#Truffles what happened to your eyes

[globloom-blujell]

killer shots from everyone…..

except you Howie, my majestic mountain goat🩷

[mccromy]

Tbh I think people should be more rabid about moshang. Like, talk about an artist falling in love with his creation, then upgrade it to infinity.

I mean, it is not like Shang Qinghua made Mobei-Jun and fell in love with him because he was so beautiful. Shang Qinghua designed Mobei-Jun to be what Shang Qinghua considered perfect. Every single flaw was included lovingly, every virtue, every inch of his body and face to be what Shang Qinghua found the most handsome, attractive. His ideal man. He made Mobei-Jun for himself, he made him with the intention to love him.

He told a history about a boy who was wronged, who had every ounce of kindness bleed out through a thousand cuts. Who took revenge on every single person who hurt him, even if by negligence. Made the whole world revolve around him, changed it to satisfy his readers.

And then made Mobei-Jun for himself. He made him silent, strong, mistrustful, arrogant, spoiled and beautiful and set him up for betrayal. Made his life tragic in that way authors do with their favorite characters.

(Luo Binghe was perfect in the eyes of the world. Shang Qinghua crafted Mobei-Jun to be perfect in his eyes.)

Can you imagine? If god made you solely with the intention to love you. Perfect in the eyes of god, literally.

And then Shang Qinghua became Mobei-Jun's servant. Mobei-Jun was both his King and his favorite creation. (As if god made himself a personal deity to worship.)

Their relationship was rocky (mountain sized rocks) for what amounts to decades. Shang Qinghua's perfect man was so incredibly flawed it made him near impossible to get along with, he was also destined to kill Shang Qinghua. And Shang Qinghua was far from perfect himself, he was also destined to stab Mobei-Jun in the back. What's more, Shang Qinghua wove those threads of fate himself.

(In the end none of that happened. But think about it.)

Even better, when put like that, Moshang sounds so poetic. And it could be!... If moshang was composed by anybody else other than Mobei "to get your man you need to beat him up at least three times a day" Jun and Shang "the best way to seduce someone is to be so pathetic and lame!" Qinghua.

Shang Qinghua is literally Mobei-Jun's creator but he's also his little minion going nice one, boss!, the LeFou to Mobei-Jun's Gaston. The sleazy car salesman to Mobei-Jun's Nepo baby CEO. The Connecticut Clark to his Malfina.

How, just how is it possible that I have to channel my inner truffle hog when sniffing around for moshang brainrot? Everybody should be losing black brain matter through their nostrils about them, and yet.

[luvsupa]

tags: chef!geto x married!reader, cheating (don’t do this guys), naoya is readers husband, food play(ish), geto has tattoos + purple eyes, smut (kinda), mdni,

w.c: 1.9k

+ finally this is out of my drafts 🙂‍↕️

“i’ve hired a new chef.” your husband, naoya, announces coldly from the other end of the long, polished dining table. the sharp clink of cutlery echoes through the grand dining room as you both eat the meal your private chefs had meticulously prepared—medium rare wagyu steak with truffle mashed potatoes and buttered asparagus, the kind of meal that screams luxury. but his voice grates on you, cutting through your attempt to enjoy the evening.

you grip your knife tightly, scraping it against your plate in irritation, barely tasting the food. naoya’s eyes finally flick up from his plate, narrowing as he notices your silence. his leg bounces under the table, the tension radiating off him as he grows impatient with you ignoring him. 

“i’m speaking to you, woman,” he snaps through gritted teeth, barely holding back his annoyance.

you drop your utensils with a clatter, meeting his icy gaze. “and i’m listening. another chef, huh? what is this, the eighth or ninth employee you’ve hired just to fuck behind my back?”

naoya leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. his tongue rolls against his cheek, a clear sign that you’ve struck a nerve. but instead of shame, he’s amused.

“whatever happens between me and my staff is none of your concern,” he says smoothly, his arrogance on full display. “and this time, i’ve hired a male chef. try not to spread your legs for him the way you do for everyone else.”

the words sting, but they’re nothing new. his chuckle follows as he tosses his dirty napkin onto his half-eaten plate and stands, casually loosening his tie from his work suit. “slut,” he mutters under his breath as he walks out of the dining room, leaving you with the hollow clink of his footsteps fading in the distance.

you stare down at your left hand weighed down by stacks and stacks of luxurious jewelry—gifts from naoya, from a time when he at least pretended to love you. the massive diamond on your ring finger feels heavy, a cruel reminder of the life you thought you’d have. a life where you were cherished, not ignored and humiliated.

but that was before the affairs. before he cheated on you with everyone from his secretaries to the maids. you’ve tried to leave him more than once, but his connections, his power—he’s made it clear he’ll destroy you if you ever walk away. 

and so you stay, trapped in this gilded cage.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

the next morning, you wake up tangled in silk sheets, the rich fabric cool against your skin. you turn to the clock on the nightstand—9:40 a.m. naoya is already gone, no doubt having left hours earlier for work. good, you think. it’s better that way. waking up to his smug face would only ruin your morning.

slipping into your soft slippers, you wrap yourself in a sheer lilac robe, its light fabric brushing against your bare skin as you make your way to the bathroom. after freshening up, you take extra care with your skincare routine and hair, making sure you look more presentable than you did when you woke up.

the enticing aroma of freshly baked pastries and pancakes floats through the air as you descend the grand, floating staircase—something you’d begged naoya to have built when you first moved in.

you walk into the kitchen, expecting to see one of the female chefs who probably has a history with your husband. but instead, you freeze mid-greeting.

“good morning, rina—oh…” your words trail off as your eyes land on a tall, muscular man in the kitchen, flipping pancakes with an ease that seems almost hypnotic. his back is turned to you, but you can’t help but admire the way his broad shoulders stretch the black tank top—no, wife beater—that clings to his frame. you can see the muscles in his arms flex with each movement, glistening in the soft morning light streaming through the tall windows. his long, dark hair is tied up in a neat bun, and his discarded chef’s jacket hangs over the back of a chair.

he turns at the sound of your voice, a warm smile spreading across his lips, and you’re suddenly struck by how impossibly handsome he is. it’s not just his looks—it’s his presence. confident and utterly intoxicating. your mouth goes dry as you try not to ogle him, but it’s impossible. fuck, he looks good.

“ah, good morning, mrs. zenin. apologies for the late breakfast,” he says smoothly, his voice deep and velvety, and you have to lean more into the wall for support.

you quickly correct him by letting him no the preferred name rather than naoya’s evil surname. “a-and, there’s no need to be so formal…?,” you drag on for his chance to introduce himself.

“such a beautiful name,” he compliments, sending a shiver down your spine. you feel like a teenage girl speaking to her crush for the first time. “i’m geto suguru.”

suguru. you roll the name over in your mind,

“do… do you need any help, suguru?” you offer, your voice barely above a whisper. you step closer to him, drawn in by his presence. his cologne is subtle, but it clogs your mind, intoxicating you as you catch the scent of sandalwood and something dark and sensual.

he looks down at you, smirking at your shy demeanor. “you wanna help, pretty?” his eyebrow quirks as he motions you to join him, and you nod, as the petname made you all happy.

he motions you to move to his other side but as you follow- your gaze catches something else—tattoos. a full sleeve, intricate designs snaking up his toned arm. your mouth goes dry again as your eyes linger, tracing the ink and the way it contrasts against his skin.

he notices, of course, and chuckles. “got these during a… phase. not really proud of it,” he admits casually, his voice smooth as silk.

“i think they’re attractive,” you say softly, barely able to look him in the eye as you flirt back.

his smirk widens, and he turns back to the stove, pouring a decent amount of pancake batter onto the pan. the butter sizzles, filling the air with the rich, delicious scent of breakfast. “i think you’re attractive,” he murmurs, “shame you’re already married.”

his words hit you like a punch to the gut, a reminder of naoya, of the life you’re stuck in. your smile falters, and geto notices, his sharp eyes catching every little reaction.

“is that whipped cream?” you ask quickly, desperate to change the subject, trying to pull yourself together.

“just finished,” he replies, turning down the heat on the jam. his voice is low, smooth, teasing. “wanna taste?”

you nod, unable to resist the pull of his presence. geto steps closer, his gaze never leaving yours as he dips his finger into the whipped cream. slowly, he brings it to his mouth. his lips part, his tongue gliding over his finger as he sucks the cream off, savouring it with a soft, sensual hum. his eyes flutter shut, and the moment feels intimate—too intimate.

your lips part slightly, unable to look away from the sight of him. his finger glistens as he pulls it from his mouth, the motion slow, deliberate, teasing you without a single word. he dips back into the bowl, scooping up a thick, generous glob of cream, his eyes darkening with desire.

“say ahh, baby,” he whispers, his voice so low, it’s almost a growl, holding his finger near your lips.

your breath catches, your glossed lips parting eagerly as you wait for him to feed you, heat pooling between your thighs at the way he’s looking at you. but instead, his hand accidentally slips, the cold cream falling between your breasts, slowly trickling down your cleavage.

you gasp at the shock of it, the cold against your heated skin sending a shiver through you.

“oh… i’m sorry,” he murmurs, though the wicked smirk curling at his lips tells you he’s anything but. “mah i clean that up?” he politely asks as you mutter out a soft, yes, as he smirks.

before you can fully process anything, his large hands are on you, lifting you effortlessly onto the cool marble counter. your breath hitches as your robe falls open slightly, the flimsy material slipping down your shoulders, baring more of your chest. geto positions himself between your legs, his gaze locked on your cleavage, his tongue slowly wetting his lips.

you tremble above him, his body so close, the heat of him making you dizzy. he leans in, his breath warm against your skin as his fingers slowly push more of the fabric of your robe, exposing the thin top beneath. his eyes darken with hunger as he takes in the sight of you.

with agonizing slowness, he lowers his head, his long tongue sliding up the valley between your breasts, collecting the cream in long, deliberate licks. the sensation sends a shock of pleasure through you, and your head falls back, a soft moan escaping your lips. he moves up to your neck, sucking gently on the sensitive skin, leaving hot, wet kisses. fuck, you didn’t realize how touch deprived you were until now- especially being in his presence is making your cunt quiver.

his hands glide up your body, one gripping your waist while the other cups your breast. your eyes flutter at the intensity as your breathing quickens as he kneads your breast through the thin fabric of your top. you let out a broken moan as he sucks harder at your neck while simultaneously pinching and twisting your erect nipples between his experienced fingers as his tongue continues its sinful path along your throat. and oh, the sweet melodies of your moans escaping your mouth does something to geto. he feels his work pants get tighter and tighter the more you let out your moans. fuckk he thinks it’s beyond pathetic how something so minimal is making him this hard.

“m-more,” you plead breathlessly, your voice a desperate whisper.

geto chuckles against your neck, his lips brushing your ear. “does your husband even know how fucking needy you are?” he taunts, his voice thick with amusement. his fingers pinch your nipple harder, drawing a gasp from you. “how much you crave this? how desperate you are to be touched like this?”

you shake your head, unable to form words, your body arching into his touch, wanting everything he can give. but just when you think he’s about to give in to your pleas, he pulls back, his heat leaving you suddenly cold as he turns his attention back to the stove, his movements casual as if nothing had just happened.

your eyes fly open in disbelief, your body still trembling, aching for him. he flips the pancakes calmly, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as though you hadn’t just been begging him for more.

“i-i didn’t get a taste,” you whine softly, your voice thick with need, still perched on the counter, your legs open, desperate for him.

he glances back at you, a knowing grin spreading across his face as he finishes preparing you your breakfast as he turns around, hands you a beautifully plated dish of pancakes, the whipped cream and fresh jam. “i don’t want the food- i want you,” you whine as he places the food beside you.

“you can’t always get what you want, spoiled brat.” you huff in frustration, your body still burning for him, but before you can say a word, he leans in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

“maybe i’ll let you have more when you learn some manners, hmm?” 

[jolapeno]

15. raspberry truffle

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter fifteen of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.1k chapter warnings: smut. 18+. jo's mirror love resurfaces and armchairs are used as more than things sat behind desks. lots of mouth to mouth resus. smut. also there's smut. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. an: I've had this image in my head for so long...

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“Do you trust me?”

It's a simple question. One he’s asked you time and time before, but never with the current look in his eye he’s currently wearing.

Dressed in a tight grey tee and a pair of black sweats. Hatless, teased curls frame his face as you rest against your counter. The one you’ve seen for the first time in some days.

It strikes you that the only reason you're standing in your home, to begin with, is because of the email informing you that some of your new furniture had been dispatched.

His mouth had been sealed to your neck, fingers grasping at your waist as you read it out, distracted, attention not entirely focused on him until his hand snaked between your legs, in his sheets, in his bed—the one you’d now found to be far more comfortable than your own—as he whispered, I can build it for you.

And, he did. Had done.

Putting his tool on the side as he rejoins you. A nominal irk bubbling through you that the toolbox it lives in is one foot away, it vanishing when he steps closer, presses you further against it. Cool, firmness meets your spine as his body corners you.

He looms in a way that makes your heart double as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him. Deeply.

“Should I trust you, handsome?”

Snorting, his laugh fluttering over your lips. “I think you should.”

Lips pursing, narrowing your eyes teasingly, you feel his thumb sliding the fabric of your top up and down your hip bone.

“You are biased though.” His head lolls from side to side as he hums, fingers pinching at the bottom of your top. “Do you think I should because you built my chair?”

As soon as he slides his arm around your waist, your back arches. Chest desperate to be flush. Heart aching to be near to his.

“No. Because you love me.”

Sighing, nodding—all playful. A smirk just there, all beneath the surface. “Oh. That thing.”

Tracing his nose against yours, a smile trying to beam, but he mirrors how you hold back. “That thing.”

When he’s close like this, it’s almost criminal when you’re not kissing him. When you’ve not slanted your mouth against his soft lips, felt the roughness of the hair on his face against your palm, buried your fingers into his curls and pulled a little to earn that groan he does. The one, if it were a thing that could be possible, you’d love etched into your brain.

The thought of which makes you want to peel your clothes off.

Already so hungry for a thing you’ve been feasting at a buffet for the last number of days. Yet, still wanting, still needing.

“You really play a long game,” you say, more sweet. And his nose scrunches, frowning as you smirk. “Waiting this long, getting me to fall in love with you, and then killing me in my own office.”

“Oh yeah, I’m a mastermind.”

Laughing, you twirl a curl around your finger, finding the hair a little longer. “Okay,” you reply, sealing it to his lips, “I trust you—you get my blood on my new chair you’ve just built, I’m going to haunt you.”

“It’s not a punishment that you’d want to spend the rest of your days haunting me, Rainy.”

His hips dip, becoming aware of the effect you have on him too as his growing bulge rubs against your parted thighs. A moan escapes, body jolting at the welcome friction. The sound leaves so softly, barely loud enough to disrupt his mouth from being on yours.

But it does.

“Do you trust me?”

The four words repeated, answered hurriedly. No game, no tease.

His mouth comes close to your ear, a chaste kiss left along your hairline as his hand clutches your waist for stability, and you forget how to breathe.

“Close your eyes, baby.”

As you do, his fingers, clean and soft, all but sawdust stained, slide over your eyes—his chest to your back as he leads you down a familiar path that suddenly feels foreign. Trusting.

Your nose tunes in. Takes in the scent that is equivocally just him, one you’re thankful has begun seeping into your home as much as he has your heart. Hearing him whisper instructions, watch this, be careful, until you're body is shifted on its axis.

His fingers slide from your vision, allowing you to blink, see him, smiling at the sight of him.

“Fuck you’re handsome.”

Backing you up against the newly painted office wall, your arm hooks around his neck again, mouth ghosting over his as a hand hovers over your hip.

“Still trust me?”

Nodding, you feel his breath on your parted lips, before he slides his mouth over yours. Searing. Burning—all determined as his tongue slides past your teeth and his fingers slide up your neck, tracing your jaw. It makes you delirious. Dizzy. Thoughts nothing but lost to you until you glance past him and see it.

The built chair, in the nearly decorated office. The desk it should be behind is still a week out, but the chair, mirror and plants are all set up—the shelves adorned with bits you have for now.

“Hey?” he says, eyes snapping back to him.

Spotting the bubbling molten in his eyes, remembering how your body is aflame—

Then the next question comes. “Can I taste you, baby?”

Nodding, you whisper your answer into the air as he leads you, guides you all over again, moving you closer and more towards your new chair. Mouth latching itself to yours, palms on either side of your cheeks, before his hand steals the cushion, and throws it down.

“You look so beautiful, baby,” he whispers, trailing the words down your neck, along your collarbone.

It makes a gasp flutter from your lips, feeling your insides knot, likely dampening the fabric between your thighs, making nothing short of a mess—

“Gonna take these off, okay?”

Your tongue thickens in your head, swallowing a whimper at the feel of his thumbs hooking inside your shorts and slipping them down your thighs. The fabric skims, sliding, before they fall with a soft thud and he's guiding you to sit down in the armchair.

Taking a breath, you stare, captivated. Frankie sinking, kneeling before you on the cushion. “Part your legs for me.”

“Shit, Frankie.”

“Baby.”

Swallowing, you do. Then, it’s delicate, soft.

The gentlest of kisses up the inside of your thighs. Aware of the heat of his fingers pushing your knees further into the arms of the armchair, tuned into the way he exhales through his nose, cool air teasing over your already slick, cloth-covered pussy—the chair groaning when you buck your hips.

“Rainy.”

He grunts it. Low—warningly. It comes from a place in the back of his throat, grating and gravelly as he stares up at you. Nothing but brown dipped in more brown holding your gaze. Usually, it would make you smirk, but instead, you mumble an apology.

One that trails off; turns into a whine when he drags his tongue over the already-drenched fabric.

You’re not sure how it’s possible but you moan like you’ve been teased for hours. Sure that with a few more, you could be close—

“I want you to look in that mirror, and see how beautiful you look as I do this.”

“Frankie, I…”

His hand slides up, right between your still-covered breasts, before cupping your cheek, thumb under your jaw, eyes searching, sweeping and locating. “Look for me.”

Flicking your eyes to it, the ornate thing you’d not been sure you wanted until he’d slid his arms around your waist. Buried his face into your neck. Told you it was nice.

You’d agreed then, you most definitely did. Nodding, letting a little whispered okay escape as he nods. Staring, trying not to pick apart what you see in the reflection. The way your eyes look tired, skin not as bright as it normally would be. That is until he nips at your skin. Pulls your gaze from your own to the back of his head.

“Beautiful—”

“Frankie,” you sigh.

Hand coming over your face, heat blooming in your cheeks as you feel him kiss your inner knee. Thumb stroking at your skin, circling, before he taps. A silent request, a reminder: look at yourself.

You do.

“You are so beautiful, Rainy.” He dips his head—becoming aware of the finger sliding in the gusset of your plainest underwear, dragging the fabric, pulling it from your soaked core all the way to the side.

“I thought it when I first saw you.”

Air blowing across your core, before he places the most delicate, softest kiss against your swollen clit.

“Think it now, seeing you sat in your new chair, in your new office.”

You feel your chest heave, see it. Staring at the way the muscles strain in your neck from not moving, before he drags a long, slow stripe up from your aching hole to your nerves.

