#💐these are for you

[janedoe297-art]

[yukizme]

the day you and megumi broke up was the worst day of gojo satoru's life.

now, not only did he have to deal with a moody teenager at home, he also had to deal with you at school.

"what do you mean you both broke up?"

"it means we're no longer together."

"but — but WHY?"

"reasons," megumi deadpanned, not taking his eyes away from the tv in front of him. gojo watched him for a minute and when it became clear that the kid wasn't gonna cry and ask him for help so that he could win you back, he knew exactly what he had to do.

a few blocks away, you had just finished tearing up over a sad song which reminded you of your current predicament when your phone pinged with a new notification.

you reached over to dig your phone up from the pile of pillows thrown on your bed and almost threw it out of the window when the name 'sea urchin🥊💍' stared back up at you.

you snapped back from your trance when it pinged again — and again and again and again until you couldn't take it anymore and opened the messages, your heartbeat echoing in your ears.

sea urchin🥊💍

do u care bout me be honest

i am giving you 5 secs pls pls pls

take me back 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

if this doesn't work lemme try this

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

c'mon u have to take me back now it's only being NICE

i am going to sleep now last chance

come onnnnnnnnnn

hello this is his dad do u care about megumi

on the other side, gojo was furiously trying his best to make it seem like it was megumi who was texting you and so far, he was absolutely convinced that he was getting the hang of it. it was only when the phone buzzed with a new notification that his dream of mastering espionage was shattered.

girlfriend

megumi's vocab includes yes, no, fuck off, what the fuck and itadori NO

he will strangle u if u use emojis

nice try tho sensei

tell that mf to talk to me if he wants to

or wtv

is he ok

not that i care

make sure he sleeps early tonight bc he got that training thing tomorrow morning

again i do not care

also delete these messages

(thank u)

gojo looked up grinning from megumi's phone, his eyes locking on his kid. megumi was fast asleep on the couch, his head leaning back against the back of it. even from some distance, gojo could see the tiredness etched on his face and something else that made him so restless. and despite not seeing you, he could bet his entire fortune that you were the same way and it made is heart hurt, seeing the two kids he loved like his own hurt so horribly like this.

looking at the messages you sent and your obvious care of him, he was sure that you'd both be okay.

gojo was there to make sure of it. and if one of the reasons for doing it was because he didn't wanna deal with antsy and moody teenagers for god knows how long, well, that was no one's business but his own.

[pinknipszz]

heian era sukuna x reader →

(a/n: loosely inspired by that one jessica rabbit scene; this is also borderline uraume/reader bc theyre so cute ugh)

people don’t understand how you can love the king of curses. his figure was grotesque—beyond repulsive—with four heavy hands that could snap your limbs into two if he so pleased. they can’t get past the four eyes either, but you found them charming. how could you not when he looked at you so sweetly? 

“where is my husband?” you inquire for the nth time, your voice as sweet as molasses as you tug at the ends of uraume’s sleeves. the humble servant doesn’t answer immediately; they know not to, and you don’t mind. while you wait, you watch the passerines tease the fish in the pond from your spot on the engawa.

uraume dips their elegant fude into the shallow inkstone beside you. calligraphy and whatnot. “lord sukuna is tending to matters in the southern provinces,” they answer with the same amount of patience they had a few minutes ago, and an hour before, and another before that. they must be used to it now.

“do you think he misses me?” comes a light brush against their pale hand. uraume exhales through their nose at your question, but not from exasperation. never that. “yes,” they say with utmost sincerity, like it’s gospel truth, before painting one long, flourishing stroke. “very much so.”

content, you cease your ministrations and fall on your back, giggling at the way your hair splays beneath your head. “he loves me,” you coo and cup your sun-kissed cheeks. “my husband loves me, and i love him too.” you think the edge of their lips twitch up into the barest hint of a smile.

but it vanishes before you can get a proper glimpse. sighing, uraume gives you a knowing look from the corner of their eye as they dip their fude back into the inkstone. you turn to lay on your side and watch how it absorbs the ink. “the servants, though adequate, have been quite bothersome lately.”

they finish the kanji in several swift strokes. 麗. rei for beauty. uraume continues. “there’s ill speak of your relationship with lord sukuna.” you count the passerines, letting the unspoken question hang in the air. shall i do something about it? it’s uraume’s turn to wait patiently for an answer, an ultimatum.

but you don’t give one so easily, preoccupied with an image that resurfaces in your mind: a group of servants—fresh off the cut and eager-eyed—gossiping by the water well. you don’t think they saw you, unless they were stupider than you thought, but they were loud enough to hear.

uraume is watching you, properly now, as you blow a stray strand of hair from your face. when they lean in to gently tuck it behind your ear, persimmons and plums permeate your senses. “do not bother with them. they talk because they do not understand why i love him,” you decide with finality.

