#but that’s only the one layer for me!!!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inbabylontheywept · 2 days ago

Text

Kartchner Caverns

The first time I traveled to Tucson I was in a car full of zooted children. I would've preferred being one of those children, but alas, any medication that makes me sleep also makes me sleepwalk. And after an incident where I tried to climb out of the car while it was still going sixty (thank God for seatbelts), I was condemned to a childhood of car trip sobriety: No more poor-man's time travel. No more ambien. One less morally ambiguawesome parenting decision from my crazy-ass dad.

I was talking with him when it happened.

I can't remember exactly what we were talking about - something to do with our final destination in Mexico. But at some point, we woke up my little brother.

(Nothing good happens from waking the dreamer. Best case scenario, the dream ends. Worst case, it doesn't.)

I remember starting when I felt one of his small cold hands reach up to grab my shoulder. Our dad did the same, and it jerked the car a little bit - startling someone whose hands are on the steering wheel has its risks. Dad and I both turned to look at him, but he wasn't even looking at us. He was leaning over the console, staring into the red and purple sunset ahead, watching the rolling skyline of Tucson like it was drowning in dreams. Like he was drowning in dreams.

We waited for him to speak. It took a while. Normal social conventions don't apply to people when they're unconscious. The fact that he could talk was just some broken line code in the fabric of the world.

"Wow," he said at long last.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" my dad replied. And my little brother shook his head like he just heard the silliest thing in the world.

"It's terrible," he said. "Awful. Is Mexico always like this?"

"We're still in America," my dad said back.

My little brother squinted into the sunset, doubt and derision etched into his face. After a few seconds, both emotions softened, and he nodded in wonder.

"Eagle feathers," he said, chuckling softly. Like he'd just solved some clever little riddle. Then he fell like an angel into something deeper than sleep.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

(There is a word for angels that fall.)

𓆙𓆙𓆙

The second time I went to Tucson, I hid from the sun.

You'd be surprised how easy it is to do down there. Society accommodates it in ways you just won't find anywhere else. When it's 109 outside with single digit humidity, of course you stay indoors. Of course the outdoor markets open at 6 pm, and of course they don't close until 11. Of course. You make the sun mean enough, and everyone becomes a vampire.

So I roamed the streets at night, kicking up red gravel, watching coyotes wander in between the sea of strip malls. Strip malls are such an Arizonan atrocity. Nobody bothers to build up because there’s nothing to be gained from density. The city will never be walkable, because the problem isn’t infrastructure. It's the sun. And you can't solve the sun, so you might as well lean into driving. Mash the whole city flat and crawl through the dust like rattlers.

(I met a man once, by the canals, that said the strip malls were some sort of American curse upon the inheritors of Johnny Appleseed. There's one God in this world, he said, and it's the god of don't-eat-apples. But then we invented apple pie and gave it to everyone. So this is our hell.)

Still. It made the days long down there. Lurking at night and hiding all day gives you something like cabin fever. I needed something to do outside. Something that was outside, but also, somehow, inside. What's inside and outside at the same time? What kind of klein-flask ouroboros nonsense fits that bill?

Kartchner caverns.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

I wouldn't say the caves were like walking into Dante's hell - more like finishing the journey. At some point in my life, I'd blown past limbo, lust, gluttony, greed, and anger. I'd spent two decades plus change living in the fires of heresy. Every layer past would only get colder.

And each step into that cave did.

My tour guide and psychopomp was a friendly old man. Familiar in the way that all old people feel familiar to me. I view the world more as a pile of metaphors. He viewed it primarily as water-soluble minerals.

It was a good work dynamic.

"These here," he said, gesturing to a long, slender series of impossibly frail stalactites, "are called soda straws."

They were beautiful. I can wax poetic at the keyboard, but in real life, my exclamation of wonder is primarily Hot Damn.

"Hot damn," I said, and he nodded good naturedly.

"They're pretty fun aren't they? Took a few eons to make 'em but I think it was worth the wait."

I was charmed by the way he talked. I knew it was just a fluke of tenses, but there was something funny about the way he described them - as if he personally oversaw each of the dainty little spires. We went further, and he pointed out more formations as we came across them.

"Behold!" he said just a few feet further. "Fried eggs!"

And I had to admit: There were fried eggs.

"Behold!" he said further still. "A shield!"

And lo, there was a shield. It didn't look terribly shieldlike, but who knows - maybe he made the shields first and got better as he went along. The eggs were beautiful.

We kept walking, deeper, and deeper into the cave. At the surface, it had been hot enough for my sweat to dry into a stinging white powder. Down there it was cold enough to see my breath. The feeling of descending into hell was replaced with the feeling of being swallowed by some ancient, fossilized snake.

"We call this serpent-stone," he said, gesturing to an expanse of wall.

And then all I could see was the snake that was swallowing me.

Now, I want to bring something up right about now. At this point, you might be tempted to write off the unease that I was feeling as claustrophobia. Which would make sense - caves unsettle a lot of people. But not me. I'm borderline claustrophilic. When I was a child, I didn't feel comfortable reading until I was wedged somewhere. Behind a shelf, or in a cabinet, or even underneath the beanbag my parents had intended for sitting. Those were my happy places. I liked being crammed into tight spaces.

I did not like that cave.

The section of serpent-stone narrowed the further we went. The room started off maybe six feet wide, but eventually it narrowed down. First to five, then four, then three. Two. And it didn’t stop at one.

The old man put me in front at that point. Said that if I got stuck, he could just push me forward. Didn't occur to me until I'd gone another hundred feet forward, sideways, that maybe getting dragged out would be better. But I was strangely reluctant to bring it up. I’d already let myself get cornered. There was nothing to be gained from letting him know my thoughts.

But the only way to keep them secret was by going forward. So I poured myself through the crack, slick as slip.

There's a grain to the scales of serpent-stone, both in the shape of the formations and in the texture of the individual pieces. They're metamorphic, but there's enough sediment left to ‘em that they have a grain. They bite when you go one way, and slide when you go the other. It felt like I was ratcheting myself in. Even if I could slip forward more, I didn't think I could go back. Not without wearing myself down into something skinless and screaming.

Water began to pool up in sections. It was cold enough to avoid the stink that still waters normally carry, but things stranger than algae festered in the waters beneath my feet. The puddles felt thick, almost slimy. A dozen steps later I saw little ropes of the stuff trickling down my feet.

Eventually, it got so narrow I couldn't turn my head. I could still hear the old man behind me, but only through little things - the occasional sharp inhale, or steps just an eighth of a beat off from my own. But never words. I remember stopping at one point, just to get pushed, just to know he was there. And he refused. All I heard for fifteen minutes was his breathing behind me.

He'd called my bluff. There was nowhere to go but forward.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

I don't know why it took so long to get dark down there. I wasn't carrying a flashlight, and if the old man had been carrying one, I'd have seen it bob with his steps. There was a sort of soft glow to everything but that had faded hour by hour. Eventually it didn't matter that I couldn't turn my head sideways - I wouldn't have been able to see the man if he'd been two inches in front of me. I walked, and I walked, and I walked, and just when I was about to get stuck for real - stuck in a way where I wouldn't be able to step forward, where I'd have to be pushed (or dragged back along the sharpness of the scales) - I popped out of the serpent stone crevasse like a cork from a bottle.

Plunk.

I can't tell you the relief that I felt at that moment. It didn't matter that I didn't know where I was, or how I got there. I'd never been claustrophobic in my life, but at that moment, I couldn't stand even the proximity of the crevice. I scrambled forward, stumbling over the rough cave floor, desperate and eager to find the next wall. To get some sense of where I was.

I never did. Even as I calmed down, even as the relief of being free of that infernal vice sat upon me like a crown, I never found another wall. Anywhere. I walked until fear made me crawl, as low and blind as any worm. I crawled until my pants tore and my knees bled and my spine ached.

And I found nothing.

When the vastness of the space truly sank in, when I realized that leaving that first wall had been a mistake, I turned back. But some choices can't be unmade. There were no walls. Not anymore. No matter how far I crawled, how hard I tried, there was no end. There was nothing but perfect darkness, broken stone, and endless snaking trickles of cold cavern water.

I dipped a finger in one of the rivulets. Just to feel it. Just to ground myself in something. I felt the waters slither past, and I found something like sight in their motion.

Water always goes down. Whatever else I lacked down here in the stone, in that moment, I knew up and down. And for the first time in hours, I had a choice. A real choice. No instinct or panic or too late realizations: Up or down.

I went down.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

I’d visited a rope factory once. Watched the threads dance and spin and weave into something mighty. I got a blind man’s sense of that from my trickle. I felt it meet more of its kind, braiding into them like thread. I liked pretending it was still my rivulet, but eventually, I had to admit it was lost in the mess. Picking out one thread from a rope would be easy, compared to picking out one trickle from a river.

Funny how water can drown in itself.

The first contaminant to the water was iron. I could smell it in the air - strong as blood. It should have unsettled me, but I’d smelled water like that before. My grandpas well-water stained everything it touched rusty red. His sinks, his showers, his fields. Even his teeth. He was wealthy enough that he could've wiped the stains off decades back, but he told me once that he liked the way it made other people uncomfortable. The way it reminded everyone who saw him smile that by sacrament or soil, they too drank of god.

The next contaminant was the thick water from before. Apparently, the stagnant pools weren’t as still as I’d thought. Somehow, over strange eons, they too could seep through the stone and make their way into this deep river. It was scentless, but I could feel it catch around my ankles on some steps. It seemed like a memory from a different life. I just didn’t feel like the same person that crawled through the serpent-stone crack. I was just some stranger wearing his shed skin.

Then at long last came a smell of deep sulphur 🜏. It was an odd contrast with the sharply cold air, and the strangely warm waters. It was the least pleasant of the bunch, but I endured it well. I followed until the tears streaming down my cheeks felt as normal as breathing. Until the rush of the river was replaced by the pounding of waves.

I’d arrived on a beach. I couldn’t see the ocean in front of me, but I could hear how vast it had to be. There was a terrible stench, worse than the sulphur - the smell of some vast death. Godly carrion. A wound in the world long left to fester.

I sat there on the beach of that ocean. Afraid to let those dark waters touch me. Thinking and waiting and worrying about what would happen next.

A voice spoke just twenty feet behind me. I recognized it. I never would’ve recognized it before, but there was a knack to the way this place wore me thin. Like a razor getting sharpened instead of a shirt going ratty.

“You’re very close,” the old man said, and I remembered him from all those years ago - sitting cross-legged in the moonlight by the bank of the canal. Looking up at me, eyes dark, and calling me over to tell me a secret.

There's one God in this world, he said then. One God. And it's the god of don't-eat-apples. But then we invented apple pie and gave it to everyone.

So this is our hell.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

I turned around. I don’t know why. I shouldn’t have been able to see him. I shouldn’t have been able to see anything. But I could see the outline of where he was on that shoreline. Not as a bright thing, but as a darker shade of absence. A little hole in the dark.

I could have run. But that would’ve required taking my eyes off him, and at that moment I couldn’t bear the thought. He was the only thing to see down there. The only reason I had eyes. But somehow, more important than the joy of seeing was the feeling that as long as I kept my eyes on him, he was trapped. Pinned to this world like a butterfly on cork.

There was a half second pause. The voice was a memory, but seeing through the gaps was new to me. The thing in front of me wasn’t an old man. It wasn’t even good at pretending. I was oddly embarrassed that I’d ever been fooled by it. What I was looking at was something older than this cave. Something trapped down here so long it could not bear the thought of light. The dream of something dead. The sloughed skin of a snake.

The first apple eater.

I could see shades of absence. More than the hole in the dark. I could look at the thing and feel the place where its wings should have been. Its first ones, at least.

It lunged for me.

I’d forgotten it could do that.

It slammed into me like the water from the bottom of a dam. The power was nothing compared to the cold. I couldn’t see a thing, but what I could feel made bile climb up my throat.

It was melting. Running down itself in little streams, like snow melting in the sun. Like the river I followed all the way down here. A hand ran over my face and I could feel it pouring into me, and in my fury I did the only thing I could think of: I reached up, and I wrapped my hands around its neck, and I clenched so hard that I could feel the tendons in my wrist sawing up through my skin, taut as piano wire.

It was like squeezing wet clay. It deformed under my touch, stretching longer and thinner and smoother even as the muscular length of his impossibly long body wrapped around me. At some point the fists beating on my chest turned into wings. Stolen wings, to replace the ones that were stolen from it, and there was a scream in the cave it was so awful that it wasn’t mine.

It was a terrible race. We were killing each other the same way. There was no question about someone dying here in front of the empty throne of god. I just didn’t want it to be me.

Eventually, it could stretch no more, and my hands could crush more than just nightmare and shadow. The wings beat on me weaker, and weaker, until eventually some cartilage in its great neck snapped under the pressure of my thumbs.

It was like cracking a glow stick. There was a flash of light, brief as thunder, and I could see the waves in front of me. An ocean of rotting meat and bones. The outline of some great, dead serpent, fifty feet tall. And a tower of dead bodies, stretching back to ages that I could not recognize. The only corpses I could recognize were those at the top, with their strange helmets and iconic breastplates.

Conquistadors.

When the light went out, the body went with it. Most dreams don’t leave anything behind. Even when they’re made by gods.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

I don’t know how I left the cave.

I followed the river up. At some point, it stopped being the river I followed down. The tributaries feeding into it spread out like a fan, and fool that I am, I kept picking left. It shouldn’t have worked. Part of me wonders if I somehow bent the river to my will. Filled in for the dead thing bobbing in the lake, or the echo that I strangled on that starless shore.

Or maybe I just got lucky.

I can remember finally breaching the incline and seeing an exit into the desert. Not the one I stepped in through, but good enough. I can remember getting closer and closer, before stepping out into the burning sun. I thought it was finally over.

I thought wrong.

I can remember looking into the bright blue sky and seeing exactly what my little brother saw on that drive all those years back.

I don’t know what I killed down in the cave. Some dead thing in the dark, dreaming it was alive. An altar of blood and bone, designed to hold a fragment.

But the real thing sat there in the sky. Curled up so tight and so smooth, you could mistake it for a ball. Waiting, and watching, and hating. Alive but dreaming death. The mould that stamped out the form of what lay in the cave.

Quetzalcoatl, I learned later. The feathered serpent.

I moved the month after that. Went somewhere north, somewhere cold, somewhere that a snake wouldn’t follow. Most days now, I look up, and I just see the sun. A flaming ball of gas. A little, red, star.

But only most.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

𓆙𓆙𓆙 𓇳

Thanks to @qsatisfaction and @foldingfittedsheets for being my editors on this piece. And thanks to @dr-robert-chase-apologist for providing the prompt.

#babylon-fiction #weird memories and outright lies mishmashed together #kartchner caverns #wish there was a way to highlight in yellow #but orange works in a pinch

239 notes · View notes

pixiefelixie · 2 days ago

Text

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ MY VALENTINE KIM SEUNGMIN

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ synopsis your 17-year-old dog, who had survived chocolate poisoning, a bicycle accident, and a raccoon fight, finally passed away peacefully—proving that even the most legendary warriors must one day retire. in your grief, you completely fell apart, only to realize your usually sarcastic boyfriend might actually be capable of being soft and supportive—something even more shocking than your dog’s immortality finally running out.

pairings: menace!seungmin x menace!reader warnings: death of a pet, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, seungmin is a sweetheart i need a seungmin for valentines day thank you very much, they're in love your honour

before seungmin was your boyfriend, he was your best friend. there was no messy talking stage, no drawn-out situationship—just years of friendship that seamlessly shifted into something more. it happened on prom night, after one unexpectedly deep conversation that peeled back layers neither of you had ever touched before. from that moment on, everything changed.

your friends had seen it coming long before you did. they used to roll their eyes and exchange knowing glances whenever you and seungmin bickered, convinced that it was only a matter of time before one of you caved. it wasn’t hard to see why. your friendship with seungmin was filled with smacking, bullying, and calling each other mean names. naturally, that dynamic carried over into your relationship as well.

but sometimes, you wondered if seungmin ever really took you seriously. saying serious things—things that mattered—never came easy for either of you. the words always got tangled in sarcasm, deflected by jokes. even kissing was often a game, a teasing challenge where he’d lean in just to pull away at the last second, smirking as you huffed in frustration. it wasn’t that he didn’t care. it wasn’t that you didn’t care. it was just easier to dance around the depth of your feelings than to dive straight in.

one evening, after seungmin had spent nearly an hour tormenting you with relentless tickles, leaving you breathless from laughter and weak from squirming, you huffed in exasperation.

“why do you always have to be such a menace?” you asked, still catching your breath.

he grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned back. “because i only act like this with you.” his voice was quieter now, softer, like a secret he was finally ready to share. “you’re special to me.”

for once, you didn’t have a comeback.

the city lights blurred outside the bus window, distorted by the tears welling in your eyes. you blinked rapidly, willing them away, but the tightness in your throat only grew stronger. with every stop, every jerk of the bus, your composure cracked a little more. you clenched your jaw, staring hard at your reflection in the dark glass. just a little longer. just until you got home.

finally, your stop came. you shuffled off the bus, stepping into the cool night air. the walk to your apartment felt longer than usual, each step heavier than the last. your breaths were shallow, uneven, as you swallowed back the lump in your throat. the world around you moved as if nothing had changed—cars rushing by, a couple laughing in the distance, a stray cat darting across the sidewalk—but inside, you were unraveling.

by the time you reached your door, your hands were trembling. you fumbled with the keys, cursing under your breath when they slipped from your fingers. picking them up, you took a shaky inhale and forced yourself to steady your grip. just get inside.

the lock clicked. the door swung open. and the moment it shut behind you, the weight of it all crashed down.

a broken sob slipped from your lips before you could stop it. your legs gave out, and you sank to the floor, pressing your back against the door. tears spilled over, hot and relentless, as you buried your face in your knees. your shoulders shook with every quiet sob, the sound muffled in the empty apartment.

you had held it together for so long. but now, there was no one to see. no one to hear.

you had known this day would come. you had prepared yourself for it—at least, you thought you had. but no amount of knowing could have made it hurt any less.

seventeen years. that was how long he had been by your side. longer than some of your friendships, longer than any relationship you'd ever had. he had been there for every scraped knee, every heartbreak, every lonely night you spent crying into his fur. you had practically grown up with him—your childhood, your teenage years.

he was ancient. seventeen, as a reminder. practically immortal by dog standards. he had outlived all expectations, defied every vet’s cautious prognosis. he was ancient, crusty, and had the worst breath imaginable—like a mix of old socks and something you didn’t even want to identify. his teeth were a disaster, barely hanging on in his later years, and he had been blind in one eye for the past three birthdays. and yet, somehow, he had powered through everything.

there had been that one time he ate an entire bag of chocolate chips when he was seven and walked it off like it was nothing. then, at twelve, he somehow got hit by a bicycle and bounced back as if he had merely tripped. at fourteen, he got into a fight with a raccoon over a slice of pizza (and won). he had survived stomach bugs, a tumble down the stairs, and countless other incidents that should have been his undoing. but no—he had refused to go out in some dramatic, action-packed way.

instead, he had peacefully fallen asleep like the stubborn little shit he was.

he was gone.

you let out a shaky breath, a tear-streaked chuckle slipping past your lips. of course, that’s how he would go. no theatrics, no grand exit. just quietly, in his sleep.

it wasn’t fair, though. he had survived so much—how was he not invincible?

you wiped at your face, but the tears kept coming. you had always known this day would come, but losing him felt like losing a piece of your childhood.

you hadn’t been there for his last moments. that was what made it worse.

moving out for university had meant leaving him behind, but at the time, it hadn’t felt like a real goodbye. it never even crossed your mind that one day, you’d walk out that door and never see him again. it was impossible to imagine a world where he wasn’t waiting by the door when you came home, tail thumping lazily against the floor, his cloudy old-man eyes lighting up at the sound of your voice.

but time had finally caught up with him, and instead of being there to hold him one last time, instead of pressing your forehead to his like you always did, whispering, you stink, you had gotten the news over the phone.

you hadn’t heard the footsteps. hadn’t noticed the faint creak of the floorboards or the quiet rustle of movement in the room. you had been too lost in your own wreckage, sobs wracking your body as you sat crumpled against the door, drowning in the weight of it all.

but then—something made you look up.

seungmin was standing there, just a few feet away. his eyes were wide, his expression frozen somewhere between confusion and alarm. his lips were parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t figure out where to start.

you hadn’t expected him to be here. but of course, he had a spare key. and from the way he was standing there, it was obvious—he had been in the apartment the whole time, long before you walked through the door and completely fell apart.

the realization sent a fresh wave of humiliation crashing over you. you weren’t sure how much he had seen, but judging by the way he was looking at you—like he was seeing you for the first time—you knew it was enough.

seungmin had never seen you like this before.

he had seen you annoyed, frustrated, even stressed to the point of snapping. but never this. never crumpled and shaking on the floor, barely able to catch your breath between sobs. never so completely wrecked that you couldn’t even find it in yourself to throw out a sarcastic remark or tell him to get lost.

and you knew what was about to come.

like the absolute asshole he was, he was going to crack a joke. probably something about how ugly you looked when you cried, or how your face was so red it could stop traffic. any second now, he was going to open his mouth and say the exact wrong thing, because that was just who he was. that was how he dealt with anything remotely emotional—sarcasm first, actual feelings second.

you almost wished he wasn’t there. right now, you had nothing in you to deal with a seungmin-style remark. not today. not when everything already felt like too much.

you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself, but nothing came.

no snarky comment. no teasing jab.

but instead, seungmin walked over to you and he sank to the floor.

he didn’t fidget, didn’t sigh like he was uncomfortable. he just sat there, his body close but not overwhelming, his presence solid and steady. his eyes never left you, his usual sharp, mischievous gaze replaced with something softer, something that made your throat tighten even more.

another sob tore through you, and you curled in on yourself, burying your face in your knees. you felt exposed, raw in a way you had never been before. you weren’t used to this—falling apart in front of someone, letting yourself be seen like this. and seungmin… he wasn’t used to it either.

to him, you were always either a ray of sunshine or a little menace who pinched his cheeks just to annoy him. you were the one who smacked his arm when he teased you, who gave as good as you got. but now? now you were shaking, struggling to catch your breath between broken sobs, completely undone in a way he had never witnessed before.

seungmin hesitated for only a second before reaching out, his hand barely brushing against your back at first—like he was testing the waters, making sure you wouldn’t flinch away. when you didn’t, his touch grew firmer, his palm pressing against the fabric of your shirt as he slowly rubbed circles between your shoulder blades.

your sobs didn’t stop right away. they came in waves—some stronger, some weaker, but always there, shaking through you, making it impossible to catch a steady breath. you tried to quiet them, tried to swallow them down, but your body refused to cooperate.

at some point, you lifted your head, your cheeks damp, your lashes clumped together from tears. seungmin’s hand stilled, but he didn’t pull away.

and then—his eyes met yours.

there was no teasing glint, no smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. just seungmin, staring at you like he was seeing every crack, every broken piece, and accepting them without hesitation.

he didn’t say anything. he didn’t need to.

instead, he gave you the smallest smile—soft, quiet, a silent i’m here.

seungmin let out a slow breath, his fingers pressing just a little firmer against your back, grounding you. his other hand hovered for a second before he reached up, brushing his knuckles gently against your cheek. his touch was warm, deliberate—like he was trying to memorize the shape of you, trying to let you know in the only way he could that you weren’t alone in this.

“you know,” he murmured, his voice quiet but steady, “boyfriends are supposed to help with things like this.”

you blinked at him, your chest still rising and falling unevenly, your throat tight.

“this whole… carrying everything by yourself thing?” he shook his head slightly, his thumb smoothing over your cheekbone. “yeah, i’m not letting you do that.”

your lip trembled.

as if reading your mind, seungmin exhaled, his thumb brushing against your cheek again, slower this time. “you’re allowed to let me be here for you. you know that, right?”

something in you cracked at that.

a fresh wave of tears welled up, and seungmin didn’t even flinch. he just shifted closer, his hand finding yours, threading his fingers through yours, squeezing lightly.

“i’m not going anywhere,” he promised. “so cry, tell me to shut up—whatever you need. but don’t shut me out.”

seungmin’s fingers tightened around yours, firm but careful, like he was anchoring you to him without holding on too tight. his eyes never left your face, searching, waiting—until finally, he spoke again.

“come here?”

it wasn’t a command. it wasn’t even a suggestion. just a question, soft and open, giving you the choice.

your breath hitched.

you weren’t used to this. him, like this. and maybe that was what made your throat tighten even more.

you nodded, barely a movement, barely a breath. but it was all he needed.

seungmin let go of your hand only to wrap his arms around you, pulling you in like it was second nature. you barely had time to react before your face was pressed against his shoulder, the warmth of his hoodie soft against your cheek. his arms settled around your back, firm and unyielding, his fingers curling against the fabric of your shirt.

your hands hovered for a second before you clutched at the fabric of his hoodie, gripping tightly, your body still shaking with uneven breaths. seungmin only held you closer, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head.

seungmin didn’t say anything for a long time. he just held you, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against your back, like he was letting you take your time, like he wasn’t in any rush to hear whatever was weighing you down.

but eventually, he shifted slightly, just enough to glance down at you. his voice was quieter now, softer, like he was trying not to break whatever fragile thread was holding you together.

“do you… wanna tell me what happened?”

your throat was tight with the weight of it, and when you swallowed, it felt like trying to force down something solid. you wanted to tell him. you had to tell him. but how were you supposed to say it? how were you supposed to explain why you had completely fallen apart, why your entire body had given out the second you walked through that door?

your heart pounded, your throat burned, and for a moment, you considered lying. saying it was stress, a fight with a friend, anything that made more sense than the truth. you were afraid that he would find it stupid that you were sobbing over your dog who was always on the brink of death.

but you couldn’t keep it in.

your vision blurred again, fresh tears rising as you forced yourself to swallow the lump in your throat.

“my mom called,” you said, barely above a whisper. “after my lecture.”

seungmin said nothing, but you could feel the way his grip on you tightened ever so slightly. he was listening. he was bracing. his jaw tensed. you could see it, the quiet dread settling behind his eyes.

and then, with everything in you screaming to keep it in, you let it out.

“my dog.”

two words. that was all you could get out.

but seungmin understood right away.

his breath hitched—so slight, so subtle, but you caught it. his fingers stopped moving against your back, and when he blinked, it was slow, like the weight of what you had just said was pressing into him, too.

“oh.” his voice was quieter now.

you knew what he was thinking.

this was stupid. it was just a dog. people lost pets all the time. you weren’t supposed to cry like this, to feel like something inside you had been ripped away.

frustration bubbled up through the grief, your throat tightening even more. you pulled back slightly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve as you forced out, “i know it’s dumb.” your voice was thick, shaking. “but i grew up with him, seungmin. what am i supposed to do—just smile and move on?”

his brows furrowed instantly. “no—”

“i mean, it’s just a dog, right?” you let out a bitter, shaky laugh, but it barely even sounded like you. “that’s what you think. that i’m being dramatic, that it shouldn’t hurt this bad—”

“no, no, no—what?” his hands tightened around yours, his voice firm now, almost urgent. “y/n, don’t even—”

you froze.

his expression had shifted completely—no teasing, no softness diluted by hesitation. just pure, unwavering certainty.

“you have every right to feel like this,” he said, his voice steady, his grip grounding. “this isn’t stupid. you aren’t stupid.” his brows pulled together slightly, and for a second, he looked almost upset—not at you, but for you. “you loved him. of course it hurts.”

your breath hitched.

seungmin was looking at you like your grief mattered, like it was valid.

you didn’t know what to do with that.

a fresh wave of emotion crashed over you, tangled and overwhelming, pressing into your ribs until you could barely breathe. your fingers curled against his wrist, gripping onto him like he was the only thing keeping you from unraveling completely.

“i don’t know, seungmin,” you whispered, your voice barely holding together. “i just—” your throat tightened. “i don’t know.”

his face softened, but he didn’t rush to fill the silence. he just waited, his presence steady, unwavering.

your chest ached. everything ached.

your next breath came out shakier than the last. “i’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice breaking. “i—”

“hey.” his hands shifted, firm but gentle, like he could hold you together if he just held on tight enough. “none of that.”

you swallowed hard, but the lump in your throat refused to go away.

“don’t be sorry,” he said, quieter this time.

you sniffled, shaking your head as you wiped at your face with the sleeve of his hoodie. “i don’t even know why i’m crying so much,” you mumbled, voice thick and uneven. “it’s just—he was so old, you know? like, ancient. i should’ve been ready for this.”

seungmin didn’t say anything right away. he just watched you, his expression unreadable but steady.

“i mean, seventeen years? that’s… that’s insane for a dog,” you continued, half-laughing through your tears. “he was supposed to go out dramatically—choking on something stupid or picking a fight with another raccoon, not just…” your breath hitched. “not just fall asleep and never wake up.”

“i used to joke about this all the time.” you sniffled, rubbing at your nose. “like, literally all the time. i’d always say ‘on my dog’s life’ like it wasn’t a big deal, and now—” your voice wavered, and you took a shaky breath. “now i can’t say that anymore.”

seungmin exhaled sharply and nodded. “yeah. you did say that a lot.”

you groaned, leaning back against the door and covering your face with your hands. “god, that’s so messed up.” you exhaled sharply, rubbing your temples. “i don’t know, seungmin. i don’t even know why i’m crying this much. i really really knew this was coming.”

seungmin tilted his head slightly, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to read between the lines. “so what?”

you blinked at him. “what?”

“so what if you knew it was coming?” he shrugged, shifting so that he was leaning a little closer. “that doesn’t mean it’s supposed to hurt any less.”

you let out another wobbly breath, staring down at your hands. your fingers still trembled slightly, the weight of everything pressing down on your chest.

seungmin sighed and reached out, hesitating for just a second before tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “you don’t have to justify why you’re sad,” he said quietly. “you loved him. of course this sucks.”

you swallowed, your throat tight again. “yeah, but it’s not like he was—” you paused, exhaling. “it’s not like he was a person.”

seungmin’s lips pressed together, and for a second, he just looked at you. then, shaking his head slightly, he said, “so what?”

you huffed. “you keep saying that.”