And he groans, low and dull. It vibrates against you before his tongue swipes again, hands pushing your inner thighs apart before he dives again. Sliding his tongue between your folds, licking, drawing.

He’s slow in his movements, measured. Delves as much of himself into you before wet, roaring heat swirls around and encases your clit as his growl sends flames up your spine.

That’s when he slides his fingers in. Curls them. Moves them in slow thrusts.

The whine of his name you let escape is sinful, practically unrecognisable. Your hips moving, unable to tear yourself away from staring at the way your mouth hangs open, panting, moaning, as you rock your hips, fuck yourself on his fingers, on his tongue, as you hope his other hand on your hip will leave a mark. Half moons or bruises, or even fucking both—

“Frankie, please.”

The angle of the mirror not only allows you to see the sight of him taking you apart, but how the act seemingly undoes him. How his shirt is stretched across his shoulder blades, how his muscles ripple under the thin fabric as you hold on to every thread as the pads of his fingers curl more into you. All come hither, beckoning the incoming wave you know is going to wash over the two of you.

And it turns you on.

“You like it, querida? Like watching yourself.”

“Like watching you.”

And you swear you feel him smirk as your hips lift, desperate for more, eyes speckled with spots as your nails grip the arm of the chair, the other lost and tangled in his curls.

It’s so good, so fucking good.

He’d make you confess, make you tell him everything—no matter the secret, you’re sure he could pull it from you like this. Have you spilling, as though he’s cracking you open, and even helping him translate the parts of you he’s yet to understand or know.

“So perfect squeezing around me, baby. Love how you taste—always taste so fucking good.”

Your back is off the chair, grinding into him, so close you can’t even think, can barely speak.

“Want you to come on my tongue, Rainy. Need you too.”

“Fuck.”

“That’s it. Let yourself feel good, baby. Use me, use—”

And you do.

Fuck. You do.

Your cry echoes and bangs around the walls before slamming into your ears. Legs shaking. Mind sludge as you come down from your high to his soothing touch, to his whispers, to his words that make you feel like you’re in heaven. Not just here, with his shoulders supporting your knees, but all the time.

It’s why you bring his mouth to yours. Messily, all disorientated from the high of him as you taste yourself on his mouth, on his tongue—the tang of what he’d done to you evidenced.

It makes you want, need.

You’re not sure how the two of you made it to the bedroom so cleanly.

His clothes are scattered, left in the hallway; a path that leads from one moment to the other. Your knees were likely bruised from how you dropped to them in the doorway, straddling the hallway and bedroom as you palmed him through his underwear, eyes wide, looking up.

“I love your cock, Frankie.” Hooking a finger in the band, dragging the fabric to his ankles, to the ground. “Like how heavy it feels on my tongue cock.”

Hand slowly wrapping around him, pumping once, twice.

“Fuc...”

His curse isn't able to form when your mouth wraps around him, taking him in your mouth. As much of him as you could. Hearing him groan, grunt—seeing his nostrils flare before his forehead presses into the crease of his elbow as he leans it against the door. His breath stammers, palm cupping the back of your head casually as he tenses, muscles straining, body stiff.

All you can think is you wish this image could be painted, commemorated; hung somewhere for your eyes to see everywhere, every day.

Because he's backlit by the afternoon, shadows cascade from the half-drawn curtains of your room, bicep flexing as you take him down your throat, loosening it as much as you can until the tip of your nose finds itself in his curls.

“So big, Frankie.”

He groans, at the same time as you taste salt, it pooling at the back of your throat. Your eyes flick up to see his jaw slackening, nostrils flaring when your tongue swirls around the tip, hollowing your cheeks, feeling him twitch in your mouth—

“Bed.”

It’s hissed, strangled, as he pulls himself from between your lips and spit trails over your lower lip and chin.

“Now?” you tease.

“Now.”

His hands, all capable and strong, haul you to your feet. Finding a home on your hips, directing and shifting you until you’re on familiar sheets, turned over, stomach flush to your mattress as he trails his mouth down your spine.

“Wanna fuck you.”

“Then fuck me.”

It’s different, the way your bodies come together. The way he swallows your hiss when he bottoms out, stretching around him, fingers clinging and clutching at him.

“Y’too good to me, Frankie.”

“Impossible,” he whispers.

Mouth sliding up over your neck, nose catching on your skin, his hand dips between your bodies—where you’re joined, where you’re full and stretched around him. It’s bliss. Perfection. One you endure so regularly but don’t become used to, each time as taken back by how good it feels to be seated fully inside you as his fingers tease your swollen nerves.

It’s with a smooth thrust do your fingers brush over his face, finding his cheek, mouth and nose, guiding with your eyes closed for his mouth to seal itself over yours. Hips moving, thrusting, meeting him each time as you grow slicker, making a mess of him and the sheets beneath you.

Mouth slotted over his, moaning passed his teeth, hands clutching his cheek, the back of his neck, fingers teasing his curls. “Fuck, Frankie. Fu—“

He grins, you feel it. His hand slides from your slick-covered clit to your hip, along your waist, travelling and travelling until his palm cups your breast—until his finger and thumb are pinching your hardened peak. All the time kissing you, open mouths, breathing one another as his pace quickens. As you feel the early signs of your thighs tremoring, seeking something to grip, to hold on tight—

“Love how you take me.”

You whine. Gasping.

And he’s smooth with it. The way he slides your hand from his cheek and down towards the bed. Hingeing you, making you go down onto all fours as he kisses down your neck, trails his tongue, leaving a searing wet line before he’s under your arm, snaking his mouth over as much skin as he can get.

“Baby—“

“I know,” he grunts, puncturing it with several thrusts. “Feels good, you always feel good.”

Your eyes clench shut, mouth falling open at the angle. At the way it makes your toes curl in nothing. Something tightening, something that makes the corners of your vision blot and darken. It close. Liquid heat forming, swirling in your stomach, in your need and you—

A whine rips from your throat. All stained in disappointment, in loss as he pulls out. Leaves you empty, desperate.

You almost hiss. Throwing your head over your shoulder as you glance back to see him breathing heavily, chest oiled with sweat, hand squeezing himself at the base, a lopsided grin spread into his cheek as his other hand slides over your side. Urging, silently requesting.

“Roll onto your back, Rainy.”

It centres you, roots you when his elbows come down on either side of you.

Warm, hot mouth sliding over your jaw, his hand gripping yours, holding you tight as he teases, slides the tip of his cock through your messy folds, taunting your swollen clit.

“I love you,” he groans, pushing himself in, completely to the hilt, all in one smooth movement.

You swear he's deeper. Always say so until he trails his hand up the side of your leg, lifting them, hooking them over his waist as you wrap them around his back, and dig your ankles into his lower spine.

“Feel so good.”

“You make me feel so good.”

Your chin tips up, feeling him press open-mouth kisses to your throat. Likely feeling the vibrations of your moans against his lips, his tongue.

“Yeah?”

Nodding, rustling your head against the dishevelled sheets as his breath fans over your collarbone, “Only you.”

His pace quickens, snaps his hips to yours, grunting, moaning—the sounds making you clench around him. Chasing your second orgasm, walls fluttering around him as your fingers tighten around his, as he grasps your hip and fucks into you. Spears into you.

“I love you too,” you moan.

“I’m close. So close. Want to feel you, baby. Can you come, baby, come for me—”

Fingers knotting tighter around his, vision spotting, it all pooling, all set to spread.

Then, it snaps, splinters.

You cry out. Body erupting.

Nothing but heat and fire surging through you as you are washed in it. Drowned it. Never wishing to be saved as you go under, as your hearing fades and your eyes blur. Only aware, distantly, of the way your skin tingles as it lights with a blaze.

But, you do catch his guttural groan. The way he stills, paused, as his eyes clench and your name is buried into your ear—feeling him collapse on you.

A weight you love.

His heart hammering against yours, breath strained, difficult as you clutch at him, pulling him closer if that is at all possible. Even if it's just for a moment, before steam fills your bathroom and soap suds slide down both of your skin.

Because it's a weight that makes you smile every time, every day. One you adore. One you never want to not know.

You say as much against his mouth as your lips sloppily meet his, smiling, grinning against his mouth.

I love you.

Love you too, Rainy.

an: this was almost titled the last smut. (because of the series coming to an end, not because of some unhappy ending)

NEXT CHAPTER ->

[hansensgirl]

summary. | Your sugar daddy’s jealousy is something you’ll just have to get used to.

prompts. | Lloyd Hansen + Sugar Daddy + “That’s no way to talk to your future husband.” + Daddy kink, requested by Anonymous.

pairing. | dark!sugar daddy!Lloyd Hansen x fem!reader.

warnings. | NON/DUBCON, jealousy, possessiveness, obsession, lloyd being rude (not to reader), pet names, Daddy kink, sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, power imbalance, forced engagement, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

author’s note. | this is a part of my Dark Concepts (2023) request form. thank you for taking part in this event! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog. MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY! taglist: @hansensfics

Lloyd is your first sugar daddy, but you aren’t his first sugar baby. He knows the ins and outs of the entire relationship, what is expected and what isn’t. He showed you the ropes and, of course, tailored them to suit him best.

You find he isn’t too bad. Your friends warned you of the arrangement, worrying that you’ll grow attached or end up crashing down with no prospects at all. But Lloyd always shooed those thoughts away and quieted them with his lavish gifts and equally as tantalizing attention.

But the long stretches of absence and his secrecy make you want to break things off entirely. You know you’re not Lloyd’s girlfriend—you probably never will be. That doesn’t stop you from feeling lonely or as though you’ve been left out in the cold.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when the waiter brings you the menus, hand lingering on yours for a little too long. Lloyd notices this—of course he does. You both sit in the private room of the restaurant, which has been shut down and guarded for added measures.

You still don’t know what Lloyd does, but you hope you haven’t gotten yourself tangled up in something illegal.

The waiter still stands there. “S’that all, bus boy?” Lloyd rudely asks, and the younger man quickly scurries off once he sees the look on your sugar daddy’s face. 

Lloyd sighs and turns his attention back to you while you try to ignore what just happened and focus on choosing a meal. He stares at you intently, unnerving you. 

“You know what you’re getting, darling?” Lloyd questions, smoothing his mustache with his fingers. “Probably some pasta,” you joke, quickly glancing up at him. He nods, sipping on the wine that you both started with. “What about you, Daddy?” you ask, closing the menu and placing it on the table.

The older man grabs your left hand and holds it gently, a gesture he loves. He caresses your fingers, and it soothes you, making you want to get out of here and curl up in bed. 

Thankfully, Lloyd isn’t too crazy about sex. You’ve read stories about some sugar daddies pushing their sugar babies away with their insatiable needs, although they lacked the awareness to see that they were hurting those women. 

However, when you two do have sex, it is always mind-blowing.

“I’ll do the same. I think they have a good truffle pasta here. We’ll get that,” Lloyd says, and you smile. You both gaze at each other, almost lovingly, until the same waiter returns.

He clears his throat, and Lloyd snaps his eyes to glare at the younger man. He stutters before turning his attention to you, giving you a flirty smile. You recognize his intentions but ignore them. You’re not interested in anyone except for your sugar daddy right now.

“Are you ready to order?” he asks, and you nod before looking at Lloyd. He always does the talking for you. “We’ll get your truffle pasta, with a side of you not eye-fucking my girl like a little shithead. Got that? Oh, and a to-go box, too,” the older man says, and you gasp at his words.

“Daddy–” you start, and he tuts. “By the way, this wine? Your personal recommendation? It tastes like shit. I could make something better myself,” Lloyd sneers, and you wince. It’s certainly not the first time he’s been rude to someone else in front of you, but the root cause of it annoys you. 

Jealousy is an ugly, green-eyed monster that rears its head whenever you go out with Lloyd Hansen, even though your relationship is not like that.

“Y– Yes, Sir. Sorry. I’ll be right back with your order,” the waiter shivers in fear. He scurries off, and Lloyd chuckles. “Was that really necessary?” you hiss, voice no louder than a whisper. “Of course, princess. C’mon, don’t be mad at me. He’s been giving you the puppy eyes since we got here,” Lloyd coos. You sigh deeply. “So? That doesn’t mean you should insult him,” you continue, and Lloyd rolls his eyes. 

“What do you want Daddy to do? Huh? Apologize?” he scoffs. “Actually, yeah. You should apologize to him for being such an asshole, Daddy,” you fume, speaking harder than usual. You just wanted a nice night out.

“That’s no way to talk to your future husband, honey,” Lloyd chides, and you nearly laugh. “Future husband? Yeah, right.” You go to pull your hand away from his, but he doesn’t let go. Suddenly, you realize one of your digits feels a little heavier.

You look down to see an engagement ring on your fourth finger, with a fat rock that nearly blinds you. 

“You may be laughing now, but all that wedding planning is gonna make you cry. But don’t worry, Daddy’ll be there every step of the way.”

[skyeslittlecorner]

Uhuhuhu don't worry, dear! This idea is perfect~

I've wondered about this a few times myself. Sure, many of us are degenerates (affectionate), but fiction is fiction, and most people in reality would probably react with fear. Still, I'm sure those devils wouldn't deliberately hurt MC (even the crazier ones are smart enough not to spoil a good toy).

꧁:･ ✡ ･:꧂

Satan doesn't think much, because what is there to think about? He's as rough and wild as ever. It's only when he feels you tremble and sees tears welling in your eyes that he stops, confused. Something hurts you? Someone hurt you? Should he fight them? He sees something is wrong, but you have to tell him you're scared. Gentle sex is not his default setting. Although, he learns quickly. You will establish a safe signal, and use it if something become too much. He tells you to hold his horns to control him, but he won't let you share his feelings so as not to overstimulate you. During sex he will try his best to be sensitive and gentle, you should guide his hands and mouth, and pull his horns if he gets too excited. In fact, play with them as much as you want. Scratch, tug, bite. Reward him for how good he is to you. You will have to experiment a lot to find a solution that will make you both fulfilled, and his fascination with you will only increase because he has never met someone so interesting before.

Mammon is the perfect partner for someone who is scared. Even though he is huge… everywhere, he is aware of it. He doesn't want to tear you apart, so he would be gentle either way. This makes the whole thing very slow and delicate. He will see that something is wrong even before he starts approaching you. You can count on affectionate caresses and you will be showered with words of assurance. His greatest fulfillment is your happiness, and it is much more satisfying than an orgasm. When you start opening up to him and want more, more touch, more words, more of him, you will turn him on with just your growing greed. He may take the initiative, he may give it to you, but know that you are his ideal every time, no matter what happens, and he will treat you as such.

Beelzebub, like Satan, will not come up on his own with the idea that sex is something to be afraid of. Enlighten him, and he will be even more fascinated by you than before. When he licks his lips with sparkling eyes, you feel like you've made a mistake. Now he wants to devour you even more. Such a tasty, fresh meal. He wants to observe your reactions. Study you as the last representative of an extinct species. Your inexperience combined with burning lust are so delicious that in comparison white truffles with beluga caviar taste like fast food from a stand. As it turns out later, you have nothing to be afraid of, because he is a perfect lover. He adapts to you as if he knew subcutaneously what you need. You will start your adventure with sex with the best oral of your life, and it will only get better from there.

Leviathan is torn. On the one hand, the fact that you're afraid is irritating because you won't want anything hard. On the other hand, if he doesn't touch you, and you will be the one hitting him, maybe you'll agree? Despite superficial considerations, deep down he knows better than anyone what it means to be afraid of touch. There is a way. Tell him he's your first, and you'll tip the scales in your favor. He may make an exception for you, but only this one time. He will be in control, but he will be extremely gentle, kissing your body, observing the strong reactions to the most innocent touch. Seeing how defenseless you are, he may even lower his guard enough for you to unbutton his shirt, see his scars, and kiss them tenderly. He will be shocked that despite them, you think he is perfect. This one gentle moment will never happen again, but Leviathan will replay it in his head every time he sees you. He was protecting himself from you touching his body, but you touched his soul.

As for my choice, it couldn't have been anyone else than him.

You could dream of the perfect guy who will help you overcome your fear, but Amon will still be better. He's incredibly intelligent and perceptive, and what's more, he's turned on by your uncertainty. What more could you want? You don't even have to touch him to make him cum. You just need to let him observe and worship you. If you pull his collar or call him "good boy", he will melt before your eyes. He will dispel all your fears. This will be a long, slow adoration where you can tell him all your concerns. Twisted past? He won't fix it, but will give you beautiful new memories. Are you afraid you won't satisfy him? A hard on in his pants says otherwise, and you haven't even touched it yet. Or maybe you're just not used to being touched? His fingers will stroke you like silk, like the most precious thing he has ever seen. Because you are. You are his salvation. He already trusts you implicitly, you don't have to be afraid, just lose yourself in him.

[valuunit]

Mums don’t cry

Summary: Y/n’s mood changes and sicknesses happen to be more than just that.

lmao i don’t know why i put that tittle, but The Cure rules.

Content: soft husband!harry :DD pregnant afab!reader, use of she/her, mention of food and vomit (pregnancy symptom), la la land spoilers(?) and that’s it ig.

Disclaimer: English is not my first lenguaje so if there’s any mistake i’m sorry, i’ll try to correct it.

“No, i’m staying with Y/n, she’s not been feeling good. Enjoy though, oh! And bring some tiramisu.”

“ ’M sorry, H” she said struggling to stand up from the bathroom’s floor.

“No, no, there’s nothing to be sorry ‘bout. Now come here, i’ll help you clean yourself and we can go watch a movie. You said that watching Ryan Gosling everywhere made you want to bing his movies.” Harry kneeled in front of her offering his hand.

“Mhm” Y/n said without any sign of excitement. Her hand reached the toilet’s chain and released her sickness before lean into the sink and wash her mouth a total of four times.

“Think that enough, you’re gonna get sick again if you keep pulling the brush all the way down your throat.” he chuckled taking the brush out of her hand.

“Wait, throw it in the trash, please.” she said before shoving some more water in her mouth.

“But it’s clean.”

“It’s not, but i’ve had it for over 3 months.”

“Okay miss.”

“It’s Missus, Mister.”

“You feeling better, Missus?”

“I think, it was probably all the crap i’ve been eating.”

“The holidays are for something, don’t you think?”

“I guess.” her mood “I’m sorry.”

“I told you, you don’t have to…”

“No, i’m sorry for being so grumpy this past few days, i don’t know what’s happening.” she said as some tears began to accumulate in her eyes and her head goes to her husband’s chest.

“Oh, honey, don’t worry, it was part of our vows, being here through thick and thin, right?” he grabbed her cheek and smiled warmly, with her blurry vision she just saw a charming white downward D but she returned it.

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

“Now you can see me fantasize with Ryan Gosling.”

“No problem, i’ll do the same.”

They giggled like toddlers and went to the kitchen for some snacks.

“Some popcorn will do it?” said Harry grabbing a package of microwave popcorn.

“Yeah, although is there a peanut butter and chocolate? i’ve been craving some of it.”

“Hm, we have a package of truffles but no peanut butter…”

“It’s okay, all perfect.”

“Well, what do you think of you picking the first movie and i’ll be there when these are ready.”

