and tragedy in the world of motorsport. She knows that that’s probably why they’re worse about it. But Iman also knows that there’s something more to it.

Instead of indulging them she rolls her eyes and focuses on the engine. They join in after a couple seconds and she guides them through it, telling them the running theory on what they think caused the fire and answering the questions they have about all the ways their hypothesis could be true.

The help feels nice. They don’t slow her down at all and even if they did she realizes that she wouldn’t mind it. Their interest makes it enjoyable.

By the time they finish they’ve mostly ruled out what it wasn’t but have no confirmation on if what McLarens mechanics think went wrong did. It’s frustrating, but Iman knew enough about the job to know that eliminating possibilities was sometimes better than finding the answer right away. In this case it meant she could catch anything that was also an issue, but didn’t get its chance to show out. And there were at least two of those issues she had to document.

Iman follows the other mechanics to give a report and compare notes and she returns changed into clothes she brought with her. When she emerges on the track the drivers are also back in their clothes and standing in front of some of the newest cars from their respective brands or the creators of the engines their F1 car uses.

Lance is looking at her with a raised brow as she enters their field of view and the others appear curious.

“What’s happening here?” Daniel asks, though with how giddy he is Iman knows he knows.

“Friendly race.”

As if they weren’t professional drivers that did this multiple times a year an electric kind of excitement filled the circle. It’s classic teenage boy behavior as they nudge each other and talk shit.

Anne steps in and grabs everyone’s attention.

“We’re going to have a friendly race. Everyone will be paired up and though there is only one tandem here, you can’t be paired with your teammate.” There is some groaning from the Ferrari boys. “And, because we have a McLaren IndyCar driver here waiting around, Pato O’Ward, will be joining in on the fun.”

Pato appears the moment his name is mentioned. He wears a wide smile and shyly waves to the group.

“Hey, guys. Hope you don’t mind me crashing this.”

“Dibs!” Daniel yells.

Everyone startles, but then it’s a bunch of eye rolling and some bashfulness from Pato.

“That’s fine, Daniel. I was going to choose who gets who, but it's free for all. So pick yo…”

Before Anne can finish what she’s saying everyone scrambles and Iman crosses paths with Lewis. She knocks into him, sending him a little off kilter and with enough force that he ends up next to Carlos and her next to Charles. 

“Hey!” he shouts.

Iman waves. “Hi.”

“You know what.. How dare… Why?”

“I haven’t caused you suffering in a while, which I’m obligated as a little sister to do. Also I’ve driven many Mercedes. I want to try out a Ferrari. Plus, even if I didn’t go for Charles the odds of me reaching Carlos before Lance chooses between him and Albon were low. Shit end of the stick, Lew.”

Everyone laughs as they watch a series of emotions play on the man’s face. He huffs and puffs as he tries to find the words.

Realization dawns on Lewis’ face.

“Wait. No. You’re not racing. You can’t… This isn’t… No.”

Every sentence he starts is clearly going to lead to the interaction turning from funny to a little more serious, so Iman lets him work through finding his words.

“Then you shouldn’t have taught me how. I’m not the one who got grounded at his big age for letting me race a car by a woman who is not their mother.”

Alex snickers. “Wait. He did?”

“Yup. Of course she couldn’t make it stick, but she was trying hard to figure out all the ways she could.”

Lewis winces, probably remembering it. Then he rolls his eyes and sulks. “Fine.”

With a much gentler smile Iman walks over and places a kiss on Lewis’ cheek and ruffles his braids, then retakes her spot next to Charles. Though he fights against it she watches the sulking stop

“Okay, just don’t cry to her or dad when I kick your ass.”

“Bring it.”

Anne retakes control of the conversation and directs everyone to their cars. They’re all given helmets, because this is hot lap adjacent. 

“Everyone will get one lap, then you’ll swap. This is about speed and I know that every one of you is capable of doing this in this type of vehicle, but I’m reminding you all to be safe. Nothing crazy unless you’re sure you can execute it without risk to yourself and everyone else. Got it?”

There’s a chorus of agreement.

They all discuss who is going first, but Iman just directs Charles to the driver’s side. He looks at her with a brow raised in question, but then he follows her gaze and sees that Carlos is taking this lap. He smiles and nods.

Once in the car they strap in and Charles takes a few deep breaths. They’re given the signal to get into place and they get into a formation that works for them. Charles looks at her, a smirk on his lips that is equal parts cocky and confident.