“because you keep acting like you need a reason to be upset.” he gave you a pointed look. “you don’t. he was family. that’s all the reason you need.”

your breath caught.

family.

you hadn’t said it yourself, but hearing seungmin say it so plainly—like it wasn’t even up for debate—made your chest ache even more.

you bit your lip, trying to swallow down the lump in your throat, but it was useless. your vision blurred again, and before you could stop yourself, you were crying all over again.

“gosh, i hate this,” you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper. “i hate crying this much.”

seungmin exhaled through his nose, then—before you could react—he reached out and flicked your forehead.

you yelped, your hands flying up to rub the spot where he’d hit you. “ow! what the hell, seungmin?”

he just raised an eyebrow at you. “you hate crying, but you’re crying anyway. so what’s the point of hating it?”

you glared at him through your tears. “what kind of messed-up logic is that?”

“the kind that makes you stop talking nonsense.” he leaned back against the wall, stretching his arms behind his head. “look, if you’re gonna cry, then cry. don’t fight it.”

you sniffled, pouting. “easy for you to say. you don’t cry.”

seungmin scoffed. “that’s not true. you think just ‘cause i’m a boy, i don’t cry?” he shot you a fake offended look, crossing his arms. “that’s kinda sexist, don’t you think?”

you rolled your eyes, sniffling. “no, that’s not i meant. you’re just… seungmin. that’s why”

seungmin tilted his head, lips pressing together. for a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. “well, i’ll tell you right now… looking at you like this is making me kinda—”

but he stopped.

your breath hitched. “what?”

“nothing.”

“seungmin.”

“drop it.” he huffed, looking away so fast it was almost comical.

and that’s when you saw it—the telltale redness creeping up his ears, the way his eyes looked just a little too glossy, like he was barely holding it together.

your mouth parted slightly. “wait, seriously?”

seungmin exhaled sharply through his nose. “don’t push it.”

but you weren’t even teasing anymore. you just stared at him, chest tightening, because somehow, knowing that he was feeling this with you—that this was hurting him, too—made the grief just a little more bearable.

you exhaled softly, the last of your resistance slipping away as you leaned against him, your head resting against his shoulder. seungmin didn’t move at first, but then—slowly, almost hesitantly—he turned back to look at you.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. you just sat there, breathing, the weight of everything settling between you. then, without a word, he shifted slightly and rested his head against yours, his warmth pressing into you in a way that made your throat tighten all over again.

you felt him move, just barely, and when you glanced up, you caught the way he wiped at his eye with the sleeve of his hoodie—like he was trying to be discreet about it. like he wasn’t supposed to be feeling this much either.

the realization hit you all at once: you and seungmin, two of the world’s most unserious people, were sitting here—silent, exhausted, crying into each other.

and somehow… it didn’t feel sad. at least, not just sad.

it felt real.

it felt like something deeper than grief, something bigger than just missing your dog.

it felt like you weren’t alone.

"please never leave me," you whispered, your voice barely a thread, fragile, like you're afraid if you speak too loudly it might shatter something between you two.

he tilted his head, his expression gentle, but there’s an edge of confusion in his eyes. “why would you ever think i’d leave you?” he asked, his voice calm and steady.

but you couldn’t stop the words that rush out next. they spilled from you in a torrent, raw and vulnerable, as if you were confessing something you’ve been holding inside for too long. "it’s only a matter of time before you die too. everyone is going to leave. i don’t want—” your voice cracked. “i don’t want anyone to leave.”

seungmin didn’t say anything. his silence wasn’t empty—it was heavy, filled with something unspoken, something that lingered between you like the last notes of a song fading into quiet.

“can i just… go first? like—die.”

seungmin stilled beside you. his head turned, his gaze sharp, his expression unreadable. for a second, he didn’t say anything—just studied you, like he was trying to figure out if you were joking.

then, he scoffed. “no.”

you blinked, startled by how immediate and certain he sounded. “what do you mean, ‘no’?”

“i mean no. that’s dumb. don’t say stuff like that.”

your chest tightened, and your fingers curled harder into the fabric of your sleeves. “but i wouldn’t be able to handle it if i didn’t,” you murmured. “if i had to be the one left behind. i just—” you took a shaky breath. “i don’t want to be the one who has to keep going without everyone else.”

seungmin’s jaw tensed, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. he just sat there, letting your words settle in the quiet between you.

then, with a sigh, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “do you think i would?” he asked, his voice low but firm.

you hesitated. “…what?”

he turned his head slightly, glancing at you. “do you think i’d be fine if you went first?”

the question caught you off guard. you stared at him, struggling to process the idea, the weight of it pressing against your ribs.

seungmin let out a soft, humorless laugh. “you’re not special, you know.” his voice wasn’t harsh, but there was something sharp underneath it. “you think you’re the only one who’d be wrecked? you think i’d just—what, move on?”

your breath caught.

“don’t be stupid,” he muttered, shaking his head. “i’d be pissed. and sad. and probably really, really pissed at everyone around me.” he huffed. “so no, you can’t go first. because i don’t want to deal with that.”

you stared at him, your throat tight. “seungmin—”

“too bad,” he interrupted, like that was the end of the discussion. then, softer, “you’re not leaving me either.”

you let out a small, breathy laugh against his hoodie. “god,” you mumbled, voice still thick with the remnants of your crying. “how are you so bad at comforting, ” you sniffled, shifting slightly against him. “but… somehow, i feel better anyway.”

there was a beat of silence before you felt his chest rise with a quiet sigh. “sounds like a you problem.”

your lips parted in disbelief. “are you serious right now?”

he hummed, completely unfazed. “you’ve just got bad taste in comfort.”

you pulled back slightly, just enough to glare up at him. “that’s not a thing, you ass.”

he raised an eyebrow. “then explain why you’re still clinging to me.”

your face heated, but you refused to let him win. “because i need it. and you just—” you swallowed, your fingers tightening slightly around the fabric of his hoodie. “happen to be here.”

you exhaled softly and, without thinking, slumped forward, resting your head against seungmin’s chest. his hoodie was warm, the fabric slightly worn, and beneath it, you could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in. his chin rested lightly on top of your head, and his hand found the small of your back.

seungmin blinked at you, then—without warning—let out a quiet laugh. it wasn’t mocking, not really, just a small, breathy chuckle. “why are we like this?” he asked, shaking his head slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes.

you frowned. “like what?”

“like…” he gestured vaguely between the two of you. “this. one second, we’re crying, and the next, you’re calling me an ass. it’s weird.”

you huffed. “it’s not weird.”

seungmin gave you a pointed look.

“…okay, maybe a little,” you admitted, sniffling. “but i don’t know. it just works.” you hesitated for a moment, your fingers still curled into the fabric of his hoodie. then, softer this time, you murmured, “and i don’t want that to change.”

seungmin stilled slightly, his head tilting just enough for him to look down at you. his expression wasn’t teasing anymore—just calm, steady. “it won’t.” then, without any hesitation, seungmin added, “as long as you know i love you.”

your breath caught, warmth spreading through your chest. you looked up at him, surprised but not really, because of course he’d say it like that—so casual, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

and maybe it was.

you exhaled softly smiling slightly, then leaned up just enough to bump your forehead lightly against his. “i love you too.”

then, before you could process it, he leaned in and kissed you.

it wasn’t rushed or urgent—just slow, steady, like he had all the time in the world. like this was something he’d thought about before but never quite let himself do until now. his hand found your cheek, fingers warm against your skin, tilting your face just enough to deepen the kiss.

you melted into him without thinking, your hands gripping the front of his hoodie to keep yourself grounded. the warmth of him, the quiet steadiness of the moment—it made your chest ache.

when he finally pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, you let out a soft, shaky breath.

“i’m glad you found me like this,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

seungmin didn’t hesitate. “i’ll always find you.”

your chest tightened, something deep and aching curling in your ribs. you opened your eyes to meet his, and for once, there was no teasing, no playful sarcasm—just him, just seungmin, looking at you like you were something worth holding onto.

“i mean it,” he continued, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. “no matter what. no matter where. i’ll always be with you.”

you let out a quiet breath before he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. then, he pulled you in again, arms wrapping around you like he could shield you from the world, like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.

and for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed him.

epilogue.

the scent of vanilla lingered in seungmin’s room at the dorm, mingling with the faint chill of february air slipping in through the window. the soft glow of fairy lights bathed everything in a golden hue, casting flickering shadows against the walls. it should’ve felt like any other night. but it didn’t.

because you were here with him.

seungmin turned the baseball cap over in his hands, his fingers tracing the stitching of a little heart next to his name. it was his present for valentine’s day, simple and classic—just his style. you’d been nervous about whether he’d actually like it, but judging by the way he kept admiring it, you had nothing to worry about.

“this is so nice,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. his thumb brushed over the small embroidered heart hidden on the inside, and a slow, satisfied smile tugged at his lips. “really nice.”

your stomach did an embarrassing little flip. “you like it?”

seungmin scoffed, glancing up at you with a look that made your breath catch. “obviously.”

and then, with that effortless ease of his, he slipped it onto his head—backwards, of course. like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. like he knew that the casual way he ran a hand through his dark hair, adjusting the fit, was going to make your heart trip over itself.

you swallowed. hard.

“that’s not how you’re supposed to wear it,” you muttered, if only to distract yourself.

seungmin let out a soft laugh, adjusting the cap one more time before pushing off his desk.

you barely had time to process the way he closed the space between you before he was kissing you—soft, sure, like it was second nature. his hands found your waist, tugging you just a little closer, and you barely managed to catch your breath before melting into him.

when he pulled back, his lips still ghosting over yours, he murmured, “thank you, y/n.”

your heart squeezed at the sincerity in his voice. you met his gaze, your hands still gripping the fabric of his sweater. “of course,” you whispered.

his lips curled into a smile. “you ready for yours?” seungmin took a step back, tilting his head toward the door. “come on,” he said, nodding for you to follow.

you frowned. “where are we going?”

he didn’t answer, just grabbed your wrist gently and tugged you along. his grip was warm, steady, and despite your confusion, you let him lead you out of your room and into the dimly lit hallway.

before you could ask again, from felix’s room, you heard a hushed, “shh.”

you blinked, confused, and turned to seungmin. without a word, he nudged the door open, and the sight inside made your breath catch. felix was crouched on the floor, his hands cradling the tiniest, cutest puppy you had ever seen.

a soft golden ball of fur with round eyes blinked up at felix, its tiny nose twitching as it snuggled closer into him. the moment it spotted movement, its little tail wagged.

your heart squeezed, and you gasped, stepping forward on instinct. “oh my goodness.”

felix grinned while walking over to you, then carefully—almost reverently—placed the tiny puppy in your arms. you barely processed the movement, too busy marveling at the warmth and softness of the small body now curled against your chest.

“oh my goodness,” you whispered again, cradling the little thing like it was made of glass. the puppy let out a tiny sigh, its nose nudging your sweater, already settling into you like it belonged there. you tore your gaze away just long enough to look up at him. “he’s perfect. he looks just like—”

felix nodded. “seungmin made sure of that.” he glanced over at seungmin, who was standing beside you with his hands in his pockets, watching your reaction with a satisfied smirk. “i don’t think you realize how picky he was about this whole thing.”

you blinked, looking at seungmin in surprise. “really?”

felix scoffed. “oh, absolutely. he made me visit like five different places with him just to find one that looked exactly like your old dog.”

your heart squeezed. you looked back down at the puppy, feeling an overwhelming rush of emotion. you turned to him, eyes soft. “you did that?”

seungmin rolled his eyes, like he was trying to play it off, but his ears were tinged pink. “well, yeah. i wasn’t gonna get you just any dog.”

you let out a soft laugh, still in awe. “i can’t believe you.”

felix then chimed in. “he’s got a ton of energy, you’re gonna have your hands full.”

you glanced down at the puppy, who was now settled in your arms, and smiled. “i don’t mind.”

felix grinned. “didn’t think you would.” he patted seungmin on the shoulder before stepping toward the door. “alright, i’ll leave you to it.”

you looked up. “felix, seriously. thank you.”

felix waved a hand. “yeah, yeah, just make sure seungmin doesn’t pretend he did all the work.” he shot seungmin a pointed look before slipping out of the room, leaving you alone with him—and your new puppy.

overwhelmed, you looked up at seungmin, your heart racing. he was watching you with that familiar, amused expression, lips twitching before he rolled his eyes.

“happy valentine’s day, you freak.”

you made a sound that wasn’t quite human, still in shock. “thank you, thank you, thank you! i love him!”

seungmin barely had time to react before you surged forward, wrapping your arm around him—careful not to squish the tiny dog between you. you pressed a quick, eager kiss to his lips, catching him slightly off guard, but he recovered fast, letting out a small laugh against your mouth.

“you’re so welcome,” he murmured, his hands finding your waist.

still buzzing with excitement, you pulled back just enough to nuzzle into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. he smelled warm and familiar—like fresh laundry and something unmistakably him.

“i can’t believe you did this,” you whispered against his skin, voice thick with emotion. “you’re actually the best.”

seungmin scoffed, though his grip on you tightened. “obviously.”

“i don’t know how to thank you,” you murmured.

he shrugged, his fingers slipping under the hem of your sweater, just barely grazing your skin. “just don’t forget who your favorite is.”

you blinked, then smirked. “between you and the dog?” seungmin gave you a warning look, but you only hummed playfully, tapping your chin like you were seriously debating it. “i mean… he’s really cute, seungmin.”

seungmin narrowed his eyes, pulling back slightly. “alright, that’s it. i’m returning him.”

your jaw dropped. “what? no!” you clutched the tiny puppy closer to your chest protectively, like seungmin was actually about to pry him from your arms.

“take it back,” he demanded, arms crossing over his chest.

you blinked at him, tilting your head slightly, all wide eyes and innocence. “take what back?”

seungmin inhaled sharply, as if willing himself to be patient. “don’t play with me, y/n.”

you barely held back a grin, feigning confusion. “i’m sorry minnie, i really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were doing this. “last chance,” he muttered, stepping closer.

you bit your lip, letting the anticipation build. then, just to push your luck a little further, you whispered, “never.” you giggled, reaching out to poke his cheek.

seungmin swatted your hand away. “i surprised you with the cutest valentine’s day gift ever, and you’re over here debating whether the dog is better than me.”

still cradling the sleepy puppy, you tilted your head, grinning. “you’re really worked up over this, huh?”

“i am not—” seungmin cut himself off, exhaling sharply before dragging a hand down his face. then, quieter, he muttered, “i just want to hear you say it.”

your heart clenched at how utterly serious he sounded, despite the dramatic display.

softening, you reached out, wrapping your free arm around his beck and pulling him close. “you are, you idiot,” you murmured against his chest.

seungmin stilled against you for a moment before pulling back just enough to look at you, his expression unreadable. “i’m what?”

you blinked up at him, already biting back a smile. “my favorite.”

his eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to decide whether you were messing with him again. “say it again.”

you rolled your eyes but indulged him anyway, pressing a hand against his chest. “you’re my favorite, seungmin.”

a slow, satisfied smirk tugged at his lips. “damn right, i am.”

you huffed, laughing softly. “god, you’re so annoying.”

seungmin rolled his eyes like you were being slow on purpose. “i love you too, idiot.”

you opened your mouth to argue—just out of sheer principle—but he kissed you before you could, effectively shutting you up.

and, really, you weren’t complaining

305 notes · View notes

astrcmoni · 21 hours ago

Text

୨♡୧⁀➷cupid’s kiss ୨♡୧⁀➷

MASTERLIST

synopsis: the city hums around you, a fleeting backdrop to roses, laughter, and the heat of her gaze. by night’s end, only tangled limbs and breathless whispers remain—fragments of a valentine’s you’ll never forget.

pairing: fem!reader x billie eilish

genre: fluff, smut

wc: 12.2k

warnings: car sex, cunnilingus (r! receiving), sexual teasing, talk of cum, making out ( let me know if i missed any)

authors note: i know this is coming out late but take it anyways. hope you enjoy this, happy valentine’s day everyone 💋

the soft melody of an old r&b song drifts quietly throughout your room, threading through the warm glow of the bedside lamp. the air is thick with the scent of vanilla and shea butter, settling into your skin like a second layer, like something familiar. your body sways slightly, hips moving in time with the slow rhythm, a motion so natural it feels like breathing.

your fingers find the lip liner with ease, wrapping delicately around its sleek body before lifting it to your mouth. the deep burgundy wax blooms against your skin as you trace the curve of your bottom lip, slow and steady, like painting something sacred. your cupid’s bow follows next, the tip of the pencil pressing just enough to carve out the shape, to sculpt without effort. your ring finger grazes the edge of your lips, the warmth of your skin melting the pigment just enough to blur the lines. slow, deliberate strokes soften the burgundy, blending it inward, fading like dusk into the fullness of your mouth. the color settles into something effortless, something lived-in—like you’ve been kissed, like you’ve kissed back.

your hand drifts to the tube of clear gloss lying discarded on your vanity, the light catching its sleek surface as your fingers wrap around it. you twist it open, pulling the wand free with a quiet pop before guiding it over your lips. the gloss drenches them in liquid shine, turning the deep berry into something richer, something decadent. it clings to every curve, catching the light with every slight movement. you part your lips just a little, watching how the gloss gleams, how it makes your mouth look fuller, softer—irresistible.

you lean back in your chair, eyes locked on your reflection, watching the way the gloss glows under the soft light. the burgundy, now hugged by gloss, looks like wine under candlelight—deep, warm, and impossible to ignore. you smack your lips together slightly, the wet sheen catching for a moment before settling again. satisfied, you reach up, fingers curling around one of the pinned rollers, sliding out the clip that holds it in place. the strand unfurls, falling in a soft wave against your shoulder.

this motion repeats, fingers working with practiced ease, unpinning each roller, letting the fresh blowout cascade around your face. the weight of your hair feels different now, lighter, freer. the song shifts, a familiar melody slipping through the speakers, and without thinking, your voice joins in—barely above a whisper, tracing the lyrics with quiet ease.

you reach for your black comb, running it through your hair, each strand slipping over the wide teeth like silk unraveling. the motion is rhythmic, soothing, a quiet kind of ritual that settles you further into the warmth of the moment.

the song playing is familiar, comforting—a melody wrapped in nostalgia, threaded with slow, honeyed vocals that make you feel like you’re sinking into something soft and golden. everything about this moment feels unhurried, like the night itself is waiting patiently for you to step into it. the scent of your perfume lingers in the air, a quiet presence mixing with the rhythm of the music, and for a second, you close your eyes, letting it all settle over you like a second skin.

nights like these make getting ready easy, slipping into the three-hour routine you’ve perfected over the years. there’s a tranquility in it, in the way you take your time, in the way you indulge yourself with each step. so when billie had told you earlier this week that on friday—valentine’s day—she was taking you out, you’d immediately started planning. appointments were booked, outfits were considered, and questions were asked, most of which she refused to answer, a teasing smile playing at the corners of her lips. “can’t give up the surprise,” she had murmured against your cheek, her breath warm, her fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. she did love to entertain your excitement, though, only telling you what she wanted you to know—just enough to keep you on edge, just enough to make you anticipate. dress cute but comfortable, that was all she’d given you, and somehow, it was enough.

the sound of keys jingling snaps you from your reverie, followed by the quiet creak of the front door unlocking, then locking again. a smile tugs at your lips, your heart picking up its pace just slightly as you hear the familiar weight of her footsteps approaching.

billie’s socks slide against the hardwood floor, the sound soft but distinct, accompanied by the light jangle of her keys in her pocket and the faint rustling of bags in her grasp. you don’t turn around just yet, but the curve of your lips deepens at the sound of her voice.

“baby, where are you?” her voice carries through the house, warm and familiar, wrapped in something easy, something tender.

“in here,” you call out, still running the comb through your hair, smoothing out the last few strands.

a few seconds later, she appears in the doorway, still bundled up from the february cold. the soft glow of your vanity lights catches the flushed pink of her cheeks, the tip of her nose slightly red from the chill. the red roots of her hair peek out from under her beanie, strands slipping loose beneath the hood of her sweatshirt. her eyes find yours instantly, flickering with something warm, something knowing.

she steps inside the room, making her way toward you, the scent of winter clinging to her clothes—cold air and something faintly sweet, like the bakery she always stops at on her way home.

your head tilts slightly to the left as you notice her hands hidden behind her back, her body language giving her away before she even speaks.

“hi, mama,” she starts, her voice soft, threaded with something breathless, like she rushed home just to give you whatever she’s holding.

she reveals her hands, stretching them toward you, and your breath catches just slightly. deep red roses, wrapped in crisp black paper, petals full and velvety to the touch. the contrast is striking—the darkness of the wrapping making the red stand out even richer, deeper. it’s intentional, you know that. billie has always had a way of making things feel like more than just gestures.

you turn fully to face her, your hands lifting as you take the bouquet, your nails grazing over the back of her hands in the process, a fleeting touch that makes her fingers twitch slightly. your fingertips brush the petals in quiet admiration, feeling the delicate texture beneath them. the scent fills your nose, heady and intoxicating—rich yet soft, like something meant to linger.

billie watches you, studying your reaction, the corner of her lip twitching like she’s holding back a smirk. there’s something in the way she looks at you—like she’s memorizing every detail, like she’s already picturing you in her arms later tonight. the warmth of it spreads through you, slow and deliberate, settling in your chest like a steady flame.

“these are gorgeous, babe. thank you.”

you tuck the flowers against your arm before reaching up, fingers finding the familiar warmth of her face. her skin is cool from the outside air, but she leans into your touch instinctively, eyes half-lidded, lips curving into something soft.

“it was nothing much, but you’re welcome.”

she inches closer, her breath warm against your lips before they finally meet—soft, lingering, unhurried. the kiss is brief but enough to send a slow shiver down your spine, enough to make her chase your lips when you pull away. her mouth parts slightly, instinctively, like she wasn’t ready to let you go just yet.

you chuckle under your breath, running your thumb over her lips, the smooth acrylic gliding over her plump skin—slightly sticky from your gloss. she lets out a soft hum at the touch, and just as her hands start to settle on your waist, you gently push her back.

“actually,” you start, rising from your vanity with ease before walking toward your side of the shared closet. “i have something for you too.”

billie watches you with open curiosity, shifting her weight, eyes following every move you make. she tugs at the hem of her hoodie absentmindedly as you crouch down, disappearing slightly into the closet’s dim interior.

your hands glide over folded sweaters, past stacked shoeboxes, feeling your way toward the back until your fingers brush against the satin ribbon-wrapped handle of the basket you’ve been carefully putting together for the past few days. you lift it gently, pulling it into the light, and stand, turning toward billie with a small smile as you stretch the basket toward her.

her eyes widen slightly, face lighting up as she takes it, fingers tracing over the red bow with something reverent. she shifts the weight of it in her hands, eyes scanning the contents nestled carefully in soft pink tissue paper—the little details that only you would think of, the things you know she’d love.

a candle that smells like vanilla and warm musk, the kind she always lights the second she gets home. a handwritten letter, its rose-colored envelope sealed with a kiss of your burgundy lip liner. a small plushie tucked beside her favorite snacks, something soft, something sentimental. and at the very center, a small box tied with a silk ribbon, holding a delicate bracelet that catches the light just enough to glint, subtle but intentional—just like her.

her smile spreads into a grin, the small gems on her teeth catching the glow of your vanity lights. she lifts her gaze back to you, something playful settling in her eyes.

“are you trying to one-up me?”

“always.” your response is immediate, your voice carrying the same playful lilt as hers.

billie exhales a soft laugh before setting the basket down carefully on your vanity, her fingers lingering on the ribbon for a moment before she turns back to you. without hesitation, she steps in close, arms slipping around your torso as she pulls you into her warmth.

you melt into it, arms looping around the back of her neck, fingers instinctively tangling together as your thumbs rest against her skin. her red roots brush against your knuckles, the smaller pieces of hair swaying slightly as you rub slow circles into the nape of her neck.

she leans down again, lips finding yours in a kiss slower than the last—soft, sweet, deep enough to make your breath hitch. it’s just enough to leave you wanting more before she pulls away, a quiet smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“i gotta shower,” she murmurs, eyes flicking over you with something unreadable, something lingering. “but thank you for the gifts.”

her hands slide from your waist, moving with purpose, fingers trailing over each curve of your body as she makes her way up to where your hands rest against her neck. carefully, she unlaces your fingers from each other before cupping them in her own, holding them between you like something precious.

she squeezes once, gentle but firm, like a silent promise.

“i’ll be quick,” she adds, voice low, almost teasing. “don’t miss me too much.”

she takes a step back, her blue eyes raking over you in slow, deliberate strokes, like she’s committing every inch of you to memory.

your brow quirks in light confusion. “what? do i have something on me?”

billie huffs out a small laugh before reaching for your hand, lifting it above your head with gentle ease. “nah,” she murmurs, spinning you slowly. the skirt of your dress fans out as you move, fabric catching the soft glow of the vanity lights. when you come back around to face her, her smile has deepened, something playful tugging at her lips. “just admiring, that’s all.”

your eyes roll instinctively, but the warmth spreading across your chest betrays you. placing your hands on her chest, you give her a gentle push, the fabric of her hoodie soft beneath your palms. “will you hurry and go clean up so we can go?”

“pushy, pushy,” she teases, but she leans in anyway, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, her lips lingering for a second longer than necessary. the hum she lets out vibrates against your skin before she pulls away, fingers already toying with the hem of her hoodie. she strips down with ease, leaving a trail of discarded clothes as she makes her way toward the connecting bathroom.

you shake your head at the mess she leaves behind, turning your attention to the bouquet still in your arms. you place the roses in a vase, arranging them carefully, the deep red petals almost glowing against the dim light of the room. the scent of them mixes with the faint traces of billie’s cologne still clinging to the air, something warm, something familiar.

the sound of water rushing through the pipes fills the space, followed by the muffled slide of the shower door.

“so, are you excited for tonight?” billie’s voice carries over the hiss of the water.

“i would be if i knew what it was, billie.”

“the whole point of a surprise date is so that it can be that—a surprise,” she teases. “just trust me, babe.”

you hum thoughtfully, bare feet padding softly against the carpet as you make your way to the bathroom. heat rises to greet you, steam curling around the glass shower door, clinging to the mirror. you lean against the doorframe, watching as billie’s figure shifts behind the fogged glass, her movements slow and unhurried.

“should i be worried?” you ask, voice laced with playful suspicion.

“no, not at all,” she says smoothly. “but you might wanna wear something cute and comfortable.”

“so, no heels then?”

she hums, considering. “mm… not tonight. your boots would look really cute with your fit.” a pause. “but you’ll still look fine as hell no matter what you decide.”

you shake your head, grinning. “flatterer.”

billie laughs, the sound soft and unfiltered, mixing with the warmth of the room. you stay there, talking about everything and nothing, letting the conversation weave between teasing remarks and familiar comforts.

soon enough, the water cuts off, the steam thick in the air as billie steps out. a towel is wrapped loosely around her torso, droplets of water still clinging to her skin, trailing slow paths down the curves of her body. the scent of her vanilla body wash wraps around you as she moves past, something rich and sweet, something undeniably her.

your eyes follow her, drawn to the way her damp hair drips against the towel slung around her shoulders, how her fingers comb through the strands with ease. she moves toward her side of the dresser, pulling out pieces of clothing with the same quiet deliberation she does everything else.

she hums softly as she gets dressed, a song that’s been playing faintly in the background, one you hadn’t even realized she was paying attention to. your gaze lingers as she buttons up her black shirt, her fingers sliding each button into its designated slot with ease. the fabric molds against her frame, and your focus catches on the slight flex of her biceps as she adjusts the cuffs, rolling them up just enough to reveal the lines of ink along her hand.

her eyes flick up toward the mirror, lips twitching into a smirk when she catches your gaze in the reflection. the soft glow of the vanity lights frames her features, turning her crystalline blue eyes into something almost ethereal, something impossible to look away from.

“you getting distracted?” she teases, slipping rings onto her fingers with practiced ease, the metal gliding against her skin. she picks up a delicate chain next, fastening the clasp at the nape of her neck, all without breaking eye contact.

“what? no, shut up,” you mutter, fighting the smile tugging at your lips. the warmth in her stare makes your stomach flip, but you ignore it, turning your attention to your jewelry box instead.

the sable black wood is smooth beneath your fingertips, the hinges sighing softly as you lift the lid. inside, nestled among delicate chains and glinting rings, rests a golden watch—slim, dainty, timeless. the light catches on its polished surface, tracing over the fine links of its bracelet, the minimalist face gleaming under the glow of the room.

with careful fingers, you lift it from its place, the cool metal whispering against your skin as you drape it over your wrist. the clasp clicks softly as you fasten it, the weight settling against you like it was made to be there. the gold catches the light, warm and radiant, an understated elegance that feels like a quiet kind of power.

you reach back into the box, extracting a necklace, its chain the same golden shade as your watch, its charm a simple letter. the ‘b’ sways lightly between your fingers, gleaming under the soft light. before you can put it on, billie stretches out her hand, palm up, a silent request.

you don’t hesitate. you never do.

stepping behind you, billie takes both ends of the necklace, the cool metal hovering just above your collarbone as her fingers slide over the clasp. her touch is featherlight, the brief brush of her knuckles against your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. she hooks the clasp into place, then adjusts the necklace so the charm rests perfectly at the base of your throat.

but she doesn’t step away just yet.

her hands skim down your sides, fingertips grazing the fabric of your dress before settling on your hips. her eyes meet yours in the mirror, a silent moment stretching between you, filled with something unspoken, something deep.

your own initial rests boldly against her neck, a silver version instead of gold, the contrast striking yet complementary. a matched set, tied together in quiet devotion.

billie breaks the silence first, her voice soft but sure. “c’mon, we better go before we’re late.”

her fingers lace through yours, warm and familiar, and she leads you downstairs without another word.

you both move in sync, slipping on your shoes, grabbing your belongings with the kind of effortless ease that only comes with time. the door swings open, and the cool night air greets you, crisp and full of promise.

and just like that, you step out into the night, hand in hand.

the restaurant hums with low chatter and the soft clinking of silverware, but in your little corner booth, the world feels quieter, smaller—just the two of you wrapped up in each other. the dim lighting bathes the table in a soft amber glow, reflecting off wine glasses, the edges of flickering candlelight, and the soft sheen of your girlfriend’s silver jewelry, each little detail seeming to highlight the intimacy between you.

dinner feels like a secret, just the two of you tucked into the booth, close enough that your thighs press together, the warmth of her body a constant against yours. the room is alive with the sounds of the evening, but here, it’s just you two—the scent of rich food and something faintly floral lingering in the air, heavy with comfort and quiet affection.

instead of sitting across from each other, billie pulls you in beside her, her arm draped casually around the back of your seat, fingers lightly grazing your shoulder.