“Okay.” she gave him a peck kiss. “This is like the honeymoon all over again.” and began to walk to the lounge.

“I hope we never leave that stage.” Harry said loudly making sure she heard. She blew him a kiss and sat on the couch.

Y/n grabbed her phone to google in which platform was La La Land on. She didn’t even knew if the villa’s TV had more than 3 streaming services.

“Already picked one?”

“I’m checking where is it.”

“I bring you some water, i like my woman hydrated.”

He let out a little laugh “Thanks, love.”

They snuggled in the middle of the couch and concentrate in enjoying the movie.

Everything went well, they got to the point in the movie that showed what would’ve happened if they had ended up together.

Harry made a pout, watching the montage of the couple having a kid, but beside him Y/n began to sob, but in a concerning way.

“Everything okay, love?”

“Y-yeah, it just...” she went quiet to hear the final notes of song that Sebastian was playing in his bar. And led out another sob. “It’s so sad, because they loved each other, b-but they couldn’t make their dreams come true if the stayed together a-and they will always love each other…”

“It’s okay” Harry couldn’t help but feel a mixture of concern and a little bit, just a bit, of fun, watching her being so invested in a movie that they��ve watched several times. “Sometimes that’s how life goes.”

“What a bullshit life we live in.” He audibly laughed at that, remembering the joker memes, she also laughed “Okay, i heard it.”

And just like that she was laughing like anything happened.

“Wanna see another movie?”

“I don’t know, ‘m tired.”

“Wanna go to bed?”

“Yes please.”

When they were getting up of the couch Y/n felt sick again, she ran to the nearest bathroom and let it all out. That took Harry by surprise, one moment he was folding the blanket they where using and talking about other movies and the other he was grabbing his wife’s hair.

“Don’t know what’s happening to me, H. It feels like something more.” she rested her back into the cold wall opposite to the toilet

She recalled when she was sweaty and exhausted she blamed italy’s sun, when her mood changed drastically she blamed her personality, when she felt disgust out of nowhere and ended up vomiting she blamed the food and spices she was not used to, but everything as a whole was sign of other thing.

“Like what?” Harry said concerned thinking of the worst.

“I-i… i’ve been feeling weird lately and all my symptoms are, you know, hm, signs of pregnancy.”

“… Like what?” he repeated too shocked to say other thing.

“Mood change, um, craving could be described, the constant exhaustion, vomit…”

“Want me to go for a test?”

“What if paps catch you?”

“Who cares about them?” he said excitedly, this could be one of the happiest days of his life, and he couldn’t wait.

“Pr team, probably.” Y/n said tired.

“Well, I think they’ll understand. You’ll be good on your own? O could ask one of the guys to get a test on their way here.”

“I’ll be good, also we aren’t certain if i’m… pregnant, don’t want to alarm anyone and I’m pretty sure they’ll be back ‘till midnight.”

“You’re right. Well, i’ll be right back, honey.”

“Thanks.”

Harry literally sprinted to the nearest corner store as soon a he closed the villa’s door. Not caring of anything else, he ran through a fairly small business, not more than 5 minutes away, or that what he felt, until he viewed the boxes he was so desperate for, he grabbed three different ones and ran to the cash register, an old man smiled kindly at him. The interaction was short but cute.

When Harry grabbed the tests the man said to him "Buona fortuna." (good luck). With Harry's poor italian he said "Grazie" and ran back to Y/n.

"That was quick" Y/n was waiting by the door when he arrived.

"I always am, hun…” Harry said out of breath.

Y/n laughed and grabbed the bruised boxes from his hands. "I'm nervous"

"There's nothing to be nervous about, love."

"Well, then, there I go." she let a loud shaky breath and entered the bathroom again.

"Love you."

"Love you too." her voice muffled by the door.

Harry was also nervous, but in a good way nervous, what a good timing, he thought, they been wanting to start a family since last year, well, since forever, but actively trying ever since. He remembered the doctor appointments, the times they had sex just because an app told them to, and the disappointment in their faces when the test were negative, over and over again. And now, they were the happiest they've been, he just finished love on tour, Y/n finished her second book and taking a vacation with all their friends and family.

"Har...ry, come in, please." he did so immediately.

"Everything okay?" his voice was shaky. The tests were all perfectly lined up on a counter all of them facing down.

"Yes, I wanted you to be here." she was crying again, but the smile in her face denoted happiness and anxiety.

"Remember that no matter what the tests say, we'll be fine, and keep trying if you want."

"Thanks." she muttered hugging him.

"Thank you" he hugged her back kissing her hair.

"Can you check one first, please?"

"Sure"

While still hugging her he picked one of the tests and checked. His heart stopped when there was just one line across the screen.

"Uhm, what does one line means?" he asked, wanting to be in the wrong.

"N-negative..."

Y/n pulled away from the embrace to confirm what Harry was saying.

"It's okay, we got two more left."

"Yeah." Y/n said not really expecting any different result. She grabbed one and Harry the other.

Y/n's test said 'Incinta 2-3 settimane*' And Harry's had two vertical lines.

"Oh god, this one say-"

"My phone! Where is it." Y/n said quickly.

"What?"

"I need a confirmation."

She opened the translator and typed the test's result, it gave 'Pregnant 2-3 weeks'

"Oh my god! What does yours says?"

"That you're pregnant!"

"This one too!" she jumped into her husband's arms rounding his waist with her legs.

"Two out of three." he said shocked.

"I'll take it. Tomorrow we could go to a doctor."

"I can't wait." he said happily.

"Neither can i."

"Thank you, thank you love." he kissed her nose.

"I couldn't have done anything without your contribution, love, thank you too." she cupped his cheek as he laughed.

"Let's go to bed, tomorrow might be a big day.”

Y/n, attached to him in a koala style, and Harry Styles went to the bedroom full of bliss and expectancy for tomorrow.

“Where were you guys all morning? We waited you for breakfast” Gemma said laying on a sun chair near the villa’s pool, where the radiant couple just arrived.

“Uh, went for some air.” Harry responded.

“Oh, how are you feeling, Y/n?”

“Much better.” Y/n smiled widely to her sister-in-law. “I’m going for some water, want some?”

“I’m good, pumping, thanks.”

“Gem?”

“I have some here, thank you, Y/n/n.”

Y/n walked into the kitchen with a happy pace and Harry admired her silhouette in that white dress he loved so much.

“Are you guys high?”

“What?”

“Why are you smiling so much? it’s creepy.”

“We’re happy.” he said jokingly annoyed. “Also, i have something to tell you.”

“Y/n’s pregnant?” Gemma guessed, siting straight and taking her glasses off.

“How’d you know?”

“I didn’t, but the pregnancy tests in the bathroom gave me an idea. Congratulations!” the siblings hugged tightly.

“Thank you!”

“You’re finally becoming a dad. Ahh!”

“I know, ahh!”

“Why are you screaming like hyenas in cocaine?”

“Y/n, congrats, darling.” Gemma hugged her.

“Oh Gemma, thanks.”

“You’ll be the greatest parents and i’m gonna be the greatest aunt.”

The three laughed. “I’m pretty sure you’ll be, Gem”

[ticklygiggles]

A date worth remembering| Zayne x Reader

Collab with @otomiyaa

A/N: HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY! We're early for this one but we wrote it in like one day *applause* we love our doctor that much 😍 we hope you guys enjoy it!

Summary: Chocolate? Check. Gift? Check. Food? Check. A clueless boyfriend? Check! All ready for the perfect Valentine's day!

Words: 2k

You felt a little silly. Your cheeks were red and your heart was about to jump out of your chest as you made your way to Akso Hospital. Night had already fallen over Linkon City, but the streets still looked very alive and vibrant. Everywhere you looked, there was a couple holding hands, hugging and even sharing kisses in the middle of the street, causing your already reddened cheeks to get even hotter. 

Flowers, chocolates, balloons and heart-shaped decorations filled the restaurants around. It was that big celebration again: Valentine's day. You couldn't say you'd ever been drawn to that particular celebration. Thousands of other more important things were running through your head most of the time, but... now Valentine's Day didn't feel so foreign to you. 

With your free hand, you covered the silly but huge smile that stretched your lips. On your other hand, you carried a plastic bag with two lunchboxes, food warm and ready to serve; in your bag were two boxes: a heart-shaped one filled with truffles and dark chocolate. The other, a small rectangular box with a pen with a certain doctor's name engraved on it. It was your first time celebrating Valentine's day, you couldn't help but go a bit overboard.

Your voice sounded funny as you checked in at the reception. They had gotten used to you popping in unannounced, being Dr. Zayne’s partner. You were allowed access and made your way by yourself to his office. You couldn’t wait to see his response… Giggling and humming to yourself, you ended up in front of his door, and you breathed in. 

“Alright then,” you whispered, raising your hand to knock on the door. Right at that moment, the timing magical and so funny, the door opened and Zayne showed up. He looked at you and your raised hand, and then moved back into his office.

“Great timing. I was about to go catch some lunch.” He walked back inside, letting you stumble in with your luggage. You were used to your boyfriend being such an ice queen. 

“You? Lunch, at a regular time?” you asked. 

Zayne shrugged. “I remember a certain someone promising me to eat lunch normally if I did too, so I’ve got to set an example,” he said kindly. You smiled and put the bags down beside his desk.

“Well, good thing I planned my visit just right then. I have something for you, of course,” you said, reaching inside the bag and taking out the chocolates first. You handed the box to him, and he accepted it with a frown on his face.

“Thank you? You know I don't usually eat sweets, but thank you for choosing dark chocolate..." Zayne said, turning the box over and carefully reading the ingredients label. “However, is there any particular reason why you're giving me this? … Is it my birthday? Isn't it during summer?” 

You blinked a couple of times, staring at him. He actually looked confused, his eyes looking at the box carefully and then turning to look at your eyes. You couldn't help but burst out laughing at his expression. You expected nothing less from Zayne, he obviously wasn't going to remember that today was Valentine's Day - it really would have been surprising if he had remembered. 

“What is so funny?” he asked, arching an eyebrow as he opened the box to take a chocolate.

You giggled, cleaning a gleeful tear from the corner of your eye. “Oh, Zayne… I'm really hurt.”

That caught his attention. He quickly raised his head and looked at you with slightly widened eyes. You weren't upset that he had forgotten, you expected that to happen, but that didn't mean you couldn't act a little offended, right? 

“Did I do something?” 

“Do you know what day it is, Dr. Zayne?” you asked playfully. 

“It’s Wednesday.”

“Date?”

“February 14th,” he said, and you could see his facial expression change as he said it. He wasn’t that stupid.

“Oh.” 

He turned his head, looking just the slightest bit embarrassed. He was so cute. You strode towards him and grabbed the chocolate box that was still in his hands.

“You are in a relationship with me, and forgot about Valentine’s Day?” you asked him teasingly. He put only a little bit of effort in keeping the chocolate box as a shield in front of himself, but you managed to take it away and put it on his desk as you dragged a chair to sit beside him. 

“I was busy,” Zayne explained.

“So was I,” you hummed. “Mission after mission, but looking forward to this day,” you said, rubbing his stomach fondly through his doctor's suit. Zayne shuddered and caught your hand.

“Don’t,” he warned, but you continued to wiggle your fingers. 

“Don’t what?” 

There was no way he would say it, but the light pink hue spreading across his cheeks only made you feel more playful. Your mind convinced you that he needed to be lovingly punished for his cute mistake. Leaning in closer to him, noses almost touching, one of your hands sneakily moved to his side and your fingers gently wiggled against his flank. 

Zayne gasped and he jerked. “You– I am sorry, it r-reheally slipped my m-mihind- stohohop that!” A giggle escaped his lips when he felt soft wiggly fingers on both his sides, climbing up towards his ribs. 

“Hmm? Stop what?” You tease, smiling warmly at him; the corner of his lips trembled, stubbornly trying not to smile. “Why are you so squirmy? After not remembering it is Valentine's day, now you don't want me to be close to you? Don't you think you're being too rude, Dr. Zayne?” 

Zayne shook his head, trying to avoid facing you as he tried to push your hands away from his body, but a squeeze to that tender spot underneath his ribs had him letting out a strangled sound that made you giggle. 

“Oh? Could it be that Dr. Zayne here is ticklish? Or maybe it's just some reflexes?” 

“I’m nohohot - wait ahahah!” He turned and twisted clumsily, positioned awkwardly against his desk while you continued to tickle him. You gasped dramatically.

“You’re not? Were you going to lie to me too, on top of everything else? I’m so hurt,” you said, grinning like an idiot as you continued to observe the sweet expression on his beautiful face. Even from the funniest joke, Zayne wouldn’t ever laugh the way he did right now. Tickling was like magic, so you couldn’t help but find the smallest excuses to make your lover laugh.

“Ahahalright, that’s enough!” Zayne laughed. You cocked your head.

“I don’t understand,” you whined, your hands lowering to dig into his hips, making him jerk and jump adorably.

“I’m sohorry!” he laughed. “I forgohohot!” Zayne laughed. You didn’t even consider tickling him into an apology, but if he was going to be like this anyway…

“Didn’t quite catch that,” you said, pinching his cute hips again. Zayne let out the most adorable little cackle.

“I’m sorry I forgohohot Vahaha-Valentine’s Dahahay!” 

“Are you really sorry, Dr. Zayne?” You grinned, leaning so close to his laughing face. “Don't forget I haven't used my special weapon yet,” you teased, your hands moving behind him, your fingers gliding across his lower back, making Zayne gasp sharply and jump forwards, your noses now definitely touching. 

“I truhuhuly am sohohorry!” He laughed, his arms suddenly wrapping you in a tight hug. You blinked in surprise, your hands stopping before you wrapped your arms around him too, squeezing him tightly as he laughed breathlessly against your ear. 

How could you deny him a hug when he was letting you listen to that wonderful sound he could only do? Zayne's laughter was definitely the best gift for any occasion. How could you not forgive him? 

“Did you learn your lesson, Dr. Zayne?” You asked, kissing his shoulder. “I'm sure you won't ever forget about it, hmm?” 

Zayne sighed, finally breathing normally. He nuzzled your neck with his nose and you giggled, pressing yourself closer to him. 

“Even though I was laughing against my will,” he said, playfully biting your neck and making you gasp. “My apologies were sincere. I am also sorry because I didn't get you a present… dinner's on me next time.” 

You hummed, the most ridiculous grin pulling at your lips. “That's okay, Zayne. I kinda knew you wouldn't remember it. I know you that well.”

“...” He leaned back to look at you. “And yet you decided to tickle me?” 

You shrugged your shoulders. “It was your punishment!” 

“I see,” he said, nodding slowly. You held your breath when he gave the most intense stare for a few seconds. He then let go of you and moved towards your bag.

“So did you bring anything else, or will we have chocolate for lunch?” he asked. You breathed out. For a moment you thought he was going into revenge mode.

“There’s lunch of course. A healthy one. Warm.”

“Did you pack it well? I hope it didn’t get cold,” Zayne said. You nodded proudly.

“The way I pack it, it never gets cold,” you said. Zayne hummed.

“Good. Then we have a little more time.” Suddenly he had both hands on you, and you jumped up in a wave of surprise and panic as he started to tickle you.

“Hohohold on! Zahahayne!” You tried to make your escape, but he pulled you back. 

Zayne held you firmly against his chest, one arm wrapped around your back, his fingers sneaking under your arm from behind as his other hand clawed at your ribs and then quickly moved to your hips. You laughed against his chest, your cheeks flushing at the thought of someone hearing your laughter.

“Uhuhunfahahair! UHFAHAHAIR!” You cackle, trying to push him away, but it was useless, he had you trapped. “Why ahahare you tihihickling mehehe?!” 

Zayn chuckled, his chest rumbling against yours. “Well, you tickled me first, I guess I'm just returning the favor… you also took away my chocolate. That was mean, don't you think?”

You shook your head, shrieking and laughing as he tickled you mercilessly. How dare he?! He was the one who forgot but he still tickled you?! How was that fair? You wanted to ask him, but you were too busy laughing your head off and the only word that came out of your mouth was his name. 

“Yes, yes,” he said calmly as he lifted your arm a little so he could bury his hand properly under it. “I am right here. You don't need to call me anymore.”

You were blushing so much it felt like your cheeks were on fire. “Plehehease! Nohoho!” you whined tiredly when his fingers wouldn’t let you rest for one second.

“Why not?” Zayne asked, his voice soothing. You shut your eyes and squirmed in his tight embrace.

“It tihihickles,” you laughed, slowly losing strength in your voice and body to protest already. To think you stood the best chances against the strongest Wanderers, yet just a little bit of tickling from Zayne and there was nothing you could do.

“Good.” Zayne’s hand that was tickling your ribs had dropped further down and moved under your clothes where he rubbed your bare tummy lovingly. You couldn’t help but feel blessed and tortured at the same time, relaxing in his hold.

“Shall we have lunch then?” Zayne finally said, slowing down his tickle attack but not entirely stopping it yet. You nodded quickly.

“Y-yehehes,” you giggled. 

“What did you say?” Ah, he even returned your own teases to you, acting as if he didn’t hear it well. 

“Yes!” you squeaked and he chuckled, finally stopping his playful assault. You collapsed against him, breathing heavy and giggling softly. “You're s-soho mehean, Dr. Zayne,” you whined playfully, looking up at him with a little pout. “You truly don't deserve me, I'm too good for you.”

Zayne laughed softly and kissed your rosy cheek. “Yes, yes. I don't deserve you,” he said, rolling his eyes and kissing your forehead. 

“You don't deserve the other gift I have for you either,” you said nonchalantly, slowly moving away to take the lunchboxes out.

Zayn arched an eyebrow and he discreetly looked around, trying to find that other gift. You grinned. 

“Did I make our doctor feel a bit curious?” You teased, placing the lunchbox in front of Zayne, who blushed slightly at your words, but refused to say anything. “You truly don't deserve it, but…,” you said, grabbing your bag and pulling out the little box. “I hope you like this, Zayne.”

Zayne grabbed the box, but he didn't open it immediately. He stared at it, perhaps a little too shy and you smiled warmly. 

“Hey, it's okay, love” you said, placing a loving hand against his thigh. “You can open it. Don't worry about anything! You already gave me a beautiful gift.” He frowned and you playfully poked his ribs, making him gasp. “Your laugh and also your time.”

Zayne stared at you before chuckling softly. “You're so corny.” He opened the box, and he paused for a moment before taking out the pen.

“....That’s…” You hoped you weren’t making him feel burdened, so you quickly leaned in and kissed his cheek.

“Do you like it?” you asked. Zayne turned his head and smiled at you. Without answering, he pulled you closer and kissed your lips. Ah, so that was a big yes. You melted into the kiss and whined a little when he pulled apart. 

“I truly don't deserve you,” he said and you giggled, kissing his nose.

“Don't be silly,” you said, feeling your cheeks flushing. “Now, let's eat before our lunch really gets cold! I'm sure you'll love it. It's soooo healthy! It even has-

“Carrots…” 

“Hmm? Oh! I think that's m-mi-ahahaha! No! Nohoho! Wahahait!” 

You could barely get another word out as a very vengeful yet sweet and charming Doctor Zayne renewed his tickly revenge, and you couldn’t help but love him for it. Well… It was definitely a Valentine’s Day with remembering! 