“Ready?”

“Yes, I am.”

He extends his arm, his hand in a fist. Iman bumps it without question. Then they both turn forward and wait for the go ahead.

Despite seeing it at the same time as Charles and preparing herself, Iman's heart drops to her ass once he hits the gas. It takes a few seconds for her to chill out and by then they’re on the first turn. 

Charles drives seamlessly and despite the blur of their surroundings Iman doesn't feel like she’s going terribly fast. Then a Mercedes sails by and then another. Without having to think about what’s happening. He is pushing it, but he’s holding back. 

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t let loose Charlie.”

He barely glances at her, probably to gauge if she means it, and then he pushes it. In about ten seconds he’s passed one of the cars in front of them and is fighting off the other. The others behind them catch up and it’s a battle back there, but it’s irrelevant to the one in front of them.

At every instance he tries to get around the Mercedes she knows Carlos is driving, but despite almost getting past he misses the mark by half a second. Before they know it they’re crossing the finish line barely behind the Mercedes. There’s a three way tie for the others about two seconds later.

And then everyone exits their cars. There’s some bragging and arguing. As Charles and Iman change sides he lightly bumps into Carlos with a frown on his face. He’s trying to seem upset, but the smile he’s wearing is wide.

“What about being comrades?” Charles jokes.

Carlos laughs. “Not here.”

Iman slides into the driver’s seat and takes a few deep breaths as her fingers trace the steering wheel. Nerves creep in, but they leave her the moment she feels a hand on her shoulder. She turns to see Charles looking at her with a bit of concern.

“Are you okay?”

“A little bit of nerves. Nothing I won’t shake as I put them behind us.”

That brings back the smirk that he wore when he was behind the wheel. There was obviously going to be some uncertainty about her being the only non-driver in the race, but as she smiles back at Charles she realizes he didn’t bring that up or seem bothered when she snatched him up from someone who he’d seen do this for a living. It was a nice reassurance. Even if she knew damn well she could hang with the big boys. At least in this kind of situation, behind an F1 car was another thing entirely.

A muffled shout interrupts the moment and Charles puts down his window, revealing Lewis with his own down. He’s smiling, but it’s that stupid lazy one he puts on when he’s feeling himself. 

Annoying man.

“Ready to lose, Immy?”

Of course he uses that nickname while being annoying.

“You should be asking yourself that, LuLu.”

“Well, I am a seven time…”

Iman flips him off and he shuts up, looking appalled. Charles puts the window back up while laughing, but she catches Lewis’ returning the gesture.

Again Charles reaches out and they bump fists. Then it’s lights out and away they go.

In comparison Iman’s take off is delayed, but despite the few inches everyone has in front of her when she does get going, she closes and surpasses it. She puts her speed over one hundred and keeps it there on the first turn. Lewis pulls ahead and so does Lance, but she manages to evade being boxed out and puts a little over a second between them. 

The next turn has her losing speed a little, but she regains it and keeps herself next to Lance and Daniel for the straight and then on the next turn, she guns it. With ease she ends up in front of Lance and then she’s next to the Mercedes. Lewis increases speed, but it doesn’t beat her out. In the final turn she does what she did in the last one and pushes the car to its limits. The last few feet before the end of the track are a close race, but at the last second she pushes further.

With her speed the car goes past the finish, but it’s a second or two before her brother crosses the line. Everyone else trails by a second or more and then they all leave the car. Iman is shaking from the speed and the excitement. Charles rushes over and pulls her into a hug she happily returns. 

“That was great. No, excellent. You crushed it,” Charles says.

“Thank you.”

There’s some shit talking, but they all praise her.

Lewis is pouting, but it’s not fooling her at all. He’s the last to pull her into a hug and it’s tight. 

“You did fucking phenomenal, Immy. I didn’t expect that. You blew away all expectations,” he says.

As he pulls away he kisses the top of her head and refuses to let her go. Pride shines on his face and she feels even more proud of herself. She feels like she’s the shit. There are no delusions of grandeur on the level they’re at, but she beat multiple professional racers at something adjacent to their own game and that’s good enough.

“I did learn some things from the best,” she says.

He laughs, throwing his head back a little and then pulls her into another hug. They pull away and Pato walks up, patting her arm.

“Maybe you should be in Nascar, that was better than your IndyCar test,” Pato says.