“and why do you love him?” there’s a hint of fondness in their voice, reserved for you.

you look up through your delicate lashes, smiling cheekily. “he makes me laugh.”

(masterlist) | (a/n: would yall hate me if I wrote uraume/reader's pls be honest)

[shouyuus]

─── Ⅵ FOR THE LOVE OF FLOWERS

violet; 4,403 words; fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, bartender!vi, florist!reader, (probably) incorrect depiction of florist/bartender life, sun and moon dynamic, so much pining, dad!vander, bff!mel, mylo and claggor being... mylo and claggor, mindless, tooth-rotting fluff, lapslock, no "y/n"

summary: in which you work at the flowershop directly across the street from the last drop.

a/n: happy belated valentines day!!! i know i have like a bunch of other wips but i wanted to write something cutesy and it's still valentines weekend for me so... i hope you guys enjoy! :)

─── Ⅵ THE FIRST TIME SHE SEES YOU, it’s valentine’s day — after a long night of serving drinks and arguing with progressively drunker and drunker men (doubtlessly hoping to land a lay at the bar the night before valentine’s) and a botched hookup attempt (vi texted; hookup did not respond. the crowd boos), the sight of you across the streets had felt something like a dream.

she’d always known about the flower shop directly opposite the small, two lane street from the last drop —

for the love of flowers.

it’s a cute name, written in looping, ornate script, and she’s never paid it much attention till now, what with her schedule being so opposite yours, but that morning (february 14th, she’ll never forget) she sees you, pushing open the gorgeous french windows and setting up the sign, in a teddybear coat that looked like a wayward cloud had wandered down to earth and made itself into a jacket, just for you.

you were humming — she doesn’t know how she knew this, but she did. she could just tell, from the way you moved through the motions of your morning routine like a dance, trailing delicate fingers along the wooden frame of your door before disappearing into the shop and reappearing a moment later with a vast bouquet of ruby-red roses.

the smile on your face had been nothing short of incandescent.

it’s been a full year since then (so they say, time slips by quick when you’ve got a crush — or, whatever) and somehow, she still doesn’t know your name.

she knows other things though — she knows the shape and weight of all your smiles, the way your eyes glitter when you’re helping a customer pick out their flowers. she knows there’s a very fluffy white cat that sometimes likes to sunbathe on the shop’s windowsill, and that when it does come to visit, you always have a warm bowl of milk ready. she knows the cadence of your mornings, the rhyme and rhythm of your opening and closing routines. she knows the colors of all your favorite dresses, and how you like to match them to your seemingly endless collection of cute little flats.

she knows your laughter sounds like bell-chimes, the few times she’s heard it ringing out across the street. she knows the fragments of your voice she’s sometimes overhead, carried on the autumn wind, sometimes reminds her of birdsong.

and, she knows that she doesn’t stand a chance.

“you do,” vander chimes, wiping down the bartop one morning, even as vi helps him stack the stools, the window facing the street thrown open. vi groans, unable to help the way her eyes flicker towards it, towards the shape of your flower-shop across the street, where she knows that in about 10 minutes exactly, you’ll throw open your own white-paneled windows and start prepping for your day.

“how could you possibly know that?” vi asks, crinkling her nose at the whine that sneaks into her voice.

vander makes a sound not unlike an amused bear before slinging the large washcloth onto his shoulder and shooting her a fox-sly grin, his eyes beetle-dark and twinkling.

“just trust your old man on this, yeah? it’s valentine’s day tomorrow, so trot on over after we close… and buy ‘er some flowers. see how that goes, hm?”

vi chews on her lip — it sounds simple enough when vander says it like that but…

heat plumes up the back of her neck at the thought of you, in one of your myriad dresses, perhaps with leggings on underneath to protect against the mid-february chill, the flower patterned apron tied around your waist, a pair of red scissors tucked into the front pocket.

she’s shaking her head before she can stop herself.