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER SEVEN: LAMB

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, implied child abuse, self harm

This is chronologically the seventh chapter in the series

---

The kitchen is a quiet chaos— Hannibal standing over the hob, his beautiful hands precise at their work, Will slouched, sulking prettily against a countertop, looking into the bottom of a wine glass.

His temper billows about the room. It's a wonder anyone can breathe through such smoke.

You hover at an anxious distance, afflicted by delectable smells and the scar of what you’ve done. Shame beats, eviscerated, under the boards of you; you chose to taunt and then to touch Will Graham, a conscious participant in this play of a poisonous home.

If your hosts were to give you but a minute apart from them you’d chastise yourself for your abasement: three stiff, sweat-inducing planks, a lap of your room, a prison yard exhaustion.

But they keep you under their eye, knowing, like a child, you’d surely run to burn your hand on the stove.

“How do you want me to be around him?” you ask, as Hannibal tastes a truffle sauce with a look of indecision. “Your Agent Crawford. He doesn’t know about us, does he?”

“As I have assured you, it is between you, Will, and I,” Dr Lecter answers. “Therefore, as far as any visitor is concerned, you remain my patient. That is all.”

How easily you are expected to step from one evanescent role to the other. Should your tongue slip, you may damn him and Will both, yet you know Hannibal is without fear as surely as though you had your fingers to his wrist, timing the pulse of his slow calm.

“And what am I to Will today?” you ask.

“A ward, of sorts, for now.”

The word conjures images of chill cells, bed pans, wilful neglect. Something Victorian in its sensibilities.

“A ward,” you repeat. “Right.”

In the peripheries of vision Will sets down his glass with an icy clink.

“Are you intending to be civilised at dinner," he asks, "or do we have to prepare for another devolution into infantile behaviour?”

You’d expected Will to be smug, glutted from his fill, but your mouth upon him has only calcified his antagonism into some crueller compound, still. He does not like that he has taken pleasure from you, is in denial of it, a steadfast separation.

“I don’t know what I’ll do,” you say. “I never know what’s going to happen. Usually I’m... not myself.”

Will folds his arms in an impassable cross.

“You’re not being medicated tonight. Your actions will be your responsibility.”

The prospect of sobriety has little power to cheer. You’d rather the drooling oblivion of a dose over the chess match of having to divine the correct answer and micro-expression to every aside.

Intuiting your distress, Hannibal says, “You'll be eating from a slightly different menu to the rest of the table. Light portions, with attention to your safe foods.”

In disbelief, you take stock of the simmering pans, their contents once the meat of your routine.

“My... my safe foods,” you repeat. “But I didn’t even tell you what they were.”

What should comfort holds the sinister weight of interred dead, so familiar as to be uncanny.

“I have observed your preferences,” says Dr Lecter. “Thus, I am able to accommodate.”

He offers you a spoon to taste, which you decline.

“You’re making it easier for me to stick to my old ways,” you point out. “That doesn’t seem right. What’s going on?”

“I’m allowing you space to devote your energy to an unexpected social situation. I know they are not your strong suit, and I wish you to be relaxed. It will benefit us all.”

There is no pretence here of pure intentions; you acknowledge the respect that has been awarded to you in the absence of a lie.

“Thank you,” you say. “Could you do this... more, please?”

“If you continue to fulfil your role satisfactorily, yes.”

Hannibal glances at Will, whose breath of harsh laughter pars the conversation like a shank, short and sharp.

“You remain against her, then.”

“I don’t see that she has any genuine interest in evolving,” says Will, as though you are not there. “Just a cuckoo in an empty nest.”

The phrasing catches like a coat on brambled hedgerow. Alert, you examine your younger captor, interpreting the set of his harsh look.

“What are you to each other, really?” you ask.

“Friends,” says Will, bluntly.

The speed with which he speaks betrays a not-quite lie, a sentence with a postluding clause.

“We are aesthetes of an uncommon kind,” Dr Lecter interjects, over a pearl string of steam. “It adds dimension to our relationship few will ever perceive. In time, I expect you will.”

The kitchen, though of minimal colour—greys, black, pure, clinical white—develops a peculiar warmth. There is invitation, here, open-armed acceptance into domesticity, and whatever midnight cabal weds these two men in their brotherhood.

“I don’t think you want me,” you say, as Hannibal rinses cutlery at the sink. “I’m not interesting. I don’t talk like you. I don’t really understand art, or books, or poetry. I’m not even smart.”

Will’s head turns, the sly incline an eel from a cave mouth.

“Hannibal tells me you were academic, once. What happened?”

Seldom do you care to recollect your school days, which were lived painfully, as a mute ghost at the back of the class.

Attempts to decipher screens and pages through tears that had fallen without sound, and were, thus, philosophically inexistent. Whispers passed down through seated rows. Meetings with teachers and welfare staff on seats of poster blue plastic, your foot shaken against scuffed tiles in soothing motion.

The books and television series you’d once absorbed with eager voracity were parched of their appeal, by then. Your only reading was the secretive message boards into which you’d recessed like a forest to band with others of your starving ilk.

Such memories, and others arise to you. Your grades you can less easily recall.

“I’m only good at one thing anymore,” you say, aloud. “And I’m not allowed to do it here.”

Hannibal begins stacking washed dishes back into the cupboard, undeterred by your ceaseless denial.

“We will not chastise you for your simplicity. The palate can be developed, after all.”

“And not just for the food,” says Will. “Though that would be a start.”

“What if I embarrass you in front of Jack?” you ask; you’re losing this argument, and continue it only to prolong your defeat.

“Jack isn’t easily embarrassed,” says Dr Lecter. “Besides, he has been adequately prepared. You may rest in your room before dinner, little one. Sleep can do wonders for the appetite.”

He walks you to the kitchen door with a subtle insistence— like Will, he yearns to be alone.

Mumbling thanks that border on sincere, you make your egress via the stairs, glad to leave the kitchen and its tiers of expectation in your wake.

Passing Hannibal’s room, you find the door stood ajar. Curiosity draws you in, then, not to the bed—a symbol of tragedy—but to the conjoined bathroom, it, too, unlocked.

It is larger than your own, though similarly tiled in ivory and obsidian; there is a bathtub elevated on ornate feet, a shower walled in opaque glass, a sink with toothbrush and paste arranged like trophies, each surface of a bleached, crystalline sheen.

On the floor lies a set of scales, an oblong of clearest glass.

You had known that he would have one in the house, a man so fastidious in hygiene and health. Standing flat against one wall, you tilt your head, listening for an approach on the stairs, a change in the direction of the voices beneath.

When you are convinced of your privacy you strip of every garment and stand upon the scales, your hands braced at your sides in anticipation.

Even before the numbers flash on the mite screen you know that you’ve gained weight, have felt the itching progress of it across your hips and stomach.

The figure, as you glance down, is far higher than anticipated. Were it not imperative to be silent, you would scream.

You settle to hit yourself, instead, closed-fisted blows into your temple, left to right; only your reflection in the bathroom mirror stays your hand, a corpulent rendering of flesh.

This image has always shifted, for you, between your mental interpretation and its reality. Now they are one and the same, and you will never forgive your kidnappers for having altered your sight, as well.

Whose eyes have they given you, to make out this monster? One each of their own— you close the lids, and see the red of meat in the darkness behind them.

Later, when you return, dressed and sleep-dulled, to wait for dinner, you practice such restraint over your emotion that the effect is a noiseless hysteria. Catching sight of your face in any polished surface reveals a sickly visage, eyes bright and excitable, the skin dull, as of the grave.

Will regards you with a default scepticism, venturing no word. Hannibal, instantly perceptive, takes hold of your face in his cool hands and looks into your eyes.

“Is there something the matter?” he asks, and there is glass under the suede of his soft voice, a cutting menace.

There is a rap upon the door, and Dr Lecter steps free of you to answer. He returns shortly, followed by a man you recognise from the news, broad shouldered in a casual suit. His hair is closely cut, a trimmed goatee on a face that would have been handsome, in youth, and is presently so, though worn between the brows from the stress of his work.

“Good to see you, Will,” says Jack, shaking the younger man’s hand and pulling him into a half embrace. “You look well. Been taking care of yourself, I hope.”

Will smiles. His face is briefly pleasant, the dour mouth creasing at the corners.

“As well as I can,” he says. “The dogs keep me active.”

“Nice to hear you’re still running with the pack,” Jack replies. “How are the little rascals?”

You wait for the smalltalk to end, filing away what information sifts through that may be of note.

At last Jack turns to you, taking your hand lightly in his.

“So I finally get to meet you. Hannibal’s told me all about you, you know.”

A falsified minimum, you think.

Aloud, you ask, “He has?”

“Just enough,” says Dr Lecter. “Now, I must be temporarily rude and make myself scarce; I have unfinished work awaiting me in the kitchen.”

Jack releases your hand.

“Point taken,” he says. “Let's move this conversation to the dinner table, shall we?”

To your relief, once all are seated Jack manoeuvres the subject tactfully away to other things. The men speak of the weather—"I don’t care what anybody says; we don’t need that much rain this side of the Great Flood"—Jack’s wife—who is mortally ill, and immeasurably loved—and of mutual friends, whose names and various details you struggle to map in your ignorance of their world.

You eat with little attention to what crosses your lips; the day, in that aspect, is spoiled, and you cast it from you like a fruit’s rotten core.

Though Jack and Hannibal both attempt to include you in the chatter at points, you do not care to. There is the feeling of being presented to Jack like a shrewdly bargained for article of rare furniture; any comment from you is performance for these men to digest and enjoy, as they do all at this table.

It is Dr Lecter, however, that successfully extracts your opinion on a topic of his choosing. With an ingenuity that renders the shift in topic almost organic, he addresses his colleagues on the matter of their latest case.

“Surely our man will be on the move again,” he says, lifting a shred of lamb to his lips. “He may already be grooming his next subject.”

“He is,” says Will, flatly. “I’ve spent enough time thinking like him to know his heartbreak over losing the last one won’t last long.”

Jack raises his eyebrows, turning from one man to the other with a look that suggests he is almost as nonplussed by their union as you are.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to discuss this in front of your patient, Dr Lecter? The details of this case are particularly disturbing, as you already know. Will showed you photographs from the crime scene.”

“Indeed he did,” says Hannibal. “I will not easily forget it. However, as long as my guest resides under my roof I believe it’s only fair that she is involved in general discussion. Confidential matters of the case will, of course, be between us. But anything that is public knowledge I believe she has the right to know.”

“Fodder for Tattle Crime, you mean,” Will interjects, stabbing at his meal with spiteful vigour. “Freddie Lounds has covered these particular murders with a lurid relish. You’re aware that she’s already named the killer?"

Jack chuckles.

“'The Silicone Lover,'” he says. “It certainly lacks poetry in comparison to some of the others that are being thrown around, but it’s got that Lounds touch. It’s catchy, I’ll give her that.”

You drop your fork upon your plate with a jarring clash of steel and porcelain. Hannibal’s face stills in subtle displeasure, and you make a cringing gesture of apology, your mouth puckered at one corner.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” you say, “but... I remember reading about that case. I’ve always been kind of interested in true crime. I don’t know why. Books, documentaries, all that stuff; I’ve seen them all. But this killer— he’s in my city. Everybody’s been talking about it.”

It’s the most conversation you’ve volunteered all evening, and you sense the interest of your fellow guests open to you like a late bloom.

“I hope you’ve been taking precautions, young lady,” says Jack, bringing his knife to a pat of oozing meat until his plate is a bloody eclipse. “You’re aware you fit the profile of his victims.”

You stutter out an uncomfortable laugh.

“I... I don’t go out much. So I’ve been okay.”

Even before your captivity you’d been a recluse, dissuaded from venturing outdoors by an aversion to being perceived. Short, rushed jaunts to the store had been the sum of your travels, and it occurs to you now that you should have savoured the world beyond the house: the grumbling traffic, the turned dirt scent of rain, all of it, everything. The beautiful mundane.

“Staying indoors won’t keep the Silicone Lover from making you his paramour,” says Will, shortly, one arm flung in a mode of disdain across the back of his chair. “His targets always let him into their homes willingly, and there are no defensive wounds, suggesting he makes himself known to his victims some time before he abducts them. He always gets close enough to either drug or hit them over the head without suspicion.”

“I know,” you say. “I’ve read Tattle Crime, too.”

Will sneers.

“Of course you have. She’s a provocateur. Just your type.”

“Tell us what you know of this case, then,” Hannibal says to you, smoothly diffusing the tension. “Perhaps we will benefit from a fresh perspective, especially from an individual so closely fitting the profile of those unfortunate victims.”

He looks at Agent Crawford, seeking an unspoken permission.

“Go ahead,” says Jack. “As long as you feel up to it, that is.”

His voice softens as he speaks to you, and you think of his wife, folding slowly into the ravening void of cancer. This is a man who understands illness, and has a sensitivity for it; it comforts you, to have him here, obscured though his view of his friends.

Offering Jack a shy smile, you say, “I’ll be alright. It’s just that I don’t want to put anyone off their food.”

There is laughter around the table; even Will smirks, though the expression falls as he catches you looking. You wonder again at his distaste for you, surmising with a coolly adult rationality that he is jealous of you having come between him and his mentor.

“Well?” says Will, with the rudeness of a spoiled prince. “What’s the Lover’s modus operandi?”

You catch Jack’s dark eyes squinting a fraction, and though he says nothing you rally at the knowledge that he has not entirely succumbed to Will and Hannibal’s spell.

“The dead girls are always found in rivers around the city,” you say, “sealed inside hollowed out rubber dolls. You know the kind I mean. The killer cuts open the dolls and mutilates the women to fit them inside, then seals them back up again. Keeps them in there till they suffocate, or starve to death.

Some of the women die within hours, others a few days. They must be so scared, in so much pain. But obviously that’s what he wants. Every three months or so he does it all over again.”

“Meaning we don’t have long before he takes a seventh lover,” says Will. “Fortunately for you, staying here will protect you, to an extent. You’re too far out of the killer’s hunting range for him to take an interest.”

“Can’t keep the princess locked up in her tower forever,” says Jack, cleaning his hands on a napkin. “We'd better hurry up and catch him. Now, if you’ll all excuse me—”

He rises from his seat; a bathroom visit, you realise, and an opening to speak to him alone.

Thinking quickly, you reach for your water glass and dash it across your lap. Your hand is shaking enough for the accident to seem convincing.

Both remaining men glance up from the table, startled. Will all but rolls his eyes.

“Sorry,” you say, in a grovelling squeak. “I’ll go and change, if that’s alright.”

Dr Lecter, as always, is crisply polite.

“You may go. But hurry. Our guest will expect you to return.”

For once, Will makes no comment, only returns to his food with the reverence of accepting the wafer at communion.

You pad along the corridor towards the downstairs bathroom, waiting for Jack to emerge. From what you know of Hannibal’s close relationship with the police you cannot rest your hopes of escape entirely on Agent Crawford, but you have seen the occasional teeter of trust, the unspoken perplexity with which he regards the dynamics of the household.

You may yet sway his sympathies, if you are careful. Still, you are so certain of failure that you tremble with mirth, like a drunk.

Jack steps out of the bathroom, stopping short as he notices you wincing in the shadows.

“Hey, there. Are you alright? You look a little green around the gills.”

“Agent Crawford,” you say, in a half-whisper. “I was wondering if you could help me. You know Will and Hannibal pretty well, right?”

“It’s Jack when I’m not working. And, uh, reasonably so, I’d say. Is something wrong?”

You pause, labouring over your response. To imply your wardens are the enemy will surely strike Jack as too outlandish, the mumblings of the mad.

“This treatment isn’t right for me,” you say, rather weakly. “It’s too much, and I don’t think they’re really listening to me. I miss my parents, my own room. I’m suffocating here. I was wondering if you could talk to Will and Dr Lecter. Encourage them to let me go home.”

Jack’s dark eyes soften, and he stoops slightly over you, as he might in order to speak to a small child.

“Dr Lecter told me you might ask me that. The road you’re on is a tough one, young lady, but you’ve got to stick it out. Not just for yourself, but for everybody who cares about you. Besides, I’m pretty damn sure Will and Hannibal would be disappointed to see you go home so soon.”

You turn your head into your shoulder, your neck caught in a miserable spasm.

“Will doesn’t like me at all.”

“That’s just the way he is. Prickly with just about everyone he encounters. Imagine the strain on me, having to keep him in line.”

You do laugh, then, and Jack flashes you a gap-toothed grin.

“He’ll warm up to you. Though to be honest, I don’t know why Hannibal’s getting Will involved in all this when he already has enough on his plate. Between work and those episodes of his, I don’t know if he ought to take on too many other responsibilities. But I guess Dr Lecter knows what he’s doing.”

Episodes?

You’d noticed Will’s fits of illness, a certain fragility; to hear it confirmed is a gold coin in your hand to spend in the future to come.

“I’m going to head back to the table,” says Jack. “Let’s give all this a little more time. If it doesn’t work over the next couple of months I might put a word in for you, suggest therapy sessions over inpatient treatment. But I can’t push it, kid. You’re not my patient. I can’t overstep the line, here. But I’m on your side. You keep up what you’re doing, alright?”

He leaves you there, knuckling tears from your eyes. Regretting that you hadn’t spoken the truth, in all its risk.

*

You go to your room, meaning only to dress. In the end you cannot resist returning to Hannibal’s scales on the way back, called by a manic self-flagellating urge to know much further weight you’ve gained from the meal.

You are not free, will never be free, are worth nothing but numbers. They've become all you are.

It’s as you’re stepping, naked, stupid with despair onto the scale that you hear a voice behind you.

“You must learn to restrain these impulses, little one.”

You turn so sharply that something strains in your neck again. Your hands strive to cover your nakedness. A futility, considering what he has seen, that he has fucked you.

“I assume that you have also spoken to Jack Crawford,” says Hannibal. “Pleading your case to be released. How naughty you have been.”

How handsome he looks, almost young, in the tasteful bathroom light. There is something like death in his sudden beauty, a void coldness.

Terror, a stake of ice from throat to cunt.

He means to kill you, if not now, then soon.

You know of only one way he might forgive so many missteps. Another course: you eat your pride.

“I didn’t mean to, Daddy,” you say. “Please don’t tell Will.”

You lower your arms, forging a sword of your vulnerability. Hannibal glances down only once, and with more amusement, then, than thirst.

“He will never know,” he says. “If you come to my room tonight. There is a lesson you must learn. It cannot wait.”

*

There is a tension about the residence of waiting, after Will and Jack have gone, the dry-mouthed breath before the silver lipped drop of the guillotine.

There is motion about the house, yet you feel rather than hear it; Hannibal has a way of carrying his physicality that seems to possess no weight at all. Ghoulish, his haunting of the rooms below as you sit on his bed, to await him.

You arrange yourself on the dark sheets in sacrificial mode, so ill with fear that it seems all your organs are in torsion, a helix of flesh from chest to womb.

It strikes you that you’d lain so, once, a night your father's friend, Leland Frost, had stumbled the many stairs to your room, beer the umber of his breath as he’d kissed you goodnight.

