#Loose tea for natural energy

[energy-boosting]

HACH CH'I (Good Morning) in local Himalayan language offers an intense spiced-up lemony aroma with woody undertones. The sourness of the first sip awakens the senses, leading to a woody mid-tone and ending with a mildly warm sweet brisk finish. INGREDIENTS: Himalayan Sea Buckthorn Berries, Butterfly Pea Flower, Lemongrass, and Ginger, Drinking twice a day will keep your mind fresh and body relaxed throughout your day.

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane Preference] And Their Favorite Hot Drink

Every time I say I want to make at least three, and every time it takes me a month to make three. But between today and tomorrow, I want to post something else with a cozy/winter theme, so stay tuned. Meanwhile, in my little self-promotion corner, I'll let you know that you can find my fanart here, and here you can find a fanfiction I'm working on, if you want to check out my other projects!

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky | | Ao3 |

Jayce:

Hot tea.

With lots of cookies, not just one or two like nobles who drink tea to be chic.

He drinks tea because it makes the cookies taste better and softer.

And if I told you he prefers fruity tea?

Basically, he likes a strong flavor, and fruity teas have the most aroma, although having grown up as the Kirammans’ ward, he’s learned to drink it in any form.

Viktor:

Sweet milk.

Or milk and honey.

Occasionally, milk, coffee, caramel, and whipped cream if he wants to be fancy, but he never has the time, so it’s usually just sweet milk.

He has such a stockpile that statistically, at least one bottle is expired, but it doesn’t matter; he doesn’t pay attention to those things.

Ekko:

Cappuccino. It’s quick, it’s hot, it gives energy, and the milk makes it sweet enough without adding sugar.

Easy to find and great for the group because it’s not expensive—just steal an industrial-sized can of milk and some instant coffee, and he can make it for more than 20 people.

Tea is problematic because there are no plants in Zaun, and in Piltover, they either sell it in small doses or loose.

Vander:

Hot chocolate, because I say so.

This man was born to be a father, and what do kids love? Hot chocolate.

Hard to come by in Zaun, which is why he always adds chocolate bars or cocoa powder as an extra price in his smuggling deals.

It became his favorite because of the connection it has with his kids and his happy place.

Silco:

Whiskey doesn’t count as a hot drink, and that’s a bit of a problem.

But luckily, coffee exists.

Not American coffee, long and watered down, but espresso.

He holds the small cup in his hands to warm himself, but subtly enough that no one notices.

Jinx:

Sugar.

Not a hot drink, sure, but any drink works for her if it has enough sugar.

Milk and honey remind her of when she was little, tied to special occasions when her parents actually managed to get honey.

But pretty much anything works for her: fruity teas with three tablespoons of sugar, hot chocolate with one spoonful, cappuccino with two…

Vi:

Anything works for her as long as the cup is big enough to warm her hands.

Simple and easy-to-find drinks are great, sure, but no one can convince me her favorite drink isn’t either hot chocolate with rum or a complex, spiced Piltover-style beverage.

She doesn’t mind sweetness but never adds sugar to her drinks—she’d rather choose something with natural sweet notes.

Caitlyn:

Tea.

English breakfast tea with sugar and milk is something her parents made her during festive mornings, so it holds sentimental value.

But the tea she’s used to drinking is Oolong or Yorkshire, typical of the five o’clock tea tradition with her mother and occasionally their guests.

Mel:

Coffee and variations.

In my little artist brain, Piltover has an ethical equivalent of Starbucks, and that café is Mel’s happy place.

Coffee is easier to find for sure, but coffee-based drinks with caramel, ginger, and plant-based milk are absolutely her favorite.

She loves sipping them slowly, savoring the flavors, taking half an hour or more to finish her cup.

Sevika:

Whiskey.

No, she won’t accept that it doesn’t count as a hot drink.

She doesn’t like milk, but if she’s forced to have it, she spikes it with whiskey or gin.

The same goes for hot chocolate.

She’s not a coffee person either; she doesn’t see the point of drinking something so bitter without a real purpose.

[cumironi]

NOT FOR SHITS AND GIGGLES: GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU

do you know what tea could affect your relationship? making you have an argument with your boyfriends because you thought they were overprotective and overbearing.

wc. | masterlist ( art © artist )

the sun hangs high in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over your backyard. the clear blue sky stretches endlessly above, dotted occasionally with fluffy white clouds that drift lazily by. the gentle breeze rustles the leaves of the big trees surrounding your yard, creating a soft symphony of nature that sets the perfect backdrop for a relaxing day.

you’re inside the house, standing in the kitchen with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed tea wafting through the air. the kettle hums softly as it heats the water, and you take a moment to gather your thoughts. the tranquility of the day is a stark contrast to the chaos of your usual life, filled with sorcery and battles against curses. here, in this peaceful moment, everything feels right.

you glance out the window to see gojo and geto sitting together under the shade of the trees. gojo leans back against the trunk, his signature playful grin lighting up his face as he talks animatedly about something that seems to amuse geto. his carefree energy is infectious, and you can’t help but smile as you watch the two of them. geto, with his arms crossed and a relaxed demeanor, listens intently, his lips curling into a soft smile as he occasionally chimes in.

after a few more moments, the kettle clicks off, bringing you back to your task. you pour the hot water into a teapot filled with your favorite blend of loose leaf tea, the leaves swirling gracefully as they steep. You take a moment to appreciate the simple act of making tea, finding comfort in the rhythm of your movements.

while the tea brews, you take a peek outside again. the sunlight dances on their skin, highlighting their features in a warm glow. gojo's hair seems to shimmer under the sunlight, and you can see the way he gestures animatedly, the light catching the mischief in his eyes. geto, on the other hand, appears more grounded, with a calm expression as he occasionally shoots gojo an exasperated look, as if to say, “what are you going on about now?”

after a few minutes, you pour the tea into three cups, adding a touch of honey to each one, knowing how much they both love the sweetness. you also grab a small plate of freshly baked cookies you made the day before, their warm, buttery scent still lingering in the air. with everything prepared, you step outside, the warmth of the sun enveloping you. the moment you appear, both of them turn their attention toward you, their faces lighting up with smiles.

as you carefully made your way to the backyard with the tray in hand, the warm evening breeze brushed against your skin. but just as you took another step, you felt your foot catch on something, and before you could react, you were falling forward. the tray slipped from your grasp, and everything seemed to slow down as the hot teas spilled, burning your arms. ‘tud! you hit the ground hard, the impact rattling through your body and your head smacking against the unforgiving earth.

a sharp pain shot through your skull, and you felt a warm, sticky sensation as a wound opened up on your forehead. your vision blurred for a moment, and a pained groan escaped your lips.

at the sound of the tray crashing and your body hitting the ground, gojo and geto's eyes widen as they witness the fall unfolding in front of them. they jump to their feet, moving towards you with a mix of concern and surprise on their faces.

“shit, baby!” the raven-haired sorcerer exclaims, worry etched across his features.

“are you okay?” gojo adds, his voice laced with concern. he kneels down beside you, quickly assessing your injuries.

you get up from the ground sit there, dazed and try to process what just happened. the world around you spins slightly, and you blink rapidly, trying to steady yourself. despite the stinging in your arms and the throbbing in your head, you forced a smile, hoping to ease their concern. “i’m okay,” you mumbled, though your voice was a bit shaky so your eyes, you look confused.

gojo and geto exchanged a concerned glance before their eyes returned to you. they could tell you were putting on a brave face, but they could also tell your fall had left you confused.

“bullshit,” geto mutters under his breath, not buying your attempt to downplay your pain. gojo gently reaches out, his fingers lightly brushing against the cut on your forehead. “you're bleeding. and your arms look like they were burned.”

the concern in gojo's voice is clear, and his eyes meet yours, searching for any sign of more serious injury.

“can you stand? we should get you inside and clean those burns.” he says, gently helping you to your feet.

meanwhile, geto gazes at you with a mixture of worry and irritation. “you shouldn't have tried to carry all that on your own like that. it's too much for one person,” he mutters, his tone slightly accusatory.

you blink up at them, feeling the warmth of their concern, but also a little embarrassed by the fuss. with a small, sheepish smile, you shrug slightly and say, “it’s just tea, baby. i’m fine, really.” you let out a soft laugh, trying to lighten the mood as you brush off the dirt from your clothes.

“no need to freak out, i’m tougher than i look.”

despite the sting from the burns and the throbbing in your head, you keep your tone light, hoping to ease their worries a bit.

gojo narrows his eyes at you and crosses his arms, clearly not convinced by your downplay of the situation. “tougher than you look or not, you still fell pretty hard. let's get you inside so we can check you for any other injuries.”

meanwhile, geto rolls his eyes at your stubbornness, a mix of concern and irritation on his face. “you're so damn stubborn. just accept our help for once.” gojo gently places a hand on your back, leading you inside the house. geto follows close behind, his arms crossed over his chest as he shoots you a disapproving look.

“you really should be more careful. what if you hit your head harder or break a bone?” he says, his voice stern but clearly laced with concern.

gojo shoots geto a look, silently signaling him to ease up a bit. he turns to you with a reassuring smile, his touch on your back gentle and comforting. “come on. let's clean you up and see how bad the damage is.”

gojo wraps one arm around your waist, supporting you as he gently guides you indoors. geto follows closely behind, his gaze trained on you like a hawk, his annoyance with your stubbornness clear in his eyes.

once they get you inside, they lead you to the living room, sitting you down on the couch. “stay here,” gojo instructs, a hint of command in his voice as he moves towards the first aid kit. after some moment, he quickly returns with the first aid kit, taking a seat next to you on the couch. he carefully opens it, pulling out some antiseptic and gauze.

“alright, let me take a look at those burns,” he says, his voice gentle and soothing. meanwhile, geto hovers nearby, his arms still crossed over his chest. his eyes are fixed on you, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of concern and irritation.

you bite your lip, glancing down at your hands resting in your lap, feeling a sting not just from the burns but from the way geto’s words hit you. you mumble softly, “i can carry a tray by myself... it’s just a tray with teas and snacks.“ your voice wavers slightly, the guilt creeping in as you pick at the fabric of your clothes. “i didn’t think it was a big deal… i just wanted to bring you guys something nice.”

you look up at geto, his expression a mix of worry and frustration, and then over at gojo, who’s focused on the first aid kit, his movements a little more tense than usual. the weight of their concern settles on your shoulders, making you feel even worse. “i’m sorry,” you add quietly, eyes flickering down again, feeling like you messed up more than you intended.

geto's expression softens a bit at your apology, his annoyance replaced with a hint of guilt.

“it's not that we don't appreciate the gesture,” gojo chimes in, his voice gentle as he continues to tend to your wounds. “but we don't need material things to feel loved. we just want you to be careful.” he looks up at you with a reassuring smile, his eyes holding a mixture of compassion and understanding.

“we care about you, that's all. we just don't want you getting hurt because you're trying to do too much.”

you shift uncomfortably under their gazes, feeling their words sink in, but you can't help but cling to your stubbornness. “it's really not too much,” you insist quietly, your voice still a little shaky but firm. “i just wanted to do something nice for you both. i can handle a tray—”

but before you can finish, you hear them both tsk in unison, their irritation flaring up again. gojo gives you a stern look, his brows furrowing as he presses a bit harder than necessary with the bandage. “you say that, but look where it got you,” he mutters in annoyance, clearly frustrated by your insistence on downplaying what happened.

geto watches the scene unfold, his irritation mounting again. he pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a frustrated sigh.

“why do you insist on being so damn stubborn?” he grumbles, his patience wearing thin. “we don't care about the goddamn snack tray, we care about you. you could've gotten seriously hurt.”

he crosses his arms once more, his eyes fixed on you with a mix of concern and anger. “how many times do we have to tell you that the only thing we want is for you to be safe and healthy?” gojo finishes wrapping your wounds in silence, his touch still gentle even though his irritation is evident.

once he's done, he sits back and looks at you, his eyes a mixture of concern and annoyance. “we know you want to do nice things for us, but you don't have to push yourself.”

geto lets out another sigh, his arms still crossed. “he's right. we don't need you to go out of your way like this. we just want you to be careful and take care of yourself first and foremost.”

you look up at them, confusion flickering in your eyes. you’re a sorcerer, just like them—used to fighting curses and enduring much worse than a slight burn or a bump on the head. to you, this was nothing more than a small accident, not something that should have them this upset. “it’s just a tea,” you murmur, your voice low and sincere. “i’m not pushing myself. i just wanted to do something nice for you guys. it’s really not a big deal.”

you can see their concern, but you don’t quite understand why something as simple as bringing them a snack is being seen as you overextending yourself. you’ve handled way worse. “i mean, come on, it’s a burn and a scratch. i’m not exactly falling apart over here,” you add, glancing between them with a frown.

gojo's brows furrow in frustration. “it's more than just a burn and a scratch. you could have seriously hurt yourself, and for what? a damn tea tray?” he snaps, his voice rising slightly, just a little, enough to send you a sign that he is angry.

geto's jaw clenches, his irritation grows with each word you say. “it's not about the damn tea, and you know it. it's about you not taking care of yourself. goddamnit, why is that so hard for you to understand?”

you scoff, frustration bubbling up inside you as their words hit a nerve. you feel their protectiveness, but it’s starting to feel suffocating. “why is it so hard for you two to understand?” you snap back, start to get defensive, eyes narrowing as you meet their intense stares. “i get it, okay? but it’s not a big deal, and you’re making it into one. it’s just a tea tray. i’m not made of fucking glass.”

gojo's eyes narrow in response, his own irritation flaring to match yours. “you're right, you're not made of glass, but that doesn't mean you should act like an idiot and put yourself in danger.”

geto runs a hand through his hair, letting out an exasperated sigh. “it's not about the damn tea! it's about you not listening to us or taking care of yourself. we care about you, more than you can imagine,” he says, his voice tinged with both frustration and concern.

you cross your arms, feeling defensive as their irritation continues to hang heavy in the air, the bubble of anger start hugging you. “i know you’re worried, but i’m not some delicate flower that needs constant watching. i just wanted to do something nice, and now we’re arguing like it’s the end of the world.”

geto’s jaw tightens further, and gojo’s brows knit together even more, but you keep your ground, refusing to back down. “i appreciate that you care, i do. but you’re blowing this way out of proportion. why can’t you just let it go?” you add, your voice softer with defiance, feeling like this whole thing is spiraling into something it never needed to be.

gojo lets out a frustrated huff, running a hand through his hair. “we're not treating you like some delicate flower, baby. we just want you to listen to us when we say we don't want you putting yourself in danger over something so trivial.”

geto steps forward, anger flashing in his eyes. “how many times do we have to tell you that we care about you more than anything? we don't care about the tea, we care about you. goddamnit, why is that so hard for you to understand?”

you scoff loudly, rolling your eyes as you push back against their intensity. “oh please,” you snap, the sarcasm dripping from your voice. “you two are always treating me like i’m some fucking porcelain doll.” your words come out sharper than intended, but you’re fed up with their overprotectiveness.

you start mimicking them, your voice mocking as you wave your hands dramatically. “baby, don’t do this, don’t do that, you’re going to get hurt. don’t touch this, don’t touch that,” you mimic their voice, your tone exaggerated and annoyed. “like, do you hear yourselves? it’s constant! it’s like i can’t do anything without you hovering over me.”

gojo's eyes narrow, his patience wearing thin. “we're not treating you like a porcelain doll. we're treating you like we love you. and when you love someone, you want to protect them from getting hurt.”

geto's jaw clenches, his anger rising in response to your mimicking. “you know what, fine. maybe we do hover too much. but can you blame us? you have a tendency to be reckless, and you never listen to us when we say ‘no.’”

gojo runs a hand through his hair, sighing in frustration. “look, we’re not trying to control you. we just want you to be safe. and lately, it feels like you’re constantly pushing the boundaries, doing things you shouldn’t, and completely disregarding our concerns.”

geto's irritation is clear in his expression as standing near you, hovering with his emotions. “we know you’re strong, and we know you can handle yourself. but sometimes, it’s like you want to push your limits just to prove something, and it scares the hell out of us.“

you roll your eyes, frustration boiling over as you feel cornered by their words. “oh, please, spare me the love speech,” you retort with sarcasm, your voice laced with annoyance. “you’re so overly protective, it’s suffocating. i appreciate that you care, but i’m not some weakling that needs constant protecting.”

you can’t help but feel exasperated as you continue, your tone sharp. you glare at them, feeling like no matter how much you try to explain, they just see you as fragile.

“it’s like you think i’m weak or something,” you add, voice rising with the frustration that’s been building. “i don’t understand why you’re always on my case, like i’m going to break at any second. i’m not made of glass, and i don’t need you constantly breathing down my neck to make sure i’m okay.”

you take a step back, crossing your arms tightly over your chest, trying to put some distance between you and the suffocating concern they keep throwing your way. “i get that you’re worried, but you’re treating me like i can’t do anything without messing up or getting hurt. it’s not fair. i’ve fought curses, i’ve faced danger, and i’ve survived just like you have. so why can’t you see that i’m not some helpless damsel who needs to be saved all the time?”

your voice wavers slightly at the end, the mix of anger and hurt making it hard to keep your composure. you just want them to see you as their equal, not someone who constantly needs looking after.

as you continue your tirade, gojo's patience snaps.

“you know what?” he snaps, his voice rising to match your anger. “we do see you as our equal. we see you as someone who's strong, capable, and independent. but can you blame us for wanting to protect you? can you blame us for wanting to make sure you're not getting hurt just for some stupid tea? we care about you, damnit, and it feels like you're constantly putting yourself in harms way just for shits and giggles!”

his words hit you like a slap, the sharpness of his voice cutting through your anger and leaving you stunned. you stare at him, wide-eyed and speechless, as his frustration spills out. you know you’re not purposely trying to hurt yourself, and they know that too. accidents happen, and not everything is within your control.

you open your mouth to respond, but the weight of his words leaves you feeling deflated, like anything you say would just add fuel to the fire. their concern is suffocating, but your own frustration is blinding, and you realize this argument is going nowhere.

you look at gojo, searching his eyes for some understanding, but all you see is the mix of worry and anger that has been bubbling between you all. feeling a lump form in your throat, you quickly decide that it’s not worth continuing this back-and-forth. without saying a word, you turn on your heel and walk away, your footsteps heavy with a mix of hurt and resignation.

you can hear geto call after you, but you don’t stop. right now, it feels like anything more would just make things worse. so, you keep walking, knowing that some space might be the only thing that’ll help any of you see clearly.

gojo watches you storm away, the anger slowly fading to be replaced with a pang of hurt in his chest. he knows he could have handled that better, but your stubbornness has a way of getting under his skin.

he tries to steady his breathing, trying to push down the emotions churning within him. gojo looks over at geto, who looks as frustrated as he feels.