“no — i — i can’t, she doesn’t even know i exist — how creepy would it be to just show up and —”

vander cuts her off with a massive hand on her shoulder, giving her a tiny shake that nonetheless makes vi’s head wobble.

“she does know you exist,” vander says, and from up this close, vi can almost see her own reflection in the dark of his eyes. “just… give it a go. and if it doesn’t work… i’ll cover all your drinks here for a week.”

vi puffs out an incredulous laugh.

“vander, i work here — i already drink for free.”

vander chuckles, “fine then, you’ll get the next two weekends off, how’s that?”

vi’s face brightens, “really? and… if it does go well?” she taps her fingers nervously against the worn wooden bar.

vander’s grin widens by degrees, “then… you’ll get the two weekends off anyway — for your first and second dates, sound good?”

vi blinks, staring up at vander for a solid few seconds before laughing and holding out her hand.

“yeah, sure — thanks old man.”

vander huffs, taking her hand in his and giving it a soft pat, and for a moment, vi feels the inexplicable urge to throw her arms around him and bury her face in his chest like she used to when she was still small enough for him to lift onto his shoulders. instead, she only swallows and gives his hand a tight squeeze.

his whole face softens as he lifts a hand to cluck at her chin, chuckling as she scowls and makes a half-hearted attempt to duck away.

“that’s my girl.”

vi turns away with burning cheeks and a giddy smile spreading across her face. she makes her way to the back where the door opens out onto the alley where the delivery truck for the next night’s liquors is already idling. she waves at the benzo, and reaches into the back for a crate of fresh beer bottles, counting down the seconds till tomorrow morning.

she doesn’t see, across the street, the flicker of lights click on in your shop or hear the slight creak of hinges as you push open the windows, shivering slightly in the pre-dawn wind. she doesn’t see the way you crane your neck out to try and catch a glimpse of her, of the tiny pout that pushes at your lips when you don’t see her familiar silhouette in the bar’s old, wooden window.

she doesn’t see the way your shoulders slump, or the way you glance down at your fingers, clutching at the window sill as you try to tell yourself that maybe, maybe this time, you’ll go over and talk to her. she doesn’t see you mouthing the words to yourself, as if going over lines for a stage-play — hi! i hope this isn’t too weird but… i’ve seen you across the street almost every day and… i just thought… well… would i be able to buy you a drink?

you shake your head, groaning inwardly to yourself as you slip back into your shop and grab the large sign that usually goes out front, boasting of the currently in-season flowers and any discounts you might be having.

“god, who even offers to buy a bartender a drink? she’ll probably think i’m an idiot or something —”

“i’m sure it’s not the first time she’s heard that line before, darling,” mel says, barely glancing up from behind the register, taking stock of the previous day’s sales.

“yeah, and i’m willing to be that it’s sucked for her every single time.”

“you won’t know till you’ve tried it,” mel sing-songs, even as she sighs and rounds the register to help you pick out the most eye-catching flowers for the outdoor display.

you scowl down at a fresh batch of roses, just in time for valentine’s day. you reach for your scissors and start the methodical work of ridding them of all their thorns.

by the time you carry the floral display outside and duck back in for the sign, it’s to catch a glimpse of vi, laughing as she jokes around with a pair of boys (who you’ve surmised by now also work at the bar), her ducking beneath an attempted jab and jumping up to loop her arm around one of them in a headlock. the sound of their yelps and laughter rings bright and clear against the mid-morning sky, a second before the wind kicks up and sends the hem of your dress fluttering.

you squeak, pushing it down, your eyes slingshotting back across the street, but vi’s already gone, disappeared into the back alley, the memory of her voice still echoing in your chest like the opening bars of a love song you’ve always known, but can never remember the lyrics of.

you catch sight of vander as he reaches out to close the window of the last drop, and for a second, your eyes meet. he cocks his head, a knowing grin slung across his lips even as you blush and raise your hand in greeting. he pauses to dip his head at you, before turning to say something to someone you can’t quite see, and then he’s turning back, lifting a hand to his lips as if to say — your secret’s safe with me.

something thuds in your chest as he shoots you a furtive wink and pulls the window shut.

