#Stands for plants and flowers outside

[faeyun]

ˋ 𑁍 ⨾ HALF-SMOKED CIGARETTES

the last thing you were expecting when taking a smoke outside was to see someone trying to sneakily cut flowers off your mom’s bushes in the front of your house in the middle of the night—nor were you expecting to become so enamored by him, either. and it seemed that the feeling was completely mutual.

❛ 이희승 𝑥 𝑓!reader ❜ 𓈒𓈒 ❨ 歌 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ❩ 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍, 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖾𝖿 ＆ 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝗁𝗂𝗆𝖻𝗈!𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗀, 𝗍𝖾𝖾𝗇𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗋𝗍𝖻𝖺𝗀!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 (𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝖾𝖾𝗇𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗋), 𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗂𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍 ＆ 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, ✴︎ 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 ／ 𝘤𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘷, 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩!𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 (𝘮. 𝘳𝘦𝘤), 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘺𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 (𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢), 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘫𝘰𝘣, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘦, 𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴 (𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺), 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘤𝘶𝘮𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴, 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬!𝘩𝘦𝘦, 𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘺, 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘶𝘱, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𓏸 1O,OOO ╱ 𝓶. list

( 𝓷 )。 a month and a half, a new username, and a new theme later… i am back!!! hello my lovelies, i hope you been well!! (>人<)♡ enjoy this lil fic while i work on some of my bigger wips! lowkey, i don’t like this one that much, but we prevail ... kisses mwah!! ♡♡

͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏  ͏  ͏ ͏ ͏͏ REBLOGS ◜◡◝ FEEDBACK APPRECIATED!

The cold night air bit at your skin through the thin cardigan you had thrown on minutes prior. It didn’t help that the only thing you had on underneath it was a simple tank top. You curled more into the cushions of the wooden porch swing you sat on, but it gave you no more warmth. Sighing at yourself, you let the smoke curl out from your nose and fill the air around your face. The least you could’ve done before creeping out of the house was put on something warmer than the—also—thin shorts you wore.

It was a rather quiet night, the only other noise coming from the slight wind that picked up here and there and the sound of you taking another drag of the burning cigarette between your fingers. The blackness of the night draped over you like a blanket, giving you slight comfort at the thought of sitting outside alone. Taking another drag of the cigarette, you were pulled out of your thoughts by the soft sounds of grass under the soles of shoes.

Your head turned towards the sound. A blur of black and denim passed in front of you and stopped in front of the beautiful arrangement of hydrangeas and azaleas your Mom had planted in front of your house. You froze in your spot on the porch swing, your cigarette halfway to your parted lips. Heart thumping in your chest, you forced yourself to take a deep inhale of the cool spring air and calm your nerves. 

Little by little, you stood from the porch swing and tried your best for it not to creak as you moved across the porch silently in your mismatched slippers. The blurry figure came more in view as you rounded the column, and if you weren’t so shaken you would’ve laughed.

You let the smoke spiral from the cigarette as you watched some guy cut flowers from the bushes your Mom delicately planted in the front yard. Somehow he hasn’t noticed you practically standing above him, despite his head being on a swivel for potential onlookers. A heap of hydrangeas and azaleas sat next to him as he cut another one off from the bush at an angle. Was he really stealing flowers from your yard right now in the dead of the night?

“Hey!” you called out, making sure not to be too loud that you might accidentally wake your Mom. The flower thief’s eyes darted up to yours in sudden fear. You raised an eyebrow at him, the corner of your lips lifting as you brought the cigarette to your lips and inhaled more smoke into your lungs. He jumped up, stolen flowers in a death grip in one hand and scissors in another, and suddenly came face to face with you. You blew the cigarette smoke in his face.

He took a couple steps back, coughing and waving the smoke away from his face with the hand that held his scissors. They glinted in the moonlight, the metal catching your eye. You chuckled a little to yourself, mainly because you thought that he was actually something to be afraid of at first. Who steals flowers from their next door neighbor?

You gasped, pressing your free hand to your chest in mock fear, “Are you trying to kill me with scissors right now?”

The flower thief looked like a deer caught in headlights. You could see the fear rippling through him like a stone in water as his wide eyes stared at you. He was frozen in his place. “What? What? No! I-I… Uh—”

He looked down to the flowers in his hand with furrowed brows and then held them out towards you. You chuckled again from your place on the porch still, the smile on your face growing as he stumbled over more and more of his words. You took one last drag from the cigarette before dropping the butt to your feet and smothering out the flame with your slipper. The flower thief persisted, continuously cutting himself off, “I was just… You see, it’s—”

You crossed your arms against your chest, trying to seem nonchalant but really trying to mask how cold you were right now, and got a good look at him. If you thought about it, he was pretty cute with his round features. He seemed rather tall—clad in a black oversized zip-up hoodie, loose denim jeans rolled at the bottom to show his funky socks that you couldn't make out that well, and dirty converse that were grass stained.

He must steal your Mom’s flowers a lot.

His brick red hair was disheveled and his wide brown eyes landed on just about anything other than you. “So you’re just a petty thief then, huh? Is that it? You like to steal flowers from poor innocent mothers who break their backs planting them, don’t you?” you ask him, trying not to let the laugh come out through your voice and barely succeeding.

“No!” he exclaimed, shaking his head rapidly with his arm still outstretched. “No… it’s for—I’m… I—”

The flower thief suddenly surged forward towards you and the flowers, making you take a wild step back. He quickly cut another flower from your Mom’s hydrangea and azalea bushes and took off towards his own house. “Sorry!” he threw behind him, giving you one last look.

You ran off the porch and into your yard after him, but stopped yourself short. “What the fuck, dude? Those are my Mom’s flowers!” you shouted in his direction. He threw more apologies at you, but didn’t stop his sprint. You just shook your head at him. Let him keep the flowers if they were so important to him that he had to steal them in the middle of the night.

You finally let out the laugh you were trying so hard to keep in. You tried your hardest to keep it relatively quiet, but knew you didn’t succeed when the neighbor across from you’s light flicked on. Taking off yourself, you darted back onto the porch and towards your front door, flinging it open and hiding yourself within the comfort of your own home.

“I wish you’d stop wearing these beat up shoes,” Heeseung’s Mom said as she examined the outfit he came downstairs in. She still hadn’t told him what he needed to get dressed for so he didn’t put much thought into his outfit. But, seeing how nice she cleaned up in a pretty jewel-toned dress, made him realize that that was a mistake. Heeseung’s Mom sighed in an ‘it’s good enough’ way as her gaze flicked back up to meet her son’s. “And you desperately need better clothes,” she continued, waving her hand in the air at him. “Did you not buy any new ones? Have you just been walking around your dorm and campus in this… questionable attire?”

Heeseung sighed at the way his Mom raised her brows at him in question. He couldn’t tell her that his shoes were so beat up because he’s been dragging them through dirt and along grass. As for his clothes… That was just his style—and he hadn’t thought there was anything wrong with it until now. Heeseung decided to not answer her and instead guide the conversation in a different direction. “You never said where we are going and why it’s so important for me to go with you,” Heeseung asked instead. 

After fiddling with the collar of his faded t-shirt, Heeseung’s Mom smiled up at him. “The neighbors have invited us to dinner! I hear their daughter is also back from college on spring break!” she exclaimed. Heeseung knew his Mom well enough to catch the hint in her words. This was all some elaborate set up to bring him and this poor random girl together, and the neighbors were most likely also part of it.

“Mom—” Heeseung started, but was cut off by his Mom raising a finger, the smile still on her face. 

“From all the stories I’ve heard she’s a nice, sweet girl and I think that the two of you would get along well. Now, go grab your jacket. It’s chilly outside.” Heeseung just sighed, a slight pout forming on his lips as he walked over to the coat closet.

When his Mom was grabbing her own jacket, Heeseung pulled the vase full of hydrangeas and azaleas out from its hiding place and presented it to her turned back. When she turned, her eyes landing on the beautiful display of flowers, she gasped. “For you, Mom,” the smile on Heeseung’s face grew wider with how his Mom’s face lit up.

She took the vase of flowers from his hands, smiling softly down at them. “You are so very sweet! But, don’t think that this is getting you out of this dinner.”

Heeseung groaned as his Mom placed the vase down by the window. Together, they stepped out of the house.

“So which neighbor is it?” Heeseung asked. He looked around at the houses that surrounded him. Heeseung wasn’t that familiar with his neighbors, especially not since he’s been at college, so it really could’ve been anyone. 

Heeseung’s Mom tilted her head towards the house right next to theirs, “The ones right next door! Come on, I don’t want to be late.”

Heeseung froze in place. Surely his Mom meant a different neighbor, right? One where he hasn’t been stealing flowers from every odd night since he came home? Too late his mind was putting together the pieces. The daughter that is back for spring break… That must’ve been you. He couldn’t come face to face with you again after that embarrassing encounter from last night! What if you exposed him? “Maybe we should skip out this time,” Heeseung practically begged.

“Nice try,” his Mom replied, “let's go.” She pushed him in front of her and towards the house. Defeated, Heeseung accepted his fate and crossed the shortcut through the grass to where your front walkway was. He stood behind his Mom hunched over himself—he really didn’t want to be standing on your doorstep right now.

A woman who he could only assume was your Mom opened the door after his knocked, a welcoming and warm smile on her face as she beckoned the both of them inside. Heeseung didn’t hear what your Mom was saying she cooked for dinner tonight, he was too busy scanning the living room for your presence.

Your home looked like any old suburban home in the area. As his Mom and yours began to chat, Heeseung looked around more at the photographs that hung on the wall. There were various photos of you and your Mom at different stages of your life—some where you were at a pool and others where you were holding trophies for an achievement Heeseung couldn’t make out.

His gaze lingered on the photographs that seemed more recent that were in frames along the table by the front door. You looked so different from how he last saw you at dead of night. In the picture, you didn’t have the smudged dark eyeliner around your eyes or the cigarette smoke clouding around you almost like a halo. It was somewhat odd to Heeseung to see you without them.

Heeseung’s name being said lowly caught his ears. He looked to the side to see his Mom and yours chatting in low—but not low enough—voices about the two of you, a please smile on their faces. “I told you he’d be interested!” Heeseung’s Mom whispered, her eyes quickly darting to where he stood, still bent over slightly to get a better look at your picture. “Speaking of, where is your daughter?”

All heads turned to the descending sound of footsteps at the staircase, your arrival coming at the perfect moment. Heeseung couldn’t deny that you were absolutely gorgeous. Your eyes met his and it felt as if time started to move more slowly. As you rounded the stair landing, your Mom rushed towards you and practically pulled you right in front of Heeseung before you could even have the chance to blink. “Honey, come greet our guests,” your Mom says.

You tilt your head at the guy standing before you, barely hearing your Mom give you his name. You almost couldn’t believe your eyes—this was the guy who was stealing flowers from the bushes out front last night! Did he have no shame? Why was in your house having dinner with you and your Mom?

You could, once again, see the barely disguised fear in his wide eyes. Lifting a finger at him, your brows furrowing, you began to speak but was quickly cut off by your Mom beating you to it. “Well, Heeseung’s Mom and I are gonna finish up here in the kitchen. Why don’t the two of you wait on the couch? Get to know each other before we eat dinner?”

It wasn’t like they gave you both a choice. One moment you were seconds from confronting the late-night landscaping larcenist and the next you were shoulder to shoulder on the couch with him while your Moms giggled and scurried off to the kitchen. You both jumped away from each other, and you gave him a glare.

“Listen,” Heeseung started, “I’m really sorry about the flowers. Please don’t tell your Mom! It’s just—I… They’re my Mom’s favorite flowers and they were just so accessible being in your front lawn, I thought it wouldn’t be that big of a deal! You know, shave some off the top and—”

You cut off his rambling by pressing a finger to his lips to silence him. Chuckling a little, you say, “I don’t really care about the flowers. Just… Why in the middle of the night? Why didn’t you just ask for some? I’m sure my Mom could've even given you some seeds or something.”

Heeseung’s stare immediately dropped to your finger still on his lips, to the chipped black nail polish that coated your nails. He could smell the perfume you sprayed on yourself and it briefly clouded his senses with its sweetness. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. His head was completely empty as he dragged his gaze back to you. It took you raising an eyebrow at him for Heeseung to snap back to his senses. “Uh… I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t really think about it,” he finally says, his voice slightly muffled.

You retracted your finger and Heeseung’s lips immediately felt cold without it. Lifting the corner of your lips up at him, you leaned back onto the couch, “I guess I’ll keep your secret, flower thief.” You said it loud enough for your Mom to potentially hear and Heeseung sat up straighter, peering over the couch to where the entrance to your kitchen was. You laughed, and Heeseung looked back at you shaking your head at him. “Don’t worry, they can’t hear us. They’re probably in there, like, planning our wedding or something… You do know this whole dinner is a set up, right?”

Your face grew serious for a moment before you broke out into another laugh. This time, Heeseung joined in. “Yeah, I figured. I wonder what made them put the two of us together.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” you asked, an offended look passed across your face. “Were you expecting something else? Am I not up to your standards?”

Heeseung was quick to say that that wasn’t the case, stumbling over his words on how pretty you were and that he wouldn’t mind being with you or even someone like you, before you cut in with another laugh. His heart was racing, but he awkwardly laughed along with you as he brought his hand up to scratch the back of his neck. Heseung was glad that the length of his hair hid how red the tips of his ears no doubt were.

“I’m just fucking with you,” you say, patting his shoulder. “You don’t have to fall over yourself trying to make me feel better.”

Before Heeseung could respond, his Mom poked her head out from the entrance of the kitchen. Behind her, the sound of your Mom’s voice caught both of your attention and you turned around at it, “—come hell or high water! Just you wait, they’ll be together!”

You looked over at him and gave him a wink. A smile pulled at Heeseung’s lips and his gaze lingered on you as you stared at your Moms emerging figures from the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready!” your Mom says, a delighted smile on her lips.

The two of you rose from the couch and made your way to the kitchen to help set out the dishes in the dining room. Each time Heeseung passed you, you made sure to graze your fingers along his bicep or let the fabric of your flannel brush his shoulder. When the two of you were alone in the kitchen, you pulled him down a little so your lips were at his ear and whispered: “Let’s give them something to be excited about.”

Dinner consisted of fake stolen glances and laughing a little too hard at anything Heeseung said. Between the act the two of you were putting you on, Heeseung was trying his absolute hardest to not let his face heat up to the point where everyone at the table could see how red he truly was. You subtly taunted him, bringing up the flower incident in front of your Mom without her putting two and two together.

“Mom,” you spoke, garnering the table’s attention, “I love the flowers you have planted out in front of the house. Don’t you like them too, Heeseung?” You turned to look at Heeseung and suddenly the table’s entire attention was on him.

Heeseung shifted in his chair, the cushion suddenly uncomfortable. He finished chewing, swallowing hard, giving him precious seconds to think before answering. “Y-Yeah—Yes, they’re very beautiful!” Heeseung’s voice came out a little strained, but he hoped that your Mom didn’t think too deeply about it. He glanced at you, raising a brow ever so slightly. What happened to keeping his secret?

You cleared your throat, clearly a tactic to mask your laugh as you hid your smile with your hand. You rested your head on your hand as you looked at him. Heeseung felt the toe of your boot at his ankle, slowly making its way further up his leg and dragging the bottom of his rolled up jeans with it. He shifted in his seat a little again and you smiled a little more, biting your lip.

“My exquisite hydrangeas and azaleas…” your Mom trailed, tsking and shaking her head. “I think we’ve had an uptick in bunnies or something! Every time I go outside to water them and make sure they are doing okay there’s always some that has been chewed off.” You looked over to Heeseung and he looked over to you. You shook your head at your Mom’s words, pretending to be sorrowful. “It’s so strange too! I never see any bunnies around, but I don’t know what else it could be,” your Mom continued.

“Such a shame…” Heeseung’s Mom trailed. He was glad that she didn’t piece together that the flowers he gave her earlier were the exact same flowers that were in front of your house—same color and all. If he was lucky, she must think that he had gotten them from the shop. Heeseung made sure to keep his mouth shut.

Under the table, your foot had traveled all the way up to right below Heeseung’s knee. He was trying his hardest to keep composed, but it was glaringly obvious that something was wrong with him by the way he kept squirming in his seat. His Mom’s eyes flicked over to him in question and Heeseung inhaled deeply. You tilted your head at him in concern, your brows furrowed. “Everything alright, Heeseung?” you asked him, trailing your foot up further.

Heeseung pushed back from the table, his chair scraping along the hardwood floor and making an awfully loud and grating noise. Your foot dropped, and you tried your hardest not to laugh at his reaction. “S-Sorry,” Heeseung spoke, looking around the room. Forks were stopped halfway to mouths and all sound in the air died out. “Uh—Where’s your restroom?” he asks, standing to his feet awkwardly.

“Down that hall and to the left,” you smiled, there was a hint of knowing in your expression that made Heeseung feel even more embarrassed. You rested your head in your hands again, looking up at him. Heeseung apologized again, rushing towards where the restroom was located and adjusting his jeans in the process.

He didn’t understand you. Heeseung thought that when you said to give your Moms something to be excited about, that your actions would be a lot more out in the open. What was the point of teasing him under the table? Did you just want to see him flustered? Maybe that was it.

Heeseung couldn’t stop thinking about your touch—your finger on his lips and the graze of your fingertips on his bicep or the feeling of your knuckles brushing together when you both accidentally reached for the same platter. It was driving him a bit crazy at this point, and it didn’t help that the potential threat of his secret being exposed by you loomed over him. He couldn’t tell if this was all to make your parents happy still and if he was supposed to just play along, or if it had somehow along the way turned into actual flirting. Heeseung turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face.

It was undeniable that you were attractive. Your smudged eyeliner and chipped nails just made Heeseung even more attracted to you. He wouldn’t mind if things between the two of you delved deeper than the surface, if possible. He wanted to ask you what your end-goal was, but he also didn’t want to possibly mess up his chances of getting to know you better. Either way felt like a lose-lose battle to him, and that drove him even more crazy than before.

Heeseung looked at himself in the mirror, the cold droplets of water running down his chin and dripping off his face and into the sink below. Heeseung liked you, that he couldn’t deny anymore.

He cut the water off and dried his face with the hem of his t-shirt. Heeseung took another look at himself in the mirror, sighing softly, before exiting the bathroom and making his way back to the dinner table.

The first thing Heeseung did when getting home from the dinner with you and your Mom was immediately rush up to his room. He pressed his back against the coolness of the wooden door, finally feeling like he was able to breathe fully as he shut his eyes. He stayed there for a moment, just slowly inhaling and exhaling until his body didn’t feel like a livewire anymore.

Heeseung opened his eyes and his gaze fell on the way the moonlight filtered through his still-open blinds. He exhaled again and pushed off the door to go close them. What he wasn’t expecting to see was you. Your window was right across from his and you looked to be getting ready for bed as you moved about your own room, the light from your room flooding outside the panes of your window and onto the side of your house. Heeseung was mesmerized for a moment as he watched you. You were completely oblivious to him, and most likely at the fact that your windows faced each other too. 

Heeseung swallowed hard when you stripped off your shirt right in view of the window for him to see. You turned towards the window and he could see the black bra you wore before you bent down to take off the black denim shorts you had on, leaving you in a matching pair of black panties. Heeseung’s eyes widened. He knew he shouldn’t be watching you get undressed right now, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you either.

You turned your back to him, unclipping your bra and letting it fall to the floor. Heeseung’s breathing picked up and he was so focused on you that he didn’t even notice the growing bulge in his jeans—nor how it was on full display for you too, if you happened to turn back around and look up at your window. Heeseung was glad that the darkness gave him a bit of coverage as he pressed more against his window, taking great care to get a good view from between his blinds. Only when you hooked your thumbs onto the hem of your underwear and began the action of pulling them down your legs did Heeseung finally snap back to his senses and practically fling himself away from the window.

He fell into his desk next to the window, various trinkets and pencils falling off from the surface of it and onto the floor. What was wrong with him? What if you caught him in the act? Heeseung looked down at his pants and the insane boner he had. “Fuck,” he breathed, bringing his hands down his face as he caught his breath. He moved from the desk to his dresser so he could grab some clothes for a shower.

As he stood under the hot stream of the shower, he couldn’t stop his mind from running rampant with thoughts of you. No matter how hard he squeezed his eyes shut, all he saw was you in front of that window, stripping for him. He couldn’t stop himself from conjuring up the image of what he would’ve seen had he stayed for a few seconds longer and watched the black fabric of your underwear fall down the curve of your ass. Heeseung imagined what your tits might’ve looked like when they weren’t below the fabric of your shirt or bra. He jerked himself off faster at the thought.

The stream of water ran down his shoulders and he inhaled sharply, slowing his hand until he was gripping just the tip of his cock. No matter how hard he tried wiping his mind clean, the images just kept appearing. Heeseung cursed under his breath and started to move his hand again, at first starting slowly before he couldn’t pace himself anymore. He was so glad that the sound of the water muffled the mewls spilling from his mouth.

His hand moved hastily, like he couldn’t bring himself to wait any longer, and Heeseung squeezed his eyes shut and pretended that you were in front of him—stripping for him. A gasp left his parted lips and he braced himself with a hand on the tiled wall. In his mind, you were smiling that knowing smile from the dinner and beckoning him forward. And of course, he followed.

It's almost like he could feel your touch still—that it wasn’t his hand fisting his own cock right now, but yours. If he thought about it harder, which he was desperately trying to do, maybe he could even feel your lips around him too. Or, even better… Maybe he could feel the way you wrapped around him until his cock fully disappeared inside of you. The thought brought him over the edge and he fell into the tile in front of him, the stream of hot water suddenly hitting his back.

Heeseung’s cum sprayed all over the front of the tub below him and washed away with the water down the drain. His chest heaved and he forced himself to take deep breaths as he slowly stroked himself to come back down to Earth, more spurts of his cum spilling from him as he emptied himself out completely. Heeseung’s eyes fluttered open finally and he was disappointed to find himself still in the shower. God, what were you doing to him?

He cleaned himself up and left the shower, the feeling of embarrassment and slight shame weighing down his shoulders. After he was dressed and all ready for bed, he checked his window again. Part of him was hopeful that you’d still be standing there—and another part beat himself up over the fact that he was being a creep. Still, he made the short trek to his window to see anyway.

Your light was off and your blinds were closed, much to Heeseung’s disappointment. But, to his surprise, there was a piece of paper with writing on it taped to your window for him to see. On it, the paper read: “Perv” with a smiley face sticking its tongue out next to it in bold, sharpied letters. For a second, Heeseung’s heart dropped. He had been found out and you actually did see him after all. But… Did the note and the smiley face next to your writing mean that you didn’t mind it? Heeseung’s head felt even more clouded, but he couldn’t stop the smile that pulled at his lips.

Maybe the lines between the two of you were getting more and more blurred like he thought. Maybe it wasn’t so surface level and you were flirting with him at the dinner after all, and he was just too stupid to realize. Whatever the case, Heeseung knew that he had to see you again, no matter the cost.

You were back outside at the dead of night again, sitting on your porch swing as you looked out into the vast, dark sky and breathed out cigarette smoke. Some random bottle of wine was at your side, and you occasionally took swigs from it. The alcohol left you hazy, your eyelids weighing heavy the more you drank. It was another quiet night, much to your dismay. You had been coming out the past couple of nights to see if you could catch Heeseung in the act of cutting your Mom’s flowers again, but it's been a few days since you last saw him at the dinner your Mom hosted. If you were being honest, you thought it wouldn’t have taken this long—not with the whole window interaction. You had thought you made your intentions clear, but now you weren’t so sure.

Or, maybe he just didn’t feel the same way you did and was intentionally ghosting you.

You sighed, ready to retire for the night and call it quits before you heard the sound of someone walking near you. Looking up, you scanned the yard and saw the blur of a hoodie. Your face broke out into the slightest smile and you sat up a little straighter, standing from the swing.

“Hey,” you said, your eyes falling on Heeseung’s figure walking up to the stairs of your porch. He jumped, clearly not expecting you to be there, before smiling. You nodded him over to the porch swing you stood in front of and he climbed up the stairs while awkwardly fiddling with the hair at the back of his head. You sat back down and he sat down next to you, close enough that your shoulders touched and your thigh brushed against his. “What are you doing here?” you ask, looking over at him before taking another long drawl of the cigarette. You made sure to blow the smoke away from his face this time. “Here to steal some more flowers, thief?”

Heeseung laughed, waving a hand in the air. “No, I—Uh… I came to talk to you actually.”

You raised a brow at him, curious as to what he wanted to talk about. A chuckle fell from your lips, “Oh, really? About what?” You handed the half empty bottle of wine to him and he graciously took it. You’d offer him a cigarette as well, but he didn’t look like the type to even know how to light it, nevermind smoke it. Heeseung took a large swig from the bottle, thickly swallowing the wine down before he brought it back up to his lips to take another. “Woah… You must need to tell me something serious. Take it easy,” you told him before taking the bottle away.