“great,” gojo mutters under his breath, running a hand through his hair in frustration, “i shouldn't have snapped like that.”

geto shakes his head, the irritation still evident in his expression. “no, you had every right to be angry,” he says, crossing his arms. “she's acting like she's goddamn invincible. she doesn't understand the pain we feel when she puts herself in danger like this.”

sitting by the pond, you let the cool water lap against your legs as you try to calm your racing thoughts. tears stream down your face, a mix of frustration and sadness pouring out as you think about the argument. you feel a deep sense of hurt, knowing that no matter how much you want to show them you’re capable and strong, they always seem to see your actions as reckless.

you wipe at the dried blood on your forehead with the back of your hand, inadvertently smearing it more, and the stinging sensation only adds to your emotional turmoil. you think about how, since you started dating them, their constant hovering and worry have sometimes made you feel stifled, unable to do anything without fear of their disapproval.

you understand that their overprotectiveness comes from a place of love, but it feels like every gesture you make, every small attempt to contribute or show affection, is overshadowed by their anxiety. it’s hard not to feel unappreciated when you see their frustration instead of the gratitude you hoped for.

sitting alone by the pond, the peaceful surroundings offer a sharp contrast to the emotional storm inside you. you let yourself cry, the tears mixing with the cooling water as you try to make sense of it all. you wish they could see that you’re not trying to get hurt or push boundaries for the sake of it, but just to share in the small moments and show them that you care too.

for now, you need this space to process everything, hoping that in time, the argument will settle and you can find a way to make them understand without all the heightened emotions.

gojo and geto stay standing in the living room, the weight of your absence hanging heavily in the air. geto lets out a heavy sigh, his arms still crossed. “we shouldn't have gotten so worked up, that was stupid.”

gojo nods, “yeah, but she drives me nuts sometimes with her stubbornness.”

geto raises an eyebrow. “and you think you're any better? you can be just as stubborn as she is.” gojo rolls his eyes, he grumbles, “shut up, i am not that bad.”

geto smirks, the tension starting to ease between them. “oh really? do you want me to list all the times you’ve been a stubborn ass?”

gojo huffs, offended. “hey, i’m not that bad.”

geto gives him a skeptical look, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “just the other day you refused to listen to me when i told you not to eat an entire pack of candy before dinner.”

gojo's cheeks flush slightly, caught in his own stubbornness. “that was different.” gojo rubs his temples, feeling a headache forming from the tension. “we just want her to be safe. why is that so hard for her to understand?”

geto lets out another sigh. “i know, i know. she's just... she's so used to handling things on her own. it's hard for her to let us in and accept help.”

gojo nods, looking in the direction you stormed off. “i just wish she wouldn't take it as a personal attack every time we try to protect her. we're not trying to control her.”

geto rubs the back of his neck, frustration clear on his face. “i know, but she sees it as us thinking she's weak and incapable. it's like she forgets we see her as our equal, not just some fragile doll.”

there's a moment of tense silence before gojo speaks up again. “do you think... do you think we're suffocating her?” geto's expression softens, considering gojo's question. “it's possible,” he admits. “we may have been a little too protective, a little too... overwhelming.”

gojo lets out a weary sigh, leaning against the wall. “we just want to keep her safe.”

geto nods, the worry in his expression showing how much your safety truly means to them. “we do. but... maybe we're going about it the wrong way. we need to find a balance.”

you stay by the pond until night falls, the cool air eventually nudging you back inside the house. your wounds still sting a bit, but you know it’s better to head inside, especially since your boyfriends don’t like you being outside at night without proper warmth if they’re not around.

you find your way to the kitchen, where you see them talking softly. gojo is perched on a bar stool, his expression a mix of concern and frustration, while geto stands behind the counter, preparing dinner. the soft light from the kitchen casts a warm glow, a stark contrast to the chill outside.

you hesitate for a moment, taking in the sight of them before stepping into the kitchen. gojo’s eyes flicker toward you, a look of surprise crossing his face as he sees you. geto, noticing your presence, immediately stops what he’s doing and turns to face you, his own concern evident.

“hey,” you say softly, not meeting their eyes directly. you don’t want to reopen the argument but feel the need to acknowledge their presence.

gojo’s gaze softens as he takes in your still slightly disheveled appearance. “you alright?” he asks, his voice gentle but laced with worry. you nod, trying to muster a small, reassuring smile. “yeah, i’m fine. just needed some time to cool off.”

geto steps closer, his eyes scanning your face and the smudge of dried blood on your forehead. “you shouldn’t be out there alone like that,” he says quietly, his tone softer than before but still carrying a note of reprimand.

you sigh, feeling the weight of their concern and the argument that still lingers between you. “i know,” you reply. “i just needed some space.” gojo and geto exchange glances, relieved that you're at least somewhat okay but still concerned about your wounds and your emotional state.

gojo crosses his arms, shifting anxiously on his stool. “we were worried.”

geto nods, mirroring gojo's stance. “we know things got heated earlier, but we were really worried about you being out there alone like that.”

gojo runs a hand through his hair, the tension still crackling between the three of you. “we just want to make sure you're safe. we... we care about you, you know that, right?”

gojo softly sighs as he notices the dried blood on your forehead, a concerned look on his face. ”come here,” he says gently, extending a hand towards you. “let me clean that wound and get rid of the dried blood.”

he guides you to a bar stool beside him, his touch careful and reassuring. his eyes are focused and tender as he prepares to tend to your injuries, the frustration from earlier replaced by a more soothing concern. geto watches from the behind counter, his expression softer now, reflecting his own mix of relief and apology.

as gojo carefully dabs at your wound with a soft cloth, his eyes catch the tear stains on your cheeks and the redness in your eyes. his movements still for a moment, a pang of guilt and worry tightening in his chest. “hey...” he murmurs softly, his voice filled with regret as he gently lifts your chin to try and meet your gaze, but you still look away, avoiding their eyes.

geto’s breath heavy slightly when he notices the signs of your crying. he took a seat on your other side beside you, his expression melting into one of deep remorse. “oh, sweetheart…” he whispers, his voice cracking just a bit. “we didn’t want to make you feel like this.”

they both exchange a look, the earlier frustration completely washed away, replaced by a heavy sense of regret for having upset you. gojo brushes a thumb gently against your cheek, wiping away the lingering tears. “we’re so sorry,” he says softly, his tone earnest, “we never wanted to make you feel this way.”

as you sit between them, the weight of their concern and guilt washing over you, a sense of vulnerability slowly replaces the anger from earlier. gojo and geto's touch is gentle and caring, their eyes filled with remorse and apology.

“we... we just want you to understand,” gojo continues, his voice is still soft. “we care about you so much, and it kills us to see you in danger or hurt.”

geto nods in agreement, his hand coming up to gently brush aside a strand of your hair. “we should have been more understanding. we shouldn’t have gotten so angry.”

you take a deep breath, feeling the weight of their words settle over you. the vulnerability in their eyes softens the edges of your frustration, but there's still a lingering ache from how things unfolded earlier. you look down, fiddling with your hands as you gather your thoughts.

“i get it,” you begin quietly, your voice slightly shaky but steady. “i understand why you worry, why you’re always hovering. it’s because you care, and i never said anything about it because i know it comes from love.”

you glance up briefly, catching the guilt in their eyes before looking away again. “but the way you got so mad at me earlier for something i couldn’t control… that’s what hurts. i’m not trying to be reckless, i just wanted to do something nice for you two, without constantly hearing ‘don’t do this’ or ‘don’t do that.’”

you pause, your voice thick with the weight of your emotions. “you both always do everything for me, and i just… i want to give back, even if it’s something small like making tea. i’m not weak, and i’m not going to break. sometimes accidents happen, but it doesn’t mean i’m pushing myself too hard.”

the room falls into a soft silence, your words hanging in the air as they take in everything you’ve said. you can see the realization flicker across their faces, the way their concern had come off as controlling rather than caring, and how deeply it had affected you.

as you finish speaking, you see both gojo and geto's expressions transform, guilt and understanding replacing the frustration from earlier. their eyes reflect the weight of your words, and they know you're right. their protective tendencies have sometimes crossed the line into control, even if it wasn't their intention.

gojo's voice is softer, gentler than earlier, as he responds. “i... we didn't realize it was coming off like that. i guess we just... we're just so used to trying to keep you safe.”

geto nods, his hand reaching out to gently take yours. “we didn't realize that our protective behavior was making you feel like we thought you were weak. that's not how we see you at all,” geto continues, his voice filled with remorse.

gojo interjects, a hint of desperation in his voice. “we never viewed you as breakable or fragile. we just... we just can't bear the thought of something happening to you. but that doesn't give us the right to control your every move. we... we overstepped.”

they both fall silent for a moment, the weight of their actions sinking in further. then, geto speaks again, his voice laced with regret.

“we’re sorry, sweetheart,” he says, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “we never wanted to make you feel like you couldn’t do anything without our say-so. we were being overly protective, we see that now. we just...” he trails off, swallowing the lump in his throat.

gojo chimes in, his voice filled with guilt, “we just couldn't bear the thought of losing you.”

you listen to their words, feeling the sincerity in every syllable, and the walls of frustration that had built up around your heart start to crumble. the intensity of their emotions, their fear of losing you, and the realization of how their actions have affected you sink deep. you can see the regret and guilt etched on their faces, and it tugs at your own heartstrings.

with a small sigh, you squeeze geto’s hand back, glancing between the two of them. “i know you both mean well,” you say softly, your voice carrying the weight of your emotions. “but i’m not going anywhere. you don’t have to worry about me so much that it stops me from doing simple things.”

you look up at them, your eyes still glistening but filled with understanding. “i just want to feel like i can take care of you, too. that i can do things for you without feeling like you’re constantly waiting for me to mess up or get hurt.”

there’s a pause as you take a deep breath, letting go of some of the hurt from earlier. “i love you both, and i appreciate how much you care, but i need you to trust me, too. trust that i know my limits, and that i’ll ask for help when i really need it.”

they listen intently, the weight of your words sinking in. their expressions soften, the guilt and remorse in their eyes deepening.

gojo nods, a look of understanding settling on his face. “we... we get it,” he says, his voice laced with a hint of shame.

geto’s grip on your hand tightens slightly, his voice quieter but no less sincere. “we’ll try to do better. we’ll try to trust you, we just… we just get so worried when things happen, like they did today.”

you gently pull your arm from geto's grasp, showing them the spot where the burn had been. “see? i’m fine,” you say, your tone softer now but still firm. “i heal fast, and it was just a small accident. nothing major.” you point to your forehead, where the cut has already start to heal, a small reminder of how resilient you are.

“i’m not saying you shouldn’t care, but i’m not made of glass,” you continue, looking between them. “i can handle a few bumps and bruises. i just want you to see that i’m stronger than you give me credit for.”

as you show them the healing burn and the nearly faded cut, they cannot help but feel a mixture of relief and shame. they know you're right, that you heal quickly, but the worry always lurks in their minds.

gojo runs a hand through his hair, his voice laced with remorse. “we know you’re not delicate, we just…”

geto cuts in, his gaze flitting to the almost healed wound on your forehead. “we just panic when we see you hurt. it’s hard… it’s hard for us to see you in pain, even just a little.”

you look at them both, your voice steady but gentle. “i’m fine now, really. you know better than anyone that sorcerers are built different. a little scratch like this,” you gesture to your forehead, “it’s nothing. it’ll be gone by morning.”

you can see the mix of relief and lingering worry in their eyes, but you continue, hoping to ease their minds. “i get it, okay? i understand why you’re worried. but you don’t have to be so scared every time something happens to me. i can handle it.”

geto and gojo exchange a look, your words sinking in. they can see the truth in your statement, that you're no delicate flower that needs constant shielding. they know that you're strong, capable, and they should trust your abilities.

gojo lets out a weary sigh, finally nodding reluctantly. “you’re right,” he says.

geto nods as well, a look of understanding passing over his face. he reaches out and gently takes your hand again. “we know you can handle yourself. we just… we just care about you too much to not worry.”

you squeeze geto’s hand gently, looking between the two of them. “can we just stop now?” you say softly, your voice tinged with exhaustion. “because if we keep talking about it, it’s never going to end. you guys always find a way to worry about me.”

geto lets out a small chuckle, though it’s more resigned than amused. “yeah, we do, don’t we?”

they both notice the weariness in your voice, and how the conversation just keeps going in circles. gojo lets out a weary sigh, running a hand through his messy hair while geto’s laughter is more bitter than amused.

“yeah,” he says, his grip on your hand loosening slightly. “we do.”

the tension in the room lessens a bit, replaced by a sense of mutual understanding. they both nod, acknowledging their tendency to worry excessively about your well-being.

you take a deep breath, feeling the tension in the air begin to fade. “i promise i’ll try to be less reckless with myself, hm?” you say softly, your tone sincere as you look at both of them. “i know you just want what’s best for me.”

they both soften at your words, the weight of their worry slightly alleviated. gojo grins weakly, a hint of his usual playful demeanour peeking through. “less reckless, huh? that's a tall order for you.”

geto sighs, a small smile tugging at his lips. “we do want what's best for you. we just wish it didn't have to come with so much anxiety.” you roll your eyes, a small, amused smile forming on your lips. “you two are impossible,” you mumble, leaning in to press a quick kiss to each of their cheeks. “assholes,” you add, your voice filled with affection rather than malice.

they both snort at your fond insult, the previous tension all but gone now. gojo's lips turn up in a cocky grin, his usual bravado returning. “you love it,” he teases, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards him.

geto lets out a soft chuckle, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “we may be assholes, but we're yours,” he replies, leaning in to capture your lips in a gentle kiss.

they continue to pepper your face with light kisses, their affections filling the room once again. gojo speaks first, his voice laced with amusement. “so, does this mean you'll be less reckless now, hm?”

geto nods in agreement, his hands still gently holding your face. “please do. we might actually start going gray from all the worry.” you nod, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “anything for my overbearing assholes,” you say, your tone light and affectionate.

both gojo and geto snort at the term 'overbearing assholes boyfriends'. gojo rolls his eyes dramatically, while geto just shakes his head, unable to hide his amused grin. “overbearing assholes,” gojo repeats, chuckling. “can't say that's too far off the mark.”

geto adds with a smirk, “but we're your assholes. and we're pretty damn sure you wouldn't have us any other way.” you chuckle, nodding with a playful sigh. “sadly,” you say, leaning in to give each of them a soft peck on the lips.

[clawsdevour]

.,₊˚⊹kita bf hcs

wc: 0.5k content warning: fluff, slight smut, aged up, post-time skip, mention of praise, not proofread, my shitty writing

ʚɞ♡︎ ˚⋅.🦊

-Kita, the type of boyfriend to be so patient with you, giving you all the time in the world. He simply just likes to watch you, observing what you like and don't like to remember for future needs.

-Kita, the type of boyfriend to plant your favorite flowers in his own garden. Whenever he goes out to water and tend to his garden he's always thinking about you with a small smile on his face. He'd even pluck one and give it to you to show you that his love is true.

-Kita, the type of boyfriend to enjoy holding your hand so much. He loves it when you give him a little squeeze to let him know that you love him. Whenever you do this he'd look down at you with his face beaming and squeeze back to reciprocate his feelings.

-Kita, the type of boyfriend to be completely taking care of your own space. He loves just cleaning around the house, seeing how you keep your place nice and tidy, just the little things. He'd also love to cook you simple meals or brew you a nice cup of fresh tea/coffee.

-Kita, the type of boyfriend to love your comforting presence. He doesn't need much to feel loved, especially when you're able to show it more than him. Your warm presence and actions show him all he needs to know.

-Kita, the type of boyfriend to understand you the most when it comes to setting boundaries. He fully respects it and just doesn't question it. If there's a hurdle that offsets your relationship, he will work his way through it.

-Kita, the type of boyfriend to have your parents think that he's TOO polite and proper upon first impressions. He's always asking if your parents need his support even when it's the littlest things, like grabbing a plate from the top shelf of a cabinet. Your parents admire his honest and humble nature as well as the way he's able to confidently express the love he has for you.

-Kita, the type of boyfriend to be so gentle and caring upon entering inside you because he doesn't want to end up hurting you. His hand would caress your face and wipe off any of the tears that formed from your eyes. He'd often ask if you need to take any breaks while landing soft kisses onto your skin.

-Kita, the type of boyfriend to ALWAYS have an awestruck facial expression whenever you want to take charge and hop on top of his cock. He finds it astonishing whenever he's watching you climb onto him, watching you bounce on him he can't help but get harder.

-Kita, the type of boyfriend to peel you some fruit while you're in the shower so you can gain back some energy before sleeping. He likes to have deep conversations face to face with you under the sheets while he's tucking your loose strands of hair behind your ears.

masterlist here

[reiding-writing]

hello! i LOVE your cold reader series so very much, would you be open to writing kind of the opposite? where instead of being like winter, reader is autumn incarnate? cozy and sweet with kind words for everyone, quiet and bookish but not in a standoffish way… thank you in advance! i just adore all of your writing 🫶✨

AUTUMN BREEZE — SPENCER REID!

your coworker’s would describe you like an autumn breeze, calm, cool, and comforting.

spencer reid x fem!reader | 1.0k | fluff | masterlist.

a/n — meet cold!reader’s… autumnal sister? idk i really love this premise it’s so cute

You step into the bullpen, a bundle of warmth in knitwear and wide-leg slacks, a soft rustling that reminds you of leaves skittering across a pavement in autumn. It's a sound you've always loved—crisp, comforting, familiar.

You carry it with you, like the golden hues of October, brushing against everyone in the office without even trying.

There’s an energy here that contrasts sharply with your calm: the hurried clicks of keyboards, the rustle of files, the undercurrent of murmured conversations.