“Her what? You’re what?” Lewis moves so fast to look at Pato and Iman that he should have whiplash.

“Uh…”

Pato winces. “Was that supposed to be a secret?”

“Iman Marie Hamilton. You’re what?”

He moves toward her just as she ducks behind Charles. With how serious - but not in a bodily harm way - he looks she’s sure Charles is going to move out of her brother’s war path, but he reaches a hand around and takes hold of her shirt. As Lewis tries to get around him he moves with her, using the shirt to leverage her.

“Maybe we should forget this and go to dinner.”

Sweet Charles is trying to de-escalate, but it’s not working and that’s in part because he can’t stop himself from giggling. Which turns Lewis ire from just  Iman to both of them.

“LeClerc. Is this the war you want?”

Everyone holds their breath and seconds tick by.

“Yes.”

And without a word Iman breaks into a sprint with Charles following suit. Carlos has chosen Lewis' side so he goes for his teammate. Pato and Lance run interference for Iman while Alex and Daniel join in the sport of being the first to get to Charles. It’s chaos and it dissolves into laughter and labored breathing so quickly. Yet none of them stop.

You’d think they were all a bunch of children and not very much grown adults. But it’s so funny that Anne puts the camera people to work chasing them down for all the actions.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x black reader #f1 x reader #f1 x black!reader #formula one x black reader #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x black!reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fan fiction #f1 fanfic #f1 fan fiction #f1 imagine #formula one x oc #formula 1 x oc #charles leclerc x oc

[princessbrunette]

read some of ur older stepbro!jj stuff and thought abt reader having a date one day and jj feeling jealous but also super conflicted since he’s still battling the moral obligations of it all but it’s all fixed when you come to him when you get home begging for him to fix you cause the guy couldn’t touch you in the same way that jj does

jj thought he could move past it.

hell, he was the one who encouraged you to go on the date in the first place. you remember how that felt, the weird bitter sinking feeling in your chest when you’d told him some guy asked you out, hoping for a reaction deep down and instead being met with him adjusting his cap, sending you a carefree, squinty, classic JJ smile with a “cool, happy for ya.”

he obviously wasn’t, obviously wanted to find out who that guy was and stick his glock in the kids mouth for even thinking he could come close to you. but he knew how that looked, and jj wasn’t one to care about what people thought but this might’ve been a step too far. maybe it was for the best anyways, you could have something healthy.

jj came to the door and stared the guy down when he came to pick you up in his truck. super poguey— and that’s coming from jj, basic looking guy with fluffy surfer hair and a baggy tshirt. your stepbrother barely blinked as he locked eyes with the guy, a silent warning.

“i’ll make sure she’s back at a reasonable time.” the guy smiles, trying to be friendly. jj smiles too, but it’s anything but friendly.

“yeah ‘ya will, buddy.”

he doesn’t, of course — because it’s nearly 1AM when JJ hears the van quietly pull up and your copious amount of keychains jangling when you come back through the doors alone, the van driving off. well, atleast you didn’t invite him in.

like clockwork, his bedroom door creaks open, your silhouette in the moonlight slipping through and shutting it behind you. he watches you through lidded eyes as you toe off your shoes and creep over, pulling back the cover to slip into his bed with him.

jj yawns and stretches to pretend he’d been asleep and not staring at the clock biting his fingernails waiting for you to arrive home. he looks at the clock for theatrics, because he knew the time — and turns his scruffy head toward you in the dark.

“you’re home late. take it the date went well.”

you screw up in a ball right against him, rubbing your cold feet against his leg making him gently kick you. “hm. it was alright.” his heart leaps a little at the disinterest in your tone.

“just alright? no 5 star restaurant type o’date?” your eyes adjust in the dark and you see him staring down at your face, eyes flickering over your features like he was searching for a sign of something.

“not quite. typical pogues huh, who would have thought?” you joke softly, but there’s something you’re not saying. he stares for a moment before speaking.

“y’kiss him?”

“did more than that.” you mumble. his heart drops a little.

“what—” he clears his throat, gunning for a casual tone. “like what did you do… with him…”

you sigh, leaning on your elbow to really look at him. your brows tilt, creasing and you tip your head a little. “jj.” you whisper pointedly. he whispers your name in return, confused.