“you look so pretty,” she murmurs, her voice soft but sure, fingers tracing lazy, comforting patterns over your thigh, each stroke a promise, a reassurance.

you turn your head slightly, catching the fond smile tugging at her lips, the way her eyes soften when she looks at you. “you’ve said that three times already.”

she shrugs, her lips curling into an easy smile, unfazed by your teasing. “and i’ll say it again and again. and again.”

you roll your eyes playfully, but your heart flutters at the simplicity of the compliment. the sincerity of it makes the moment feel like something sacred, tucked away just for the two of you.

you lean into her side, your head coming to rest on a familiar shoulder, and breathe her in. her scent is intoxicating—vanilla with something deeper, more complex, something both soft and strong, feminine and masculine in perfect harmony. it clings to her skin, lingering in the collar of her shirt, curling into the space between you both, the scent threading through the warmth that lingers in the air.

“you smell so good,” you murmur, voice soft, just above a whisper, letting the words dissolve between your lips and her neck, filling the space around you with the quiet, tender intimacy of the moment.

billie huffs out a small laugh, fingers still toying with the lace of your stockings where her hand rests on your thigh. “i sure would hope so,” she teases, the smirk evident in her voice even before she presses a slow, deliberate kiss to the top of your head, her lips warm against the crown of your hair.

“why can’t you ever just accept the compliment?” the back of your hand meets her chest in a gentle hit, teasing but full of affection.

a soft chuckle escapes billie, her fingers still tracing idle patterns along your thigh. with a shift, she pulls out her phone, the screen lighting up in the dim atmosphere as she angles it to capture the moment. she snaps a few pictures—one with your faces close, the other where she leans in just enough to plant a kiss on your temple. her lips curl into a playful grin as she murmurs, “i hope you know that you’re really pretty.”

the phone is set aside, forgotten, discarded in favor of the quiet moment shared between you, the flashes of her smile and the soft hum of her voice lingering in the air, more cherished than any photograph could ever capture.

not long after, your plates arrive, the scent of rich spices and warm dishes curling into the air, drawing you both back to the present. you straighten just enough to reach for your fork, but billie’s arm doesn’t leave your side, her fingers still tracing small, absent patterns over the lace of your stockings.

dinner is slow, unhurried. you steal bites from each other’s plates, laughing at the most random things, exchanging soft kisses that feel like nothing and everything all at once—moments so small but somehow monumental in their own way. the world outside this booth fades into the background as you talk about everything from childhood memories to plans for the future.

the night is intimate, effortless—woven together with the kind of love that doesn’t need grand gestures or fireworks, just the softness of shared space, quiet compliments, the lightest touches, and the way your scents linger together in the small moments.

by the time dessert arrives, the last remnants of dinner sit on the table—half-empty glasses, a shared dessert plate with only a few crumbs left behind. the warmth of the evening lingers still, like the soft, steady beat of her heart beneath your palm. billie’s arm is still around you, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles against your hip, the world outside the restaurant fading into something almost dreamlike.

billie reaches for the black checkbook the waiter left behind, flipping it open with a practiced flick of her wrist. her gaze lingers on the receipt for a moment, brows lifting slightly at the total, before she hums in approval, a quiet, satisfied sound that melts into the warm, dim atmosphere of the restaurant.

with your head still resting on her shoulder, you tilt your chin just enough to steal a glance at the numbers, your lips curling into a playful smirk. “not bad,” you murmur, your voice low, teasing, the words slipping out like a secret only the two of you share.

she lets out a soft chuckle, nudging you gently with her elbow. “you got a pen?” she asks, tapping the checkbook with her fingertips, the quiet request cutting through the gentle hum of the restaurant. “they forgot to bring one.”

without hesitation, you reach for your purse, fingers sifting through its contents, the familiar feel of soft leather under your fingertips grounding you in this quiet moment. you pull out a sleek, black pen, placing it in her waiting hand, watching as she takes it with a quick, fluid motion.

you watch as she signs the tip portion first, the ink gliding smoothly over the paper in practiced strokes, the sound of the pen scratching against the paper almost melodic in the stillness. then, with a small flourish, she signs off at the bottom—B.E. the letters are clean, effortless, holding a quiet confidence, the kind that’s always been so distinctly her. the way she carries herself, even in the smallest gestures, leaves an imprint on everything she touches.

after capping the pen and handing it back, your girlfriend slips a hand behind her phone, pulling out her sleek black american express card tucked safely in its case. the metal glints in the dim lighting as she slides it into the pocket of the checkbook with a satisfying tap, the motion final, almost ceremonial, as if everything is in its place now.

“there,” she leans in, her voice low and smooth against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “all taken care of. so, are you ready for part two?” the waiter comes back around to your table, taking the little black book and slipping away to the back.

your hands wrap around her forearm, pulling her a little closer as you lift an eyebrow, brows shooting up in surprise at her question. “there’s more?”

“baby, there’s always more.” she grins, lips widening into that familiar, knowing smile of hers. she shifts slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, the gesture tender, the warmth of her lips lingering.

your eyes wander around the restaurant, your mind spinning with endless possibilities of what could be next, the anticipation building. “where are we going?”

she smirks, slipping the black card back into her phone once the waiter returns, the subtle click of the card’s return echoing between you. “that’s for me to know and you to find out.” her tone is teasing, playful, as if she holds all the answers, but she’s not giving anything away just yet.

you purse your lips, trying to stop yourself from rolling your eyes for the thousandth time that night at her crypticness. but the corner of your mouth lifts, betraying the smile that threatens to break free. sliding out of the booth, billie stands, offering her hand to help you out of your seat, the warmth of her palm a comfort against yours. you take it without thinking, the connection between you electric, her hand soft but firm in yours.

she pulls you into a quick kiss, a soft press of her lips to yours, pulling away with a small hum of satisfaction before intertwining your fingers again. without missing a beat, she pulls you toward the door, your steps in sync, the cool night air just beyond, waiting to greet you both.

turns out, part two is top golf.

you burst out laughing as soon as she parks the car, the sound echoing into the quiet night. “seriously?” you ask, incredulous.

she grins, unbuckling her seatbelt with that familiar confident flick of her wrist. “what? you thought i was gonna take you to some bougie rooftop?”

“i don’t know what i thought,” you admit, still chuckling. “wasn’t expecting this though. but just so you know, i’m gonna win and whoop your ass in the process.”

“if you say so,” she replies, her voice laced with playful arrogance. “we all know i’m the real mvp when it comes to this.” the competitive fire in her voice sparks yours, and just like that, the trash talk begins.

the night air is crisp as billie opens the car door and steps out, the neon blue and green lights from the towering topgolf building ahead casting a vibrant glow that dances across her face. you pull your jacket tighter around you, feeling the cool bite of the night, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of your competitive banter. billie jogs around to your side, opening the door for you with a proud little smirk.

“chivalry isn’t dead, i see,” you tease, taking her hand as she helps you out of the car, your fingers intertwining effortlessly.

she winks, that signature glint in her eyes. “not when it comes to you.”

you round the car, making your way to the trunk. with the press of a button, the trunk pops open, and you dig around until you find what you’re looking for—a pair of random sneakers that somehow always end up in each other’s cars. you quickly slide off your boots, switching them out for the more comfortable pair of shoes before slipping your hand back into billie’s.

together, you make your way to the building, your footsteps light but purposeful.

inside, the atmosphere is buzzing—low music hums over the speakers, filling the space with an easy energy. the scent of fresh food and warm pretzels hangs in the air, mixing with the excitement that pulses through the crowd. billie leads the way, her fingers laced through yours, guiding you toward a private bay on the upper level.

you step out onto the platform, the cool breeze kissing your skin as you take in the sight of the open-air range stretched out before you. small targets glow in various colors across the field, the soft thrum of the city’s skyline flickering faintly in the distance. the air is crisp and clean, nipping at your skin with the promise of something new.

“i won’t lie, this is pretty cool,” you admit, leaning against the railing, your voice quieter now, soaking in the moment. “didn’t expect this for valentine’s, though.”

billie grins, grabbing a golf club from the rack, her fingers curling around it with the same ease she handles everything else. “you know i like to keep you on your toes.”

she moves toward the tee, rolling her shoulders like she’s about to do something serious. you cross your arms over your chest, watching her with a mixture of admiration and amusement. she plants her feet, squares her shoulders, and grips the club with entirely too much confidence, as if she’s the queen of golf—never mind that she’s never swung a club in her life.

“you’ve never golfed before, have you?” you ask, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“nope,” she replies confidently, rolling her shoulders again, a small huff escaping her. “but i’ve watched golf before. can’t be that hard.”

you stifle a laugh, shaking your head. “famous last words. okay, we’ll see.”

“watch and learn, baby.” she takes a deep breath, a focused look crossing her face as she swings the club—

—and completely misses the ball.

a laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it, and you quickly cover your mouth to stifle it, but the sound escapes anyway. she straightens up, staring down at the untouched ball with a look of pure betrayal, as if it’s personally offended her.

“that was practice,” she mutters, giving you a look of mock annoyance.

“uh huh, sure it was,” you tease, barely holding back another laugh.

she tries again—this time, she makes contact, but the ball barely rolls off the tee, a soft, unimpressive nudge that doesn’t go anywhere near the target. you double over laughing now, unable to hold it in, while billie pouts, gripping the club like she’s debating throwing it across the range.

she tries once more, swinging with more force this time, the ball barely rolling off the tee again, stopping embarrassingly short of the edge.

“oh wow,” you say, feigning awe, crossing your arms. “real impressive, tiger woods.”

billie groans, dragging a hand down her face in exasperation. “this shit is so annoying.”

you step toward her, shaking your head fondly. “here, let me help.”

“okay, first of all, that’s not how you hold it,” you say, sliding in behind her, your voice warm against her ear. you wrap your arms around her waist, gently guiding her hands to the club. billie relaxes against you, her body fitting perfectly with yours as she tilts her head just enough for her nose to brush against your cheek.

“this is just an excuse to be all over me, isn’t it?” she murmurs, her voice dropping low, just enough to send a shiver down your spine, making your heart beat a little faster.

you smirk, letting your hands linger longer than necessary as you adjust her grip. “maybe.”

her breath is soft on your skin as you guide her through the motion, adjusting her stance, speaking in a calm, steady whisper. she listens intently, her usual cocky confidence melting into something else—vulnerable, trusting. you pull her arms back with yours before swinging forward together, your hearts aligned for just a moment. when she swings this time, the ball sails smoothly through the air, slicing the cool night sky before landing in one of the further targets.

billie gasps, her eyes wide in disbelief, and then she breaks into a triumphant cheer. “did you see that?”

you laugh, clapping along with her, unable to stop the smile from spreading across your face. “okay, i’ll give you that one.”

“i’m such a natural,” she says smugly, grabbing another ball with a flourish, her pride practically radiating from her. “bet i can do it again.”

she tries. and she fails.

you don’t even bother hiding your laughter this time, the sound spilling out freely, echoing in the open space. billie glares at the club, as though it’s personally betrayed her, before she sets it down with a dramatic sigh, her shoulders slumping in mock defeat.

“alright, your turn,” she declares, grabbing your hand and pulling you forward, her fingers warm and confident in yours.

you smirk, stepping up to the tee. “are you sure? i really don’t wanna embarrass you more than i already have.”

“girl, please,” billie scoffs, crossing her arms with a raised brow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “let’s see what you got.”

“don’t say i didn’t tell you so,” you warn, your voice playful, but with a hint of challenge. billie rolls her eyes but can’t quite hide the smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

grabbing the club from her hand, you turn back to the tee, adjusting your stance, lining up your shot with precision. the cool air brushes against your face, but all you feel is the steady calm in your chest. you take a steady breath, the world slowing down as you pull back. and then you swing—watching as the ball soars effortlessly through the air, its trajectory perfect, landing dead center in one of the smaller, harder-to-hit targets.

you smile to yourself, turning to billie, who’s staring at you with wide eyes and a mock pout. “well, i guess i did warn you,” you say, voice light but triumphant.

billie crosses her arms over her chest, her grin impossible to suppress. “alright, alright. you’re good. but i’m still gonna beat you next round.”

billie lets out a low whistle, her gaze lingering on you with a mischievous smile. “well damn. look at you.”

you grin, turning toward her, an eyebrow arched in playful challenge. “what, impressed?”

she gestures lazily toward the club in your hand, her lips curling into a half-smirk. “nah, just realizing i have no shot at winning.”

“it’s all love for the game, baby. all love.” you tease, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek before handing her back the golf club, your fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

the night stretches on, the air growing cooler but the energy between you two never faltering. playful bets are made, stolen kisses shared, and competitive spirits run high, but it’s never about the score—it’s the moments in between, the laughter, the teasing, the way your fingers always seem to find each other in the quietest moments.

at some point, billie decides she’s had enough of golf and just wants to watch you play. she leans against the railing, her chin resting in her hands, her eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing worth looking at. her smile is soft but mischievous, and every time you line up a shot, she can’t resist making sly comments.

“bet you can’t hit that red target.”

you take a breath, steady your stance, and with a smooth swing, you nail it. the ball rips through the air, landing right in the center of the red target.

billie’s eyes widen, a laugh escaping her lips. “i mean, okay, but can you do it again?”

you don’t even hesitate, stepping up and lining up your shot once more. this time, you hit it even more effortlessly, the ball flying through the air with a perfect arc, landing in the same spot.

billie’s mouth drops open in awe, a laugh escaping her. “oh,” she says, blinking rapidly as if she’s trying to process what just happened. “so you’ve clearly done this before.”

you glance at her, a smirk tugging at your lips as you shrug casually. “i told you i was gonna win. all them summers working at the country clubs are finally paying off.”

her gaze softens as she looks at you, something between admiration and amusement twinkling in her eyes. “you’re a showoff, you know that?”

“maybe,” you reply with a wink. “but you love it.”

when the game winds down and the competitive fire starts to fade, the two of you pack up the equipment and make your way back to the car. hand in hand, you walk in comfortable silence, the sounds of the night around you soft and distant. the car sits idly in the driveway, the engine’s hum now silenced, but neither of you makes a move to get out just yet.

the warmth of the evening clings to you both—the laughter, the touches, the shared moments. you lean into one another, heads resting against the soft leather of the car seats, letting the night wash over you. the radio hums low in the background, filling the quiet space between breaths, the soft melody a perfect contrast to the silence surrounding you.

billie traces lazy circles on your knee, her fingers moving with an absent rhythm as she speaks in a softer tone, her voice barely louder than the hum of the radio.

“i just can’t believe…” she begins, her voice trailing off as she drops her head against your shoulder, pressing a soft smooch against the exposed skin of your neck. you feel the warmth of her breath, the weight of her presence, before she continues, her voice playful but with an edge of disbelief. “i got hustled on valentine’s day.”

you chuckle softly, a grin tugging at your lips. “i told you that i would beat you, did i not?”

“you did, you did.” her body shakes with laughter, the sound rich and deep, filling the car with warmth. the vibrations of her amusement carry through her body, against yours, and you close your eyes for a moment, letting the sensation wash over you. she tilts her head slightly, looking up at you with that familiar glint in her eyes. “did you have fun?” she asks, her voice soft, almost tender, as if she already knows the answer.

you glance at her, caught in the way the streetlights reflect in her eyes, the way the soft curve of her lips pulls at your heart. something about this moment, about her, feels like it’s suspended in time.

“yeah,” you murmur, leaning into her, feeling her warmth seep into your skin. “i really did. thank you.”

you shift slightly, turning towards her. your hands find her face, cupping it gently, your thumb brushing over the soft skin of her cheek. you tilt her chin upward with your fingers, and she meets your gaze, her lashes fluttering slightly as if she’s still processing the moment. you don’t rush it. you take your time, breathing her in, feeling the weight of her in your arms. you brush your nose against hers, the tip of your lips grazing her skin, before closing the space between you.

when your lips meet hers, the kiss is slow, tender—a stark contrast to the fiery ones you shared earlier in the night. it lingers, soft and sweet, and when you pull back, your hand still rests gently on her jaw, your breath mingling with hers. your eyes trace over her face, soaking in the small details—the way the moonlight dances across her freckled skin, the cool acrylic of your nails making contact with her soft skin beneath her eyes. her blue eyes meet yours through thick lashes, steady and knowing.

you push a stray lock of hair behind her ear, admiring the vibrant red gradient in her hair. the soft, colorful streaks stand out against the dim light, adding to the allure of the moment. “my pretty lady,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath, your words falling into the quiet void of the night.

billie’s lips curl into a small, knowing smile, her eyes soft and full of affection. her hand drifts to the side of your neck, cupping it gently. she pulls you closer, bringing your lips back to hers in a kiss that’s even more lingering, more desperate this time. her fingers tighten slightly around your neck as she murmurs, “c’mere.”

her voice is soft, but the way she tugs you forward, the way her fingers press against your skin—there’s no hesitation in her touch. no second-guessing.

you shift your body, moving onto your knees and climbing over the center console, settling yourself into her lap like you’ve done it a hundred times before. the familiarity of her body beneath yours feels like home. billie tilts her head back, her eyes heavy with desire, and she looks up at you, her hands already smoothing over your hips, guiding you closer.

you lean down again, kissing her once more. this time, it’s deeper, slower. no rush. just the two of you, lost in the quiet space of the night, in the warmth of each other. her fingers trace over your body as the kiss deepens, and everything else—the world outside, the night, the distractions—fades away, leaving only the feeling of her lips, the softness of her touch, and the rhythm of your hearts beating together.

billie’s fingers slip under the hem of your dress, tracing slow, teasing patterns along your hips, the light touch sending electric shivers up your spine. her lips move against yours with a quiet urgency, each kiss deepening, pulling you closer into her orbit. the taste of her—of warmth, of something sweet and just a little dangerous—lingers on your tongue. she sighs softly as your hand slides into her hair, your nails grazing her scalp just enough to make her shiver beneath your touch.

the moment stretches, pulling you both deeper into it, a world of soft breaths and whispered sighs until you finally break apart, just enough to catch your breath. the air between you feels thick, charged with something both tender and intoxicating.

and then you notice it.

a faint tint of your lip gloss smudged against billie’s mouth, glistening faintly under the dim light, a soft shimmer against the dark of the night. you blink, your lips curling into a small, knowing smile. then, you let out a quiet laugh, the sound soft but playful.

she frowns slightly, brows knitting together in mock confusion. “what?”

you swipe a thumb over the corner of her lips, smirking as you catch the gloss. “you got a little something there.”

billie blinks, feigning confusion, her eyes wide as if she’s innocent in all of this. “huh. weird.”

you tilt your head, the corner of your mouth twitching into a grin. “oh my god, were you kissing a girl?”

billie gasps, her eyes widening in mock horror, hands rising to her face as if she’s genuinely scandalized. “what? no, ew. i would never. didn’t even know you could kiss a girl.”

you narrow your eyes playfully, dabbing at the smudge again with your thumb, a sly grin creeping onto your lips. “mhm. sure. then where’d this lip gloss come from?”

her lips twitch, fighting the urge to smirk. she tilts her head slightly, the glint of mischief in her eyes as she leans closer. “i don’t know, maybe i just like the taste.”

you snort, the sound escaping before you can stop it. “i knew you liked wearing my lip gloss. every time i put a new coat on, you’re there to take it off.”

billie hums in amusement, letting her hands slide lower over your thighs, her touch warm and possessive as she pulls you closer. “i only like it when it tastes like you.”

her fingers tighten slightly around your hips, pulling you just a little closer as her breath warms the space between you. she murmurs, her voice low and teasing, “what flavor is this, anyways, hm?”

you barely get the word—cherry—out before she’s leaning back in, her lips pressing to yours in a kiss that’s slow, deep, and all-encompassing. she tastes the answer for herself, her mouth devouring yours with an intensity that makes your pulse race.

billie’s lips are warm and insistent against yours, a steady rhythm pulsing between you. her hands are firm on your hips, guiding you closer as she presses you down against her lap. it’s like she can’t get enough, pulling you closer still, urging your bodies to align. the teasing, playful pace from earlier has shifted into something heavier now, something more desperate, more urgent. a charge fills the air, and you know there’s no turning back from this.

her hands move with purpose, effortlessly sliding your jacket off and tossing it into the passenger seat. she crawls back up, fingers slipping under the hem of your dress, tracing the sensitive curve of your spine as she leans in, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses down the line of your jaw. your breath hitches, and you tip your head to the side, exposing more of your neck as she continues her slow descent, her lips brushing over the sensitive skin there.

billie hums softly against you, the sound vibrating against your skin, before her tongue flicks out, teasing before she sucks gently at the spot. her teeth graze your skin lightly, just enough to send a jolt of heat through you. the sting is subtle but enough to make you shudder, and she feels it, her grin widening as she pulls back slightly, knowing she’s marked you.

you hesitate for only a moment, fingers fumbling at the buttons of her black shirt, your freshly done acrylics not quite cooperating. you huff, frustration creeping in as you try again, but each button seems to taunt you, stubborn and unyielding.

billie notices the shift, the slight furrow of your brows, the barely-there frustration in your movements. she chuckles softly, her lips brushing over the sensitive skin of your throat as she murmurs, “i’ll let you rip off my shirt,” her voice low, almost playful. “if you let me rip off your stockings.”

you immediately shake your head, a small, defiant smirk tugging at your lips. “hell no.”

her teeth graze your collarbone, a teasing bite that sends a shiver down your spine. “why not?” she asks, her voice dripping with mischief.

“because i like these stockings,” you argue, fingers still fumbling at her shirt. “you’ll ruin them.”

she raises an eyebrow, her smirk only deepening. “you’re literally about to ruin my shirt.”

her hands slide lower, smoothing over the sensitive skin of your thighs, and your resolve weakens. you bite your lip, still determined to win this little battle, but the buttons refuse to cooperate. billie watches you for a moment longer, her breath warm against your skin, before she lets out a soft laugh.

“just rip it, baby,” she whispers, her voice slipping into something softer, something more inviting. it’s a command wrapped in honeyed sweetness.

you glance at her, lips parted, hesitating for just a heartbeat before you finally give in. gripping the fabric of her shirt in your fists, you yank, feeling the fabric tear free with a satisfying rip. the buttons scatter across the floor of the car, a soft clatter lost beneath the hum of the engine. her shirt falls open, revealing the lacy red bra beneath, the smoothness of her skin glowing under the dim light.

billie groans, a low sound that sends another wave of heat rushing through you. her smirk widens as she takes in the moment, teasing, “see? that wasn’t so hard.”

you exhale, half amused, half breathless. “you’re ridiculous.”

she hums, hands sliding back up your thighs, fingertips brushing the tops of your stockings with a deliberate slowness. “mmm. and you still have these on,” she says, her voice soft with amusement.

you barely have time to react before her fingers hook under the thin material of your stockings, pulling with a sudden, almost greedy force. they rip apart with a sharp sound, fabric tearing easily, and you’re left breathless at the sound of it echoing between you.

“billie—” you gasp, your words cutting off as she grins at you, the heat in her eyes unmistakable.

she leans in, kissing you again, her hands gripping your bare thighs now, her touch firm and possessive as she pulls you closer, pressing you flush against her. she’s got you exactly where she wants you, and in that moment, you realize she always has.

the car feels smaller with every passing second, the space between you two shrinking with each touch. billie’s hands are everywhere—on your hips, your thighs, your back—and it only takes a slight shift for her to pull you closer. her lips find your neck with a hunger that leaves you breathless, pressing kisses along your pulse, each one lingering, tasting, claiming you. you can feel the heat of her body radiating against yours, the way her chest rises and falls with each steady breath, the rhythm syncing with the soft hum of the car, vibrating the air between you two.

billie’s lips tease your skin in that slow, deliberate way she knows drives you crazy. she finds a tender spot along your collarbone, sucking gently, and you can’t help but gasp. your hands slide into her hair, fingers gripping the strands as you pull her closer, your body melting into her touch, giving in to the way she makes you feel.

you want to tear away every last bit of space between you, want to feel every inch of her pressed against you, but there’s something intoxicating about how she keeps you on the edge, never letting you get too comfortable, too settled.

billie’s fingers trail over your bare thighs, skimming dangerously close to the places you crave her touch, but always pulling away before you can get the release you want. your hips shift, grinding ever so slightly against hers, the movement subtle but enough to make her gasp, her lips parting against your mouth as she leans into you.

“billie,” you murmur, voice strained, thick with desire.

she smiles against your skin, that familiar mischievous grin tugging at her lips, before pressing another soft kiss to your pulse. “i know. i know,” she breathes, her voice low, full of that dangerous teasing she knows you can’t resist.

your hands run over the half-ruined buttons of her shirt, the black fabric hanging off her shoulders, and your fingers graze the warmth of her skin underneath. billie shivers under your touch, her breath hitching as your nails lightly scrape down her chest, sending a shiver of her own through you.

restlessly, you shift in her lap, pressing your hips against hers again. the friction makes your breath catch, your body aching for more, and billie groans, her hands sliding down to your back, trying to pull you even closer, her grip tightening around you.

“baby,” you breathe, nails dragging lightly across her chest. “we’re still in the car…”

she laughs softly, the sound rich and low as her lips brush over yours, pulling you closer still. “i know,” she murmurs, her voice thick with desire. “but we’re already here, and you’ve been driving me wild all night. i want you, so bad, babe.”

a beat passes, the tension building between you two. you glance at her, debating whether you really wanted to do this outside, but the temptation is too strong, and you can’t resist any longer.

“fuck it,” you say with a smirk, pulling away slightly. “get in the back.”

you climb off her and crawl into the back seat, billie following you, her movements fluid, eager. she climbs on top of you as soon as she’s in, her lips crashing against yours with a renewed hunger, a fire that’s impossible to put out now. the world outside doesn’t matter anymore—only this, only her, and only the eternal burning need that’s been building between you two since the moment you met.

“you look so pretty laid out for me,” billie murmurs, her voice thick with desire as she leans back in to catch your lips in a searing kiss.

the movements are slow at first, deliberate, like neither of you want to rush, to break the fragile moment. but the tension is undeniable, building with every touch, every kiss, every whispered breath shared between you two.

she’s intoxicating, her lips leaving fiery trails along your neck, her hands roaming over every inch of skin they can reach. each caress feels like it burns, leaving you desperate for more. and you… you’re lost in it, every brush of her fingertips sending jolts of electricity through your veins, something wild and uncontainable awakening inside you.

the heat of the car presses in on you, the soft hum of the radio playing a low, almost forgotten tune, the scent of billie’s perfume mingling with the natural, heady mix of your bodies—it all swirls together into a dizzying, intoxicating fog, until all you can focus on is the way her body fits so perfectly against yours, the way she makes you feel like you’re being consumed, like you’re everything to her in this moment.

her fingers trail up your sides, grazing the sensitive skin of your breasts, and you shiver under her touch, your body aching to get closer, to feel all of her pressed up against you. the heat in your chest swells, that ache becoming almost unbearable.

you can’t take it anymore. your hands find the fabric of her shirt, fingers tugging at it, desperate to get it off, to feel her skin against yours. but billie’s already one step ahead, her hands slipping beneath the fabric of your dress, her fingers finding their way to the waistband of your underwear. the feeling of her pressing against your skin has you gasping, your hips bucking instinctively, the intensity of the moment overwhelming you.

“billie,” you breathe, eyes locked on hers, your voice trembling with need.

she looks down at you, eyes dark with hunger, her lips curling into a grin. “gonna make you feel so good, mama,” she promises, her voice rough and low, sending shivers down your spine.

you nod without hesitation, your breath catching in your throat as your heart races in time with the pulse between you.

with that, billie’s hands slide up to your shoulders, pushing the straps of your dress down, revealing the soft skin of your breasts beneath. she kisses her way down your neck again, her lips moving with purpose, each kiss leaving a trail of heat in its wake. you gasp, unable to focus on anything but the way her mouth worships your skin, the way she makes you feel like you’re the center of her universe.

you can barely keep up, barely focus as her hands move expertly, slipping the dress further down your body, inch by inch, until it pools at your waist. billie pauses for a beat, her hands resting on your bare thighs, and she looks up at you with a grin that sets your pulse racing, her eyes dark with anticipation.

“god, you’re perfect,” she breathes, her voice raw, full of desire as she continues to trace soft patterns on your skin.

you bite your lip, a mix of excitement and need building inside you, ready for whatever she’s about to do next.

before you can respond, billie’s lips are back on yours, kissing you with a hunger that feels almost desperate, as if she can’t get enough of you. her hands roam over your body, caressing every inch of exposed skin, making you shiver with the intensity of her touch, the contrast between the warmth of her skin and the coolness of the car’s air intensifying the need coursing through you.

billie’s fingers trail slow, lazy circles over your thighs, her touch featherlight, teasing, like she’s savoring every second. the dress is bunched around your waist now, exposing more of you to the cool air, but the warmth of her hands keeps you grounded, keeps you tethered to the moment. you shiver beneath her touch, anticipation humming in every inch of your skin, every nerve ending on fire, alive with the promise of what’s to come.

your hands move quickly, eager, tugging at the last of her clothes. you want to feel all of her, need her as much as she needs you. as soon as her shirt is off, her skin exposed to you, she slides her hands to the band of your underwear, her fingers tracing the wine-colored elastic before she moves lower, teasing your pussy through the fabric, sending waves of heat rushing through you.

her touch is maddening, and it elicits a gasp from you, your hips rising instinctively as you try to rub against her fingers, desperate for more.