Heeseung wiped his lips, looking at you with big eyes. He fumbled over his words, nothing coherent coming out. You smiled at him and leaned over to the small table next to the swing to put your cigarette out in the ashtray. “Here, let me start. I have something I want to say, too,” you say.

Raising the bottle to your lips, you drink some more of the wine before clearing your throat to speak. “Listen, I get it if you aren’t looking for something right now. Or-Or, maybe I wasn’t clear on what I wanted? Fuck, I’m so bad at this…” You ran a hand down your face, shaking your head a little. Your brain was already foggy from the alcohol and trying to think right now wasn’t exactly working. “You’re hot, okay? And-And I like you.”

You avoided Heeseung’s gaze, opting to look back out at the sky and the stars. In your peripheral vision, you saw his face change, but couldn’t see to which expression. “And I think that… maybe you like me too?” you continued. You dared to look back at him and your eyes met. Heeseung looked stunned, like he couldn’t believe that those were the words that came out of your mouth and he was actively trying to figure out if he was hearing things or not.

When he was silent for a moment, you quickly stood from the swing, bringing the bottle of wine with you. “Y-You don’t have to say anything. We can finish this talk when it’s daylight,” you rushed out. You moved past him, feet moving quick to get to your front door before Heeseung’s hand wrapped around your wrist and pulled you back towards him. In the seconds it took for you to turn to him, his other hand reached up to cup your cheek and his lips pressed to yours.

You stumbled backwards a little, shock flooding you like the breaking of a dam, before you wrapped the arm that wasn’t holding the wine bottle around his neck to pull him closer to you. Your lips moved in perfect sync with his and you melted into the kiss. Heeseung’s other hand snaked up your side and pulled you close to his chest.

You didn’t even think about the fact that you needed to breathe. The only thing that ran through your mind was his soft lips against yours and your bodies pressed together. You wished that the two of you had kissed sooner. You wished that when the two of you sat on that couch together that you had climbed into his lap and brought your lips to his then. What a whole world you were missing out on.

Despite his better judgement, Heeseung was the one to pull away, his breathing falling heavy and his eyes shining. You smiled at him, shy all of a sudden. You didn’t really know what to say, even with Heeseung’s grand display of how he also felt about you. Finally, you settled on, “Do you wanna come inside?”

The two of you laughed, but Heeseung shook his head, his smile lingering. “Next time,” he said. “I want to be completely sober for this. I want us both to be completely sober for this.”

You laughed harder, pulling away from his grasp. He sounded like he was waiting his whole life for this moment and he didn't want anything to potentially taint it. You doubted the alcohol would make much of a difference, especially for him since he barely had any, but you nodded along anyway. “Next time, then,” you say, heading towards the door. “Goodnight, Heeseung.”

“I meant what I said, by the way,” Heeseung called after you. You turned back towards him, confusion written all over your face. He hadn’t said much of anything. And if his large gulps of wine were anything to attest to, you supposed it was from the nerves. “Before dinner, on the couch,” he clarified.

You took a second to think back to that night, to think back on the conversation the two of you had and go back over it in your mind. You came back with your own words: “You don’t have to fall over yourself trying to make me feel better.” You had jokingly said it when he started to ramble on about how he would love to be with you or someone like you. A smile pulled at your lips as realization fell over you.

“I know I was pretty awkward with it, but I was serious,” Heeseung says.

Rushing forward, you bring your lips to his once more, but only for a brief moment before pulling away. With your lips just centimeters from his, you say, “See you next time.” You turn again, heading for the door, and right before going inside you give Heeseung one last look before closing the door completely.

Heeseung is still awestruck that this all even happened, that you actually liked him like he liked you. He truly couldn’t believe it. He was sure that any moment now he would wake up in his bed and it all would’ve been a dream—he even pinched himself on the way from your porch to his house to confirm it for sure. But, it wasn’t. It all really happened, and that made Heeseung light up inside again like no other.

He wanted to jump up and shout from the rooftops and click his heels together. He couldn’t wait to see you again, and he especially couldn’t wait for that “next time” to finally happen.

A knock on the door sounded throughout the house and Heeseung looked towards the door from his spot on the couch where he was lazily flipping through channels on the TV. He wasn’t expecting any company, and his Mom didn’t tell him to expect anyone either. Heeseung raised a brow and he stood to his feet and let the remote fall somewhere on the couch from his hand.

When he pulled the front door open, he surely wasn’t expecting you to be on the other side of it, a big smile on your face as your figure basked in the springtime sunlight. For a moment, Heeseung was stunned. He hadn’t really seen you in the daylight before, as the majority of your encounters had taken place at night. He loved the way the sun made you glow like his very own angel sent to see him.

After the kisses the two of you shared, you both mainly spent time together in the middle of the night outside on your porch swing talking about everything and nothing. The two of you haven’t even kissed again. Everytime Heeseung would lean in and try to kiss you, you let him get as close as a brush against your lips before pulling away teasingly—telling him that “All good things come to those who wait.” He didn’t know how much longer he could—didn’t know what was taking him so long. He was so focused on finding the perfect moment that he seemed to be missing out completely.

It seemed you couldn’t wait much longer either, deciding to take matters into your own hands.

“Hey,” Heeseung smiled at you as he stepped to the side to let you in, “what are you doing here?” You entered his house, taking a brief look around the place before spinning to face him, the smile still on your face. You kicked off your boots and adjusted the leather jacket that you wore. Heeseung shut the door, giving you his full attention.

“It’s next time,” you say, taking a step towards him. Heeseung’s eyes widened, his face surely showing the shock he felt. Did you mean right now? Not that he didn’t want it, but Heeseung didn’t have any time to prepare. He doesn’t even look his best, either. And where were you supposed to do it, here on the couch? What if his Mom walked in?

Heeseung began pulling his shirt off but you grabbed his arms to stop him. “Not right here! Take me up to your room or something!” you exclaimed, looking at him incredulously. You slid your hand in his.

“Right, right,” Heeseung says, laughing awkwardly.

He pulled you with him towards the stairs and up to where his bedroom was, his heart racing with each step he took. Behind him, you giggled at his behavior and how nervous he was to finally sleep with you.

When you got to his room, he let go of your hand to hurriedly dart around his room. He rushed to pick up random shirts and jeans on the floor and shoved them into his closet along with throwing away any garbage that was still on his nightstand. As he cleaned, you walked over to his desk and shrugged off your leather jacket and laid it on top of the back of the desk chair. You turned and watched him, trying to keep your laugh in, as you patiently waited.

When he was finished he rushed up to you, pulling you to him by your waist. “Sorry… I wasn’t expecting you to come over,” Heeseung said, a bit breathless. You smiled at him, leaning forward to press your lips to his. Oh, you’d bet. A girl can only wait for so long—and if you left Heeseung in charge, you would’ve been waiting forever.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s not what I would’ve been paying attention to anyway.” Your hands trailed down Heeseung’s chest to his stomach as you slowly pushed him back towards his bed. He followed your lead, letting you back him up until the back of his knees hit the side of the bed and fell down onto it. He looked up at you with those big eyes, desire swirling inside of them as he hungrily looked over you standing above him.

You slowly stripped off your long-sleeved shirt and let it fall to the ground below you, your dark red bra pushing up your tits. Heeseung sat up further—his hands reaching for you—but you pushed him back down, wiggling a finger at him. “You really know how to make a girl wait,” you tell him, hooking your thumbs into your jeans to pull them down. “I had thought you’d change your mind.”

“Never,” Heeseung breathed as his sweatpants got tighter and tighter the more clothing you took off. There was practically a tent in his pants, and for once he wasn’t ashamed about it. Your jeans fell down to the floor and you kicked off the rest, smirking at him.

“Look familiar?” you ask, referring to him seeing you in just your matching dark red bra and panties. You turned your back to him, unhooking your bra and letting that fall, too, before looking over your shoulder at him. “Maybe this will jog your memory?”

Heeseung’s mind was taken back to that day he watched you strip through the window, his thoughts now finally being confirmed that you did in fact see him. His face completely flushed and he opened his mouth to speak, but only jumbled words came out. You giggled at him, turning to face him again, but Heeseung could only focus on how he finally got to see what your perfect tits looked like. His eyes widened even more.

You grabbed onto the band of his sweatpants, pulling at them to signal Heeseung to lift his hips so you can take them off. “That was a pretty big boner you had that day, don’t you remember?” you ask, your hand trailing over the boner he had currently. Heeseung’s hips jerked from the action. “Let me guess, you immediately ran to the shower, didn’t you? Disguised all of the noise behind the sound of the water?”

With his sweatpants, you had started to pull down Heeseung’s boxers too. They were halfway down his thighs when his cock sprang free out of them, the tip of it flushed and leaking. You didn’t even bother pulling his pants and boxers down further, too impatient to finally get your hands on him. Instead, your hand grabbed his rock-hard cock firmly, slowly stroking it as you leaned forward to press chaste kisses to Heeseung’s lips. Heeseung tried to keep his moans of pleasure down—even trying to kiss you for longer—but you wouldn’t let him. You wanted to hear him.

“I bet you fucked your fist all night and imagined it was me,” you say in a low voice against his lips.

You picked up the pace and Heeseung broke away from your lips, his head falling back as his eyes rolled to the back of his skull. He struggled to keep himself upright—and if you kept pumping him he was sure to cum at any moment. “Nothing…” Heeseung started breathlessly, taking a moment to find his words through his heavy breathing and shallow pants, “Nothing compares to the real thing.”

You stopped stroking him, your hand stopping at his leaking tip and running your thumb along the slit of it. Heeseung moaned loudly, his eyes fluttering open so he could look at you in question. He was so close, why would you stop? Before Heeseung could ask, you pushed at his chest so he laid on his back fully and climbed on top of him. You sat your clothed pussy right on the base of his cock and slowly started to move your hips.

Heeseung desperately wished there wasn’t fabric separating the two of you. He needed to feel you—needed to feel the way you wrapped around him as your arousal got him even more wet. He wanted you to roll your hips against him until you accidentally rolled them a little too much and he slipped inside you. But, you were having none of that. You were going to make him wait, like he had made you wait.

“Yeah?” you asked, your lips smashing against his in a sloppy kiss. His words must’ve ignited something in you because it wasn’t long before you were both moaning into each other’s mouths. Heeseung nodded, his hands coming to rest at your hips to help aid them in moving faster.

Breaking away from his mouth, you placed both hands on his chest, brows furrowed in pleasure as you continued to rock your hips. Your panties were completely soaked through and they stuck to your wet folds as you grinded against Heeseung. You moaned so prettily, the soft sounds escaping through your plump lips, that Heeseung wanted to hear the sound forever. He never wanted you to stop—in fact, he wanted to make you moan louder, have you feel so much bliss that you didn’t even think to muffle your alluring noises by taking your bottom lip between your teeth.

Heeseung’s hands reached up to your chest, taking your tits in them and squeezing. He needed to know what cumming inside you felt like. He needed to know how it felt to see your mixed cum pour out of you from around him as he fucked it back inside of you. His hands settled down at your waist and he flipped you over to where his pillows were at so that you were on your back instead.

You gasped, stunned by the change in position and the sudden lack of friction. Heeseung spread your legs apart so he could get a full view of you. Your dark red panties almost looked black from how soaked they were, and Heeseung wasted no time as he pulled them off—tossing them somewhere towards his dresser so he could remember to steal them later.

He froze for a moment as he looked down at you completely bare for him. Heeseung dropped his fingers towards your folds, smearing around your arousal in a trance. You watched him as you caught your breath, twitching slightly at his touch. It was so lewd how wet you were, with each pass of his fingers it felt like the sound reverberated off the walls of the room. “I can’t believe this…” Heeseung muttered to himself, barely loud enough for you to hear. His words only made you wetter.

Heeseung pulled off the rest of his clothes. He didn’t want any barriers stopping him from being able to feel you completely.

Grabbing his hard cock, Heeseung slid it between your folds, giving you a slight taste of your own medicine as he watched the way your back arched off the mattress. The joke was complete on him, though, because you squeezed your thighs together and trapped his cock with them.

Heeseung’s mouth fell open and you giggled at him. “It won’t be that easy,” you say, sitting up on your elbows. Heeseung groaned but you cut him off by sitting up fully and kissing him. “This is for the flowers, you thief.”

You turned so your back was flat against his chest, his cock between your thighs begging you to give it some release.  You then grabbed Heeseung’s hands and brought them to your tits as you squeezed your thighs together tightly. Heeseung moaned at your ear, his hands squeezing you once again. “You’ll have to get off like this, first,” you told him while pressing your ass to his hips.

You looked down at his big cock between your thighs, at how flushed it was. Every small move Heeseung made drove you crazy because of the way he brushed against your clit. Each touch felt like a shockwave through your body, but you were too stubborn to let it go any other way. “You’re killing me,” Heeseung groaned again. “Haven’t I paid my dues?”

“Not even in the slightest,” you replied, moving away from him a little before pressing your ass back to his hips again so he took the hint. You hummed in pleasure, your gaze flicking towards him. If he wanted to be inside you, he better start moving.

Heeseung’s hands trailed down to your hips and he held you against him tightly as he leaned forward a little to catch your lips. He began using your thighs to fuck himself, his pace starting leisurely before all the pent up desire caught back up with him. Heeseung’s lips never left yours and the kiss only grew more and more sloppy as he pushed his tongue into your mouth to taste you.

You couldn’t hide your moans from him now, even despite them being muffled by his lips. Heeseung had you right where he wanted you and every brush of his cock against your clit made you dizzy, too dazed to notice the tremor in his hips against your ass as he fucked your thighs nor the way his abs tightened against your back. Heeseung only held you tighter to his body, his skin slapping against yours and mixing with the sound of your shared moans.

Soon, Heeseung’s hips jerked and he groaned against your lips. “Fuck, baby, I need to be inside you right now,” he dragged out. “Please. I want to cum inside of you.”

You shook your head at him and squeezed your thighs together tighter. Curses flew from Heeseung’s lips and his pace slowed. “Not yet,” you said, raising your hand to grab his face so you could kiss him again.

A thin layer of sweat coated the both of you and your body felt like if it burned any hotter it might explode. Heeseung had a death grip on your hips, like he was afraid that after he was done fucking your thighs you might change your mind on letting him fuck you fully. He stilled as he pressed you to him tighter, if possible. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” Heeseung spewed out.

He barely moved from against you, too obsessed with the way you squeezed him to pull away from it. Thick, white ropes of cum gushed from him and coated the front of your thighs. Heeseung kept sloppily fucking you, a sigh releasing from his lips as more of his cum splattered across your lap.

You were dripping down his cock and all of the teasing and waiting you did backfired and was starting to make you desperate. You wasted no time flipping into your back, not even letting Heeseung come down from his high for even a moment. His cock hadn’t even stopped leaking cum—the rest of it dripping along your lower stomach—before you were rubbing it along your needy pussy. “Put it in… Hurry.”

Of course, Heeseung wasn’t going to wait any longer either.

He pushed inside of you, not being able to hold back any of his loud moans as he finally was able to feel what he’s been dreaming of. “You feel so good,” he breathed, bringing his thumb down to rub at your clit.

Heeseung let himself sit inside you for a moment, just really appreciating how amazing you felt wrapped around him—how deep your pussy swallowed him up until he was inside of you completely.  He was pulled back down to Earth by the sound of your whine and the way you rolled  your hips up. The movement sent a wave of pleasure throughout his body and he pressed down on your hips to keep them still without thinking.

“Please move,” you begged him, holding tightly to his wrists.

Heeseung pulled his hips back and watched the way his cock slid out of you covered in your arousal. The sight turned him on so much that he felt like he was going to cum again just from that. He brought his cock out until just the tip of it was still inside of you. Heeseung then wrapped his arms around your thighs, smearing his cum that was still splattered on top of them, while moving your legs to rest on his shoulders.

You were expecting him to start slow and build up to a faster pace, but Heeseung skipped that completely. Instead, he pushed into you completely—the sound of his skin slapping against yours filling your ears—until his hips were flush with yours and pulled out of you again just as quick to repeat the process. You cried out, clawing at the sheets as you were hit with intense euphoria.

His cock didn’t even have to try at hitting your sweet spot, he was already there by just being inside of you. With each thrust he hit it more and more and more until your back was arched up off of the bed and you were seeing stars. “Fuck, right there! Please, don’t stop!” you moaned. You couldn’t even begin to care how loud you were being. All you cared about was how good Heeseung was fucking you.

Heeseung was panting like a dog and not once did he even think of stopping. He was chasing that high he first felt when he jerked himself off to the thought of you in the shower—when he imagined how it would feel to be fucking your pretty little pussy the way he was right now. It was complete heaven, better than that even. His words from earlier rang truer than ever before right now: Nothing compares to the real thing. 

“You like that?” Heeseung asked, his eyes moving up your body from the way your hips rolled up to try to meet his, to the way your tits bounced with each thrust he made, then to the harsh rise and fall of your chest, and finally to the purely fucked out expression on your face. Heeseung’s chest swelled with pride and he couldn’t help but smile. He was making you feel this way—he was causing all of these pretty whines and moans to fall from your parted lips. It was all him.

Your head was way too clouded to even answer him, the sound of your own euphoria drowning his words out. Heeseung knew as much, but that didn’t stop the next words from coming out of his mouth. “Yeah, you like that.”

He was slipping in and out of you so easily, it truly felt like your pussy was made to take his cock—and you were taking him so well. Tears formed in your eyes from all of the pleasure and messed up your already smeared eyeliner until streaks of black were running down your cheeks. Your body tensed and you squeezed down on him, letting Heeseung know you were close before you even had the chance to say anything.

“Keep going… fuck—” you cried. You tried pulling your legs away from Heeseung, but he wrapped his arms around them tighter and held them firm to his chest. You squirmed and pulled at his bedsheets, the euphoric bliss suddenly too overwhelming. Your body started to shake all over, and Heeseung relished in it all.

Seconds later, you're cumming all around his cock—some of it even spilling out from around him and dripping down the curve of your ass. Heeseung moans at the sight and angles one of his arms down so he can run his fingers along your folds, coating the tips of his fingers in the creamy white. You jolt at his touch, gasping. 

It’s not long after until Heeseung’s thrusts get sloppy and his hips start to jerk. He pushes himself inside you completely, stomach tightening as his head falls back and he releases another load of his cum—this time inside of you like he’s been dreaming and begging for. Only when he’s sure that all of his cum is inside you is when he painstakingly starts to move, chasing the last bit of his high. 

Heeseung slowly pulls out of you and watches the way all of the cum he pumped inside of you spills out until it’s forming a puddle beneath where your two bodies connect. “You just made all my dreams come true,” he says awestruck, pushing apart your thighs more so he can see the way your pussy glistens in the sunlight coming from his window. “Every single last one of them.”

You barely have the energy to laugh, but you do. Did Heeseung just basically call you his dream girl?

It catches you off guard when he takes the tip of his cock and scoops up some of the cum that dripped down your ass and pushes himself back inside of you. A loud whine leaves your lips and you press your thighs together. “S-Sorry, I—Uh…” Heeseung mumbles, his mouth falling open with another moan. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this feeling. I need to be inside you forever. Would you let me?”

You rapidly nod, but push at his arms when he starts to move his hips again, slowly pushing in and out of you. “Heeseung,” you whine again. He chuckles a little before pulling his cock out of you completely.

Heeseung leans down so he can sweetly kiss your lips, his hand caressing the side of your face. “Good?” he asked you, a bit shy.

“Amazing,” you reply. “Next time, let’s not wait as long.”

Heeseung perks up at your words, “Next time?” You laugh at him, cupping his face with both of your hands. How can he be this clueless? It was genuinely astonishing. You kiss him.

“Yes, of course there will be a next time.” Heeseung’s face lights up and he gives you the most passionate kiss the two of you have shared yet. You laugh more in the middle of it. He is so adorable, it blows your mind that all of this came from him stealing flowers from in front of your house. “Now go get something to clean me up,” you say.

Realization crosses Heeseung’s face. “Oh, yeah. Right.” He gets up from the bed, still fully naked, and flings his door open to rush to the bathroom. Distantly, you hear water running before he’s back with a wet washcloth in one hand and his other hand tucked behind his back. When you raise an eyebrow, he smiles brightly at you.

“For you,” Heeseung says as he reveals the flower behind his back. Funnily, it’s one of the flowers he stole from your house. You burst out laughing, and he joins you, crawling back on the bed so he can start cleaning you up. You take the flower from his grasp.

“Wow, thank you for the flower that was already technically mine! It’s beautiful. Where did you get it?” you ask. Heeseung looks away, the smile still on his face, as he opts not to answer. You shake your head at him, sitting up so you can bring his lips to yours.

He can steal all of the flowers he wants, as long as he steals your heart next.

✉️ ⦂ there’s a lottienat everywhere for all eyes to see… himbo heeseung with a big dick please come and save me i’m begging

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[demigods-posts]

i was literally thinking about this earlier. the fact that percy referred to calypso as his biggest 'what if?' makes no sense because he was not tied to her. we could argue that he cared for her safety and reparation, which is proven by him planting her flower outside his bedroom and asking the gods to free her from the island a book later. but he didn't have romantic feelings for this girl. sure, he thought she was pretty, friendly, and he wanted to be there for her. but that doesn't equate to romantic attraction.

i'd argue his biggest 'what if' is miss rachel elizabeth dare. bc she actually challenged annabeth's place in percy's life. percy showed genuine interest in rachel. in fact, he spent the entire year after tbotl hanging out with rachel and ignoring everything related to being a demigod, which included annabeth. and the only reason percy never explored the option of pursuing her after tlo was bc she became the oracle and was given explicit instructions not to date. otherwise, percy would have had a difficult choice to make. annabeth was jealous for a good reason. tf lmao.

Y’all get mad at Rachel for cockblocking Percabeth, but you should really be mad at Calypso.

Rachel is actually an interesting character, with an arc that separated herself from Percy and she actually got to be her own person.

Calypso was written as an obstacle to keep the will-they-won’t-they going so that Rick could sell another book. She is there for one chapter, and doesn’t really do much for Percy’s arc except to give Annabeth a reason to be pissed at him.

She was then brought back in HoH because Leo “needed” a girlfriend. She served no other purpose.

Something something female characters being written by men that only exist to enhance the arc of the male protagonist something something.

[charliemwrites]

There are men across the street.

The house (and you use the term generously) that slumps there has been vacant for some time now. Ever since you moved in a couple years ago, actually. It’s an eyesore for sure. Graffiti on the walls, boards on the windows, a basketball-sized hole in the roof. The porch is the worst of it. Sagging in the middle and crumbling on the ends, stripped and moss-encrusted wood.

But today there are men there, stomping up and down the groaning steps in big, steel-toed boots.

You watch for a bit from the safety of your kitchen window, sipping coffee and batting your cat off the counter. They don’t look like a normal construction crew - wearing all black and not so much as a hammer on their belts. Three of them that you can see, one about average height, one tall, and one very tall. The tall one tags after the shortest of them often, gets pushed and shoved and snapped at it seems like.

You lose interest when the coffee runs out and your phone chimes, shooing you off to the grocery store. All three have disappeared inside by the time you saunter out, keys jingling and reusable bags in hand.

Margot says they’re renovating - likely some rich man’s retirement project. The same thing happened just down the street six months before you moved in, and now Joe has solar panels.

She postulates over the situation across the street while taking delicate bites of the cheesecake she brought over. (A test recipe for her niece’s baby shower in a few weeks. You don’t tell her that it’s too sweet and just sip your tea between bites.) She hypothesizes that one of them is this hypothetical rich man’s son, bringing some handy friends around for extra hands to work.

It sounds about as plausible as Agatha’s mutterings that they’re drug lords, so you nod along and watch your calico sneak up on your tuxedo behind her.

The garden is your own little retirement project. (You’re not actually retired, no matter what your sister snipes. But some smart money moves and a successful writing career is virtually the same with no kids and no spouse.) It’s going about as well as the renovations across the street - which is say, better and quicker than expected.

You planted clover in the yard, and are working on wildflowers in the boxes. The clover is already blooming, little flower tufts springing up for bumblebees to perch on. The wildflowers are mixed success so far, but nothing is dead yet.

You mostly just tootle around to be outside - allotted sunshine lest you become the shut in Bertram accused you of your first couple months.

The cats watch you pick at weeds from the window. Or two of them do. The other one is glaring from the fridge, angry that you tossed her back inside when she tried to slip past your ankles. (With any luck, you’ll have another sibling for them soon, but the handsome orange thing that keeps coming by at dawn and dusk is too stupid to be caught.) All three of them shift to look at something over your shoulder.

“Excuse.”

You don’t startle, thankfully. The voice may be unfamiliar, but neighbors stop by consistently enough that you’re not surprised to have your solitude interrupted.

What you are surprised by is the tall (very, very tall) man standing at the edge of your front yard. One of the renovators.

“Hi,” you say, straightening.

He points a gloved finger at you - no, not at you. Past you. At your cats.

“May I see them?” He asks in a thick German accent.

You blink, surprised and confused.