“he just…” you close your eyes, disappointed in yourself, the whole interaction feeling like a relapse. when you open your eyes, something has shifted. “he couldnt… touch me like you could. and it’s not that i didnt want it, i did— and i tried to get into it but… god JJ he sucked. it was like he was digging around for spare change between couch cushions.” the two of you stop to snicker like children, your body falling closer to his before you inhale, looking up at him again seriously. “just… left me all… wanting. high and dry. i knew that there was only one person who can fix the problem.” you whisper the last part extra quietly, ashamed.

he cups your jaw, bringing your gaze back up to his. “me. right?”

“yeah.”

he breaks into a grin. “well why didn’t you say so. lay back for me, yeah?”

it’s like he doesn’t even try, it’s effortless the way he touches you— makes you gush around his fingers with the slightest flick, creaming at his knuckles with the lightest brush of your clit. as your clammy back arches off his bed for the millionth time you start to think maybe the other guy wasn’t that bad. maybe you wouldn’t let yourself feel good— because it only feels good when it’s wrong. when it’s JJ.

#anon #tw stepcest #stepbro!jj

[honeyboylovee]

i can do it (for you)

Pairing: Non-idol!Vernon x reader

Word count: 1k

Genre: Fluff, Angst(just a little cos I can’t, for the life of me write angst), implied strangers to lovers

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, reader refuses to accept any help, mentions of negative experiences from the past

A/N: Before saying anything else, I have to say that I am not satisfied with the ending. But I really do not know how to end this. Also this is a little different from my previous works. This may or may not be written from personal experiences. Also, I did a little word play in the title if you guys notice that. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading! Feedbacks are appreciated.

You believe yourself to be self-sufficient. It hadn’t always been this way. Several times in the past, there had been instances when you’d had to ask for people’s help- be it your peers, friends or your then-partners. And more times than not, these people, after helping you, made you feel like you owe them something. Their help started to feel like an obligation. You hated the feeling. You still do.

As you grew both mentally and emotionally, you stopped asking people for help. It wasn’t immediate. It took you time to get rid of. You wouldn’t care how difficult a task would be, you never asked for assistance or help. It was almost as if you had a point to prove. You didn’t know who you were proving it to, but you were.

This wasn’t a habit you were particularly proud of. You hated that you couldn’t trust someone enough to ask for help or accept the offered help. You hated that you were scared of people imposing an obligation on you. You hated it. And yet you did nothing about it.

That was until you met Vernon. You met him at a party. Your friend introduced him to you as her coworker. As you chatted, you discovered you had similar taste in music. And so the conversation flowed. You later discovered that you didn’t have a ride back home since your roommate left early. And it was too late for you to find a taxi. Vernon was quick to offer a ride back home. That’s when your habit of declining anybody and everybody’s help kicked in. You politely refused making a lame excuse. An excuse that you needed to sober up and so you’d walk back home. He didn’t want to push you on that. After all you’d just met. You ended up exchanging numbers with Vernon that day.

It was early on in your relationship when Vernon started noticing this habit of yours. He was observant when it came to your mannerisms. You loved and hated that at the same time. There had been an instance where he offered to bring you some lunch at your workplace. You had been late that day and hadn’t gotten the time to make any food. You had once again denied his offer.

‘I love the ramen from the cafe downstairs. I’ll just have that today.’, you’d told him.

You ended up eating two protein bars for lunch since you had a meeting at lunch and didn’t find the time or energy to go and have actual food.

Another time, it was a task as minuscule as tying your shoelaces. He noticed they were untied before you did. And so like any boyfriend(not all of them but that’s not the point) would, Vernon proceeded to bend down to tie them. That’s when his hands were stopped mid-air by your hands.

‘Wait wait wait…I’ll tie them’, you were quick to say as you beant down to tie your laces.

To say that he was dejected was an understatement. Man, he just wanted to tie his girlfriend’s shoelaces! Was that too much to ask for? As an ‘acts-of-service’ man that he was, he often became sad when you did that. He had to have a conversation with you soon.

As you reached home, he had been looking for an opportunity to start the conversation. He could see the opportunity from a hindsight when you complained about how sore your shoulders felt. He knew what he had to do then. He casually offered to massage them to make you feel better. And as he had expected, you refused. Frustration bubbled in him. But he managed to remain calm.

‘You never let me help you, lovie.’

He watched as your eyes widened for a second. Then, you were normal again.