“darling? come help me with these snapdragons — i can never get them to sit as nicely as you do.”

you turn and hurry back into the shop, your mind spinning even as you busy yourself with the task of arranging the shop for opening.

the day passes by in a whirlwind of cut-stems and wrapping paper, of satin ribbon and hard twine. and by the time you’re closing up shop, the familiar, heart-warming glow of light is already pouring from the window of the last drop, and a few seconds later, you see the heart-rending shape of vi as she pushes through the front door, holding it open with a hip to let vander through, chattering about this or that.

you whip around before she can catch you staring and busy yourself with checking over the leftover flowers from the outside display, warmth creeping up the back of your neck. you’re sure you can feel the weight of her eyes on you, and you tell yourself that it’s nothing — just something friendly, or neighborly, or — something bumps against your ankle and you glance down to find poro the cat twining herself between your legs.

“hey there,” you greet, bending down to pick her up. poro lets out a pleased mewl, purring loudly as you run your fingers through her silken fur, “we missed you today — but you never liked the big crowds, huh?” you smile, making your way to the window and setting her down on the wide ledge. she spins herself around twice before settling, her fluffy tail wrapping around her paws as she watches you with large, sky-blue eyes.

across the street, vi watches, her heart in her throat, and nearly walks into the edge of the door with an armful of empty crates, catching herself three seconds before faceplanting into the pavement. behind her, mylo lets out a bark of laughter even as claggor groans, shaking his head and sidestepping them both back into the bar.

“y’know, this whole lesbian pining thing’s gone on for a bit too long,” mylo says, spinning a beer bottle opener around his index finger as he and vi make their way in behind claggor.

“shut the fuck up,” vi snipes, shouldering passed mylo towards the stairs leading to the basement, her stomach twisting at the thought of perhaps asking you out in less than 24 hours. she sighs, dropping the crates into a corner and turning to leave again, only to find mylo leaning against the narrow stairwell, staring at her with the a sanctimonious smirk.

her eyes narrow, “you’re one to talk,” she grumbles, making her way back to stare him straight in the eyes; she sees him falter, the flash of uncertainty in his eyes before he squares up again, puffing out his chest, “how long’ve you been thirsting after the lead singer of that indie band again? two years now? three?”

“th-that’s different!” mylo insists, stumbling after her as vi shoves passed him back up the stairs.

vi cocks an eyebrow, reaching up to grab a barstool, setting it on the floor with a loud clack.

“yeah? how so?”

mylo licks his lips, “it’s — she — she’s like a celebrity, y’know? so it’s — it’s normal that i haven’t —”

“what celebrity? her band plays here like every other week — you’ve had more facetime with gert over the past few years than i’ve had with —” vi gestures towards the door, “flowergirl, in like… ever!”

on the opposite end of the bar, claggor is helping vander wipe down tables, glancing up from his work with a deep sigh.

“so is she gonna do it, or what?”

vander grunts, “think she actually might, tomorrow morning.”

“yeah? how’d you convince her?”

vander shrugs, “offered her two weekends off.”

claggor snorts, “figures. well — if it finally gets the two of them together then…” he mimics wiping sweat off his brow and shaking off his fingers. vander laughs, nodding.

“one can only hope.” he casts another glance towards where vi and mylo are now locked in a full-out brawl, vi having pinned mylo’s face to the recently wiped bar top with his arm twisted behind his back.

across the street, you’re sighing into a handful of Iron Plant leaves, stripping out the ones with yellowing tips and keeping the most vibrant ones for the next day.

“you’ll age yourself if you keep sighing like that,” mel says, reaching over your shoulder to pluck a particularly green leaf from the bunch and swatting at your head as if it were a feather-duster.

you frown, wiping your hands on your apron before moving to the next batch of leaves.

“it’s just… been so long and i — i don’t even think she’s looked at me.”

mel groans, “oh trust me — she has.”

“you keep saying that, but i’ve never —”

“just because you’ve never seen it, darling, doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened.” she reaches out to tug the sheers from your hand with dexterous fingers. she snaps them once, the sharp snip making you wince.