He’s a big man. Not just unusually tall, but broad as well. Muscle tugs at the fabric of his shirt, cargo pants clinging to his thighs. He also hasn’t bothered to take off the heavy duty dust mask, black sunglasses, or jacket hood obscuring his features. Looks like he’s about to rob you, honestly.

But Agatha’s uncharitable muttering about delinquent men rings like a warning toll. You’re at risk of sinking into the judgmental sea of upper-middle class suburbia, and that’s not water you want to tread.

“Sure!” You reply, ignoring his lack of introduction. “One sec.”

The cats see you dart from view and hurry to meet you at the door, meowing and yowling. You crack it open only wide enough to snatch up your precious firstborn, his leggies sticking out in abject bafflement at being airborne. You make guilty eye contact with your other two fiends before swiftly wedging the door shut again.

Then adjust your son, his little paws resting on your shoulder as you turn. Your visitor is standing right where you left him, perks up when he sees the cat bundled in your arms.

“This is Guy.”

You step closer, ignoring that shred of nervousness that being close to any man (especially one so physically intimidating) brings. To his credit, he only shuffles just enough to offer his hand for inspection.

“Guy?” he asks.

“I wasn’t going to adopt him at first, so I just called him Little Guy for so long that he thought that was his name. And then I did adopt him and now he won’t answer to anything else.”

You come by the rambling honestly - an obligate introvert until you moved to this neighborhood. There are few things you ever want to talk about with strangers, but your cats are one of them.

“He is a little guy,” the man muses.

Guy has no reservations about rubbing his fat face on the stranger’s glove, a purr kicking up in his chest. You relax as the man keeps his touch gentle and slow, that little bit of paranoid tension trickling into the soil beneath your feet.

“The other two aren’t as well behaved, I don’t trust them without harnesses on,” you add, nodding at the window.

The man glances up at them. Doesn’t seem to realize that his demise (and yours) is imminent from their glares.

“What are their names?”

You flush. “Rasputin and Shithead. I tell everyone else her name is Susan though.”

A sharp bark of laughter splits the air like a falling ax, cracks right down the middle. It makes you jump a bit - Guy is expectedly unbothered - but still you find yourself gratified. Laughing is good, it means you’re doing things right.

“Sorry,” he says, “but my friend would like that name.”

You gesture at the house across the street. “One of them?”

“Yes, the short one.”

You only just manage not to snort in amusement, but it doesn’t stop him from noticing. The mask moves, you think he might be grinning underneath.

“Does he know you call him that?”

“Not if you don’t tell him.”

You doubt you’ll have the opportunity even if you wanted to.

Someone’s at the door.

You’re only half-dressed, waist deep in laundry you have no excuse for putting off so long. Aren’t expecting company either - it’s Sunday morning, everyone should be at their various churches or visiting relatives. Can’t remember the last time someone knocked before noon on a Sunday.

Still, it was a big solid knock. The kind that makes you think it’s not the usual neighbor come by to impose on your space.

You glance down at the hem of your sweatshirt, determine it’s far enough down your thighs to be acceptable, and pad to the door.

You open it to another of the renovators. The “short” one - though you readjust that measurement quickly. He’s still taller than you, it’s just that most anyone seems diminutive compared to his friend.

“Morning,” you chime.

“We need your driveway.” His voice is low and rough, blunt. A sledgehammer to concrete. Also German-accented, you note.

“Oh,” you reply, “what for?”

He grunts. “Work.”

And you, a longtime observer of politely shaking people down for information by this point, smile without teeth.

“Oh, a work truck? It won’t make a mess will it?”

“No.”

You hum, glance at your stupid little sedan parked in the middle of the driveway.

“Okay, I’ll move — Shithead!”

You scramble to grab at the black and white blur of evil, sweeping her up in your arms as she meows in complaint. One of her back feet catches in the hem of your sweatshirt and starts to pull it up as she kicks. You curl an arm under her butt for support, but mostly she just takes the opportunity to chomp down on the meat of your thumb.

You glance at the man. “Shithead is very interested in the renovations.”

He stares. “So that is actually its name. I thought you were being rude and Konig didn’t realize.”

Ah, so that’s his name. You never did get that introduction.

“No, yeah, this is Shithead, I’m sure you can see why.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as she unlatches from your thumb, only to bite down on your wrist.

“So! The truck - when will it be here?”

“Noon.”

“Great! See you around!” You shut the door in his face without getting a name.

You threaten, not for the first time, to turn her into a pair of mittens. She responds by attacking your foot until Rasputin tackles her. Guy cries at the door, probably missing a man he met for all of two minutes.

The work truck stays through the night. Your cats spend all afternoon watching the men cross the street and back. Every once in a while, Guy puts his little feet up on the glass - Konig must be passing by.

You glance out the kitchen window only once and make hard eye contact with the third of their trio. He’s somehow even more covered up than Konig, and yet you get the distinct impression that your gaze is not welcome.

You blink and abandon the dishes for later.

The next morning, they’re already at it when you shuffle outside for the mail. Konig raises a slow hand in greeting, but visibly brightens when you smile sleepily and wave back.

You pass the work truck - the back panel is already open for them to unload wood beams and heavy-looking buckets. Construction stuff, as expected - and not messy, as promised.

You spot a red and white flag decal on the rear window. Austria, isn’t it?

“Did you just wake up?” a flat voice asks.

You squint a little through the morning sun at the man from the day before. The rude one.

You yawn. “Mhmm.”

He frowns at you, disapproval plain. Agatha will like him, you muse, shoving a hand in your mailbox. They both seem to have strong opinions about your sleep schedule.

“It is late.”

“It’s only 8.” You tug out a sheaf of envelopes and begin idly flipping through them.

“The sun is up.”

“So what?”

He clicks his tongue disdainfully. You absently click back. Then jump as a big body lands right in front of you. The third man, two wooden beams balanced on his shoulder. He makes brief eye contact with you again, then strides across the street.

“Shoo,” the rude one says. “Men at work, yes?”

You grumble. “See if I bring you cookies.”

Konig glances up from the truck bed, eyes shining. “Cookies?”

Well shit.

Rasputin keeps you company while you cook. He’s the only one allowed on the counter for any length of time. Shithead steals anything and everything, or bats at your hands while you work. Guy has the equal parts endearing and infuriating habit of touching everything with his paws.

Rasputin is the only one who will sit quietly to observe, leaning in for the occasional kiss. Today, he’s watching you bake cookies and assemble sandwiches. A dual-purpose welcome and peace offering to the three men across the street.

Is it too much? Maybe. But you’ve got nothing better to do and kindness won’t break your bank, so. Cookies and sandwiches.

You change clothes while the cookies cool on the pan - a sundress for the warm, late-spring weather. They’ve seen you in your pajamas far too much already.

At the door, you hesitate. This house doesn’t feel inhabited yet, but it also doesn’t feel right to just open the door. It’s quiet inside, so no power tools to drown you out. Making a face, you settle for a firm knock. It takes a minute or two - you think you might hear distant shouting. Then the door swings in fast and hard, nearly startling you.

It’s the third of their trio, the one you’ve yet to speak to. He’s covered head to toe, fabric around his head and face, leaving only sharp blue eyes to glare out.

“Hi,” you begin, hands thankfully too full to fidget. “I brought food.”

His eyes flick to the foil-covered platter in your hands. Then he swings the door wide and pivots on his heel.

“The cat comes too.”

Cat?

You glance down. Sure enough, Rasputin is standing by your legs, his remaining half a tail swishing. You sputter at him - didn’t even realize he snuck out - but all you get is his characteristic raspy “mah” noise. Right then.

He politely trots by your side as you enter, not even shy about your curiosity. The place is gutted, stripped walls and scuffed floors. It smells like dust and plaster and shaved wood. All the lights have been ripped out of the ceiling, exposing wires like nerve-endings.

There are two empty rooms to either side upon entry, a den and a dining room probably. The den even seems to be split into two, with one half sunk lower, accessible by a couple steps.

You follow your unexpected host through the “dining room,” which seems to be more of a satellite staging zone at the moment. There are piles of tools, stacks of materials, a little island of canvas bags. As you pass through, you notice a staircase, and even from the ground floor, you can see that it crosses over to the den on the other side.

The kitchen is stationed towards the back of the house. You try not to wince at the state of the counters. Pockmarked, blistered, scratched, burned, cracked laminate.

The floor has already been pried up to reveal smooth concrete. You scan it quickly for anything that could hurt Rasputin’s feet before entering.

Your neighbor gestures for you to set the platter down on an empty patch of counter, so you do, peeling back the foil.

“Cookies and sandwiches,” you explain just to have something to say.

“Why?” he asks.

You shrug. “To be nice.”

He stares. You blink back.

“I mean, you don’t have to eat them,” you add. “It would just be a waste.”

Rasputin chooses that moment to leap onto the counter, taking a moment to steady himself once he’s landed. With only one eye and a crooked leg, he’s not the most acrobatic or graceful of your babies, but he makes do.

To your shock, though, once he’s gained his bearings, he makes like he’s going to eat one of the sandwiches.

“Ras,” you gasp, surprised. “Absolutely not!”

The little shit doesn’t even resist when you nudge him away, just settles on his haunches, staring at your neighbor. And, to your confusion, your neighbor grunts.

“Konig! Krueger!” he barks.

That must be the rude one’s name. Krueger. You file that tidbit away.

“What’s your name?” You ask. “No one’s told me.”

He eyes you - dare you say suspiciously - letting the silence stretch.

“Nikto,” he rasps finally.

You finish introducing yourself just as the other two enter. Konig’s down to just the dust mask today, while Krueger seems to have donned one for himself.

“You,” Krueger says.

You arch your eyebrows back. “Me.”

“What brings you here?” Konig interjects, much friendlier.

“Well, you really seemed to want cookies yesterday, so I thought I’d bring some with lunch as a welcome to the neighborhood.”

He practically shoves Krueger to get to the kitchen. You politely get out of the way so he can indulge in your offering without getting trampled.

“Danke schön,” he says, scooping up a sandwich.

“No problem,” you answer, smiling.

Krueger deigns to sidle closer, inspecting the platter with a keen eye. Still, you think you see a bit of appreciation in them before he snatches up one of the sandwiches. For some (concerning) reason, you’re gratified by that. (You’ll just blame it on your habit of feeding ferals and strays.)

“I also wanted to give you three a little warning…” Three pairs of eyes pin you in place. You try not to grimace. “Everyone on this block is nosy as hell. They will literally peak in your yard and check your mail.”

“The mail?” Konig asks, appalled.

“Yeah, I started using a PO Box,” you sigh. You’ve only got so much sanity before you start taking sniper shots with a water gun.

“We will handle it,” Krueger says.

“I’m sure,” you demure. “Anyway, that was all. You can drop the platter off later - or I can come get it. It’s not like you’re far.”

You start looking for Rasputin, only to find him perched on Nikto’s broad shoulder. The man doesn’t even seem bothered by the claws digging through his shirt, scratching a finger at the calico’s cheek.

“Huh,” you say, surprised.

Nikto glances at you, pauses. “What?”

You snort at the bluntness, but grin. “Usually I’m the only one allowed to pet him.”

That’s three for three. Well, two and a half. Shithead could have been trying or escape or go for the ankles for all you know. But Krueger seemed to like her, so that counts for something.

“C’mon my little tank, let’s go,” you coo, approaching.

Rasputin nuzzles his face against Nikto’s once, gives him a parting mraw, then leaps into your waiting arms.

“Bye, guys!” You call, waving over your shoulder as you head for the door.

Konig is the only one to respond with a polite, “see you!” But you don’t take it to heart.

Next

Masterlist

[weakformingyu]

More than meets the eye

Pairing: Chan x afab!reader

Inspired by Prison for life by Olivia Rodrigo

Summary: Chan is a pushover when it comes to doing things for you, but not so much when someone messes with his girl.

Warning: +18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

A/N: let's thank Chili(@baby-yongbok) for this brainrot, she's the one who planted this idea in my head.

Chan who's the sweetest person you have ever met, the one who blushed and stuttered when asking you out.

Chan who's always a gentleman, opening all the doors for you, pulling the chair so you can sit, throwing his coat over your shoulders so you won't get cold.

Chan who lingers a bit longer when he says goodbye to you after taking you back home, trying to gather the courage to kiss you.

Chan who's surprised by the way you grab him by the collar and crash your lips on his.

Chan who gets flustered when you ask him to come inside with you, so you can talk more.

Chan who can't help but feel his face on fire when you start undressing in front of him, not sure where he should put his hands.

Chan who eats you out slowly, enjoying every sound that comes out of your mouth, sure that he could make the prettiest song in the world with just your moans.

Chan who asks you to be his girlfriend the next morning, taking you by surprise when you wake up to a full table of breakfast.

Chris who loves to do everything for you, you want to stay home cuddling? Done, he'll make popcorn and prepare a list of rom-coms for you two to watch together. You want to go out with him and his friends? Sure, he'll make sure the guys are on their best behavior. You want to go shopping? Bet, he'll clean his schedule so he can spend the day buying you gifts, even though you always argue that you can buy things with your own money.

Chris who finds you amazing, you're strong, smart and capable, everything you have was earned with your hard work and he would never want to cross that line or take that away from you.

Chris who has to stand his friends making fun of him 'cause he's such a pushover when it comes to you. He would let you step on him if you asked him to and he would do it smiling.

Chris who loves to buy you flowers every time you have a date with him, so he always goes out of his way to buy you a bouquet.

Christopher who arrives late to your date because the flower shop messed up his order and witnesses a man grabbing you by the wrist while you argue with the stranger.

Christopher who sees red when he realizes what's happening, dropping the flowers and walking fast to where you are.

Christopher who puts his hand on the shoulder of the man, smiling softly and asking to talk to the man outside.

Christopher who's suddenly not a pushover anymore, not when it comes to someone messing with his girl.

Christopher who comes back inside after twenty minutes, dirty dress shirt and knuckles bloody.

Christopher who drags you out of the bar, hugging you tightly when the cold air outside hits your skin.

Christopher who fucks you in the backseat of his car, biting and marking you and calling you names, far different from the gentleman you are used to but you're not complaining.

Christopher who chants how much he loves you while you cum around his cock, overstimulated by the new side of your boyfriend that you're just getting to know.

Chris who helps you fix yourself so you can get out of the car to sit on the front seat, deciding that you should just grab some food on the drive thru and go home.

You're a feminist obviously, you don't need a man. But after that night you don't mind Chan saving you, you very much like his protection.

[tbaluver]

kiss me under the mistletoe- the love and deepspace men

pairings in order: xavier x reader, zayne x reader, rafayel x reader, sylus x reader genre: fluff fluff summary: spend the holidays by his side and share a kiss(es) under the mistletoe a/n: ty @ilovemitsuya for making me with the lads christmas dividers (˶ ˘ ³˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶) and ty @ilovemitsuya and @deusfoundry for beta reading ! (ง ˃ ³ ˂)ว ⁼³₌₃⁼³

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

“hmm?” his eyes flicker to the cluster of red berries on the christmas tree. he reaches his arm out and plucks it out of the christmas tree, examining it. “is this edible?”

you turn around after you finish tucking in the last flower in the tree and your gaze falls on xavier, who’s sniffing the mistletoe you carefully placed at the top of the tree.

you chuckle softly and gently take it from his hands. “no honey,” tucking back the mistletoe back into its rightful spot above you both. “it’s a mistletoe.”

you lost him there. xavier tilts his head, his brows furrowed in confusion. “mistle....toe?”

a smile tugs at your lips, christmas was completely new to him. you can’t help but step closer, standing on your tiptoes to brush a soft kiss on his lips right below the mistletoe. “when you stand below the mistletoe, you kiss someone next to you.”

xavier blinks, his expression shifting from confusion to realization with a smile now tugging on his lips. “ah i see,” he steps closer, his hands finding their way to your cheeks to pull you into a deeper kiss, melting into him.

however it seems xavier didn’t actually seem to actually understand. the next day as you two walk outside, xavier suddenly pulls you under a tree. he points up to a bunch of random red berries hanging from a branch above you both. “mistletoe.” you blink in confusion but before you can say anything, he pulls you in for a kiss, his lips warm against yours. and it happens again and again. he simply loves the idea of kissing you, no matter wherever you both are. you could correct him and point out the difference but you also love the idea of sharing a kiss with him whenever or wherever.

Zayne:

zayne attempts to celebrate christmas. with parents who were renowned doctors and himself a surgeon, their schedules barely rarely lined up which never made it easy. to him, christmas didn’t feel like christmas at all. he works tirelessly in the operating room, creating his own miracles that day as he performs surgeries. more often he found himself spending the holidays alone, drinking hot cocoa ( with an insane amount of sugar ) while he read ahead on patient reports.

but deep down he knew something was missing and you managed to solve it for him and fill that missing void.

after many years, his old dusty christmas tree was pulled out from his storage and has finally been decorated in all its festive glory as you two carefully hung ornaments and placed finishing touches that made it feel more personal for the two of you.

the sweet delicious smell of the baked cookies fills the air as he carefully pulls them out of the oven. he begins to prepare the hot cocoa he makes every year, this time with a special plus one. he made sure to get the matching snowmen mugs that he knows you’ll love when he brings them out.

meanwhile as you gently place the gifts you wrapped for each other under the christmas tree, a playful idea sparks in your head. 

he hears your soft footsteps get closer as he preps the ingredients. “do you want any sugar in yours?” he asks, adding two spoonfuls of sugar to his cup and proceeding to add an extra spoonful to make it more sweet.

your heart flutters with excitement and your lips curl into a grin as you hold up a mistletoe above your heads. “another holiday tradition ,” rising up on your tiptoes as you lean in to plant a gentle kiss on his lips.

zayne’s lips curl into a small smile as you pull away. “do i really need a plant to get permission to kiss you this holiday?” he asks, shaking his head. he pulls you in closer, his hand guiding your jaw to draw you into a deep and sweet kiss.

Rafayel:

humans are weird. chopping and dragging a perfectly happy tree into their homes and proceeding to adorn it with glittery things. rafayel never understood the appeal, that is until he met you.

he completely changes his mind about the entire holiday once he realizes that he gets to spend with you if you two celebrated the holiday together. so from this moment on, he declares that this year and every single year shall be spent together. maybe humans were on to something afterall..

a tradition that quickly became his favorite was holiday crafting with you. spending hours of creating your homemade ornaments and bursting with inside jokes as soft christmas music played in the background.

you two would dig up any embarrassing photos of each other to hang on the christmas tree. as you both carefully placed your last ornaments on the tree, a certain plant that you had purposely placed had caught your attention once again. and just below it was the perfect target.

as he continues going on about how silly you looked in the picture, you stepped closer to him, cutting him off mid-sentence and placing a soft quick kiss to his lips.

for a second you caught him completely off guard but his surprise melted into a sly smirk. “oh? someone feeling jolly or whatever the humans call it?” he teases, slightly leaning in more closer to you.

you giggle, pointing up to the mistletoe hanging directly above the both of you. “it’s a tradition,” you boop his nose. “you have to kiss someone when there’s a mistletoe above you.”

and just like that, christmas became rafayel’s favorite holiday.

the next morning as you both woke up, you woke up to something quite unexpected. it seems your lover was busy while you were asleep because every entry way of his studio and ceilings were decorated with mistletoes.

with a mischievous grin, he raises a brow. “guess you’re gonna have to kiss mee,” he teases while crossing his arms, “it’s a holiday tradition after all.” as you stood right below a mistletoe, his perfect and only target.

Sylus:

sylus had never celebrated the holidays, ever. growing up it was just another day of surviving and now it was just another day to him. he never wrapped or given the perfect gifts for loved ones during this time until he met you.

the moment he saw the joy and excitement in your eyes as you talked about doing Christmas traditions with him, something inside him shifted. he couldn’t ignore how much it meant to you and who was he to deny you the chance to celebrate? he wanted to make this season special for you this year and every year.

giving it a chance, he transformed his home with you. every corner and every entry way of his home was decked out with some type of christmas spirit.

sylus bought a massive tree, one that’s slightly more taller as he was and with the perfect intention in mind. he wanted to lift you up so you could place the start on the top once it was fully decorated. the tree was wrapped in red and gold ornaments that you recommended would suit his taste and finished off with luxurious ribbons around it.

it was worth it. seeing the way your eyes sparkled and how wide your smile got made everything worth it. he finally understood there was more then just gift giving. it was spending time with someone you truly loved.

with a final tuck of the ribbon on the tree, sylus turns around, his eyes locking onto yours. you clear your throat softly, earning a raised brow from him in amusement as you step even closer. your fingers gently tug his shirt, signalling him to lean down to your level. without hesitation, he leans down slightly, his warm breath fans against your skin as  you press a soft and lingering kiss to his lips.

his eyes flutter open slowly, his lips curling into a smirk. “a reward sweetie?” 

you shake your head, a playful smile tugs at your lips as you point upward to the mistletoe you carefully placed above the tree. “it’s a tradition to kiss someone under the mistletoe sy,”

he lets out a breathy chuckle, his gaze flickering between you and the mistletoe. “well technically you’re under the mistletoe..” he teases, his height barely grazing the plant. “but,” he leans back down to your level again, his lips capturing yours in a deeper and more passionate kiss.

“is there a rule for how many times i can kiss you under the mistletoe?” he whispers against your lips.

[beloveds-embrace]

I just read the poly 141 w/ past abuse reader and omg I love them all so much 😭. Would it be possible for a pt.2 (obviously you don't have to) but like how 141 reacts if they encounter readers family or something along those lines you know? (Ps. I love your writing. It's just *chefs kiss* you are amazing and I hope you have a wonderful day lovely!)

Thank you for your kind words!! I love compliments sorry i soak them up like sponge but ne ways here is part 2 (though it’s on the shorter side) and i hope you have an amazing day!

Part 1

CW: mentions of abusive and neglectful family

You knew it would happen, sooner or later. You knew this fragile peace you had been given wouldn’t last; it was only a matter of when that all of it would crumble apart and you’d be left-

“Calm down, love.” John’s hands settle on your shoulders, thumbs rubbing the tenseness out. His eyes are warm and so is his voice, his face, only for you. He squeezes, the touch grounding. “Take some deep breaths for me. Everything’ll be fine. We’re right with you, remember?”

You do as he says, twisting the fabric of your clothes in your hands. Your lips are chapped- bitten raw even when you keep getting glossy kisses from Kyle and Johnny who have stolen your chapstick. Though you want to reply to him, you are far more focused on the that is parking right outside your shop.

You are being stupid, and you know it. Your parents are simply picking up a flower bouquet order. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less, but you know how they are. Nevermind the fact the bouquet is for your sister’s baby shower that you are not invited to anyways.

There is no reason for you to be so scared that all four of your boyfriends tagged along today for your sake (they would have tagged along anyways the second you mentioned your parents would be there).

You know, logically, that your parents are just here for the bouquet, but the familiar dread still claws at you, a reminder of all the ways they’ve made you feel small over the years. And yet, with John’s warm hands on your shoulders, Kyle’s steady presence, Johnny’s easy grin, the fond pecks, and Simon’s quiet strength surrounding you, it’s different this time. You’re… not alone.

Yet when the car door slams shut loudly, a shiver runs through you, but Kyle’s hand finds yours, grounding you along with John. “We got you, yeah, dove?” he murmurs, giving you a reassuring smile that brings a little calm to your nerves. You nod, drawing a deep breath just as the door chimes and your parents step inside already looking so unimpressed with your shop. They’d always thought your passion for flower and plants was useless.

But they pause, taken aback by the sight of you with these men. You can feel the judgment in their gaze, the thinly veiled disapproval that once would have made you shrink. But now, with your boyfriends beside you, you… don’t feel quite so afraid. You don’t feel like you need to bury every part of yourself and only show the smoothed out edges your parents forced on you.

Your mother’s eyes narrow as she looks at you, at the way you aren’t immediately bowing your head and making yourself smaller even if you remain as quiet as you’ve been taught, and then she looks at the men standing protectively around you. “We’re here for the bouquet,” she says, her tone clipped, as if even this brief interaction is an inconvenience. No greeting, not a single ounce of warmth. Typical, and by now the hurt has become far less sharp than it had ever been.

“Here it is, mother.” You say, your voice small but steady. Your hands only shake just a little as you show her the bouquet, thought it’s Johnny who gently takes it from your hands, all but shoves it towards your mother, and smiles at them.

Your father’s gaze shifts to you from Johnny, his mouth opening as if he’s about to say something scathing, but Simon steps forward, his posture relaxed but his eyes hard- and his mask makes him look even more intimidating. “Anything else you need?” he asks, his voice calm yet leaving no room for confrontation, or even any other request.

You don’t mind this attitude, you realize. You are just- so glad it’s not you on the receiving end.

Your father hesitates, clearly taken aback and unused to being addressed so rudely, and you watch as he realizes he has no power here. None of his usual tactics- snide remarks, dismissive gestures, cold silence- can reach you. Not with these men shielding you, grounding you, and reminding you that you are worth so much more than their disdain.