But you bring something softer, something like the warm light that filters through the trees on a crisp morning.

Your mug of tea—sweetened with a touch of honey, as always—rests in your hands. The scent drifts upward, a subtle comfort that follows the rhythm of your movements. When you pass Spencer’s desk, he looks up from a thick stack of case files. His face is pale from long hours, his tie slightly askew. You can’t help but smile.

“Hey, Spencer,” you call softly, your voice low and warm, the sound steeped in honeyed affection.

He startles slightly, his grip faltering on the stack of files. “Oh, hey,” he stammers, adjusting quickly. “Good morning,”

“Morning,” You back track a few steps and turn toward him, your hand instinctively resting on his elbow to steady him. The wool of his blazer is coarse beneath your fingertips, a stark contrast to the softness of your sweater. “Let me help?”

“Oh, uh, no—” Spencer starts to protest, but you’re already taking half the stack, leaving him blinking in surprise.

“What would you do without me, hm?” you tease gently, your smile widening as you step toward his desk, files tucked safely under your arm.

From behind, you hear Morgan’s voice break through the bullpen chatter, a teasing lilt in his tone. “Careful, Reid. She’s got you wrapped around her little finger,”

You roll your eyes but don’t miss the faint flush that creeps up Spencer’s neck. You’re used to Morgan’s ribbing, just as you’re used to Spencer’s shy reactions to it. “He’d probably drop these all over the floor if I weren’t here,” you say over your shoulder, earning a laugh from Emily and JJ.

Spencer’s face flushes deeper, but his lips twitch with the beginnings of a smile. “I, uh, probably would,” he admits, his voice quiet.

You take a moment to dump your half of the pile onto your desk before retreating back to him, and you take a moment to brush an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. He glances down at your hand, his expression unreadable, but you don’t notice.

Your touch is always gentle, always brief—a steadying hand on a shoulder, a playful nudge, the faintest of brushes against his wrist. It’s second nature to you, an extension of the warmth you try to bring into the world.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment too long.

“You’re welcome,” you say simply, your expression softer than any silk pillow Spencer could imagine laying upon. “Now, let me guess—this is all reading material for the case?”

Spencer nods, launching into an explanation about geographical profiling and its application to their latest unsub. You listen intently, leaning against the edge of his desk, your arms crossed loosely.

The bullpen noise fades to a dull hum in the background as his voice fills the space between you. It’s one of your favorite things about Spencer—how his passion lights up the room, even in the smallest ways.

The comfortable silence that follows his explanation feels important—the kind of stillness that carries the faintest echo of sound, a reminder of something fleeting and beautiful. You let it settle, neither of you rushing to fill the space.

“You’re always so calm,” Spencer says suddenly, his voice breaking the silence but not the tranquility. His gaze is thoughtful, as though he’s been turning the words over in his mind before saying them out loud. “Even when things are hectic,”

You tilt your head, studying him for a moment before replying. “I think it’s because I try to see the good in things. In people. It helps me feel grounded.”

Spencer’s lips curve into a small, genuine smile. “It suits you,”

Before you can respond, Morgan’s voice cuts through the moment again. “Reid, you planning to finish signing those reports or just whisper sweet nothings into her ear all day?”

The bullpen erupts in laughter, and Spencer immediately ducks his head, muttering something unintelligible. You laugh softly, a sound that seems to relax him just a little.

“Don’t worry, Spencer,” you say, your voice light but sincere. “I’ll defend your honour, promise,”

“Seriously?” Derek teases from across the room, leaning back in his chair. There’s a grin tugging at his lips, but it’s warm, harmless. “Do you ever stop radiating comfort?”

“Can’t help it,” you say with a shrug, meeting his teasing tone with an easy smile. “Someone’s gotta balance out all the brooding around here.” You glance meaningfully at Hotch’s office, and Derek chuckles.

Spencer’s lips twitch, but he hides his smile behind the stack of papers he’s pretending to read.

[bythepen98]

@zutaramonth Day 3: After all these years ||

I just love the idea of them learning to dance together and being so very cute and awkward about it at first 🥺💕.

Brief backstory:

Although they were busy preparing for the war, they still needed time to have fun and de-stress so a small feast with music and dancing seemed like a good idea. Zuko and Katara were pushed to spend time together by the rest of the Gaang because they've had enough of the weird distance between the two, brought by brewing feelings that both weren't sure about acknowledging yet. At this point, they've already resolved most of their issues and were on track to becoming really good friends until the 'complication' happened.

Feelings can be ass sometimes fr.

Somehow, what started as a one time, peer pressured, clumsy bonding attempt between two hyperaware-of-each-other teenagers ended up lasting longer than expected. Excuses would be made to continue dancing together because once the initial awkwardness has passed, they found that it was actually quite relaxing (especially for two usually hot headed people) just going through the motions and communicating with looks and gentle touches what they had zero courage to say out loud. Both were also restless and couldn't always spend their hours training so dancing felt like fair game. A very pleasant and completely platonic way of passing the time with a good friend, or at least that's what they told themselves.

Then the war ended, feelings were finally acknowledged and returned now that there was enough time to reflect and actually do something about it and time continued to pass. No matter the changes and busy schedules that came with adulthood and bearing the responsibilities of ruling/helping rule a nation, some things remained constant. Though they never broadcasted it, the Gaang knew that Katara and Zuko would sometimes be found at night just swaying in each other's arms while they quietly talked about their day. It became a tradition - their way to bond and reconnect after a busy day. It was also muscle memory at this point and something they would naturally drift to doing when the opportunity arose. If they weren't training, lounging and drinking tea or walking arm in arm along the courtyard for a stroll, they'd be dancing.

Ofc the dances varied. Most of the time it was simple, intimate, and didn't require much energy. It was during festivals and other special events where they'd let loose and swap partners with their friends. They definitely would've taught each other's traditional dances too. Most of the time they stuck to couple dances though.

The two would then make it to their golden years surrounded by friends and family. In this au, Aang, Sokka and Suki are definitely still alive and kicking and they, together with Toph, would reminisc about the good old days and pat themselves in the back for helping get Zuko and Katara together. They would've gotten together eventually anyway but the Gaang just sped up the process and the credit for starting the whole dancing tradition goes to them. Aang isn't afraid to admit that he and whoever he married in this au also partake in said tradition; Sokka and Suki would do so every now and then but they much prefer exchanging swords as their love language; Toph is indifferent and much prefers just sitting back and letting them enjoy themselves.

This is way over due but I'm glad I was able to finish it. Will sadly be the only prompt I'll be able to do for zutara month bc life threw a wrench and made me too busy, though I'm still interested in making the other prompts at a later date. /N

[witchhaven]

Self

As I've observed before, not all dolls are the same. Heart, is a cute little service doll, who cleans, and sometimes cooks, making sure I'm in lovely working order. Apple is a companion doll, who's there for the other dolls, growing even close enough to Heart to form a relationship. Thread is a wind-up doll, which I'm not sure about the purpose of, but it does seem to brighten the life of the next one in question. Soul is an example of a combat doll, who's grown past its purpose, living with the others in companionship of them all, much like Apple does.

Today, a new doll approaches me. I feel its steps lift it up to my patio before it even knocks on my door. This doll certainly didn't start as a doll, as I can feel from the implication of experience on its careful footsteps. It wears a button-up shirt, tucked into a black flowing skirt, with a pair of black floral tights underneath, and a pair of glossy black shoes. Enveloping the outfit is a loose fitting flowy black jacket with a dark purple silky lining. Framed by its porcelain-white skin are a pair of similarly dark purple eyes, magnified by a pair of round glasses. In its inky black hair is a white and purple hairpin detailing a luna moth.

Its ball-jointed right hand extends as it gently and politely reaches to knock on the door, stopping as it does this. The extended hand opens as it places its palm gingerly on my front door. It stands there, feeling the wooden surface as its eyes close.

"Ah, you're much like this one, aren't you, house?" The doll smiles as a warm feeling begins to permeate my door, emanating from the doll's hand.

I allow my door to open for Self, knowing exactly the reason why it came to me. It's exactly the same as all the other dolls' reasons, the only difference being the strange nature of its existence, the perception immediately felt in its presence as it carefully continues inside. Once Self has fully entered, it crouches down to remove its shoes and leave them by my door.

It claps its hands together, bowing slightly, "Thank you for allowing its presence."

I could feel the nature of the other dolls as they entered, but Self is a mystery to me. Its presence seems to be engineered to not leave an impact behind, as it carefully and gently steps, and it seems that its mind is much the same. I expect it to make its way to the kitchen much like the other dolls, and eventually find itself in another room for it, which I've already manifested, but it actively heads in the opposite direction, opening a door into a set of bare wooden stares leading into an underground room the other dolls have left yet unopened.

The room is concrete, and once a cord is pulled at the bottom of the stairs, a lightbulb illuminates the space laid bare and empty, with nothing but a closed door on the far corner. Self approaches, gently grasping the door's handle and turning. There's little resistance aside from that of the springs in a typical doorknob, but as Self pushes, the door doesn't seem to budge. Self backs up after some pushing, and retrieves a non-distinct leather-bound black book from its jacket pocket, thumbing through the pages until it lands on a particular one, extending its right hand to the door, and chanting something under its breath.

The nature of this chant, I do not know, but I feel some energy imbue itself into the door, emanating from Self. The energy seems to attempt to rotate the door open under its own impulse, but still the door doesn't budge. Self closes the book and returns it to its jacket pocket. Its brow furrows as it still has yet to find an answer to its unasked question. Perhaps I could find said answer if it would ask, but alas, for now, I must simply wait for it to sleep, where I'll undoubtedly come to its aid, as I have all the dolls who have slept in my embrace.

For now, Self seems to resign, as it backtracks back up the steps, and paces down the hall into the kitchen. In there, it meets the other dolls, who have been sharing tea with idle conversation.

"Ah, hello. This one is Self, sorry for-" Self is interrupted by Apple.

Apple excitedly approaches Self, "A new doll! It's lovely to meet you!"

Introductions go as they tend to, as Self is served tea and properly converses with the dolls present. The conversation continues late into the night, before the new doll is guided by Cream and Sugar to its new bedroom, where it lays down on the soft bed and allows the unconscious to lead it into my embrace. I do my best to envelop it as I share a view into its emotions.

I see a witch, inexperienced, but confident in her ability. She regularly experiments with rituals involving incense and candles, recording her results into a non-distinct black leather-bound journal. In addition, she records the results of many a divination, be it from tarot cards, or a pendulum. I see her detailed drawings depicting her own processes and her notes detailing results and conditions of the rituals themselves. The occasion arrives that the witch feels the need to perform rituals for protection in a living situation she's found herself in. It of course records the conditions, the incantation, and the process, but the result seems to be ineffective. The witch's living situation only becomes more trepidatious before it ends. I watch a world come crumbling down around this witch, leaving a figure kneeling in the middle of the ruins, which I can only assume at first to be her. It's not her though, not really. The witch has gone through a transformation, whether willing or not. What's left in her place is a ball-jointed porcelain doll which once upon a time used to be a witch. Self cries amidst the wreckage of once was, forgetting about recording the result of a ritual, simply weeping and allowing itself to break, in the middle of nothing.

I envelop Self, as I do my best to reach arms around it, and pick it up into a cradle position. I manifest my mouth near its left ear and attempt to whisper to it.

My attempt is met with success, "It's okay... You don't need to hurt anymore..."

[redsrooftopprincess]

Witchy Shit!

An ask from @footninja that I posted as a post accidentally. 🫣

The ask is here

HAPPY ALMOST SAMHAIN MY WITCHES!!! I may have gone a little deeper than "hippie hillbilly witch"... I've been practicing for a WHILE, and magic is one of my autistic special interests, soooo.....

All the boys are FOR SURE Pagan even if that isn't what they call it (Splinter raised them Shinto), and *very* eclectic, but definitely have their own flavors that they gravitate to...

Leo

Did you say MEDITATING? When? Where? How long? He is ready to sit with you peacefully for hours.

Want to start mixing your own incense/tea? He'll help you research and grow the herbs you need.

BONSAI ZEN GARDEN

Night time dates to ALL the secret/private botanical gardens in the city.

The first time he sees you in a garden in the daylight, surrounded by butterflies, he looses the power of speech.

When you're having a tough time at work, expect tea and a full body massage with all natural oils in a candlelit room when you get home. If you are feeling up to it, that massage can and will escalate to the most transcendent, mild blowing tantric sex imaginable, leaving you fully relaxed mind, body, and spirit.

NOTE: Depending on exactly how "crunchy granola" you are, you may find yourself in conflict with his OCD, so be EXTRA respectful of his space.

Craft: Green Witch

Element: Earth

Archetype: The Hero

Major Arcana: Temperance

Raph

Need help with Ritual? My guy is a WORKHORSE. Where did you want that solid stone altar, again?

Bardic circle like a BOSS. My guy is always down for drinks, songs, and good stories, and the reverb of his voice from his shell means you can feel his singing in your feet like thunder.

Speaking of his voice: guided meditations.

Speaking of guided meditations: guided meditations that take a filthy turn halfway through. 😏

Firetender extraordinare. Want it to burn forever? This guy can drop in literal trees that'll keep the balefire lit until next Solstice.

By FAR the most in touch with his animal side.

He's a beast who not only has NO PROBLEM chasing you, naked, through the woods, but will 1000% instigate. LOVES sex outside (I may have a story about an amethyst cavern, but you didn't hear that because it's not written yet).

Craft: Primal Witch

Element: Fire

Archetype: The Knight

Major Arcana: Strength

Donnie

Oddly accepting of the witchy shit for a techy guy. He's smart enough to know that he doesn't know everything.

Writes a program that will help you track EVERYTHING. Moon, planets, planting, hurricane season, you name it.

Builds you a whole ass Orrery, because despite his program you *still* missed a celestial event and you were sad.

Expect after hours dates to the Hayden Planetarium during eclipses, meteor showers, comets, or any other excuse he can come up with to look at the stars with you.

SIGILS ON POINT. Fractals and sacred geometry, this guy is PRECISE. Made a Mercury Square once that you're pretty sure caused a blackout. He disagrees, but he doesn't make planetary squares anymore.

A night outside of the city looking at the stars? Expect my guy to be drawing star charts on your skin, before "exploring the heavens."

Craft: Celestial Witch

Element: Air

Archetype: The Magician

Tarot Card: The Magician

Mikey

Is straight up pagan.

Beaded bracelets? Hell yes. Macrame? On lock. Candle making? Crystal Wrapping? This boy is DOWN with the Witchy Crafts.

Vibes with his semiaquatic nature on a grand scale. The first time you caught him meditating underwater you nearly had a heart attack until you remembered.

If you introduce him to your people, he will fully write and lead rituals for literally anything. Leo may be master of the Dojo, but *no one* directs people's energy like Mike.

If you even suggest it *vaguely*, he is fully ON BOARD to start a coven/grove/whatever with you as your consort.

Oddly good at High Magic, but only practices VERY rarely. Won't Oracle for evocations because the idea of having someone else in his head weirds him out, but has a 100% success rate negotiating with Otherworldly Entities.

Sex magic in the ocean under a full moon? Uh, why aren't you in the water already?

Calls himself "Magic Mike."

Element: Water

Craft: Water Witch

Archetype: The Lover

Tarot Card: Wheel of Fortune

....

Tag list:

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @footninja @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo

(if you want to be tagged lmk)

[gurokiitty]

YAAAY Y’RE IN JJK ERA NOW AM I RIGHT?!?!?! !! 🎀

(can i request any staff with geto plz? (literally my #1 man ever 🙏🏿🙏🏿))

a/n : yesss i ammm and i LOVE geto too <3<3 i'm finished my exams and i actually couldn't stop thinking abt getting high w/ him!!! hope you enjoy, rosé :3

ROTTEN APPLE

{ stoner! suguru geto x f! reader }

word count : 3135

warnings/tags : mild DUBCON, college au, friends to lovers, drug use (marijuana), inexperienced reader, mild coercion, intoxicated/sloppy sex, cunnilingus, creampie.

Suguru has always been different—calm on the surface, languid like water that flows wherever it pleases. You, on the other hand, are all edges and discipline, tethered to your schedule and ambitions like a kite tied to an unyielding post.

But tonight, he’s managed to untether you.

“C'mon,” he says, his voice smooth and coaxing like honey. “You should just try it once." His dark hair spills over his shoulders, framing his face as he watches you with a lazy smile.

“Absolutely not—I am not doing drugs,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest, though the finality in your tone is already softening under the weight of his gaze. His voice is always disarming, his words too gentle to feel like pressure.

“Not drugs,” he adds with a playful shrug, “just… assisted relaxation.” The sleek glass bong gleams in his hand, an offering of escape. You’ve spent days hunched over textbooks, suffocating under the weight of equations and essays, and for once, you don’t have the energy to resist him.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

You nod, tentative but willing. His grin widens, and your resolve dissolves like sugar in warm tea.

He sets up the bong with ease, his long fingers moving deftly to pack the bowl. The weed smells sharp and earthy, its aroma curling into the air like incense. When he flicks the lighter, the small flame flares bright, illuminating his face for a heartbeat. He looks almost holy, a dark angel leaning close to guide you through some forbidden ritual.

“Okay,” he says, wrapping an arm around you, his broad chest warm against your side. “See this?” He taps the glass gently. “You’re gonna put your lips here, and when I light the bowl, just inhale slow and steady. When the chamber's full, let go of the carb and clear it. Easy.”

You follow his instructions clumsily, your fingers brushing his as you hold the cool glass. The flame crackles softly, and smoke swirls inside the chamber like a storm cloud, dense and white. You draw in slowly, and the hit punches sharp into your chest, leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. When you exhale, the smoke spills out in a trembling haze, fogging your glasses.

Suguru laughs, warm and unrestrained. “Cute,” he murmurs, reaching out to adjust the frames slipping down the bridge of your nose. “You’re a natural.”

“Hardly,” you mutter, blinking away tears from the roughness of the hit. He takes a turn, his movements fluid and sure, before passing the bong back to you. You take another hit and the world begins to soften at the edges. The air feels heavier, thicker, and your body starts to sink into the cushions, the tension in your shoulders unwinding like a thread pulled loose. The taste of smoke lingers on your tongue, sharp and strange but not unpleasant, and every inhale feels like stepping deeper into a dream.