“yes, yes — i know…” you lick your lips, glancing at the window. outside, the setting sun has burnished the entire street in gold. a second later, the door of the last drop swings open again and vi appears, her eyes casting towards your shop and for a fraction of a second — no longer than a hummingbird’s wingbeat — your eyes meet.

the contact is electric, scintillating and strange — it shocks through you, staticking through all your nerve endings till your fingers and toes are tingling with it — the buzzing energy, the potential of something.

anything —

more.

and then, mylo bumps into vi as he clambers by, and the moment is broken, the tenuous connection between you shattering like sugar-string. vi shoves mylo back hard, and by the time she looks back, you’ve melted back into the flower-decked interior of the shop.

it is a long night, though in general, the one before valentines day always is. too many bruised egos, sloshing over the sides of beer steins. too many puffed-up, washed-up, has-beens, wandering the darkened corners of the town in search of a warm body inside which they might partake in the delicate art of forgetting. and in vi’s experience, wounded prides have never mixed well with alcohol — no matter what the occasion.

so by the morning, she’s exhausted, the sunrise greeting her in all its fool’s gold glory.

vander gives her a pat on the back and slides an irish coffee down the bar towards her. she stares at the white frothy top before cracking him a grin and chugging down half in a single gulp, wincing slightly a the sharp bite of whiskey.

vander laughs, shrugging as vi stares at the remainder of the glass.

“thought you could use a little liquid courage.”

vi sniffs, sucks in a breath, and downs the rest of the drink, raising the empty glass to vander before sliding it back down the bar. vander reaches out to catch it in a single smooth motion, waving her off.

“right, now go on and get your girl.”

vi coughs, “she’s not my —”

claggor tuts, “just go already — we’ll finish up here —”

vi opens her mouth as if to respond, but at another hard look from vander, she deflates, grumbling to herself as she drags the back of her hand across her lips to make sure there’s no residual whipped cream, before pushing out the door, bracing herself against the mid-february wind.

the street is nearly empty this early in the morning, and the dawning sunlight has yet to settle into it’s usual richness, still a bit wane, papering the street in the palest shade of gold. on the opposite horizon, the night is is bleeding out the last dregs of its own inky darkness, a crescent moon hung like a ghostly petal, floating across the surface of a late winter sky.

vi shoves both her hands into her jacket pockets and hunches her shoulders against a kick of wind, half-jogging across the thin, two-lane street just as you push your windows open.

“oh! hi! uhm —” your voice is just as beautiful as she’s always known it would be.

vi squeezes her fists inside her pockets, scuffing her feet against the pavement as she watches the way your cheeks flush rose-petal-pink, and then you’re ducking back into the store, only to appear a second later, stepping through the front door in a velvet dress red as holly-berries (or perhaps just the shade of bleeding hearts), your usual apron tied around your waist, a thin scarf looped around your neck to protect against the chill.

“hey! sorry to just — randomly run across the street like this —” she waves a hand awkwardly at the last drop, closing up behind her.

you shake your head, pressing your palms to the front of your apron, “no! it’s okay — actually i —”

“i wanted to ask — oh, sorry no —” she speaks over you in her haste, backtracking immediately, even as you flap your hands, seemingly just as flustered as she is.

“no, no! it’s fine — what did you want to ask?” you open your hands, expectant.

and you’re looking at her, gods, you’re looking at her. and vi can’t think for the rabbit’s foot thump of her heart, beating inside her chest, making her vision swim as a rush of blood floods her ears, washing out all sound except for the silver-bell chime of your voice. she digs her nails into her palms, clearing her throat.

“uh… it’s just… i was — i was wondering — shit — well, okay — say… i wanted to get someone flowers —”

you blink, your eyes flickering between both of hers at her words. and then, you turn, if only to keep her from seeing the way your expression falls, ever so slightly.

“oh… yeah? okay, sure — i can help you with that — do you know what kind of flowers you’d like?” you lead her into the main body of your shop, holding the door open for her.

vi steps through, scratching at the back of her neck, glancing around, trying not to seem so overwhelmed by the utter explosion of fragrance and color.

“th-that’s the thing though — i — i mean, i don’t know anything about flowers so — i thought — i wanted to ask for your help —” she glances back at you; you clear your throat and look away, reaching out to brush a finger along the petal of a single red rose, lying in the middle of a perfectly cut square of wax paper.

“uh… yeah, i — i can do that — uhm — i’m assuming this is a… romantic kind of floral-endeavor?” you ask, bracingly, making a small attempt at your usual humor.

vi purses her lips, the freckles dusted across her nose made all the more prominent by the way she blushes.