“billie, please,” you breathe, voice strained with need, the word a plea, a quiet demand for more, for her to finally give you what you’ve been aching for.

she leans back slightly, her eyes flickering over you with a predatory gleam, lips curling into that smug, knowing smirk she wears whenever she knows she has you exactly where she wants you. her hands slide lower, fingers tracing the outline of your panties, grazing over the fabric that clings to your skin, but she doesn’t push any further—just lets her knuckles skim over you, her touch barely there, a slow, teasing build that has you aching with need.

you whine softly, shifting against her lap, trying to press closer, but billie tightens her grip just enough to hold you in place. “patience, baby,” she murmurs, voice low and dripping with amusement, each word a promise that makes your chest tighten. “i’m taking my time with you.”

her lips find your inner thigh, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the sensitive skin. the warmth of her mouth sends a shiver through you, a tremor that runs deep, and you exhale shakily, fingers gripping her shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of her shirt. billie hums at your reaction, pleased, and kisses you again—this time, her lips linger, her tongue flicking out ever so slightly against your skin.

you let out a soft gasp, tilting your head back against the cool leather seat, trying to hold onto some semblance of control. “baby…” you breathe, the word thick with the need she’s ignited in you.

“hm?” she muses, feigning innocence, before pressing another kiss a little higher, her thumb brushing teasingly over your panties. the wet patch grows beneath her touch, your breath hitching with the frustration of wanting her to go further, her fingers never quite where you need them. her teasing is maddening, and it’s almost too much, yet somehow, it makes you crave her more.

she continues like this, slow and deliberate, working her way up your skin with open-mouthed kisses, sucking gently at certain spots, her teeth grazing over the tender flesh just enough to make your breath catch. each movement is calculated, like she’s drawing you into a pattern of her design. when she pulls back to admire her work, a dark mark blooms against your warm skin, and you realize she’s left her mark on you—not just physically, but mentally, too.

a pleased hum vibrates against your thigh as she starts again, her lips mapping out a pattern you can’t quite understand yet. your body twitches under her touch, a restless energy coursing through you, your legs instinctively trying to press together, but she huffs a laugh and nudges them apart again with ease, her fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs as she does.

“don’t be shy now,” she teases, her breath hot against your skin, fingers inching closer to where you need her most. “you were just begging for my fingers a second ago.”

you shoot her a glare, but it melts into a shuddering sigh when she presses another firm kiss against the inside of your thigh, sucking just enough to make the sensation linger, leaving a burning heat in its wake.

she’s careful with it—meticulous, almost—as if she’s an artist, and you’re her canvas. every kiss, every mark she leaves, is deliberate, calculated. you barely notice at first, lost in the sensation of her lips on your skin, each touch pulling you deeper into a haze of want, but then she pulls back slightly, running her fingers over the fresh bruises she’s left with a satisfied smirk, her eyes dark with desire.

“there,” she murmurs, her voice low and breathy, eyes flicking up to meet yours, a quiet challenge in her gaze. “a little love note, just for you.”

your chest still rises and falls in uneven breaths, and your stomach flips at the sight—small, darkened spots forming an unmistakable shape. a heart. billie had kissed a heart into your thigh, the skin bruised with passion, marked by her deliberate touch. you can almost feel the heat of her lips lingering there, the soft press of her mouth still tangible against your skin.

your heart stutters in your chest as you look at her, something warm and fond flickering beneath the haze of desire that clouds your mind. it’s impossible to ignore the way she makes you feel—alive, adored, cherished. she grins up at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief, her thumb brushing lazily over the top of your underwear, still teasing but softer now, gentler, almost playful in the way she traces patterns over you.

“you like it?” she asks, her voice dripping with a knowingness that only adds to the fire in your veins.

you bite your lip, your hand coming up to run through her soft hair, the strands slipping through your fingers like silk. “yeah,” you murmur, your voice hoarse with the weight of your feelings. “you’re ridiculous.”

billie laughs, the sound light and melodic, but there’s a tenderness to it, an affection that tugs at something deep inside you. she presses a final kiss to the center of the heart she’s left on your thigh, her lips soft but lingering, marking you with something that feels like ownership, like love. “only for you, baby,” she says, her words a promise, a whisper just for you.

she pulls herself back up, lips brushing against yours, and you kiss her slow, deep—tasting her like you need her to breathe. your hands tangle in the fabric of her shirt, pulling her closer as the kiss deepens, as you lose yourself in the warmth of her body against yours. the heat of her touch, the press of her chest against yours, is enough to make your head spin, but it’s the lingering sting of her love bites against your skin that keeps you grounded, reminding you of the way she worships you—takes her time with you—tenderly, patiently.

her fingers trace the edge of your underwear, teasing at the waistband before slipping underneath, slowly peeling the fabric down your thighs. the pace is maddeningly slow, deliberate, as if she’s savoring every second of it. you inhale sharply as the cool air grazes your skin, the shift of temperature making every nerve stand on edge.

a soft smile curls on billie’s lips as her gaze flickers up at you, dark and heavy with desire, before her middle finger traces the line of your slit, gathering the slickness of your arousal.

“mm, you’re so wet, baby,” she murmurs, her voice thick, resting her head against your thigh as she watches you squirm beneath her touch, delighting in your reaction.

you moan softly, hips instinctively lifting, desperate for more. “billie, please… just… fuck,” you whine, your body aching with need. your hand slides down to grasp hers, trying to guide it, but she gently moves your hand away, a teasing glint in her eyes as she watches your frustration grow.

“stop it, just tell me what you want from me mama.” she continues her lazy strokes on your slit as she speaks, her knuckles occasionally brushing against your clit.

“i want your mouth, billie come on, please..”

“see that’s all you had to do. just had to be nice and patient.” she plants another kiss to your inner thigh before removing her fingers from your core. wrapping her slick covered fingers around your thighs, the coldness of her rings contrasting against the warmth of your skin, while moving her face down to where you craved for her the most.

she plants a kiss on your mound right above your clit before moving lower, each smooch slower than the last. her lips move against your flesh in open mouthed kisses, sending fluttering butterflies all throughout your body, before stoping at your dripping hole. darting her tongue out, she licks from there all the way back up to your clit, moaning at the sheer taste of you.

you gasp as her lips press against your cunt, a shiver running through your body. your hands instinctively find their way to her hair, fingers curling around soft strands as she kisses you with slow, deliberate movements. her touch is tender yet full of intent, each kiss a promise of more, but also savoring the moment.

her fingers gently trace the curves of your thighs, the warmth of her hands sending waves of anticipation through you. she takes her time, exploring you with a patience that only intensifies the longing building inside you. every kiss, every gentle press of her lips, feels like it’s drawing you closer to something almost ethereal, the world around you fading as you lose yourself in the sensation.

you feel the weight of her affection in every movement, in every deliberate, lingering touch. the softness of her lips contrasts with the fierceness of the emotions she evokes within you. you cover your face, overwhelmed by the way she’s making you feel—utterly cherished, completely in tune with each other. her presence surrounding you.

“uht-uht,” she murmurs, pulling back slightly, her breath hot against you. she places your arm gently back at your side, her eyes locking with yours. “i need to see you, my love.”

you nod, unable to speak, lost in the intensity of the moment. billie leans forward, her lips leaving soft, lingering kisses against your stomach, each one sending a shiver through you. her gaze is steady, her eyes dark with intent, as she watches you closely.

with a delicate touch, she traces the line of your slit, her fingers grazing over your clit, sending waves of warmth and desire in their wake. her movements are slow, almost reverent, while she slides her tongue in your soaked cunt, as if she’s savoring every inch of you. each kiss, each touch, each caress, makes you feel as though time has stopped, and it’s just the two of you, locked in this tender, intimate connection.

you can’t help but moan softly as she continues, your body responding to the feeling of her tongue filling up your spongy walls, every nerve awake and alive. your breath comes in shallow gasps, and your legs clench shut around her head as you arch into her touch instinctively. billie moves her fingers from around your thigh and over to your stomach, pressing down against the pressure that’s built up in your tummy and that’s enough to make you snap. her lips curling up into a soft smile as she watches you unravel beneath her, her hands gently massaging your thighs, grounding you.

when she pulls away, you lean up slightly, watching her, your eyes searching for her every movement. you can feel the lingering warmth of her touch, and the space between you seems to throb with a quiet intensity, each second stretching longer, pulling you deeper into the moment.

leaning on your elbows, you study billie, captivated by the way she savors every drop of you, her movements slow and deliberate. she’s taking her time, and you can’t help but marvel at the tenderness with which she handles you, as if she’s savoring a rare treasure. her fingers graze your thighs, soothing you in the aftermath, the cool air brushing over your skin contrasting with the warmth of her touch.

“you’ve got a little something on your face,” you murmur teasingly, your voice soft and still shaky from the intensity that’s passed between you. your chest rises and falls in rhythm, trying to catch its breath, the air thick with the memory of her.

billie’s eyes twinkle with a playful glint, her lips curling into a smile that promises more. “oh, do i?” she replies, voice smooth, teasing. the faint traces of you on her skin glimmer softly beneath the streetlights, each speck a reminder of the connection that’s left its mark on both of you. she leans in, her breath warm against your lips, and plants a kiss that’s gentle at first, but deepens as her tongue dances with yours, lingering just long enough for you to feel the passion she still holds for you, every movement deliberate and drawn out.

breaking away with a soft sigh, you reach down, fingers brushing the cool floor as you retrieve her torn black shirt. the fabric still holds the heat of the night, the memory of everything you just shared, and with a playful smile, you bring it to her face, wiping away the traces of your cum off her chin. billie’s laughter bubbles up, soft and content, mingling with the quiet hum of the night air. she nestles into your chest, her head resting against you as her fingers lazily trace patterns along your hip. each touch is soothing, almost reverent, as though she wants to savor every moment, every last bit of you.

“you always get me so messy,” she murmurs with a teasing smile, her lips brushing your skin as she speaks. you can feel the warmth of her breath, the sweet weight of her words hanging between you two. her fingers continue their gentle path, her touch warm against your bare skin.

“well, you’re not exactly innocent in all this, billie,” you reply with a smile, still catching your breath. the air between you is thick with affection, soft and gentle, the aftermath of everything you’ve shared unfolding around you in the stillness. the quiet of the night feels like a cocoon, wrapping you both in a peaceful, contented embrace.

billie grins at you, her gaze catching the dim light of the room. “true,” she says, her voice playful yet soft. “but now i have to clean it up.”

you laugh, the sound light and carefree, the weight of the moment easing into something warm and familiar. the two of you begin to gather your clothes, the movement slow and deliberate, as if the night didn’t have to end. the warmth between you both lingers even as you pull your jackets on, the fabric settling over your shoulders like a soft blanket.

the quiet hum of the world outside seems too peaceful, too perfect, as you both step out of the car, your hands intertwining as you walk toward the front door of your home.

the house is dark and quiet when you enter, the warmth inside wrapping around you both as you kick off your shoes, your jackets still draped over your arms. the night feels like it’s been stretched out in the best way, the both of you in sync as you move through the space.

you both pause in the hallway, your eyes meeting for a brief moment that holds more than just a glance. a slow, lingering kiss follows—gentle, soft, yet carrying the weight of everything you’ve shared tonight.

“happy valentine’s day,” billie whispers against your lips, her voice tender as she pulls away just enough to look at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

you smile back, warmth flooding your chest, knowing that this night, this moment, was exactly what you both needed. “yeah. happy valentine’s day indeed. it’s been nothing short of perfect,” you whisper, your arms wrapping around her as you hold her close.

and with that, the night continues on, the soft hum of the house surrounding you both as you settle into the quiet comfort of each other’s company. the world may continue outside, but in this space, with billie in your arms, you know that no moment could be more perfect than this one.

astrc’s tag list: @zendayasredbottoms @bilsdillldough @billiesrighthand @watercolorskyy @bilssturns @47lake @vijaxx @natbelovasblog @hopingforgoodblogs @thefeverburningalive @st0nerlesb0 @blohshlover11 ; hit my asks saying “add to taglist” if you want to be on my regular taglist for all billie content

#billie eilish #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fic #billie eilish gf #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish x female reader #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish x you #billie eilish smut #billie eilish x black girl #billie eilish x black reader #billie eilish x y/n

255 notes · View notes

brainfuzz · 1 day ago

Text

Beekeeper here.

Yes, I do crush queen cells sometimes. There's no egg/larva/queen in them and crushing the cell helps prevent swarming. When I open the hive and see queen cells - assuming everything else is fine with the bees - it can indicate they're running out of room and want to split. The solution to that is to give them more space. If they're not out of space, I won't crush the cell because they may know something I don't; the queen is getting old, she's a bad layer (you can check for this) or they just don't like her.

You can also squish a queen if the bees are aggressive, she's not laying well or other reasons. I haven't done this because you have to make sure there's a way for the bees to raise a replacement, and none of my hives have had issues that would be solved by re-queening.

Spare queens are often killed by the hive itself. They'll raise a couple of queens and the first one that comes back mated wins. You can only have one queen in a hive. Professional beekeepers will sometimes raise the spares and sell them to other beekeepers to requeen a queenless hive.

Drones always die during mating. That is literally their only purpose in life, is to find a fuck a queen. Much like when a drone stings you, their penis and associated organs come out when they ejaculate, killing them.

"Bee pheromones" are used when trying to catch a swarm. You can put lemon grass oil in a swarm box, and the bees will tend to go there instead of other places. Free bees!

Commercial beekeepers who raise bees and queens for sale, will try to control the type of bee their queen mates with. I live in the northeast and have cold harsh winters. I do not want bees that were bred for Florida. The bee supplier I use is very careful to breed their bees with bees from my area so I have winter hardy bees.

And no beekeeper, commercial or otherwise, will ever cull a healthy hive. The only time to kill an entire hive is if the hive is infect with American Foulbrood, which is very contagious and has no cure. If you get AFB in your hive, you not only cull the hive, you dig a pit, put the entire hive boxes in it, and light that shit on fire. You lose a lot of equipment and as a result, beekeepers are very much on top of any outbreaks.

The "culling during the winter" thing may simply be a misunderstanding because beekeeping has an extremely high attrition rate. Something like 60% of your hive will not make it through the winter. This means you have to buy new bees in the spring, and generally a hive's first year is spent getting established, and you don't get a lot, if any, honey from that hive. I've ordered new bees for the spring assuming that not all of my hives will survive the winter. If they do, then great, I get to expand. If they don't, well I have new bees to try again. Each starter hive, or nucleus hive, costs me $235. If you intentionally kill your bees and you're trying to make money off them, you'll be operating in the red. Even if you take the honey that was supposed to feed the bees over winter, it won't be enough to cover that cost year after year.

So yeah, that's all bullshit. Go take an intro to beekeeping class if you want to know the facts. Or just read a current book maybe.

Wild that folks keep saying beekeepers abuse bees as if bees are not both venomous flying animals and fully unionized

137K notes · View notes

bonelyheartsclub · 1 day ago

Text

♡ Red - Valentine's One-Shot ♡

Written by @/ChrysanStarset and @/punkuuo

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was the day before Valentine’s Day, and you decided to bake something nice for Red. You weren’t exactly as skilled as Red, but it was the thought that counted. So, whilst gathering all the ingredients, you decided that making a few cookies would be a nice gesture to share with everyone; although, you did plan to make some special sugar cookies just for Red’s bag.

Most of the day was spent preparing the bags, decorations, and different types of cookies, ensuring everything was neat and ready. By late afternoon, all that was left was to decorate Red’s share.

You started carefully piping his cookies as you thought of all the fond memories you had shared with him since he moved in. Each motion of your hand was slow and calculated as the warmth in your heart grew. Carefully, you piped the last heart onto one, and leaned back to admire your handiwork. Each cookie was decorated in the most ridiculously, cutest way possible; filled with pink, tiny hearts, smiling faces, and bunnies. You chuckled to yourself as you could almost hear Red’s reaction to them.

Satisfied with a long day’s work, you packed Red’s cookies into a small bag, tying it off with a ribbon. With everything prepared for tomorrow, you headed off to bed, excited for how the day would turn out.

The next day was a bright Valentine’s Day morning. You packed your gifts into your bag and made your way to the skeleton house. The air was crisp and light, just like your heart was as you thought about how Red would react to your baking. You knocked on the door, wondering who would be the first to receive your gifts. Turns out it’s Sans, who looked at you as if he already knew you were coming.

“good morning.” “Good morning Sans, it’s nice that you’re the first one I get to see!” “is that so?”

You dug into your bag and gave Sans his goodie bag, “Here, a gift for you on Valentine’s day! I’m not sure if you’ve received any gifts yet, but I’m giving everyone some treats today.”

“i haven’t gotten one yet so thanks.” “You’re welcome! Can I come inside? I want to give everyone else their gifts too!” “heh, sure. i’m sure you want to see a certain someone as well. he’s in the kitchen.”

You nodded as your face heated for a moment, “Thank you, Sans.” You headed inside and, sure enough, there was something cooking in the kitchen… or baking…? A rich, buttery scent of baked goods wafted in, as well as something strange; it was as if there was something being awfully burnt. You ran to the kitchen to see what could possibly have gone wrong. Red was standing around the counter with a frustrated expression across his face. He hadn’t noticed you yet as he turned his back, but you could see his sleeves had been rolled up, flour dusted across his hands and cheek along with some chocolate. He grumbled angrily to himself, and it’s then that you saw the source of his frustration; a layered chocolate cake –or… what remained of it– had turned charred and concrete. After setting the tray on the stove, he turned and noticed you.

Caught off guard, he coughed and blushed, “wha- whatcha doin’ here, sweetheart?”

You smiled as he was sweating nervously, obviously trying to play it off cool.

“Well, it’s Valentine's day silly, I’m delivering gifts for a few people. Now what are you doing here?”

“nothin’. ain’t nothin’ goin’ on here. just... kitchen stuff.”

Your eyes flickered to the poor, unfortunate cake that looked more like a solid block of charcoal than anything edible.

“Uh-huh. Kitchen stuff, huh?”

His blush deepened as he ran a hand down his face, only managing to smear more flour onto his cheek.

He groaned, “alright, alright! ya caught me, sweetheart.” A sigh left him, “i, uh… was tryin’ to bake somethin’ fer ya.” He rubbed the back of his skull. “normally i’m not this horrible, but i dunno what happened…” A bit of shyness seeped into his voice as he spoke, “i guess i kinda got lost in thought.” A smile crept up on your cheeks as you walked closer, inspecting his burnt cake. A bunch of decorations were scattered around the counter, and the recipe book was opened on a page for layered cake. You could tell from the mess that he was trying.

You sighed and gave him a hug, “I appreciate the gesture, I can tell you really put a lot of effort on it.”

“well…pardon my french but it looks like a pile of sh–”

“–shweet delicious goodness?” you quickly countered with a grin.

“somethin’ like that.” His face was lightly dusted scarlet as he put a hand on his hip, the other trying to nudge the cake towards the trash.

“Hey wait- why are you throwing it away?”

“it’s burnt, there’s no way you could eat this.”

You tried to pull the pan back before he chuckled, pulling you back by your hip.

“no, you’ll get sick if ya eat it… also careful, s’ hot still.”

You nodded, feeling his warm phalanges pull away from the side of your waist.

“There must be a way to save it still, you worked so hard on it. It’d be a waste…” You sighed, rubbing your chin before you clapped your hands together, “oh wait, I got it!”

You rummaged through the drawers, pulling out a knife and spatula. Red’s bony face seemed to contort in confusion as he hovered behind you.

“not that i don’t ‘ppreciate your determination, sweetheart; but if ya eat that, i promise you, you will regret it later.”

He cracked a small chuckle as you bumped him with your hip to get some elbow room.

“Just watch, hold on!” you insisted.

You started to saw off the burnt parts, haphazardly putting the scraps into a different bowl. He perked up, trying to intrude, but ultimately waited and gathered a few stray bowls and utensils into the sink as you work. It wasn’t long before you moved aside to reveal the cake. Red looks at it, his bonebrow raised and nodded, trying to cover his obvious concern.

Voila! You successfully made an even more unappetizing cake, but now cut into weird chunks…

“no offense, but… it looks like a bear got hungry.” Red muttered.

“No-no- wait, hear me out- we can turn these into cake pops! Just gotta mix it with frosting, chill the dough, mold ‘em into spheres, add a bit of chocolate and sprinkles, and boom – they’re still edible!”

“yeah?” He asked in surprise, almost hopeful that his Valentine’s gift wasn’t going to be a complete disaster after all.

“Yeah!” You chirped and the two of you got to work.

Red couldn’t help but smile, his initial nerves and discomfort seeming to melt away as you both got comfortable in the kitchen, moving in sync to make the cake pops. He helped stir in the frosting as you crumbled the cake. Then, with the small ice cream scoop in hand, you scooped the dough into little balls before Red whisked them into the fridge.

Afterwards, your hands scrubbed at the bowls, washing the dishes as he wiped the counters and opened the window to air out the burning smell. He cleared the trash as you finished drying your hands. After some time passed, Red washed and dried his hands before pulling the cake pops out.

Finally ready to decorate, he dipped the cake into the melted chocolate, a curtain of excess chocolate falling off as he gently turned it in his hand before passing it to you. You sprinkled on heart candies and sugar crystals before putting the cake pop on a piece of wax paper to dry. By the end of the little baking extravaganza, you were now also a mess covered in a bit of frosting, sprinkles and chocolate.

“Nice! We saved the city!” you exclaimed.

“what? wait- you got a little something right there.”

You rubbed your face, and looked back at him with a confused look.

“nah, s’right here.”

His fingers gently rubbed away some chocolate on your chin as you leaned down, making it easier for him to reach. You didn’t realize how close you both had gotten until Red stopped suddenly, his eyelights turning into pinpricks and his cheekbones warmed into a pretty crimson. He pulled away and wiped the chocolate on a rag before turning to you.

You coughed into your hand, shaking off the heat warming your face. “So uh… ready to eat some nuggets of cake?”

He choked, his struggling wheeze quickly turning into a chuckle, “not when you say it like that.”

“Fine, fine. Lets just dig in!”

You gingerly picked one up and took a bite – it tasted great, the traces of charred dough having been long covered up by the chocolate and frosting. It was moist and perfect, you gasped softly as you looked at him excitedly; he looked almost surprised by the taste.

“Oh yeah, I’m stealing all of these.” You did a little dance as you ate, enjoying the cake pop.

He laughed a bit, joining in on the jig as you both just happy-wiggled at your creation.

“good luck, ‘m stealing a couple fer myself.”

“I thought you were baking it for me!” You gasped in mock offense.

He paused for a moment, “they’re our cake pops now.”

You bit into one and tried to look as annoyed as possible, but he only relished in your reactions as you both ate and goofed off in the kitchen. You remembered the cookies in your bag, so you went to grab them, and bring them to your skeleton. He stopped chewing as he took the goodies from your hands.

“ya brought me a valentine’s gift?”

His voice seemed to waver as you nodded, gesturing for him to try it. He flashed you a crooked smile, his sharp teeth grew even wider as he pulled the bag apart gently.

He looked at the cookies, baked with obvious care and… love. He looked at you again, and you couldn’t help your own face beginning to warm up as you greatly anticipated his reaction. He turned one of the treats around in his hand, appreciating the neat frosting, and took a big chomp with his teeth. The cookie went down smoothly despite the lack of an esophagus, and the entire thing was gone in a matter of seconds.

His genuine smile said it all as you watched him go for another. You couldn’t help but sigh in relief as he ate while you grabbed another cake pop. The both of you enjoyed the ambience of the warm kitchen. The aroma of sweets brought you both closer as you packed up a few cake pops to go, leaving a few for him and his cousins to try later.

The evening rolled by as you headed out, carrying a mixture of treats from every skeleton in the household. You scrambled to, at the last minute, pass out the other cookies you made for each of them, and Red couldn’t help but notice… that you had only made special cookies for him.

You were on your way out after saying your goodbyes to each skeleton, giving them hugs before you pulled away. You said goodbye to Red as he held the door open for you. As you started to step away, you felt phalanges slip into your hand, intertwined with your fingers. You stopped and turned to face Red.

“Red?”

“i - uh, sweetheart, thanks… fer saving the cake, and fer the cookies. happy valentine’s day.”

You smiled warmly at him, feeling your heart beating a bit harder and faster. You couldn’t quite place if it was just all the sugar, or something else making you feel like running a lap around the corner.

“You’re welcome, thank you too… for baking me something. You’re so sweet.”

His smile was warm before he realized, “i- was that a pun?”

You laughed and squeezed his hand gently and his eyes softened and his shoulders relaxed.

“Would.. you like to walk me home?” you asked softly.

“i’d love nothin’ more than to cake you home,” he replied with a wink.

The two of you walked back to your house right across the street, the crisp air cooling you. Soon after, you stopped at your doorstep. He looked at you, almost sad to let go of your hand as you jangled the keys out of your pocket and opened the door. You turned back to him, his hands now shoved in his pockets.

“Thanks for walking me back, Red.”

“s’no problem, sweetheart, have a good night.”

“You too…”

The two of you stood there for a few moments; despite the silence, it was… comfortable. You swore you could feel your heart knocking against your chest as he slowly turned to walk back, his shoes dragging along the sidewalk. With a moment of confidence, you lurched forward and grabbed his hand, and he looked back surprised as you leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek. His face was deceptively cool despite his growing blush.

“T-That’s for walking me back.”

You never thought you’d see a skeleton as red as a tomato, but there you were watching him momentarily stunned and flustered as he tried to ‘keep his cool’.

“heh..heh.. i should walk ya back more often, then.”

You smiled and pulled away, scurrying behind your opened door before he could notice your own face dying of heat.

“You can try, ya goof.” You waved him goodbye as he walked away, waving back.

You couldn’t help but notice the goofy grin on his face as he gently touched his cheekbone where you kissed. You shut the door, dashing to your room. As the excitement finally settled, you lay in bed, ready for the next time you’d see Red.

#bonely hearts club #valentines day #bhcmyvalentine25

176 notes · View notes

unteriors · 2 days ago

Note

With all due love and respect, most of the interiors you're showing from Piedmont are old (1950s-60s) country houses. Not exactly what I'd think of in terms of real estate neocapitalist dystopia hell. Many of those houses would be absolutely fine with a bit of work. It's definitely a tragic consequence of capitalism that nobody is buying them tho, for sure.

I understand where you're coming from. There are a few things here that irk me a little though - occasionally I'll receive some feedback that touches on similar themes. To start, I'm not really that motivated by titles when it comes to creative projects. There are things in the world, in my own life, in what I see around me, that I find interesting or disturbing or which I have anxieties about, and I put time into exploring them. Almost by accident I've amassed an enormous amount of imagery culled from real estate listings on my PC. I can explain the motivations and ideas behind it, but I'm not very good at wrapping everything up in a neat bow. I've come across a similar thing for another blog I've had for much longer, where people in its audience (or friends and family) would often message me saying that this particular image isn't really an Unplace, and the ambiguity of the title ends up narrowing their perception of the scope of the project (and makes it seem much more superficial - for a similar reason I'm not keen on the concept of liminal spaces, or the word liminal generally). With this blog, I made a conscious decision to use a title that would be broad enough to ward off attempts to pigeonhole it into specific, surface-level interpretations, which would sort of work against and challenge itself (and the viewer).

When I was in art school I was keen on the idea of antimarketing, which extends to branding. Advertising (increasingly over the past half-century) has a way of corroding depth and reducing substance to easily-accessible content guided by broadly-accepted conventions around social norms. I feel like it should only be a thing you deal with yourself as much as you have to, and I try to deadvertise the things I do as much as I can. I feel like these images deadvertise places. I look for real estate imagery which, on the direct, immediate level of their intended purpose, fail miserably (i.e., I do not want to buy this house. I sense lead paint, asbestos. This house may contain a corpse. Stay away). On a secondary level, in addition to selling a product, advertising often sells an idea about the world. With real estate imagery, the idea is much like the one this ask represents these houses as - a way of looking at housing that reduces it to an investment, which views older houses in a state of disrepair as something to be renovated and resold for a profit. This feels particularly myopic and inappropriate when it comes to Italy, a part of the world I've spent time in (though not Piedmont), which has layers and layers of history and human misery in every lived (and abandoned) surface, and which was hit hard by the twentieth century and still seems to be falling apart in many ways. As you pointed out, it's a consequence of the economic system that's currently oppressing Italy (involving years of austerity forced upon it by waves of neoliberal administrations, including within the country and in EU economic policy, against a backdrop of corruption and aggressive anticommunism that the US played a role in) that it has an issue with housing vacancy sitting comfortably alongside the same housing crisis most of us are experiencing (this article goes into a lot of detail about it).

There's the more technical question of how much work would be needed to rehabilitate these places and make them livable - I know in Australia houses that are only fifty or sixty years old often require specialised work by contractors (which our propaganda system that promotes DIY culture and house flipping tends to gloss over). And then, who would put the effort into renovating these places and then living in them? There are parts of Italy with very high unemployment rates, particularly among young people, where people have been leaving for generations. I guess, if someone from a richer country uses the exchange rate to buy and do up a rundown house in a village somewhere and pumps money into the local economy, there are some good sides to that. But I can't get away from the idea that, in our current system, renovating an older house - fixing it up - has the cumulative effect of pricing more people out of housing. I felt bad even about buying a house in my own country - more mortgages mean higher house prices, ultimately. The rot in the economic superstructure feeds into our artistic and conceptual understanding of housing. That creates tensions, between the real, deeper, historically and culturally rich, lived experience of a house, and the fake, greige, airbrushed, negatively-geared, embalmed home-as-investment that's sold to us, and I find those cracks in the surface (peeling paint, if you will) interesting.

This may be getting close to paranoia, but there's also a phenomenon where, if you say anything too negative and controversial, you come to expect that some people will instinctively react by mocking it. This is something I feel instinctively (again, maybe the answer to this lies more in therapy than in looking at the outside world). Often without evidence of their own to demonstrate why what you have said is wrong. It reminds me of a reddit post I saw floating around on tumblr a few years ago, about how the attitude to the world you see in South Park is that, if you complain too much about something (i.e. if you point out that something is wrong), and you demonstrate that you care about that without hiding behind irony, that makes you the problem. You find this all through pop culture from a certain time period (the Simpsons could be just as bad, I also come across this attitude in contemporary art - the laugh react on Facebook feels like its late-stage distillation). It's hard to tell how much people are encoded by it, or if it provides a framework for seeing the world and handling moral issues for people who already held these attitudes. I named this blog Neoliberal Capitalist Real Estate Dystopia Hellscape to weed out those those attitudes and make the people who would ordinarily express them self-conscious. It's getting harder and harder for people to deny that it's not an accurate description, the middle-class psychological bubble has been getting harder to keep insulated for some time now.