‘That’s not true. They’re not that sore anyway. Maybe I just need some sleep and I’ll be fine.’

‘I’m not just talking about your shoulders. It’s just in general that you never accept any help from me or from anyone.’

Now you were the one getting frustrated. He could see it in the way you sighed. But he wasn’t going to leave the topic right now.

‘When have I ever refused any help from you?’, you said with a raised pitch to your voice. That was another indication that you’d lose your temper soon.

‘When have you not?’, he continued. He knew it was a tricky shot but he hit it anyway.

What he didn’t expect was the tears in your eyes following your prolonged silence. How could he forget? The raised pitch of your voice also meant you could cry soon. He was quickly on your side comforting you as you sobbed a little.

‘I don’t do it because I don’t want your help or because I think you can’t do a task.’, you spoke through your tears. ‘I just don’t want to be a burden on you. I have always done that to everyone around me. And…people, sometimes even my own friends made me feel like I owe them something even if they were the ones who offered to help me. It’s not the help that makes me anxious but the feeling after.’

You looked at him through your damp eyelashes. He was speechless, to say the least. When he decided to confront you about this, he hadn’t expected the reason to be that. Hell, he had even expected you to change the topic or make a poor excuse. His first instinct then was to engulf you in his arms till your sobs turned to sniffles.

‘You’re not a burden on me, lovie. You know I like helping you with chores, right? It makes me happy when I’m able to help you, be it making you food, tying your shoelaces or ordering your skincare for you. I feel zero burden doing that. Trust me, lovie.’, you listened to him as he poured his heart out, not looking at him.

You nodded then, not saying anything else.

‘What am I supposed to understand from that, hm?’

‘I’ll let you do some of the work from now.’, you said so softly that he would’ve missed it if he didn’t have all his attention on you.

‘You don’t need to ask for help. It’s good that you can do your work yourself. But if you ever need some, let me know, okay?’

#seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #vernon fluff #vernon x reader #seventeen #vernon #seventeen angst #vernon angst #seventeen imagines #vernon imagines #seventeen fics #vernon fics #fluff #angst #hansol #chwe vernon #fanfiction

[2smolbeans]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 2.5

About Marco In Love Me, Love Me Not! (Character info)

Yandere Bestfriend x Obstacle Reader

*Unedited

Disclaimer: I made changes to this since I changed a lot in the story while on my break, so things are a bit different.

........

So this is kind of a quick detour or filler chapter to discuss our main yandere (Marco!).

Something I want to make clear about Love Me, Love Me Not is that the story is an AU of an already existing yandere story for Marco's side!

In Marco's original timeline, he's the COO of a successful makeup branch . In Love Me Love Me Not!: Marco never met the CEO (his half brother) of Beauty Point - instead continued to pursue his career in the police force.

(Basically, he never became that rich delusional man who was impulsive, irrational, and delusional - instead a corrupt cop who was more calculative, nonchalant, and saw people as little sheeps who doted on him. Think of it to a 'I NEED THEM' to 'THEY NEED ME' personality switch.)

In this timeline, Marco met you in college after bumping into one of your friends during student orientation day. He couldn't care about what you had to say, but regardless, he feigned interest as he listened to you ramble about something he forgot about.

Leaning close to you, nodding, letting out cheerful. "Uh-huh- ohhhh, I see. Thanks! Man, same here! Y'know, that reminds me of the time-" basic NPC type of small talks.

But once he got a good look at your group, one from all had caught his interest.

Matheias, Angela, You, and Mila.

She hadn't spoke, she didn't even have to try- but she grabbed his attention. With her arms folded and a curious look on her face as she tagged along, not saying a word- it was love at first sight.

Soon enough, he found purpose with staying in that little group.

Though when she started to dwindle away from your friend group, Marco had felt obligated to stick with the rest. I mean, sure, he didn't care too much, but that didn't mean he didn't love you guys. So he made memories with you and found himself genuinely being invested with each and one of everyone's personalities.

For some reason, he noticed that you often sticked around him like a lost puppy. (Which is hilarious to me because Marco, in his og universe, was more of a golden retriever eagerly following around anyone who gave him attention, but oh how the tables turn)

He found it cute, so of course he paid more attention to you from the rest of the litter of nobodies. You could say that you were his favorite from the rest - but of course you could never take her place.

The two of you became close, the sleeping overnight - type of close.