“yeah — sort of.”

you take a deep breath, then start to make your way around the shop.

“okay, well — do you know their favorite color or… anything?”

vi follows a few steps behind, glancing around for any indication before she sighs.

“uhm… i know she likes colors in general — bright ones —”

you pause over a display of button mums the color of honey.

“oh! cool okay —” you make to move away again but vi jerks forward, reaching out in an abortive movement, her hand caught in midair as you turn. you stare, unable to entirely keep the skip from your heartbeat.

“i just — holy fuck —” she runs a hand over her face, looking strangely abashed as she drops her hand, squeezing her fingers into fists before letting them loose again. you wonder, for a moment, why she might be so nervous before she licks her lips and continues, “— so — say you were going to get flowers from someone… on valentine’s day —”

you go almost preternaturally still.

“uh… huh…”

vi chews on her bottom lip so hard you’re worried, for a second, that she might draw blood. still, she looks anywhere but at you.

“w-what kind of flowers w-would you uh — would you want them to get you?”

you stare at her for a beat, and then another. a tentative hope blossoms in your chest, a single creeping vine at first, threading through your veins. you lick your lips, clasping your hands behind your back, worrying at your own fingers.

“d-depends… would this person be uhm… asking me out? or…” you trail off.

vi nods, almost too eager, taking half a step forward.

“y-yeah! maybe — if you’re… open to being asked out —”

“i — i am!” you blurt out. heat plumes into your skin like the first wisteria bloom of spring, one at first, and then another, then another — tiny flowers popping open, fragrant and shockingly violet until your chest is full of them.

“great! so… uh… the flowers —?” vi lets out a soft chuckle.

your lashes flutter, and then, you spring into movement. anything to dance off the mid-summer fire collecting beneath your skin.

“oh! sorry — right — i guess i’d like… gardenias, for secret love,” you say, rounding the shop towards the large white blooms, your heartbeat a riotous mess, clattering against your ribs as you pluck out a few of the choicest flowers. behind you, vi watches, her heart caught in the back of her throat, her breath lost somewhere in the air between you.

“maybe… a few pink camelias, for longing —” you move through to the other side of the shop, collecting the flowers one by one, your fingers trembling as you tug each of them from their stands, “hydrangeas for understanding… or at least —” you suck in a breath, “i hope…”

“y-yeah — i — i hope so too — i mean — that’s good, that’s perfect —”

you swallow, turning around to show her the budding bouquet, but when you hold out the flowers, she barely spares them a glance, her eyes fixed on you.

“y-you’re — they’re uh… beautiful.”

“u-uhm — and then… a few fillers…” you say, oddly breathless, if only to fill in the electric quiet, the air thrumming with it, as lightning might brew beyond a monsoon sky.

you finish the bouquet with a piece of twine, smiling down at your own handiwork. the flush in your cheeks only grows as you turn to offer them to her, and she smiles, pursing her lips.

“is… is there a card or something i could —” she motions towards the flowers.

you nod passed the giddiness collecting in your throat.

“s-sure! and… who —” you gulp again, tugging a small red-heart shaped card from the cash register, “who might this be for?”

vi lets out a helpless laugh, “i… i was hoping that’d be kind of obvious…”

you hesitate for a second longer before scribbling your name at the top of the card. vi leans over to read it; the way she says your name makes your chest stitch, your lungs constrict.

“and…” you finally allow yourself to look up at her, your pen hovering over the from line on the card. her gaze, when you meet it, is the most gorgeous morning-glory blue.

“vi — violet,” she says.

you smile, “pretty name.” before bending down to write it on the card as well.

“thanks. yours… isn’t so bad either,” she says, reaching for her wallet.

you wave her away.

“on the house.”

vi cocks an eyebrow, “i don’t think that’s how buy someone valentine’s day flowers works.”

you crinkle your nose, “it is if the person you’re buying them for runs a flower shop.”

at this, vi laughs, the sound sweet and clear as a winter’s thaw. you find yourself giggling too, looking down at the bouquet with soft eyes.

“how about… you buy this for me… and you let me… buy you a drink tonight?” you ask, setting the flowers aside and pressing your palms to the register top. vi blinks.