#feedback #Italy

154 notes · View notes

strawberrykidneystone · 2 days ago

Text

coffee coffee coffee

sevika x fem!reader

summary: you could smell the snow in the air as soon as you woke up this morning. you were running early for once, so you decided to have your coffee in instead of on the go today.

a/n: everything that y/n says she is also signing when with isha!!

SPECIAL SHOUTOUT TO MY ARCANE X GILMORE GIRLS TWIN @lambilegs

tags: second person, fluff, gilmore girls au, diner owner!sevika, small town zaun, flirting by fighting, isha is your daughter, grumpy sevika x sunshine reader basically, mutual pining, yearning

ao3 version

when you opened your eyes as you heard your musical alarm go off this morning, you could feel it in your heart.

it snowed last night.

you scrambled up out of your bed and rushed to the window, throwing the doors open as you were greeted with a winter wonderland in zaun. there was a thick layer of fluffy white snow covering every inch of your beloved city, the crisp chill of the air sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

the world was so quiet as the last little specs of snow fell from the sky, you were able to catch one and watch the pattern melt into your palm. you could hear the squeals of kids having snowball fights down the road, finding a way to pass the time in the rare snow as they waited for their early morning bus.

suddenly, you could see the lights flickering in the corner of your eyes. whipping around with a grin on your face, your teenager was standing in the middle of your door frame with her brows furrowed.

‘hurry up or we won’t make it to sevika’s before school’ she signed hastily.

“appreciate the snow with me for a moment kid!” you whined and tugged her over by the sleeve of her freshly pressed uniform, holding her by her shoulders to force her to look out the window. isha huffed in annoyance and rolled her eyes, used to your antics. she folded her arms and looked out the window, nodding to herself since she knew that you wouldn’t relent unless she did as you said.

you rested your chin on her shoulder and looked out at the landscape in front of you, leaning your head against hers, “now take a deep breath in.”

the two of you took a deep breath in at the same time, the crisp cold air filling your lungs and letting it out almost as quickly as it was taken in.

you kissed the side of her head with an exaggerated ‘mwah’ and gave her a quick hug before prancing over to your closet and throwing open the doors. quickly laying out a basic business outfit, isha picked out matching jewelry for the colors that would match perfectly with your style. she also switched your radio on to the station you both liked, you swore you didn’t know what you would do without her. she was always ready before you with her uniform pressed from the night before and absolutely no wrinkles in her button-up.

humming along to the songs, smoothing out your skirt, and making small adjustments to your clothes as you looked over yourself in the mirror the two of you scurried down the stairs. isha grabbed her backpack and you threw on your purse. there wasn’t much snow, but you still had to trudge through it in your not-so-waterproof shoes. isha was always one step ahead of you, already clearing off the windshield and had the heater running in the car so it was toasty by the time you got in. hastily bucking your seatbelts as you backed out of your unshoveled driveway, the two of you blasted your morning playlist with isha teasing you by shoving her fingers in her ears as you sang along. you stuck your tongue out at her and sang even louder than before.

it was only about a 5-minute drive down one of the only main roads in zaun, easily finding parking on the side of the street. you debated just leaving your car running as you put it into park, but decided against it since there was enough time to sit down for breakfast for once. you parked your car and practically skipped down the sidewalk with isha into your favorite diner, sevika’s. well, it was also the only diner in town. the two of you didn’t come for the food, not that it wasn’t half bad, but sevika special ordered coffee from somewhere she refused to tell you even after pestering her all these years that was just so delicious.

the bells in the doorway alerted the diner of your presence, the snow on the bottom of your shoes quickly removed as you scuffed your feet onto the welcome mat as you made your way to your regular seat. isha almost bumped into your back when you stopped to remove the snow from your shoes, warning you a flick on the back of your neck. you squawked in surprise and gave her a lightherted offended look before fading into a playful smile. you greeted everyone who had said hi when you first came in, a warm fuzzy feeling in your stomach formed with the familiarity that everyone in the town had with each other. the cushions of the chairs didn’t support your hips the same way that they did when you first came to the small town, but you still loved it all the same.

except for that big window that looked into jayce’s ice cream shop, you were definitely not a fan. and the walls desperately needed to be painted. maybe you could convince sevika to paint it a nice teal someday.

glancing around, you didn’t see sevika nor jinx around, probably restocking in the back somewhere since everyone else in the diner had their meals in front of them. isha plopped down into the seat across from you and slid her backpack under the table, narrowly missing your feet.

“well, it looks like it’s ‘fill your own coffee day,’” you said declaratively. setting your purse on the chair next to you and folding your jacket over the back of your own chain. isha shook her head, signing ‘you know sevika won’t like that’ before crossing her arms.

“well then maybe she should’ve been here when we got here,” you countered. you walked behind the counter with confidence and grabbed the coffee pot that was practically begging to be poured into a cup. you happily hummed a tune to yourself and grabbed 2 of the largest mugs from under the counter. after pouring the steamy liquid gold into your cups, you carefully dodged the coffee that spilled over the edges as you popped the tops on.

“hey hun, could i get a refill?” margot called out from the table next to yours, holding up one of the bowl-sized mugs that sevika carried.

“it would be my pleasure,” you chirped and topped off her cup with a majority of the rest of the pot.

“thanks doll,” margot said with a tip of her cup in appreciation, a mischievous smile on her face.

you glanced over at isha, who gave you a teasing look, ‘waitress, can i get my coffee?’

“in a sec i gotta make another pot,” you said with a ruffle to her brown and blue striped hair.

she huffed in annoyance and smoothed out the top of her hair again, running her fingers through the soft strands. currently, it was a somewhat grown-out shag that she was conflicted in either growing out or trimming up again. or maybe chopping it all off, who knows? maybe she could convince you to dye all of her hair blue next time.

meanwhile, you were busy putting the pot back onto the warmer and throwing away the used coffee filter into the trash. just as you put in a new filter and filled it up with the crushed beans, sevika stepped out of the back room door. she immediately spotted you and stormed over.

“what have i said about you being behind the counter?” she barked, glaring down at you.

you rolled your eyes and closed the top of the coffeemaker, pressing the buttons that started brewing a new pot. “well i wouldn’t have been behind the counter if someone was here to serve me when i got here,” you retorted, smiling sweetly up at her.

sevika ran her hand down her face and pointed across the bar counter, “out.”

“you’re so grumpy in the mornings,” you mumbled and reached to grab the two coffees you filled earlier.

“woah woah woah, no,” she said and took the coffees from you before you had a chance to touch them, “go sit down and i will bring your coffee to you.”

“but it’s right there,” you whined and exaggeratedly reached for the two mugs.

“no,” she said gruffly, swatting your hands away.

“but just look at my child! she is coffee-less and it’s all your fault!” you said in a slightly nastily voice, gesturing over to isha who was sticking out her bottom lip and giving her best doe eyes.

sevika groaned and shoved the coffees into you hands, “fine. take them before i change my mind.”

you immediately lit up and smiled brightly at her, “thanks sevi-bear!”

“don’t call me that,” she said in an annoyed tone with no actual bite in it as you returned triumphantly to your table.

jinx skipped out of the door that led upstairs and froze in place as she faced sevika’s icy stare, “where have you been?”

“uh upstairs?” jinx said with an obvious point up towards the roof.

sevika gave her a very miffed look that you caught with a grin, quickly quipping, “you know if you keep making that face it’ll freeze like that.”

she groaned with a shake of her head and waving jinx off, turning her attention down to her restock paper, “just go take the peanut gallery’s order.”

“yes boss!” jinx said with a giggle, tying on her waist apron and pulling out her notepad while she looked at the two of you expectantly.

“soooo what’ll it be this morning girls?”

“i’ll have the blueberry pancakes with more coffee,” you said definitively, already done with your first cup.

jinx glanced over her shoulder with a smirk and scribbled down your order, “careful sweets, every time you make your own coffee you break poor sevika’s heart!”

“heard that from all the way upstairs huh?”

jinx blew a raspberry and threw her head back with a laugh, “please, i’m sure they heard you two bicker across town!”

“well what can i ask, i like to keep things interesting,” you said with a sweet smile and a shrug.

“interesting is right,” sevika mumbled under her breath.

“i heard that!” you called across the room, sevika responding with an eye roll and you sticking your tongue out at her.

“what about you isha?” jinx looked over at her with a smile.

‘banana french toast and more coffee’ she signed with a toothy grin, happy that you didn’t have to translate for her since jinx was thoroughly fluent in sign language.

“good choices all around, it’ll be out in a sec,” she concluded, giving isha’s hair a quick ruffle before sending the order back to the kitchen.

you chuckled as you watched isha fix her hair for the second time that morning, brushing a small cowlick she had back into place.

‘you really need to shovel the driveway’ isha signed with a concerned look on her face.

“i know i know, but we haven’t gotten stuck yet! and that’s what i’m banking on,” you said with a grin, isha disapprovingly shaking her head.

sevika stood at the head of your table and filled up your coffee cups almost to the brim, then paused before looking between the two of you, “you know that drinking too much caffeine can turn your blood not sludge right?”

“then sludge we will be! keep the coffee coming please,” you said as you cheered your mug with isha’s, the two of you sharing a smile over the brim of your cups.

sevika let out an exhausted sigh and went on filling up other customers’ cups.

the food you ordered was brought out shortly after and the two of you fell into a comfortable silence as you ate, isha reading her latest book while you caught up on the local paper. jinx had refilled your cups one more time, ruffling your hair as she left which you squawked at in offense. you combed your fingers through your hair to straighten it out once again, looking over the arts section of the paper, oblivious to sevika’s stolen glances your way.

after wiping your mouth with a napkin and fixing your lipstick in your pocket mirror, you glanced at your watch with a suck of your teeth. “you gotta get going if you’re gonna make the bus kid,” you alerted isha with a fond smile and you watched her quickly pack up her backpack.

‘bye mom, i love you’ she signed as she got up and slung the heavy bag over her shoulder. you beckoned her close as she was about to pass your seat and grabbed her face, pressing a kiss into the side of her head. she made a teasing disgusted face at you that you happily returned, waving her goodbye, “bye kid, love you!”

without even looking up, sevika handed her a to go cup filled with coffee that she happily took with her, signing a quick ‘thank you’.

sighing in content, you finished up your coffee and grabbed your purse as you walked over to the register. you help up your order paper between two fingers as you leaned your forearms on the counter, “ring me up sevi.”

she responded with a grunt that you happily mimicked in a deep tone as you gave you your change, shoving the receipt and loose coins into your purse.

you held out your hand expectantly, making a grabby motion.

sevika looked down at your hand and up at you with an eyebrow raised, "use your words."

you groaned and looked up at the ceiling in exasperation, "you already know what i'm going to ask."

"you won't get anything if you don't ask for it."

"oh really? you'd do anything i asked?" you said with a flutter fo your lashes, leaning in close over the counter.

"depends what you ask for," she said in a slightly lower octave and as you looked into her eyes leaning in closer with about an inch of space in between your noses.

you bit your lip and let your eyesight flick down to her lips for a split second, something that sevika definitely took note of. the tension between the two of you could be cut with a knife, neither of you saying anything for a good minute as if to dare the other to cross the line between friends and lovers. god she smelled good, a mix of fresh coffee, something woody, and cigarettes you knew she smoked behind the diner on her breaks. her lips were slightly parted, the gap between her teeth barely visible with the old scar that definitely had a story she hasn't told you about yet, the shine of her lips matching the lambret piercing she had below her lower lip that she had gotten recently. her hands were planted firmly on the counter with her flannel comfortably rolled up to her elbows that showed off her veiny forearm with her gold one on the opposite side, and you couldn't deny the butterflies in your stomach at having her so close to you.

you unconsciously leaned in closer until an alarm on your phone went off, a reminder that you had to leave for work or you would be late. you swallowed thickly and pulled back to being behind the counter once again, clearing your throat, "a coffee to go... please."

"coming right up," she said in a completely unbothered tone, but to be honest, she was screaming on the inside and felt nauseous. you always smelled sweet, she didn't even mind your coffee breath. but she was scared to make the first step and mess up a good thing, nothing would be the same if you crossed the line between friends and lovers. at least not so publically. she daydreamed about taking you on the perfect date where everything played out like a fairytail that ended with you, sevika, and isha all being one happy family. and maybe another baby for the two of you.

but that's all it was, a daydream. for now, she was just the woman that served you coffee.

she filled up a to-go cup almost to the brim and carefully put the top on, sliding it over the counter to you with a half-smile, "one to go cup, only because you said please."

"thanks sev," you said genuinely, taking the cup from her with a small brush of your fingers against hers. you hoped she didn't see your flushed face as you practically ran out the door to your car, hauling ass to the independence inn to start your day.

"god when are you two going to finally get together?" jinx whined as she leaned against the counter, a shit-eating grin on her face.

"don't you have school to get to?" she said curtly, very obviously avoiding the topic.

"yeah yeah, just know i'm rooting for you!" she said in a sing-song voice, chucking her apron to the back and skipping off to school with her backpack slung over her shoulder.

sevika signed and stared down at the counter. yeah, she was totally screwed.

the next morning, you woke up with the same feeling as yesterday.

it snowed again.

this time, it was a slightly less peaceful scene to wake up to.

aka, it looked like a lumberjack way shoveling your driveway.

“hey!” you called out, sticking your torso out the window and holding on tightly to the windowsill.

sevika paused her shoveling and stuck her shovel standing up into the snow beside her. she was wearing her signature flannel with a black jacket over it, loose-fitting jeans, and a beanie on her head inside of the usual baseball cap for extra warmth. she put her hands on her hips and called out, “why didn’t you shovel your driveway dumbass?”

“i don’t have to shovel it because you always get mad and do it for me!” you yelled back, a toothy grin on your face.

“yeah yeah,” she said dismissively and waved her hand around. if her face hadn’t already been slightly flushed from the cold, you would’ve noticed the blush on her cheeks.

she would move mountains for you if you only asked.

you giggled and closed your window, a warm feeling in your chest bloomed even with the cold air in your room.

you could get used to waking up to a grumpy lumberjack.

a/n: i think the sign that isha and y/n would make for sevika’s would be an ‘s’ and ‘coffee’

also i hate pencil skirts

part 2?

taglist: @maneskinwh0re @archangeldyke-all @fandoms-will-be-the-death-of-me @sevikasfan @lez-zuha @comfortripley @sunflowerwinds @vangoes @vikaswife @jiungmcvv @local-enby

139 notes · View notes

briefinquiries · 1 day ago

Text

Tommy Shelby x Reader: By Order of Blood

Summary: Tommy Shelby thought sending you away would keep you safe, until the carriage was intercepted. Now, as he cradles your trembling, broken body, he swears two things: he will never let you go again… and the men who touched you won’t live to see another sunrise.

Word count: 8.5k

Warnings: angst, violence, injury descriptions (mentions of blood, torture, SA), PTSD, nightmares, and panic attacks, emotional distress, and revenge-driven violence (also includes lots of hurt / comfort).

A/N: Lost all motivation to write my normal stuff recently, but currently rewatching peaky blinders and feeling all sorts of ways about my boyyy tommy shelby.

"Tommy, please. Don't do this." Your voice was barely above a whisper as the weight of the moment pressed down on your chest like a stone.

You reached for him, fingers trembling as they grazed the fabric of his coat.

But he didn’t budge. He stood rigid, back straight, his jaw locked so tight you could practically see the muscle ticking underneath his skin. A cigarette burned low between his fingers, a thin wisp of smoke curling in the dim light.

His face was unreadable, a mask of cold detachment. It was the same one he wore when giving orders that decided life or death.

"You’re leaving tonight," he said, his voice quiet but firm.

You shook your head before he was even finished speaking, your breath catching. "No– no, I don’t want to leave."

Tommy exhaled slowly, as if he was gearing up for a fight. "This is not about what you want."

Your throat tightened. "Tommy, please–"

"You’ll be safer away from me."

You let out a dry, hollow laugh. "Safer?" The word tasted bitter on your tongue. "Tommy, I’m safe when I’m you. The further away you are, the less safe I’ll feel."

For a second, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes. Hesitation. Regret. Maybe even doubt. But then, just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. Buried beneath layers of steel.

His shoulders stiffened, his fingers tightening around the cigarette. "You’ll have guards."

"I don’t want guards." Your voice wavered. "I want you. What if something happens, Tommy? What then?"

His breath hitched, but he remained stoic. "It won’t," he said firmly.

You searched his face, desperate for something, anything, that would tell you he wasn’t as sure about this as he was pretending to be. That this was tearing him apart, too. But all you saw was cold resolve. Complete certainty.

A hollow feeling spread through your stomach as the truth settled in your bones. He had already made up his mind. And there was nothing you could say to make him change it.

Panic pressed against your ribs. You wanted to tell him that being away from him would be worse than any danger that lurked in Birmingham. But you couldn’t find the words.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, Tommy took one last drag from his cigarette before putting it out with slow, deliberate movements. When he finally looked at you, his blue eyes were unreadable.

"The carriage is waiting."

The words hit you like a blow, stealing whatever fight you had left.

You felt yourself nod, but you didn’t say anything. There was nothing left to say. Without another word, you turned and walked away, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the silence.

And Thomas Shelby let you go.

…

The wooden seat beneath you felt cold and unforgiving. But not nearly as cold as the hollow feeling in your chest.

You sat stiffly, arms folded across your body. Your stomach churned– a mixture between fear, anger, and grief. Each emotion fought for dominance, and yet all you could do was stare blankly at the road stretching endlessly ahead of you, your surroundings blurring past the window.

You tried to rationalize his actions and remind yourself why he made the choices he did. But this didn’t feel like protection anymore.

It felt like a punishment.

The hours dragged. The rhythmic clatter of hooves and the occasional creak of the carriage were the only sounds filling the silence. You hadn’t spoken a word to the driver or to the men Tommy had sent to guard you. You refused. Who cared if they thought you were some entitled brat?

But then, suddenly, something in the air shifted.

You weren’t sure what it was at first. Maybe it was just a feeling, an unease that coiled in your stomach like a vice. But then you noticed the hooves come to a gradual stop. One of the guards riding ahead straightened in his saddle, glancing toward the dense trees lining the road.

Your pulse quickened, but before you could even part your lips to ask what was wrong, you heard the gunshot.

A sickening crack followed by shouting. One of the men slumped forward on his horse before crashing onto the dirt road in a heap. The horses screamed, rearing violently. The carriage lurched, sending you slamming into the side with a sharp gasp.

Another shot. Another thud.

The second guard fell before he could even draw his gun. Then the driver let out a strangled yell, yanking hard on the reins.

But it was too late.

Figures emerged from the darkness of the trees, their boots pounding against the dirt, moving fast. Panic seized you. Without thinking, you scrambled toward the door, heart hammering, fumbling for the latch. You could still get out, still run, still–

But when you threw your weight against it, the door didn’t budge.

The impact from the gunfire, the carriage rocking on the uneven road– it had bent the frame inward. The wood creaked, but the metal hinges were jammed tight.

"No, no, no–” you pleaded. You pushed harder, shoulders slamming against the door.

Then, the other door was yanked open violently, nearly ripping off its hinges. You barely had time to turn before rough, gloved hands grabbed you, wrenching you forward. You thrashed against them, kicking, clawing, screaming for them to let go.

"Shut her up!" A voice snapped.

And just like that, the back end of a gun slammed into your gut, knocking the air from your lungs. Your vision blurred as your body doubled over. Fingers fisted in your hair, yanking your head back so hard your scalp burned.

One of the men leaned in, his breath hot against your cheek.

"I guess Shelby should’ve sent more men."

Your heart pounded violently in your chest as the other men chuckled darkly.

Your hands shook as you tried to fight, but there were too many of them, too many voices, too many shadows closing in around you. You screamed again.

Then, a final, crushing blow to the side of your head sent the world tilting. Your knees buckled.

And then– total darkness.

…

The office smelled of whiskey and smoke as the low glow of candlelight flickered against the walls. Tommy sat behind his desk, fingers wrapped around a glass he hadn’t yet touched.

Across from him, Arthur was talking. Something about business, numbers, men needing paying, but Tommy wasn’t listening. He had been distracted all night.

His mind kept circling back to you. It didn’t matter how many times he told himself he made the right choice– that sending you away had been for your own good, that it was the only way to keep you safe. That image of you, eyes wide, pleading, your fingers brushing against his coat before he had forced himself to turn away remained at the forefront of his mind.

"Tommy, please," you had begged.

He had ignored the way it made his chest ache, forcing himself to shut down the part of him that wanted to keep you close.

Because this was the only way.

Right?

But if it was the right choice, then why the fuck did it feel like such a fucking mistake?

"Tom?" Arthur’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Tommy blinked, setting the untouched glass down with slow, deliberate movements. His fingers tapped against the wood, a restless habit. "What?"

Arthur frowned, watching him closely. "You haven’t heard a single thing I’ve said, have you?"

A muscle in Tommy’s jaw twitched.

Arthur exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "Jesus, Tommy. Forget about it. You did the right thing, yeah? She’s safer out of Birmingham. You said so yourself."

Tommy leaned back in his chair, running a hand down his face. He shook his head, reaching for the cigarette pack on his desk, desperate for something to quiet his mind. But just as he struck the match, the door burst open.

Tommy’s head snapped up.

John stood in the doorway, breathless and pale.

"Tommy–" he panted, eyes wide with urgency. "The carriage– we just got word– it was intercepted–"

For a moment, the words didn’t register. A slow, heavy silence fell over the room. Tommy just stared at him, cigarette burning between his fingers, unmoving. Then, a sharp, cold wave of panic slammed into his chest.

His chair scraped against the floor as he shot to his feet. "What?" His voice was dangerously quiet.

John swallowed hard. "One of the scouts came back. The men– the guards you sent– they’re dead. Driver too."

The room tilted. A deafening ringing filled Tommy’s ears, drowning out everything else.

No, no, no. No.

"Where?" Tommy demanded, his voice now urgent, raw, trembling with barely contained terror.

"We don’t know yet–"

Tommy’s chest heaved, his breath coming sharp and ragged. "Find out," he snapped, grabbing his coat. His hands were shaking. "Find out right fucking now."

Arthur was already up, grabbing his gun. "We’re going after her, Tommy."

Tommy ran a hand through his hair, pacing, trying to think, trying to breathe, trying not to fucking lose it.

He had sent you away.

His heart pounded violently, his throat tight with a kind of fear he had never felt before.

Not anger. Not fury. Not vengeance.

Fear.

Because if they had taken you…

If they had hurt you…

Tommy couldn’t finish the thought.

Because the moment he did, he wouldn’t be able to fucking breathe.

…

When you woke up, the first thing you registered was the pain.

The deep, aching throb in your skull. The metallic taste of blood coated your tongue, thick and suffocating.

Your body felt heavy, your limbs sluggish as you tried to move, only to realize that you couldn’t.

Panic slid into your chest, sharp and immediate as you became aware of the restraints, of the rough, biting feel of rope digging into your wrists, binding them behind the back of a chair. Your breath hitched, vision swimming in the overwhelming darkness that surrounded you.

You struggled against the restraints, muscles screaming in protest, but the chair barely creaked beneath your weight. The air was damp, thick with the scent of rotting wood and stale sweat. Somewhere in the distance, you heard the faint melodic drop of water.

A basement. Maybe a warehouse. Somewhere completely forgotten.

A door creaked open and your breath stilled. There were footsteps– slow and leisurely.

A shadow loomed at the edge of the room, then a man stepped forward, boots scraping against the concrete floor. The dim light of a lantern illuminated his features, dark eyes full of amusement, a smirk twisting his thin lips.

"Well, well," he drawled, tilting his head. "Look who's awake."

Your stomach coiled in disgust as he came closer, circling you like a predator playing with its prey. You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to stay still, to keep your expression blank.

The man stopped just beside you, tapping a finger against his chin, mockingly thoughtful. "You’re prettier up close," he mused. "Is that why Shelby keeps you so close? Well… not this time I guess."

A beat of silence. Then, his voice dropped into something colder, sharper. "Where’s he keeping his next shipment?"

You didn’t answer but his smirk only widened. "Playing the silent game, are we?"

He moved closer to you, and before you could react, a sharp, stinging slap cracked across your cheek.

Your head snapped to the side, your vision blurring with the impact.

"You’ll want to answer me," he said menacingly. "Or this is going to get a hell of a lot worse for you."

You clenched your teeth, forcing your breath to stay even.

He let out a disappointed sigh. "Stubborn little thing, aren’t you? Brave, even?" He stepped closer, gripping the arms of your chair, leaning in until his breath was hot against your ear. "But tell me, sweetheart… how brave do you think you’ll be when we’re through with you?"

You refused to let him see your fear. But inside, terror clawed at your ribs, sinking in deep.

The man stepped back, studying you. His smirk hadn't faltered, but you could see the frustration flicker in his dark eyes.

"Not talking, eh?" He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as if this were some inconvenience, some tedious task he had to complete before moving on with his night.

Then, without warning, his fist slammed into your stomach.

Your body jerked violently against the ropes, a strangled gasp ripping from your throat as the air was stolen from your lungs. White, hot agony flared in your gut, the chair beneath you rocking from the force of it. You coughed, your body instinctively trying to double over, but the ropes held you upright, forcing you to endure it.

Still, you said nothing.

The man let out a humorless chuckle. "Tough girl, huh?"

Another blow. To your face again. You bit the inside of your cheek, swallowing the cry that threatened to escape.

"Tell me," he continued casually, shaking out his fist, "where the Peaky Blinders keep their weapons."

You lifted your head slowly, breathing heavily through your nose. Then, you spat blood onto the floor at his feet.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. And then, his hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back so sharply you let out a strangled gasp.

"I was hoping you’d be difficult," he murmured, tilting his head. "It makes this so much more fun for me."

Deep fear curled around your bones like ice. Because you knew exactly what men like him were capable of. He let go of your hair abruptly, your head snapping forward from the force of it, pain splintering through your already throbbing skull.The next blow came before you could brace yourself. It was a heavy, brutal punch to your nose. Pain exploded behind your eyes, your body lurching sideways, nearly toppling the chair. Your ears rang, the room spinning wildly.

Your nose was dripping. It took you a second to realize it was blood, warm and thick as it trailed down your lips. Still, you didn’t speak.

He let out a long, slow breath, tilting his head as he studied you. "I can do this all night," he said lightly, as if he weren’t already beating you bloody. Then, something darker crossed his expression.

"But maybe," he continued, voice lower, silkier, more dangerous, "I could find other ways to make you talk."

Your stomach churned at the sight of his gaze, predatorial. Every muscle in your body seized as he took a step forward, one hand reaching for his pocket. Then, metal glinted under the dim light.

A knife. Not small, not discreet, but long, sharp, wicked.

He flicked it open with an almost lazy motion, rolling it between his fingers like a coin, as if the weapon was nothing more than a casual accessory to him. "You know," he mused, tilting his head, his eyes dragging over your bound, broken form with something close to amusement, "I've always wondered how many pieces a person can be cut into before they bleed out."

He crouched beside you, the blade dancing along his fingers, before slowly pressing the cold steel under your chin.

"Tell me what I want to know," he murmured, his voice almost gentle, like a whisper of silk against your skin.

More silence.

He smirked. A devilish grin spread across his face. “Maybe I'll start with the fingers."

Your heart pounded violently, every nerve in your body screaming at you to run, fight, do something–

But what were you supposed to do? The ropes bit into your wrists, your limbs too weak, too battered, your breath too shallow.

"Think I'm bluffing?" he asked, watching your reaction. "Think I won’t carve you up, nice and slow?"

The knife dragged downward, grazing lightly along the column of your throat, just enough to prickle your skin, to remind you how easily he could cut deeper.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your cheek.

"Because I will, sweetheart," he whispered, almost fondly. "And when I'm done, I’ll send the pieces back to Shelby. One by one."

“I don’t know where the weapons are,” The words spilled out before you could even think, desperate, shaky, but holding just enough bite to make them believable. “Tommy doesn’t tell me those things– says it’s not a woman’s business to know– that we’d break too easily if we got questioned.”

Your breath hitched, your pulse roaring in your ears as you held his gaze, willing yourself to look small, weak, unimportant.

He laughed. Low, dark, amused. He leaned in again, the overwhelming stench of sweat and smoke rolling off him in waves.

"You think I believe that?" His voice was smooth as he tilted his head, watching you with something cruel, calculating. Your breath came in short, shallow bursts, your hands twisting uselessly behind your back, fingers numb from the ropes cutting into your skin.

You didn’t answer. Because you knew better. Men like him didn’t want the truth. They wanted excuses to hurt you.

He sighed, feigning disappointment. "See, sweetheart, here’s the problem with your little lie." He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a scrap of paper, something smudged with dirt and blood.

"One of your guards had this tucked in his coat. An order from Mr. Shelby himself," he said, unfolding it with a lazy flick of his wrist. "Says to keep you safe. Says not to let you out of their sight."

The bastard grinned as he tossed the paper onto your lap. "Now, why would Thomas Shelby go through all that trouble for someone who doesn’t know anything?"

You felt cold all over. He knew. No amount of lying was going to save you now.

"Yeah," he murmured, standing upright. "That’s what I thought."

His hand shot out suddenly, gripping your jaw, forcing your head back. You winced, but didn’t look away. A cruel smile spread across his face. "That’s good," he murmured. "I like when they look at me."

Then, cold steel pressed against your cheek. You flinched violently, your breath stuttering, but he only grinned wider, his grip tightening, holding you in place.

"You’ll tell me what I want to know," he promised, his fingers digging into your bruised skin. "Sooner or later."

The blade slid downward, slow, deliberate, tracing the delicate line of your jaw.

Then, it pressed in. A sharp, searing pain bloomed beneath your skin, and you gasped, body jerking instinctively, but the ropes held you tight, trapped.