You had let him touch you, then, as you will let the devil touch you, now. As a child, as an adult, you are absolved: animals must eat, and their prey bear no fault when the hand of God steers them in the direction of hunger.

Hannibal ascends the stairs, each footfall making you jump. Stiff-backed, you turn to a sleek alarm clock on the bedside table, vowing to fix your eyes to its sympathetic face until the hour is done.

A name—yours—blackens your ear, a knell of things more wicked than death.

“Little one,” says Hannibal. “I will not hurt you. This lesson involves no corporal punishment.”

You sit up slightly, slippery in grey silk pyjamas, of whose cost you dare not think.

“Not the lights,” you say, hastily. “Or that metronome thing. I hated it.”

Dr Lecter removes his jacket, socks, and shoes, the quiet process of putting them away a careful rite, his prayer unspoken.

“To begin with,” he says, “I’d like to ask you some questions about your personal habits.”

He speaks delicately, but with an undertone of velvet sensuality that delivers you into fear you cannot resist.

“How often do you pleasure yourself, little one?”

“I don't,” you say.

The words form with such stumbling velocity that you cringe at your own lie.

Hannibal looks down at you with a sort of sorrow.

“If that is your response, then I must teach you.”

“No! I mean, don’t. I’m sorry. I do... do that. But it’s embarrassing to talk about it. I don’t want to.”

“I’m afraid you must. To be a fully-fledged adult it is important to embrace all facets of yourself, including sexuality. So, please address my question.”

Hannibal steps towards the bed, not with threat, but to pursue the lost treasure of your secret.

“Twice a week, maybe,” you admit. “At night.”

“How do you masturbate?”

You’d never expected the world from Dr Lecter. He speaks it factually, without humour, priestly severe.

“With my hands,” you say. “My fingers.”

You’d been too embarrassed to order toys to the house, which still you share with your family, the humiliation of an accidentally opened box an unimaginable discomfort.

“What do you think about as you climax, little one?” asks Hannibal, a question worse still than those before it in the nature of your answer.

You’d watch videos, often violent, peruse literature online which you hastily erased from your history, afterwards. It almost seems you beckoned in this abuse, through your interests, aroused only by cruelty, and the dark.

“I don’t know,” you say. “Different things. Nothing specific.”

Hannibal takes another step towards the bed.

“Answer again.”

Tears char your vision into soot.

“I hate you,” you say, fiercely. “More than I hate Will.”

“Because I cannot be moved in my resolve, as he can,” says Hannibal. “Will is suggestible, to an extent, whereas I am sure in my standing. It sears your ego to obey a man so entirely.”

He pads, barefoot, in a half circle around the bed, a panther uncaged.

“So,” says Dr Lecter. “Speak. What do you think of when you touch yourself?”

You open your mouth, and find yourself mute, truly incapable of speech.

Hannibal seems to understand this, however, for he does not insist again.

“Undress for me. I would like to see you demonstrate.”

Your head swings in a rattling ‘no’.

“Very well. I will attempt it.”

Again you shake your head, and in cumbersome, unlovely motions you struggle out of the pyjamas, ashamed of how clumsy you appear before him.

Naked, you sit up on your knees, covering yourself with your arms as best you can.

“Legs apart, please,” says Hannibal. “Then do as you normally would. I will merely watch.”

He reclines in one of the chairs in the room, his eyes like foreign seas, reflecting the night.

Scalded with humiliation, you bring your fingertips between your thighs and stroke in looping circles. The skin there is parched, unresponsive, unyielding; to be watched in such intimacy takes the pleasure from the act, which has always been in realms of secret sin.

“I can’t do it, Hannibal,” you say. “Nothing’s happening. I don’t feel good.”

It is the only time you’ve used his first name to his face, a trespass into familiarity you do not share.

“Is it because you don’t have access to the usual stimulating material?” he asks, ignoring your blunder.

You snap your knees shut upon your hands.

“I don’t use any.”

Hannibal takes your calves in his hands, a grip which might break.

“I know that you do. When I accepted you as my patient I made a point to visit your house, when no one was home. Your room was as I expected it to be. Juvenile, and stale aired from many days spent there alone. Your laptop was open. It wasn’t difficult to breach. Your password was the title of a book on your shelf.”

Wintergirls. Laurie Halse Anderson had been a staple of your literary youth, and it had never occurred to you that anyone might guess it.

“You didn’t clear your history as thoroughly as you believed,” says Hannibal. “I was intrigued by what I found there.”

You do not resist as he opens your legs, so limp are you in your horror.

“I— what you saw— it doesn’t mean I want this. It’s not the same.”

Hannibal blinks slowly.

“No. I would be uninterested if it was.”

He sits upright again, folding his hands in his lap. How pure they look, a harpsichordist’s tools, an illustrator’s. Evil, beautiful things.

“Begin again,” says Hannibal. “Think of Will and I. What we have done to you. Our touch. Our words. The imposition of power. The ineludible fact of your belonging to us.”

Femoral heat. Your core rings crimson bronze, and your fingers follow its kulning. You want to stop, but Hannibal’s voice alone is a hypnosis, effective even without the ticking and the lights.

“Imagine Will’s hand across your cheek. Around your throat. Envision my own.”

You make some noise, not quite a moan.

Dr Lecter lowers himself down until his breath mists your cunt, and the sensation has you writhing beneath it, maddened by the ephemeral touch of air, and needing it to finish.

He looks up, and his eyes are a reveller’s, a satyr of ancient land.

“How sweet you must taste. I have prepared your meals specifically to assure that you do.”

Your hand cycles in motion, compelled by his mystical art.

Hannibal remains over you, too close, at too great a distance.

“Stop,” he says. “That is enough.”

You are so close that the command is more craven in its dealings than Will’s palm across your face.

Your breaths are the sunken heat of a pagan sun. You burn and burn.

“Why should I give you what is so unwanted?” asks Hannibal, and pauses, as though you might beg.

Speech is inconceivable to your mind, as it is now, a concept like the colour of dying. You only sit with the head of a God between your legs, forced to such a brink that your weakness rides through you like a drug.

Eyes of night pleasure, of deathly ritual—

He laps your cunt for scarcely half a minute before you career over your edge, stacked orgasms that render you sightless with their power. You arc from the bed like an antler, a horn cry blown through your soul.

The pleasure is a stellar whiteness. You writhe up towards his tongue like a wave.

“Poor girl,” says Hannibal, as you lie piteously beneath him. “You can do nothing without me. Even this.”

[otakusparkle]

Identity V Chinese 6th Anniversary Character Congratulations Messages (Part 3)

Part 1

Part 2

Little Girl : Thank you for your hospitality. The truffle cake here is delicious! Hmm, can I have another piece?

Nightmare : It's another grand banquet, but don't get too absorbed in it, or you might fall into a beautiful dream from which you won't wake up.

Novelist : I can find new inspiration every time I come here, it's a very good experience.

Weeping Clown : Wh-what? You asked me to come here for a performance? Are these delicious foods for me... Thank you very much and I wish you a happy 6th anniversary!

Clerk : Ladies and gentlemen, I am honored to be entrusted with the important task of delivering a speech in front of this long table. On the occasion of the 6th anniversary of Oletus Manor, let us raise a toast and celebrate!

Professor : Hello, happy 6th birthday. Thanks for the invitation. A birthday is a year of time. We have crossed new boundaries and we will also transform into new ones.

Antiquarian : Happy anniversary, and hope you are well. What a great feast! I may be able to find out about her by taking this opportunity.

Hermit : Happy Birthday, thank you for your invitation. On the way here, I saw a lot of old machineries, the electrical circuit doesn’t seem too safe, to avoid accidents from happening, I’ve asked them to finish repairing. Oh? It’s what should be done, no need to thank me.

Composer : I’m honored to be participating in this grand celebratory. For everyone I have sent my newest works, I also welcome you to exchange words of your thoughts with me.

Night Watch : The moonlight is beautiful today. It seems a bit of a waste to hold a party in a closed building. Do you want to go out and have a look? Come with me.

Journalist : Thank you for the invitation. I have heard that the Oletus Manor holds a grand anniversary party every year. I have to record it in detail this time. I have work to do later, so I will not drink this cup. Please allow me to take this camera around and take some souvenirs.

Opera Singer : Thank you for the invitation. This is my first time to attend such a banquet. Piano, violin, and... Hehe, is the solo position reserved for me?

Aeroplanist : Thank you for the treat. Such a feast is really an eye-opener. Hey? Whose balloon is hanging on the ceiling? There is a cat on it... I'll be back soon.

Cheerleader : I'm Lily, hello! I heard there's a BIG party going to be held here, is it a sports meeting!? Can I join in!?

Fool's Gold : Thank you for your invitation. What a bounty, a room full of white bread, pastries, beverages. How good-natured..

Puppeteer : Thanks for having me, and happy 6th Anniversary! This puppet? Um...

The Shadow : Nice to meet you, happy 6th anniversary! It's surprising that there are so many people here already.

[babydollmarauders]

MEDIA MANAGEMENT — JACK HUGHES (23-24 SZN PART 2)

au masterlist

y/ndevils00

liked by john.marino97, jesperbratt, and 226,513 others

y/ndevils00 hello and welcome back to your preseason recap! i’m your host, y/n “dove”, here to give you my totally unbiased and not at all subjective rundown!

as this is preseason, not all of our favorite whores were playing tonight (gotta give the babies a chance!) but among the ones who WERE, we have best friend (or idiot) number 2, sweet baby jesper, akira-shakira, basket bahl, smush, uncle lizard, new-found uncle truffle, and everyone’s favorite babygirl: jacky!

side note: do you guys think Jack was looking around suspiciously in fear of me taking his picture? 👀

we had a pretty uneventful first period until my recently acquired uncle, tyler, scored the first goal of the game! go uncle truffle! he also let uncle lizard borrow his stick and glove! we love besties who share!

we opened second period with (fuck it we) bahl getting a penalty for interference! in my opinion, he didn’t interfere with anything because trash cannot be disrupted… but whatever! (yes i did stand on an empty seat to get that picture over the glass, no i will not be stopped)

halfway through second we had a goalie switch! those are fun! (they are not fun.) and i was caught taking a picture…. that doesn’t happen often, the guys can’t usually find me… i think schmido-torpedo has a y/n-sense. kinda like the sense i have to catch Jack when he’s watching cocomelon (that can also be found on slide 6)

in third period, my sweet sweet baby bratter got the devils ahead by one with his goal! pop off, you sweet swedish fish!

seeing as he went to the matt tkachuk school of hockey, lukey pookie was seen chewing on his mouth guard like LSH and electrical cords 🫶

and finally, i added in a picture of maraschino cherry, because he did good tonight despite being the apparent object of the rags hatred and being targeted! he held his own and even pushed a rags player tonight!

p.s. we scored an empty netter goal as well, getting us a 3-2 win tonight, but the puck flew in on its own for us? who knew that was possible!

tagged jackhughes, curtislazar95, tofff73, kevinbahl88, akiraschmid93, jesperbratt, lhughes_06, and john.marino97

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jackhughes i live in constant fear of your camera

y/ndevils00 oh shush, you love my camera

jackhughes no, i love YOU. i put up with your camera

y/ndevils00 aw shucks, you love me 🥰

jackhughes dear god please don’t ever say “aw shucks” again

y/ndevils00 ya know, i’m not really feeling the love here

jackhughes never intended for you to

user29 marino: 😗 y/n: 📸

john.marino97 did i just get… outright praise from you?! i thought i knew what it felt like to win, but i never REALLY did until now

y/ndevils00 don’t get used to it. i pitied you and best friend number 1 didn’t play tonight

john.marino97 i’m gonna ignore that

jackhughes for the last time: I’M WATCHING PLAYS! NOT COCOMELON!

y/ndevils00 say what you want but i know your youtube history

kevinbahl88 i was trying so hard to ignore you

y/ndevils00 you can’t ignore me forever, soccer bahl! i always get to the players eventually!

kevinbahl88 you scare me

y/ndevils00 you’re like 10 feet tall, how do EYE scare YOU? you could squash me like a spider

kevinbahl88 or i could not be watching and trip over you and break my neck

y/ndevils00 this feels like an attack on MY height now… @/colecaufield how do you deal with this?

colecaufield now hold on… wtf

akiraschmid93 i do have a y/n sense, i acquired it over the playoffs

y/ndevils00 that scares me

akiraschmid93 i’m always watching

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes TELL HIM TO STOP

jackhughes how does it feel, dove?

y/ndevils00 i- LSH and i are moving in with john

john.marino97 no, you’re not! i can’t have you there to cockblock when i’m trying to hook up

y/ndevils00 @/john.marino97 this is why dawson is best friend number 1

lhughes_06 did you just compare me to your cat with an apparent death wish?

y/ndevils00 be nice to Lil’ Satan! she may not be smart, but where she lacks brain cells, she makes up for in cuddles! kinda like your brother!

jackhughes all i do is love you and this is the thanks i get?

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes you get other kinds of thanks too! but you said i can’t speak of that on here anymore

lhughes_06 god please don’t. i see all your posts.

user18 y/n is out here acquiring uncles like i acquire new nhl crushes

tofff73 did you just nickname me truffle? and call me your uncle?

y/ndevils00 welcome to the devils!

tofff73 thanks? i think?

nicohischier you get used to her, she’s an acquired taste… but you have no choice but to acquire it

curtislazar95 you are my favorite niece

y/ndevils00 🥹 and you are my favorite uncle, lizard man 🫶

curtislazar95 🦎💚

jesperbratt hey! that’s me!

y/ndevils00 that’s you!! you look at you all smiley and scoring a goal! i’ll break lindy’s kneecaps for you… i don’t think it would be that hard. he’s old.

nicohischier y/n, i’m BEGGING you to stop dissing our coach. you’re gonna lose your job!

y/ndevils00 @/nicohischier nah, lindy thinks i’m funny

jackhughes @/nicohischier i wish she was joking but i’m pretty sure he called her his honorary daughter last sunday after she said she would be in his walls if she couldn’t go to Montreal and see Cole

dawson1417 i feel left out. i don’t like not playing!

y/ndevils00 so get your skates on and play! what lindy gonna do? tell you no?

dawson1417 uh yeah?

y/ndevils00 oh- well leave that up to me then

dawson1417 what are you gonna do…

y/ndevils00 shhh don’t worry about it

trevorzegras i’m so glad i’m not a devil and don’t have to be subjected to these posts

y/ndevils00 you’re unemployed, you should probably be worrying about bigger things right now before i have to see you as a thirst trap tiktoker

user72 the return of jack the ipad kid!!

[ladylooch]

Wait! I finally have a blurb idea (I was in a drought for weeks) What if you and Nico have an FWB thing going on for months and no one defines the relationship? So now your friends are telling you that he'll never claim you as his gf because he doesn't feel the need to do that since you are that (this happened to a friend, is horrible) so they pushed you to date someone else. But when you are on that date you see Nico across the room and he is looking at you with his big puppy eyes he is heartbroken because he thought you were official or at least exclusive, and now you have to mean his broken heart and assure him that you also want that. 🥺🥹

Anything to You- Nico Hischier

A/N: Ahhhh the classic, we totally know what we are but then we catch feelings and we don’t. WE LOVE IT! Thank you for the fun request 😘

Word count: 1.2k (yes over a blurb, hope you don’t mind 🥰)

Warnings: Mature Themes (18+), angsty!

I still remember the first time Nico and I had sex.

It was rushed. In a bar bathroom where we both had gotten carried away grinding drunk on the dance floor with a handful of his teammates. Our hands and mouthes bumped against each other awkwardly. Neither of us removed our underwear, just slid the fabrics to a spot that we could fully connect. We both climaxed fast, the obvious sexual tension between us too much to hold back.

After was awkward; we were only supposed to be friends. We stumbled through the aftermath as we worked our pants back into place. He didn’t want anything serious. I kinda did, but hated the concept of dating. So, we decided we would be cool being once and a whiles with each other. 

There was never any talk of forever. Never a breakfast in the morning. We slept at each other’s places, but it was always quick kisses goodbye as we ran off to our separate lives where we were just friends. I fell in love with him quickly. Nico stayed aloof.

Which is why I don’t understand the look of devastation on his face right now.

“Neeks?” I question, glancing over my shoulder at my date. Nico is silent, staring beyond me to Colton who is sipping on the glass of red wine I poured for him. In Nico’s hand is a brown bag, containing take out from our favorite Thai place. 

“Ah…” He stammers. “Um, I thought I’d bring you dinner. Cause I thought you were working late like you said.” Troubled by guilt, I pinch my cheek between my teeth. I hadn’t wanted to tell him about Colton until I thought it was something real. I still don’t have an answer to that. “But you guys can have it instead.” He thrusts the bag out to me, avoiding my eyes. I can tell he is trying to hide how wounded he is.

“Neeks…” I reach out for his fingers. He pulls his hand away like my skin burns his.

“It’s… yeah. I’ll see you later.” 

“Nico.” I step out of the apartment, watching his pursuit to the elevator. Someone is getting off on my floor so he dashes in immediately. 

The ding of the elevator matches the light bulb illuminating above my brain. We may have never talked about forever, but we also never talked about seeing other people. 

Shit.

The next few weeks, I feel like a stranger to Nico for the first time in three years.

He heads out of town with the team a few times, ignoring every one of my attempts to reach out to him. He’s left me on read, clicked the ‘fuck you’ button when I called, and refused the delivery of my latest attempt: Swiss chocolate truffles.

“I don’t know what to do.” I say to Kristen Haula when we are munching on Avocado Toast and siping mimosas at brunch. “He won’t talk to me.” She shifts awkwardly in her seat.

“I think he was surprised to see you with someone. It’s been a year since you two started whatever… this… is. Plus you did lie to him about what you were doing.” Her eyes widened like she is walking a cautious line between what she knows and what she is willing to share. She isn’t wrong.

“I know. I wanted to know what things were going to be with Colton. But that’s over.” I shake my head, smoothing out the napkin in my lap. “I honestly never thought I was anything special to Nico. With his recent behavior, that seems more true than ever.” Kristen snorts.

“Seriously? How are you two so off base with your feelings?” I stare back at her blankly. “He ordered you a WAG jacket for playoffs this year.” My stomach drops to the floor. “Still think you aren’t anything to him?”

I shudder in recognition. Now this is serious. Casual girlfriends, friends with benefits, puck bunnies, etc- none of them get WAG jackets. Only the women the players see a long-term future with do. And Nico ordered me one. 

“Do you have the jackets yet?” I ask her after a big gulp of my mimosa.

“Yeah.”

“I need a favor.” 

- - -

It’s late when I get to Nico’s apartment the next night. Almost midnight, but he had a game and I couldn’t risk the jackets being seen yet. It’s the most exciting time of year for the NHL wives and girlfriends. I don’t want to ruin their fun while I swing for the fences to woo the Devils captain.

Nico’s doorman knows me and let me into the building with zero hesitation. Clearly, Nico hasn’t told them I’m not welcome anymore. A little bloom of hope fills my chest. Maybe I still have a chance.

My knock on Nico’s door is loud, disturbing the quiet both inside and outside of his space. I bite my lip, hearing his soft footsteps coming to the door. I look down during the pause of him glancing through the peep hole. My ears listen intently, begging for the click of the lock.