“yeah?” vi’s smile lopes to the side, a sharp, dangerous twinkle caught behind her eyes, “and… what would you be getting me?”

you trail a light finger along the length of the register with a small shrug.

“actually… i was going to ask — say someone were to buy you a drink for valentine’s day…”

vi puffs out a breath, her gaze darkening by degrees.

“uh huh.”

“what kind of drink would you want them to get you?”

TAGLIST: @traiitorjoe @rizzscary @wetcat020 @alex-thegiraffeboyy @nanasemo @saturnhas82moons @unear7hly @drsnowrose @grantaires-waistcoat @isab3lita @ally-all-around @starrysetup22 @lipsent @lewd_alien @jack-frost-2010 @starsfortaylor @onesockcat @lesbian-useless @armins-slvt @the-drama-is-real @froggybich @chwlogy @xrhyllamyx @yaeil @sweetybuzz25 @lustfirepoison @gigizwrld @bruisedbygod @luvmoo @autisticgirlkisser @elegantunknowncloud - join the taglist

[artist-rat]

a comm/sketch comm of a DA2 gang I got to do recently 🧡

[jd-loves-fiction]

hello hello i’m sneaking in for the Contes De Fees~ maybe i have Malleus, with aftercare from their first time? can be nsfw or just fluff, your choice~

💐Surprised Malleus didnt get like... all the requests ��� Here's something cute for ya :) turned out a little short tho

❧ Hold me in return

❧ Malleus leans over you, panting as harshly as you do – pride swells within you at the thought that could affect such a being in the same way he does you.

His hot breath fans over the side of your neck, his long hair tickling your skin as you relax, letting go of your tight grip on his cape upon which you lay.

The sky is dark as his hair, stars as bright as his eyes which watch you silently as you gather your thoughts. The moment is broken when you shift and feel the evidence of your coupling, as he called it, sliding down your thighs. Suddenly, everything is sticky, gross and just too much.

Your disgust must show on your face because without a moment’s hesitation, Malleus scoops you up, hands under your knees and back, and cradles you to his broad, milky chest, “Mal–”

“I believe cleaning up is required after such… activities.” The hesitation in his voice comes from a place of amused mocking, not shyness, as is the fae way. You nod wordlessly, too tired to produce one of the reactions he delights in seeing.

He carries you with all the grace of a prince, arms strong around your weakened body, despite how weak he'd turned when leaned over you just a few minutes ago.

The lake you'd laid by shines with the light of the moon and stars, utterly unreal in its visage, were you not in the arms of a fae prince at this very moment. He steps into the water elegantly, lowering the both of you down into the cool waters together. You shiver slightly at the temperature and he clutches you closer in response, though the view around you is simply otherworldly, his eyes do not stray from you.

You help bathe each other in peaceful silence, observing one another now that the high has faded. Malleus sits back against the lake's edge once he feels your body grow lax and your eyes grow heavy, pulling you to his chest while delicately brushing your hair back from your face.

For a man so imposing, a man to whom nature itself bows down, he's as gentle as can be with you – aware of your human fragility.

Perhaps it is not such an odd thing, his gentle protectiveness, given his true inner nature. He just needed someone who'd hold him in return and never let go.

[jkvjimin]

the 'face card never declines' series starring: kim seokjin for kayla 🌼 @cordiallyfuturedwight

[uncanny-tranny]

Tall trans girl reading this: you aren't too tall for heels. If you want to wear them, wear them proud. There is nothing more spectacular than a tall woman in heels, and nobody can ever take that away from you, not even yourself 🩷🪻

[cordiallyfuturedwight]

✿ apryl shower ✿ for @aprylynn ✿

[hearts4hughes]

HELLO YOU…

think of him as your shadow. always a step behind, always watching. sure, he lingers a little longer than most. and maybe it’s not technically normal to slip through your window when you’re not home. but he has to—he needs to. how else could he keep you safe? because without him, who knows what could happen to you. right…?

a collection of stalker!rafe cameron x fem!reader imagines. stand-alone entries you can sink into, one unsettling chapter at a time.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˚ ༘𓊆ྀི ♱.˚⠀

#stalker!rafe + #YOU~AU

disclaimer: this is a fictional AU rooted in thriller/psychological horror themes. nothing here condones or romanticizes real-life stalking, violence, or abusive behaviors. read with discretion.

warnings: stalking / obsession ; home invasion ; voyeurism ; manipulation / gaslighting ; possessive behavior ; non-consensual surveillance ; implied or explicit violence ; unhealthy relationship dynamics ; nsfw content (18+) ; dubcon (in certain fics — clearly marked) ; psychological horror / thriller themes ; yandere undertones ; mentions of blood / injury (when applicable)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˚ ༘𓊆ྀི ♱.˚⠀

you left your window unlocked again. are you trying to tempt me?