There were some moments where you would catch him off guard, making him blush, flinch, or chuckle whenever you were yourself around him. He would never love you the way he loved her, but by god, would he go through hell to give you what you wanted. After all, he knew you would do the same.

Huh, I guess that's what best friends were for..

Though as things were going smoothly, Marco would notice how Angela became a bit annoying to him with each day. He never had a problem with her before, but the way she would swoon over Mila made him go cold.

He wasn't the type to overreact. He knew he wasn't the type to get upset so easily. It was once, he swears!

But one thing led to the next, and Angela had died to an unfortunate allergic reaction. Of course, Marco had slipped some peanuts into a snack he gave her, and no one suspected a thing. I mean, something like that must've been an unfortunate accident on her end. She ate something that had peanuts, she was alone at the park, and she didn't have her Epi-pen! It was a tragic accident.

Matheias had his suspicions that Marco had done something.. There was no evidence or reason to think this, but he had a gut feeling.

Fast forward, and you and Marco were the only remaining people in that friendgroup. After graduation, Marco and you were still on talking terms, Matheias had completely cut you off after Angela's funeral, and Mila was still talking with Marco - but not with you anymore.

More time passes, and on that very night, Marco calls you crying on the phone, begging you to meet him somewhere. Of course, worried, you rush over there only to see him smiling with a body bag over his shoulder.

Forced to comply as you knew you would be the next body bag for him to drag if you said no.

Why, though? Why specifically did he call you on that night if he knew he didn't want any witnesses?

That's something that would probably be revealed with time..Or not if he decides to end your life the very next day.

It was only once you thought. But soon enough, you found yourself complying with more of Marco's requests.

And of course, once you showed hesitance and stood your ground, Marco took that as a threat and made you into one of his own victims.

Come the present day, there were you trapped in his apartment, not knowing if he wanted you dead, or if he had other plans...

The thing that hurt the most for you was the fact that even when you knew he had feelings for someone else, you still liked him. Even now, you still have a bit of a crush on him...Talk about a painful rejection..

But that's the basis of this AU!

If you have any more questions about Marco in his 'Love Me, Love Me Not' Au, feel free to ask!

#yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere prompt #yandere headcanons #yandere oc #yandere ocs #yandere ceo #yandere bestfriend #yandere best friend #yandere male #Marco Sangwook #Sangwook

[sunshinesprats]

saffron

part one is here

The General had given you his phone number. You stared at it for a long time in disbelief when you got home, sitting on your couch. The numbers on the page stared back. You pulled out your phone and entered the number into your contacts, labeling him as The General. It seemed like the only appropriate thing to have him as. Opening up a chat with the new contact, you bit your lip and watched the cursor in the textbox blink slowly. Slowly, you typed out a message, your heart pounding in your chest. If he gave you his number, surely that meant he wanted you to text him… Right? He wants to hear from me, you repeated in your head.

You: Hello, General. This is the mechanic from earlier

You cringed the formal message and hit send. What else was there to say? This was hopeless, you hadn’t come up with a plan of what to say to him if you ever got the chance to speak. Your eyes widened as you saw three dots pop up under your message. He was responding! You clutched a pillow in your arms, squeezing it tightly to your chest as you watched your screen. 

The General: Hello, it’s good to hear from you. I was wondering if I would hear from you today. I was beginning to think that I’d scared you away

You picked up your phone and let out a deep breath, racking your brain for potential responses. You shrugged and decided to be honest. 

You: No, you didn’t! I was working late and just got home a little while ago. There were some tiles someone installed incorrectly, they melted from the heat of the components around them. We spent the rest of the day trying to sort out that mess :/

Talking about your job was a safe option. If he felt like being open with you right off the bat, maybe he would tell you something about his day. It took him a while to respond to your message, but he did tell you he had a very long meeting with the Six Charioteers.The contents of which he couldn’t share with you, but you understood. Not that it would have been very interesting to hear about anyway. The two of you continued to make small talk while you cooked dinner, until the general didn’t respond to your last message. It was getting late… maybe he went to bed? You didn’t think about it too deeply while you ate, occasionally checking for any new messages from him. You received one from Jingshui, he sent you a picture of the sunset he took earlier. You complimented his photography, and got ready for bed yourself.