“…We are leaving.” He clears his throat instead, shooting you a scathing look that says they will definitely be calling you later and belittling you, but… you know you will not be alone to deal with that later. Not anymore. Your mother is shooting you displeased glares, her hands white around the bouquet. But she says nothing, and for that you are glad.

As they leave, at last, John chuckles softly, leaning down close to kiss your shoulder. “They didn’t expect that, did they?”

You shake your head, almost laughing, a strange, freeing sensation bubbling up in your chest. Kyle comes close and wraps his arms around your shoulders, an embrace so warm and gentle. “See, love? You don’t have to face them alone anymore.”

And you realize he’s right. You don’t have to hold up a crumbling wall on your own anymore. These men have become the family you never had- solid, unwavering, reminding you every day that you deserve love and peace.

For the first time, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you can truly let go of the fear they instilled in you. For the first time, you feel like you can simply be yourself and be loved all the same for it.

[orphicsun]

saw someone saying they wanted farm ellie to manhandle them… fic request??

𑁍𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 / 𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𑁍

Ellie was the talk of the town, though that didn't mean much in a settlement of a mere 500. Though many people wore flimsy tank-tops and boots covered in a work day's mud, most were men. Ellie knew what the older folks had to say about her, and yet she still found it in herself to park her 70's Ford Ranger, her pride and beauty, outside of your father's farmhouse before starting a long day of shoveling, handling, herding, and operating.

Today, you sit on the top step of your cream-white wooden porch. You lean your head against the railing, observing Ellie at work.

There she is as always, in a thin tank top that clings to her when the sun beats down on the field. Half of her hair is tied back into a messy bun, and her bangs nearly cling to her forehead. She occasionally fans herself with her shirt, making you swoon in the process. One sight that catches your eye, however, is the shine of her belt buckle. The base is a solid black oval with gold flower embellishments prodding throughout. However, in the middle lay an amber moth. You've always wondered why she likes that specific buckle so much, and it intrigues you (plus, you like eyeing up her waist).

You watch from a distance as Ellie looks up at the sky, probably in her own thoughts or wishing for some summertime thunderstorms. However, you can't look away before Ellie catches your gaze. Her eyes make your cheeks burn, the skin already hot from the July heat. It isn't the first time she has caught you staring, and it certainly won't be the last.

You rise from the porch and approach her, giving a sheepish but rather sweet smile.

Ellie huffs out a laugh as you wave, and hunches down to set the small square bale down. "This yer new ritual now, miss? You gonna lure me into that house of yours for sweet-tea like yesterday?" She teases, voice thick and sweet like honey straight from the comb.

"C'mon! You've been working for like, five hours. You can handle a ten minute break, can't you?" You know you sound pathetically hopeful, but your crush on Ellie makes it difficult for you to filter your words. Her lack of complaints don't help, either.

"You know I can't do this everyday, as much as I enjoy our tea parties. Now, head on inside. Your father would be pissed if I let you sun burn. That sundress ain't protectin' you." Ellie points out, and butterflies flutter in your stomach. So she did notice the dress.

"What if I wanna stay out here with you?" You question, a soft, rising lilt in your voice in hopes it'll soften her like butter.

"Miss, please. I have to finish up with these hay bales." She reiterates, though it is currently taking everything in Ellie not to indulge in your request.

"Well fine, then. But I'm not leavin'. You'll have to drag me back into that house." You state firmly, crossing your arms.

Ellie's brows rise, and she scoffs softly. "Drag you in, huh? This is your last chance."

You only offer up a cheeky smile, feet planted on the ground. Please pick me up, please take the bait, please, please, please-

Just five seconds later, you feel a strong hand hook under the back of your legs and lift you with ease. You let out surprised laughter, Ellie not holding back from her own snort, and Ellie hauls you over her shoulder like a bag of scratch as she walks through the grassy fields and into the farmhouse.

"You're strong, jeez! I didn't know someone standing at a simple 5'5" could throw me around like this." You tease.

Though you can't see it, Ellie glares and flicks the back of your thigh with her fingertip. You don't complain any further, happy with yourself.

Ellie carefully sets you down on the couch and you tug on her hand before she can walk away. "You can't just bring me in here and not have tea."

And with the way she sighs, defeated but amused, you know you're going to get your way.

taglist: @kaykeryyy

[lemonlover1110]

𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Sukuna

[Chapter 10] Authority

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Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Smut, Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Nipple Play, Lactation Kink, Biting, Creampie

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

Sukuna has grown softer, something you’ve noticed but would never say out loud. Anything you ask of him lately, he’ll do. There’s just one wish that he won’t fulfill, and it’s reuniting you with your family. No matter how many times you ask, his answer is firm.

One day you’ll get him to comply, if you’re insistent enough, he’ll listen. You’ve found a way to get him to comply with almost everything, and you hope that one day you’ll do the trick.

“Can we take a walk?” You ask Sukuna, who hums in response. He guesses a walk won’t kill you, and today is warmer. Plus, you always look happier after your walks so it won’t kill him to agree. 

“Where’s the stinker?” Sukuna questions, and you let out a low laugh. Sukuna, who you’re sure has seen and dealt with foul things, can’t stop talking about Yuuji’s bowel movements. He’ll have a rude awakening when he has to deal with his own twins.

“Hina is taking care of him.” You respond, making him raise his eyebrows. He knows what waits for him after his walk, and he isn’t mad about it. You’ve made it obvious by not having the stinker by your side.

You have Yuuji attached to your hip every day, every night. Whenever you don’t have the baby by your side, you have other plans. In other words, you’re planning to have sex with him. He doesn’t know if you think you’re being sly, but you couldn’t make it more obvious.

He accompanies you, your arms linking when you get outside. Sukuna is planning to cut the walk short, he doesn’t want you to spend too much time in the cold. 

“The babies will be here any time.” You comment, giving into the warmth that his body radiates. For such a cold individual, Sukuna is exceptionally warm. Sukuna’s eyes glance down at you, and you swear his eyes soften as she looks down at you.

“Spring, no?” He questions, and you nod in response. It is slowly warming up, your only saving grace is the never ending snow. He feels that you’re excited for it now, something which felt impossible a couple of weeks ago. Thankfully, the stinker changed your mind– He guesses that your servants helped you as well. That one girl gave you the final push.

“Why do you like walking around here so much? There’s nothing to look at?” He’s looking around, trying to find something that catches his eyes, but there’s just snow. 

“I like the breath of fresh air. Even if it’s chilly.” You answer, and he gives you a subtle nod of acknowledgement. “I can’t wait for spring. The flowers here will surely look beautiful.”

“I’ll make sure they do.” He responds, a sheepish smile coming to your lips as he says that. He doesn’t even look phased. 

“Sukuna… Can I meet my family again in the spring?” You bring up, earning no response. He doesn’t like to argue about it anymore, so he chooses to remain quiet. The silence doesn’t signify a change of mind, on the contrary, it means that he’s standing firm on no. “I want them to meet our sons.”

“Our sons only need to meet us.” Sukuna responds, the answer crystal clear. You end up biting your tongue and looking at the ground in shame. He takes a swift look at you, loudly exhaling at the expression on your face.

You come to a stop in your tracks. You stop right at the spot where you asked him to plant flowers, and you can’t help but ask, “Will I see them bloom in the spring?”

“You will.” He answers, and you give him a subtle smile before turning back to go back inside.

Sex is entertaining, something that can keep him satiated for a bit. But it’s taken a turn lately. He can’t be satisfied. He doesn’t know what you’ve done to him, but this is what he’s been thinking about lately. Sex has never been something that he thinks twice about. It’s simple, he needs to be entertained and he’ll get that entertainment, but that isn’t the case anymore.

“Fuck, slow down.” You moan, throwing your head back as Sukuna moves his hips. You’re on top of him, since you insisted on riding him but that quickly changed. Your body has gotten harder to handle, but luckily that’s an issue that Sukuna can deal with.

His cocks fill up both of your holes, a feeling that was uncomfortable at first until it was the best thing in the world. It’s a bit overwhelming, you won’t lie, but it’s so good. He slows down a bit, per your request. He’s trying to keep control, but it’s hard when you feel so good around him. His hunger for you can’t be fulfilled, that’s what he’s realized lately. 

He lifts his head, mouth greedily attacking your breasts. Tongue circles around your nipple before lightly sucking. He drinks the milk that comes from your breasts, a type of indulgence that had never crossed his mind until now. 

“Oh, fuck–” Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, both of his cocks hitting just the right spot. Your nails dig into the skin of his chest, too overwhelmed with your pleasure to notice just how hard you grip onto him. It’s not like he minds either way, or notices whatsoever. He’s too focused on sucking on your tits and drinking.

He’s humming against your breast, too engrossed to move. He gives slow thrusts, making you grind against him for more friction. A set of hands land on your hips, holding you down as Sukuna continues to attack your tits.

“Sukuna.” You whine, trying to move but he won’t let you. He licks up the milk that drips out before lifting his head.

“You told me to slow down.” He reminds you as he begins to move once again. Your hand goes down to play with your clit, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your orgasm slowly takes over you, the pleasure too much for you to handle.

“Keep it like that. It’s perfect.” You tell him, and out of spite he almost speeds up. But he chooses to listen. You sound cute when you moan his name, words barely comprehensible as your climax takes over you.

“Good job.” He praises you, words that rarely leave his mouth unless he’s in this exact situation. Words of encouragement as you take all that you can.

You quiver as you reach your climax, and you’re so caught up in the feeling of euphoria that you don’t even notice how he puts you on your back. He’s on top of you, head going down to wrap his mouth around your nipple. He’s picking up speed again, chasing after his own release. You swear he muffles your name, but his mouth is too preoccupied for you to understand.

Your hands are on his back, nails digging into his flesh while he tries to keep control. He bites down on your tit, making a loud cry escape your lips. Sukuna ends up unlatching, lips landing on yours, tongue entering your mouth. 

“You can handle it.” He reassures you as he pulls away, feeling his cum fill you up. The warm feeling that makes you feel euphoric. Sukuna gives a couple more gentle thrusts before pulling out, leaving you empty.

He lays down beside you, eyes landing on you. If you were anyone else, he’d leave. But he can’t bring himself to get up and leave when he’s beside you. He enjoys sex with you more than he’d like to admit.

It’s why he left Kyoko behind. What’s the point of the woman if someone entertains his whim and leaves him wanting more?

Sukuna likes what you have going on, but he isn’t sure if he should like it. Relying too much on one woman isn’t a good thing. It makes him vulnerable.

“Stop leaving me cold.” You whine as you get on top of him, searching for his warmth. If you looked up at him, you would see a slight smile on his face as he wraps his arms around you– But then you’d convince yourself that it’s all in your head.

Vulnerability isn’t always bad.

“Are you the same woman that throws a fit when I say no to going out in the cold?” He teases, and you bite his arm. You earn no reaction from him. 

“Your babies like to walk around.” You tell him, though you’re just appreciating the time you can get outside. You doubt that you’ll be able to walk next week, considering how swollen your feet are lately. The pregnancy is a hassle to say the least.

“Right, blame everything on them.” He answers, hand going to your bump. He tries to get them to move, but to no avail.

His sons only move whenever they want to move, but he can’t blame them. He doesn’t like to follow orders either.

He insists that you’re by his side at all times. Even when he wants to take favors once again, he makes sure that you’re right there. He takes away the freedom of doing whatever you want again, but this time you don’t mind as much.

“Uraume, bring them in.” Sukuna orders as you sit on his lap. Your head lays comfortably on his chest, fingers playing with his own. It’s annoying to him, truly, but he won’t stop your fun; not for something that he can easily ignore.

“When can I see Yuuji?” You ask him, already bored with your place. He used to do this on his own before your pregnancy, you used to catch glimpses of him with whichever peasant dared to appear before him. Then he stopped to focus on you again.

“You just got here, my queen. The stinker won’t go anywhere.” His words are followed by a low chuckle, a sound that is rarer than any gem. His hand lands on your bump while a pout comes to your lips. You don’t doubt that you’ll be entertained with whatever you’ll see today, but you would rather be with your baby Yuuji.

Uraume walks back inside with a woman that reminds you of yourself. Too scared to look up at what waits for her. You feel pity for her, while Sukuna glares down at her as if she were below him—Because she technically is.

If she has your luck, he’ll solve her issues but make her life more difficult in the process. Though you don’t have the same issues and worries that you did before, carrying two little monsters inside of you isn’t easy to say the least.

“What do you say?” Sukuna looks down at you, eyes softening at your face, and you’re scared to answer. What if he disregards what you have to say? Of course, he’s asking but you also know Sukuna doesn’t like to follow anyone’s advice.

Your eyes land on the offering, nothing that impresses Sukuna… Nor you at this point. But that’s everything to her. She’s willing to give everything she has to reach fruition.

“Will you help her?” You respond, lips softly pressing on his cheek. He acts annoyed, rolling his eyes before agreeing. He knows better than to ask you next time, otherwise every worthless human will walk by unscathed.

“You need to learn how to be tougher.” He tells you, squeezing your hand. But you’re not listening to him, your eyes try to peek at who might be next. You remember that you got Yuuji through one of these favors, at least that’s what you’ve been told. 

“Can we get another baby Yuuji from someone?” You ask him, and he rolls his eyes again. As if you aren’t carrying two of your own. 

“And what, woman? Set up an orphanage?” He answers, making you stick your tongue out at him. He lightly flicks your forehead before a sigh escapes his lips, “I’ll let you go with Yuuji soon. Don’t get any ideas of stealing babies.”

“Why are you always ruining my pl–” You begin, only for Uraume to come back to the room without a prior announcement. Sukuna glares at them for interrupting the moment, and he’s about to raise his voice but there’s this certain uneasy feeling around them.

“Lady Kyoko wants to speak with you.” Uraume lowers their head, and Sukuna frowns. You mimic him before looking back at him.

“You told me that she was a thing of the past.” You comment, and Sukuna nods in response. 

“Send her away.” Sukuna orders, but Uraume shakes their head. An action that they had never done before. No one refuses Sukuna’s orders, especially not Uraume.

“It’s important, my king.” Uraume answers, the uneasiness making Sukuna’s stomach churn. 

“Send her away.” You repeat, a hint of jealousy laced in your voice. Sukuna likes the answer, but he can’t. Uraume is insistent for a reason.

“Let her in.” Sukuna orders, and Uraume gives a subtle nod before turning around. You cross your arms and glare at him. He tries to calm you down by grabbing your hand and placing a gentle kiss on it. “She’ll be leaving soon, my queen. She’ll probably ask for goods for all her years by my side.”

“Are you going to give her anything?” You frown, and he shakes his head.

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t get a single–” He begins before the door slides open again. Uraume walks in, quickly followed by Kyoko.

There’s a mischievous smirk on her face as she steps in, you immediately notice. You feel your blood boil at the sight, knowing that she’s up to no good. You’re bringing your lips up to his ears, but Sukuna looked absolutely stunned at the sight in front of him.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him, but Sukuna doesn’t budge. “Sukuna…?”

His eyes aren’t on how she looks, or how she so smugly appears in front of him. She doesn’t bow down because she doesn’t see a need anymore.

“Sukuna.” She so proudly calls him while he’s staring at her. “We have a lot to talk about.”

He can’t form a single word while she speaks to him, nor when you ask him what’s wrong. He can’t tear his eyes away from the smidge of cursed energy that’s on her stomach. 

He fucked up.

[pandapetals]

sunlight & sawdust

chapter four: sunflowers & saws

previous chapter | next chapter

summary: For two years, Joel Miller has done nothing but scowl at you from across the room, barely tolerating your warmth, your kindness, and your ever-present sunshine. And for two years, you’ve told yourself his gruffness doesn’t bother you—that his clipped words and cold stares don’t matter. But then, out of nowhere, he offers to fix the damaged floor in your flower shop. For free. Suddenly, the man who could barely stand to look at you is showing up every day, fixing things that don’t need fixing, sharing quiet lunches, and—most shocking of all—getting along with Ellie, your daughter, who has never warmed up to anyone as quickly as she has to him.

pairing: joel miller x fem!single mom reader - no outbreak/au

content warnings: slight reader description, no y/n used, grumpy joel, grumpy x sunshine trope, ellie is reader's daughter, reader is a single mom, tommy being a meddler, reader is friends with tommy, au setting in Austin, joel is a carpenter, reader owns a flower shop, fluff, angst and eventual smut, joel is bad at feelings, sarah mentioned

a/n: divider by @saradika-graphics.

Early the next morning, Joel stood outside the flower shop, hands stuffed deep in his pockets.

The quiet hum of the morning filled the air—birds chirping, the distant sound of a car engine, the cool breeze rustling through the hanging plants by the shop’s entrance.

He glanced at the sign on the door.

"OPEN — 9 A.M."

His watch read 8:00.

Joel sighed, rolling his shoulders.

He could’ve taken the damn key when you offered it. It would’ve saved him from standing out here like some idiot with nowhere else to be.

Jesus, if Tommy could see him right now.

He already knew what his brother would say—some smug remark about Joel showing up early like a man eager to see someone.

Which wasn’t the case.

He was just… getting a head start. That’s all.

Before he could second-guess himself—before he could climb back into his truck and pretend he hadn’t been standing here for ten whole minutes—your car pulled up in front of the shop.

Joel stiffened instinctively, watching as you stepped out effortlessly, a soft hum slipping past your lips.

You were wearing a floral blouse, light and airy, tucked into a flowing skirt that moved with you as you slung a tote bag over your shoulder. In one hand, you grabbed two coffee cups from the car’s console, balancing them with practiced ease.

You looked like you belonged in the morning light, golden rays catching in your hair, almost casting a halo around you.

Joel exhaled sharply, jaw tightening.

God help him.

"You weren’t kidding," you said, grinning as you approached. "You really are here bright and early."

Joel barely registered your words at first—too caught up in how you looked and felt against the quiet of the morning.

A sight to behold. He forced himself to blink, to focus.

"Yeah, well…" He cleared his throat, shifting his weight. "Figured I’d get a head start."

You smiled, offering him one of the coffee cups. "Good thing I figured you’d show up early, huh?"

Joel hesitated for half a second before taking it, his fingers brushing against yours.

Warm. Soft.

Damn it.

He swallowed, bringing the cup to his lips, trying like hell to ignore how his pulse had picked up—how, despite everything he told himself, this was starting to feel like something dangerous.

You unlocked the door, pushed it open, and stepped inside, the familiar scent of fresh flowers and morning air greeting you. Joel followed but hesitated near the entrance. He took a long sip of coffee, letting the heat burn his throat—anything to keep his focus in check.

"Have I thanked you yet?"

Your soft and thoughtful voice pulled his gaze toward the counter where you were setting your things down.

Joel let out a quiet chuckle. "For what?"

You glanced up at him, your eyes warm. "For doing this. The floor, I mean." A small, grateful smile tugged at your lips. "I just hope you know how much I appreciate it."

Joel shifted his weight, gripping his coffee cup a little tighter.

"You’ve mentioned it." He smirked slightly, a teasing edge to his voice. "Just wanna help you out, is all."

He swore something flickered in your expression for a second—just a second. A flash of confusion, maybe even disbelief, but it disappeared just as quickly as it came.

Instead, you nodded, smoothing your hands over your skirt. "Well, there’s no rush. You can take however long you need to finish the job."

Joel gave a short nod. "I know, I just…"

He trailed off, words slipping away before he could catch them.

Because what? What was he about to say? That he wanted to finish it quickly so he wouldn’t have to keep coming back here, keep looking at you, keep feeling this thing in his chest that wouldn’t quit?

Or that he didn’t mind taking his time because being here—being around you—was starting to feel like the best part of his damn day?

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. "Like to get things done?"

Joel exhaled, nodding once. "Yeah."

Your lips quirked, amused. "I’m the same way. When I have a task at hand, it’s all I can think about until it’s done."

Joel huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. "Sounds about right."

"Oh, by the way—what do you like to eat?"

Your question came out of nowhere, catching Joel off guard and making something deep in his chest flutter before he could shove it down.

His brows pulled together as he glanced at you. "Why?"

"Because you won’t let me pay you," you said, matter-of-fact, a teasing lilt in your voice. "So, at least let me cook for you."

Joel shook his head, already trying to shut it down. "I don’t need payment. Or… food." His voice was gruff and low, and avoiding your gaze felt like the safest option. "I just wanna help."

You huffed a laugh, crossing your arms. "Yeah, I got that part."

Joel smirked slightly. "I’m stubborn, remember?"

"Oh, I remember." Your eyes gleamed with amusement, roaming over his face like you were taking him in—really taking him in.

It did something to him. Something dangerous.

"That you are, Joel Miller." You let the words roll off your tongue, slow, deliberate.

Joel swallowed, his grip tightening around his coffee cup.

Christ.

"Fine," he muttered, exhaling through his nose. "Make whatever you want. Just don’t expect me to say ‘thank you.’"

You grinned, leaning against the counter. "Oh, I won’t. I’ll just let your empty plate do all the talking."

Joel scoffed, shaking his head, but damn if he wasn’t biting back a smile. 

"Guess so," he muttered, setting his coffee cup on the counter with a quiet thud.

His hands instinctively found his hips as he exhaled, scanning the shop, grounding himself.

"I’ll get to work—stop botherin’ you."

"Oh, please." You rolled your eyes, smirking. "Like you ever could."

Joel shook his head with a low chuckle, but he didn’t let himself linger.

He reached the damaged flooring section, dropped into a crouch, and ran his hand along the exposed boards. The wood beneath his fingertips was rough and warped from the water damage.

Pulling out his tools, he set to work, prying up the worst of the boards with practiced ease. The familiar rhythm of the task settled something in him—the scrape of wood, the strain in his forearms, the focus it required.

This, at least, made sense.

Unlike the way his damn heart had been acting up around you.

He could feel your presence as you moved around the shop, tidying up and humming quietly. Every so often, he caught the sound of you flipping through a notebook, rearranging flowers, and talking to customers once the shop was open.

By mid-afternoon, Joel’s back was aching, his knees stiff from crouching too long—but he pushed through.

Joel wanted to finish this to see how your face would light up when you realized how fast and easy he had made it look.

The hours slipped away as he worked, his hands calloused and dirty but steady as ever. The motions were easy: pry up the damaged boards, measure, cut, and replace. Simple.

At least, it should’ve been simple.

Except every so often, his focus would waver.

His eyes would wander—drawn to the sound of your voice as you greeted customers, the warmth that laced your words, and how you handled the flowers with practiced ease.

You had a softness to you, but it wasn’t fragile. It was effortless, natural—something that pulled people in, even the ones who didn’t deserve it.

Even him.

Joel forced himself to look away each time, gritting his teeth and shaking the thoughts loose.

"You should take a break." Your voice came from behind him, gentle but firm.

Joel barely heard you at first, still deep in his work. But when he turned, you stood there, watching him with your quiet concern.

"Did you bring lunch?" you asked, tilting your head slightly.

Joel wiped a forearm across his brow, glancing at his watch for the first time all day.

Shit. He hadn’t eaten.

He rolled his shoulders, already shaking his head. "I’m fine. I’ll eat later."

You huffed, hands on your hips. "Joel."

He froze.

It wasn’t just his name. It was how you said it—like you weren’t giving him a choice.

"C’mon." You jerked your head toward the back of the shop. "I have some leftover spaghetti in my office. You’re taking a break whether you like it or not."

Joel hesitated, lips pressing into a firm line.

But the way you stood there, unwavering, hands still on your hips like you were ready to argue—he knew damn well he wasn’t winning this one.

With a low sigh, he wiped his hands on his jeans and pushed himself up to stand.

"Alright, alright. But only for a minute."

"Mhm." You smirked, already leading the way, not waiting to see if he’d follow.

Joel shook his head, but his feet moved anyway, trailing after you toward the back of the shop, wondering when the hell he started listening to you without question.

Once inside the small office, Joel glanced around quickly. The space was cozy, with stacked papers, a few stray petals scattered across the desk, and the faint scent of lavender lingering in the air. It was you through and through.

His attention quickly landed on the two Tupperware containers on the desk, one already open.

He huffed, crossing his arms. "So this is your big plan? Trappin’ me back here with food, so I’ll take a break?"

You grinned, unbothered by his gruff tone. "If that’s what it takes, then yeah."

Joel exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but there was no real bite to it.

"Didn’t realize I was bein’ ambushed."

"You wouldn’t have come willingly." You shrugged, grabbing a fork and handing it to him. "Figured force was necessary."

Joel took it begrudgingly, looking at you long and unamused. " Do you do this to all the contractors who fix stuff for you, or am I just special?"

"Oh, you’re definitely special, Joel." Your voice was dripping with sarcasm, but there was a teasing glint in your eye that made his chest feel too damn warm. "Now sit. Eat."

Joel muttered something under his breath but did as he was told, settling into the chair across from you.

He picked up the fork, stabbing into the spaghetti before pausing, glancing at you suspiciously. "Wait. You didn’t put somethin’ weird in this, did you?"

You gasped, a hand flying to your chest in mock offense. "Excuse me?!"