Time stretches, slows. You aren’t sure how long you’ve been there, passing the bong back and forth, his laughter weaving into the fog around you. The warmth spreading through your limbs grows unbearable, like your blood has turned to molten honey. When you lean into him, your head resting against his chest, he doesn’t protest. His hand slides into your hair, stroking gently, and his voice drifts down to you like a lullaby.

“You okay?” he asks, soft but teasing. You nod sluggishly, your eyelids heavy and half-lidded. Everything feels distant, muted, except for him. The steady beat of his heart thrums against your ear, grounding you even as your mind spins.

“I feel... warm,” you mumble, the words slurring together.

His chest shakes with quiet laughter, his fingers trailing through your hair like silk. "Yeah?” he murmurs, brushing a strand away from your face. “You look warm.”

He tilts your face up with gentle fingers, his thumb brushing your cheek. The corners of his mouth quirk up, his expression softening as he watches you, so unguarded for once.

Your vision blurs, but you can still see the way his brown eyes glint, like polished stones catching firelight. They hold you there, spellbound and still, as if the world has slowed to a crawl around you.

“Your cheeks are all flushed,” he notes with a laugh, his thumb slipping to rest lightly on your lower lip. “You’re gorgeous like this.”

Your lips part instinctively, but no words come—only the thrum of your pulse in your ears and the heat curling low in your belly as his gaze lingers on your mouth.

Before you can think, his lips are on yours, soft and insistent, urging you to respond. Your thoughts scatter like ash in the wind, leaving only sensations—the warmth of his mouth, the faint sweetness of his breath, and the way his hands cradle your face as if you’re something fragile.

You melt into him, your body pliant under his touch as his tongue brushes against yours. Suguru's hands drift lower, slipping under your knitted sweater to trace the curve of your waist, his palms searing against your skin. You shiver, a soft whimper escaping your lips, and he swallows the sound with a smirk.

"You're sensitive," he says, his voice vibrating against your mouth as his fingers skim higher, ghosting over the underside of your ribs.

He pulls your sweater over your head, his movements slow as he drinks you in. The cool air hits your skin, but his lips are quick to find you again—kissing a path down your body from your collarbone, to the curve of your stomach. His hands follow the trail of his mouth, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"Just relax, princess. I'll take care of you." He hums, his fingers tugging at the waistband of your pants.

You try to object, but the words tangle in your throat, coming out as a soft, incoherent hum. Suguru smiles, pressing his lips to your stomach.

Your body betrays you, hips tilting instinctively as he slides your pants down, the fabric pooling at your ankles.

You can't help but glance, taking a furtive peek at your own underwear. "Oh my," he murmurs, his eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of the lacy, lavender-coloured panties. "Did you wear these for me?"

You try to shake your head, to deny the question, but he chuckles softly, his hand brushing over the delicate fabric. “Liar,” he grins, the warmth of his palm seeping through the lace, making your stomach flutter.

Your breath hitches when he hooks a finger under the waistband of your panties and tugs them down agonizingly slowly. Lace glides over plump skin, dragging against your thighs as it’s peeled away, leaving you bare and trembling under his gaze. He leans closer, so close you can feel his breath ghosting against your cunt, and you instinctively try to squeeze your legs shut, but his hands are quick to still you.

“Fuck, you're already dripping,” he says softly, sending a flush to your cheeks. One of his hands slides between your thighs, his fingers dipping into your slick folds. His touch is unhurried as he gathers the fluid and lifts his hand to his mouth.

His tongue flicks, gliding over his fingers to taste you, and his lashes flutter as he lets out a soft, pleased hum. “Sweet,” he murmurs, his eyes locking onto yours with a predatory gleam. Embarrassment floods you and you try to look away, veiling your face behind trembling hands.

“Don't hide from me,” he murmurs, his tone almost chastising, though there’s a smile tucked in the corner of his mouth. "I want to see your pretty face as I eat you out."

"W-Wait, Sugu—" Your voice cracks as your hand reaches for his shoulder in feeble protest. He chuckles, his fingers sliding gently to entwine with yours. “I’ve got you. Just let me make you feel good.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he settles between your thighs, his hands firm on your hips to keep you from squirming away. Your mind feels foggy, your thoughts disjointed and swirling, but his presence anchors you, drawing all your focus to the way his head dips lower and his lips part so prettily.

When his tongue finally meets you, the sensation is molten. He starts slow—broad, languid strokes that glide through your wetness, his tongue curling at the end to lap up every bit of you. The warmth of his mouth engulfs you, wet and sloppy, and the obscene sounds of his ministrations make your face burn even hotter.

You’re vaguely aware of his hands, one gripping your thigh to hold you steady while the other shifts to spread you wider. You writhe beneath him, his name slipping from your lips in breathy whispers, but it feels distant, surreal—like a wet dream you’re floating through, too vivid to be real.

Your mind spins, thoughts shattering like fragile glass, each one broken by the next swipe of his tongue. His tongue flattens against your clit, pressing hard for a moment before he changes pace, teasing the sensitive bundle with quick, feather-light flicks that make your back arch off the couch.

“That's it,” he urges between strokes, his lips brushing your skin as he speaks. The words send a rush of heat straight to your core, and your thighs tremble beneath his unrelenting grip.

His pace shifts again, slower, sloppier, his tongue delving deeper as your fingers curl into the cushions. He presses his mouth against you harder, drinking in your reactions as you writhe, each mewl spilling from your lips sharper than the last. When he pulls back to catch his breath, his lids are heavy, his grin lazy and satisfied, like the euphoric haze after taking a deep hit. His lips glisten, his chin damp with your arousal, and the faint sheen catches the light, making you whimper.

“Keep your eyes on me, girl,” he commands, pulling you from the fog of your mind. His thumb slides up to rub gentle circles against your clit as he waits for you to meet his gaze. When you do, the hunger in his eyes threatens to swallow you whole.

“You taste like heaven,” he says, his tone softer now, almost worshipful as he lowers his mouth to you again. This time, his movements are more insistent—his tongue plunges into you, curling and twisting, coaxing every last tremor from your body while his thumb keeps up its relentless rhythm on your clit. You feel yourself falling apart, splintering at the seams, your body a quivering, pliant mess under his touch.

"Go ahead n' cum on my face, pretty girl," Suguru hums, grinding the pad of his thumb against your sensitive clit. You groan, your head falling back against the couch as your hips jerk involuntarily, chasing the release he’s dragging out of you. Your mind feels hazy, untethered, and your thoughts dissolve with each stroke of his tongue.

When it finally hits, it’s like a tidal wave, ripping through you with a force that leaves you gasping and shuddering. Your vision blurs, white-hot pleasure consuming every sense as your fingers twist into the fabric of the couch. He doesn’t stop, his tongue lapping at you greedily, prolonging the high until you’re babbling.

As you come down, your breath ragged and your limbs boneless, Suguru pulls back, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he crawls back up your body. He presses his mouth to yours in a sloppy, hungry kiss, the taste of your arousal still fresh on his tongue. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as his tongue sweeps against yours, sharing the essence of your pleasure.

He finally pulls away, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath. "I've dreamed of this," he confesses, his voice low. His hand cradles your cheek as he studies your face, his thumb brushing tenderly over your swollen lips. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to taste you, to make you fall apart like that.”

Butterflies swarm in your stomach as he leans back on his heels, his hands sliding down to the waistband of his sweatpants. He shimmies them down, the fabric slipping over his hips to reveal the sharp cut of his V-line, trailing down to a dark patch of hair that disappears into the base of his length. His happy trail leads your eyes lower, framing the way his cock juts forward, thick and heavy, the tip already flushed and glistening. The sight makes your breath hitch, a nervous flutter mingling with the heady anticipation coiling in your chest.

“You ready?” he asks, his honeyed gaze locking with yours. You nod hesitantly, your head feeling heavy, your body languid and loose as if you could drift to sleep any second. The corner of his mouth twitches, an imperceptible softness flickering through his expression as he hooks your legs over his shoulders.

He presses a gentle kiss to the side of your knee before his grip on your thighs tightens. Slowly, he shifts forward, the head of his cock brushing against your slick entrance. The stretch begins almost immediately, the thick crown pressing into you with unrelenting pressure.

"I’ll go slow," he murmurs, his voice molten and soothing, like liquid gold pouring over your senses. His forehead brushes against your shin as he inches forward, his breath warm and uneven against your skin.

“F-Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans, his words coming out shaky, barely audible over the soft hitch in his breathing. His hands slide up your thighs, gripping you like you’re something he can’t bear to let go of.

Your head tilts back, the high from before lingering, nullifying every painful sensation as his cock slips deeper. The room feels hazy, the air thick with heat, your skin tingling with hypersensitivity as your walls stretch and adjust to his size. “S-Suguru,” you gasp, your nails digging into the couch cushions.

“I know, I know, princess,” he soothes, his thumbs brushing slow, calming circles into the soft flesh of your thighs. “You’re taking me so well. God, you’re perfect like this.” His voice is velvet, reverent, and laced with something deeper—something that makes your heart flutter.

His movements grow steadier as he thrusts deeper, his pace still unhurried—but there’s a growing urgency in the way his hips press against yours, the way his hands tighten around you. You cling to him, your body trembling, the pleasure building slowly like waves lapping against the shore.

“I can feel you clenching around me,” he breathes, his tone laced with awe. His lips find your calf, trailing kisses down the length of your leg, each one searing and delicate. “Feels so good, baby. You feel so good.”

Your hands reach out, grasping for something—anything—to anchor you. “Suguru, please—” you start, your voice breaking into a sob. “I’ve got you,” he promises, his hands slipping to cradle your hips, pulling you closer as he shifts deeper, his movements becoming the slightest bit rougher.

He grinds his hips, dragging his length out until just the tip lingers, only to stuff it back in. His hands find your waist, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh, keeping you steady as his pelvis snaps forward with enough force to bury himself completely. The wet, obscene sound fills the room, and he groans deeply, his head dropping for a moment as his hair cascades over his face.

You mewl, thighs quivering against his shoulders as the sensation builds, raw and dizzying. His cock slides along your gummy walls, sinking deeper to nudge the spot inside that has your back arching off the couch. A sharp cry escapes your lips, your fingers clawing at the cushions as a familiar sensation blooms in your core. “S-Shit, right there,” you gasp, barely coherent, the word tumbling out in a broken plea.

Suguru’s dark eyes flicker up to yours, his grin widening as if he’s just uncovered the most precious secret. “Right here?” he teases, grinding his hips slowly, deliberately, the head of his cock dragging over that spot again and again. “You like that, don’t you?” His tone is soft, coaxing, but there’s a cocky edge to it that makes your cheeks burn.

“P-Please,” you stammer, the pressure building so rapidly it has your toes curling. He adjusts your legs over his shoulders, his grip tightening as his pace becomes measured, unrelenting, hitting that same devastating angle with every thrust.

The pressure builds so rapidly it has you babbling, eyes squeezed shut as your toes curl. He adjusts your legs over his shoulders, his grip tightening as his pace becomes measured, unrelenting, hitting that same devastating angle with every thrust. You can barely form a reply—your words caught somewhere between a cry and a moan.

“C'mon, baby,” he purrs, his voice melting into your skin. “I can feel you getting close. Let go for me—wanna feel you clamp around me as you cum.” His words are filthy, his tone dripping with praise, and the combination sends you hurtling toward the edge.

Your body trembles as the coil inside you snaps, a wave of ecstasy crashing over you so intensely it robs you of air. Your walls flutter and squeeze around him like a vice as you cry out his name, your hands reaching blindly to grasp at his arms. “Good girl, just like that,” he groans, his hips stuttering as he rides out your climax while his own begins to crest.

Suguru's head tilts forward, his lips brushing against the curve of your thigh, his breath heavy and ragged as he groans, “You’re squeezing me so tight, fuck—I don’t think I can—”

The rhythm falters and his head falls against your shoulder, his hips grinding into you one final time before he stills. You feel it then, the warmth spreading deep inside, and your dazed mind registers his groan, guttural and drawn-out, as he buries himself fully in you.

His breaths are uneven with the final pulses of his release, his movements involuntary as he rides out the last remnants of his high. When he finally leans back, his dark gaze drops to where your bodies are still connected. His cum seeps out in pearlescent trails, glistening as it trickles down your folds and pools on your ass. The sight makes him curse under his breath, his hands gripping your thighs as he lazily thrusts forward to push the mess back inside.

His gaze flicks back to your face, his expression softening as a crooked grin tugs at his lips. He watches your chest heave, your skin flushed, your half-lidded eyes clouded with exhaustion and the lingering high.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your swollen lips. “You’re fucking wrecked. Maybe I should get you high more often.”

[ugotnojamzzz]

Rulers of Ruin

Chapter 8

Genre: Mafia!au , Slowburn, Angst, Hurt, eventual smut, TW (it is a mafia!AU, after all)

Pairing: Mafia!Jungkook x reader

Synopsis: There will come a day when I will sit down and write an alluring synopsis for this series. But that day hasn't come just yet lol. Stay tuned for more chapters to come.

Disclaimer: English isn’t my native language. Also, don’t come for me over the theme, people. It’s an Alternate Universe, which means the bangtan boys are essentially what I like to call meat puppets to serve the storyline. This is obviously not a projection of their actual real-life personas.

Wordcount: 1.4k

Masterlist

Chapter 7

Jimin hopped towards the new arrival, his arms wrapping around his friend in a tight embrace. “It’s about time,” he exclaimed, his voice unusually warm. The young man returned the hug, patting Jimin on the back. 

YN’s eyes were drawn to him, her gaze traveling over his figure with keen curiosity. This was her first proper look at the guy who had barged into her bathroom the night before. No longer covered in blood, sweat and rain, his appearance was now starkly different yet no less intense.

His attire was a jarring contrast to the others’ casual, brighter clothing—black combat boots laced tightly, dark cargo pants and a black teeshirt that, despite its looseness, couldn’t hide the outline of an athletic physique.

He looked like he belonged somewhere else: a battlefield, perhaps, but certainly not framed by the pastel towers of cakes and pastries that adorned the breakfast table. 

YN’s eyes traced the sharp angles of his face. His black hair, slightly tousled, framed his face in soft waves, contrasting sharply with his stern, almost brooding expression. The most striking feature, however, was the single eyebrow piercing that glinted under the dining room lights.

His posture was rigid and controlled. His dark gaze scanned the room with a predatory vigilance, it locked on hers for a fraction longer than comfort allowed, a flicker of something unspoken before he tore it away.

Namjoon went to sit at the end of the table, and the breakfast resumed, the atmosphere growing livelier with the new arrivals. Hoseok’s bright energy filled the room as he animatedly recounted more stories from their mission, punctuated by regular eyerolls from Soyeon.

Seated with an air of composed authority, the girl made a subtle gesture indicating the seat next to hers. However, Jungkook, without acknowledging the gesture, silently took the seat next to YN and began grabbing some food from the lavish spread.

YN glanced at him briefly, then returned her focus to her own plate. The two ate in silence while the buzz of conversation around them continued.

“So,” Jungkook spoke eventually, his tone stern, “I hear you’re the reason they took all the knives and cables out of my floor.”

YN sighed, unsure whether that statement warranted a response. She didn’t like his attitude. «  I’m not exactly slap happy about it myself, » she eventually muttered, eyes still focused on her food. 

Around them, the conversation continued. Namjoon, seated at the head of the table, was deep in discussion with Hoseok and Taehyung about the latest developments from their mission. Soyeon, clearly unimpressed with Jungkook’s choice of seating, sipped her tea with a cool detachment.

Y/N wasn’t sure whether to feel offended or unnerved by how utterly indifferent they all seemed to her presence. The conversations flowed as though she were invisible. But what unsettled her most wasn’t the casual way they ignored her—it was the content of their discussion.

They were openly talking about business. Not in hushed tones or veiled euphemisms, but out in the open, as though the sensitive nature of their operations meant nothing—even in the presence of a raven. It made her uneasy. Were they so confident she wouldn’t understand? Or were they confident she’d never leave this place to use what she’d heard?

Then again, most of it was useless to her—snippets of code and vague references to missions that offered no real insight into their plans. And the few scraps of tangible information were trivial, irrelevant to her clan’s concerns. 

What truly confused her, though, was how natural it all felt. They weren’t only discussing operations. There was banter, a stray joke punctuating a serious exchange, even the occasional nickname tossed into the mix. Namjoon and Hoseok laughed at something Taehyung muttered under his breath, and Jimin chimed in with a teasing jab aimed at Soyeon.

It was jarring. Y/N wasn’t used to this—this strange, almost familial atmosphere. In her own clan, the air had always been charged with authority and purpose. Conversations were orders. Names were titles. Discipline was king. 

But here, the contrast was stark. There was something unpolished, almost human about it all. It wasn’t just a group of operatives at a breakfast table—it was people. People who seemed to—for some reason— genuinely enjoy each other’s company, despite the dark, dangerous undercurrents that clearly tied them together.

Y/N hated that she couldn’t stop watching, couldn’t stop being fascinated by it.

Jungkook’s expression, however, seemed to darken with each passing minute, and he appeared lost in thought as he listened to Namjoon. The others didn’t seem to notice the change in his demeanor until he set his glass down on the table with a loud slam. Their conversation tapered off into awkward silence.

Soyeon raised an eyebrow, her eyes darting between YN and Jungkook. « Jesus, » she said dryly, « cheer up, Kookie. »

Just then, he abruptly stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. The sudden movement caught everyone’s attention. He shot a look at Namjoon, his eyes filled with unspoken frustration, and then turned on his heel, stomping out of the dining room without a word. Yoongi was the one to break the stunned silence.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked, his eyes flicking towards the door.

Namjoon sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Let’s just say he wasn’t thrilled about having been kept out of the loop concerning the raven operation.”

Jimin nodded in agreement. “To be fair, you kept us all in the dark until she got here,” he added, gesturing subtly toward YN.

“Well, you know how he can get,” Namjoon said, his tone understanding. 

Hoseok, ever the mood-lifter, leaned over and nudged YN teasingly. « Look at you, being the center of all the drama, » he mumbled.

“I, for one, don’t blame him,” Soyeon stated sharply. “You could’ve kept us informed, Namjoon.”