A thin line of warm blood trickled down your cheek. He hummed in satisfaction. His thumb dragged across your bottom lip, slow, taunting. "Maybe I’ll give you some time to think about it," he mused, releasing you with a sharp shove.

…

Tommy paced the office like a caged animal, fingers tugging through his hair, his mind racing faster than his body could keep up.

The room was too small, too fucking suffocating, and the longer it took to get information, the more his chest tightened, the more his hands shook.

"Where the fuck is she?"

No one had an answer.

Tommy turned on John. "Who told you? Who gave you the fucking word?"

John swallowed, shifting on his feet. "A scout, one of our boys in Small Heath– he saw the wreckage. The guards, the driver… all dead, Tommy."

His stomach dropped.

Bodies.

But no mention of her.

He felt sick. Cold. A new kind of fear he hadn’t felt since the war clawed its way up his throat like bile. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to focus. If they had taken you alive, that meant they wanted something from you.

He had to find you. Now. A sharp knock on the door cut through the tense silence. Isaiah stepped in, breathless, eyes wide.

"We’ve got something."

Tommy’s head snapped up so fast his vision blurred.

"Where?"

Isaiah wiped a hand down his face, shaking his head. "We don’t know for sure, but one of the lads caught wind of a group setting up shop in an old distillery just outside the city– on the outskirts near the river."

"Who?" Tommy’s voice was deadly calm, but the way his hands shook slightly at his sides betrayed him.

Isaiah hesitated. "You’re not gonna like the answer, Tom."

Tommy’s chest tightened. "Say it," he demanded.

Isaiah exhaled. "Sabini’s men."

The room went deathly quiet.

Arthur swore, kicking the leg of a chair so hard it splintered.

Sabini.

That filthy fucking bastard had been waiting for an opportunity to strike, and Tommy had handed it to him on a silver fucking platter when he sent you away. Tommy felt his pulse roar in his ears, drowning out every other sound in the room.

He turned to Arthur. "Get everyone. We move now."

His brother didn’t hesitate. As Arthur stormed out, barking orders to the rest of the men, Tommy grabbed his coat, his revolver already in his hand.

He didn’t just want to kill them.

He wanted to wipe them from existence.

Because they had taken you.

And Thomas Shelby was going to burn the fucking city down to get you back.

…

Your wrists were raw from the ropes, skin rubbed red and torn from how hard you had fought– fought for nothing, fought for no one to come, fought just to survive another minute, another second.

You were too weak to fight anymore. Your entire body was screaming in agony, every nerve burning, every muscle aching with exhaustion.

Your stomach throbbed violently, a deep, searing pain radiating from one of the larger gashes that had been carved into your skin. You could still feel the sting of the blade as it sank into your flesh, the warm trickle of blood spilling down your ribs, soaking into the shredded remains of your clothes.

What was left of them, anyway.

Your dress had been ripped apart, torn from your body in jagged, humiliating shreds, exposing bruised, violated skin.

The men had touched you, their hands roaming, gripping, forcing you still, their laughter ringing in your ears as they stripped you down like you were nothing more than something to be used.

You had fought, God, you had fought, thrashing, kicking, but their hands had been stronger, crueler, unyielding.

Now, you could feel the cool air biting at your skin, the exposed places where they had left their marks– dark bruises, bloody scratches, shame carved into your very bones. Your arms shook, the fabric clinging to what was left of you, offering little protection, little dignity.

You felt disgusting.

Ruined.

And even though they had been interrupted before they could take it any further, the damage was already done.

The way they had laughed. Cruel, mocking, like your pain was amusing, like your struggle meant nothing.

"Shelby won’t want you now."

The words had sliced deeper than the knife, burrowing into your chest, your ribs, your bones.

"Damaged goods."

"Bet he won’t even look at you when we’re done."

It was all still there, burned into your mind, bleeding into your skin like an invisible brand you would never escape.

And your ribs– God, your ribs. Every inhale was a battle, every breath felt like knives digging into your sides, sharp and relentless. You didn’t know if they were bruised or broken, but the deep, throbbing ache that rattled through your chest made you certain that something was damaged beyond repair.

Even the slightest movement sent sharp, unbearable pain lancing through you, making your vision blur, making bile rise in your throat.

Your face was swollen, beaten, the metallic taste of blood thick on your tongue.

Your body flinched violently as hands roamed over you, rough fingers gripping, bruising, tearing fabric, exposing too much. A cruel chuckle ghosted over your ear.

"Not so tough now, are you?"

The words barely registered through the haze, but the hot breath against your skin did, the weight of a body pressing against you. Suffocating.

You turned your head, gasping sharply, choking on a sob as your body tried to shrink away, but the ropes held you firm, like an animal waiting for slaughter.

Another pair of hands gripped your thigh, fingers digging hard enough to bruise.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to disappear inside yourself, trying to will yourself into a place where this wasn’t happening, wasn’t real.

Then– footsteps, shouting.

Not inside the room, but outside.

The hands stilled.

More voices now, low, urgent, laced with something that sounded close to alarm.

"Go check it out," one of the men shouted.

A few of them grumbled, hesitating, as if reluctant to leave, but then another loud thud echoed from beyond the door, followed by the distant clatter of metal hitting the floor.

The man above you cursed, pushing off of you abruptly, leaving behind a nauseating heat where his body had been pressing against yours.

"Fucking deal with her," he ordered the one who stayed behind before storming toward the door.

You heard them shuffle out, their boots heavy against the floor, the door creaking as it was pulled shut behind them. One remained.

Then– Gunfire. A sharp, brutal crack shook the walls. The man froze. Another shot. Then another. Shouts of panic cried outside the door, the unmistakable sound of bodies hitting the ground. And then the door burst open.

The man barely had time to turn, barely had time to lift his knife, barely had time to do anything, before a bullet tore through his skull, the shot echoing like thunder.

His body crumpled to the floor.

More boots pounded into the room. Your swollen, half-lidded eyes struggled to focus, your mind fading in and out, but you knew– you knew those voices. Someone dropped to their knees beside you.

"Fuck– It’s her." The voice was urgent, but familiar. "She’s alive. Love, it’s me– it’s John. Can ya hear me?"

He moved to untie you, but you let out a small, broken noise. Weakly, you tried to turn away, as if you could somehow hide your exposed body from him– hide from what had been done to you.

"Shit– someone get her a coat, something!" John hollered.

More hurried voices. More boots scuffing against the ground.

Then a voice rang out. "Get out of the fucking way!"

The tone was raw, shaking with rage, sharp enough to cut through the chaos like a knife. Everyone moved aside instantly.

Tommy’s blue eyes locked onto you, widening as he took in the bruises, the gash on your stomach leaking blood, the torn fabric barely covering your body.

Then, under his breath, so low it was barely a whisper, he muttered, "Jesus Christ.”

His coat was off his shoulders in an instant. He crouched down and carefully draped it over you, covering as much of your exposed skin as he could. The weight of it should’ve been comforting, should’ve felt like protection, but you flinched. The sudden movement sent a fresh wave of pain coursing through your body, making your breath hitch sharply in your throat. Tommy’s jaw tightened. His hands hovered, like he was unsure if touching you would only make things worse.

John knelt beside him, fingers moving to quickly undo the ropes.

Your body swayed forward as the last rope fell away, your muscles too weak to hold you upright, but Tommy’s hands shot out instantly, catching you before you could collapse completely. He felt the way you tensed. The way your body tried to shrink away, as if you weren’t sure whether his hands were safe ones or not.

“Can you walk?” His voice was low, controlled, but his heart was fucking pounding.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t even manage to look up at him– like you didn’t even register his question.

Your head hung limply forward, resting weakly against his shoulder. Your breath came in shallow bursts as the weight of exhaustion and pain dragged you down.

That was all the answer he needed. Without hesitation, he scooped you up into his arms. The moment he lifted you, a sharp, strangled cry tore from your throat as the wound on your stomach pinched.

“I got you,” The sound of your pain sent a violent shudder through Tommy’s body, his grip instinctively tightening. “I know, love. I know.”

Your head lolled against his chest, another small whimper escaping your lips as his arms adjusted their hold, careful but unrelenting. His breath was uneven as he stood, keeping you pressed tightly against him, shielding you as much as he could.

Your pain was his pain now.

Your suffering was his burden to bear.

And he was going to make every last one of those bastards suffer for what they had done to you.

The night air was cold, but Tommy barely felt it. His grip on you didn’t waver, his arms locking you against his chest, shielding you from the world as he carried you through the bloodstained corridors of the warehouse.

Every step he took was controlled, deliberate, but inside he was barely holding it together. You were too still, your body too limp in his arms.

“Almost there," he murmured, his voice softer than he’d ever let it be, barely audible beneath the pounding of his own heart.

You didn’t respond. But when his arms shifted slightly, having to adjust his hold as he stepped over a body on the ground, you let out a small whimper of pain. His grip tightened instinctively.

"Shh," he soothed, his lips brushing against your temple, voice raw. "I’ve got you."

The car was waiting outside, its headlights cutting through the darkness, and the backseat door already open. Arthur was barking orders to the men, his voice clipped and deadly, but the moment Tommy stepped outside, all movement stopped. The others watched as he carried you– silent, grim, waiting.

They had seen Tommy Shelby furious before.

But this was something else entirely.

Without a word, Tommy laid you down in the backseat, before climbing in himself. He adjusted his coat so that it covered you again before guiding your head to rest more comfortably on his lap.

The door slammed shut and the engine roared to life. The moment the car jolted forward, you let out another soft whimper, your fingers weakly reaching for him.

"It’s alright," he murmured, as his hand brushed through your matted hair. "You’re alright."

You heard his words, but they felt far away… like a voice carried through water, muffled, distant. Your head shifted slightly against his lap as you forced your swollen eyes open.

And then you saw it.

Blood.

Deep red, seeping through the white fabric of his shirt, thick and dark, staining the material all the way down to his waist. Your breath hitched. For a second, you didn’t understand. Your dazed mind struggled to catch up, struggled to process how he might’ve gotten hurt.

Then it clicked. It wasn’t his blood.

It was yours.

Your fingers twitched weakly, brushing against the soaked fabric.

"Tommy–"

The word came out slurred, almost inaudible.

His hands tensed around you instantly. "I’m here, love," he said quickly, his voice sharper now, urgent. "I’m right here."

Your vision blurred. The world was tilting again. The blood, so much blood–

"Tommy, am I dying?"

His arms tightened around you, his grip firm, protective, as if holding you together was enough to keep you here.

"No," he said immediately, but there was something frantic beneath his voice now, something breaking. "No, you’re not dying. You’re alright."

You blinked slowly, the exhaustion dragging you down.

Tommy turned his head sharply.

"Drive faster," he snapped, his voice thick with something close to desperation.

Arthur was already pushing the car to its limit, the tires kicking up dirt and gravel as they sped toward home. Tommy’s hand cradled your cheek, his thumb stroking gently along your skin, even as his grip shook.

"You’re alright. But you have to stay awake," he said, almost pleadingly.

You tried. And really, you wanted to.

But the last thing you felt before the darkness pulled you under was the way his fingers trembled against your skin.

…

You felt the car lurch to a stop, the tires skidding against the dirt, but the world around you was hazy, your body heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and pain.

You jolted further awake when Tommy shifted, pulling you onto his lap before he pushed the door open.

Then, a rush of cold air. Sharp as it bit at your skin. Tommy stepped out, his grip on you unwavering, unrelenting. There were voices, then footsteps. The sound of boots pounding against the ground.

Polly’s familiar voice. "Oh, my girl," she gasped. “What have they done to her?”

You tried to lift your head, to focus, but your vision swam, the world tilting in and out of darkness.

Polly was moving fast, her skirt rustling as she rushed toward you, her hands reaching for you before you even realized what was happening.

"Get her inside," she ordered, her tone sharp, controlled, but beneath it there was fear.

Tommy didn’t hesitate. You felt the urgency in his body, the tension coiling tight in his arms as he carried you up the steps, past the doorway, into the dim warmth of the house.

Everything was spinning.

When he set you down, the wound in your stomach pinched and a warm rush of liquid poured from it. You clutched at it– felt the blood pooling between your fingers.

"Tommy, put some pressure on that!" Polly’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding.

Your breath hitched, your body already trembling from exhaustion, from blood loss, from the deep, horrible throbbing wrapping around your ribs like a vice.

Tommy moved instantly, his hands already reaching for you. You felt him brush your hands away before pressing a towel firmly against the open wound on your stomach.

The moment the pressure hit, white-hot pain exploded through you.

You screamed.

Your body arched off the mattress, hands flying to his wrist, gripping hard, your nails digging into his skin, trying to push him away.

"I know," Tommy rasped without budging, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he might break his teeth.

You tried to twist away, but his hands didn’t move, didn’t falter, didn’t let up.

Your vision swam, a high-pitched ringing buzzing in your ears, agony coiling through your body like fire, licking up your ribs, burning through your spine.

Polly was moving fast, grabbing bandages, ripping fabric, preparing whatever she needed, but all you could focus on was the pressure, the unbearable weight of Tommy’s hands pressing against your stomach.

"Fuck," Tommy cursed under his breath. "Pol, do something. Help her–"

"I need supplies, Tommy," Polly snapped. "I need you to go get them."

You saw Tommy hesitate.

"Tom," Polly’s voice was firmer now, demanding. "Go. Now."

A beat. Then, the pressure on your stomach lifted as he moved away. The moment Tommy’s hands left your body, you felt the loss like a cruel snap of cold air.

Your breath hitched, your body instinctively tensing, but Polly’s hands were already there, replacing his.

She pressed tightly against the wound, and fresh agony ripped through you, another strangled cry spilling from your lips.

"Shh, darling," Polly murmured, her voice softer now, gentler than before, but still edged with urgency. "I know, I know. We’re going to get you all fixed up."

You let out a soft, weak noise as Tommy moved, as if your body somehow knew it was losing its only source of warmth, of safety.

"I’ll be right back," Tommy’s voice was hoarse, raw, full of something broken.

And then, the door swung shut.

Your fingers clutched weakly at the sheets, your body writhing slightly, trying to escape the searing pain, but Polly held firm. "Easy," she murmured, one hand moving up to smooth your hair back from your face, her touch gentle despite the blood coating her fingers. "Just breathe."

You tried. But every inhale sent sharp daggers through your ribs, every second felt like your body was tearing itself apart.

"That’s it," Polly encouraged, even as her hands remained firm, even as she continued pressing into the wound. "Just keep breathing, sweetheart."

Footsteps. A door swinging open.

Then, his voice.

"Here," Tommy said, sounding breathless as he stormed back into the room. His hands were full of supplies.

Polly barely glanced up. "Put them on the table."

He did, his movements fast and urgent. But the moment he turned back to you, his face fell.

His blue eyes flickered to the blood pooling around Polly’s hands, to the torn fabric soaked with red, and then, to your face.

Your body was trembling, your breath coming shaky and weak, your skin far too pale.

Tommy’s hands curled into fists. Polly looked at him before releasing the pressure on your wound.

"It’s not clotting," she said, flat, grim. Polly exhaled sharply, grabbing the needle and thread. "We’ll have to stitch it up."

His jaw clenched, his throat working around words he couldn’t say, his hands hovering uselessly at his sides. Without a word, he took his place back beside you, his hands finding your shoulders, his grip steady, firm, unyielding.

Polly met his gaze. "Hold her down."

And with agony in his eyes, he did.

A sharp, searing sensation that tore through your body like fire, ripping you from the darkness and into the cruel reality of the moment. Your eyes flew open, your breath catching instantly as a white-hot, unbearable sting shot through your stomach.

A scream tore from your throat before you even knew what was happening.

"Keep her from moving!" Polly’s voice was urgent, firm, cutting through the haze of pain and confusion as she clutched the bottle of alcohol she was using to clean your wounds.

Then, strong hands gripped your shoulders.

"Shh, love, I know, I know."

Tommy pinned you down, his weight pressing against you just enough to keep you still, but not enough to hurt you.

You fought against it anyway, your body thrashing violently, panic and agony blurring together as Polly’s hands worked quickly, pressing something sharp against your skin. Another wave of pain crashed through you, and you sobbed, gasping, your body twisting uselessly beneath Tommy’s grip.

"Please–" Your voice cracked, weak and frantic, as the burning sensation only grew worse. “Please, stop–”

Tommy’s grip tightened, his breath harsh against your ear as he whispered, "I know,” he repeated. “You have to let her do this."

You couldn’t do it, couldn’t bear the pain, the sting, the relentless wave of agony pressing down on every nerve in your body.

But Tommy wasn’t letting go. His hands stayed firm, keeping you still as Polly continued, her voice clipped, professional– but you could hear the pain in it too.

"It’ll be over soon," she murmured, but it barely reached you over the sound of your own ragged sobs.

Another sharp pain seared through your ribs, and your body arched violently, another broken cry ripping from your throat. Your fingers latched onto Tommy’s arm, gripping him so tightly your nails dug into his skin.

He didn’t flinch.

His voice was hoarse, desperate, like this was hurting him just as much as it was hurting you. "I got you," he murmured, his breath warm against your temple. "I’m right here, love. Just hold on. Just hold on."

But you couldn’t.

You felt yourself slipping away, the pain too much, too unbearable.

Your sobs grew softer, weaker, until the darkness swallowed you whole.

…

Sleep clung to you like a heavy shroud, pulling you under, keeping you trapped beneath the surface.

But then… voices.

Low, hushed, urgent.

You weren’t awake, not really. But the words drifted through the haze, barely reaching you, like an echo through water.

"I don’t know what happened in that room," Polly said, soft but grave, laced with something heavy, unspoken. "But our girl was hurt beyond what the eye can see."

There was silence– so suffocating that you could feel it settle over the room like a funeral shroud.

Then, Tommy’s voice, low, rough, dangerous in a way you had never heard before.

"What are you saying, Pol?"

A pause.

"You saw the bruises on her thighs, Tommy. The way her clothes were torn."

The words barely registered before a deep, unbearable shame clawed its way up your throat.

You wanted to pull the blanket tighter around you– to disappear, vanish, sink back into the darkness where none of this was real.

But your body wouldn’t listen. Your fingers twitched, barely moving against the sheets. Another silence. Longer this time. Heavier.

Then, Tommy’s voice, but it was different now. Not sharp, not angry. Shaken.

“Jesus Christ."

Another pause.

Then, a sound you never thought you’d hear from Tommy Shelby. A shaky exhale, almost like a breath that had been trapped in his chest for too long, forced out in a way that wasn’t entirely controlled.

You wanted to open your eyes.

Wanted to reach for him, for Polly, for something that made you feel whole again.

But your body was too broken, and your mind was too tired.

…

The room was quiet when you woke up.

Not the kind of peaceful quiet that brought comfort, but the kind that felt hollow, empty, like something had been ripped away. Your body felt heavy, every inch of you aching, wrapped in a deep, throbbing pain that radiated from your ribs, your face, your legs.

For a moment, you didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe too deeply.

Just listened.

The soft crackling of the fireplace. The distant murmurs of voices downstairs. The faint scent of whiskey, tobacco, and something familiar lingering in the air.

Then, movement

Your eyes shifted, and that’s when you saw him.

Tommy.

He was sitting in a chair beside the bed, his head bowed, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together like he had been praying but never finished the prayer.

His hair was disheveled, his coat abandoned somewhere, his sleeves rolled up. He looked worn down. Like he had been carrying too much weight for far too long.

Your throat felt tight. When you shifted slightly, trying to ease the ache in your body, the mattress creaked softly beneath you.

Tommy’s head snapped up instantly. His blue eyes locked onto you, and for a brief second they widened, raw and unguarded, before he jolted forward, hurrying to your side.

"Hey–" His voice was rough, low with exhaustion, relief, and something deeper, something broken. “Hey, hey, hey. I’m here. I’m right here.”

You tried to speak, but nothing came out. Your throat tightened painfully, your lips parting as if to form words, but all that came was silence. Then– tears. Hot, silent tears spilled over your cheeks, streaking down your skin before you could stop them.

Tommy’s breath hitched, his face contorting slightly, as if the sight of you like this physically hurt him.

"Hey," he repeated, his hands reaching up, cupping your face carefully, his thumbs wiping away the tears as fast as they fell. "It’s alright. You’re alright."

But you weren’t. And you both knew it.

More tears spilled, your body trembling despite the warmth of the blankets, despite the fact that Tommy’s hands were steady, firm, and safe. You let out a weak, shaky exhale, your breath stuttering.

Tommy’s jaw tensed, the pad of his thumb still brushing along your cheek.

"You’re safe now," he whispered, his forehead nearly pressing against yours. "You hear me?"

You closed your eyes and nodded weakly, but the tears kept falling. They wouldn’t stop– wouldn’t slow, no matter how hard you tried to breathe through it, to swallow it down, to push it away like it wasn’t happening.

His hands never left your face, gentle, steady, as if he thought you might shatter completely if he let go.

He watched you closely, his expression tight, unreadable, but his eyes gave him away. They were soft. Without a word, Tommy shifted, slowly, carefully, and sat on the edge of the bed. His weight made the mattress dip. And then, he reached for you. Not all at once. Not suddenly. Just gently. One of his arms slid behind your back, the other under your legs, his movements slow, deliberate, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t. So, when he finally pulled you into him, when he gathered you against his chest, you just let him. Because the desire to be held so gently by him outweighed the pain in your stomach.

A soft, shuddering sob broke from your throat the second your face pressed into his shoulder. His arms tightened and his chest rose and fell beneath you.

"I’ve got you," he said.

You just cried harder. Cried into his shirt, into his chest, into the only thing that felt remotely safe.

And Tommy just held you.

Like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

…

The hands were everywhere. Gripping, clawing, pressing against your skin.

Hot breath ghosted over your ear, cruel laughter filling the darkness as rough fingers bruised their way over your body.

"Not so tough now, are you?"

You thrashed, but you were trapped, bound, helpless. No matter how hard you fought, kicked, screamed, you couldn’t get away.

"Shelby won’t want you now."

"Damaged goods."

"Bet he won’t even look at you when we’re done."

No. No, please.

You screamed.

You jerked awake violently, gasping, drenched in sweat, heart pounding in your chest like it was trying to escape. The room was dark, shadows stretching across the walls, but the nightmare was still there, lingering, suffocating.

A figure moved beside you, reaching for you– Too close. Too fast.

"Don’t fucking touch me!" The words ripped from your throat before you even registered them, your voice sharp, frantic, trembling with terror.

"Hey, hey, hey. It’s me. It’s just me."

You sucked in a sharp breath, your pulse roaring in your ears as the terror began to splinter, reality bleeding through the nightmare. Your eyes darted to his face.

Not them.

Tommy.

A shuddering sob broke from your lips as you reached forward. Tommy caught you immediately, his arms wrapping around you, holding you firmly but carefully.

"Shh, you’re alright," he murmured against your hair. "You’re safe. I’ve got you."

His warmth grounded you, but the nightmare still clung to you like poison, lingering in your skin, in your bones. You inhaled, your cheek resting against the curve between his shoulder and neck. His scent wrapped around you, familiar and safe. He smelled of whiskey, tobacco, gunpowder, something darker, something uniquely him.

The fabric of his shirt was soft, worn, and beneath it, you could feel the subtle heat of his skin, along with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was faster than usual, uneven, like he wasn’t as composed as he wanted to be.

The silence stretched between you for a long time, a heavy, fragile thing hanging in the air.

Then, Tommy’s voice finally broke it. "What did they do to you?"

You stiffened. Every muscle in your body locked up, panic flaring hot in your chest. Your breath shook, your fingers twisting into his shirt as your mind raced, panicked, hesitated.

If he knew, would he still want you?

"Shelby won’t want you now."

"Damaged goods."

"Bet he won’t even look at you when we’re done."

The cruel messages from the men lingered in the forefront of your mind. You were damaged. Used. Broken. What if he’d see you differently now? What if he never touched you the same again? What if he’d–

"Please,” he cut in. “I have to know."

Slowly, you swallowed, your throat tight, aching, before you finally forced the words past your lips. "They–" your voice was barely a whisper. "They touched me, Tommy."

The air in the room shifted as Tommy stiffened. Then his jaw clenched, his breath sharp and ragged through his nose. Before you could process it, he was moving. Standing up and turning toward the door. For a second, your brain didn’t register it– or understand.

Then, it hit you.

He was leaving… Heading straight for the door. Panic slammed into your chest, raw and frantic.

"Tommy–" Your voice broke, but he didn’t stop.

No, no, no–

"I’m sorry, I– I tried," you choked out, your throat burning, your hands reaching for him but too weak to move from the bed. "I swear, I fought. I– I should’ve fought harder, I–"

Tommy froze in place.

You didn’t realize you were crying again, but the words kept spilling out, rushed and broken, desperate to keep him here, to explain how hard you fought. "I’m sorry," you gasped, barely able to breathe. "Please– please, don’t go– don’t leave me– I’m so sorry–"

Tommy turned sharply, crossing the room in two strides, and then, his hands were on your face, cradling you, forcing you to look at him.

"No." His voice was firm, steady, but his eyes… His eyes were shining, raw, and shattered. "This is not your fault."

Your breath hitched, but he didn’t let go.

"I should’ve been there," he whispered, voice thick with agony, regret, fury… at himself, at the men who did this, at everything. "You hear me? I should’ve been there. And I should never have sent you away. I was wrong. And I’m so fucking sorry."

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Tommy wiped it away with his thumb, his touch careful.

“I thought–” you stammered. “I thought you were going to leave.”

"Christ, I’m not leaving you love," he murmured, his voice so quiet, so broken it nearly undid you completely. "I just–" he swallowed thickly, his jaw tightening. "I want to go back there and kill every last one of those bastards for what they did to you."

You closed your eyes, your body shaking, exhausted, drained. But when you leaned forward, Tommy caught you instantly, pulling you into him, holding you tightly against his chest.

"Please stay," you whispered, your voice thin, fragile, desperate. "Please, Tommy– don’t go."

His hands tensed against your face, thumbs still brushing against your cheekbones, his blue eyes searching yours, reading every ounce of fear buried beneath the words.

"I’m not going anywhere, love," he murmured, his voice low, rough with emotion, as if saying the words out loud solidified them in stone.

A quiet, broken noise escaped your throat– not quite a sob, not quite relief, but something in between.

His hands slipped down, his arms gathering you close. Your forehead pressed against his chest, his warmth grounding you.

He dipped his head, his lips brushing against your temple, barely a whisper of contact, but the weight of it was enough.

"I never should’ve sent you away," he murmured, his voice softer now, but still laced with the guilt he would never forgive himself for. "And I promise you, love, I won’t make that mistake again."

Your fingers weakly clung to his shirt, your body melting against him as the last of your strength gave out.

And Tommy held you together.

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x y/n #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagines #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x imagine #peaky blinders fic

130 notes · View notes

solxamber · 19 hours ago

Note

For the Valentine’s Day event

Cater, Romantic, APT. by ROSÉ and Bruno Mars.

Specifically the lyrics

“Kissy face, kissy face sent to your phone, but I'm trying to kiss your lips for real”

Always excited for your content!

And don’t overwork yourself! :D

"Don't you want me like I want you" || Cater Diamond

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: APT. by ROSÉ and Bruno Mars

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 760

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Mutual pining, Friends to Lovers

It starts, like most things with Cater, as a joke.

A playful nudge here, a winking emoji there — an endless game of Are we? Or aren’t we? that neither of you have ever bothered to define.

You’re both out of NRC now, graduated and trying to figure out what adulthood means — which, for you, seems to be juggling work, friendships, and whatever this is with Cater.

It’s never been serious, not really.

Because Cater doesn’t do serious. He’s all smiles and filters and perfectly crafted captions. He’s the kind of person who knows exactly how to flirt without ever letting it get too real, like love is something that only happens on the other side of a camera lens.

But then there’s you.

And, well… you like to push buttons.

It’s a game between you.

A push and pull, a dance along the line of something real—so close to crossing, but never quite.

The stolen moments stretch between you: a lingering touch when you pass him something, a glance that holds too long before one of you looks away. The way your voice gets softer when you say his name, like it’s something precious, something that belongs only to you.

And Cater… Cater tells himself it’s fine.

It’s fine if you never say anything, because he’s good at this. At pretending. At keeping things light and easy, at making sure no one ever sees the part of him that wants.

But sometimes, it gets hard.

Like when you call him late at night, your voice warm and sleepy, saying, “Hey, you’re still up, right?”—and he always is, even when he wasn’t before.

Or when you lean into his space without thinking, close enough that he could just tilt his head and—

But no.

You don’t cross the line.

So he won’t either.

Until one afternoon, when the line between flirting and something more starts to blur.

It’s one of those lazy Sundays — the kind where the sky’s too blue and the breeze too warm to do anything productive. You’re at Cater’s place, sprawled out on his couch, scrolling through your phone while he fiddles with the playlist.

“Hey,” he calls from the other side of the room. “What do you think of this one?”

A sultry beat hums from the speakers — something slow and sweet, a little too romantic for a playlist that's supposedly just background noise.

You raise an eyebrow. “Feeling a bit sappy today, Diamond?”

Cater winks. “What can I say? I’m a man of many layers.”

You roll your eyes but your heart skips a beat — because that’s what he does to you. Makes you laugh, makes you want, makes you wonder if this little game you’re playing is ever going to end.

He flops down next to you, close enough that his thigh brushes against yours. He’s still grinning, but there’s something else in his eyes — a flicker of something that makes your stomach flip.

“You know,” he says, voice light but careful, “for all the kissy face emojis you send me… kinda rude you’ve never actually kissed me.”

Your brain short-circuits.

It’s not like Cater hasn’t said things like this before — he’s always toeing the line, always dangling his words just far enough out of reach that you can’t grab onto them.

But this time feels different.

This time, his voice is a little too soft. His smile is a little too real.

And maybe it’s the playlist or the lazy afternoon sun or the weeks of almost piling up in your chest — but before you can stop yourself, you lean in.

And kiss him.

Not a quick peck. Not a flirty brush of lips.

A kiss. Slow, lingering — the kind that tastes like every unsaid word between you.

For a second, Cater doesn’t move. His brain seems to short-circuit just like yours did, frozen with wide eyes and parted lips.