"I dunno." He twirled the pasta around his fork. "You seem real eager to feed me. Kinda suspicious."

"Oh, please." You rolled your eyes. "If I wanted to poison you, I wouldn’t waste delicious spaghetti to do it."

Joel let out a low chuckle before finally taking a bite.

And damn it. It was good.

He tried not to react, tried not to give you the satisfaction—but the way his chewing slowed just slightly gave him away.

Your eyes sparkled with amusement. "Well?"

Joel grunted. "It’s fine."

"Fine?" You scoffed, shaking your head. "Unbelievable. That’s homemade spaghetti sauce, by the way."

"Mhm." He took another bite, slower this time.

After a long moment, you smiled, the kind of smile that softened everything around you.

"It’s Ellie’s favorite," you said fondly. "She practically begs me to make it every night. And I have to make the sauce homemade because she won’t eat store-bought. Says it tastes weird."

Joel huffed out a small chuckle, shaking his head as he twirled another bite onto his fork. "Kid’s got standards."

"Oh, you have no idea." You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. "She’s got opinions on everything—how I cut her sandwiches, the ‘proper’ way to fold socks, and don’t even get me started on how she thinks I should run the shop."

Joel smirked. "Sounds like someone else I know."

You raised a brow. "Oh? And who would that be?"

He shot you a knowing look.

Your lips parted in mock offense, a hand dramatically pressed to your chest. "Are you calling me opinionated, Miller?"

"Just sayin’." He shrugged, but the teasing glint in his eyes gave him away.

You scoffed, but your smile never wavered. "Well, Ellie gets it from me, so I take full responsibility."

Joel shook his head, but damn if he wasn’t biting back a grin. "She’s got a right to love it," he begrudgingly admitted, chewing another bite of spaghetti. "It’s amazing."

The words slipped out before he could catch them, and the moment they did, he regretted them.

Not because they weren’t true—hell, this was the best damn thing he’d eaten in a long time—but because of the look you gave him.

Soft. Pleased. Almost… affectionate.

"Wow," you said, feigning shock. "Joel Miller giving me a compliment? Is the world ending?"

Joel rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he shoveled another bite into his mouth. "Don’t get used to it."

"Oh, I absolutely will." Your voice was light and teasing, but there was something else beneath it—something warmer, something dangerous.

Joel swallowed thickly, feeling the moment's weight more than he wanted to.

So, naturally, he did what he did best. He changed the subject.

"So what’s for dessert?" he grumbled, stabbing his fork into the emptying Tupperware.

You laughed, the sound light and full, like you weren’t fooled for a second. "Oh, Joel. You don’t get dessert on your first day."

"Tch." He smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Guess I’ll have to come back then."

The second the words left his mouth, he realized his mistake because your expression flickered—just for a second like you were surprised to hear him say it. Like maybe… you wanted him to.

Joel cleared his throat and pushed himself up from the chair a little too fast, nearly knocking his knee against the desk in the process. "I’m gonna get back to the floor… workin’… fixin’ things."

Smooth. Real smooth.

Your lips twitched, clearly trying not to smile too much. "Alright."

Joel turned, ready to escape the damn warmth creeping up his neck, but then—

"Just letting you know, I have to pick Ellie up from school around three, which is when I close the shop."

He paused, glancing back at you. "What’s that matter?"

You let out a soft chuckle, tilting your head slightly. "Well, I’ll be gone. So either you leave for the day, or I can leave you the key so you can lock up whenever you’re done."

Joel blinked. Oh. Duh.

Of course, that’s what you meant. Not anything else. Just a logistical thing. Not a big deal.

Jesus, he was an idiot.

"Right." He scratched the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you. "Nah, it’s fine. I can be done when you are."

You nodded, but your smile widened just a little—just enough to tell him you knew. Knew he was flustered. Knew he was struggling to act normal.

And then, to make it worse, you laughed—light, easy, not unkind, just… amused.

"You’re kinda cute when you’re flustered, you know that?"

Joel froze. His brain short-circuited.

"I—" His mouth opened, then closed. Nothing came out.

You patted his arm as you breezed past him, shaking your head. "Relax, Joel. I’m just messing with you."

Joel let out a breath, rolling his shoulders like that would somehow undo the damage.

It didn’t.

You were still laughing softly to yourself as you walked back toward the front of the shop.

And Joel—who had faced down things most men would run from without flinching—stood there, feeling utterly defeated.

taglist: @hermionelove, @niceforcum, @ashhlsstuff

[yooniivrse]

bouquet | myg

summary. every day with you serves as a reminder that you are, in fact, the best thing that has happened to him

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: established relationsip au, fluff

word count: 1.3k

content/warnings: oc buys yoongi flowers / my man is whipped

notes: u can find the post explaining how i imagine yoongi and oc’s apartment here (in case u wanna visualise it better) likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are so appreciated!! i hope you guys enjoy <333

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taglist | click here to join

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The fresh scent of flowers tickles your nose as you hold the bouquet close to your chest. You can't help but pride yourself in your selection as you admire the pale colours that caress each petal; an arrangement of pinks the same shade as the blush you often find creeping across your cheeks, oranges that mimic the morning sky on a winter day, yellows that remind you of the sunshine that warms your eyelids as you lie in bed during summer, and whites that reflect the hue of the moon.

It may not be perfect, but it's just right for your boyfriend — this you're sure of. Because it's Yoongi who causes your blushes and watches the sunrise with you in his arms despite the chilly weather; it's Yoongi who convinces you to stay in bed for "just a bit longer", until the day is almost gone but it doesn't feel wasted because it was spent with him.

Yoongi illuminates the dark skies that often haunt you, lighting up even your dullest days in his own way. And he whispers sweet nothings in your ear at night as if they're words from the moon itself.

Getting Yoongi flowers wasn't something you set out in the morning intending to do. You had come across the bouquets on your way back home from work, catching sight of them in the window of a quaint flower shop tucked in the corner of a street. It still baffles you how you had managed to not see the building for so long despite knowing the street like the back of your hand.

It was hard to miss too, given the amount of intricately put together bouquets wrapped in parchment paper and potted plants that were displayed on wooden stands just outside. They spilt out across the sidewalk, painting the grey town with the pop of colour it desperately needed.

You don't know what it was, but nothing had felt more right for you to do at that moment. So you marched in and paid an outrageous amount of money without a second thought.

And now, here you were — unable to hide the smile on your face despite the burn on your cheeks — watching the elevator ascend to the floor of your apartment. The pixelated numbers seemed to be moving slower than usual today, but you didn't linger on it for too long.

Eventually, the steel doors part to let you out, and you walk down the empty hallway to your apartment. It's a struggle to unlock the door with the flowers in one hand and your tote bag flimsily slung around your other shoulder, but you manage.

The door opens with a familiar creak and you step inside.

The immediate aroma of food that hits you is sudden, but also mouth-watering. You make your way down to the source of the smell — the kitchen — to find Yoongi working away at the stove.

A short towel hands around his neck, catching the droplets of water that fall from the ends of his hair. A loose, black t-shirt hangs on his figure, along with a pair of grey sweatpants. He hums an oddly staccato tune to himself, completely immersed in whatever he's cooking.

"Hi."

Yoongi's gaze immediately moves from the dish in front of him to you, a smile spreading across his face.

"Hello." He meets your eyes for a brief second before moving down to the flowers. He quirks an eyebrow, lifting his gaze again. "Special occasion?"

"No. I got them for you...just because," you reply with a shrug, walking over to him with the bouquet outstretched in your hands.

"Oh. I- Thank you." You don't fail to catch the tint of pink that creeps across his skin, slowly becoming prominent around the tips of his ears as he takes the flowers from your hand.

He stares at the arrangement for a few seconds, and you feel a flutter of nervousness in your stomach. He would like them, right?

"So, whatcha cooking?" you ask, eyeing the pot of noodles. A small pile of thinly cut cucumber rests on a cutting board just beside the stove, but before you can take in everything else displayed across the marble, Yoongi's lips are on yours.

You melt into the kiss almost instantly. Your heart soars in your chest and the nerves in your stomach wash away, only to be replaced by the erratic flutter of butterflies.

Yoongi tastes faintly of mint and love, and the pressure of his kiss is slightly stronger than usual — as if he's reminding you of who his heart belongs to, even though you're already well aware.

The feeling of knowing that you're loved is almost overwhelming, but you bask in it, unable to stop your lips from spreading into a smile against his mouth.

"God, I love you so much," Yoongi mumbles as he pulls back, tenderly moving a few strands of your hair behind your ear, and you giggle at his words.

"I love you too, baby," you reply. His eyes crinkle into soft crescent moons, and he places another peck against your lips.

"Where do you think we should put it?" He does a quick scan of the room and you follow his movements. The coffee table would've been your first option, but it's occupied by the flowers he got you on your most recent date.

"Hmm." Your eyes move down the room. "I think it should look fine in the bedroom."'

Yoongi hums in agreement. "You're right. I'll put them here for now, 'cause I'm fucking starving right now."

"Oh my God, same," you reply as he places the bouquet on the marble island behind him. "What are you making anyway?"

"Just jajangmyeon. You mentioned wanting it last night, so I thought I'd make it for you. Didn't want you to get food poisoning like last time when we went to that sketchy restaurant."

"You're amazing," you say, loudly kissing him on the cheek. "I was literally craving it all day today."

Yoongi lets out a soft chuckle. "I knew you would be. Don't worry, it'll be ready pretty soon."

"I'll go get changed then. Don't burn down the house!"

"That's rich coming from you," he says with a snort.

You feign innocence with a shrug. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Mhm, sure you don't."

As you leave the kitchen, your laughter still echoing in the room, Yoongi lingers by the bouquet. A feeling of warmth blooms across his skin, and he's sure that it has nothing to do with the stove.

Even as he continues to stir the noodles, the only thing he is focused on is the single thought in his head.

You really are the best thing that has happened to him.

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Valentines Day

Ace Trappola:

Ace wanted to play it off like he forgot the date, but then he’d be a liar and still in the doghouse. He didn’t want to get some generic Valentine’s related product, with some fake lovey dovey sentiment that he’d never say out loud in a thousand years. That would as disingenuous as lying and getting you nothing at all. He knew your hobbies and interests, so why was he suddenly at a loss for what would make the perfect gift for you?

You’re surprised to be greeted with a handful of colorful rectangular paper, ‘COUPON’ scribbled across the front of it in handing that looked slightly rushed. You were about to ask if he was spending a little too much time with Octavinelle before spotting the ‘within reason’ written at the bottom, getting the answer to your question before you had even asked.

“Yeah, you can give ‘em to me when you want me to do something for you.” He seemed rather proud of the idea, and you found it hard to hold back a laugh. This was clearly because he couldn’t find a gift that fit his standards, falling back on the tried and true ‘just tell me what you want directly and I’ll do my best to make it happen.’ It was very in-character of him, and you looked forward to the seeing the lengths he’d go for you.

Leona Kingscholar:

The holiday created such a buzz that Leona wanted nothing more than to run away from it. He didn’t care about couples, though he thought it provided an honest view of your partner depending on what they gave you. Money could go a long way if that was what your partner wanted, but what about the sentimental? The true romantic who wanted a real show of love and affection but could only receive a pre-made gift their lover had spotted while on the way home?

He doesn’t directly invite you to a night under the stars, but thankfully you speak Leona, and completely understood why he was telling you the exact place he’d be at a very specific time. You had, of course, received a beautiful piece of jewelry from him, something that represented his homeland and tied you two firmly together, but you knew there was more to him than just money.

A peaceful night spent beneath the stars awaited you, and as much as he insisted he didn’t believe in reading them, you couldn’t help but feel more connected while watching them together.

Jack Howl:

Jack had been standing outside the flower shop for nearly ten minutes now, a determined, somewhat scary, look on his face. Some of the patrons sent him wary glances as they came and went, wondering what he could possibly be glowering at when it came to pretty plants. Even standing outside a good distance away was almost too much for Jack to take, his nose twitching as the door swings open once again and his nose fills with the scent of every flower in the place.

He knew it was what you wanted; you had discussed flowers at length at one time due to a sudden sneezing fit that was caused by a particularly strong-smelling plant in the greenhouse. He knew your favorite color, the type you liked, he’d just have to get out the words and pay for them and then the deed would be done… Compared to the odors fighting for dominance in his nose right now, he could certainly handle a small bouquet with just one kind in them.

Jack stays strong, for you, for as torturous as this situation is as he stands in line with the enemy all around him, the smile on your face would be worth it (and his tail was already wagging happily at just the thought).  

[robin-evry]

Pure Vanilla Yuu for twst?? Please??

𝐓𝐖𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐋𝐀!𝐘𝐔𝐔 🌟✨

Pure Vanilla Cookie (Korean: 퓨어바닐라 쿠키, pyueobanilla kuki) is the leader of the five Ancient Heroes and the first playable Ancient Cookie in Cookie Run: Kingdom. Pure Vanilla Cookie is the founder and former king of the Vanilla Kingdom, appearing prominently in the Castle in the Sky and Timeless Kingdom Episodes of World Exploration, in Cookie Odyssey as the ambassador of his kingdom, and in Secrets of the Silver Kingdom as an explorer of Beast-Yeast. He carries the Light of Truth in his Soul Jam, and is the counterpart to Head Icon Shadow Milk Cookie's Light of Deceit.

People wonder why they are in NRC when they should be in RSA, Warm, kind, and compassionate, always seeking to help others, even when they don’t ask for it.

Despite their soft demeanor, they have an inner strength, standing firm in their ideals, A calming presence, often found diffusing conflicts with gentle words and sweet treats.

Although they can be naive, believing in second chances and this may have caught the attention of nrc trouble makers, but don't worry grim and the first years are there to protect them when someone is there trying to take advantage of them.

Always smiles gently, even when scolded or insulted because they genuinely believe in second chances and redemption, one time a student was mocking pure vanilla!yuu and they just stand there smiling emitting a light similar towards the sun, and that causes the student to stop at shock because they feel like an asshole.

Because why would anyone wanna insult and hate on pure vanilla!yuu they are by far the sweetest of all on nrc, when someone would try to bully them the entire school would give them a disgust look because why.

Pure vanilla!yuu rarely eat, this may have caught the attention of their friend due to them not always eating at lunch, they usually say they are not hungry but that's by far from the truth. So the first years would usually just ask them to snack on something, as long as they eat something, it's fine.

No matter where they go, pure vanilla!yuu would admit a scent of vanilla everywhere. Floyd almost bites them trying to see if they actually taste like vanilla. The ramshackle dorm has become a serene and calming place where anybody could feel relaxed and warm when they are having a bad day.

Outside of school, pure vanilla!yuu usually could be seen gardening outside of the ramshackle dorm tending towards plants and flowers with such gentleness. That even grim feels jealous.

They would have tea with Lilia in Dismonia while both of them are sitting in those chairs that rock, discussing politics and other things. Lilia enjoys pure vanilla!yuus presence because they Automatically will light up the dark atmosphere in dismonia as well they are by far the calmest amongst the students.

Grim would usually lay on their lap to have a nap or whenever he has a nightmare he would seek their presence and cuddle up closely towards them. Meanwhile pure vanilla!yuu would pet him until he's calm.

Whenever Crowley would try to take advantage or exploit of pure vanilla!yuu kindness, the other staff would stop him midway. Crewel and trein have been growing disdain over him.

Due to pure vanilla!yuu willingness to help others, some students would exploit this to gain benefits like a student forgot to complete professor trein magic history assignment why don't they just copy off pure vanilla!yuu. Good thing the staff has grow to know this so when an assignment that look similar towards pure vanilla!yuu assignments would immediately find the number zero on top plus a discussion with the teacher.

Very good at negotiating believing that words are better to solve problems than head to head conflict. Manage to disperse multiple conflicts with students not to mention they are able to feel whenever someone is having troubles so during the scarabia chapter, at the kitchen they ask whether or not jamil is fine or not because they sense trouble inside of him.

Since due to their healing capabilities, many students would seek them towards any accident or injuries. Someone got hurt by having their head hit by the disk during magift training, pure vanilla!yuu is called. A kitchen accident pure vanilla!yuu is called upon. Even if it's pure vanilla!yuu is busy doing something, they will put it aside to assist someone.

Kinda bad at dealing with sarcasm, unable to tell if it's sarcasm. But when people praise them they will be flustered, they’re used to giving love, not getting it.

Sebek is more calming with them because he feels like a bad person when trying to criticize pure vanilla!yuu not to mention when he did, malleus asked him to apologize to pure vanilla!yuu.

Azul once tries to trick pure vanilla!yuu into contracts, only to be completely thrown off when they genuinely trust him. Starts questioning his life choices. So he decided to rewrite the contract to something they can easily do because he feels like targeting an innocent person.

Animals and birds would occasionally be found around them, and pure vanilla!yuu would give them affection before returning them towards the wilderness they are even gentle with bugs, would not harm a spider that was in the corner of the room freaking grim, they immediately let the spider walk towards their palm and bring it outside to release it.

Every morning would wake up early to make tea for grim and them. Before they get ready they would read a book for sometime and see the clock when it's about time they get ready and wake up grim for school.

Can walk into the most chaotic situations and somehow make everyone stop fighting just by speaking in a calm tone. Whenever something bad happens, pure vanilla!yuu don’t get angry, they just look disappointed, which somehow hurts way more. Pure vanilla!yuu is the type of person that prefers honesty over lies so when someone has lied to them basically one time grim accidentally destroys an assignment they work so hard and tried to hide it but it was soon found out by them and pure vanilla!yuu just gave him this most disappointed look ever, they will feel disappointed because they prefer people to be honest than lie when it comes towards them or they feel hurt that people has to resort over lying rather than telling the truth towards them.

[charliemwrites]

Part 2!

Finally finished moving house so hopefully I’ll be updating semi-regularly again.

Content: brief and non-descriptive explanation of Rasputin’s backstory (injury and illness)

Agatha is over again.

You don’t know why. She doesn’t like you, your cats, or anything as far as you can tell. It seems her primary motivation for talking to you at all is to exercise her role as neighborhood matriarch. She “keeps tabs” on everyone, but especially you - the unmarried woman living alone that keeps odd hours.

A rebellious part of you wants to roll your eyes and make snarky comments whenever she sniffs at your life choices. The same part of you that would make scenes at holiday dinners or slam doors when you were a teenager. That girl has long been smoothed and polished - or maybe just worn down. It’s so much effort to make rude, nosy, traditionalists clutch their pearls. Much easier to smile in their face and do what you want anyway.

Still, that part of you itches at the surface sometimes. Makes your eye twitch.

“I know your generation is different but that’s just not the type of neighborhood we live in,” she’s saying.

You’re a bit foggy from a late night patching plotholes and haven’t registered much of anything she’s said. You really just want to go inside and stare at the TV until words make sense again.

“What do you mean?” you ask, for once not feigning your confusion. But of course this is the one time she doesn’t buy it.

She looks down her frail little nose at you, cornflower blue eyes baleful. You don’t feel scolded, but you sense that you’re supposed to.

“Now you know just what I mean. People will talk.”

People always talk, it’s an unfortunate byproduct of the human condition. Like a deaf bird, you’ve never understood all the chatter.

“Talk about… the buttercups?” you wonder, pointing at the blossoms. You’re quite proud of them actually.

Agatha puffs up and hisses out a breath. “You ought to keep to this side of the street. Away from those men.”

You blink. Men…?

A bang comes from across the street, followed by rough German cursing. (At least you think it’s cursing.)

Ah. Those men.

“I was just welcoming them to the neighborhood.”

It comes out of your mouth automatically, innocent excuses for something you remind yourself you don’t need to justify.

“I’d rather they didn’t feel welcome,” she snips. “Better they sell that awful house and go somewhere else.”

You flick your eyes over her bony shoulder. Konig passes by a window, massive biceps on display as he lifts something outside of view.

“They’re nice,” you say. Nice to look at. Krueger’s face alone quite makes up for his conversational shortcomings.

“The only reason men like that act nice is because they want something,” Agatha snaps. “This is a respectable neighborhood.”

Yeah, soooo respectable when Bertram rifles through your mail or Lisa looks into your backyard.

“Well,” you muse, “better to be on good terms with them, I think. They're not the type you want to piss off.”

That defiant streak lights up at the way her face sours. If only she knew what sort of words you use when it’s just you and the cats.

“You’ve just proven my point. Those are not the type of men young ladies should associating themselves with.”

You have to try very hard not to scrunch up your face. One blessed day, people will stop referring to you as “young lady” in that insufferably condescending tone. You can’t wait for that day.

Some of your mounting irritation must show on your face because she takes on a sickly sweet “teaching” tone.

“Neighborhoods are like gardens. Everything grows best when the rows are kept separate. That’s why the farmers plant them that way.”

You glance pointedly at your own yard, where the flowers are blooming in haphazard sprigs wherever you tossed the seeds. Agatha’s lips get thin.

“Best that you stay on this side of the street, missy. That’s the last I’ll hear of it.”

She spins on her heel and stalks off like a particularly drab bird. You stand on your porch for a second longer, face contorted in annoyed confusion. You don’t even have strong feelings about the three men; the simple act of someone - Agatha of all people - labeling them as “Off Limits” makes them instantly more appealing.

Maybe you should see someone about that or something. Then the pathetic cries of Guy through the window lure you back inside.

It’s nearly sundown when there’s a knock at your door. Still agitated from your talk with Agatha, you puff up like Shithead when Rasputin sits on her favorite toy. March up to the door, fling it open - and come up short when you see the three men looming on your doorstep.

Before you can recover, a little gray blob scrambles past your ankles, crying like the sky is falling.

“Oh!” Konig gasps in pleasant surprise. “Hallo, Bubchen!”

And all 6-foot-plus of Austrian instantly folds to scoop Guy up. You’ve barely managed a now-useless shout of alarm when Shithead wedges her fat head between your calves. Behind you, Rasputin politely screeches his little chainsmoker call.

And somehow, in the chaos of fumbling for furballs, you end up with all three men in your foyer.

Guy is purring away in Konig’s thick arms. Shithead is attempting to scale Krueger’s tight cargo pants. And Rasputin is pawing the air at Nikto, visibly calculating the jump to his wide shoulders.

Which leaves you with the clean serving platter you dropped off just yesterday. You blink at it for a moment, then glance at them.

“So… the cookies were good then?”

“Very good!” Konig rushes to say. Krueger and Nikto each nod, almost comically solemn.

“We have no baking or cooking skills,” Krueger continues, “so tell us what needs fixing.”

It takes you a moment to understand what he means. The house. He wants to fix your house. It’s surprisingly sweet, and you laugh a bit, shaking your head. “You don’t need to do that, I was just-“

“Is custom,” Nikto interrupts.

Konig nods with all the enthusiasm of a bobblehead as Krueger crosses his arms. (Whatever effect he’s going for is ruined by Shithead clinging to his pocket and screaming.)

“In our country, we bring gifts as guests. Our gift is repairs,” he explains.

You arch your brows playfully. “I don’t remember inviting you to be guests.”

He arches his brows right back. “We did not invite you either.”

Well shit.

“Okay, okay. I guess there’s a couple things…”

Konig perks up. “We would be happy to help, Biene!”

It’s strange having men in the house. You think you should be more nervous about it, can’t remember the last non-family man allowed into your space. Especially alone.

There’s a sharp awareness, of course. Hard not to be aware of them. It’s not just that they’re big, dwarfing all of your you-sized furniture. There’s a presence to them, something felt but not seen by your untrained eye. Maybe it’s in the set of their shoulders, the way they stand with both boots firmly planted. Maybe it’s the precise way they speak and move, not just separately but as a unit. Acting more like a collective consciousness than as individuals.

Whatever it is, you couldn’t ignore them if you tried. And you’re definitely not trying.

You set Krueger to work on the kitchen cabinet you’ve been meaning to replace. He clicks his tongue at the tape-and-lean method you’ve been using to keep the old one in place. Shithead immediately sets to work helping by gnawing at his shoelaces.

Konig is stationed in the guest bathroom, where the sink doesn’t run right. Guy comes mewing into your arms when he’s set down, effectively tattling that his new friend is mean and awful for withholding affection for even a moment.

You try not to visibly hesitate when you corner yourself in your own laundry room. Nikto has followed you right in, seemingly unaware that he’s invading your personal space. He’s not even looking at you though, eyes zeroed in on the dryer you point to.

“It’s not heating up, so the clothes stay wet or take forever to dry,” you explain.

He grunts in acknowledgement, then nods to Rasputin, who has taken up residence on the washer. His one golden eye blinks slow and serene at the two of you.

“What happened?” he asks.

You hum, softening in pleasant surprise at the question.

“I’m not sure how he lost his eye. It was infected when I found him. But I know for sure the tail and leg are from getting hit by a car.”

You sigh, scratching at Rasputin’s chin. A rusty purr starts up as he tilts his head, revealing some nasty scars around his throat.

“The vet said that that’s probably from a fight with another cat,” you add.

Guy steps from your arms to cuddle up to Rasputin, shoving his face into his ragged ear. Grooming time, then. That’s as good an indication as any that Nikto’s probably safe enough.