You sort of fell into a new routine. You would go to work, spend your lunch with Jingshui and your other teammates, and in the evenings you would chat with the general while you cooked. It was difficult to tell if he genuinely wanted to talk to you. Sometimes he would message you first, but you were usually the one who bit the bullet and texted him first. You hoped he didn’t feel obligated to respond, you held out some hope that he was genuinely interested in getting to know you. He had to be interested, right? He gave you his number first, Aeons above! He was very polite in his messages and occasionally sent you pictures of his lion and in return, you sent him pictures of what you were cooking or something pretty you saw when you went on the occasional night time walk. You hadn’t seen him in person since your job at the Seat of Divine Foresight. Texting was enough for you though, you were beginning to build some sort of relationship with him. It could take all the time in the world for all you cared. Maybe you’d gotten too attached too quickly but you couldn’t help it. You knew it was silly to hope that you’d see him out on the street, not being mobbed by people, and you could finally talk in person as you took a quiet walk somewhere. You shook your head to push your daydreams away. You had work to do. 

Work couldn’t distract you from thinking about the general. Every time you had a spare moment, you checked your phone to see if there were any messages. You felt desperate, like a young person obsessed with only their lover. Most of the time, there was nothing. He had work to attend to, but that didn’t stop him from occasionally messaging you during work hours. The subject of it varied, whether it was expressing his desire to go home and spend time with his lion Mimi, or he was sending you a picture of a pretty sight he saw. He’d sent you one such message today a few hours ago. You smiled and began to type out a response, walking down the hallway. You should have seen it coming really, but you were oblivious, typing away. You crashed into Zhu Li, full force, knocking you down to the ground with her bag of tools. Your phone went flying and landed face down at her feet. She frowned down at you as she picked up her tools.

“Hey! Watch it!”

“I’m sorry, Zhu Li, I shouldn’t have been texting down here. It won’t happen again. I should have been paying more attention.” You apologized, eyeing your phone. She raised an eyebrow and picked it up for you. Your heart sank as she looked at your screen. She laughed when she saw the name of who you were messaging.

“The General? Who are you talking to that you call that, huh? General Jing Yuan?” She continued to laugh, clearly joking, but it immediately died in her throat when she saw the look on your face as you snatched your phone away from her, your lips pressed together in a thin line, eyebrows knit together. Your teeth scraped over your bottom lip, eyes looking at the farthest wall from you. Her shoulders dropped. “No. You’re not talking to him.” She said calmly.

You silently scrolled through your messages and pulled up a picture of Mimi for her to see. Zhu Li leaned in towards the screen to have a look and stepped back, disbelief in her eyes.

“How did someone like you get in contact with him? Was it when you went to the Seat of Divine Foresight?!” You knew she didn’t mean it in a derogatory way. People like the two of you had no reason to be noticed by anyone who was high up in the government, let alone the general. You sighed.

“Do you remember when I had my accident a few weeks ago?” You asked. She nodded, confused. You sighed again. “He was in the crowd when I fell and I made eye contact with him while I was hanging there.” You placed your hands in your lap as you waited for her to put the pieces together. Zhu Li stood there and stared at you, shaking her head in disbelief. You nodded, assuring her that what she was thinking was correct. She held her hand out to you, helping you up to your feet. You brushed yourself off and pocketed your phone. 

“I don’t think you could have had worse luck.” She commented casually. You glared at Zhu Li and crossed your arms over your chest. This was a thought you had often but tried to squash it down by distracting yourself with messages from the general, or with work. Hearing someone else echoing your deepest fear caused a pit to open in your stomach.

 “The people at the Six Commissions or the Six Charioteers do not care about people like us. They don’t spare us second thoughts outside of how we can be useful to them.” She said bitterly as she began to walk down the hallway, gesturing for you to follow her. “They only care about themselves and other people who are of their status. Everyone below them is a bug, too insignificant and meaningless to give them any thought.”

“Someone who is part of those organizations is your soulmate.” You gaped at her, stopping in your tracks.

She looked defeated, her shoulders sagging lower. “Yes. I won’t say who it is, they don’t deserve to have their name in my mouth. They pretended to be interested in pursuing me, they strung me along for quite a while, until I was in their trap. And then they struck, pulling the rug out from under me. They were just bored from their fancy life and needed a distraction until something, someone more interesting popped up again.” She spun around and placed her hands on your shoulders. Her tool bag whacked your shoulder and you winced, but she didn’t notice. Her fingers sunk into your clothing and into your skin painfully. Zhu Li looked you right in the eyes, a sort of wildness was present that you’d never seen from her before. 