The leader shot her a warning glance. “You know it’s not that simple. We had to move fast, and security was tight.”

She shifted in her seat. “All I’m saying is that this,” she continued, her eyes narrowing as she looked pointedly at YN, “is not exactly a pleasant surprise for any of us.”

Y/N’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t say a word, unwilling to reward the girl’s clear disdain with a response. Like it’s been a pleasant surprise for me, perhaps? Stupid bitch.

“One day, Soyeon,” Seokjin said suddenly, settling down his chopsticks “we’ll find you smiling, and the world might just end.”

The girl rolled her eyes, but didn’t push the issue further. Instead, she turned her attention back to her breakfast, the tension in the room slowly dissipating as conversation resumed.

YN could overhear a hushed conversation between Yoongi and Namjoon about a potential threat. “We need to keep an eye on things up north. They’ve been too quiet lately,” Yoongi mumbled.

Hoseok, sensing YN’s discomfort, leaned in again, his voice gentle. “Don’t let it get to you, it’s nothing personal.”

—

As breakfast wrapped up, Namjoon sent everyone on their way, the atmosphere shifting from casual to business in a matter of seconds. Backs straightening and poker faces on.

 Taehyung fell into step beside YN, ready to escort her back to her quarters. The walk was quiet at first, the echo of their footsteps the only sound in the corridor.

« So, » YN finally broke the silence, « what’s the guy’s deal? »

Taehyung glanced down at her, confused. « My new roommate, » she added with a roll of her eyes. 

« Oh, » he said, « Jungkook, you mean? »

She nodded pensively, “He seemed pretty upset back there.”

 “Yeah, he can be intense when he’s in a mood,” he said with a small shrug. “He doesn’t like being left out of important stuff.»

YN crossed her arms, absorbing this new information. « Is he one of Namjoon’s top guys or something? »

“You could say that,” Taehyung chuckled softly, shaking his head. “He’s more than that, though.”

YN sent an inquiring look his way, to which Taehyung replied with a surprised scoff.

 “Jungkook’s family, » he added casually, « a brother, if you will. »

YN stopped in her tracks, turning to face Taehyung with a look of disbelief. “Namjoon doesn’t have any siblings,” she said, her voice firm.

« So? » he looked at her incredulously.

« So- »

«Chill out, I’m fucking with you, » he interrupted, «Look at you, trying to gather intel, » Taehyung nudged her.

As they reached her quarters, she paused, turning to Taehyung once more, her brow furrowed. « Listen, » he said before she could utter a word, « the mystery of Jeon Jungkook is just not my story to tell, I’m afraid. »

« Well, » she retorted, « if I’m going to be sleeping next door to that guy, I’d like to know what to expect. »

Taehyung stepped back into the elevator and turned back to look at her. “Don’t torture yourself,” he smirked, “He’s really not that bad.” 

YN watched the elevator doors close, her mind whirling with thoughts. She made her way back to her bedroom, replaying the morning’s events in her head.

As she closed the door behind her, the slight click of the latch offered a brief moment of relaxation. She walked over to her wardrobe, her fingers trailing over the clothing racks. The room was silent, the only sound being the soft rustle of fabric as she leaned forward into the clothes as though she was looking for something.

With a furtive glance, first towards the door, then to the security camera, YN reached into her waistband, feeling cool metal slide against her skin. Slowly, she pulled something out, the weight of it in her hand, oddly comforting.

She glanced down.

The polished surface of the cake knife in her hand reflected her troubled expression. The dull edge caught the light, glinting with a dangerous promise. 

It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

—

Hope you liked it. If some of you are intrigued or interested in finding out more, don't hesitate to interact and I'll start posting some more chapters! Also questions and remarks and feedback are welcome xxx

Chapter 9 (coming soon..)

Masterlist

Taglist

@princess-sunshyn

@loumin908

[persephoneaangel444]

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆ The Moon signs as aesthetic outfits ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡

FIRE SIGNS: Aries --- Leo --- Sagittarius

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎ Aries Moon ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎

Aries Moon Outfits: Aries moons usually love wearing neutral colors with denim. Has the casual yet business like look down to a tea. They love handbags/shoulder bags. Wears minimal jewelry, usually to make their outfits more neat looking. Prefers quality over quantity outfits, has the less is more concept in terms of outfits.

Aries Moon Personality: Aries moons are passionate and independent souls. They love their alone time but when they spend time with people they care about they'll do anything for them. They are somewhat gentle yet strict to the people they care about. Has also a generous and warm fun supportive nature to them.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎ Leo Moon ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎

Leo Moon Outfits: Leo Moon's have a certain/fixed way they dress. They usually dress up in matching set tops and bottoms. Large or decorated jewelry. They also love wearing boots. The colors they usually wear in their outfits are bright colored clothes pastels but rarely neon. Even if they were neutral colors they usually pair it off with a pop of color in their jewelry or shoes.

Leo Moon Personality: Leo Moon's usually have a warm and generous nature. Very loyal and caring towards their loved ones however may become a little selfish in terms of sharing their time and energy to others outside their circle. Can be quite impatient with those who don't give back the same efforts and energy.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎ Sagittarius Moon ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎

Sagittarius Moon Outfits: Usually tight fitting tops and loose bell bottom jeans/pants (flared pants). Plays around a lot with different colors not always they wear neutral colors or bright colors. They usually mix it up from time to time. A certain unpredictability in their outfits. They also wear jewelry that stands out. Has the bohemian aesthetic down. Loves wearing short platformed heels.

Sagittarius Moon Personality: Sagittarius moon's usually are unpredictable and very supportive and accepting of their loved ones. doesn't open up to others easily usually runs away from their true feelings when it gets down to it. Very passionate when proving a point to their beliefs and hate close-minded people.

[emepe]

— Pairing: Eren x Reader, friends to lovers

— General info: series, 18+, modern AU, serial killer AU, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

— Summary: Fate is a tricky thing. Certain situations can’t be avoided as much as certain people’s lives can’t be kept from intertwining. With a serial killer on the loose, and unexpected relationships blooming, how will the universe intervene?

— Chapter summary: You and Eren can’t stay away from each other, completely oblivious to a jealous someone plotting to drive a wedge between you.

— Content warnings: slightly nsfw, dry humping, make out, stalking, misunderstandings.

— Notes: Welcome to chapter 8 <3 If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list, lmk. Happy reading!

Links: Read on AO3 | Chapter guide | Masterlist

love is a verb, love is a feeling

The days have grown colder as the city is blanketed by the late November air. Crisp golden leaves are scattered over the streets, casting a warm touch to the otherwise cold patterns of gray. Common colds are nearing their rise with the shift in temperature but you've been lucky so far this year to not fall victim to any sniffles. 

Normally, you'd count on a warm cup of tea and a thick blanket to keep you warm as the weather grows harsher. But neither compare to the comforting embrace of Eren's arms. The bed is much warmer when there's a second body lying next to you and the sweet beat of his heart is the perfect sound to fall asleep to as you get drunk off the scent of his citrus body wash and eucalyptus-scented fabric softener.

The sound of your alarm rings in the air first. You moan from under the sheets, unwilling to let go of the firm torso you're pressed against. Thankfully, Eren's hold only tightens as he angles his arm back to dismiss the sound.

It's turning into a bad habit, to linger in bed just a few more minutes each time you stay over at his place. But is it really so bad when it brings you so much peace? Besides, Eren seems fine with it, too. Every little detail of your life is delicately infused with traces of him now. The same eucalyptus fabric softener is now also part of your biweekly shopping list, and this is the third time you've sneakily used his body wash even though you've been good at refilling the travel-sized bottle you keep in your bag before leaving your apartment. But the truth is, you love having that scent follow you wherever you go. It makes your day better and frankly, it's nice to carry a little piece of him all the time.

The people at the office have noticed a shift in your energy, though they haven't dared to talk about it. The reserved girl they've grown used to being wary of — the one they'd rather keep their distance from because she's so cold and standoffish that it's borderline rude in their eyes — is now livelier, smiles more easily, and is surrounded by light as opposed to the gloomy shadows from before. It's not as though you've transformed into a natural extrovert — you still only talk to Armin, and you still keep to yourself for the most part — but the small changes in your behavior certainly stand out.

“Good morning, baby,” Eren's husky morning voice cuts through the rustling of the sheets as he adjusts himself to plant a kiss on your cheek.

You snuggle closer to him, his warmth all too precious to part with. Your hands grip his shirt tightly, signaling him that you're not ready to slip away.

As usual, he softly laughs as he squeezes your frame. It's always a struggle for you to let go to start your day. Eren would easily yield if you just ask him. Ditching work to spend an entire day with your body clinging to his is nothing short of tempting. Perhaps if he didn't have an in-person meeting to attend in a few hours, he would ask you to play hooky.

“Five more minutes,” you mumble into his chest.

“Make it ten and you've got a deal,” he murmurs.

A lazy grin takes over his features when you laugh into his chest.

He strokes your hair gently, knowing you're wide awake and the extra minutes are because you like staying in bed with him.

“You're making me lazy,” he teases, peering down at the crown of your head.

“You asked me over on a weeknight,” you retaliate. “You know I like sleeping in when I come over. You should've waited until tonight.”

“Right, I forgot you have no willpower. My apologies,” he jokes, quick to stop your playful punch he already knew was coming.

With a hand stroking your back, he dips down to kiss the crown of your head.

“By the way, you owe me a bottle of body wash,” he says, aggressively poking at your sides. “I know you've been stealing it.”

“You have no proof,” you mumble, squirming at every sudden contact from his fingertips.

“You smell like citrus!”

“How do you know I don't use citrus-scented soap?”

“Because you used to always smell like vanilla,” he murmurs, a nostalgic smile shaping his lips.

You finally lift your face from his chest to look up at him.

His smile grows when he meets your gaze.

“I like that smell.”

Your heart flutters at his words, and a second wave of warmth creeps up your neck at his attention to detail.

“Do you want me to go back to vanilla, then?” 

He shrugs. 

“I don't mind if you smell like me,” he smiles. “But I miss the vanilla sometimes, to be honest. Maybe we should just trade soaps.”

Your eyes crinkle in amusement and you snuggle back into his chest. The vibrations of his voice tingle against your cheek when he speaks again, in a quieter, more timid voice.

“With all this back and forth, why don't we just move in together?”

He chews on his bottom lip while he waits for your answer. Your face is still pressed against his chest, so he can't get an idea of what you're thinking. 

It's barely been a month, but if the overnight stays so far are a taste of what living together would be like, he doesn't mind making such a bold step so soon.

“Which apartment would we keep?” 

His features shift in surprise that you don't seem thrown by his proposal.

“I- I don't know,” he stutters. “I haven't thought that far.”

“Your place is bigger,” you murmur, scooting back just a bit from him but keeping your head low so he can't see the shy expression you're wearing. “My closet is too small, my clothes barely fit.”

“Or we could look for something new together,” he says.

The idea brings a smile to your face and a nervous flutter to your stomach.

“Isn't it a bad idea to live together so soon?” you tease, though it's a genuine question. You don't mind going at a faster pace for this, but every major decision could make or break your relationship and you'd much prefer the former.

You notice him shrugging from your peripheral vision. 

“I think it's better to know early on.” He holds your chin between two fingers so he can pull your attention to him. “Why? Does it scare you?”

Slowly, you nod.

“A little.”

He hums as he contemplates your answer. 

“Then, if it makes you feel better,” he says, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “We can talk about it again in a few months. How does that sound?”

A bit more relaxed now, you nod again.

“Come here,” he says leaning closer so he can kiss you, but you shoot up and climb out of bed, rushing to the bathroom while hearing him laugh behind you.

“You can't run away from me each time!” he yells amusedly.

Shaking his head, he gets out of bed and starts stripping the sheets. It's of his recent knowledge that you're not fond of the idea of kissing him before you've had a chance to brush your teeth. He always tells you he doesn't care but you're quick to refuse him each time.

When you get back, he's fluffing the pillows and fixing each one on the freshly made bed.

He walks over to you in mock annoyance over your morning antics.

Cheekily, you drape your arms around his neck and pull him closer, granting him at last with one minty fresh kiss on his lips.

“You realize I haven't brushed my teeth?” he asks, squeezing your sides teasingly.

You shrug.

“I don't mind.”

You turn on your heel, grabbing your clothes for the day from his closet, leaving him dumbfounded but chuckling over your absurd logic.

“I'll make us breakfast,” he says, slipping out of the room to give you some privacy, but not before pulling you in for one more kiss.

“I'll see you tonight.”

Eren's usual goodbye from the past three weeks never gets old, always stirring the butterflies in your stomach with the exciting promise of your weekend sleepovers. 

You lean over the center console to kiss him goodbye.

“Get your tissues ready, Jaeger. I picked a good one this week.”

“Hold on, I thought it was my turn,” he whines. “Last week we stayed at your apartment and we watched that movie where the mom dies and comes back to life during the rainy season.”

You shake your head.

“That was two weeks ago. Last week was when we saw Ghost, remember?”

His eyebrows rise in realization at your reminder, his mouth forming an ah shape. 

“Man, I could've sworn it was my turn,” he says, falling back into his seat.

“Don't be a sore loser, babe,” you tease, pulling him back to kiss him again. The contact effectively wipes the pout from his lips.

His hands cradle your face to deepen the kiss, desperate to make the most of your last seconds together before you part ways for the day.

“Ow,” you moan when his teeth pull at your bottom lip a bit too hard. “Easy. I'm delicate.”

He laughs airily. 

“Sorry, I got carried away.”

He meets your lips again, this time using his tongue to suck on the injured spot, soothing the pulsing sensation left by his bite, the caress sending shivers down your spine and warming your face.

“I hate when you do that,” you mutter with unconvincing annoyance.

“No, you don't,” he retaliates, the cocky grin on his face growing wider at your flustered state. In the end, you prove him right when you start to giggle, covering your face with your hands.

“I'll see you tonight,” you murmur shyly as you push your door open. “Bye, Eren.”

“You sure you're not forgetting something?” he asks just as you're about to shut the door behind you.

You tilt your head in confusion.

“We already kissed,” you innocently say.

Shaking his head, he digs something out of his pocket, carefully tossing it in your direction. Your hands clasp around the object — your taser.

“You left it on the counter,” he sternly explains, then exchanges it for a softer tone. “Be careful, okay?”

Embarrassed but grateful to have him keeping you in check, you nod, quickly climbing back inside for a second last kiss of the morning.

“Bye,” you grin.

With another shake of his head, he laughs as he watches you leave.

“Have a good day!”

November 29, 2024

My angel, my angel, my angel.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

I can't wait to see you.

My meeting just started a few minutes ago. I won't make it out in time. Armin's taking you home.

You blink down at the text message, a small pout already forming at the thought of the bump in your recent routine. 

Though disappointed by not having Eren pick you up from work, you text him back wishing him good luck.

Are you still coming over later?

A smile takes over your worried features when he responds with ‘absolutely’ and a promise to see you tonight.

You slip your phone back into the pocket of your pants, glancing at the time as you do. There are roughly thirty minutes to go before you can head home and maybe even longer before Eren arrives at your apartment for your movie night. Hopefully, he won't be too tired. 

As you wait for the minutes to tick by, you rack your brain for an image of your pantry. In your eagerness to accept Eren's invitation to stay at his place right after work, only stopping by your apartment so you could fetch a change of clothes, you forgot to check how you were doing on snacks. The last time you checked, there weren't many options. 

You purse your lips as you make a mental note to stop by the store on the way home. 

The remainder of your working hours fly by faster than you expect. Soon enough, Armin's already at your desk, leaning back with his hands in his pockets while you gather your things, making sure to keep your taser in the jacket pocket of your dominant hand. 

“Sorry about this,” you meekly tell him as the elevator brings you down to the lobby.

He dismisses you with a wave of his hand.

“I'm glad Eren called me. I would've been worried if you left by yourself.”

You smile in appreciation for his concern. 

That's also something you're getting better at — accepting people's care.

The elevator dings and you both head out onto the street, leaving the revolving doors of the main entrance behind you.

“Do you mind if we stop by the store on the way? I have to pick up some things for tonight.”

“Oh?” Armin wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at you, to which you lightly smack his shoulder.

“I was talking about snacks,” you mutter. “Eren's coming over later.”

“Oh, right,” Armin clicks his tongue. “The famous sleepovers I'm never invited to.”

You laugh.

“You're welcome to stay if you don't mind watching us makeout.”

Armin's nose scrunches in disapproval, though a laugh slips past his lips.

“You are so different from the girl I met earlier this year.”

Your face warms at his comment. His tone isn't severe, so it's easy to tell he means it in a good way. You're further reassured when he turns to look at you with a smile as you take a seat on the bus bench.

“You seem happier these days,” he points out.

You curl your lips inwards — a habit you've stolen from Eren — in a futile attempt to keep from goofily grinning.

“I am.”

He nods, his smile growing wider at your bashful admission.

“I guess now would be a good time to confess I was playing Cupid the entire time.”

Shaking your head, you giggle.

“I kind of knew.” 

“Wha– no way!”

“I mean, I wasn't sure until now but I thought it was a little weird when you kept talking about how I had to meet your best friend Eren,” you grin, poking his side teasingly. “And then when he showed up out of the blue at the coffee shop, and he told me you told him to go there.” 

He groans, kicking at a pebble by his feet. 

“And all the times you tried to get us alone… And when you wanted me to ride in the front seat when we went apple-picking. Then at the ba–”

“Okay! I get it, jeez,” he laughs. “But you have to give me some credit now that you're together.” 

“If I must,” you heavily sigh, earning yourself a flick on the forehead.

The bus pulls up on the dot of its scheduled time.

The two of you settle in next to each other for the ride. A couple of stops before your usual one, you pull on the cord and you both step back onto the street.

“So how are things going?” Armin asks, aiding you in picking a basket from the stack by the store's entrance as you crane your neck in search of the snack aisle. Armin follows your lead a few aisles down.

“It's been great,” you gush, instantly falling into an enamored smile. “It never gets boring, you know? He's just so sweet and funny.” 

You place a large tin of salted peanuts in the basket.

“Thank you, Armin.”

“I was kidding about the credit,” he chuckles. “It was ultimately your decision.” 

“Yeah, but… you greased the wheels,” you reply with a shrug. 