“I ran down from an office building to save him.” You blink hard, eyes stinging just from the memory. “But anyway, he gets to rest and be pampered now.”

When you glance up from Rasputin’s happy little face, you almost startle at the sharp blue eyes pinning you in place. Your face feels warm, even though you’re not embarrassed.

“I’ll, um, get out of the way,” you say, clearing your throat. “Keep an eye on things, Ras.”

With the men occupied, you find yourself once again at loose ends. You drift towards the den, but it feels awkward to sit on your ass watching TV while your neighbors fix your house.

You check the time on your phone - ignoring the text from your mother - and figure it’s not too early to start dinner.

“Will I be in the way if I start cooking?” you ask Krueger.

He flicks you a dimissive glance. “A little thing like you?”

You scoff and cross to the fridge. “You could have just said no.”

“Nein,” he snorts.

Rude bastard, you think - though not without fondness, unfortunately. The surly attitude is already growing on you.

There’s meat and spare boxes of pasta and veggies - that’ll work. You start tugging out ingredients, mentally doubling portions for your guests. They look like they work out even beyond the construction labor, hopefully you’ll have enough to satisfy their appetites.

“So what’s the plan with the house?” you ask as you get to work. “Just fixing it up to sell or…?”

“We will live there, the three of us,” Krueger answers. He swipes a screwdriver from Shithead’s batting paws. “Somewhere to stay when we are not working.”

You hum, biting back the next obvious question, loathe to become as nosy as the rest of your neighbors. Still… getting to know people, right?

It sounds like they expect to travel a lot. You can’t imagine them as business types - not in the traditional sense anyway. Though the image of Konig sitting in a tiny cubicle does make you smile a bit. Between their statures, their clothes, their shoes, and the occasional nasty scar, you take a guess.

“Are you guys military?”

“Contractor,” Krueger corrects.

You perk up. “Wait, really?”

He scowls. “Does it sound like a joke?”

You huff and turn back to the veggies you’re cutting. “No, no. I just - you know about guns and knives and things, then?”

He pauses. You shoot him a curious glance, only to quickly look away at the intense scrutiny directed your way.

“Yes,” he answers slowly.

“Then… could you maybe answer some questions…?”

His eyes narrow. “Questions?”

You keep your gaze on the cutting board. “Okay, wait, it's not suspicious. I’m a writer and it’s hard to google very specific questions sometimes. It’s just easier to ask an expert in person.”

Never mind that majority of your readers would never know the difference. It bothers you when things aren’t accurate.

He makes a considering noise. “A writer?”

You flush. “That’s what I do. Why I’m always home? I publish fiction.”

He stands, brushing his hands off on his pants. You peek his way, shocked to see a task you’ve been putting off for weeks already done. Hell, it looks sturdier than the rest of the cabinet doors, too.

“And your fiction requires knowledge of guns and knives and ‘things’?” he asks.

Your face feels like it’s on fire. “Sometimes…”

“Fine. I will answer your questions,” he allows.

You beam. “Thank you!”

He grunts, snatches a slice of pepper and pops it into his mouth.

“What else needs doing?”

Dinner ends up much more pleasant than expected. Nikto abstains from eating, you assume because he doesn’t feel comfortable removing his ever-present mask, but he sits at the table with Rasputin in his lap. He speaks little, and has that intense gaze that prickles at your freeze instinct, but you grow used to it as the meal progresses.

Konig, however, becomes chattier with food in his belly. He’s much more forthcoming when he answers your polite and totally casual questions - though you notice Krueger kick him under the table once or twice.

You suppose he gets you back by effectively announcing to the others what your career is. Which just kicks off the usual line of questioning about how and why you got into writing. Still, there’s no judgment from these men that make their living in labors of blood and sacrifice, where you expected censure. You only find genuine curiosity and intrigue, good-natured questions. Not even Krueger makes backhanded comments about it not being a “real” job.

Before you know it, the moon is high and you’re sending the three of them off, bellies full and a little friendlier than before. Nikto nods to you (and Rasputin) as he leaves, a big Tupperware of his dinner portion in hand.

You tell yourself it’s not anticipation that goes through you, knowing they’ll be back with it soon.

Previous | Next

Masterlist

[kamaluhkhan]

HER CANINE TEETH IN THE SIDE OF MY NECK

pairing: werewolf!vi x vampire slayer!reader word count: 11.1 k summary: she's a monster, and you're essentially a monster hunter. it shouldn't work, but it does. (or — you and vi decide to escape the narrative together) warnings: ooh various mentions of fighting + blood + injuries ranging from mild to life-threatening; reader and vi both smoke + consume alcohol; rough sex (fingering [vi receiving], oral [reader receiving], tribbing, biting, spitting ++ aftercare); 18+ ! vibes are basically buffy the vampire slayer with chaotic lesbians loving each other so much it consumes them both a/n: i think i've been watching too much buffy and fantasizing about werewolf!vi for like,, too long,, and this unholy mess is the result. this has been sitting in my drafts unfinished for a WHILE but tonight is the wolf moon so it felt right to post now, i really hope y'all enjoy 🖤 i'll include credit for each subtitle in the tags too <33

♪: "bullet with butterfly wings" by the smashing pumpkins; "dig me out" by sleater-kinney; "taste my despair" by lesbian bed death; "i wanna be your dog" by joan jett; "fantastic" by king princess

i. sorry about the blood in your mouth

vi wakes up with a terrible motherfucking headache, which isn’t anything new. 

she doesn’t know where she is — that isn’t particularly something new, either — but what is new is the tongue slobbering all over her face. when she opens her eyes, vi sees a 50-pound black dog standing over her.

“whoa!” vi sits up abruptly, but the dog only gets more excited and jumps up on the couch, caging her in.

“sorry. she usually isn’t so enthusiastic about company.”

the voice is coming from the other side of the room, where you’re sitting on the edge of the mattress closest to the window. there’s a cigarette in your hand, and each time you exhale, you point your chin accordingly so the smoke travels outside. a crisp breeze trickles in. 

“morning, killer.”

vi swallows the heart that has jumped into her throat, takes a deep breath to steady her breathing. fuck, she literally just moved here and might already need to leave. she tries to remember if something bad happened last night. 

it wasn’t the full moon, was it? no, that shouldn’t be for another few weeks. but then why are you calling her a —

“killer?” she asks, swallowing the lump in her throat.

she stares at you, eyes trailing your injured jawline as she waits for you to respond. you do look vaguely, achingly familiar. whatever happened last night, you were probably part of it. 

“well, you’ve got a killer right hook,” you quip. you snuff out your cigarette and twist around to fully face vi. “and i’m pretty sure you killed my reputation as a pit fighting champion. i was undefeated before you.” 

fresh blood emerges from your split lip as you speak, and you’re quick to swipe it away with your tongue. 

oh. right. 

your tank top is torn at the bottom, just cropped enough that vi can see the imprint of her fist on your lower ribs. she now remembers the feeling of yours on the side of her face, and has a bloody, crusted eyebrow, painfully tender cheekbone, and the outline of your ring seared onto her skin forever to prove it. 

what kind of pitfighter wears pure silver?

vi takes note of her surroundings to get a better sense of who she’s up against: the place is small, dingy, but has a good amount of light. you’ve got a broken mirror, old books stacked in the corner, and an open cupboard filled with clothing and various weapons, mostly daggers and some wooden stakes. an intricate glass cross dangles from the centre of the window, filtering through multicolored light. there are a bunch of dried plants next to a mortar and pestle on the sill below — nightshade, juniper, wolfsbane. on the tiny kitchen counter is a silver vase filled with more wilted flowers. 

even from far away, vi can hear your heartbeat — strong, steady — as you shuffle around and gather some things. she inhales your scent. she remembers that she was slightly taken aback, in the pit when she had you pinned to the mat, that under the musk of sweat and metallic tang of blood, vi sensed something else, something delicate and floral. 

your whole apartment smells overwhelmingly of dried roses and decaying fruit, too, sweet and earthy.

“did you bring me here for round two?”

“no.” you let out a short, breathy laugh. “i brought you here so that some creep wouldn’t take advantage of you. you were pretty out of it.”  

“so you’re — what an enforcer?”

“no fucking way,” you declare, and vi can practically feel rage coursing through you, your heart pumping with reignited vigor. “like an enforcer would care enough to actually help the undercity,” you grumble. 

you shake your head and sit down at the edge of the couch, shooing your dog away so you can drop first aid supplies in her place. she settles on the floor at your feet. 

you offer vi a somewhat bruised apple. when she hesitates, you push it into her hand.

“this isn’t a fairytale,” you say, hands busy soaking a cloth in some alcohol. “i’m not trying to poison you,” you add as if reading her mind.  

“there…there are some good enforcers, though,” vi tries, trained to have such platitudes at the ready.  

you roll your eyes. “if there are, i haven’t met them.” 

vi’s not sure she believes what she had said, either. she feels her side ache, a phantom bruise from when caitlyn slammed her rifle into the very injury she had once helped heal. 

what started as you’re not like the rest of those animals. you’re one of the good ones. became you’re all the same. it’s their blood in your veins. as soon as things went downhill. 

vi bites her lip to prevent herself from wincing, and it isn’t because you’ve pressed an alcohol-soaked cloth to the cut on her nose. her sharp nails break through the skin of the apple, digging into its soft flesh until juice is running down her wrist.

“eat,” you insist, but you’re focused on removing as much dirt and dried blood from her face as you can, brows furrowed in concentration. “you ruined my reputation, so you better keep up your strength if you wanna keep yours.”

“so, you’re helping the enemy,” vi, still wary of you, wonders.

your frown softens. you place a bandage on the bridge of her nose before saying: 

“you’re not my enemy.” 

maybe it was the sincerity of your words, or the unconditional care you’re showing her, or the fact that it’s been so long since someone has touched vi so tenderly, but she decides in that moment to trust you, whoever you are. 

she takes a bite of the apple, the sweetness invading her mouth, as you lean over to search for something else in the first aid kit, mumbling to yourself about how the wound is deeper than you thought. 

“you should really be more careful,” you chide. “are you a topsider?”

vi scoffs through a mouthful of fruit. “i’m from the lanes.” 

“yeah, well this neighborhood is a different level of bad,” you tell her.

“i can hold my own — ouch.”

you start stitching up the cut on her eyebrow, one hand keeping her head steady. her cheek pulses against you as she chews, your skin calming and cool. 

“when you’re sober, maybe.”

“you didn’t have to help me,” vi grunts. “most people would’ve gone about their business.”

“i was going about my business. i was out on patrol; vampires never sleep, you know.” 

you say it so casually, almost too casually, that vi wonders if she misheard you.

“vampires?”

you raise an eyebrow at vi. “there’s a high concentration of them around here, near the hellmouth. a lot of monsters, actually —”

vi hopes you don’t notice how she shudders at the word monsters.

“ — some of whom can and will eat you alive if they get the chance,” you deadpan. “that’s kinda what i’m here for.”

“so….what are you, exactly?”

you don’t say anything for a few seconds, your expression unreadable while you finish vi’s stitches, but your heart thumps so forcefully against your ribcage, vi almost thinks she’s seconds away from hearing the bones there crack. you start gnawing at your bottom lip, let the blood gather until it starts to trickle down towards your chin. vi swipes it away with her thumb, which she then wipes against her bandaged palm. 

you inhale slowly, then exhale. your heart rate eases; still a bit higher than most people’s, but to what seems to be normal for you. 

“the correct term is slayer,” you finally say, watching vi carefully for her reaction. 

vi isn’t quite sure what that means, but it doesn’t sound good for someone like her. she’s wondering if she should make a run for it when you drop your voice an octave or two and add: 

“the chosen one standing against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness.” you clear your throat. “if you were wondering.” you break out into a cheeky grin, teeth sparkling in the late morning sun.

“you’re joking?”

“most days, i wish i was. that’s the official tagline, actually.” your smile shrinks into a sigh. “i’m the slayer. i won’t bore you with all the details, but me saving you last night? that’s kinda just what i do. my destiny, so to speak.”

“do you normally take the people you save home?”

you blink away, wipe your hands half-heartedly on the white tank top you’re wearing, smearing vi’s mess of crimson and grime.

“no,” you admit. 

vi narrows her eyes at you, shifts her body so there’s at least more space between you before she figures out what the hell to do. it’s possible that you’re lying but —

vi puffs out her chest. “why are you being so nice to me?” 

you already have her blood on your body, and vice versa, and not just because you’d been fighting each other. it’s not quite trust, but it feels like something close. something you’re willing to share without even knowing much about the other. 

an unspoken question: do you know what i really am? 

because if you did, vi’s sure you wouldn’t be so….friendly towards her. so gentle.

“honestly?” you gesture towards the dog who’s busy nuzzling into vi’s leg. “fangs kinda hates everyone but she seems to like you.”

her jaw drops. “you decided to be my guardian angel because your dog likes me?”

“i already had a good feeling about you before.” you shrug. “i took it as a good omen, i guess.” 

“i’m not sure you should,” vi advises. 

you’re looking out for her, so she should look out for you. it’s better, for everyone, that vi be left alone. 

she’s been good, had to learn how to be, in order to survive; that doesn’t mean she’s innocent. 

on the bad days, she can’t control her anger. on the worst days, she can’t contain her hunger.

“okay, well, maybe i’ve got a thing for strays,” you reach your hand down, run it through fangs’ thick black fur. your lips curl upwards as you look at vi, all bright-eyed and beautiful, sunlight itself emanating from your smile. 

something sparks in her chest that she thought would never light again. something that, like her, could be dangerous if it’s not controlled. 

vi decides it’s probably about time that she left, though it's difficult to tear herself from your warmth.

“so, will i see you in the pit again?” she still can’t help but ask as you accompany her to the door.

“probably, yeah.” you lean against the doorframe, and vi is about to turn the knob when you add: “but, that pub you passed outside of? the bronze? maybe we can, uh, get a drink there, afterwards sometime.”

your heart skips a beat or two as you anxiously wait for vi to say something. her entire body heats up when she realizes what’s going on.

you were….asking her out. 

the good thing is that then there’s no way you actually know what vi is because, well, would this even be allowed in your line of work?

“you promise you’re not just playing the long game? gaining my trust and then stabbing me in the back?”

you give her a playful but sincere smile and make a small ‘x’ on the left side of your upper chest. “cross my heart.”

“guess i’ll will call you my guardian angel,” she muses, her chest glowing. “i’m vi, by the way.” 

you grin, then formally introduce yourself. you reach out your hand. vi holds it, delicately, even though your grip is firm.

“one more thing, though — keep the whole me being the slayer thing under wraps? it’s supposed to be a secret.”

“why’d you tell me, then?” vi wonders, raising an eyebrow. 

you tilt your head, examining her. “like i said — i had a good feeling about you. slayers are meant to have good instincts, so i decided to trust mine.” 

vi takes a deep breath, removes her hand from yours, and glances at you once more with a small smile. she promises not to tell a soul. 

(she, of all people, knows that there are far worse secrets to keep.)  

“thank you,” vi adds. “for saving me.”

she hears fangs scratching at the door from inside the apartment after she’s gone, along with the deep rumble of your voice telling fangs not to worry, our new friend will visit again soon, like you’re so sure vi will be back. 

with the way you already have her sharp edges softening, her heart fluttering in her chest, vi probably will be. 

except —

vi’s not quite human, hasn’t been since she started bleeding between her legs at 13, since her mother told her that this was a blessing passed down to eldest daughters in their family, no matter how many people will try to convince her it’s a curse. 

it would be a few months later that her mother would be killed because of said blessing. 

really, it’s more nightmare. 

because vi knows what it’s like to pick ripped flesh from between her teeth, to have the metallic sweetness of blood linger on her tongue and throat-tearing screams ringing in her ears. 

meanwhile, you — with your good instincts, strong fists and stronger heart  —

it’s your destiny to end those nightmares. 

you’re the thing that monsters like her are supposed to have nightmares about.

ii. you’re an angel / i’m a dog

there’s an intimacy to knowing how someone fights. 

vi fights with bared teeth and burning rage, knuckles cracking against bone, elbows bruising skin without any remorse. her own wounds are half-hazardly hidden behind layers of gauze, her chest wrapped tightly to keep her heart from bleeding out. she doesn’t bother to clean the dirt underneath her nails, to wipe the blood from her upper lip after an opponent breaks her nose, to wash her face clean before smearing on more dark paint until all she sees in the mirror is a shadow of her former self. 

you, on the other hand: you’re precise and quick in how you defeat your opponents, maybe even a bit bored. vi figures that when you fight monsters for a living, it must be fairly dull, knocking out some guy with a single, well placed uppercut, even if he is twice your size. your bandages are always fresh, and you always make vi a little dizzy when she catches a whiff of rose. you walk past her with a playful grin, easily replaced by the glint of your razor-sharp canines as you defeat another opponent in the arena. she listens as your heartbeat barely increases a beat, despite the inevitable adrenaline of battle. 

you might not be as feral as her, but vi thinks you’re just as dangerous. she likes it, admires that your violence is always calculated rather than all-consuming. 

she does wonder if you’d ever let anything consume you, curious to know what’s hiding under your armor.

so, a few days after she first woke up in your apartment, vi builds up the courage to suggest: 

"whoever wins the most fights tonight picks up the tab for the bar." 

your face brightens the dim, dirty sidelines of the pit as you’re both waiting for your turn, when you answer:

"you're on, killer." 

later that night, both of your bodies are aching as vi tries to examine your injuries once you’re both done for the day, away from the roar of the crowd. 

"guess i'll be picking up the tab," you smile, your lip splitting open even more, just like the morning after her knuckles first kissed your skin. 

(she wants to kiss this wound closed, too, press her lips to your bloody ones, if you’d be willing to give her a taste.)

"i'll still take care of it, angel,” vi soothes. she rummages around the tiny locker room, a single light bulb flickering above you. finally, she finds a small first aid kit — poorly stocked, but good enough for now. “lemme take care of you first."

you must understand what vi’s implying, because your heart starts racing faster. 

it’s a routine that becomes vi’s guiding light — the two of you patching each other up after a rough day (and, regardless of the fact that you’re both strong, it’s always a rough day). you share a drink at the bronze, and then you’re off slaying vampires or whatever other nightmares will keep you awake and fighting every night. 

then, it’s another full moon, and the routine changes. 

she’s able to prevent herself from turning even in the worst of circumstances, but she doesn’t want to risk any accidents, knowing that you’re out there on the prowl. vi is confident that you’d never hurt, let alone kill her, but that’s counting on you being able to recognize her. 

vi locks herself in the basement of the bronze. spike, the bartender, let her crash in a storage closet, temporarily, no questions asked and a promise to keep it a secret.

she emerges from her isolation after three days, eyes stinging from the harsh morning sun. her first instinct is to head underground, search for you. she makes one stop beforehand, drops something off in the locker room before she’s ushered into the arena without any more preamble. 

the show must go on, and you’re already center stage. 

the lanky woman you must’ve just knocked unconscious is being dragged away. you spit out what looks like a combination of blood and saliva, and crack your neck before resuming a fighting stance, feet squared, bruised knuckles at the ready. 

you falter when you see that it’s vi who’s your next opponent. vi picks up the increased pace of your heart, the muscle worrying against your chest.  

you’ve had this conversation, though — about what would happen if you were ever up against each other again in the ring — and you both agreed: once the bell rings, the fight starts, because you both need the money to survive. 

nothing personal. winner buys two rounds of drinks at the bronze. three, if there were some nasty hits involved.

you hadn’t needed to worry about any of that until now.

the bell rings, and vi waits for you to make the first move, like you tend to do.

but, you don’t.

the first time you were up against each other, vi dodged your attack and delivered a jab hard enough to make you bleed. you had looked at her with wide eyes, fingers touching your bottom lip and becoming stained with red as the crowd roared. you adjusted your posture with a newfound interest, and a glimmer of what vi can only describe as hunger.

this time, you drop your stance like you’ve already lost the fight. you ignore the shouts and groans from the crowd as you walk away.

….

vi finds you in the locker room — and you’re not alone. 

“there a problem here?” vi asks, glaring at the guy you seem to be arguing with. 

“it’s fine,” you answer coolly. still, vi sits on the bench nearest to the door, waits for you like a patient dog. 

“fine?” the guy barks a laugh. he’s wearing topside clothes. an enforcer, no less. “you made me look like a fool.”

you scoff. “i doubt that’s hard to do.”

the guy suddenly reaches forward and snatches your arm. vi feels rage surge through her when his nails indent your skin. you must sense it, because your eyes lock with hers in a silent command not to do anything, not just yet.

“i don’t think you understand, bitch,” he seethes, face a pissed off shade of red. “i’m out more money than you’ll ever see in your entire pathetic life.” 

“i’m sure you’ll manage.”

vi follows your gaze as it drops to his belt. he’s got his badge, a standard issue pistol, and a pouch full of gold coins. 

“clearly i bet on the wrong fucking dog.” 

you force a smile. “better luck next time, officer.” 

you finally rip your arm out of his grip, push him away abruptly, effectively manoeuvring him to stumble between where you’re standing, and vi’s waiting. you gesture towards vi with a smirk, a taunting dare for this enforcer to challenge two of the undercity’s best fighters. 

vi gets up just as he’s walking out, grumbling an incoherent string of swears. she not-so-subtly knocks into his shoulder and hip, her nimble fingers still quick.

“guess we can get dinner with our drinks, now,” she quips with a toothy grin. vi tosses you the pouch, but you don’t seem too thrilled, even as you catch it effortlessly. 

“you can’t just disappear like that, vi.” your voice sharp, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“i didn’t mean to,” vi lies, walking over to open your shared locker. she pulls out a bouquet of roses, the same deep red as dried blood. 

vi pouts, gives you her best puppy dog eyes. “i’m sorry, angel.” 

the only reaction she gages from you is a quickening heartbeat at the nickname, your face still hard to crack marble. 

“this is serious, vi.” 

“i know! but —”

“do you know what’s out there? i’m not the only monster hunter around here. you need to be careful,” you rush, walking over to her and talking with your hands. “i looked everywhere for you, and….and you just left without saying anything. i thought…i thought you’d been killed —”

your blood roars in vi’s ears, your pulse close to out of control, and vi doesn’t know what else to do except bring you into her arms in an attempt to calm you down.

“i’m okay, angel. i’m here. i’m right here,” vi mumbles against your shoulder, inhaling sweat and roses.

your heart starts beating steady against her own as you exhale.

“i was safe, i promise. i was in the supply close at the bronze.”

“are you kidding?” you guffaw, unravelling yourself from vi’s body. “that basement is a hellhole.”

vi shrugs. “it does the trick.”

you chuckle dryly, shaking your head.

“well, i guess now that i lost one of my best sponsors, fangs and i might have to move in there with you,” you deadpan.

you reach around vi to pull a jacket from the locker, slipping on worn leather that vi realizes is hers. you take the flowers from her with a small thank you, and vi adjusts the collar of her jacket on you, her warm fingers subtly grazing your pulsepoint. vi can’t help the possessiveness that sparks in her abdomen: you, wearing her clothes; you, heart beating rapidly for her. 

“well…what if….i moved in with you?” deep down, she knows it’s not an ideal situation, but vi reasons: “we can pool our money together for rent. besides, what’s another stray in your home?” 

you bite your bottom lip as you mull over the offer.

“well, you did buy me flowers, ask me out to dinner….seems like the logical next step.”

“so….” 

vi wiggles her eyebrows at you, and you finally crack a smile. 

it was only been three days apart and vi already felt deprived of the sunlight of your smile. 

“okay, killer. as long as you don’t make a habit of disappearing on me.”

….

on paper, there might be reasons why you and vi, together, shouldn’t work, but the simple truth is that you do.

you still spend your afternoons engulfed in the darkness of the underground arena, patch each other up at the end of the day, share drinks at the bronze before parting ways.

now, in the mornings, you spend a few hours training together, moving furniture around so there’s enough space to spar. you try not to get distracted by how hot her skin is every time it brushes against yours, how solid her thigh is between your legs when she’s adjusting your stance, how a shattered moan emerges from her lips as you pin her to the floor after showing her a new technique to catch an opponent off-guard.

the nights are your favourite, though. like fangs, vi is able to fall asleep anywhere in the apartment, and is usually passed out by the time you’re off the clock from slayer duty. after the first few nights, you insist that vi sleep on the bed, and she begrudgingly agrees. now, you get home just before dawn, bone-tired, to find her belly up, drooling and snoring on top of the dilapidated mattress. the moonlight illuminates all the curves and shadows of her sculpted body, her skin shimmering with sweat because her body runs warm, even on the coldest nights. you can see the trail of pink hair disappear beneath her black underwear, while her dyed-black hair is a tangled mess you’re tempted to tug at, curious to see if she’d moan again for you. vi sleeps shirtless, nipples winking at you like two fallen stars with those titanium rods pierced through. 

gods, you try not to drool when you slip under the covers and fall asleep dreaming of her, all the places you would sink your teeth into, all the places you wish she would do the same. 