It happens. A small smile tugs my lips up. My confidence rushes back in.

“Hi.” I greet him immediately. “Please don’t shut the door.” I hold my hand up. Nico’s eyes are wide and he is speechless, staring at the WAG jacket he ordered for me. It’s gorgeous, made of black leather with red accents. His last name and number are huge on my back. Sparky studs are perfectly placed on the points of the bold letters. It fits perfectly, like I am the only one who could have ever worn it this well.

“I broke our deal.” I blurt out fast.

“What?”

“We said this wasn’t anything serious. But I fell in love with you a really long time ago. I was so scared to tell you and because of that I hurt you. I’m so sorry, Neeks.”

“Yeah, you looked really in love with me with that guy in your apartment.” He scoffs. He’s hurt. His thick eyebrows are furrowed and he will barely look at me.

“That’s not fair.” I shake my head at him. “You never.. told me about how you felt. Now you’re upset with me for having someone else over?” 

“I don’t understand how you could do… that. I can’t think about anybody but you.” 

“Did you consider maybe he was a distraction so I could finally think about somebody else but you Mr. Perfect?” He straightens, jaw getting rigid. He grips the door tighter like he’s preparing to shut it. “But it’s nothing with him. Nothing like what you and I could be. It’s over.” 

Nico looks down at the floor, then slowly drags his gaze back up my body, lingering here and there until his brown eyes get to mine. I can’t read him. I wish he would give me something. But if I have to leap all the way, I will for him.

“If it’s too late, I understand.” I whisper, heart beating so hard in my chest I’m confident he can hear it. “I can go back to what we were. I’ll be anything to you.” I whisper. He steps forward, reaching for my arms. He runs his fingers tentatively over the jacket, then steps forward even more to see his identifiers stitched onto my back. I look up at him, watching every flicker on his face as he brings it closer to mine.

“I want this. With you.” He murmurs, next to my ear. He presses his nose into my cheek. I wrap my hand around the back of his neck, turning so our lips collide. He keeps talking between our kisses. “Want my name all over you. On your back, on your driver’s license, right in front of mine as Y/N and Nico Hischier.” 

“Why did you wait so long to tell me?”

“Same reason you did. I’m scared to lose you.” He pulls back so he can look into my eyes. “This is not an easy life.. being with an NHL captain.”

“Cause it’s been so easy being friends with you.” I chuckle back. “I’m not afraid of hard work, Neeks. You know that.” He grins, then wraps his arms around me to bring me into his apartment.

There is nothing left for us to discuss.

This time, it’s clearly defined exactly what we are.

[throneofsapphics]

Omgoshhh I absolutely love "have your little girlfriend"! You wrote them SO PERFECTLY! Do you think you'd ever write like a part 2??? Like just imagine the angst of the reader maybe not knowing what they are with both rowan and aelin and the makeup after 🥹🩷 UGHHH sorry you literally just got my brain running so fast! Ahaha regardless you're an AMAZING writer 🩷🥰 and I will continue eating up your rowaelin fics

have your little girlfriend, part two

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Summary: “Yes, chocolate generally is.” Before she knew what she was doing, she leaned over and wiped a small smear from the corner of his mouth. He froze completely, with that immortal, preternatural stillness. “Just like Aelin,” 

“What’s just like Aelin?” The door pushed open, and she pulled her hand away - the moment lost.

Word Count: ~4.7k 

Warnings: smut, angst, a bit of dubcon, dark aelin/rowan, insecurities, this turned darker, minors dni!

A/N: how did you read my mind?? I've been planning this. It turned into a bit of a monster and I have a part 3 in progress. this is one of my favorite things I’ve ever written. thank you so so much for requesting it, it gave me the extra motivation to finish! also please read the warnings, it took a bit of a darker turn!

series masterlist

Despite the time Aelin let Rowan, ‘fuck me like a brat’, Gods that repeated in her head more than it should have, I mostly still spent time with Aelin, Rowan making an occasional experience, but nothing like that occurrence. He did watch, sometimes, but never touched her. Maybe that was Aelin’s orders. Still, he showed less and less. Y/n would’ve expected the opposite after what happened, but it turned into her seeing him once a month. Maybe. 

-

She heard the front door creak open, she’d been expecting Aelin to come by. 

“I’ve been testing these new ones, for you to-” Y/n turned, and it wasn’t Aelin standing in the door. Rowan was there. She startled enough the plate in her hands dropped, but a breeze caught it, lowering it gently to the table. 

“Not who you were expecting?” He tilted his head, a small smile on his lips. 

“No,” she said sheepishly, her cheeks flushing. “But not an unwelcome surprise.” 

“Aelin’s running late.” His lips pressed together, like he was fighting a smile. “What are those?” He nudged towards the chocolates sitting on the table. Chocolate and cherry truffles, something new you’d been experimenting with. 

“Chocolate and cherry truffles, I don’t suppose you’d be interested?” 

His nose crinkled slightly. Aelin told her the story of the cake she made one time, and y/n had howled with laughter. Flicking Aelin’s nose when she pouted, and promised to teach her how to make one that wouldn’t make her throw up. 

“If you swear that Aelin didn’t help.” 

“She’s only my test taster.” She promised him, and he carefully picked one up. Aelin is only her taste tester for a reason. The cake teaching lesson turned into a bit of a disaster, flour thrown across her kitchen, things spilled everywhere - an egg cracked onto the counter instead of in the bowl. She had a lot of patience, and it took a lot for her temper to flare, but after the egg she ordered Aelin to go sit on the couch. And she did, making comments the entire time. About how nice her ass looked, about how pretty her lips were, about how she’s sweet.” 

He ate the entire thing, and didn’t look disgusted by it, so she took that as a good sign. “It’s sweet.” 

“Yes, chocolate generally is.” Before she knew what she was doing, she leaned over and wiped a small smear from the corner of his mouth. He froze completely, with that immortal, preternatural stillness. “Just like Aelin,” 

“What’s just like Aelin?” The door pushed open, and she pulled her hand away - the moment lost. 

Aelin’s eyes lit up as she saw the plate of chocolates on the table, her question forgotten. “Did you convince him to eat one?” 

Y/n leaned back against the counter. “He said it’s sweet.” 

Aelin scowled at him, before sniffing. “He has no taste, don’t mind him darling.” 

Rowan looked vaguely offended, but glanced back and forth between the two of them. “I’d say my taste is just fine.” 

Aelin ignored him, heading right for the plate, and picking one up, “aren’t you going to ask what they are?” Rowan questioned her. 

“Don’t care.” She popped it in her mouth, letting out an obnoxious, over the top moan. 

Rowan rolled his eyes and turned to y/n, “is she always like this?” 

“Yes,” she answered, but with a fond smile on her face. 

-

Aelin narrowed her eyes at the two of them. Something had happened, some sort of exchange between them in the less than ten minutes they’d been alone together. Rowan noticed the look on her face, but y/n had turned back around again, fiddling with something. Washing dishes, she realized, and she strode forwards to help, nudging her hip against the female’s, drawing a chuckle out of her. 

She questioned Rowan later - on what exactly happened. 

-

One night she came in, a bit tipsy, spotting Aelin stretched out like a cat, half-empty wine glass on the table next to her. The cover of her book, and arousal flooding through the room made it very obvious what she’d been reading. And Rowan - sitting in an armchair near the fire. The situation made it clear they’ve been waiting for her, and that Aelin has a plan. 

“What are you reading?” She asked anyway as her pulse quickened. Aelin’s eyes met her own and she gestured for her to come closer. 

Y/n did, and curled up next to Aelin, who’d closed the book, pinned one page with her finger. 

“They used to date, and broke up a year ago. They were supposed to be on a vacation with a circle of their friends, but ended up snowed into the cabin before the others could arrive.” She flipped the book open, pushing it into her hands. “Read for me.” 

Y/n gulped, but started reading, “her mouth finding the crook between my shoulder and neck for ..” Her face flushed red and she paused as Aelin’s lips brushed her shoulder. 

“Keep reading.” Her voice was heavy with lust. She glanced towards Rowan, who only shook his head, jerking his chin towards Aelin. She took that as a warning to pay attention to her, and keep reading. 

“For a trail of nips and sucks,” canines grazed her shoulder and she focused on keeping her breathing steady, Aelin’s fingers trailed down the page, pointing to the next line for her to read. “Her left hand slid from where she’d been torturing my nipples,” 

Y/n keened into Aelin’s touch as two fingers pinched her nipple, twisting slightly. “Did I say you could stop?”

“Fingers brushing down my body, slipping under my pants, down to where she could cup my pussy.” Aelin’s hand did exactly that, and her other hand grabbed the book and tossed it onto the table. 

Her hand pulled out, dragging her own arousal up y/n’s body, before her fingers pressed against her lips. She eagerly sucked on them, swirling her tongue on each one, drawing a small moan out of Aelin. Hands gripped Y/n’s hips, twisting her around so she’d straddle her thighs.

Their lips crashed together in a brutal, bruising kiss. Their shirts were lifted over their heads, bands bounding their breasts tossed across the room, leaving them half naked and exposed to the elements. A fire instantly lit the grate, roaring enough to warm the room slightly. Y/n slid down, her lips trailing across Aelin’s soft skin, stopping to leave small bruises in her wake. Aelin’s thumbs hooked through the waist of her pants and she wiggled slightly, letting Aelin drag them completely off, before returning the favor. Aelin pushed them back, Y/n’s body stretched across the couch now. 

-

Rowan figured this was Aelin’s way of punishing him. For what, exactly, he didn’t know. Only that she was possessive of y/n, and that ‘something,’ which really wasn’t anything at all, happened without her there. 

-

Aelin propped herself on one arm, her nails scratching down her chest, dragging over her nipple, watching as y/n’s lips parted, small whimpers leaving her. The other female gently cupped her hands around the back of her head, lowering her for a gentle kiss. Aelin loved how y/n was always gentle, always sweet, no matter how hard she fucked her, y/n would return with soft and gentle strokes, kisses that left her dizzy. 

Aelin’s fingers pressed through her folds without warning, burying only to her second knuckle and moving so painfully slowly, y/n seemed ready to explode, already on edge - just from a few careful touches and reading a few lines from a book. That filled her with a sense of power, that she was able to get these kinds of reactions out of her so quickly. Another sense of power came from the scent of Rowan’s arousal - watching in the corner. She loved an audience. 

Y/n pushed back, her hips thrusting forward, trying to ride her fingers, but placed one hand on her stomach, pinning her down to the coach. “So impatient.” She clicked her tongue, “are you going to be good for me?” 

Her head nodded rapidly, “I will, I will, I promise.” 

“If you aren’t,” Aelin glanced towards Rowan and y/n whimpered. But, Aelin slammed two fingers in completely, and Y/n screamed - her body writhing, before she slowly fucked her, with hard but slow strokes. 

“Please, please, please” y/n whimpered, chanting over and over again

“Please what? Use your words, love.” 

“More,” she moaned, trying to push back on Aelin’s fingers again. Aelin pulled away, and y/n whined in protest, she’d been right on the edge - her walls just starting to clench around her fingers. 

“What’s gotten into you?” She flicked her nose, “you’re never this demanding.” 

“I just want you,” she lifted her hands, trying to pull her back down on top of her, but Aelin swatted them away. Aelin debated teasing her more, making her wait, edging her for hours - she’d done that before, to great results. But … she settled back between her legs, sucking gently on her clit, pushing one finger inside of her, and quickly sent her hurtling towards the edge, enjoying the sweet sounds of her moans, and the slight shake in her thighs. 

Her girl was sleepy after, completely fucked out, the combination of sex and alcohol making her exhausted. She hid a small smile as she cleaned her up, before braiding her hair and tucking her in bed, Rowan following her out the door. One she made sure to lock. 

-

They had their song and dance - Aelin arriving as the market was closing, occasionally with Rowan in tow, pretending to pursue her goods, whatever was left. But, y/n always kept a little something separate for Aelin - something she’d craft specifically. Aelin had a collection of small trinkets in her chambers, displayed up on a shelf. Or several shelves. 

If Rowan was there, he insisted on tugging the small cart back, no matter how much she’d protest. One look from him and her mouth would shut, curving into a small smile instead. 

There wasn’t any tension, and she still didn’t feel like anything was missing or lacking, but she couldn’t figure out where she stood with them, or if that instance was a one time deal. Rowan occasionally watching was very different. He’d never kissed her, and she’d never kissed him. There were never any more moments, not like the one when he’d arrived before Aelin that day. Somehow Cherry became associated with him. 

She doesn’t know how to communicate it either, how would she tell Aelin she wants her mate and husband too … it could make it an awkward situation, and she was scared of losing Aelin. The female who had been such a big part of her life since they met. Another fear of hers, one that trickled through her mind more often than she’d like, is if she didn’t mean as much to Aelin as Aelin meant to her. 

-

But, months went on and things remained mostly the same. 

One morning, after Aelin spent the night, she reached a hand over, expecting to feel Aelin curled up on her side, but cold sheets met her touch. She startled, the sunrise peeking up through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over her room. 

Empty, and she couldn’t hear or scent her in the house. Y/n doesn’t know what she expected, or why she thought this time would be different. It’d recreate whatever she was reading, other times they’d falls always been like this. Aelin*sipped out inh the earouch. She’d wake - even though Y/n’s an early riser, sometimes the bed would be warm, others cold. 

Aelin would leave a note, saying something sweet, and when/if she might see her again, before the next weekend. Might is the key word. Nothing was ever set in stone. She liked to show up randomly too. Sometimes when she’d be very tipsy, stumbling into her home, and y/n always lit up seeing Aelin stretched casually on the couch. Maybe some kind of erotic romance novel in her hand, or resting her eyes if it had been a particularly hard day. Sometimes they’d recreate whatever she was reading, other times they’d fall asleep in each other's arms, right there on the couch. She’d wake up the next morning in her bed, a clean nightgown and hair braided. Some days she remembers Aelin cleaning her up, both of them laughing and sharing a story or two. But, her hair was always braided - like a calling sign telling her she’d been there, even if y/n had been drunk enough she forgot the night. It made her feel safe, and cared for.

But, it wore her down. Never knowing when Aelin would appear, never forming any kinds of close connections with her friends or court - beyond Fenrys, who she convinced to leave little things for Aelin in her rooms. Fenrys, who Aelin would send to check in on her if she and Rowan were gone for a long period of time, more than a month. 

It took longer than she cared to admit, but she built up the courage to do it. To do what she needed for herself. 

-

“You can’t …” Aelin, for once in her life, struggled for words. 

“I can’t what, Aelin?” Y/n’s voice was unusually cold, but tears shone in her eyes. Those eyes - usually sweet and adoring, were wary now. It snapped something inside her. 

“Leave this.” The Queen hissed back at her, eyes raging. Her throat tightened, and fists clenched. Y/n watched the movement, a bit of fear flickered through her scent. 

“Yes, I can.” Her lips pressed in a tight line.. 

“My scent is wrapped up enough in yours nobody will dare look twice at you.” Aelin raged, her voice rose. 

She shook her head, “I’ll manage.” Her voice was irritatingly even and calm, but Aelin could hear her heart pounding, and she strode towards her. Like in the past, she let her anger anchor her, slicing past any hesitation and doubt, letting it focus her. 

Aelin wrapped her arms around Y/n’s waist pulling her in close. She didn’t fight her. “You’re not leaving me.” 

“Am I going to spend the rest of my life with cold beds in the morning? Never knowing when I’ll see you again? Always your second option?”  

“It’s not like that.” She tightened her arms around her waist, her fingers dug into the female’s waist, the touch pure possession. 

“Have I ever visited your home?” Y/n prompted. Aelin didn’t answer. “My friends always ask to meet you, but you’ve always made excuses not to.” She said mildly, almost dismissive in tone, and tried to untangle herself from Aelin’s arms but she held on, her hold unbreakable. Why doesn’t she get it? Aelin doesn’t want to share, doesn’t want to know y/n’s other friends. To keep in that small bubble where y/n is hers. 

“I’ve talked about you to them. My court knows.” She countered. 

“But I’ve never met them, beyond Fenrys. It’s been two years.” 

“We’re immortal.” She’d introduce them to her one day. Maybe. 

“Are they?” Y/n challenged, watching how Aelin’s face tightened. “Are you embarrassed of me?” Her voice grew softer. 

“No,” Aelin breathed, “never,” and dropped her arms, y/n taking a few steps back. 

“Then why the secrecy?”

“I’m selfish. I don’t want to share you with them.” Aelin admitted, swallowing. 

“I would still be yours.” Y/n said mildly. 

“No,” Aelin became frustrated. Would, that one word rang through her mind. She’s not sure how to explain it. Gods, she wishes y/n would blow up, would get angry or frustrated or something except the sadness and resignation. 

“Give me a reason to stay,” Y/n said, nearly pleading. 

“Because I love you.” It’s the first thing she thought of, and she let the words fly out. Fill the room. 

Y/n wrapped her arms around herself, taking a few moments to let the words sink in. It didn’t have the effect Aelin wanted, instead she asked, “Is that going to be enough?” 

“I’ll make it enough.” Aelin promised. 

“Is anything going to change?” Her voice grew quieter with each word, the last one just above a whisper. 

“I’ll fix this.” She didn’t want to promise how much would change. How much she’d be able to give. No, she wouldn’t make a promise she couldn’t keep. She took steady steps back towards her, until she was standing just in front of her, close enough that if she took a deep breath their chests would touch. Instead her hands cupped her face, wiping away a small tear. 

“We can try.” Her voice was quiet, but the words rang through Aelin’s mind. Try? No, when she set her mind to something, it would happen. She does nothing by half measures. 

“There won’t be any ‘try,’ I said I’m going to fix this, and I promise I will, darling.” That promise she can make, one way or another, she’d figure out how to keep Y/n, and how to keep her happy in the process. 

“You promise?” Her teeth rolled her bottom lip between them, and Aelin’s thumb drifted to tug it away. 

“I just said that.” 

A ghost of a smile formed on Y/n’s face, but disappeared quickly. 

Aelin’s eyes glanced at the clock. “I have a meeting.” One she couldn’t avoid for once. “I’ll be back in two days.” She promised. “Around sundown.” 

Y/n’s eyes widened. Aelin realized she’d never given a specific date or time she’d show up. She made a mental note to change that. But, two days gave her enough time to figure this out. 

-

“How do I keep her?” Aelin ranted, pacing back and forth across their sitting room. 

“Do you need help?” Rowan raised his brows, ignoring her hard stare. 

“How would you help?” He ignored the sour tone of her words, recognizing she’s distressed and doesn’t mean it that way. 

“We keep her together.” Rowan offered. 

“What the rutting hell does that mean?” Her hands clenched her hair, fingers digging in. 

“Let me share her with you.” Gods, he’d thought about it for over a year, ever since that day. If Aelin would let him into that part of her life - the one she kept mostly secluded from the world. A small retreat for her, in a way. A place where she could escape from everyone else. He saw she was close to tears of frustration, and wrapped her in a hug. “Don’t cry my love.” 