You skim through the choices for popcorn, ultimately picking up a box of butter and sea salt each.

“And it's not just that,” you continue as you walk to the next aisle for something sweet. “You were the first friend I ever made… and up until a few months ago, you were my only friend,” you laugh softly, trying to play it off as a joke, but a crack slips through your voice. “I don't mean to be cheesy, but you've changed my life for the better. I wouldn't have any of this if it wasn't for you. So, thank you, really.”

You regard Armin with glassy eyes that are overflowing with appreciation for the blond. 

“Come on,” he softly says. “You owe yourself some credit, too. You've come a long way, anyone can see it.” 

Your face warms at the compliment, but you dismiss him with a shrug as you turn your focus to the store's selection of fruit snacks.

A couple of packets are tossed into the basket.

“I thought we were just getting snacks,” Armin reminds you as he follows you to the back of the store where the hygiene aisle is.

“I just need to pick up some body wash,” you say.

Your eyes zero in on the brand Eren uses, and your hands quickly pick up the bottle labeled with a citrus scent. From a higher level, you grab a second bottle of your usual vanilla pick.

A short line at the register later, you both walk the rest of the way to your apartment building.

It's only a few blocks, so it doesn't take long, but by the time you near the brick building, dark clouds have started to form in the late evening sky.

“I've got it from here,” you tell Armin when you notice his intention to accompany you inside the building. “You should go, it looks like it's gonna rain.” 

You point at the somber clouds looming over your heads. 

Armin nods appreciatively at your concern and bids you goodbye before making a sprint for the nearest bus stop on the opposite side of the street.

You ride the elevator to your floor on your own, leaning back against the mirrored wall as you already feel yourself relaxing into the weekend mood. 

Your shoes are peeled off and abandoned beside the door the moment you walk in, and the grocery bag is left on the kitchen counter. 

You pull your phone from your pocket, immediately tapping on the first notification, a small smile etched on your face as your text conversation with Eren pops up on the screen.

Just gotta send some emails and I'll be on my way. 

You tap a quick reply before dialing the number to Eren's favorite local pizza place. After confirming your order for a half-and-half special, you scurry to the bathroom for a quick shower. 

The weekends are easily most people's favorite time. It's a pleasant break from the dull routine of working in an office, or doing manual labor, or serving strangers. For you, the weekends were an okay time. Not having to spend eight hours a day in the office was fine, and you were perfectly content spending your off days focusing on your hobbies, getting chores done, or laying around. 

After Armin — and especially after Eren — that old routine seems rather unsatisfying now. You still appreciate the beauty of sitting down to read a new book, but doing the same while Eren is on the opposite end of the sofa playing a game or hearing him move around in the kitchen to fix the two of you a snack has the power to make you feel full. 

Armin has teased you a couple of times since your start with Eren, implying you've stolen his best friend, but neither of you could be happier that his meddling resulted in such a good thing. 

As you rinse off the stress of the day, you find yourself smiling at the memory of your first kiss with Eren. It feels like it's been ages since it happened, and every kiss, every touch, and every look since then has blessed you with years worth of good fortune.

You step out of the shower, choosing to change into a pair of sweats and a loose tee. A quick glance to your bedroom window lets you notice the faint pitter-patter of rain droplets falling. You check the time on your phone, dismissing the low battery percentage alert but relieved to find a text from Armin that reassures you he got home safe and dry. With a few minutes to spare before the pizza or Eren arrives, you venture into the kitchen to fix yourself a cup of tea.

Your routine is the same as ever — set the water on the stove, wait for the whistle, fetch a mug from the cupboards, the honey wand from its drawer, and a tea bag and honey from the pantry. When you get to the last step, you're disappointed to find that you've barely enough honey left to sweeten the cup you just made. 

Eren and you have kept a steady tradition since you started sleeping over at each other's apartment to share a cup of tea before bed. With your low resources, that won't be possible tonight. 

Without giving it much thought, you slip on a jacket and sneakers, and rush out the door, grabbing your umbrella on the way. 

As the elevator travels down to the lobby, you click your tongue in spite of yourself. Had you been more attentive you would've picked up a new jar from the store earlier. You'll be lucky if you find your usual choice in the store at the corner of your street. 

Once out the main door and down the front steps of the building, you open your black umbrella and start walking. 

The rain always has an effect on traffic. It's as though everyone's common sense and driver's education grows as hazy as the weather. But Eren's lucky to escape before any real chaos kicks off. 

He pulls into the parking lot of your building with ease. The initial pitter-patter of rain has crescendoed in a matter of seconds. With no umbrella or raincoat to guard himself from the rain, he resorts to using his jacket, holding it above his head while he rounds the building toward the main entrance even if plenty of raindrops still manage to land on him.

In his rush, he avoids a person walking down the street with a black umbrella, only to crash into a second figure a couple of steps later.

The man is wearing a black raincoat, hood over his head and his hands in his pockets until he bumps into Eren's body.

“I'm so sorry,” Eren half-yells over the rain, holding a hand before him in defense. 

The young man lifts his face just enough to show an understanding smile in response, though his light brown eyes seem devoid of any emotion — but Eren crosses it off as a distortion from the night's weather.

“Don't worry about it,” the stranger grins. “Be careful.”

Eren continues up the steps of the brick building, relief washing over him once he's inside the lobby, where he pats down his clothes to rid himself of any excess water before heading to the elevator.

A cheerful tune whistles from his lips as he makes the journey to the third floor, a grin stretching across his features when the elevator finally dings. 

His eager hands fish the spare key you gifted him last week from his jacket pocket and jiggle it around the lock until it clicks open.

He calls your name as he breathes in the familiar vanilla scent that wafts throughout the apartment from the freshly abandoned shower.

He peers behind the door when you don't respond right away.

“Babe, I'm here,” he tries again, searching in your room this time.

Still no answer.

He wanders around the apartment, confused but on high alert as he whips out his phone to call you.

“Hello?” your voice reaches his ear after the first ring.

The breath he was holding is promptly released as he leans against the armrest of the sofa.

“Where are you?”

He hears a series of rustles and clinks on your end. 

“I'm at the store on the corner of the street. I came to get honey. Are you close?” 

“I'm at your apartment. I almost freaked out when you weren't here.”

“Aww,” you coo. From your tone, he can easily tell you’re smiling. “You're so needy.”

He blushes.

“When it comes to you, yeah, obviously,” he murmurs shyly.

You giggle. 

“I'll be there soon,” you say. “I'm in line to pay.”

On the other side of the line, your phone is pressed between your ear and shoulder while you fidget for some cash in your jacket pockets. A crumpled bill falls to the floor in the process, but you miss the chance to retrieve it before the man behind you bends down to pick it up first. He holds the bill between two fingers, offering it to you with a smile.

“Thank you,” you smile back at him as you take the bill. 

The man's smile grows at your expression, his light brown eyes lighting up at the sight of your pearly teeth.

“Who was that?” Eren asks. 

You explain the incident to him as you head out the store. A faint ring of the store's bell rings on Eren's side.

“Why? Are you jealous?” you tease, giggling when he scoffs through the phone. 

A tap on your shoulder puts a halt in your step and you turn around to find the same man from the store behind you.

On the other end, Eren can hear the muffled male voice, as he assumes you've lowered the hand holding your phone.

His brow furrows as he tries to make out what is being said on your end, but just as your voice starts talking again, the call is cut off.

“Hello?” Eren calls into the phone, but there's no sound. He calls your name, only to receive no reply. When he looks down at the screen, the words ‘Call ended’ flash in red. 

He blinks at the screen several times.

He's confused at first, but a compelling need to call you back overtakes him in a flash, and his thumbs frantically tap the call button next to your name. When the call is instantly forwarded and the automatic tone tells him the number he dialed is unavailable, there's a dreadful drop in his stomach.

He tries calling again — just to make sure, just in case — hopeful that it's a misunderstanding and the rain has you distracted and you managed to reject his call on accident. 

“Come on. Pick up, pick up,” he softly chants as if his words have the power to make things true.

But the call still doesn't come through. 

Without a second more to waste, he rushes to the door, swinging it open with determination, only to find you looking up at him in surprise, with your key in your hand, just seconds away from unlocking the door yourself.

His bottom lips quivers and his eyes stare back at you, wide and overflowing with relief.

You're pulled inside the apartment and wrapped in his arms in a second, his hold tight as he nuzzles his face into your neck, breathing in your vanilla scent in a desperate attempt to confirm you're real. 

“Eren,” you murmur, taken aback by his behavior. “Baby, what's wrong?” 

Your fingers weave through his hair as you try to comfort him from whatever unknown force has him so panicked.

He sniffles against your neck, and you sense droplets trailing down your collarbone.

You try to earn some room so you can analyze what's going on but his grip only tightens.

The jar of honey is pressed uncomfortably against your stomach, but you ignore the feeling until he decides to step back.

When he does, his expression is stern.

“Why didn't you pick up my calls?” 

His voice is powerful — severe. It's not something you're used to. He's suddenly ten feet tall and you've shrunk to half your size. 

Pulling your phone out of your jacket, you explain.

“My phone died, I would've called you back if I could,” you say, hoping the hypothetical is enough to soothe him.

He doesn't answer, only swallows thickly as he continues to pin you down with his gaze.

“It's okay,” you reassure him. “I'm okay, see?”

“It’s not.”

His brow is furrowed, jaw tense and his hands accentuate his words with sharp gestures.

“Do you realize how serious this is? You could've been in danger and I would've had no way of reaching you.”

“Eren, calm down, please. I just went to the store. I made it back, it's fine.”

You use the softest of your voices, focused on getting him to settle on the fact that you're safe now.

“Did you at least have your taser on you?” 

You shrink in your spot. The guilt is evident on your face, and it only makes Eren drag his hands over his face in frustration. 

He shakes his head, clearly bothered by your carelessness. 

An uncomfortable sensation tingles at your nose as you feel an oncoming wave of tears.

After all he's done to keep you safe, and your forgetfulness could easily throw his efforts out the window. Your cheeks burn and your shoulders cave with the weight of disappointing him. And now he won't even look at you, his apparent anger too intense to focus on something other than the floor.

The least you could do is apologize.

“Eren,” you weakly call him, voice cracking and barely above a whisper.

It takes long enough for him to look at you that you doubt he even heard you. But when he finally meets your gaze, his hardened expression crumbles at the sight of your teary eyes and your defeated demeanor.

“I'm not mad,” he's quick to say, stepping forward to envelop your frame once more — still tight but with a more comforting intent behind it. 

His warmth is all you need to fall down a well of stuttered sobs and regretful tears.

“I'm sorry,” you cry into his jacket.

The words rip him apart from the inside. He didn't mean to be harsh even if you deserved to be scolded, but now even he's overwhelmed by guilt for making you cry in apology. 

It's a crappy situation for both of you.

“I forgot it again. I'm so sorry, Eren,” you sob. He cradles your face in his hands, nodding along as he carefully listens to your tearful explanation. “I wasn't gonna be too long. I just needed honey for your tea later, and you were on your way already, so I didn't think it would be a big deal if I just went to the corner store to get some. I'm so sorry, Eren. I really am.”

You release a shuddered breath as he wipes your face of your tears with his thumb. He proceeds to take the jar of honey from your trembling hands and set it aside.

“I'm not mad,” he repeats, hugging you to his chest as you ease up from your crying, soothed by his gentle tone and the caresses to your hair. “I'm sorry, too.”

I didn't mean to make you cry.

He holds your face in his hands. 

“But you have to understand how scary it is for me to have our call cut off while you're out alone.”

You nod, blinking away the last of your tears that blur your vision.

“I know. I'm sorry.”

Eren's heart shrinks at every apology.

“Stop apologizing,” he murmurs, voice laced with pain. “Just don't scare me like that again, please.” 

You nod again, suddenly feeling too weak to use your voice.

A wave of relief washes over you when he leans closer to place a kiss on the corner of your mouth as a final step in reconciliation.

A knock on your door calls for your attention. Eren looks back at you in question.

“I ordered pizza from that place you like,” you innocently explain before you dig around your pockets for money.

Your considerate nature toward him squeezes further at his heart.

“I got it,” he says, tapping your arm lightly before answering the door and paying.

“I'm gonna wash my face,” you tell him, awkwardly slipping away to the bathroom to do so.

When you get back to the living room, the TV is set to play the last movie saved to your list, and he's sitting on the floor with his back against the sofa with a slice of pizza in his hands. When he catches your presence he nods down at the spot beside him, gesturing for you to join him.

The moment you sit down he welcomes you back with a kiss on your cheek and a second soft apology in your ear.

The movie ended up making you both spill another series of tears.

“I don't know why you keep picking these movies,” Eren sniffles as he dabs a tissue to his eyes before helping you clean your face, too.

“I like it when you cry,” you admit. “I like a sensitive man.”

He playfully pinches your cheek in retaliation, only to immediately kiss it after.

You curl up against him, resting your legs on his lap as your arms drape around his shoulders.

“I really am sorry about tonight. I wasn't trying to make you worry. And once I realized my phone died, I hurried over immediately.”

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you up so that you're sitting properly on his lap. He lifts your chin with his index finger, gently coaxing you to look at him.

“It's fine,” he murmurs. “Just promise me you'll be more careful. Next time just wait for me and we'll go together. Or call me up if you need me to get something on my way. I'd rather do it myself than have you walk out at night all alone.”

“You'd be alone, too,” you point out.

“I'm not as worried about myself,” he answers quietly, gently brushing his nose against yours before leaning in for a kiss.

He pecks you once, twice, before remembering something.

“Who was the guy?”

Your eyebrows upturn in confusion.

“I heard a guy talking to you after you left the store,” he explains.

You mouth an ‘oh’ in realization. 

“I dropped my receipt and he was just giving it back.”

You fish the slip of paper from your sweats, holding it up between two fingers for his observation.

“See?”

He nods, taking the slip of paper from your hold and setting it aside on the floor.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, kissing the sensitive skin gently as his hands softly caress your hips, just above the waistline of your sweats.

“I worry about you, you know,” he murmurs against your sweet spot. “I can't be still if I'm not sure you're safe.”

You want to tell him that he doesn't have to worry so much, that this was an isolated experience and that there haven't been any new murders, but you know it'll just slip in one ear and fall out the other. 

So you just hold him, stroking his hair in that lazy pace he likes so much.

He lifts his face from your neck, looking up at you in adoration. The glassy look in his jewel-toned eyes would be enough to make you fall to your knees — it's a good thing you're on his lap.

His mouth caresses yours tenderly, transferring his earlier relief when he found you standing right outside the door.

Your hand finds its place above his heart, capturing the increasingly erratic beats as you melt into each other.

Your tongue brushes against his, swallowing every moan, every relieved sigh, every whimper. 

His fingers sneak under your shirt, timidly testing the waters with a searing touch before his hand fully glides against the bare skin of your waist, confident and itching for more.

Your breath hitches in your throat when his fingertips brush the underside of your breasts. For the sake of comfort, you've skipped out on wearing a bra, as you always do when you're close to your bedtime. So his accidental closeness doesn't come as a surprise.

Eren, on the other hand, is taken aback by the lack of undergarments, his fingers timidly backing down from the area, but still dangerously close as he continues to explore every corner of your mouth with his tongue.

His erection is pressed against your ass with every small motion, reminding you of how easily excitable he is each time you find yourselves in compromising positions. 

A sinful whine escapes your lips when you feel him twitch underneath you.

He pulls back from the kiss the tiniest bit, flustered but with a cool enough head to check in on you. 

You breathe into each other's mouths, hot and heavy.

“Do you wanna stop?” he murmurs, cheeks red and lips swollen as he exhales short breaths.

You bite down on your bottom lip, unsure if it's what you truly want.

With every heated encounter, it's getting harder to resist him. You know he's not purposely doing anything to tilt the scales in favor of finally having sex. In fact, he's been a perfect gentleman about your boundaries, always sure to keep himself in check and asking you to talk to him when things start escalating.

You admire him for it, but sometimes it bothers you to think he's holding back and you should loosen up for his sake.

“Do you?” you ask.

He takes a beat to respond. When he finally does, it leaves you speechless.

“No.” 

The confidence in his answer is clear, leaving no room for doubt over how he feels.

You curl your lips inwards, slowly nodding as his answer courses through your brain.

A velvet kiss is placed on the corner of your mouth.

“But I promised,” he whispers reassuringly.

You swallow thickly as the air around you is dissipated of any tension and the pressure in your chest softens.

“I feel like I'm putting you through hell,” you sheepishly admit.

He shakes his head.

“I won't lie. I want to touch you like you can't even imagine,” he murmurs. “But I really don't mind waiting. Nothing will happen unless you say yes.”

The same confidence from his previous statement laces through this one. It blankets you with peace.

So with one final kiss to his cheek, you climb off his lap and help him up.

As usual, the tent in his pants yells for attention, but he's not blushing as profusely as the first time it happened. 

“I should hop in the shower,” he says.

You nod.

“I'll clean up.”

A while later, you're both snuggled together underneath your covers, a mix of vanilla, citrus and eucalyptus wafting in the air. 

Eren's hand is underneath your shirt for a change, tracing soothing stripes on the small of your back with his thumb, as you trace the curve of his bottom lip with yours.

“Has anyone told you you're pretty?” you ask him sincerely in a hushed voice.

An amused air blows through his nose, making you smile in the process.

“I don't think so,” he says. “Am I?”

You nod.

“You've got really pretty eyes, and long lashes, and perfect lips,” you whisper, tracing around every feature with your gaze. “I'm jealous.”

His eyes flutter closed when your fingertips graze near the area.

“More, please.” 

You giggle, letting the pads of your fingers trail down to the bridge of his nose. 

“I really like your freckles, too,” you say. “But they're kind of faded now.”

“Just wait til the summer, they'll be back,” he says, eyes open again.

You hum in response.

“Is there more?” he teases.

You laugh.

“Yeah.”

You push him back gently so that he lays flat on his back as you prop yourself on one elbow to hover over his face.

“Thank you for caring about me,” you murmur, eyes twinkling in the cool moonlight that filters through your bedroom curtains.

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, a smile forming on his lips when you lean into his touch.

A sigh leaves his lips when you bend down to kiss him, tenderly moving your lips between his in sweet motions you hope accurately convey your fondness.

“I love you, Eren.”