“I don’t know what he’s told you, but he does not care. He will never care. You will never have a chance to be with him. There will always be someone better than you that he could find, it doesn’t matter if you're his soulmate or not. It doesn’t matter.” She shook her head vigorously. “This is just a game for now. Don’t get attached. It will tear you apart when he inevitably finds another person who’s worth his time and energy.”

You tried to free yourself from her, shaking your head. “The general isn’t like that! He wouldn’t do that to me!”

She only gripped you tighter, her fingers sinking in more. “That’s where you’re wrong. It’s all an act! I’m telling you he will drop you when he finds someone better. Soulmates be damned!” 

You tore yourself away from Zhu Li, rubbing your shoulders as you backed away from her. Your sore shoulder hit the wall behind you and you cowered away from her like a frightened animal. She was breathing heavily, staring deeply into your soul.

“I only want to help you prepare yourself for the inevitable disappointment that will come in the future. It’s only a matter of time before he drops you like a stone into the depths of a lake.” She adjusted her tool bag in her grip and continued down the hallway. You waited until you couldn’t hear her footsteps anymore to venture out and go down yourself. You expected her to jump out at you from the shadows in the walls at any given moment to spew more terrifying comments.

It was like Zhu Li had reached into the deep recesses of your brain and carefully extracted your deepest fears. You wondered if you were wasting your time with every message you sent. If he really was only using you for something you didn’t understand. The messages that seemed so sweet now read as strange and impersonal. The entire situation was very impersonal, the more you thought about it. You had never asked him to meet you somewhere out of fear of overstepping, but he didn’t ask to see you either. Maybe he was embarrassed of having you as a soulmate and didn’t want to look you in the face again. In the past you’d tried to write it off as him being too busy with work to spend any sort of time with you. If he wanted you, he would have asked to see you, right? Instead of just hiding behind a screen. 

The pile of negative thoughts grew as the day progressed. You were on auto pilot, thankfully the rest of your tasks for the day only involved cleaning some equipment. Zhu Li’s comments really tore down any sort of confidence you had with your ‘relationship’, if you could even call it that, with the general. Any pride you felt had turned to shame that burned each time he popped into your mind. You were in too deep,and weren’t exactly sure how to get out of this deep pool. As you left, you checked your phone. Your stomach somersaulted unpleasantly when you saw you had a message from him. A picture of Mimi laying in a patch of dying sunlight on a plush looking carpet. You sighed and stopped, waiting for a star skiff back to your apartment. You responded half-heartedly.

You: She looks so cozy. I wish I could sleep in the sun all day

Your phone buzzed as you got a response, but you pocketed it instead of checking what he had to say. Zhu Li’s comments from earlier still rang in your ears. You felt numb as you stepped onto the star skiff, imputing your destination on the screen. What she said couldn’t be true, you tried to tell yourself, but ultimately knew there was a chance she was right. It hurt to admit, it made your heart clench painfully in your chest. You absentmindedly rubbed the spot in an attempt to soothe it. In your pocket, your phone buzzed again. Just another message from you know who. Nobody else texted you at this hour, Jingshui was usually busy with his family. You opened up your chats and stared at the screen, the words swimming in your eyes. Ignoring his initial question, you shakily typed out a message, your heart hammering in your chest, and you hit send.

You: Would you be interested in getting drinks or something with me sometime in the future?

With bated breath, you watched the three dots pop up under your message, blinking as the general wrote out a response, then stopped. The dots disappeared and your heart sank. This was bad, wasn’t it? Something inside of you said he was going to say no. Sure enough, once the dots reappeared, his response appeared under yours. 

The General: I’m sorry, I’m afraid I can’t do that…

There was more to his message, but you shut your phone off and closed your eyes, resting your forehead on your front door. A sigh of disappointment left your lips. Your heart felt heavy in your chest and your throat tight as you took a deep breath. It was embarrassing how much this rejection hurt, but you weren’t surprised. Of course he didn’t want to see you. It was stupid to think otherwise, you felt silly about entertaining thoughts of being seen with him in public. You were a nobody and he was the most important person on the ship. You would never be of equal status or importance as him no matter what you did or said. You’d be on the bottom of the food chain for all of eternity, with this horrible secret harbored in your heart. 

#honkai star rail x reader #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan #hsr x reader #hsr imagines