(meanwhile, vi tries to ignore the sound of your whimpers, the quick tempo of your heartbeat, and the overwhelming musk of desire between your legs as you sleep next to her, because she’s so sure that you would never dream of her.)

these fantasies of vi, all her warmth, all her chaos, gnaw at you from the inside out. it’s an overwhelming sense of hunger, but with vi, you also feel something else, something gentler and more fragile building between you.

it’s really the little things. 

like, vi brings you fresh roses every week, and even though you keep telling her to save her winnings for better things, she tells you that pretty girls like you are worth it, angel. they should teach you that in slayer school. 

she winks, makes you flustered, then has the audacity to blush when you leave her the ripest apples because you know that she likes them a bit sweeter. 

sometimes you open the window as you share a cigarette, exhaling smoke into the starlit twilight as you exchange stories about your pasts, about the people you’ve loved and lost. she’s the first person you confide in about how weighed down you feel by the responsibility of being the slayer, a burden that’s cost you many loved ones, and the uncertainty of whether what you’re destined to do is truly what is good for the world. she tells you about her time in prison, the lonely nights lamenting the death of her father and brothers, but keeping her strength because she hoped to one day make it back to a sister she just ended up losing, anyways. 

other times, the two of you play a game. you imagine that you’re elsewhere, that there are no such things as monsters, no reason to have to battle and bruise yourselves just to survive. instead, you have a life and a family and a home together, filled with luxurious parties, decadent dinner tables, and endless sunny days. 

you comfort her and she comforts you through the dark, morbid world you both have been fighting against, alone, for so long.

it works. it works really well. 

except — you’ve been the slayer long enough to know that nothing this good will last. it's nauseating — dangerous, even — this desire buried in you deeply like a knife to the gut, twisting and taunting you with what can never be.

you’re just waiting for the next nightmare to reveal itself.

….

vi’s hair has started to fade back to pink, so she asks you to re-dye it.

it’s easy to forget that she sits in a rickety chair in your decrepit but well-loved apartment because all she can think about is your body behind hers, solid and steady. your cool fingers work the dye through her hair, your nails scrape against her scalp, and you’re humming as fangs snores peacefully at her feet. she’s died and gone to heaven, pure bliss glowing in her chest and releasing through her throat as a deep rumble. 

she closes her eyes and indulges in a little daydreaming:

just you and your sunburst smile and your soft, rose-petal skin.

there’s a firm knock that rustles vi out of her reverie, and you tell her to go rinse out her hair while you answer it.

she can hear you talking with someone through the rush of hot water. she tries not to eavesdrop, but…it’s difficult, especially once she hears:

“it’ll be fine. silver bullets usually do the trick,” you say, without much enthusiasm. vi bites back her hurt, keeps rinsing her hair, waiting for the water to run clear instead of sludge gray. 

you’re not talking about her. 

“i’m not sure you understand the severity of the situation,” a voice with a thick british accent replies. “i’ve been on the council for fifty years — five times longer than you’ve been the slayer — and i’ve never seen something quite this vicious.”

“my guess is you don’t get out in the field much,” you quip. 

whoever you’re talking to clearly is not amused, ignoring your backhanded comment and instead offering the details of what has been witnessed in the past few days. it’s so gruesome and gory that vi herself is shivering as she turns off the shower, towels off, and gets dressed. 

when vi opens the door, she almost trips over fangs, who’d fallen asleep just outside. she gets up immediately as vi steps out, her tail wagging. the owner of the stern voice — a man wearing a very pristine looking tweed suit — is handing you a crossbow, a bunch of silver-tipped arrows already splayed on the table. you notice vi first as your grip on the weapon tightens, and the man’s gaze follows.

“you know there’s a rule about slayers keeping….pets,” the man says, turning his nose up at vi and fangs from where they’re still standing at the doorway of the bathroom. 

you glance back at the pair, jaw clenched, and then focus back on your unwanted guest. 

“mr. travers, thank you for the heads up, but i believe it’s time for you to leave,” you clip, dropping the crossbow on the table. 

“actually, i believe that we have much more to discuss, namely how you’ve allowed this mutt into your home —”

“get the fuck out of our apartment,” you practically growl. you walk towards him menacingly until his back is millimeters away from the door. “you of all people know what i can do.”

“you will be punished for this…this transgression,” travers warns, but there’s an unmistakable tremble in his voice. 

you laugh in a way vi can barely recognize, sharp and bitter. 

“fine. i’m no stranger to dealing with the council’s bullshit.” you open the door, flash an exaggerated, sickly sweet smile. “have a nice day.”

“i hope this animal is worth it,” travers huffs. 

“she’s worth it,” you reply without hesitation before you slam the door on his ass, so hard that the walls shake, the vase in the kitchen toppling over and cracking on the counter. 

vi’s seen you fight in the pit — hell, she’s been on the receiving end of some of your wicked moves — but she doesn’t think she’s ever seen you this angry. 

your chest is heaving as you pace back and forth. 

“so that sounds….bad,” vi remarks, heading over to the kitchen counter to gather the broken shards of pottery.

you freeze. “how much did you hear?” 

vi just shrugs. “just that there’s something bad out there —”

“don’t worry about it,” you say with a forced smile. you walk over and push some damp hair away from vi’s eyes. “let’s take fangs for a walk before we leave, yeah? while it’s still light out.” 

there are whispers throughout the next few days leading up to the full moon. the crowd at the arena starts to thin, most topsiders too scared to journey underground with rumors of a bloodthirsty monster on the loose. 

you’re not sleeping anymore, still fighting during the day to a half-empty arena, out on patrol at night, your rosy scent fading from the bedsheets with each passing night. even if you get home before dawn, you spend your time scouring through books and scribbling into your notebook, mumbling to yourself theories about where and how you can stop this thing. vi tries to get you to take a break, or at least eat instead of burning through shimmer-laced cigarettes to keep yourself awake.

the best vi can do is convince you to sit down on the couch with her and share a snack. you settle for doing some research, flip through yellowed pages as you take a bite of an apple, juice dripping down your chin. 

vi reaches her finger out, puts it in her mouth to suck off the juice, moaning around the salty-sweet taste of your skin. you let out a pleased hum, turning your attention back to your research, but angling your body to invite her closer. vi nuzzles into your side, puts her head on your lap, twitches in pleasure as you reach down to scratch behind her ear. 

she looks up at you, and you finally give her a real smile — the first ray of sun after a pitch dark night.

a slice of paradise vi was certain she’d never find.

….

the night of the full moon is when all hell breaks loose. 

vi tries — she begs you not to go out there, sensing that tonight, of all nights, it will be at its strongest. but you, too headstrong and too righteous for your own good, just won’t listen. 

“this thing has killed eleven people in less than a week. i don’t care what phase of the moon it is — i’m ending this, tonight.” 

“why does it have to be you? that thing is stronger than anything you’ve ever fought!” 

“which is why i’ve been preparing,” you snap.

“can’t you – can’t you just call the fucking council, or something, tell them to deal with it?” 

fangs is right there with vi, scrambling and whining as you’re meticulously arming yourself with as many weapons you can carry.

you scoff, notching a few silver blades to your belt. “it’s not their responsibility, it’s mine. where the fuck — i can’t go out only in this tank top, it’s fucking freezing — ”

vi swallows the lump in her throat.

“you’re gonna die if you go out there alone.”

“yeah, well, i’ve accepted my fate a long time ago,” you say stoically. 

you’re fairly well supplied at this point; if vi was the monster you were hunting, she’d be running scared from a glance alone. you’re only half paying attention to vi’s pleas, and sigh in relief when you find what you’d been looking for. 

“please, angel, don’t —”

“i was literally born for this, violet. if i don’t go out and stop this thing from killing more people, then my life is worth nothing.” 

“you make me happy!” she shouts desperately, forcing you to pause as you slip on her jacket. “that’s worth something, isn’t it?”

a tense silence follows. 

you freeze for a few moments, avoiding vi’s gaze. then, you walk over to the cabinet, grabbing something so quickly vi can’t pinpoint what it is and stuffing it in your back pocket. you clench and unclench your left fist, a tick of yours that vi recognizes from the arena. 

you’re planning your next move. 

in a daze, you pick up the crossbow, but you hesitate once more —

“fuck,” you exhale before letting the weapon clatter to the ground and rushing over to crash your lips against vi’s. 

you’re kissing and kissing, teeth and tongue and a pleasure so guilty, vi’s sure she’ll be damned for all eternity. vi’s lungs are burning when she pulls away first.

“wait. you should know that i’m —”

“i still have to go,” you interrupt, voice determined and sharp, cutting right through to vi’s heart.

there’s a fear curling up her throat as you watch her, your eyes the darkest she’s ever seen them. 

“then let me – i mean, i can help —”

you kiss her again. you taste so heavenly, better than she ever dreamed of, that vi doesn’t even care that it’s probably just to shut her up. 

she almost doesn’t notice that you’ve cornered her between the kitchen counter and the front door, until she hears a distinct click, feels something heavy and burning against her wrists. 

you pull away first this time, eyes glazed over as you back away to make space between you and what you’ve done:

vi, handcuffed to the exposed heating pipe. the cuffs are stronger than any vi has ever been bound by. must be made of real silver. the metal sears into her skin, down to the bone, as she struggles against them, screaming to the point of howling, watching as you pick up the crossbow and a handful of silver tipped arrows as a final hail mary.

“no!” she cries. the pipe you’d cuffed her to rattles, but it doesn’t give. “please, please don’t —”

“i’m…i’m really sorry,” you mumble, quickly wiping away a tear. vi flinches when you try to touch her cheek; she bares her teeth at you like a rabid beast, but you don’t give her the courtesy of a reaction.  

“why are you doing this?” she growls.

“because….you deserve a happy ending, violet. don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” 

you take a deep breath. you look at fangs, affectionately pat her head as she bows her head and whines, tail between her legs. “bring her the key once it’s morning,” you instruct. your eyes slide over to vi’s, for what she fears might be the last time. “take care of each other.”

with that, you’re out the door.

vi isn’t sure how much time passes. her wrists sting, her muscles ache, but still, she keeps going. she doesn’t care how, but she’s not letting you die tonight. 

a sliver of moonlight shines through the window. something claws at her ribcage. 

you’re not dying tonight. 

and vi’s been hungry for too long.

iii. all my devotion turns violent

the streets are empty, deserted due to fear and damp from the cold evening rain.

you search through the shadows, around every corner, play with one of your daggers just to pass the time, the blade weaving between your expert fingers.

all you can really think about, though, is vi, and how scared she was to lose you, and how terribly you must have hurt her — 

fuck. 

you accidentally sliced through your palm, your blood emerging as thick, black tar in the darkness. you sigh and kneel down in the alleyway, dropping your heaviest weapon so you can use your uninjured hand to wrap the other. 

something pounces on you before you can stop the bleeding. the crossbow — the weapon that was supposed to deliver a fatal blow — is now out of reach. 

you jab one of your silver blades into the creature’s side; he howls, but you manage to kick him away long enough to get to your feet, get a better sense of what you’re fighting. you’ve never seen anything like it before: a hulking mass roughly five times your size, wolf-like features, and chemical machinery woven throughout his body, a neon green liquid pumping through glass tubes. 

the beast growls at you, lunges forward once again; you jump out of his path, roll away so run, fast, and grab the crossbow. you quickly notch a silver tipped arrow, aim at his heart; you hold your breath and fire without hesitation. then another, and another, just to be safe.  

your stomach turns as you watch the creature remove the arrows as if they were nothing but splinters. he lets out a roar that shakes the earth. you’ve made him angrier.

you drop the crossbow, deciding instead to propel yourself off the wall, leap onto the beast’s shoulders and stab the glass tubes with all the force you can muster. green liquid gushes out, and the beast howls in pain, but doesn’t give up. with sharp claws, he throws you to the ground, and you shriek as he tears through the skin of your ribs. 

you’re very suddenly dizzy, bleeding out on the cobblestones, yet continue to struggle with whatever strength still courses through your veins. the beast looms over you, foaming at the mouth, and your vision is getting fuzzier by the second.

that’s when you see a flash of dark fur, almost fuschia in the moonlight, jump in front of you, knock the beast out of the way, tumble to the side. you glance at the creature that saved you — a wolf with a fierce set of teeth and beautiful powder blue eyes — before you fall unconscious. 

iv. stitch me up (touch me inside and out)

vi barely registers that the temperature in the apartment is dropping.

she doesn’t regret how she had to rip the heating pipe from the wall — there are nasty burns, still untreated, stinging her wrists where the silver cuffs had restrained her. 

she doesn’t regret transforming from human to something wild, unrestrained, in order to save you from something much worse. 

she’s still burning off adrenaline, her nervous system on high alert. it’s been a while, and she’d forgotten how exhilarating it can be.

it all happened so fast. there was something oddly familiar about the beast; he seemed to recognize vi, too. that’s the only explanation — for all the ruthless, bloody stories she’d heard, why else would he have let vi take you away and just disappear into the night without so much as a growl? 

vi doesn’t have the energy to answer such questions. all she cares about is you. she can’t get over the overwhelming scent of your blood, already spilling out onto the street when she showed up. she almost lost control, blinded by rage and a desire to kill the beast — but you were there, on the brink of death, and she just wanted you to be safe, wanted to bring you home.

she just hopes she wasn’t too late. 

vi hyper-focuses on your labored, disjointed breaths from where she tucked you in. she tried her best to stop the bleeding and dress your wounds with combinations of herbs and flowers she frantically read about in one of your books, desperate to keep you alive. 

you’ve lost blood. a lot of blood. 

vi wants nothing more than to curl up on the bed next to you, but after you saw her last night, once you realize that she’s no different than the savage beast you were so determined to kill, she’s not sure you’d want her near you. 

she’ll just stay long enough to know that you’ll wake up, and then she’ll be out of your life forever. 

dawn breaks. the sun shines through cracked, frost covered windows, and your eyes remain shut.

your heart’s still pumping blood, which is a good sign, but otherwise….

day bleeds into night, and you’re still out cold. vi manages to drip some water between your parted lips, and watches with relief as your throat reacts accordingly. you let out a gentle sigh, eyelids fluttering ever so slightly. 

“please wake up,” vi whispers. 

fangs jumps onto the bed and whimpers, nudging her nose against your arm so that she’s snuggled underneath. vi drapes a blanket over the pair of you.

another sleepless night passes.

at first light, vi changes your bandages. she struggles a bit, given her injured wrists, but she’s pleased to find you healing from what might have been a fatal injury to most humans. she tries to feed fangs, but the dog refuses. 

fair enough — vi can’t bring herself to eat, either. 

instead, to pass the time, vi glues together shards from the broken vase and places it back on the kitchen counter. there are no more fresh roses; vi decides she’ll bring you some as a parting gift once you’ve woken up. 

you’re shivering by the time darkness starts to creep in. vi piles as many blankets as she can on you and fangs, but it’s not enough. vi accepts what she had been reluctant to do: she slips into bed next to you, uses her body to keep you warm, arms wrapped around you protectively.

vi doesn’t remember falling asleep, but she wakes up late the next afternoon, to cold rumpled sheets and an even colder empty apartment. 

you must have a knack for perfect timing, because just as vi’s about to start spiralling, the front door swings open and it’s you — cheeks slightly flushed from the cold, holding a brown paper bag with one arm while your other hand grasps the key. fangs rushes through the door, too, tail wagging as she zooms around the apartment, bounces on the furniture and lets out excited little yaps.

“morning, killer.” you smile like you hadn’t been knocking on death’s door since a few nights before. “i would have waited, but you were pretty knocked out and fangs had a ton of energy to burn. clearly she still does,” you chuckle, sending a warm, fuzzy feeling through vi’s body. “i got us some food, too, and i’ll contact the landlord to fix our — whoa!”

the bag drops to your feet as vi pounces on you, engulfing your body in her arms and squeezing tightly. your heartbeat is as strong as ever, steadies her own frantic pulse. 

“s-sorry.” she pulls away and takes a step back. “i shouldn’t have —”

you just shake your head and press a finger to her lips to quiet her.

“i’m sorry,” you say. “i shouldn’t have — i shouldn’t have treated you like that; shouldn’t have used who you are as a weapon against you. you saved me, vi.” you take a shuddery breath. you place a gentle hand on her cheek. “thank you.”

it takes vi a minute to process what you’ve said. 

you thanked her for saving you. 

you apologized for using who she is as a weapon. 

what did you mean by that? 

unless —

i’m not the only monster hunter around here. you need to be careful.

she’s worth it. 

you deserve a happy ending, violet. don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. 

“you….knew,” vi realizes, and even as she says it, she can’t quite believe it. “how….how long?”

“from the first time i landed a punch on your handsome face.” smiling softly, you run your thumb over the faded burn on her cheek, the one mirroring her tattoo, the one left by your silver ring. 

“are you serious?”

“well, fine, i didn’t know what you were, not exactly, until later. i just had a pretty good feeling that you weren’t human; you had a pulse, so you couldn’t be a vampire, which meant —” 

“you knew what i was this whole time and it didn’t bother you?”

you shrug. “you knew what i was this whole time and it didn’t bother you.” while vi continues to stare at you in disbelief, you bend down to pick up the fallen items. vi crouches down with you.

“that’s different,” she reasons, handing you a soft red apple, your cold fingers brushing over her warm skin momentarily. 

“i don’t think so. not all monsters are evil and not all humans are good. i saved you from a human that night, remember?” 

“b-but you’re you and i-i’m me.” vi scrambles to find the right words. she’s still shocked at how calm you are. is it really as simple as you make it seem? “you weren’t….scared that i’d hurt you, because that’s who i am?”

you get up and place the bag of groceries in the kitchen, lean against the counter as you stare back at vi. instead of answering, you challenge her once again:

“were you scared that i’d hurt you?”

vi blinks at you. “never.”

“there’s your answer,” you declare, giving her that razor-sharp grin you flash whenever you win a fight.

fangs has calmed down, and she’s asleep on the living room couch, her snores the only sound between you as vi processes everything that’s been said. 

she feels like her entire world has flipped upside down.

this whole time…..

it went terribly when she last told someone the truth, at least anyone outside her family, and even they would sometimes walk on eggshells around her, like they were worried she might snap. 

but you….you’ve sparred and you’ve bickered and you never even flinched once. 

you welcomed her into your home, into your life. 

you kissed her. 

this whole time.

“i was scared you wouldn’t love me, if you knew,” vi admits, a whisper so soft that she’s almost sure that you didn’t hear. 

except you falter then, your confident posture melting at her confession. your lips part in a soft exhale. 

“well, it’s like you said; i knew this whole time, and i still….” you swallow the rest of your sentence, but you’re looking at vi with so much adoration that it’s overwhelming. “i still want you.”

her brain short circuits, and all vi can think to do is kiss you.

it starts sweet, your lips rose-petal soft. her lips are chapped, rough against yours and already bleeding from the pressure. you run your fingers through vi’s hair, swallow her moans. she’s dizzy with anticipation, imagining how you might do the same when she’s between your legs later. you kiss the scar on her upper lip, gently like you’re hoping to heal the permanent wound. then, your tongue laves over the cut on vi’s bottom lip, soothes her, pushes into her mouth again so you’re both tasting copper. 

but then, you bite down, and a desire buried deep within vi is unleashed: the desire to cut herself open for you so you can love each and every part of her. even deeper down, vi hopes that you’d want the same.

vi brings a hand up to your jaw, pushing you into her mouth even more. she lodges her thigh between your legs and shoves her tongue into your mouth when you gasp. one of your hands slips underneath her shirt to trace the contours of her abdomen, meticulously outlining each one.

“it’s been days since you’ve eaten, hasn’t it?” you mumble against her lips, pulling away slightly. your brows pinch together in worry, because you already know her body too well, can tell that each muscle is more defined, each edge a bit sharper. “you must be starving, baby. let’s eat something before —”

vi whines when you start to pull away even more.

“we can do that after.” she offers you her best puppy dog eyes as she pleads: “i’m hungry for something else now. i want you.”

to prove her point, vi guides your hand to her belt. your fingers dance along the metal and she eagerly awaits your response.

“fine,” you decide. “but whoever has the most orgasms makes dinner.” 

“you’re on, angel.”

her breath hitches when your hand moves down the waistband of her pants; you play with her tangle of curls, tease the tip of your fingers into her wetness. she purrs against you. 

“wait —” you pause your actions. vi whimpers when you remove your glistening fingers; you take off the silver ring on your pointer finger, grinning guiltily as you toss it on the counter behind you. “that would have been bad,” is all you say before inserting two fingers into her already slick pussy.

“ugh, ah — fuck, just like that, angel,” she moans, twitching as you ram your fingers into her. 

you hum, stuff another finger into her heat, stretching her so deliciously that her legs start to tremble. 

“such a good girl for me. aren’t you, violet?” you coo and start sucking the skin behind her ear. “you gonna make a mess, right here in our kitchen?” 

and that does it — vi’s walls tighten around you, her wetness soaks through her clothes; she’s almost sure that it drips down onto the floor. vi whines as you remove your fingers, feeling empty. you shove your syrupy fingers into her mouth instead, her tongue greedily lapping up her own cum. a string of spit follows as you rip away your fingers and press your mouth against vi’s kiss-swollen, cum-covered lips. you feel something smouldering in the pit of your stomach at her whimpers; you’re nowhere near satisfied, but her eyes, all wide and dark and desperate, are pleading at you to let her indulge in her hunger, as well.  

“what else do you want?”

vi paws at your breasts from above your shirt.

“i want to fuck you,” she declares, and you nod eagerly, your body bursting into flames. 

she gestures at you to wrap your legs around her hips, and she carries you to the bed as you kiss more fiercely, teeth clacking and tongues fighting to explore every crevice of her mouth. you tear each other’s clothes off; but the cold air doesn’t faze you in the slightess, because you have vi, hot and passionate, above you, keeping you going.

your teeth gnaw on her bottom lip as vi messily thrusts against you, your cunts sliding against each other; sticky, languid bliss. 

vi takes her time. she wants to savor every part of this, of you — the sting of your nails scratching down her tattooed back, no doubt leaving red marks in their wake; the familiar scent of your skin, sickly sweet roses, combined with the thick musk of your desire, dripping against hers so deliciously; the hoarseness of your voice, encouraging her to go faster, harder. 

she nudges her nose against the crook of your neck, salivates at how your vein pulses for her like a tantalizing butterfly. her teeth graze your pulsepoint, but she’s trembling with the amount of self control it takes not to add any more pressure.

“v-vi,” you breathe her name like a prayer. “baby.”

a guttural moan bubbles from the back of her throat in response.

you gently run your fingers through her hair, coax her to look you in the eye, the gesture a sharp contrast to the harsh squelching of your cunts against each other, melding together with each determined thrust. 

“you – ah,” you gasp as vi rolls her hips into yours with even more vigor. “you can bite me, if you want.” 

vi licks her lips, swallows the hunger burning in her throat because you must be too fucked out if you’re willing to let vi fully indulge in this craving. 

“but then you would —”

“lycanthropy is only transmitted when you’re in wolf form,” you explain through labored breaths. “so if you bite me now….and gods, i’m begging you to…..nothing’s gonna change.” 

“i have never been more thankful for your slayer training,” she growls. “you really want that, huh? for me to mark you up really good, show everyone that you’re mine?”

“o-only if i can do the same,” you manage a smirk. “or are you all bark and no bite?” you tease, buck your hips upwards. vi is willing to die for your knife-like smile alone, so of course. she’d let you eat her whole, if that’s what you really wanted. 

vi finally sinks her teeth into you, rolling her eyes back at how absolutely luscious you taste. like a good girl — your good girl — she follows your orders and bites. she bites down your neck, across your shoulders and collarbones, relishing in the imprints left in her wake.

vi knows now that she calls you angel for a reason. it’s a religious experience, watching you throw your head back against the pillow as your orgasm crashes through you. vi follows a few seconds later until you’re covered in her — she drenched the curls of your bush, her cum dripping down on your own wet pussy as she watches from above. vi can’t help it; she bends down, and you jolt slightly when her cold nipple piercing brushes against your clit. she does it again a few more times just to appreciate how you whine, rut your pussy against her perky breast, begging for more. 

but, vi’s on the hunt for something else — she splits your folds with her sharp tongue, sucks any and all of your shared essence. she lets it slosh around in her mouth before hovering over you once more, silently ordering you to part your wet lips; when you comply, so obedient, vi spits into your wanton mouth, thick and velvety. 

“swallow,” she orders, voice rough with lust. you do so quite eagerly.

and just like that, you’re back to grinding on each other, leaving a delectable mess along the skin of each other’s thighs. the tension in vi’s abdomen snaps when you wrap your lips around her nipple, suckling at your own wetness until drool dribbles from the corner of your mouth. 

after feeling her gush against you, a feral impulse rips through you. you release her nipple with a distinct pop, the cold metal still burning on your tongue as you yank vi’s hair, exposing her tender skin, glittering with sweat in the dark golden light as the sun starts to set. you pull her close, bite around the tattoo on the side of her neck, hard. vi howls in pleasure as you taste salt and iron and her, reaching your peak. 

vi waits patiently as you come down from your high, chest heaving, your neck still engraved with the outline of her teeth while yours are stained red. you crash your lips onto hers, chaotic and insatiable, kissing her like she’s your last meal. in turn, she licks into your mouth, tongue tracing your canines to savor what you’ve consumed of hers. 