The words knock the air out of his lungs. The world comes to a halt as your honest feelings float above his head. 

Three little words. Three simple words that carry the weight of the whole universe. 

Eren's stuck in place, unable to formulate a proper string of words, the sudden tingle in his chest keeping him from making sense of his surroundings as it echoes throughout his entire body. 

Say something, he begs himself internally.

He doesn't. He can't. He doesn't possess the functions that allow him to.

It's frustrating.

But you're calm. You smile and kiss him again, before turning on your side to sleep. 

When he finally regains control of himself, Eren wraps his arms tightly around your sleeping body, pulling you flush against his chest as three little words remain lodged in his throat.

Previous chapter | Next chapter 

Chapter guide  |  Masterlist  |  Navigation

taglist: @erenjaegerwifee @youatemylollipop @okaystopwhore @bakuhoethotski @f4irygard3n

[littlebignoona]

THE MOON SISTERS (SEVENTEEN FF)

SISTER SWITCH: MANAGER OF SEVENTEEN "I'm pregnant," she said quietly. Dabi choked on her tea. "What?" "I need your help," Dami added, her voice barely above a whisper.

Chapter 1

The growl of a motorcycle engine echoed through the city streets as Dabi pulled up to the martial arts building, the tires screeching slightly against the pavement as she stopped. She removed her midnight blue helmet, shaking loose her matching dyed hair that shimmered under the sunlight. Clad in a black leather jacket and boots, her confident stride exuded both rebellion and strength as she entered the gym.

The air was alive with energy: the sound of gloves hitting pads, laughter from teammates, and the occasional shout of encouragement. Dabi waved at her mixed martial arts team with a smirk.

“Look who finally decided to show up!” one of them teased, his voice playful.

“Don’t start with me, Jihoon,” she shot back with a grin, making her way to the back of the gym where a row of spray-painted lockers lined the wall. The art was a chaotic mix of graffiti tags and inside jokes, some of which Dabi had added herself. She peeled off her leather jacket, revealing slender arms adorned with small, scattered tattoos, each one holding a story she rarely shared.

As she tied up her hair, preparing for practice, her reflection in the cracked mirror above the lockers caught her eye. Midnight blue locks framed her face, a stark contrast to her tattoos and sharp expression. After slipping into her workout clothes, she stepped onto the mats, stretching as her teammates passed by, offering fist bumps and warm smiles.

“Ready to get your ass kicked by Coach Park?” Jihoon called out again, earning a chorus of chuckles.

“Keep talking, and you’ll be next,” Dabi retorted, rolling her shoulders as she stepped into the ring.

Coach Park stood across from her, arms crossed, his expression both stern and amused. But before they could begin, a voice rang out across the gym.

“Dabi!”

Everyone froze. Dabi turned, spotting a figure at the entrance. The newcomer was strikingly familiar—a mirror image of Dabi, save for her natural black hair and spotless appearance. She was dressed in a sleek black blazer and matching trousers, her sharp heels clicking on the floor as she entered. The gym fell silent.

Dabi’s smirk widened. “Dami?”

She ducked under the ropes, leaving Coach Park with a shrug, and ran to her twin sister, throwing her arms around her. “What are you doing here?”

Coach Park approached, arms still folded. “Twin sister?” he asked, eyeing the two with mild disbelief.

“That’s right,” Dabi answered proudly, still grinning. “This is my baby sister, Dami.”

The team greeted Dami with waves and smiles, but her demeanor was far different from Dabi’s. Where Dabi was loose and easygoing, Dami stood rigid, bowing politely to each greeting.

“Always so formal,” Dabi teased, nudging her sister. “Relax. These guys don’t bite.”

Dami only sighed, earning another chuckle from Dabi, who led her toward the back room.

In the quiet of the lounge, the twins sat across from each other. Dabi lounged back on a worn sofa, her posture relaxed, one leg draped over the armrest. Her smirk hadn’t left her face. Dami, meanwhile, sat primly in a chair, her back straight and hands folded in her lap, her ice coffee untouched in front of her.

“So, what’s the emergency?” Dabi asked, sipping her tea. “You don’t exactly drop by for casual visits.”

Dami hesitated, her fingers tightening around her cup. Finally, she took a breath and placed a hand on her stomach. When she looked up, fear glimmered in her eyes for the first time.

“I’m pregnant,” she said quietly.

Dabi choked on her tea. “What?”

“I need your help,” Dami added, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dabi leaned forward, staring at her sister as if she had grown a second head. “Help with what? You’re the golden child, remember? The perfect one. You’ve got this.”

Dami sighed, rubbing her temples. “I can’t take time off work. My job—it’s complicated.”

“Ask for time off,” Dabi said, still trying to process the news.

“I can’t,” Dami snapped, her voice sharper now. “I’m sleeping with my boss.”

Dabi leaned back, letting out a disbelieving laugh. “You? Miss Perfect? Sleeping with your boss? This just keeps getting better.”

“It’s not funny!” Dami shot back, her cheeks burning. “If anyone finds out, it could ruin me.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Dabi asked, folding her arms. “Keep it? Tell Mom and Dad? Elope with the boss?”

Dami nodded slowly. “He wants us to get married, but I need time to sort everything out. I can’t lose my job. I need you to take my place at work for a year.”

The room fell silent. Dabi blinked at her, incredulous. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m serious,” Dami said. “He knows the truth and agrees. I just need time.”

Dabi groaned, rubbing her temples. “You know I’ve got my own life, right? Competitions, the gym, my team.”

“One year,” Dami pleaded. “Please.”

Dabi studied her sister, noting the desperation in her eyes. Despite everything, Dabi couldn’t ignore the bond they shared.

“Fine,” she said finally. “But you owe me. Big time.”

Dami nodded, relief washing over her. As she stood to leave, Dabi leaned back, shaking her head.

“K-pop manager,” she muttered. “This is going to be a disaster.”

Dabi sat cross-legged on the gym floor, her teammates forming a loose circle around her. The hum of the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above, and the faint scent of sweat and rubber mats filled the air. Her team’s faces ranged from curious to concerned as she dropped the bombshell.

“So… I’m gonna be gone for a while,” Dabi began, running a hand through her midnight blue hair. “Not permanently. Just… I need to do something for my sister.”

Jihoon leaned forward, his brows furrowed. “What do you mean, ‘gone for a while’? What kind of thing?”

Dabi hesitated, glancing at Coach Park, who stood at the edge of the circle with his arms folded. Finally, she sighed. “Dami—my sister—needs me to take her place at her job for a year. Long story short, she’s pregnant, and she can’t risk losing her career.”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the team. “You? In an office job?” someone muttered.

“Yeah, hilarious, I know,” Dabi said, rolling her eyes. “But this is serious. She’s in a mess, and I’m the only one who can help her.”

“Do they know?” Jihoon asked, his voice low. “Her coworkers? Her boss? Anyone?”

“Her boss knows. That’s it,” Dabi said firmly. “The rest of it stays a secret. I’m telling you all because you’re my team. I trust you, and you deserve to know what’s going on.”

The room fell quiet. It was rare for Dabi to get this serious, and her teammates seemed to sense the weight of her words.

Coach Park broke the silence, his tone gruff but warm. “I appreciate the honesty, Dabi. But don’t think you’re off the hook. I still expect you here for practice.”

Dabi grinned, the tension breaking slightly. “Wouldn’t dream of skipping, Coach. I’ll come by on weekends when I can.”

The team nodded, their initial concern giving way to support. Jihoon clapped her on the back. “You’ve got this, Dabi. Just don’t forget us when you’re hobnobbing with the rich and famous.”

Later that evening, Dabi trudged up the stairs to her tiny apartment, her boots echoing in the quiet hallway. Inside, the familiar chaos greeted her: a pile of mail on the counter, an unmade bed, and a punching bag swaying gently in the corner. She grabbed a duffel bag from her closet and began packing. A few changes of clothes, toiletries, and a worn leather journal went into the bag before she zipped it up.

She took one last look around her apartment before heading out. “A year,” she muttered to herself, slinging the bag over her shoulder. “I can survive a year.”

The contrast hit her the moment she stepped into Dami’s apartment. The space was pristine, filled with soft, neutral tones and expensive furniture that screamed “success.” The faint smell of lavender hung in the air. Dabi felt out of place immediately, her scuffed boots leaving faint marks on the polished floors.

“Dabi,” a smooth voice called, and she turned to see Dami’s boss—and apparent lover—standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He was tall, with neatly combed dark hair and a sharp outfit  that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe.

“Mr. Perfect, I assume,” Dabi said, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckled, extending a hand. “I’m Seo-jin. And thank you, truly, for helping out. I know this isn’t ideal.”

“Yeah, you think?” Dabi shot back, shaking his hand.

Seo-jin’s expression softened. “I’m doing everything I can to support her. I’ll keep the secret, and I’ll make sure no one suspects the switch. But Dami and I both know this is asking a lot of you.”

Dabi crossed her arms, her gaze sharp. “Good. Just keep your end of the deal. I’m not about to wreck my life for nothing.”

Seo-jin nodded solemnly. “Of course.”

As Dabi made her way to the guest room, she couldn’t help but glance back at Seo-jin. Despite herself, she could see why her sister had fallen for him. But she wasn’t here to judge—she was here to protect her sister’s future.

And for the next year, she would have to become someone she barely recognized.

The faint hum of a hairdryer filled the luxurious bathroom of Dami’s apartment. Dabi sat on a stool in front of the marble counter, her midnight blue hair draped over her shoulders. Dami stood behind her, a pair of gloves on her hands and a determined look on her face.

“This feels like a funeral,” Dabi muttered, glancing at her reflection as Dami worked the black dye into her hair.

Dami rolled her eyes. “It’s called blending in, Dabi. Midnight blue isn’t exactly subtle for a corporate office.”

“It’s my signature,” Dabi shot back with a smirk.

“Well, now it’s my signature, and I need to keep my job,” Dami said, gently tugging a strand of hair. “Besides, I’m the one who’s really taking the risk here. I’m going to America for a year so no one finds out about this.”

“America, huh?” Dabi quirked an eyebrow. “Living the dream, running away from your problems. What happens if someone figures it out while you’re gone?”

“They won’t,” Dami said confidently. “Seo-jin will keep his mouth shut, and you’ll follow the script. As long as you don’t act like you, we’ll be fine.”

Dabi laughed, a low, throaty chuckle that filled the room. “You make it sound so easy. Act boring, follow rules, look like a robot—basically, just be you.”

Dami paused, shooting her sister a mock glare in the mirror. “You’re not that funny.”

“No, but I’m right,” Dabi teased, leaning back slightly.

Once the dye was applied, Dami set a timer and leaned against the counter, watching her sister. “Where’s the leather jacket?” she asked. “You’re going to need to retire that too.”

Dabi let out an exaggerated groan. “You’re stripping me of my identity piece by piece. Next, you’ll tell me I can’t wear my boots.”

“I already ordered flats in your size,” Dami said with a grin.

Dabi shot her a look. “You’re evil.”

Later, with her newly dyed black hair and a slightly annoyed expression, Dabi followed Dami into the living room. She looked around the apartment again, her eyes scanning the pristine furniture, the minimalist decor, and the color palette of whites and grays.

“Your place is as boring looking as you are,” Dabi said, dropping onto the couch with a dramatic sigh.

Dami turned, her mouth falling open in mock indignation. Without hesitation, she swatted Dabi’s arm.

“Ow!” Dabi laughed, clutching her arm theatrically. “Assault! Call the cops!”

“You deserve it,” Dami said, shaking her head, but a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“You know I’m right,” Dabi quipped, still chuckling.

Dami led her down the hall to the guest room, opening the door to reveal a neatly arranged space. The bed was perfectly made, the walls adorned with bland artwork, and a vase of white flowers sat on the nightstand.

“This is where you’ll stay,” Dami said, motioning to the room.

Dabi dropped her duffel bag on the bed and scanned the room with a critical eye. “Yeah, this checks out. Boring.”

“Don’t start,” Dami warned, crossing her arms.

“I’m just saying,” Dabi said with a grin, “a little color wouldn’t kill you.”

Dami rolled her eyes, turning to leave. “Make yourself at home. Just… try not to ruin anything.”

Dabi flopped onto the bed, letting out a dramatic sigh. “You mean try not to have fun, right?”

Dami didn’t answer, but the faint sound of her laugh echoed down the hallway, leaving Dabi alone in the guest room, her grin fading into a thoughtful expression. This was going to be a strange year.

The next morning, the apartment was filled with an unspoken tension as Dabi and Dami stood near the door. The stark contrast between the twins had never been more apparent—Dabi in her casual leather jacket over a hoodie, and Dami in a chic black trench coat that screamed professionalism.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Dami said softly, her arms wrapped tightly around her sister in a rare show of vulnerability.

Dabi smirked, her arms squeezing back just as fiercely. “You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

Dami pulled back, her lips twitching upward despite the tears threatening to spill. The twins locked pinkies in their childhood tradition, sealing their bond silently.

“You’ve got this,” Dabi added. “Now, go make boring look glamorous.”

Dami laughed lightly before nodding. Her lover—now fiancé—waited patiently by the door, his suitcase in hand. She walked out without looking back, the weight of their secret heavy in the air.

By the time Dabi stepped into the lobby of HYBE Entertainment, she was in full character mode. Her casual swagger was tempered by a deliberate air of professionalism—her sister’s warnings echoing in her mind.

She nodded at the security guard at the front desk, who looked up in mild surprise at her acknowledgment. “Morning,” she said casually, sliding her ID across the scanner with ease.

“Good morning, Manager Oh,” the guard replied, still looking stunned.

Dabi chuckled to herself as she walked toward the elevators. Manager Oh felt so foreign, it was their mother’s maiden name. Unlike the last name she used, Moon, which was her father’s, who raised her after their parents divorced. She scanned her face at the security check, and the panel beeped in approval, granting her access.

As the elevator doors slid open, she stepped inside, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. She hit the button for her floor just before a soft chime signaled the elevator stopping again. The doors opened to reveal a group of ridiculously handsome young men, all in casual but trendy attire that screamed idol status.

Dabi raised an eyebrow but quickly plastered on a polite smile. She stepped to the side to give them space, bowing slightly. “Good morning.”

The idols blinked in surprise before bowing back. “Good morning,” one of them said, his voice smooth, his tone slightly cautious.

They stood in silence as the elevator climbed, the air thick with the mix of polite professionalism and curious glances. Dabi could feel their eyes on her, as if they were trying to piece together who she was.

She let out a low sigh, not out of irritation but out of habit, as her newly dyed black hair tickled her shoulders. Without thinking, she reached up, gathering it into a high ponytail. As she secured the hair tie, she missed the subtle shift in the group’s demeanor.

One of the idols—leaning casually against the wall—noticed the faint outline of ink peeking out from the edge of her sweater. His eyes lingered on the tattoo for a moment longer than necessary, curiosity sparking in his gaze.

Dabi, oblivious, adjusted her bag strap again and glanced up at the floor numbers lighting up. This was going to be interesting.

She got off the 20th floor, bowing at the artists, who quickly bowed back, before she made her way towards her seat. She greeted everyone with a smile, as they slowly eyed her. 

Chapter 2

[yellowbunnydreams]

The Blood Runs Thicker (part 16) ~vampire!William Afton x F! Reader~

~I was meant to be writing Bunny Ears but I am getting so incredibly frustrated with how it's turning out and I'm not prepared to force myself into compliance and publish something that I'm not happy with. Sorry but hopefully I can clear my head and write it soon!~

Tag-List; @ruh--roh-raggy @randymeeksisafinalgirl @sleepy---head @robin-the-enby @hungrhay @likoplays @slxsher-whxre @nicolezghostz @spiderlilytengu @yondus-girl @puppetstr1ings

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* Want more or something different? *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

CW:Minors DNI, (18+ ONLY), Female Reader, legal age gap (Reader- 20's, William - ??), graphic acts of violence, biting, knife-play, blood, blood-drinking/licking, mention of dead children, anaemia. Mentions of torture. Drama/Angst. Possessive behaviour. Descriptions of a medical nature and disability.

The tension in the quaintly decorated living room almost left a metallic taste in your mouth, unlike the taste of copperish pennies you had somewhat become accustomed to running into in the last however long it had been since you came into William Afton's care, this one carried something cold and acrid behind it. Nobody seemed comfortable.

Faded floral curtains and pillows, dumpy worn out couches and worn out wooden furniture that were cluttered with poorly made clay sculptures that you couldn't even tell what they were meant to be and framed photos that had started to turn sepia in the years of sunlight told of a life well lived and fulfilled. But something about it was...odd. Off. A carefully wandering eye could pick up the dust that could no longer be reached, or perhaps it was no longer cared about. First aid kits and boxes of medications were tucked away out of first impressions line of sight, an unnerving amount of drugs for a singular man to have possession of, photos that looked like they had been folded and partially hidden away. The magazines on the table twenty years or so out of date, locked in a time perhaps happier for the family who lived there.

And then there was Henry Emily himself.

You could make out that once upon a time he was probably strong and wirey. His green eyes carrying an almost unnerving sharpness to them despite the skin that started to be marked with liver-spots and form a paper-thin barrier against the world, bent back and sallow cheeks. Greyish hair unkempt not in a playfully curly way, but like he hadn't had the energy to brush it in a while.

Even the tea he had made for you all seemed weak and cold in your hands as you cradled it between your palms.

"How is the tea?" He finally spoke after what had seemed like forever in silence. Making you jump at the sudden noise before you made a non-commital noise of affirmation. Those green eyes never wavering from William's face even though he was clearly addressing the pair of guests.

"It's..it's what I needed, thank you Mr. Emily." Was your polite reply, taking a sip of the lukewarm beverage and trying to hide your distaste as William brought it to his lips too and you watched as he managed to keep a strong poker face whilst drinking it down in only a few gulps. You were beginning to envy the fact that the vampire couldn't taste.

"Quit staring at me Henry, you're freaking your other guest out if not me." William's gravelly voice broke through and Henry blinked for what felt like the first time in hours.

"You're dead William. You were declared dead over twenty years ago."

"A common misconception."