But then — oh.

Then his hand slides to your waist, his other hand tilting your chin up as he kisses you back, just as slow, just as deep.

And it’s not a joke this time.

When you finally pull away, breathless and a little dizzy, Cater just stares at you.

“Uh,” he says, voice hoarse, “was that… to prove a point or…?”

You burst out laughing, forehead dropping to his shoulder. “Shut up.”

He’s laughing too, but there’s a softness to it now — a sweetness underneath the usual teasing. His fingers are still resting on your waist, like he’s afraid to let go.

“So…” he starts again, and for once, his voice wavers. “Are we… still just flirting, or…?”

You tilt your head, biting your lip — the same playful glimmer in your eyes. “I don’t know, Diamond. Wanna kiss me again and find out?”

Cater laughs, breathless. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, I think so.”

You grin, and it’s the same smile he’s always loved—the one that makes him feel like the world isn’t so scary after all.

And this time, when he leans in, he doesn’t hesitate.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

#ˋ°•*⁀➷ valentine's event #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #cater x reader #cater diamond x reader #cater diamond #cater #twst cater

117 notes · View notes

heliosunny · 2 days ago

Note

tysm for filling in the void for yan mydei im so full just by reading through ur works ugh

more yan is always welcomed but like the plot twist is that it's reader that's the yan and mydei knows and likes it like some guy warns him about ur misdeeds and he's like 'yeah i know, got a problem with that?' listen im just deep into mutual toxic lovers okay thank u for coming to my ted talk keep writing stay hydrated mwap

Mydei x Yandere!Reader

At first, Mydei was just another face in the crowd, one more person who basked in the admiration of others, soaking up attention like it was his birthright.

And you? You acted like you couldn't care less.

When he flashed that charming smile, you barely glanced his way. When he teased, when he toyed, when he played his little games with those around him, you only met him with flat indifference, as if he were nothing special. As if he didn’t matter.

But inside, deep down, where no one could see, you were watching.

You noticed everything. The way he moved, the way his presence filled a room, the way he always seemed so confident, so untouchable. The way others chased him like desperate moths to a flame. It was infuriating. It was intoxicating. You wanted to be the only one who saw him, the only one who truly understood him.

But you couldn’t show that.

So instead, you let him think you were unaffected. You played the part of the one who simply tolerated his presence, the one who didn’t crumble under his charm. And, strangely enough, that was what caught his interest.

Because Mydei had seen admiration before. He had seen obsession, longing, love. But he had never seen someone like you—someone who met him without worship, without expectation.

That was when he started watching you.

At first, it was subtle—lingering glances, idle curiosity. Then it grew. He found himself searching for you in every room, noting the way you reacted (or didn’t) when he spoke. He tested your patience, pushed at your boundaries, just to see what you would do.

And when he finally realized the truth—when he caught that single moment where your mask cracked, when he saw the way your eyes lingered a little too long, the way your fingers twitched when someone else got too close—he smiled.

Because you were different. And that was why he loved you.

The confession came suddenly, without warning.

“I want you” Mydei had said one evening, his voice soft but certain. “You’re the only one who’s ever really seen me.”

You had scoffed, played it off like it meant nothing. "So? What do you expect me to do about it?"

His gaze didn’t waver. "Stay with me."

And that was how it started.

Your relationship was complicated, tangled in sharp edges and unspoken truths. Mydei was possessive, but he never needed to be—because you weren’t going anywhere. You watched him, he watched you, a game of quiet obsession played in the shadows.

So when some fool approached Mydei one day, warning him about you, he only chuckled.

"Obsessed?" he echoed, amusement dancing in his voice. "You act like that’s a bad thing."

After all, love meant never having to let go.

It started with whispers.

A nervous glance here, a hushed murmur there. People had always gossiped, always speculated about your relationship with Mydei, but lately, the tension had shifted. It was no longer just idle curiosity or petty jealousy. No, this was something else.

Fear.

The first warning came from a former admirer of Mydei’s, a trembling voice layered with concern.

"Mydei, I know you might not believe me, but they’re dangerous" she said, wringing her hands together. "They don’t just push people away—they get rid of them. Anyone who gets too close to you just… disappears."

Mydei tilted his head, fingers resting against his chin. "Is that so?"

She nodded quickly, relieved that he was listening. "Yes! I—I don’t think you realize just how deep this goes. I even heard that—"

He cut her off with a lazy smile. "And?"

She blinked. "What?"

"Why did that concern you?"

Her mouth opened and closed, as if struggling to process his response. "They’re obsessed with you! Aren’t you—aren’t you scared?"

"Should I be?" He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial. "Tell me, if someone was willing to burn the world down for you… wouldn’t that be just a little bit romantic?"

The girl paled, taking a shaky step back. Mydei only laughed as she hurried away.

The second warning came from someone bolder.

"Mydei, listen to me," a man muttered, grabbing his wrist firmly. "That person you’re with? They’re unhinged. They have people watching you. I—I overheard them threatening someone just for looking at you the wrong way."

Mydei arched a brow. "And?"

The man’s grip tightened. "Don’t you get it? They’re dangerous."

A slow smirk spread across Mydei’s lips. "Good."

The man flinched, his expression shifting from urgency to something wary. "You… you knew?"

Mydei sighed, shaking his head. "Of course I knew. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?" His fingers pried the man’s hand off his wrist, his grip just a little too firm. "Tell me, do you think I look like someone who lets things slip past me?"

The man swallowed hard, but before he could say anything else, Mydei turned away, waving him off as if he were nothing more than a passing nuisance.

The warnings kept coming. People muttering in corridors, exchanging uneasy glances when they thought Mydei wasn’t looking.

They all seemed to think they were telling him some grand secret. That he was blind.

But Mydei had never been blind.

He knew exactly what kind of person you were.

And that was exactly why he stayed.

Mydei was no stranger to being watched. Admired, even. He knew the weight of lingering stares, the way people’s eyes followed him with thinly veiled longing. It was expected, predictable.

But your gaze? That was something else entirely.

He felt it before he even saw you.

It was late afternoon when he paused in the palace gardens, ignoring the meaningless chatter of nobles flitting around him. A faint rustle overhead had his lips curving into a smirk. Subtle to most—but not to him.

Ah. There you were.

Perched on a tree branch like a shadow, watching him with that same unreadable intensity you always had.

The noblewoman beside him prattled on about something inconsequential, but Mydei wasn’t listening. His focus had already shifted. He barely spared the woman a glance before turning on his heel and striding toward the tree, cutting through the manicured hedges without hesitation.

"Ah—Your highness?" The woman’s voice wavered, confused by his abrupt disinterest.

But he was already gone.

You didn’t move as he approached, still as a predator in waiting. Mydei took his time, tilting his head as he peered up at you.

"You know," he mused, amusement lacing his tone, "if you’re going to stalk me, at least put in a little more effort. This is hardly a challenge."

You didn’t dignify that with a response, though your fingers twitched ever so slightly against the bark. Mydei chuckled, stepping closer.

"Are you going to keep watching from up there, or do I have to come and get you myself?"

There was the briefest flicker of movement before you leapt down, landing soundlessly a few feet away. You dusted off your sleeves, leveling him with a blank stare.

"Busy?" you asked, voice flat.

"Not anymore" he said breezily, as if he hadn’t just walked away from an entire crowd to chase after you.

A scoff. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you’re predictable." His smirk widened as he leaned in slightly. "Did you think I wouldn’t notice?"

"You were taking too long."

Mydei let out a delighted laugh. "Impatient, are we?"

You rolled your eyes, but the way you lingered just a little too close, the way your fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to grab him—it was enough to make his blood hum with satisfaction.

"Let’s go somewhere less… public."

You hesitated for only a moment before following.

The nobles and servants who had been watching from afar exchanged looks, whispers passing between them. Some admired the way Mydei always gravitated toward you, the way he smiled so easily in your presence. Others found it unnerving, the intensity between you both—something electric, something dangerous.

But none of them dared to interfere.

Mydei led you through the palace gardens, away from prying eyes. He didn’t need to look back to know you were following. You always did.

That was the fun part.

You never admitted it, never said it outright, but he knew. You were obsessed with him. And, he loved that.

As you walked, his pace slowed until he was just beside you. "You know," he mused, voice light, "most people try to get my attention by speaking to me. But I suppose lurking in trees works too."

"Maybe if you weren’t surrounded by idiots all the time, I wouldn’t have to."

Mydei let out a delighted hum. "Jealous?"

You didn’t answer.

Which meant yes.

He grinned, shifting closer, until his shoulder nearly brushed against yours. "you could always just say you want me to yourself."

"I don’t care what you do"

"You're bad at lying" Mydei sing-songed, clearly entertained.

You huffed, but Mydei only smirked, pleased. He knew how to push, how to tug at the threads of your carefully composed exterior until they frayed just enough to amuse him.

After a few moments of silence, Mydei spoke again, this time more thoughtful. "You know, someone tried to warn me about you again today."

"Is that so?"

He turned to face you fully, walking backward without a care. "Apparently, you’re dangerous."

"Are you scared?"

Mydei chuckled, stepping even closer. "You tell me."

"You really don’t care, do you?"

Mydei’s grin widened. "Would I still be here if I did?"

Your lips parted slightly, and for a second, Mydei thought you might actually say something real. But instead, you scoffed and looked away.

"Tch. Idiot."

"Possessive" Mydei countered smoothly.

You shot him a glare, but he only laughed, unbothered as always.

It started with small things like a glance that lingered too long, a conversation cut too short. People who used to approach Mydei freely now hesitated, their smiles more forced, their words more cautious.

At first, he found it amusing. You were possessive—he had always known that.

But then, things began to shift.

The first real incident was at a banquet.

A noblewoman, a foreign dignitary, all fluttering lashes and saccharine words had taken an interest in him. Nothing unusual. Mydei had entertained her with easy conversation, just enough to be polite.

And then he saw you.

Standing at the edge of the room, watching.

When he met your eyes, you tilted your head slightly, as if waiting. He excused himself from the noblewoman’s company without thinking. His feet carried him toward you before he could question why.

“You’re being ridiculous..” he murmured when he reached you.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to. The way your gaze flicked over his shoulder, where the noblewoman still lingered, was enough.

The next morning, the woman abruptly cut her stay short and left the palace without explanation.

People murmuring about how she had seemed shaken, about how she had refused to speak of why she was leaving.

He didn’t ask you about it.

But that wasn’t the last time.

More people began avoiding him. Conversations ended when he entered a room. Some courtiers wouldn’t even meet his gaze anymore.

And every time, when he turned to look at you, he found you already watching.

“You’re being too much.” he finally told you one evening.

You didn’t flinch. “Too much for what?”

“For them.” Mydei gestured vaguely. “You’re scaring people off.”

“Good.”

He frowned. “That’s not—”

“Do you want them?”

The question was quiet, but it made his breath catch.

You were standing too close now, eyes dark, expression unreadable. The air felt heavier, like a trap he hadn’t realized he’d stepped into.

You weren’t touching him, but he felt caged all the same.

“…No” he admitted.

“Then what’s the problem?”

He let out a slow breath, forcing a smirk onto his lips. “You’re suffocating, you know that?”

“You like it.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

And maybe that was the worst part.

---

Mydei woke to darkness.

His mind was sluggish, limbs heavy. The faint scent of something cloying still lingered at the back of his throat—something sweet.His wrists ached when he moved, the telltale tightness of silk restraints biting into his skin. He was sitting, legs spread, posture relaxed but utterly bound.

A chuckle bubbled up from his throat. “Really?” His voice was hoarse, still thick with the aftereffects of whatever you had given him.

“You went too far.”

Your voice was steady, but he could hear it—the irritation laced beneath. The anger you rarely let slip.

He should be wary. Should be unsettled by the cold metal dragging along his collarbone, the warning pressure of something sharp just barely pressing into his skin.

But he wasn’t.

Because this? This was new.

And Mydei never could resist a good game.

A sharp pain flared across his cheek—a slap, hard enough to make his head turn. The sting bloomed into heat, skin tingling.

Mydei exhaled slowly. “Ah… so that’s how it is?”

You didn’t respond. He could feel you there, hovering close, your presence a weight against his senses.

Then another hit. His lip split, a sharp copper tang filling his mouth.

His tongue darted out, tasting it.

“You don’t like it when I talk to others, do you?” His voice was almost teasing, but lower, rougher.

Your fingers curled around his throat, tightening just enough to make him swallow.

“Shut up.”

He hummed, not quite a laugh, but close. “Make me.”

Your grip tightened, cutting off his breath for just a moment before releasing.

His pulse thrummed with something heady, something dangerous. He shifted slightly, testing his restraints—not out of a desire to escape, but just to feel the silk dig deeper.

A soft chuckle escaped him. “You think this will make me stop?”

You leaned in, breath hot against his ear. “No” you murmured.

You knew him too well.

Knew that no matter how tight you held him, no matter how hard you tried to break him—

He would always let you.

Because in the end, neither of you wanted to let go.

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #hsr mydei #mydei x reader #honkai star rail mydei

139 notes · View notes

moon-ttokki-x · 23 hours ago

Note

hiii baby!!! I love your work and this is like my first request I’ve sent to anyone at all 😭 but could you do 28 and 7 for Minho ^^ tysm!!

hihi cutie~ i've actually had both of these prompts before so i got better at writing them hehe. also amogus divider bc why tf not

keychain - bf!lee minho x reader

pairing: bf!lee know x reader

summary: you fight with minho and he comes back to make things right.

genre: non-idol! au, pretty angst, soonie doongie dori honourable mention, comfort, fluffy ending, soft minho

a/n: so i started listening to lana del rey and i wrote this to 'sad girl' also div by @si-eunnis

⛓️ prompts: 7. "I'm glad you're here." / 28. "You're looking at me like that again."

skz prompt list | skz masterlist

You toss another dirty tissue across the countertop, sniffing as you watch it come to rest at the very edge, teetering. Leaning your cheek against the cold, marbled surface, you sigh and let the sharp feeling seep through your pores like iced water.

It does little to soothe the current puffy redness of your cheeks; how long have you been sitting here, crying? The golden hanging lights that frame the kitchen have made your hair warm to the touch, their beams caressing the messy state of it, and your back feels numb and achy from the awkward position you've been slumped in since Minho stormed out of the apartment. You sigh.

You don't even remember what you were fighting about.

Each exhale feels like it's been punched out of you as you relive the events of the past hour; him coming home, both of you tired and irritable, and then fighting over the pettiest thing that you don't even remember anymore.

Then he left.

You're not sure if he's coming back; he didn't take anything but his phone, which had been in his pocket as soon as he came in, and his work bag, which is still smashed against the wall where he'd dropped it with a sigh on coming home.

You can't fight a weak smile at the habit; you've installed multiple hooks along the wall so he can hang his bag up when he gets home, but every time you did, he'd always just drop it on the floor anyway, kicking off his shoes at the door.

And you'd smile and gesture at the hooks, but he'd just ignore them, kissing your fed-up expression off your face with a gentle mouth and squeezing your shoulder with a warm, solid hand.

The way he always does.

You look at those hooks now; one of the cats' collars is hanging off them, and several other items like hair ties and rings of keys adorn the others. You came into the kitchen one day and saw Minho hanging a cat toy from the hook nearest to the door so that, when he wasn't home, the cats would be able to play. Dori sits there now, batting with fluffy white paws at the feathers and bells on the string.

Ding, ding. Ding.

You're not sure why you're thinking of such things; surely anyone in your current situation would incessantly cry their eyes out, wailing at the mistake of fighting with their partner, instead of thinking about plastic wall hooks and under-stimulated cats.

You're so distracted that you don't even notice the apartment door open again, so slowly that it takes about half a minute for Minho to actually step inside.

He's soaked.

The smell of the night rain that he brings with him is suddenly so prominent inside the still air of the apartment that it's what makes you look up.

"Minho," you whisper, eyes red and puffy. You scrub a hand across your face, the skin stinging at the harsh treatment. You hadn't even heard the rain outside.

He doesn't look at you, just takes off his shoes, very deliberately. There's a little puddle of rainwater around his feet and you fight back an exhale as his socked feet meet the wet tiles. Dori immediately goes to nuzzle against his legs and then hisses at the unpleasant wetness of his owner's legs.

But Minho doesn't seem to notice, simply taking off layers until he's stood in his slacks and white work shirt, which is the only dry item of clothing he has on. He drops the rest of his clothes in a pile.

His eyes finally lift themselves to meet yours; the warmth in them is gone, replaced by something unreadable. A dull, heavy feeling settles in your gut, a sense of finality washing over your being. You know this is the moment that he'll say he wants to leave, that he just can't find it in himself to love you. He'll go to your shared room and start packing a suitcase, and take the cats with him, all while you wail and tug at his arms for him not to leave, please, Minho, don't leave-

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

Your gaze flits to his. Your voice is croaky, cracked, saturated with sadness. "What?"

He steps forward, ignoring the insistent mewing of Soonie and Doongie, who have just come into the room. "I'm sorry. I should have just left to clear my head and then came back, but I've been gone half the night."

You blink and look through tired eyes to the clock on the wall. It takes you a couple seconds to process the time. It's 1 am. Minho came home at 9 pm. You don't even know how many hours that is.

"How long were you walking in the rain?" You say, still whispering lest you scare him off again.

He shrugs. His mouth opens, like he wants to say something, but he's hesitant, like he's not sure how it will be received.

He speaks anyway. "I stalled for a while. I didn't know if you'd be here when I came back..." His fingers twist in the slightly damp material of his white shirt, fidgeting.

Your indignance suddenly takes over your upset state and you sit up straighter. "I would have waited all night for you, Minho. I wasn't going to leave..."

"I know," he says solemnly, and then quietly, "I'm glad you're here."

You nod and slowly slide off the chair you've been slumped in, disturbing a few of the tissues scattered across the countertop. "I'm sorry too, Min. I shouldn't have kept the argument going."

He shakes his head. "We were both tired. It happens."

You both stand in silence for a minute, neither one of you sure how to continue the conversation. It's almost awkward until Minho steps forward, taking out something from his pocket. He shyly holds it out.

You take a small step forward and take the small item from him. Unfolding your fingers from around it, you blink through unshed tears to see a small keychain resting in the palm of your hand. It's a little cat with its mouth open, its fur pattern like Soonie's, but grey instead of ginger. There's another attachment of a pink peach, and the clip keyring attachment is shaped like a heart.

You look up at Minho. His face is red. You remember suddenly that he's quite shy when it comes to giving things to people, and you can't fight the urge to throw yourself into his arms.

This little keychain is Minho's apology.

His skin is cold, damp from the rain, and the collar of his shirt is wet from the rain, but you hold him close anyway. You wrap your arms around his middle, squeezing your eyes shut. He's almost fetched up against the wall from how hard you threw yourself at him, but his arms find their familiar place around your shoulders.

You pull back slightly, gazing up at him. As if he wasn't soaked enough, your tears have left two patches on his chest, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"You're looking at me like that again." Minho says quietly.

You hum, a tear spilling down your cheek. "Looking at you like what?"

You see his throat bob, swallow hard. You can feel the constant thrum of his heart through the damp fabric of his shirt.

Minho gulps. "You always look at me like than when- when-"

"When I say I love you?" You finish for him.

Minho nods inaudibly, the movement of his head so small you almost don't see it at all. You smile, tilting your head at him, the tears beginning to slow.

You both stand there for who knows how long, clinging to each other, trapping between your bodies the smell of rain and fade cologne. Finally, Minho talks.

"I love you too."

a/n: this was way too long

110 notes · View notes

darlingofdots · 1 day ago

Text

I had a really interesting conversation with a friend of my dad's last week. We disagreed about almost everything but it was very respectful and motivated by mutual curiosity which is great and this one thing stuck out to me: At one point he said that he didn't think a woman could be Minister of Defence. I pushed back on this and we figured out that what he actually believes is that you can't do that job if you've never done real military service, including weapons training, because even if you've never been on active duty, he believes that you shouldn't manage the country's military you haven't properly experienced it. Which is a totally different statement! This guy is a couple years older than my dad and had to do mandatory military service as a young man, which only applied to men and got abolished when I was a teenager, and until the year 2000 women weren't allowed to "serve with weapons" if they enlisted voluntarily. By this guy's standards, way fewer women are qualified to be defence minister just based on access and statistics. The important part here is that this man has a strong opinion which I would argue is understandable, but his instinctual understanding of his own opinion was just "women can't do this job" and he had never questioned where that opinion really came from. He's a very sweet guy who is incidentally sexist not out of malice but because he genuinely believes men and women are Just Different, but now he's had to think about the structural reasons behind those differences at least in this one instance and realised gender isn't actually the defining factor, it's just the top layer. A lot of casual bigotry works this way. I hope he starts to think about more of his opinions like this.

#dottie rambles

79 notes · View notes

skimmingmilk · 2 days ago

Note

That sick fic ask just made me wonder how Tails reacted to seeing Sonic properly sick for the first time.

A/N: This may have gotten away from me a bit, but once the idea took hold I just kinda went with it ^^;; This was the fic I was hoping to have done earlier this week, but I'm happy to have it done now! Not quite a birthday or Valentine's Day fic, but has very wintery vibes, which still seems fitting for this time of year <3 Going to post this on AO3 in "Little Gestures" in just a bit, but wanted to have it connected to the ask that inspired it! Thank you, childofthemoon86! And by extension, the sick anon who initially requested the sick!Tails fic. This goes out to both of you!

no medicine like the hope of tomorrow

Sonic always woke up first.

On good days, the smell of hot porridge cooking over a fire would rouse Tails with its promise of a full belly. On better days, it was buttery pancakes frying alongside a sneaky slice of ham or bacon that beckoned him to open his eyes, twin tails already wagging with delight. On okay days, there were no smells that coaxed him into wakefulness, but a light nudge to his shoulder and two whistled notes tickling his ear. C'mon, Tails.

There were no bad days ever since meeting Sonic. Not even days when there wasn't any breakfast could be considered bad when Sonic was there.

But the point was, no matter what kind of day it was, Sonic was always ready and waiting to greet him first thing. Like the sunrise.

So when it was the ache of an empty belly that roused Tails one morning, there was the tiniest flicker of fear that it had all been a dream. That there'd never been good days or better days or even just okay days. Just another tally mark scratched into stone in a cave all alone.

But the fear didn't linger. It couldn't. Not when Sonic's scent enveloped him with warmth, wrapped around him even as he wiggled under his blanket. Traces of it also drifted through their campsite and, while it might not have been as strong as porridge or pancakes, it was more than enough to reassure him that their time together hadn't been imaginary. Tails was good at thinking up lots of things that didn't exist, but even he didn't think he could ever imagine someone as good as Sonic.

With a squeaky yawn, Tails stretched out along the length of his blanket. He scrubbed at his face with his paws, trying to wipe away the crustiness of sleep, then blinked at the brightness of daylight spilling into the mouth of the shallow cavern they'd camped out in. He squinted immediately. The sun was higher in the sky than usual.

Brow furrowing, Tails sat up, his blanket and Sonic's coat pooling in his lap. He glanced down at the latter. Lately Sonic had been giving it to him to sleep with during the night while it was so cold. Tails shivered, bundling his tails around himself as he slipped his arms through the coat backwards and looked around the campsite.

Usually Sonic had a fire going to get them warmed up, even if there wasn't any breakfast to cook. The stones he'd laid in a circle around the firewood Sonic collected were still there, along with the charred wood, frosted over with sparkling dew that had frozen during the night. The grass just outside the cavern had a layer of frost coating it as well, only just starting to melt away during the sun's journey through the sky.

Tails's gaze finally landed on the lump that was Sonic's blanket, his tails giving a jerky thump against his legs at the sight of him. A few blue quills poked out of the bunched up fabric and Tails finally picked up on the snuffly breathing that clouded the air near his nose. Tails's head tilted to one side, mouth parted in a surprised "o."

Sonic was still asleep!

Tails beat him to waking up!

He never beat Sonic at anything before!

Giggling to himself, Tails kept the coat tucked around him as he hopped up on his feet. The cold of the cavern floor seeped through his socks so he quickly padded over to Sonic, peering over his shoulder while the hedgehog slept huddled up on his side. Half his face was covered by the blanket, his fingers curled in it tightly like someone would rip it away if he let up his grip even a little.

Tails wiggled with anticipation. He crouched down and nudged Sonic's shoulder with his paw playfully. "Fwoo-woo!"

Whistling was still hard for him, especially when it was so cold. But Tails smiled brightly as he made as close a sound to a whistle as he could. It usually got a laugh out of Sonic when he tried, or at the very least a head pat.

But Sonic didn't budge.

Undeterred, Tails pushed at him harder. "Fwoooo! Fwoo!"

A harsh cough burst from Sonic's chest and sent Tails tumbling backwards onto his rear. He sat back up, coat fallen away and paws pressed against the cold ground between his legs to brace himself while he stared at Sonic. Each expulsion of air rattled his ribs, like they were being knocked together from the force of it.

"Fwoo?" Tails's ears fell as Sonic kept coughing, his body heaving with each fruitless attempt to catch his breath.

When the coughing stopped, his breathing was ragged like he'd just outrun one hundred of Robotnik's fastest badniks. Tails pushed himself up on his knees and leaned over Sonic again. His expression was pinched now and he could see his mouth, the lines around his muzzle tight as if he was gritting his teeth. He sniffled, nose sounding extra stuffed up, and it made him swallow thickly when his breathing eventually evened out. One eye finally cracked open, a sliver of green peeking through to observe who was staring at him.

Tails smiled upon seeing that his friend was awake, his tails flicking up and down happily. But then Sonic coughed again, this time keeping his mouth clamped shut through the painful chest spasms. He curled up tightly, nearly turning into a ball as his knees tucked in close to his tummy.

"Drink?" Tails signed, bringing his hand to his own muzzle like a cup, but Sonic didn't see it when his eyes squeezed shut through another bout of coughing.

Deciding water would definitely help a dry throat anyway, Tails scampered over to their backpack and rifled through it for Sonic's water bottle. He lifted it up triumphantly, only to gasp when it was much lighter than he expected. With a puzzled look, Tails shook the bottle. Nothing sloshed around inside. It was empty.

Sonic usually filled up the bottle before he went to sleep, just in case either of them got thirsty in the middle of the night. He must've forgotten. Tucking the water bottle in the crook of his arm, Tails flew back over to his blanket and plopped down atop it so he could pull on his shoes. He'd go get the water himself. He remembered passing a little brook when they were scouting out a good camp spot. It wasn't far at all.

And Sonic really sounded like he could use a drink.

Tails cut through the brush, his ears swiveling back and forth as he listened for the gentle trickle of water against stray pebbles and rocks. His tails gave a happy twirl as he rounded a thick tree trunk and spotted the small water source. Just the sight of the cool, fresh water flowing was enough to remind him he was pretty thirsty himself. Kneeling down, Tails lapped up the water straight from the current. Usually Sonic collected water and boiled it in a pot before drinking it, but Tails used to drink from rivers and ponds all the time. Just not the ocean, that was too salty and gross.

He drank until his tummy was full enough with water that it didn't feel so empty. That was the trick to being hungry sometimes. Just fill up all the space inside with water.

Tails could feel it slosh around a bit as he sat back and wiped the damp fur of his muzzle with his arm. Then he resumed his mission. He unscrewed the cap for the water bottle and filled it up right to the top, so Sonic would have plenty to drink in case his tummy was empty, too.

When he got back to the cavern, Sonic still hadn't moved. Tails scampered over to him and dropped down to sit cross-legged right in front of his face. Sonic forced his eyes open, but he couldn't do much more than squint at him with a silent question. Tails held out the water bottle to him.

For a moment, he just stared at it uncomprehendingly, but the gears eventually began to turn and Sonic put himself into motion. He propped himself up with his arms, but his elbows wobbled like they were about to give out any second. And they did exactly that when Sonic tried to reach for the bottle. He landed hard on his shoulder with a wince and another harsh coughing fit as Tails scooched forward to try and help him sit up.

Sonic batted him away, successfully sitting up on his second try. He fumbled with the cap to the water bottle, swaying a bit like a palm tree in the breeze. It almost made Tails a little woozy watching him. When he got the cap off, Sonic guzzled the water greedily, his throat bobbing rapidly as he drank and drank even more than Tails did. He stopped only to gasp for air, panting in between sharp, pointed sniffs to clear his nose.

It didn't sound like it worked.

Tails took the water bottle back before it spilled, frowning when it felt like it was already less than half-full. They'd have to get some more. Now that Sonic was up though, maybe they could get some breakfast, too.

Looking up at him expectantly, Tails's ears and tails wilted when Sonic just laid back again, this time resting on his back with his face turned up. Now that he could get a better look at it, Tails could see that the peach fur of his muzzle was a little flushed. His eyes closed again and his hand pressed over his chest, rubbing a little like he was trying to soothe something that hurt. Tails's frown deepened. Was Sonic hurt?

He tapped Sonic's shoulder and his head lolled to the side to face him. Tails extended his index fingers of both hands and brought them together. "Hurt?" he asked in sign.

The dull glaze in his eyes cleared a bit. No, Sonic shook his head, coughed once into his fist, then held up one finger. In a minute, he seemed to be saying as he laid back with a raspy sigh.

Tails counted all the way to sixty twice, just to be sure, but Sonic didn't get up after a minute. He decided to refill the water bottle while he waited, but even though that also took longer than a minute, Sonic still hadn't moved by the time he returned to camp. In fact, Tails was pretty sure Sonic had fallen back asleep.

Tails's tummy complained with a loud, impatient growl. He was hungry.

Rifling through the backpack, he found the small cook pot and four paper packets of porridge mix. It fascinated Tails to watch as the dry, powdery ingredients would expand and turn into a completely different consistency just from adding water and heat. Sometimes they added fruits if they could find any, but in the middle of a frosty winter, they hadn't come across much. They had to buy most of their food in the towns and villages they passed through.

There were also two hot dogs still wrapped up in plastic, but no buns and no chili cans. And one box of macaroni and cheese was left, but other than that they were out of food. No ready-made snacks Tails could chew on while he waited for Sonic to get up.

Well, who said he had to wait? Tails could read. He could figure out how to make the food himself. He'd watched Sonic do it before.