He couldn’t really hurt y/n, but for making Aelin cry he wanted to punish her. Make sure it would never happen again. His instincts told him to destroy anything that might hurt her, that might cause Aelin any kind of pain, even bring her to the point of tears. He can count on two hands the amount of times he’d seen her cry. 

They’d realized a year ago they both shared a sort of mating bond with her. Aelin knew it snapped for Rowan at some point, but he’d done a good job of suppressing it, pushing it back into some corner, wanting to let Aelin have one part of her life to herself. It felt different from the bond they had with one another. Calmer, less turbulent, maybe even steady. That’s what he’d gleamed from the short amount of times he’d let himself actually feel it. He knows it’s torturing Aelin not to tell Y/n, wanting to let her figure it out on her own. 

“Should we just tell her?” 

Rowan debated it. “She said to give her a reason, didn’t she? If that helps it snap in place, leaving both of us would be near unbearable for her.” 

“But is that forcing her?” Once someone knows about a mating bond, it’s nearly inevitable it will snap into place. 

“Were you going to let her go?” 

Aelin’s silence answered his question. Now that she’d almost lost Y/n once, she’d hold on even tighter. “When?” When do we tell her, she meant.

“When do you see her next?.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

“Two days from now, around sundown.” 

-

Y/n waited, pacing anxiously. Wondering if Aelin would keep her promise, if she would come by. She’d decided to ask Aelin how she intended to “fix this.” What she would actually do, and what would actually change. 

The huge shock was that Rowan walked in behind her, the last person she was expecting to see. 

Tension immediately filled the space. Y/n couldn’t figure out why he was here, or why Aelin would bring him with her. 

But, Aelin gently took her hand and guided her to sit on the couch, subconsciously curling up against Aelin, and Rowan sat on her other side. Not close enough to touch, but enough that if she shifted a few inches, her knee would knock into his. He acted like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“You’ve felt a tug towards us before, haven’t you?” Aelin started. 

A tug … there is something inside her, a small thread that wants to reach out, to connect to them on a deeper level, but she’s shoved it back inside so far. Aelin’s fingers ran through her hair, and she melted further, pressing against her side. 

“I have,” y/n answered hesitantly. 

“Towards Rowan too.” She clarified. This felt like a trap, like answering it might piss Aelin off. She’s always been protective, borderline possessive maybe. “It’s okay if you have,” she murmured, “I won’t be mad.” Aelin pressed a kiss to the top of her hair. 

“I think so.” Aelin was … pleased. “Why are you asking?” 

“It’s a mating bond.” Rowan answered instead, some kind of edge in that normally cold voice was dulled. Maybe even a tad soft. But, the words shocked her. She’d wondered once … but it didn’t seem possible, not with the two of them together. 

She startled, pulling away from Aelin - standing up to pace around the room, back and forth - in front of the hearth. They watched her, eyes tracking her every move and expression, as if they could see the turbulent thoughts and waves of emotion flooding her mind. 

“I need you to leave.” She swallowed, not meeting their eyes. 

Surprisingly, they listened - only to stand right outside the door and she knew they wouldn’t leave until she spoke to them again. Only Aelin sent her a longing glance over her shoulder, one she saw through a mirror. Y/n couldn’t look at them, she couldn’t do it. 

Somehow it made sense, but she couldn’t help feeling it’s some sort of cruel trick. Aelin would find a way. Would always find a way. As soon as the bond snapped, as soon as she lets it, she knew it would nearly destroy her to leave both of them. If she managed to - they’d find her - and if they couldn’t, they still had a bond between each other. Carranam. Blood Oath. Mates. If it was just Aelin, it would be easier to wrap her head around it, but Rowan too?

If it’s true … why would he avoid her for so long? That’s what she can’t figure out. Did Aelin make him or did he choose to? Y/n doesn’t know if she wants the truth. Or if this is something he’s being tugged into, by Aelin - to keep her here. But, everything made sense now. The yearning, the tug she felt towards both of them. It all seemed to come together. 

She debates waiting to let the bond snap, either to punish them or herself. Her magic could do that, could suppress it down far enough it would keep that connection at bay - for a while at least. Just at the thought, the happy little threads in her chest turn to anger, pounding against what she is thinking. Against the betrayal, aching for them, begging her to let it snap, to be wholly theirs. 

What role would she have? Y/n’s been Aelin’s for so long. Three of them - what would that mean … As long as they don’t try to tear her away from her life, her work, her home, then maybe it would work out. In the end, y/n knows she won’t have a choice. Her entire heart and soul is begging her to give in to it, to be theirs, not just Aelin’s, but to both of theirs. 

-

Aelin and Rowan waited outside the door. Not patiently, but waited. They wouldn’t leave without speaking to her again, without figuring out what was going through her mind. The bond hadn’t snapped the moment she told them, and that filled Aelin’s head with worries. Was she using some of her magic to suppress it? To keep it from actually going into place. And if that was the case, what could Aelin do to stop that? 

-

“You’re worrying too much,” Rowan murmured, gathering her in his arms. She leaned into his touch, letting the warmth of his body take some of the chill away. 

The door opened up, showing y/n, tear stains on her face, but she silently swung it open, enough for them to walk in, and closed it. She leaned back against the wall - not the door, not trapping them inside, but her arms were crossed. Nervous, on edge, defensive maybe. 

“I’m not ready for it.” She said, before they could get a word in. 

He felt Aelin’s surprise, not the reaction she expected, but he figured it would be something along these lines. 

“I want to figure out,” she gestured between the three of them, “this first.” 

“How do you keep the bond from snapping?” Aelin questioned her. 

“I shove it down.” The same way Rowan has been shoving his down for the last year. Aelin had fully accepted it, even if it wasn’t on y/n’s side yet. “I don’t want to be torn away from my life.” 

“We wouldn’t do that.” Aelin’s brows drew together as Rowan observed every reaction from both of them. Aelin … wouldn’t necessarily do that, but would try and eliminate any obstacle keeping her from y/n. 

“I want to keep my work, my friends, my home.” 

“I won’t take that away from you.” Rowan promised. He couldn’t promise on Aelin’s behalf, but he saw her sag slightly in relief. 

“Okay.” She murmured. “We can try.” 

“Trying to run away from it … to escape it, would be very painful.” Aelin’s lips pressed in a tight line. 

“I know,” y/n’s voice was soft - her expression absent, like her mind was wandering. 

Aelin strode slowly towards her, tugging her arms and slipping intertwining their fingers. “This is a good thing.” He watched how Aelin’s touch calmed her, relaxed her. Something - not jealousy - but desire ran through him. He wanted to have that effect on her. Maybe, one day, he would. But, they have to figure this out first, how to navigate it with the three of them. 

“A good thing.” Y/n repeated, a slightly dazed look on her face. Aelin cupped her face, her thumbs running over her cheekbones before pulling her in for a gentle kiss. 

Before Rowan could think further about it, he was moving. 

-

She felt a warm body behind her as Aelin’s lips gently pressed against hers, coaxing her into a sweet kiss. Rowan. Rowan was behind her. His hands brushed down her shoulders, before his lips pressed against the spot where your neck met her shoulder. Involuntarily, she let out a small moan, giving Aelin the opportunity to nip at her bottom lip. 

She didn’t know where to focus - on Rowan, Aelin, every sensation running through her - gentle but still seeming to set every inch of her on fire. Her body wanted them. Her heart did. Her soul did. It was so tempting to give in, to let the bond take over now, but she shoved that part back inside her. She wasn’t ready, not yet. 

[lilacmingi]

STUPID CUPID

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works

Pairing: Cupid!Jisung x human!fem reader

Word count: 4,000

Note: Happy Valentines Day you guys! This is an idea that’s been floating around in my mind for a month or two and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to write it. It’s Jisung’s first day on the job and he accidentally shoots himself with his own arrow (silly boy!) 🏹

Valentines Day. A capitalist holiday that took advantage of people's romantic feelings for one another and profited from it. Teddy bears, heart-shaped balloons, jewelry, cards, roses, even heart-shaped pizzas. You shook your head at the thought of people going above and beyond for their significant others. While it was sweet, you often wondered why people didn't do that on any other day of the year. You shouldn't need a special holiday to do something nice for the one you love.

Valentines Day. An unnecessary day for couples to rub their relationships in everyone's faces and a complete waste of time and money. The only thing you liked about it was the chocolate. That's what led you outside on this godforsaken holiday. You may dislike Valentines Day, but there was nothing wrong with treating yourself to a little candy.

Your eyes roamed the large section of sweets, catching a glimpse of a middle-aged man with an armful of Valentines goodies hastily snag a heart-shaped box of truffles before brushing past you towards the register. You shook your head. Looks like someone forgot to get something for their sweetheart.

Your index finger hovered over a section displaying your favorite chocolate, your mouth watering at the sight. When it came to treating yourself to snacks, you hardly had boundaries, always grabbing whatever it was you wanted without giving it a second thought. Besides, you worked hard for the money you earned and you intended to spend it.

Perusing the aisle for a few more seconds, you grabbed some other favorite sweets of yours before heading to the chip aisle for a salty snack for later after you get into all the chocolate. Any time you overindulged on sweets you found yourself scouring the pantry for something salty to balance it out and vice versa. It was a never-ending cycle sometimes.

With an armful of snacks and sweets to last you two weeks, you headed to the register where a teenage boy stood, typing away on his phone. You didn't mean to be nosey, but your eyes instinctively glanced down at his phone screen only to see a plethora of hearts spammed on iMessage.

The boy was quick to lift his head, locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket while sputtering apologizes.

"Sorry about that. I, uh, have a date tonight with my girlfriend."

"That's nice." You smiled, trying to be polite.

You weren't sure why he decided to say that, as you were a total stranger, but it was nothing to get upset over. He could've been caught off guard by your presence and blurted that just because he was nervous, or perhaps this relationship was fairly new and he was just excited about going on a date. Either way, you put on a friendly smile and acted as if that little tidbit of information didn't bother you.

The automatic doors to the store slid open as you walked out with a plastic bag in your hand loaded with delicious candy and junk food that you couldn't wait to get into once you arrived home.

Jisung was brimming with excitement. His first Valentines Day on the job. He had spent an entire year training for this and he couldn't contain his enthusiasm. He counted his arrows three times to make sure he had enough, and if he happened to run out, he could always conjure up more. He checked the heart-shaped watch strapped to his wrist, tapping the touch screen to make sure everything was working and in tiptop shape.

"Han Jisung."

The cupid perked up upon hearing his name, standing at attention.

"You don't have to do that." Minho informed him, his expression showing little to no emotion.

"Sorry."

Minho was one of Jisung's friends and had been working as a cupid for years. He was professional, experienced, and knew everything there was to know about being a cupid. Jisung looked up to him and always asked questions when he had them.

"You're on the clock in approximately two minutes. Are you ready?"

"I'm more than ready." Jisung responded confidently. "I'm prepared. I'm equipped. I'm all set. I'm hot to trot!"

Minho gave his friend a once-over before responding with, "O...kay."

Jisung's shoulders relaxed as he let out a deep exhale. "I'm a little nervous."

"Everyone always is on their first day. It's normal."

"What if I do something wrong?"

"You won't."

Jisung nodded, hoping Minho was right.

Minutes later, Jisung found himself perched in a tree, his legs swinging back and forth while he waited for his watch to go off.

The cupid chose to bide his time by wondering who his first client would be—that's what they refer to their targets as. After all, "clients" is a much less morbid term.

Would they be a boy? A girl? Younger? Older? Maybe someone who hasn't found love yet and is still waiting for the right person? Oh, Jisung would love to help someone, both young and old, start a new and exciting chapter in their life.

His train of thought was derailed immediately as soon as you came sauntering down the sidewalk. His eyes followed you for much longer than he intended, unable to look away. He had seen humans before but none of them were as entrancing as you.

His watch beeped, bringing his attention back to the task at hand. He tapped the small screen and an image of a young woman was displayed on it. The heart-shaped watch was technologically advanced and would pick up the presence of an approaching individual that was set to be struck with a love arrow. Each watch was programmed specifically for the cupid that wore it.

Jisung reached for his quiver strapped to his back and pulled an arrow from it, sliding it into place on his bow. Rearing back, he aimed the bow clutched in his hands, releasing a breath before subsequently releasing the arrow, watching as it hit his intended target in the back. She stopped in her tracks, jostling slightly due to an invisible force which she couldn't see.

A man was headed down the street towards the woman just a few seconds later, an image of him promptly flashing on Jisung's watch. The cupid was quick to jump into action, pulling out another arrow and sliding it into place. He aimed and waited for the man to get closer to the woman before shooting the arrow. The man jerked a bit, bumping into the woman who was unable to pay attention to her surroundings due to Jisung's previous love arrow seconds earlier. Perfect timing.

He watched from his spot in the trees as they both sputtered apologies to each other with gleaming smiles on their faces along with a shared lovestruck expression.

I did it. Jisung thought to himself proudly.

He watched as the woman said something to the man and next thing he knew, the both of them were walking off down the street together towards a coffee shop. A fond smile graced his features as he watched the couple until they entered the cafe.

Jisung then began looking around for the human girl that garnered his attention—you. When he couldn't find you, he left his post, flying above the streets while heading in the direction he saw you walking.

When he spotted you (thankfully not far away from where he last saw you) he decided to follow, wanting just one more glimpse of you since he got distracted earlier.

Jisung's bottom lip stuck out in a disappointed pout when you entered a building and he could no longer see you.

Before he could try and find out which floor you were headed to, his watch went off again, tearing his attention away from you for the second time.

The cupid glanced at his watch to see who his next client was. Loading a love arrow into his bow, he diligently aimed and released it, repeating the process when an image of his second client flashed on the screen of his watch. The two began talking which brought a smile to Jisung's face. He heard stories from other cupids about Valentines Day and how fulfilling it was to watch their clients fall in love after being struck with one of their magic arrows. He dreamed of the day he would be able to do what his seniors did and now he was. It was just as fulfilling as Jisung imagined, however, he had something else on his mind now and that was trying to locate you... again.

His eyes searched the many windows in the apartment building, hoping to see you in one of them. There were at least ten floors and twice as many windows. Jisung had no clue how he would find you.

Just when he thought all hopes were dashed, he caught a glimpse of you through one of the glass panes. You were stood inside, gazing out the window at the streets below.

He promptly flew over and made himself comfortable on the grated platform of the fire escape that was mounted to the side of your apartment building.

He was thankful humans couldn't see cupids or else you'd be really freaked out to see a stranger perched outside your window. If a cupid wanted to be seen, they would show themselves and right now, Jisung preferred to stay hidden.

Your eyes followed the figure of a delivery man walking down the street with a large bouquet of roses in his arms.

What is it like to receive flowers from someone? You wondered.

The man made his way up the steps of someone's home, knocking on the front door that was pulled opened seconds later. A woman stood in the entryway, astonishment and joy flashing across her features at the sight of the ruby-colored blossoms.

"Must be nice." You commented aloud.

Back in school, you'd see girls walking around with a heart-shaped balloon and a box of chocolates or a stuffed teddy bear and a single rose. Of course, you were never one of those girls and a small part of you always wondered what it was like to receive something like that from someone.

Oh well. You had chocolate and tons of delicious snacks, you didn't need flowers. Stepping away from the living room window, you dropped down on the couch and opened up YouTube on your TV, searching for something entertaining to watch. After settling on a new video from one of your favorite content creators, you began sifting through your bag of treats, completely unaware that someone was watching.

Jisung's wide eyes observed you in fascination as you unwrapped a piece of chocolate and popped it into your mouth, savoring the sweet taste.

He knew humans often indulged in chocolate and junk food on Valentine's Day, but that was usually for the ones that were single... which meant you were alone. On second thought, maybe alone wasn't the right word, as you seemed rather content to be by yourself.

The cupid's watch went off again, startling him from his daze and simultaneously catching him off guard. He scrambled to grab an arrow, fumbling to load it into his bow. He spared a hasty glance at the image on his watch before launching the arrow, except it didn't soar through the air towards his target. Instead, it went directly into Jisung's chest. He had loaded the arrow backwards.

"Ah!" He yelped, snapping his head towards your window, momentarily worried you had heard him. However, he was quick to remember that he was invisible.

With one concern out of the way, he pulled the arrow from his chest cavity and retrieved a new one from his quiver, hastily loading it before aiming at his client. He nearly missed but managed to get a hit. Not a second later, his watch went off again. This time, he was paying attention and was able to execute his actions with no hiccups.

He breathed out a sigh of relief only to glance down at the arrow he discarded moments earlier, lying on the grates of the fire escape.

He gasped.

That's right. He shot himself with his own love arrow.

"Oh no." He grabbed his hair, tugging on the roots in a stressful manner. "Oh no."

He spared a glance towards you, still sitting peacefully on the couch watching TV.

"No!" He covered his eyes.

He wasn't supposed to look at anyone.

Now you've done it. He thought despairingly.

He was totally screwed.

"Okay, okay." He slowly released the breath he was holding in, talking out loud in order to calm himself down. "Don't panic."

He was totally panicking.

The first thing that came to mind was that he needed to notify Minho. His heart dropped to his feet at the thought, the color promptly draining from his face.

Oh no. Minho.

He placed a hand on his chest, feeling his rapid pulse beneath it.

"This isn't good. I can already feel my heart racing. The effects are already starting to take place."

He hung his head, muttering to himself while he tried to figure out what to do. Jisung knew telling Minho would be the right thing to do, but he didn't want to. If he did, he'd surely get an earful from the older cupid.

Maybe the symptoms wouldn't get bad. In fact, maybe they'd just go away.

Your loud laughter captured Jisung's attention and pulled him out of his worry-induced thoughts. Head thrown back against the couch cushions, you were clutching your stomach, letting your joyful laughter fill the apartment.

Jisung couldn't help but smile, the sound of your giggles sparking happiness and adoration within him.

Yeah, maybe he would hold off on telling Minho.

Days passed and Jisung's escapades continued. He would leave Cupid Headquarters and go off to see you, peering into your apartment from the window by the fire escape. From his vantage point, he had a good view of the open kitchen where he watched you cook meals for yourself.

He picked up on your little habits and things you did without a second thought.

Jisung's heart fluttered at the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed at something on TV or the way you spoke your thoughts aloud, giving your own commentary to no one at all.

A week was all it took for Jisung to spill the beans. While perched on the grated floor of the fire escape, he became self-aware of all the emotions he was feeling and how incredibly strong they were. Any time he looked at you it felt like a his chest was struck with an iron fist, taking his breath away. The need to be closer to you, to speak to you was so strong it was almost beyond his control.

He was infatuated.

"Minho!" Jisung shouted, rushing over to his friend and coworker, his wings flapping as fast as they possibly could.

Minho huffed, rolling his eyes. "What?"

The younger cupid came to a halt. "I did something terrible."

"I'm sure it's nothing."

"No, no. It's bad." Jisung dropped his head into his hands. "I shot myself with my own arrow. I can't believe I was so stupid! The effects are in full force. It's not working as fast as with humans but I'm really feeling it. You see, there's this girl and oh... every time I see her my heart races and I find myself watching her go about her daily life. She's so beautiful and I can't stop thinking about her. She's on my mind 24/7. I'm really falling hard, Minho. I don't know what to do. Please help me."