“you sure you’re not a vampire? that would be quite the scandal,” vi jokes later when you’re sitting in her lap, taking time to clean each other up. vi’s only wearing a shirt, but you’ve doubled up on clothes, the apartment growing colder as night approaches. 

you already tended to the burns on her wrists (and apologized profusely for causing them; you also scolded her a bit for not tending to herself sooner). now you use disinfectant to wipe down her neck, where you broke skin; you quickly place a bandage that soothes the sting and vi presses a grateful kiss to your sternum.

you hum around the unlit cigarette in your mouth, which you had rolled beforehand with dried rose petals. with your hands unoccupied, you reach for your lighter. vi tilts her chin to gaze up at you; you’re backlit by the evening twilight, a silver halo around you as flowery smoke billows from your mouth.

“i’m sure they won’t be thrilled to know that a slayer’s fallen in love with a werewolf, either,” you muse, beaming at her. 

vi clicks her tongue. “sounds like we’re breaking some bylaws.”

“oh, she’s worth it; i’d do anything for my charming, sexy, handsome werewolf.”

you lean forward and exhale smoke into vi’s parted mouth, lips brushing against each other as you share the same breath. you sit back once your lungs are burning and admire the view. 

vi — normally all rough edges and dark shadows — blushing a delicate pink as you praise her.

“she’s got a killer right hook, too,” you continue. you offer vi the cigarette and she nods; you hold it, place it between her lips as she takes a drag. “a body so hot that it’s honestly unfair. she’s a fighter, which i love, and some people might think she’s just a scary dog, but i think she’s beautiful and brave and a total softie —”

“okay, okay,” vi coughs, the tips of her ears red. she takes the cigarette from you and stubs it out on the makeshift ashtray by the windowsill. vi rolls over so she’s on top of you, cupping your face in her hands. she pecks across your cheeks until you’re giggling; you try to turn the tables, and the two of you just end up wrestling in a tangle of sheets and laughter and tender kisses.

eventually, you both calm down. 

“you hungry?”

“not really. you?”

vi shakes her head. “we’ll make breakfast together in the morning?” 

“sounds heavenly.”

it’s dark outside, but the stars are out and the waning moon shines bright. vi positions herself behind you, her body curving into yours, chin notched over your shoulder and arm secure on your waist.

fangs must feel left out, because she shuffles under the covers for warmth before immediately falling back asleep, her fur tickling at your feet.

your thumb rubs against the gauze on vi’s wrist. you can’t help but feel regret, heavy like lead in your stomach.

“baby, i’m fine,” vi assures, already knowing what you’re thinking.

“i….i just hate that i did this to you,” you mumble, bringing her wrist up so you can kiss it. 

“you were trying to protect me. it’s what we do, yeah? protect each other?”

when you hum in agreement, vi guides you to turn around so you’re facing each other. on instinct, she parts your legs with her thigh. your sweatshirt has ridden up, so vi starts to rub circles onto your exposed hip bone, her touch soft as velvet.

“next time you go out there, i’m coming with you.”

your breath hitches as you trace the tattoos licking up her arm. “vi….”

“this isn’t up for debate,” vi declares. she reaches her hand up to caress your cheek, thumb delicately rubbing the shadows under your eye. “you almost died. whatever almost killed you is still out there. you’re strong — gods, you’re the strongest person i’ve ever met — but you don’t have to face any of this alone. not anymore.”

you let out a surprised laugh. 

“what?” she murmurs shyly, her eyes the soft, pale blue of moonlight, star-like freckles dazzling her sculpted cheeks. 

“no, it’s just….anyone who’s known that i’m the slayer either calls me delusional, runs scared, or expects me to do it all by myself. hell — that’s how it was written, how it was destined to be."

vi nudges her nose against yours. her breath tickles your lips, heats up your entire being with a warmth so divine, you wonder if you actually have died and gone to heaven. 

you’re both alive, though, a bit bruised and wounded. the world is dark and cold, but here’s this beautiful, strong girl with a beautiful, strong heart who holds you close, parts her full lips — like two rose petals, kiss-bitten and crimson — and vows:

“fuck destiny. it’s you and me now, angel.”

v. my heart is black and beats for you

TWO MONTHS EARLIER

it’s a quiet night. you spent most of it lamenting how you got your ass kicked earlier and fantasizing about the woman who did it, when you see a shadow of a person passed out at the corner of the street, and another trying to steal from them. 

someone has to stand against the forces of darkness and evil, and the universe somehow determined that would be you — a fate you’ve had to accept through bruised ribs and broken hearts and bloody prophecies, but one you’ve had to accept nonetheless. 

if that goes beyond vampires and demons, so be it. 

after you’ve managed to send the creep on the run, you recognize the person you saved:

it’s her. 

she looked more intimidating in the pit, honestly — all harsh and dark, furrowed brows and vicious snarls. 

it takes you kneeling in front of her to be able to really see it through the black face paint. you take a little pride in the bruise that blossoms on her cheek and the cut through her eyebrow, thinking that at least you got a few shots in before she took you out with a killer right hook. 

your jaw still aches and you still taste copper thanks to her, but without the roars from the crowd or the pressure of hefty prize money that you need to survive, you can see her more clearly. she’s bleeding through her bandages; she’s shivering because, gods, it’s freezing this time of year and all she’s wearing underneath a flimsy leather jacket is scrap fabric that would not be counted as a shirt; and she looks like she hasn’t eaten in days despite reeking of alcohol. 

that’s when you see a burn on her cheekbone, too, just about where your silver ring would have collided with her skin. you hold your breath, lean in closer to her chest and listen closely to check — the thumping of a strong, steady heartbeat; the gentle rush of blood flowing through her veins. 

so, not a vampire. maybe a human with a silver allergy, but what’s more likely is that she’s….something else. 

“hey.” you whisper. when she doesn’t respond, you cup her face in one hand and tap her bruised cheek with your thumb. her skin is warm; if she were a human, you’d think she had a fever. “wake up.”

you resist the urge to jerk away when she softly takes your hand in hers, the gesture a sharp contrast to her knuckles bloodied from earlier.

“five more minutes, cupcake,” she whines, her voice echoing down the empty alley.

“look, it’s late and freezing. we should really go before —”

“please. just stay with me. i promise i’ll be good.”

your chest aches at her sincere tone. did you sound the same, when you made a similar promise before to the people you’ve loved after they found out who — what — you are? did you also look so broken, so bruised when they left? 

you know the council wouldn’t approve of what you’re about to do. 

but you also know well enough from years of studying and training and fighting as the slayer that their judgement should not be taken as scripture.

in other words: fuck the council. 

(plus — you need a friend, or just….someone. it’s lonely, being the chosen one. and this girl, in front of you — when you fought, her body reacting to yours so fluidly, you had somehow never felt more understood.)

you manage to get her to her feet. 

she mumbles something incomprehensible into your neck, her breath hot against your skin. you let her lean into your body after a weak attempt at holding herself up. it’s not much trouble for you, though. it’s a cold night, anyways; her body, solid and warm, is almost comforting against yours.

you trust your instincts and carry her home. 

[gh0stsp1d3r]

Rafe takes flower nymph!readers virginity… in a flower bed.

Pjo x obx au masterlist

Ever since Rafe met you that one night while training, his visits became more and more frequent, you welcomed the man and watched his training each time, and he watched you grow your flowers.

He was much more kind than some of the other Ares campers. To you he was, at least. He didn’t know why, but he felt the need to be close to you, to be with you all the time. He felt the need to be gentle and slow with you, he didn’t want to go fast, as if you were a delicate little flower yourself.

So, he’s patient as he sits on the rock, while you talk about something while working on your latest addition to the garden.

“I like it over here, really, I do. But sometimes, I question if I’m missing stuff out there. In the real world. Outside of camp.” You rambled on while you watered the plants, your voice so quiet it was hard for Rafe to even hear. But he nodded along to each word anyways, your voice like a soothing lullaby to him.

“Yeah. I know what you mean.” He replied, his voice equally as quiet as to not interrupt you or the animals around you.

You look back at the man with a small smile, standing up, and wiping the dirt from your hands. You sat on the rock next to him, both of you staring at each other before his hand slowly snaked towards your thigh.

He looked at you for any reaction, any signs of hesitance. There wasn’t any. Your smile remains on your face, and you put your hand on top of his, before scooting closer, so that both of your guys legs and shoulders touched. His other hand went to your face, cupping it, he stared into your beautiful eyes.

“Can I… kiss you?” He asked you softly, your nod being all he needed to lean in and capture your lips in his, mouths moving together, his other hand went to your face as well, your hands were wrapped around his neck.

The kiss turned into more, you both found yourselves on the ground of one of your flower beds. You laying on the soft grass and pink flowers while he stared down at you.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” He asked you.

You nodded, hesitating before telling him. “I do. But, Rafe…”

“Yeah?”

“I- I’m a virgin.” You admitted quietly, casting your eyes downwards and trying to avoid his eyes, scared of what he might say.

He processed the words before a smile made its way onto his face. He was going to be your first.

“That’s okay.” He replied. “I’ll be gentle, promise.” He held his pinky out, you looked back at the man on top of you, and your smile was back on your face when you interlocked your pinky with his.

He leaned down again, giving you a quick kiss before he raked his eyes down your body. He grabbed the end of your dress, on his knees to pull it above your body slowly. He sighed heavily when the fabric was off, he truly did not know how he was gonna last when you were this perfect.

“Jesus.” He murmured out, you furrowing an eyebrow at his reaction, confused as to if he meant it in a good or bad way.

“You’re perfect.” He told you, looking back into your eyes, your cheeks heating up at his compliment. His hands went to the back of your bra, unclasping it with one hand, then looking down.

He took his shirt off, then his pants, until nothing was on his body. You still had your white panties- a little bow on the front that made him chuckle when he looked at them.

“I don’t know if-“ you suddenly spoke when you eyed his length, your mouth agape. “How am I supposed to…”

“I’ll be slow. Like a…” he looked around, seeing a little small snail nearby on one of the plants. “Snail. Like a snail. If you wanna stop-“

“I don’t!” You quickly interrupted, he chuckled at your eagerness. “Please… keep going.” You whispered the last part.

“Yes ma’am.” He said, pulling your panties to the side, lowly groaning at the sight. It took every ounce of strength in his body to not destroy you right now. But he was a gentleman… or something like that.

His fingers gathered your slick, you moaning at the new feeling, throwing your head back against the flowers. “H-holy…”

“We’re just gettin’ started, dove.” He told you, eyes looking up at you as he slid a finger into your warm walls, sucking him in like a vice.

“O-oh!” You cried out.

He groaned again. “Goddamn you’re gonna kill me one day.” He told you quietly, moving his finger in and out slowly.

After he made you cum and stretched you out with his fingers, he lined his cock up with your entrance, looking into your eyes as he slowly pushed in. Your hands were wrapped around him, your nails leaving crescent marks as you dug into the skin of his back.

You gasped, feeling full of him. It was like all your thoughts disappeared as he sunk into you, your mind consumed by the thought of him.

It was that night that Rafe knew he would never let go of you, he would hold on forever if he had to.

[heissenn]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 hsr fem! characters x fem!reader a sneak peak of what its like dating your favorite hsr character. includes: himeko, serval, seele, stelle, bronya, march 7th, ruan mei, herta, robin tags: tooth-aching fluff, smut on robin's part

himeko

being in a relationship with himeko means being in a relationship with coffee. her caffeine addiction would lead to both of you going on coffee dates. although she would never force you to like coffee if you don’t prefer it. these ‘coffee dates’ just consists of her drinking her exquisite blend while you sip the beverage of your preference, whether it be tea or juice or even alcohol. the important part is that you both enjoy a relaxing time together.

as your relationship grow, these ‘coffee dates’ evolved into a ritual to go to cafes or bars to every planet you go to. there’s always a glimmer in her golden eyes that makes you wonder if she came to this planet to taste test rather than exploring it. himeko tries to hide it but she always looks like a little kid given a new toy every time her taste buds come across something new and himeko would never stop until she tasted all the coffee beans and coffee blends the planet has to offer, not forgetting to buy a bulk to stock in the express.

“darling, how about this? roasted beef and curry frappe. maybe this tickles your fancy?” himeko reads the obnoxious name aloud as she hand you the cup graciously. just the name makes you want to shake your head in refusal but himeko’s sweet smile brainwashes you into nodding your head.

you take a sip from the cup and it took you your everything to school your features. there’s a bubbling at the pit of your stomach and you have an inkling that its not the usual butterflies himeko gives you. “it’s amazing, love. i’m sure the others would want a cup.” you say imagining the others' reaction.

serval

serval would prefer dates that are a bit more hands-on. she would take a page from lynx’s book and take you out on a camping date to watch the aurora. it's been long since she went camping but the knowledge from when she was serving in the army still remains in her.

but instead of preparing the camping materials beforehand, she’d be the type to just go with the flow. she’d bring a few essentials and the rest will be decided along you go and with serval’s quick thinking. the camping goes smoothly for the most part aside from some hiccups like monsters and serval burning the food.

she’d bring her guitar along too, of course. she’d play for you with the aurora as witness and the hearth of the camp fire embracing the both of you with warmth.

“the view looks amazing here, serval. thank you for taking me here,” you look up at the countless streaks of emerald painting the sky. “yes, it’s breathtaking,” serval mutters in reply and you turn towards her to see her blue eyes already on you. she smiles at you before standing up and going inside the tent, leaving you confused. she comes back with her guitar.

“i know this is cheesy but i thought it wouldn’t hurt being romantic from time to time,” she plops downs and gives the acoustic a few strums. “i dedicate this song to you, my love.”

bronya

as the supreme guardian, she is always swamped with work thus there are only a few times when she goes outside. this also means that dates between the two of you are rare if you don’t count eating meals with her.

she can’t really take you on movies like normal couples because it would take the whole facility to be rented out and bronya’s nice enough to think about the other civilians whose plans might be ruined because of her personal endeavors. the times that she is able to go outside, she takes you for a walk in the gardens. you both walk down the flower path, talking about anything and everything. both of your hands are intertwined as the both of you admired all the kinds of plants that managed to withstand belobogs harsh climates.

at the end of the path awaits a picnic she readied herself, she insists that she should be the one to prepare without any help from the servants to add her personal touch. the act of preparing sandwiches and picking the right blanket has special value to bronya since she can’t be there for you to do acts of service most of the time.

after your appetite is satiated, both of you lay down to admire the sky. bronya falls asleep besides you peacefully, even sleep is a luxury the supreme guardian can’t afford nowadays so you’re glad to see her rest. you press a kiss to her forehead as bronya forgets the worries of the planet and the responsibilities of a huge title.

“peanut butter and jelly, check. grilled cheese, check. orange juice, check. apple juice, check.” bronya mutters as she goes through the menu she prepared for the third time. it’s not as grandiose as one would think when dating the supreme guardian but she prepared a little bit of each, to say the least, to make up for the simplicity.

she heard footsteps from behind and saw you approaching. she wipes her sweaty hands on her skirt, your relationship has been going on for quite a while but still you never fail to make her nervous. “sorry. i hope i didn’t make miss supreme guardian wait for too long,” you smile at her and bronya’s heart soars. “you’re just in time,” she pats the spot beside her. you sit beside her not before raising your eyebrows at the plethora of food baskets laid in front of you.

“bronya, you didn’t have to prepare all of this,” you were touched to find the amount of effort your girlfriend put. “this is the least i could do. i’ve been neglecting my duties to you, allow me to make up for it,” she takes your hands and kiss the back of it, a gesture she couldn’t do in public.

stelle

the perfect bonding time for stelle is rummaging through trash cans together but since not everyone can appreciate the art of opening trash cans she’s fine with something similar. that’s how most of your dates are: going to junk shops or thrift stores. she like going over all the trinkets even if the item doesn’t have any particular use or is unable to operate anymore. she’s more interested in the history: how it was made and how it ended up there.

i feel like she’s also interested with unopened safes or treasure boxes and she’d buy them just so you can both guess what’s inside and opening them together. think of blind boxes they sell online. then you’ll make up wild stories of the items.

she’s probably friends with the owners and the staff. everytime both of you go somewhere new you’d both make it a point to go to the local junk shop. it helps both of you to learn about the lifestyle and culture of the planet.

you probably have a pile of random things that stelle found in your room. most of the time they remind her of you something like “this toothbrush made me think of that one time you washed the sink” or somthing. the item doesn’t really correlate with the memory but its more than enough to prove her unconditional love for you

you hear a knock on your door and you open it to find your girlfriend beaming at you while holding up two trash bags. “look what i got, babe!” she smiles at you proudly. “that’s great, stelle! i’ll go prepare a bath,” you say as you automatically head towards the bathroom, you were used to this. “nuhuh, where do you think you’re going?” stelle drops the reeking trash on your bedroom floor and snakes her hands around your waist to pull you close to her.“

we’re not going anywhere until i get my kiss,” she blinks her eyes at you like a cute puppy and you sigh before grabbing her sides of her face for a passionate kiss. she hums against your lips as the weight of her body crushes you. you both pull away breathless only for her to pout at you like a kicked puppy, “one more."

seele

seele may not admit it but she likes hanging out with kids. she says they annoy her and the only reason she’s with them is because she doesn’t want them causing headaches to natasha, who already has a lot on her plate. sometimes she says there is nothing to do anymore ever since the underworld and the overworld has been bridged and most of her former work is being handled by the silvermane forces.

but you know better, you never miss her little scowl every time she doesn’t find where the kids are hiding or hear her small grumbles when they ask her to go around town to find scraps for their play house. but you also don’t miss how she looks at them with the fondest eyes paired with softest smiles.

and if there is one thing she loves as much as she loves playing kids that would be seeing you play with them. you see it evident every time you catch her eyes while you lift the kids up in the air or pat them in the head or let them ride you back. and seeing you and the kids smile reminds her of why she joined wildfire in the first place, to protect these priceless smiles. she looks at the scene and suddenly she’s thinking about ways on how she can ask if you wanted to build a family with her. a family she could give the love she had that she wasn’t privileged to when she was growing up.

seele’s hands trace the back of your palm as you both lay in bed. you recognize it as the behavior she does when she wants to tell you something but couldn’t. so you switch from your position of laying flat on your back to face her fully to let her know your attention is on hers fully. she heaves a sigh, squirm and squeeze your hand in a series of fast motion and before you can react she’d already open her mouth.

“someday, it doesn't have to be right now, . it doesn't have to be anytime even, if you don't want to," seele starts and her eyes fly around the room. you rest your hand on her cheek and caress it.

another sigh escapes her. "someday, would you like to have a family with me?” seele asks and there’s hopeful tone in her voice that makes you swoon. “if that’s what you want, yes,” seele replies almost instantly. “no, i’m asking you.” and you response without missing a beat as well. “yes, i'd love to have kids with you, seele.” you say as you stroke her features and seele feels her eyes become wet at your words.

march 7th

it goes without saying that march likes taking pictures. and her favorite subject is you. there is a whole album of you in her phone that contains so much pictures she needed to buy several memory cards. she likes taking pictures in bursts so there are a lot of similar photos but she never deletes them even if the difference is a centimeter change in angles, she argues that each photo is precious.

she picks out the ones she likes best to print out and put in her scrapbook album. she spends hours on picking the right one and there are countless times where she has to resist the strong urge to just print everything. she writes the date of when it was taken and some notes (more like whole paragraphs expressing her love) to commemorate what you did that day. she decorates them with things that reminds her of that day. for example, she would take a picture of you with a flower crown and the page is decorated with the petals from the same flower. below that is a little message of what the flower meant and how it suited you.

when she is finished she gifts them to you on your anniversaries. and when you’re away or she has to go on expeditions, she definitely brings it with her to browse through when she misses you.

march delicately flips through the pages, caressing the photos, the colorful letters and the little stickers she vividly remembers putting there. “i can’t wait to see you again,” you can hear the pout in her voice through the phone. “give me lots of kisses when i come back?” she hates being away with you but the photo books make it a little more bearable.

“of course, as many as you want,” you say on the other side as you look through your own copy of photo book. a pile of them from when march gifted then to you on your anniversaries or when she felt like it. “or maybe you’d prefer something more than that?” you add suggestively. march turns bright pink and looks at a particular black leather bound photo book.

ruan mei

ruan mei can get a little occupied with her research to the point that she ignores her well-being and sometimes you just have to remind her that she hasn’t ascended to aeonhood yet and her body is still human with human needs and human boundaries.

she is not used to having other people care for her so the concept of it is relatively new. she was definitely surprised when you come to her lab with some snacks or some tea. and the thing with her is that, at first, she thought it was hindering her progress. maybe it’ll take a fight for her to actually realize she’s taking it for granted and apologize with feeding you with sweet treats, made by her of course. on the other hand, you learn to differentiate the time where you should step in or not over time.

however, ruan mei would grow too accustomed to your presence in her lab and would actually starting want you there more and more. before she can even realize, she’s putting more hours in her studies just so she can see you barging in with your cute frown, becoming slowly addicted to the warmth she feels every time she receives your care.

“i’m just gonna leave it here,” you say as you gently place the tray of cheesecake and orange juice on the unused table. “take a five, babe. the cheesecake wouldn’t be as delicious if you leave it for too long,” you give her a peck on her forehead and the scientist leans to your touch a little more so she can feel your lips better while her eyes scan through papers.

you turn to head towards the door and take your leave but a cold hand catches your wrist before you could move further away from her. “stay,” her tone was more commanding than pleading and her eyes are still trained on the words in front of her. but you knew she wasn’t reading it anymore. her hand goes to the nearest chair to pull it beside her but her hands paused suddenly. her palms hovers in the air for a second before she retracts it and pats her lap. you raise your eyebrows in amusement but indulge her nevertheless. after all, who were you to refuse.

herta

even in your relationship, the great herta is a bit too prideful for her own good. that’s why she relies on her puppets to convey her emotions to you but even her puppets are emotionally constipated so there's not much of a difference. but it's herta so she still makes it work in her favor anyway. after all, she can just tell you its a ‘malfunction’. she makes them do her bidding such as keeping you company under the guise of ‘babysitting’ you or gifting you new technology that makes your life a tad bit easier which she likes to call ‘letting you test a prototype’ or giving you ‘leftovers’ that looks a little too fresh to be called one.

we’re talking about herta here so naturally she’s the first one to grow tired of the own arrangement she made. eventually, she feels her chest getting a little tighter every time she watches her puppets do acts of service for you doing you favors. she actually asks nous about the feeling and how to get rid of it. the aeon just laughs at her, saying ‘maybe you found your new research topic’. and the poor scientist just blinks at the higher being.

she’s a bit lost on how to overcome the feeling so she just pops up randomly throughout the day and stare at you because she doesn’t know what to do.

“she should go to the basement to find out what’s going on,” the puppet beside you comment as you both watch the horror movie playing on the large screen in front of you. you still don’t know how you roped her into this but here you were.

“what? no, that’s the worst thing you can do. that’s like the big no no in horror movies,” you argue as you look beside you to find that the small woman beside you is not a puppet anymore but rather the herta herself. you move back in surprise after a double take, “what are you doing here?” herta moves an inch closer. “it was my turn to babysit you,” the woman shrugs nonchalantly as her hand reaches for the popcorn on your lap.

robin

it’s only natural that the renowned singer dedicates songs to you and she does, there are countless songs and several albums singing her love for you. robin insists that no melody can truly convey how she feels for you but its the closest way of expression. she never release them for obvious reasons but there are some that are vaguely coded enough for the fans not to speculate that she releases. and her heart is full every time she sings her never ending emotions for you for the whole universe to hear.

but it doesn’t end there. no, robin is too much of a lowkey freak to keep things sfw. she has tracks, albums that recounts your nightly adventures with her. too explicit that anyone listening would probably have a heart attack hearing the sweet robin sing such filthy lyrics. she makes you listen to it in front her and she never tells you which kind of song it is because she enjoy seeing your face turn a shade of darker red with each beat.

oh and you best bet she incorporate your sounds as well, blending your moans and hers with the sound of vibrator over a slow, sultry beat mixed with her breathy voice that is a drastic change from her usual sweet, honey one.

“darling, you promised me you’d help me record a new song,” robin muses as she puts her hand over her mouth to giggle while her other hand curls inside you enough to hit that spongy spot. she reaches for the mic beside you and hovers above you. you watch her as she gives it a dirty lick and a kiss before putting the mic closer to your lips so your moans are transmitted to the speakers surrounding the studio room.

your amplified sounds echoed throughout the room and it drowns the sounds of your pussy squelching over robin’s fingers. “if you can last through two songs, i’ll give you a treat,” she sings in your ear.