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @13hischiers @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @xoxosblogsblog @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae

[yukizme]

what could i have said to raise you from the dead !!!

alternatively — ☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩ they hope to find you in every universe after this one.

jujutsu kaisen characters — ♡⊹°˖➴💌

warnings — ⋆｡°✩ the reader is dead !!!!!!! everyone is sad. mention of death (obv). all the pretty boys are sad. language.

author's note — ⋆｡°✩ this made me cry 😭😭😭 i hope u like :)

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

[shouyuus]

here's a thought:

bartender!vi x flower shop!reader

where bartender!vi is always closing shop when you're setting up right across the street from the last drop and she always sees you, pushing open your old fashioned french windows, an apron gathered around your waist as you set up the outdoor arrangements.

one of these days, she thinks she'll go over to ask for a flower (or your number), or just to buy you a drink. one of these days, she's gonna gather up the courage to do it. but today... she thinks she'll just content herself with watching (yet again), with wondering what your name might be, dreaming about if you'd smell like flowers, if your smile would look just as beautiful.

she doesn't know that every evening, when you're closing shop and the last drop is turning on it's lights and she's busy helping vander carry in the stock for the night, you're watching her through those vast french windows, wondering if her laughter is just as intoxicating as a shot of whiskey, if her eyes might be bourbon-bright beneath the haze of a busy bar.

one of these days, you think, you'll go over there and... say hi. ask for her to make you her favorite drink (or just her number). one of these days. but --

not today.

[artist-rat]

tarot commission for @winduphathe 🌹🗡️

[zivazivc]

All my queens so far ❤ or at least all of the ones I have designs for

bonus drawing from a long time ago of another babygirl who will never exist as long as I'm sane:

[sicklysweetgf]

do you guys actually like thick thighs?? and bigger stomachs?? 🙈🫠

[chappellroansdreamgirl]

abby taking care of her gf's hair 4 her <3333333 .

author's note - just took my fuckin' braids out after almost a month and i am daydreaming about abby anderson. (what's new i know...)

content warnings - just fluff, explicit black reader.

-------------------------------------------------------

- on days you're going to get your hair braided, abby sends you off with a lil basket full of your favorite snacks and some essentials that you'll need for the day cause you both know that you're not coming home soon.

- sends u messages throughout the day asking for updates: "Can I see now???" , "babe we're still parting😭" . you don't let her see until you get home and she gets so happy. "you look so pretty, sweet girl." she won't stop telling you that until you fall asleep.

- if you have a sensitive scalp (like me...) , this white girl got that scalp oil STACKED, SHE'S NOT PLAYING. she gave that hair store worker hell, probably was in there for about an hour overanalyzing the ingredients and trying to remember if you were allergic to any of the substances that were in the jar. if you're tapping at your braids, she's so quick to get that shit out, massaging it carefully into your scalp, making sure not to mess anything up that didn't need to be touched. she knows how much effort is put in to having nice hair, and she treats yours with ten times the love she puts into her own.

- definitely learned how to take them out for you so you didn't have to do them all by yourself. by the time they're all out, you both are so tired but she's already getting up to start your shower and laying out your hair products you'll need afterwards. (ABBY BABY I LOVE YOU, MY PRECIOUS GIRL.) if you don't want to do it yourself, she's more than happy to comb out your hair, handling your texture with care as she gets knot after knot out with her skilled fingers.

- scalp massages are a must, she never feels like she's done enough until she's able to bring her hands into your hair and rub the lightest of circles onto your scalp.

- when you're braiding your own hair for maintenance, she'll just sit there and admire you with hearts in her eyes. if you let her, she'll lay in your lap and hand you whatever you need, always happy to be of help.

- abby anderson worships you and the sacredness that comes with your hair. she'll always be honored to be trusted with it, and with you<3 .