"Love arrows don't work on cupids." Minho produced an answer in a dead delivery, his eyes blinking languidly.

Jisung's rambling was put to an immediate halt as he stared wide-eyed at the older cupid.

"What?"

"We're immune."

"So..." Jisung trailed off. "I didn't screw up?"

"No."

"If the arrow doesn't effect me, then what does that mean?"

"It means you're in love with a human."

Jisung blinked owlishly. "In love?"

"You're a cupid, Hannie. We tend to fall in love very quickly."

"What do I do?"

"For starters, you could introduce yourself."

"I can do that?"

"If you want to. There's no rules against it. Love is love, after all."

Jisung was left to figure out how he was going to go about this whole situation and how to approach you. He laid back on his bed, running his fingers through his silver hair, releasing a sigh.

He didn't even know your name.

Maybe he could give you your favorite chocolate, assuming that's what you were indulging in when he saw you for the first time on Valentines Day.

He expelled another sigh. No. He needed something else—something better.

"Come on." He murmured.

He had been secretly admiring you for a while, surely there was something he was able to learn about you during that time.

Suddenly, a lightbulb went off and Jisung sat upright with wide eyes that glimmered with elation.

Flowers.

He'll never forget that look of longing on your face as you watched that delivery man bring a bouquet to a woman across the street.

Now all that was left was figure out how he was going to introduce himself without freaking you out.

He smirked to himself.

"I could use my undeniable charms and that thing Minho said humans say. What was it again?"

"Rizz! Can you believe it?" Minho exclaimed exasperatedly, shaking his head. "I can't believe humans are using such a ridiculous word."

"What does rizz mean?"

"It's short for charisma."

Jisung hummed, nodding.

"I'm gonna rizz him up." Minho mocked, rolling his eyes. "It's embarrassing. Honestly."

"Rizz." Jisung repeated with a sly grin. "Yeah."

Wait. Did he even have rizz?

The cupid groaned in frustration. This shouldn't be complicated.

Jisung returned to your apartment the following day to put his plan in motion. The window to your living room was cracked ever so slightly. Not exactly smart or safe on your part, but convenient for Jisung who entered with ease.

In his arms was the prettiest bouquet of roses he could find. Little white tufts of baby's breath were placed throughout the arrangement which sat beautifully in a vase.

The cupid placed the arrangement on your coffee table so you could see the flowers as soon as you got home, taking a moment to spread out the cluster of crimson blossoms and make it look presentable.

Now all he had to do was wait.

You stepped into your apartment and dropped your keys into the glass dish by the door, releasing a short sigh, thankful to be home. The shoes on your feet were kicked off without a care as to where they landed while you shuffled into your living room, coming to a stop when you noticed a bouquet of flowers sitting on your coffee table.

You looked down at them perplexed, wondering how they got inside your apartment.

"Who are these from?" You wondered aloud, searching the bunch of blossoms for a card or something that indicated who the sender was.

"Me."

You jumped at the sound of another person's voice, spinning on your heel to find a man sitting on the windowsill in your living room.

Assessing his appearance, you could only assume he was some cosplayer getting paid to dress as Cupid and deliver flowers. Though this guy seemed to take a more modern approach, wearing a pair of white slacks and a pale pink shirt made of delicate tulle fabric, but the set of wings on his back was a dead giveaway.

Oh geez. Surely he wasn't one of those singing telegrams.

Wait. How did he get in your house?

You instinctively took a step back. "Who are you and how did you get in here?"

"I'm Jisung and your window was cracked."

He could see your eyes widen and knew you were about to start freaking out or throwing things at him—or both.

"I'm not here to steal anything! I only came to bring you flowers." He assured in a rushed manner before you could do anything rash.

"Why?"

"Because..."

Jisung didn't think this through. You were clearly on edge and he wasn't making it any better. What was he supposed to say?

"I'm a cupid."

He wasn't expecting to spill the beans so soon, but it's the only thing he could think to say.

You narrowed your eyes. "I can see that, but why are you here?"

"To bring you flowers."

"So did someone pay you?"

Jisung's head tilted to the side like a confused puppy. "Pay me for what?"

"To dress up. Are you one of those people who dress like cupid and deliver things?"

"No. I don't even get paid for what I do."

"And what do you do?"

"I'm a cupid."

"With those fake wings? I don't think so."

"Do these look fake to you?" He turned, showing off the set of white wings on his back.

You were prepared to say yes when you saw them twitch.

A gasp left you. "How did you do that?"

"They're attached to me?" His response was spoken like a question.

"No." You shook your head, letting out a laugh of disbelief. "You have some sort of mechanism that makes them move."

Jisung wore a confused expression the entire time you spoke. "No."

"I don't understand."

"If you need more proof, I'll let you touch my wings." He turned again, presenting them to you.

They did look real—a little too real.

You apprehensively approached the so-called cupid, holding your hand out until it made contact with the white feathers protruding from his back. He shivered lightly under your touch, feeling the sensation of your fingers ghosting over them.

Now that you were up close, you could clearly see that the wings were coming out of his skin which was exposed due to the way the shirt was made, the fabric draping down low to reveal his (very muscular) upper back.

"Do you believe me now?"

You pulled your hand away, nodding wordlessly, unable to speak.

"I'm sorry if I scared you. You see, I first saw you on Valentines Day and ever since then I've been observing you from right there." He pointed to the metal fire escape just outside the living room window.

What? No. You would've known if someone was watching, especially if they were right outside your window.

"I never saw you."

"Cupids can't be seen unless they want to be. That's how we do our jobs."

Just as you were prepared to question him, he disappeared, causing you to stumble back in surprise.

"Ah! Sorry, sorry!" He reappeared, apologizing profusely. "I just wanted to show some proof."

"Why were you watching me?"

The tips of Jisung's ears tinted pink.

"Well..." He chewed on his bottom lip. "I like you. I just learned that cupids tend to fall for people quickly which is why I couldn't seem to stay away. Once I laid eyes on you, it was like a magnet was pulling me."

This was a lot to process.

"I needed a way to introduce myself and I saw the way you looked at that delivery guy with the flowers on Valentines Day, so I thought a bouquet of roses would be a nice gift."

He was watching you then? Suddenly you felt a little embarrassed.

"I've never received flowers from someone."

"Well, now you have. I would've added a card but I don't know your name."

"It's Y/n."

At last, the pretty girl Jisung had been swooning over had a name.

"Well, Y/n, I'm sorry for startling you. I'll let myself out."

"Don't leave."

He paused.

"You can't just tell me you're a cupid and not expect me to have questions."

A bright grin spread across Jisung's face. "What do you want to know?"

No part 2

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[riddlerosehearts]

floyd/riddle valentine's day headcanons 💙❤️

(okay, this post is more overly detailed than i originally planned because i ended up writing a whole scenario about what their first valentine's day after they start dating could be like. but i still want to share it, so here it is.)

riddle is somewhat conflicted about valentine's day. on the one hand, he was always a bit of a romantic, and as a kid there were times when he dreamed that someday he'd have a special someone to spend this holiday with. but he's changed since he was a kid, and regardless of how he might or might not feel, this year he happens to have an exam coming up in a few days and thinks that studying for it would be a more practical use of his time.

besides, floyd will also be busy working at the mostro lounge that evening. each year they hold a special valentine's event with discounts for couples, and floyd seems to be very focused on helping jade and azul plan for it. what makes valentine's day so important, anyway, when the one you love should be special to you every day? they can just go on a date whenever they like.

he still wants to try and respect the rules of the holiday, though. he knows from books he's read that it would be wrong of him not to get his boyfriend a gift, and he also knows that it's a popular tradition to make handmade chocolates for your partner on valentine's day.

so he buys some chocolate-making supplies and molds--the molds are shaped like hearts and roses, so they're sure to make floyd think of riddle when he eats them. and he does the best he can, knowing floyd will still love them even if they're not perfectly made.

he also buys a card with a simple yet elegant red and gold design, and makes sure it's blank inside rather than having a cheesy prewritten message, so that he can write his own message thanking floyd for bringing so much excitement and joy into his life.

the card he picks probably looks something like this:

he plans to take the chocolate and the card, along with one white rose and one red rose from heartslabyul's gardens, to floyd in the morning and see if they can plan to spend a day together after the exam.

while on his way there, he starts to feel a little embarrassed and wonder if the roses are too much. he doesn't really care about the holiday (or so he claims, but he sure did spend a lot of time preparing for it) and surely floyd doesn't care beyond exploiting it for business purposes, so this is a bit silly, isn't it?

wrong! for floyd's part, they don't have valentine's day in the coral sea, so he's actually been pretty excited for it--which riddle had guessed, since for the last few days he's been constantly asking riddle for advice on decorations and menu items for mostro lounge's event as well as spending quite a lot of his spare time there, presumably helping prepare things.

what riddle fails to realize is that floyd's excitement is about far more than just making money at the lounge.

so, riddle is standing outside floyd's door and about to knock when floyd suddenly comes rushing out and absolutely lights up upon seeing riddle there.

he doesn't even give riddle a chance to get a word in before tearing the gifts from his hands, popping a rose-shaped chocolate in his mouth, and doing a goofy little laugh as he tells riddle he loves him. riddle hopes floyd doesn't see the blush on his face.

"goldfishieee!" he exclaims. "i got you something too, and i just know you'll love it!!"

he runs back into his dorm room and comes out holding a small, very messily-wrapped box of store-bought white chocolate truffles, a plushie of a pink hedgehog holding a heart, and an envelope containing one of those fancy pop-out valentine's cards--specifically, one with a goofy pun on it. i'm picturing something like these:

riddle opens the card and rolls his eyes at the pun while trying to pretend that he's not smiling fondly at it.

he's about to ask about their plans when floyd leans over and drapes his arms around riddle's shoulders, and then says that he absolutely has to come to the lounge tonight for a very special surprise.

riddle is genuinely shocked at this, but he agrees, somewhat reluctantly because he's supposed to be studying--but also secretly excited at the thought of floyd having planned something just for him. he has to enlist cater's help to find something decent to wear.

floyd grabs riddle by the arm and drags him over to a table within seconds of him getting to the lounge. jade takes their order, they talk and tease each other and laugh together like they always do, and they also have fun chatting with some of their other friends who are sitting nearby with their own dates.

riddle almost forgets that floyd was supposed to have some kind of surprise for him, until floyd suddenly excuses himself and then shows back up a few minutes later with a small heart-shaped cake, covered in strawberries and other elaborate decorations.

it turned out that floyd had baked and decorated this cake for him. riddle felt guilty because he'd already eaten more than he meant to for the day, and especially because this must have taken much more work than the chocolates and roses he'd given floyd.

he tells him as much but then floyd tells him he's being silly before snatching the fork from his hand and going "if you're not going to eat it then i guess i'll have to!"

riddle feels a flash of anger because floyd can't just try to take his food, there are rules against such a thing. he takes the fork back and tries a bite of the cake, reasoning that it would be rude not to. it's strawberry flavored and possibly the best thing he's ever tasted.

when they leave the lounge that evening, they end up going back to heartslabyul together and for some reason floyd all of a sudden decides that they're playing tag and makes riddle have to chase him into the rose garden.

floyd didn't have any extra surprise for him, he just wanted riddle to keep having fun with him for a little while longer.

at the end of the day, riddle finds that he doesn't regret having lost a bit of study time for this, and he makes sure to tell floyd how grateful he is. he has to admit to himself that maybe there is something special about valentine's day after all.

[brittle-doughie]

How will the cookies Reacted to finding out Y/N have been frame for a crime they never committed and was jailed and was traumatize by the incident leading to Self Doubt and Trust issues and the Yandere Cookies met the culprit who cause Y/N Misery and Arrest

Antagonized

Innocent until proven guilty, that’s my take.

You looked down to the floor of your jail cell, hands cuffed together as you sat in silence, trying to take in what had just happened that led to you winding up in here.

You were arrested for the theft of Cheese Stones in Pumpkin Cookie’s Appraisal, being the only Cookie at the scene when alarms were raised. You swore up and down that you were only there to have Melon Bun’s stones apprised for her, but cops at the scene didn’t want to hear it. Cheese Stones were stolen, you had a bagful of them, and you were a new face around these parts, you had to be the crook.

You never would’ve expected to find yourself at the back of a police car today, getting your mugshot, then placed into a cell as they started their investigation into the matter. You again swore that you had nothing to do with this matter, but the guards putting you into your cell could care less for what a crook had to say.

So here you were, sitting in silence within your cell, awaiting your sentencing. Your hands were shaking, you’ve never been arrested before, let alone about to be prosecuted.

It was made worse based on the fact that you didn’t anything…

————————————————————————

Almond Cookie wasn’t buying any of this. YOU, Y/N Cookie, known for your benevolence and being an all-loving friend to fellow cookies, is being arrested for theft?

No.

He’s investigating further, he’s going after the rookies who were at the scene for doing such a sloppy job and making arrests before the facts were in. They couldn’t even be bothered to get your account on the crime before they threw you in the back of a police car. Almond Cookie couldn’t bear to see your mugshot, that look at sorrow in your face and the sadness in your eyes..Almond couldn’t stand it.

Solving this case was the least of his worries. Word had gone out about your arrest and now Almond had to deal with a number of cookies expressing their outrage and sympathy for you.

What a calamity, Truffle Cookie thought. To think that you of all cookies would be arrested came as a surprise to her. She’d politely request Almond Cookie to solve the case, but that polite tone contrasted her shadowy eyed look. He BETTER find the true culprit, she refused to accept that you were the felon, and Almond might just have to accept what comes to him if you’re put away for good. His closets or under the bed will never be safe.

Almond Cookie, the Cookie that helped her with the painting affair in the past, has now decided that you were to be locked up without even an investigation on who did it in the first place? Talk about shotty detective work, Butter Pretzel Cookie thinks. Her frustration is more personal on the fact that she wanted to unveil a portrait of you when you were free, so being arrested really put a damper on her mood.

Lollipop Cookie didn’t understand. You, a cookie she’s known for a while, arrested? But…you never showed signs of being a criminal, she was having to be consoled by Butterbear after a bout of crying. You said that you would visit the shop the next day to spend time with her and Butterbear, she was really looking forward to it and was saddened that it couldn’t happen now. She’ll plead with Almond to set you free, you haven’t done anything wrong!

Melon Bun herself showed up to the witness testimonies and gave her account that you really were just doing an errand for her! She was worried when you didn’t return after a few hours and was caught off guard when Pumpkin told that you were jailed! She felt guilty for what happened and will personally see to it that you were freed! She only hopes you don’t hate her after this…

————————————————————————

Almond was done gathering testimonies and started to lay out the pieces together.

You started the day by visiting Truffle Cookie to have tea time together, having pleasant small talk with her. (Truffle Cookie did have to pause her testimony as she held her blushing cheeks, ah, you said so much sweet things to her, she felt like a highschool girl with a crush.)

You then visited Butter Pretzel to help with her paintings, she needed more materials and she’s worried that stepping away will make her current work dry out before she can get more. She wanted you to stay and draw you a portrait, it was a long task however. She grew frustrated that she couldn’t perfectly replicate you in art form, she had to throw away so many drafts before she finally got one to satisfy her standards. Oddly enough, she closed her shop for the day right around when she started to work on your portrait.

Finally, you visited Melon Bun, who wanted your help to get her cheese stones appraised, but couldn’t leave the mine. She didn’t want Goblin Cookie running off with the haul she had right now! You agreed and Melon Bun promised that when you got back, you two were gonna have a pizza date! Looking forward to it, you grabbed the bag of cheese stones and made your way to the Appraisal.

Unfortunately, this would be right around the time that the Appraisal would be robbed of their array of cheese stones, done by a currently unknown Cookie. However, the pictures at the crime scene left details that Almond Cookie knew all too well.

This…felon was the one that had done this, this crook had always been a thorn to Almond Cookie’s side. The more Almond Cookie pieced together the evidence, the more guilty he had got.

Almond made his way to the jail cells, moving past the four cookies who went after him, ignoring their questions as he reached the cells. You plagued his mind, the look of sorrow on your mugshot coming back to him. That only made his pace faster.

He had to get to you.

————————————————————————

The weight was finally lifted off your shoulders when the fell opened and your cuffs were unlocked, Almond Cookie knelt down to meet your gaze.

He…wanted to apologize for every mistake this station had done to you. It was a mistake to have arrested you blindly, to have you even jailed here, Almond wanted to personally meet the officer that made the arrest and give them a reminder of why you don’t arrest innocent cookies.

He guided you out of your cells, to meet the four cookies that had arrived after hearing the news.

Lollipop wanted to hug you and ask if you were okay, but you rejected her attempt. You..wanted to be alone right now, get some coffee, and just shake off the day. Lollipop understood…but that tear that came out betrayed her words.

Truffle held your arm and expressed relief that you were innocent, would you…care for some tea? She wanted to help take your mind this whole incident, she’ll make yours especially sweet! You shrugged off her hold and told her some other time. To Truffle Cookie’ her heart shattered as she let go, looking down somberly.

Butter Pretzel caught your attention and asked if you wanted to see your portrait! She finished it and hoped that she captured your sweetness, she really wanted you to like it and to an extent…like her. You did your best to be polite and turned down right now, but you promise to look at it some other time. She says it’s fine…but the thoughts of striking Almond over the head with the painting say otherwise.

Melon Bun wanted to apologize big time for getting you into this mess, she didn’t mean to get you arrested, she didn’t mean for you to go through this experience, she hoped this whole thing was scrubbed off your clean record. Please don’t hate her

Almond was the same, he wanted to apologize for the station’s mistakes and responded to Melon Bun’s worries that this incident will be removed and wiped off, he’ll see to it personally that it does. He hopes that this situation doesn’t make you afraid of him or any authority, but when you couldn’t make eye contact with him, his fears might have been realized.

You announced your departure with a strained smile as you went home. As soon as you were out of view, the four cookies quickly turned to Almond Cookie, their glowing eyes shadowed in darkness, brimmed with murderous intent.

Almond defended himself, stating that was this crooked cookie that was responsible for this crime, let’s go after them instead of bickering here. Almond himself was incredibly angry too…the mere possibility that this cookie can get away with possibly ruining Almond’s relationship with you…enrages him.

————————————————————————

The next day’s news covered a brutal attack on a now jailed cookie, their dough bruised and cracked enough to leave noticeable injuries. Almond expressed no sympathy for the criminal, saying they deserved what they got. He shrugged off and disregarded the traces of butter, spiders, and cheese found on the perp, and especially the black eye the cookie had.

Butter Pretzel hummed as she painted a new portrait of you, who knew that bits of jam could really bring out the eyes.

Melon Bun whistles as she cleaned her pickaxe, watching over her shoulder every now and then. She didn’t want others to see the strawberry jam on it.

Truffle sipped on her tea as she heard the news over radio, giggling to herself as a shadow was casted over her eyes.

Lollipop wasn’t that invested into the news, she was busy spending time playing with you in the workshop, with Butterbear watching over the two of you with a laugh. As long as you were here, Lollipop didn’t really care what becomes of that thief.

All of them wouldn’t mind if this criminal was put away for good though. Because getting out meant facing these cookies again…and they can hold a grudge.