"'A common misconception'? Misconception?! I remember them dragging the lakes nearby for your body! You disappeared, Clara had fucked off to how knows where and Michael and Elizabeth disappeared shortly after you." You could hear the hurt in the older man's voice as it wavered slightly, watching him swallow hard. You hadn't known William long in the grand scheme of things, but you could tell he was intensely uncomfortable with the way his eyes unwaveringly lingered on some loose threads on the arm of the couch rather than his old friend.

"You were declared dead?" You asked, receiving a stern look from the vampire before he sucked at his teeth. He supposed that Henry's own daughter would have been a little older than you were, he honestly had found it harder to keep track of the ages in his old life the longer it had been since he interacted with it.

"Again, a misunderstanding. I simply needed....to remove myself for a little while."

"You disappeared when your family needed you William. When I needed you." Henry swallowed again as William finally brought his eyes up to meet Henry's like they were old friends once again, that lingering feeling like somebody was supposed to be there with him finally at peace for a multitude of reasons, although he would never admit it.

"I'm sorry."

Henry stared incredulously at the man before him. William Afton did not look different to the last time he saw him, not a day over. He seemed to occasionally glance towards the daylight lamp that the Emily house sported by the medicine cabinet, and then wince away like it hurt him, and Henry certainly didn't recall anybody that would have been around to produce somebody like you. You seemed almost the polar opposite of his former best friend, although you carried your own reserved posture that made Henry wonder what you too had lost. Glancing back at William and then back at you, Henry pursed his lips before speaking again.

"Is this your..." He asked, gesturing his hand vaugely before Afton snorted and shook his head, leaning back in the seat and crossing his arms.

"Really Henry? No, she's not my kid, she's....Look, we're travelling together right now, she's been a life-saver." You glanced at the vampire and wondered if he was feeling alright. The closest thing you'd had to a compliment from him, aside from when he had called you pretty in that always slightly demeaning way like it was your only redeeming quality.

"Right...Aren't you going to ask about Charlie then? It's...It's been a while, she was still in the hospital when you left." William stiffened slightly next to you, and you recalled Elizabeth mentioning somebody called Charlie when you had unfortunately met.

"I wasn't aware that she had..."

"No. The doctors have said she'll never walk again, she can't speak. I can only pray that she isn't stuck in her own mind."

The silence was deafening, William's stony, sculpted face twitched with hints of many emotions that you couldn't decipher in that moment, but you said nothing. Henry obviously wasn't aware of what William was, and mentioning it could damage whatever frail olive branch either man had, but you swore for a split second that Afton's face was riddled with guilt.

"I'm sorry, Henry." Henry's face softened as he looked down at his hands, wringing them together as he seemed to contemplate something for a moment before sighing.

"Me too, Will."

Looking between the two men, you saw Afton's expression softening in a way that it never did when he looked at you. There was an unexplained pang in your chest at the realisation, that you had started developing sincere feelings for William Afton despite all you had been through thanks to him, but that they would never be returned as you watched the way his eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled at Henry sadly. The lopsided smile that revealed dimples and smile lines.

You had almost forgotten that you were a convenience for him.

The sound of an alarm going off near to Henry was what made you jump out of your pity party, seeming to Snap William out of whatever his thoughts were too as Henry pulled out his phone whilst muttering an apology and pressing the screen to dismiss the alarm, sighing and running his fingers through his lack-lustre curls.

"Sorry, that's my alarm to remind me to go and get Charlie into bed. I should-"

"How about I go and get her sorted?" You offered, watching both of the older men blink slowly in surprised before Henry's shoulders relaxed a little more. "You two seem to have a lot to talk about and catch up on, I don't mind."

"Are you sure? She can be quite heavy..."

"I've dragged William's drunk ass home, I'm sure Charlie will be fine." Giving a warm smile and watching William scowl before Henry's laugh distracted him. Devolving into a rattling cough after a moment that made the taller man move couches and gently pat his friend's back in a soothing motion. You supposed that once, he had been a dad after all. But you left them to it, William comforting Henry as they said nothing about his frail condition.

Despite the fact that you never got directions from Henry, you somehow managed to find your way through the house, something whispering in the back of your mind like it had when you first arrived at Freddy's.

That did not leave you with a good feeling.

--

The whirr and beep of medical devices alerted you to where you needed to be, seeing a woman who looked closer to Elizabeth Afton's age than yours sat in a wheelchair, staring at a TV that seemed to be playing a random channel that it had been switched onto at some point. You recognised it as being a kid's channel, but now her gaunt features were illuminated by the static screen that apologised for the end of scheduled programming.

You could see from what little of the room that wasn't taken up by the large hospital bed and moving equipment, that the room was a shrine to when Charlie Emily had come to be as she was now. Faded pink walls and brighter outlines on the paint where butterfly stickers had once been placed with care, a beaten up white dresser that now stored medical supplies rather than the colourful outfits of childhood. She was rail thin, pale, but her dark hair was immaculate and she was dressed in comfortable, clean clothing that showed no sign of being distressed in any way.

It was clear that despite his own complications, whatever they were, that Henry took immense care of his daughter.

As you grabbed the handles on the wheelchair to move her closer to the bed, you noticed the way her hair sat against the back of her neck wasn't quite right. Frowning, you brushed the hair aside and felt your fingers pausing as you revealed a slightly mangled, but large scar across the back of her neck. Almost like something had grabbed at four separate points and dragged inwards, Charlie gave a tiny twitch as you touched them, and you felt sorry for whatever had happened to the young woman.

"Sorry Charlie, I offered to put you into bed for your dad." You offered your name, like she was going to respond as she continued to stare blankly ahead, blinking slowly like her papery lids were heavy against her sunken sockets.

'You're the first person in a while to actually speak like I'm a person.'

Your head whipped around, searching for the voice. Heart pounding in your chest as a cold breeze brushed across the back of your neck. You knew that you had felt something off, but this wasn't the sort of confused, sad feeling that seemed to accompany the ghosts of Freddy's, including Evan. No, this seemed sad still, but far more....bored?

"Charlie?"

'In the...Well, I would say flesh, but that would sort of be a lie wouldn't it?'

You stopped looking after a moment, and then you saw her. A greyish shape from the corner of your eye that only certain features could be made out from. Dark, curled hair, a green t-shirt. It seemed to flicker and fluctuate between being small like a child and larger like the physical body in front of you.

"But you're not dead....and you're not surprised I can hear you." The tone was perhaps slightly accusatory as you gently reached under her body and picked her up with a grunt, placing her onto the bed and jumping slightly as you realised the eyes had rolled over to focus on you.

'No, I'm....between. Didn't quite die, but I'm not exactly living it either, am I? I suppose I've always hoped that somebody could hear me, dad just thinks he's imagining things when he occasionally picks up on it.' Charlie shuddered again as the grey shape passed by, the eyes rolling about slowly in the sockets and you watched as her left hand twitched slightly, though nothing more as the shape passed onto the other side of the room. Constantly in your peripherals.

"I... I suppose you've sort of aged with your body then?" Hearing what might have been a laugh from the not-quite ghost who seemed rather invested in communicating with you, and you weren't sure you blamed her, seeing the way her physical body was before you whilst you tucked in the covers carefully around her.

There was no answer for a moment, but you felt the cold circling around near by. It was always a strange feeling when the ghosts were around, but you had sort of gotten used to the few times that it had popped up. Charlie was the one. aside from Evan, who had lingered most, and you were curious if she could articulate what had happened to her.

'Sort of. It's a bit weird....'

'Can I ask a question....or rather a favour?'

"Sure, what do you need? Not to be stuck on the kid's channel all day? Are you in pain?" You asked, side-eyeing the ghost as you brushed some dark hair from her physical face.

'Can you get Uncle Will to finish the job that he started twenty years ago?'

"What do you mean?" Brow furrowed in confusion as the woman in front of you gave a shuddering sigh, like the ghost influenced her still physical and alive body.

'I want him to actually kill me this time.'

[urmom-richietozier1]

NEW PJO OC!!!

First Name: Solar

Middle Name: Eclipse

Last Name: Dione

Godly Parent: Nyx, Goddess of the Night.

Reason for Scar: During her childhood, Solar witnessed a fierce battle between minor deities and was caught in the crossfire. A rogue celestial weapon left her scarred, but this also awakened her latent divine power.

Sexuality: Pansexual (Solar values connection over gender and embraces love in all its forms.)

Pronouns: She/her/hers

Nationality: Athens, Greece

Backstory:

Solar grew up in Athens, where she lived with her mortal father, a reclusive scholar who taught her about ancient myths and stories of the gods. Her childhood was spent surrounded by books, the starry night sky, and whispers of spirits she could sense but couldn’t yet see. After the celestial battle that changed her life, she was brought to Camp Half-Blood, where she learned of her true heritage and trained to master her powers. Solar still struggles with balancing her connection to the mortal world and her divine lineage.

Prophecy:

"Through shadows, she walks, where night takes its flight,

A child of Nyx must guide the light.

When the sun and moon in chaos align,

A choice she’ll make—redemption or decline."

Relationship:

Solar is close friends with a child of Hecate who shares her interest in magic and the supernatural. She also has a growing romantic bond with a child of Apollo, whose sunny and extroverted personality balances her introspective nature.

Personality Traits:

Quiet but deeply empathetic and intuitive.

Creative and thoughtful, often overthinking situations but finding solutions others might miss.

Loyal and protective of her loved ones, though she struggles with opening up.

Has a dry sense of humor that surprises people who think she’s overly serious.

Often feels torn between wanting solitude and a desire to connect with others.

Hobbies:

1. Stargazing: She finds peace in the constellations and often sketches them in her notebook.

2. Jewelry Crafting: Solar creates necklaces, rings, and bracelets using beads, stones, and scraps of metal. Many pieces are enchanted to ward off negative energy.

3. Poetry and Writing: She keeps a journal filled with cryptic verses, dreams, and observations about the people around her. Writing helps her process her emotions.

4. Herbalism: Solar loves learning about plants and their magical or medicinal properties. She creates herbal salves and teas to help herself and her friends recover after battles.

5. Tarot Reading: With her natural connection to spirits, she uses tarot cards as a way to guide herself and her friends.

6. Music: She plays the lyre (an ancient instrument she found during a quest) and composes haunting melodies that seem to resonate with spirits.

7. Urban Exploration: She loves exploring ruins, abandoned places, and dark corners of the camp, where she feels most connected to her mother’s domain.

8. Shadow Puppetry: A whimsical hobby where she uses her shadow manipulation to create elaborate puppet shows for younger demigods.

Powers and Abilities:

Shadow Manipulation: She can control shadows to create illusions, shields, or tendrils for attack.

Spirit Communication: She can speak with ghosts, sometimes summoning them for guidance or assistance in battle.

Dreamwalking: Solar can enter and influence the dreams of others, though it leaves her physically exhausted.

Night Vision: She sees perfectly in complete darkness, which gives her an advantage in stealth missions.

Aura of Calm: Her presence can soothe those around her, a subtle gift from Nyx that helps with her connection to spirits and living beings alike.

Appearance Details:

Clothing Style: Solar wears dark, layered outfits, often incorporating celestial patterns and flowing fabrics. Her favorite hoodie, embroidered with tiny constellations, was a gift from her father.

Accessories: She always wears her handmade necklaces, especially one with a crescent moon pendant.

Hair: Often tied up in a messy bun or braid, but she lets it loose during ceremonies or when she’s deep in thought.

Eyes: Her dark eyes seem to glimmer faintly in dim light, hinting at her divine heritage.

Scar: A jagged mark across her cheek, which she has come to wear proudly as a sign of her resilience.

Weapons:

Nyxblade: A celestial bronze dagger that absorbs light and strengthens in darkness.

Moonlit Chakrams: A pair of razor-sharp discs that glow faintly and return to her when thrown.

Spellbook: A small enchanted book filled with spells, incantations, and protective charms she has learned.

Additional Quirks:

She has a faint scent of lavender and midnight air, which follows her wherever she goes.

Despite her serious demeanor, she has a secret love for animals, especially owls and black cats.

She has a habit of humming soft tunes when she’s alone, usually songs her mortal father used to sing to her.

[natsuki-bakery]

⁎˚ ఎ Genshin Impact Agere ໒ ˚⁎

Hi ! Can you do a Caregiver Tighnari headcanon please?

•Tighnari would quickly recognize age regression as a way for you to feel safe and manage stress. He’d be curious about it at first, but once he understood its purpose, he’d be fully supportive and make sure you have the space to be little whenever you need. He'd have no problem adapting his routines and approach to support you during these moments !

•Tighnari’s experience as a forest ranger has sharpened his observation skills, making him exceptionally attentive. He can tell if you’re feeling a little off even before you say anything, just by noticing subtle cues in your behavior. If he sees you’re feeling overwhelmed or needing comfort, he’ll immediately adapt his approach—whether that’s offering extra care or just being there quietly

•Tighnari would use nature as his toolkit for helping you relax. He’ll plan gentle, hands-on activities like planting small flowers, gathering interesting leaves, or even helping him sort and catalog his findings from the forest. These activities aren’t only engaging but also calming, and he’ll explain each plant or insect you find in an accessible way that brings out wonder without overwhelming you with information

•Structure and predictability are important to him, and he believes it’s grounding for you, too. So, Tighnari would set up a loose daily routine based on your needs and energy levels. He’d help you wake up with the sunrise and guide you to bed when the stars come out, ensuring you get plenty of rest and time to enjoy the natural rhythm of the forest

•Tighnari would go to great lengths to create a cozy, safe space for you in Gandharva Ville. He’d gather comfortable pillows, blankets, and a mix of forest elements—soft leaves, dried flowers, small crystals, and gentle herbs—that smell like home and relaxation. He’d probably place this little nest near the window, so you can look out and enjoy the view whenever you need to feel calm

•As an experienced botanist, Tighnari knows tons of natural remedies for calming down. If he senses you’re feeling anxious or need help winding down, he’ll prepare a tea with herbs that have gentle, soothing effects. He’s also incredibly patient with explaining which plants are helpful and why they work, making sure you feel safe and confident in using his remedies

•On quiet days, Tighnari would take you on calm walks in the forest, sharing stories and legends about the creatures and plants around. Sometimes he’ll even make up fantastical tales of tiny forest sprites or wise old trees with personalities. His soft, calm voice is perfect for creating a safe, magical world, and he enjoys seeing you engage with these stories

•Knowing how comforting the sounds of nature can be, Tighnari encourages you to focus on the ambient sounds in the forest. He’ll guide you to listen for birdsong, the rustling leaves, or the trickling water. Sometimes, he’ll just sit quietly beside you, letting the sounds of the forest calm both of you. He might even set up a small stream of water or a pot of chirping crickets near your space to keep the forest’s ambiance close

•Tighnari understands the importance of having clear, gentle boundaries, but he approaches them in a way that encourages growth and security. He’ll set expectations around self-care (like drinking enough water or resting when needed) but always gently encourages you, never forcing you. His approach is to give nudges rather than pushes, and he’s incredibly understanding if you need time

•He believes that understanding and recognizing emotions is essential to well-being, so he’d patiently help you learn to identify your feelings. Tighnari has a knack for using natural metaphors to help you understand emotions better—like saying feelings are like weather patterns, and they’ll pass like rain. He’s always open to talking through anything that’s bothering you

•Tighnari would encourage you to express yourself creatively, often bringing out materials like leaves, flower petals, and charcoal from burned branches for art projects. He might even press leaves and flowers with you, creating a collection you can look back on or use to decorate your space. To him, expressing yourself is an important way to feel connected and grounded, so he’d make sure you have access to these outlets

•Tighnari’s relationship with the forest animals is strong, and he’d use this to bring some gentle play into your day. If you’re comfortable, he’ll introduce you to friendly creatures like the shroomboars or some of the smaller, gentler wildlife in the forest. Watching the animals interact or just quietly sitting with them could be soothing, and Tighnari would guide the interactions so they’re safe and respectful

•Nighttime is important to Tighnari, as it’s when the forest quiets down. He’d likely create a special bedtime ritual for you, like sharing a calming tea, brushing your hair, or even letting you watch the stars together. He’s incredibly knowledgeable about constellations, so he’d share fun stories and facts about them if it helps you relax. The time he spends with you under the stars becomes a grounding ritual that reassures you before sleep

•Tighnari knows the importance of patience. He’d be endlessly supportive, cheering on your small accomplishments, and offering quiet encouragement when you’re feeling down. He’d constantly remind you that progress doesn’t have to be fast to be meaningful, giving you the freedom to move at your own pace

•Tighnari isn’t overly affectionate in public, but in a caregiving role, he’d show his support through subtle, comforting touches—a pat on the head, a gentle hand on your shoulder, or a quick side hug. He may not say much, but he always finds a way to show he’s there for you, making you feel safe, supported, and valued

•Tighnari would go out of his way to make a comfortable little corner just for you in Gandharva Ville. He’d fill it with soft blankets, cozy pillows, and maybe even some nature-themed toys. He might also keep stuffed animals made by his ranger friends or little charms shaped like forest animals nearby. This space would be dedicated just for you to feel secure and safe whenever you’re in littlespace

•Knowing that sensory play can be both fun and grounding, Tighnari would often bring you things like smooth stones, dried flowers, and pinecones to explore textures and smells. He might set up little “nature sensory bins” with safe leaves, flowers, or small water play setups (like a tiny puddle to splash in) to help engage your senses in a soothing way. He’d always be nearby, ensuring everything is safe

•Care Giver Tighnari knows all the safe herbs and flowers that can be used to make calming teas. He’d love setting up a little “tea party” with you, preparing mild, child-safe herbal teas (with plenty of honey if you like it!) served in small cups. He’ll join you in drinking “fancy tea” and munching on little snacks he brings, like forest fruits or simple biscuits. He’d be sure to let you pretend-play as the host of the party

•When you have extra energy and are feeling playful, Tighnari would take you on gentle nature walks. He’d point out interesting plants, show you safe bugs, and teach you the names of flowers, keeping the information simple and fun. He’ll even let you collect tiny “treasures” like leaves or stones. Walking with him feels like an adventure, and he always watches out to keep you safe

If you're in the basic criteria , are DSMP fans, vivziep0p fans , h0tel/h3lluva b0ss fans, Owl h0use fans, St4r butterfly fans, Ghibli fans, ddlg/abdl blogs, nsfw/k!nk blogs, anti-agere blogs, or anti Christians/Christianity blogs : just dont interact !