Tails started with the oatmeal packets since they were the breakfast food. Sonic always made two at the same time, so Tails also grabbed two packets along with the pot and the bottled water. Little instructions were printed on the paper wrapping.

Empty packet in pot.

Bring ½ cup of water to a boil.

Reduce heat and simmer for 5 minutes.

The instructions were probably for one packet each, so if he was cooking two, then he'd need to double everything. 1 cup of water and 10 minutes. That sounded right.

Tails sighed as he shot the water bottle an unimpressed look. He was gonna have to fill it up again.

But his sloshy, grumbly tummy told him to just get it over with. Besides, wouldn't Sonic be so impressed with so proud of him when he managed to cook them breakfast all by himself?

Tails tore open the packets with his teeth and poured the powdery oats into the pot. Then he dumped the entire contents of the whole water bottle over them. There! One cup of water.

He peered into the pot. It was mostly water, with tiny oat flecks that made it look cloudy as they floated to the surface. That didn't look right. Tails frowned and reread the packet. Maybe it just needed to be heated up still. Maybe that would fix it.

Sonic always started the campfire by rubbing two rocks against the wood really fast. Tongue poking out the side of his mouth, Tails tried imitating him. But he couldn't go fast enough. It was hard to keep the rocks from slipping out of his grasp whenever he sped up and no little sparks shot up into the wood.

Tails kept trying.

But it didn't work.

And he was hungry…

He glanced at the pot with too much water and oat clumps. It looked anything but appetizing. Embarrassment and shame churned within his empty belly as he lifted up the pot and watched the flecks of oats slosh about in the water. His eyes wandered back over to where Sonic was still sleeping, his breathing heavy and laced with the occasional grunt, brow pinched with discomfort even when he wasn't awake to feel it.

Tails couldn't feed him this, but he couldn't let it go to waste either.

He'd learned before he could even remember that food was food.

Tails shivered as he drank the cold, watery porridge mixture straight from the pot. His eyes squeezed shut with determination as he gulped it down until there was nothing left. Tails coughed, his fur bristled as each of his muscles tensed up, but at least his tummy felt fuller.

There were two more porridge packets in the backpack, but he didn't want to try again without a fire. He'd save them for when Sonic woke up for real, so he could make them the right way.

Tails slowly trudged back to the brook to refill the water bottle a third time, his tummy too sloshy to fly around with. He placed the bottle close to Sonic, in case he started coughing again, then returned to his own bed to lay down. He pulled Sonic's coat over himself again, nestling in it and his blanket as the cold air and the cold porridge in his tummy conspired to make him feel even colder.

It was easier to warm up when Sonic kept them moving all the time, but sitting still in the mouth of the cool cavern as clouds began to roll in, Tails was reminded of the wispy memories of the previous winter, huddled up in his old cave back when there weren't quite so many scratch marks on the walls.

—

Freshly fallen snow covered the ground by the time Tails realized that Sonic was worse off than he'd first thought. Harsh, sticky coughing echoed off the icy walls around them, no matter how much water he drank. Eyebrows furrowed and both tails flicking about anxiously, Tails sat right next to where he'd been lying all day and kept watch.

Panting heavily, Sonic's breath puffed out like a train's smokestacks, clouding the air in front of his flushed muzzle as he trembled, even though he was beneath two blankets. Tails had decided to share his with him when Sonic's chills got worse, despite the heat radiating from his body. It felt like he'd been sitting too close to the campfire for too long.

Sonic always felt relatively warm whenever Tails pressed against him, whether it be because Sonic had to carry him out of danger or when it was so cold at night they'd huddle up together to share what warmth they had. But this heat wasn't like that at all. It was wrong.

Tails was pretty sure he'd figured out what was happening to Sonic, too. It was something that Tails himself had experienced more than a couple times so far in his little life. Sonic was coughing because his throat was probably all gummy; full of thick, icky mucous that slowly slipped down into his chest and made it hard to breathe. His stuffy nose probably clogged up his whole head, too, including his ears and the space behind his eyes. His limbs couldn't hold him up because it probably felt like all his muscles had shriveled up inside, everything achy and sore even if he hadn't been smacked around by a badnik or a bully at all. And he was shivering so bad because his body was too hot and too cold at the same time and it didn't know what to do.

Whenever Tails felt like that, he'd always felt so weak, he'd been afraid that if he went to sleep, he'd never wake up again.

Because that happened sometimes. He remembered a baby flicky fell out of its nest in the jungle one day. No one came for it, no matter how much it chirped, so Tails had very carefully scooped them up and brought them to his cave, just so it had somewhere safe to stay until they could fly away like the bigger flickies. Tails didn't have much, but he was willing to share what he did with the baby flicky. He thought they could be friends.

But the little birdy shivered all night and they didn't eat anything Tails tried to give them, even though he wrapped his tails around them to keep them warm and mashed up berries so they were small enough to fit in their tiny beak.

The next morning, the baby flicky didn't wake up.

It never woke up again.

Tails didn't understand why until he started traveling with Sonic. They'd been breaking the little animals out of badniks, Sonic bouncing from one to another in the blink of an eye. As Tails tried to keep up, he noticed one of the flickies couldn't lift themselves out of the wreckage. They were too weak, stuck for too long in their metal prison until they could barely keep their eyes open. Tails cupped them gently in his paws and carried them to Sonic, his new safe place, because surely Sonic would know what to do.

But when the flicky's eyes closed and its last breath left its body, Sonic only had one thing to say to him. "Gone," Sonic signed, fingers pulling at the air as he moved his hand away from his body.

Tails frowned as he looked at the creature now cradled in Sonic's hands. He shook his head and pointed at it, trying to convey, What do you mean? It's right here.

Sonic's expression was unreadable as he gazed at the flicky. Then, more slowly and gently than Tails had ever seen Sonic do anything, he folded the bird's wings against their body and crouched down in the shade of a nearby tree. He dug out a small hole near the roots, then laid the flicky in it. Sonic watched and waited for a few minutes, two fingers pressed over the bird's pale blue breast. Finally, with a sharp exhale through his nose, Sonic covered the flicky with the dirt he'd just disturbed until each feather and the tip of their beak was buried.

He turned his back to it, then lowered to sit on his rump and stared out with that unreadable look still etched into his face. Out at the faded hills ahead of them, where the grass was beginning to yellow the closer inland they traveled and the colder it got. He patted the ground beside him, so Tails shuffled over to sit.

In the dirt, Sonic wrote with his finger. Sometimes things don't wake up again. A big part of them is gone and it can't come back.

Like the baby flicky from before and the older flicky now. Tails drew a flicky in the dirt and pointed at it. He didn't have to wonder if Sonic knew what he was asking.

Not just flickies. He wrote. Everything.

Tails touched his own chest, then pointed at Sonic.

Sonic just swiped his finger in a straight line underneath it. Everything.

Tails could believe that when he thought about how weak the two flickies had been, barely able to lift their own heads or breathe. He could believe it when he remembered how weak he'd felt every time he'd been sick on his own or every time the bullies beat him up so bad that he couldn't move, scared that he'd have no way to get food or water for days.

But Tails couldn't believe someone like Sonic could ever feel that weak.

At least, not until that winter day, when each breath physically pained him and he couldn't even open his eyes. He mumbled a little incoherently, nothing that sounded like words, just croaky grunts and whimpers that continued even in his sleep. But as bad as they made him feel, Tails preferred the coughing fits and the grunts and whines to the stillness and the quiet when it all stopped.

It was too still and too quiet and Sonic wasn't either of those things, even without saying a word.

Tails broke up their last two uncooked hot dogs into bite-sized pieces. Even though they were cold, they were better than nothing and Sonic needed to eat. In Tails's experience, food was always the best way to stop from feeling so shaky and weak. So he pushed the pieces against Sonic's mouth until he chewed, his heart shivering as he thought about pushing mushy berries into a flicky's tiny beak.

But Sonic swallowed each bite, grimacing a bit at the cold, rubbery texture. Tails couldn't help nibbling on a few either. He preferred them warm, in a soft bun and smothered with sauce that made his tummy growl just at the memory of it, but Tails had eaten worse. The not-quite-porridge from earlier in the day was definitely lower on his list of things he'd rather eat.

When the hot dog pieces were gone, Sonic's stomach still churned with hunger. He tossed and turned weakly, unable to get comfortable when everything hurt and hunger ate away at his insides and his skin burned like he was on fire. Tails pressed a handful of snow against Sonic's brow, but it melted fast and dripped down into his quills, frosting over on the tips. It only made his shivering worse.

Sonic needed to eat. He needed something more than two cold hot dogs, porridge powder, and a box of hard noodles.

There was a town a few miles away from where they were staying. They'd stopped in it a couple times so far while exploring the area surrounding the Chemical Plant Zone. It had an arcade, a library, and a diner that Sonic took them to when he had gold rings and paper notes to spare. He kept them in the wallet tucked away in one of the pockets of his backpack, but sometimes when Tails stole a peek inside and there wouldn't be anything there. They foraged for food on those days, before the winter frost killed most of what grew in the area, or Sonic would disappear for a couple of hours, only to come back with a wallet nearly full to bursting and a grin to match.

Tails fished the wallet out of the backpack. No gold rings or paper notes were hidden within its folds. He was on his own.

Luckily, Tails hadn't forgotten how to get food on his own. It was risky and he'd avoid it if he could, but this was for Sonic. Sonic did so much for him and shared every bit of food he scrounged up with him, even when he didn't have to.

The very least Tails could do was try.

Sonic needed to eat.

Tails tapped Sonic on the tip of his nose until tired and bleary eyes opened, too tired to even be very mad, though there was the barest glint of annoyance that glimmered dully behind the film of sick. Normally it was enough to get Tails to back off, ears flat and tails tucked around his legs apologetically, but in this moment, seeing that small sign of life was a relief. Tails grabbed onto Sonic's wrist and lifted it up until the red watch strapped to it was in the hedgehog's line of sight. Tongue poking out, Tails guessed at how long it would take him to get to town and back without Sonic's speed. To be on the safe side, he tapped the glass over the hour hand twice.

Sonic's eyes just closed on another, close-mouthed cough. Tails shook his limp wrist to get his attention again, this time pointing to the watch before holding up two fingers. Maybe Sonic couldn't see the watch hands when his eyes were so squinty. His fingers might be easier for him to read. I'll be back in two hours, okay?

Spasms wracked Sonic's chest as he tried to suppress the urge to cough. He tugged his wrist out of Tails's hold and rolled onto his side away from him just in time for his body to heave under the exhaustive force of his wet coughing. Tails rubbed his own chest in quiet sympathy, slowly backing away as the coughing tapered off on a wispy wheeze.

Two hours. He'd be back with food in two hours.

The sky was already darkening when he set out for town. Tails's shoes sank down into the freshly fallen snow as he scampered out of the cave. His trail of little fox footprints was a short-lived one, however, when he quickly decided it would be faster to fly and the falling snow began to slowly fill in the divots he'd left behind.

—

The street lamps spread their yellow light over the snowy sidewalk, their warmth an illusion while fat snowflakes still floated through the air. Tails kept to the outside of their glowing halos, slinking through the shadows like he was back in the village of Emerald Hill Zone. All hope of finding and bringing back food relied on his ability to stay out of sight. His ears remained perked, listening hard to his surroundings; everything muffled by the quiet winter snow.

Very few people ventured out into the streets of the small town after dark. The diner one of the only buildings with the lights still on, aside from the gambling hall and bar across the road. Bars sometimes served food, but Tails would save that in his back pocket in case he came up empty-handed at the diner.

The red, neon glow from the diner's sign reflected off the white snow on the sidewalk, though half of the letters were blacked out. Instead of "RESTAURANT" the illuminated letters spelled out an ominous "RETURN." Tails boldly pressed forward, ducking along the side of the diner.

He could smell the cooking grease through the vents as he crept around to the back of the building. Mouth watering, Tails swallowed and puffed up his cheeks with determination. He wasn't going to make a mistake just because he was distracted by being hungry. This was for Sonic.

Light from the kitchen window illuminated a small square against the snow-covered ground, the shadowy shape of a dumpster pressed against the paint-peeled wall just beyond it and a door. Tails's ears twitched, his breath held tight in his chest as the sounds of kitchen pots and pans clattered just on the other side of the window. He inched his way towards the dumpster. He didn't see a lock on it, which meant the owners probably didn't expect that people would go rifling through it for scraps. Hopefully that meant they wouldn't be waiting for him with sharpened knives and pots of boiling oil to chase him away into the night.

The back door flew open with a bang as it struck the worn siding wall. Tails skittered back around the corner with a quick whirl of his tails, only daring to peek when he heard something clanging against the dumpster. A gangly aardvark in a grease-stained apron grunted as he hefted a bag of trash over the edge of it. He let the lid fall shut with another clang that echoed through the snowy alley, then leaned against the wall with a sigh and a shiver. He fiddled with something in his apron pocket, removing a carton of cigarettes. He also pulled out a small, silver lighter.

Tails huffed, holding up his hands to his mouth to warm them while he waited and watched the aardvark shake out a single cigarette. With a snap of his lighter, he lit the end of the cigarette and took a long drag from it. As the acrid smoke wafted into the air, Tails's nose scrunched up and he stuck his tongue out. It was almost as bad as the chemical plant's smell.

But the tiny flame that flicked to life with a simple click compelled him to linger, drawn to it like a moth, but one that was too clever to let itself be burned.

New mission objective: get food for Sonic and get the lighter so he could make a fire at their campsite.

Tongue poking out the side of his mouth, Tails scraped some snow from the ground and packed it up into a ball. He tested the weight in his palm, satisfied with the density as he held it up to his face and closed one eye. Peering around the corner of the building, Tails set the aardvark in his line of sight.

As he took another puff from his cigarette, the fingers of his other hand repeatedly opened and closed the top of the lighter with a repetitive click-click. Tails crouched and twirled his tails to warm them up. Ready, aim…

The snowball smacked against the hand holding the lighter, knocking it from the aardvark's grasp and into the snow. "What the—?"

The aardvark whirled in the direction where the snowball had come from, tromping angrily through the snow to catch the perpetrator, but Tails had already flown up onto the roof. He quickly dropped down while the aardvark's back was to him, scooping up the lighter from where it fell, then flew back up to hide atop the diner. Crouched low on his belly to remain unseen, Tails kept his mouth clamped shut to keep from breathing too hard. His sharp eyes followed the aardvark as he paced the ground below, scratching his head when there was no sign of anyone save for a few footprints.

"Damn kids…" the aardvark muttered, took one more puff, then put out his cigarette against the wall.

He shuffled back to retrieve his lighter, huffing and grunting as he dug through the snow in search of it. But his hands were bare and chilled as they felt around for wherever it might've fallen, dexterity dwindling the longer he looked for it. With a resigned groan, he abandoned his search and headed back into the diner. The kitchen door closed with a heavy thud behind him.

Tails counted for a full minute before he gently eased himself back down. His hands trembled as he clutched the lighter between them, heart beating in triple speed while he watched the door warily. When it didn't reopen, he tucked the lighter into his shoe to free up his hands, then scrambled to climb up the side of the dumpster.

The lid was heavy, but with the right leverage Tails was able to force it open. He sucked in a deep breath through his mouth and held it as the odor of old food wafted up into the cold air. Dumpsters smelled worse when it was hot out, but Tails still didn't want to take any chances of getting a big whiff of something particularly rank as he leaned in.

He ribbed open the garbage bag on top, whatever food inside it likely the freshest he'd be able to fish out. There were a lot of wet and slimy things to sift through. Sauces and juices and other questionable liquids seeped into most of the scraps that were tossed into the bag, a soup of mostly unsalvageable food waste. The edge of the dumpster dug into his belly as he leaned in, his tails keeping him semi-aloft as he pushed around mushy chunks of half-eaten meatloaf, bits of burger, and pieces of pancakes soaked through with sticky syrup.

Tails was on the search for something more solid and not so mushy, and found it in some very lucky fries sheltered by a wilted cabbage leaf. They were a little extra crispy and burnt on the ends, but still soft enough to eat. He collected as many as he could, cradling them in his palm like they were as precious as gold nuggets. There was a paper cup thrown in on top of some of the other bags, so Tails used that as a container for his small haul.

He hopped out of the dumpster to set the cup down, freeing up his hands to search for more food. Dusting his gloves off, Tails straightened up with a satisfied smile and looked right into a stranger's face.

His heart stopped. Every inch of him froze in place as he was caught in the stunned stare of an alpaca mobian just a few feet away.

She stood in the yellow light of a streetlamp, just barely bleeding in between the buildings. But it was enough for her to see the shape of a small child climb out of a diner's dumpster with a cup of unwanted french fries from someone else's plate. Tails's eyes darted to the cup at his feet, then back at the alpaca's face, his breath quickly clouding the air in front of him as his instincts screamed at him to run.

It wasn't until she took a step towards him that he scooped it back up and stumbled away from her. His tails tangled up with one another, fighting over whether to twine together to look like one or spin fast enough for him to fly far, far away.

"Wait—" the alpaca called out, thinking twice about taking another step towards him. "It's okay. You're not in trouble."

A lie. It was always trouble if someone found him. Even if the food in dumpsters would only go to waste, in everyone's mind it was even more of a waste if their scraps went towards feeding him. He wasn't even worth their garbage.

A plastic bag crinkled in the stillness of the winter night, offered to him by the outstretched arm of a stranger and stopped Tails in his tracks. Sonic had offered him food. Food that was fresh and warm and filled with flavors he'd never known before. One person had thought he deserved more than other people's trash. One person went out of his way to make sure he got it.

"Here," the alpaca said. "If you're hungry, you can have this. My leftovers."

Tails watched the bag sway slightly as it was held up and away from her body. He could make out the shapes of two styrofoam containers inside it. One was a bit boxy, while the other looked like an extra wide cup. Sometimes Sonic got containers like those on the days where they ate food from a restaurant, when it was something that could be saved for later.

"It's not much. Just half a tuna melt and some tomato soup," the alpaca continued, still holding the plastic bag out. "It might not be piping hot, but it'll be warmer than those fries you've got there."

Tails tightened his grip on the cup of fries he'd collected, but his eyes remained fixed on the offered bag and the tempting aroma wafting from it. Whatever was inside that bag would probably be better for Sonic than anything he could dig out of the garbage. Not to mention the thought of giving garbage to Sonic of all people, like he didn't deserve better than that…

Sonic deserved the best.

But even though Tails wanted nothing more in that moment than to give him that, he was pinned in place by the alpaca's soft stare. Knees locked. Chest tight. Teetering just on the edge of taking flight.

The alpaca seemed to realize this, so she crouched down and set the bag on the ground. The plastic crinkled as it settled, sitting harmlessly in the snow while she took several steps back.

"It's okay. Things have been tough for a lot of people around here ever since the old chemical plant got bought out and let everyone go," she told him. "Money and food… it's all been hard to come by. So, I get it. Go ahead. Take what you need."

She continued to back away until she was back on the sidewalk, no longer a looming threat between the back of the diner and the building beside it. She smiled in the halo of the lamplight and lifted her hand in a slight wave. Her boots crunched through the snow as she walked away, disappearing into the quiet winter night without another word.

Just leaving the lone plastic bag on the ground.

His ears flicked about as his nerves seized up, but Tails slowly crept towards the food. His nose twitched as the savory smells reached him through their containers, the hearty tomato standing out most of all. It wasn't quite like the chili Sonic smothered their hot dogs with whenever he had a chance, but it was close enough that Tails thought he might still like it.

And if that lady wasn't lying—if this had been food she meant to eat later—then it couldn't be bad to eat. Couldn't be a trick or a trap. She would've had to plan that, and she'd looked just as surprised to see him behind the diner as he'd been to see her.

Puffing out his chest, Tails suddenly surged forward and snatched the bag. In a whirl, he flew up and away from the diner, only pausing on the roof of a nearby building to open the bag and inspect its contents. It was half a sandwich and a cup of soup, just like she'd said. The bread was lightly toasted and some melted cheese was starting to congeal along the edge of the sandwich from the cold, but it was fresher than anything he'd find in a dumpster.

Tails packed it all up again and set his sights on the edge of town before he took flight once more through the snowy sky.

His little tails spun as fast as he could make them go, bobbing precariously in the air as he followed the path deeper into the forest. The food wasn't that heavy, but it was a long way to fly while carrying something, even if carrying Sonic around was making him a little bit stronger each time. At least Tails thought so, and that was what Sonic said, so it must've been true.

As he came across the familiar, but now-frozen brook, Tails dropped down to his feet to give his tails a bit of a break. He traveled a bit slower through the brush in the dark, poked and prodded by the points of dead branches that he couldn't see too clearly, all while doing his best to protect the bag of food from being torn open by them.

When he finally wriggled free of them, close to the shelter of their cabin, Tails nearly broke into a run.

But something was lying in the snow just ahead of him.

Tails squinted at it in the dark, snowflakes impeding his vision as they caught on his lashes. But a dark, sharp shape cut through the white powder that looked an awful lot like…

Sonic.

The bag of food smacked against the snow when the handles slipped from his grasp, forgotten as Tails scrambled over to the misshapen lump lying face down in the middle of the path. The snow hadn't buried him completely, but it covered him enough that he had to have been lying there for at least a little while. Heedless of getting pricked this time around, Tails dug his paws through the snow drift to clear it away as quickly as he could from Sonic's quills.

Once freed, Tails rolled him over onto his back. He was stiff and so cold, his fever momentarily drowned out by the snow. His eyes were closed, but his chest still shuddered with each exhale.

Still breathing. Not gone.

With a frantic surge of energy, Tails hefted Sonic up under the arms and dragged him through the snow, heading back towards their cavern. He didn't know why Sonic had tried to leave the shelter, but now that Tails had returned with the lighter and some food, he'd make sure he'd get better. Morning couldn't come without Sonic.

When they got back inside, Tails laid Sonic down on his bed, then draped his coat and both blankets back over his body. Fishing the lighter out of his shoe, Tails spun the little wheel with his thumb until a tiny flame came to life in his hands. He held it up to the charred remains of their old campfire, tired embers slowly reigniting and warming the icy little cave.

Though his eyes were still closed, Sonic turned towards the small fire, its warmth still enough to permeate the layers he was bundled under. Tails watched him for a good minute, his heart beating just as fast as when he'd stolen the lighter from the aardvark at the diner or when he thought the alpaca might try to chase him down. Which reminded him; the food.

While Sonic warmed up, Tails darted back out to retrieve the bag of food. His cup of fries were stashed away inside it with the soup and sandwich, set aside as he unpacked everything else beside the hedgehog. His gloves were dirty from the dumpster, so he took them off and left them at the mouth of the cave so the lingering odor wouldn't invade their sleeping space too much. Then he settled in and popped open the lid to the soup first, gentle as he carried it over to Sonic's face. His nose was too stuffed up to smell it properly, unaware that the food was even there, so Tails crawled behind him and pushed his head up until it was propped up against his shoulder. Green eyes finally fluttered open, chest hitching from the change in position.

Sonic glanced down as the soup container was pressed into his hands, Tails struggling to keep both of them balanced while supporting his weight. Though his fingers were clumsy and stiff, Sonic eventually secured his grip on it while Tails guided it to his muzzle. The broth sloshed against his mouth when Tails tried tipping it towards him, but as soon as the taste registered, Sonic started to drink it down with desperate gulps. It was liquidy enough that he could, smooth and easy on his throat.

Tails made sure he drank every drop, only pulling away when the cup was empty. Sonic coughed a bit as the acidity from the tomato tickled his throat, but it quieted when Tails brought him the sandwich next. His nose scrunched a bit as he chewed, like he couldn't tell what the flavor was, but hunger outweighed any reservations he might've had and he ate more than half of it before he curled up and away from the idea of food.

Tails scarfed down what remained of the tuna melt along with each of the fries in his cup, licking the salt and grease from his fingertips when they were all gone.

Movement out of the corner of his eye immediately drew his attention back to Sonic. He'd rolled onto his side with some effort, facing Tails and the campfire. A deep frown etched across his brow as he still shivered despite the layers of blankets and the firelight flickering across his face. One arm wiggled free from the blankets, reaching out across the cave floor. His palm patted the ground, fingers grasping to hold onto something.

A deep sigh melted the tension from his body when Tails's fingers curled around Sonic's. The kit sat close, watching as the frown lines finally faded away. His muzzle was still flushed and his body still wracked with tremors, but his face slowly went slack with sleep as long as he held onto his hand.

Their hands stayed connected as Tails snuggled up against Sonic's front, his tails curling over his hip to give him a little extra warmth. Sonic's body still radiated too much heat, but it was nice to cuddle against after being out in the cold for so long. And as Tails's thicker fur surrounded the hedgehog, his shivering ceased as he settled beside him with another softer sigh.

He laid one ear against Sonic's chest, listening to the faint, wispy breaths that made it rise and fall. In his own chest, a gentle rumble built up. Whenever he felt sick, sometimes purring helped. So he purred; hard enough for Sonic to feel it through the layers tucked around him and loud enough for him to hear it over the rattling in his lungs. Though he'd been determined to watch Sonic all night, to make sure he'd wake up in the morning, Tails couldn't fight the squeaky yawn that forced his jaw open or the way the combined warmth of Sonic and the fire made his heavy eyelids droop closed. But even as Tails sank deep into his own slumber, the soft vibrations continued, soothing both himself and Sonic long into the night.

And in the morning, there would be a pot of porridge cooking over their fire and the smell would slowly rouse him from a bed that smelled like Sonic. But before he'd have a chance to fully wake, there'd be a light tap on his shoulder and two soft notes whistled against his ear, beckoning him out of the dark. C'mon, Tails.

And when Tails opened his eyes, the sun would be up, shining with a smile just for him.

And it would be a good day.

89 notes · View notes

alexusonfire · 2 days ago

Text

She Blossoms in the Night

Patti!Fosca x Fem!Reader

Happy Valentines Day everyone, have a little sweet treat 🖤 Requested by @kittenpielove , mostly fluff, with a HINT of angst if you squint

She’d captured my attention from the moment I first saw her.

A pale, fragile thing, with dark hair that hung in long strands down her back. Her walk was hunched and hobbled, like the pain in her joints was almost too much for her to bear. Clothed in layers, despite the lingering summer heat, her swaying skirts could be heard down the long halls, warning of her impending arrival. Older than I, perhaps exaggerated by illness, with such sullen eyes they drew instant pity.

I’d heard of the Colonel’s sickly cousin from my brother’s letters; “a ghost” is how he described her. Gaunt and haunting, her wails of pain were often heard long into the night. The men avoided her as best they could, on constant alert for the sway and howls; they’d even go so far as to completely ignore her at dinner, hooting and hollering around her as she sat in her own melancholy.

Upon finally meeting Senora Fosca, I could not fathom what he’d been writing about; in all my years, I’d never found someone quite so alluring.

Our first real exchange was in the greenhouse, which I would later learn Fosca tended to herself. I’d only meant to take a short walk, something to clear my thoughts lest I be left tossing and turning. As I ambled between rows of gardenias and petunias, their scent wafting pleasantly in the air, her sudden presence in the doorway startled me. Loud as she could be in her throes, silence came just as easily to her.

A ghost, wicked and cursed, the men would have whispered, the way she was half-hidden by shadow.

Yet I’d never seen her so beautiful.

“I did not mean to frighten you.”

I asked her to sit with me, mostly for my own selfish reasons. I could not stop admiring the way the moonlight reflected those dark strands of hair, once so dull and bland now seeming vibrant. Her skin shone, eyes sparkled; she so often hid from the sun, its rays flushing her unpleasantly, but here, in the cool glow of the moon, she flourished. I wanted to keep her here forever, if only so that I might look upon her wistful beauty as often as I pleased.

Our conversation flowed easily, lengthening well into the night. She remained firmly rooted in reality, her reality, refusing to spin pretty tales of love and fantasy. I encouraged her to speak of the small pleasantries she had, such as her piano that she often played, or the novels that lined the walls of the quarters. When she finally bestowed me with a small smile, it felt as though the sun had finally burst through the clouds on a cold, rainy day. I knew, from that very briefest of moments, that she’d captured something within me.

I began to ask after her, to her cousin and the Doctor, sometimes even being so bold as to knock on her door when the light barely clung to the corners of her shadowy bedroom. I longed to see her lit by the moon time and time again, so deeply it was like an ache welling in my chest. Much to my initial surprise, she never objected to my visiting, and soon began to ask after me as well. We now spent our days together, reading, gardening, or she teaching me the notes of her piano. Sometimes we would speak, other times simply be near one another. Her cousin was so pleased to see that Fosca had finally found a friend, and the doctor attributed the color she had gained in her hollow cheeks to our closeness.

As time went on, I became more and more infatuated. I took it upon myself to care for her when the doctor could not, even going so far as to share her bed when her mental state did not allow my departure. We clung to each other, more than would normally be found appropriate, but as the men were busy with their own tasks and truthfully, they were simply glad to have Fosca out of their hair, no one said a word against it.

I couldn't be more pleased with their lack of attention. I adored having her all to myself, my sweet, sad little mourning dove. Her cold hand in mine brought me a sense of belonging I hadn’t experienced in years, and one evening as we lay curled into one another, she told me much the same.

We snuck away to the ruined castle for our first kiss. Ever conscious of her declined physical state, I waited for a day she seemed brighter, lighter, more sure of herself on her feet. When the light fell and darkness rose, I gathered her and an oil lamp up, then headed down the rocky path. She held tightly to me, her boned fingers digging into the cotton of my sleeve. Her gentle voice guided me through the winding vines and crumbled stone, leading us to the overgrown courtyard gardens. She’d spoken of this place often, with such reverence. Her entire body filled with it now, her spine straightening and shoulders relaxing. When her lips tipped upwards, I could bear it no longer. I pulled her flush to me, we sharing a small moment of longing between us before her mouth melded to mine. We fit perfectly together, as though we were always meant to be connected in this way. With the moon as our witness, we claimed each other for our own, swearing our love and our lives to one another for as long as hers would allow.

–-

Ten years we shared, filled with more love and joy than either of us had ever hoped for. Though the true extent of our affections remained behind closed doors and hidden corners, we often found peace in the greenhouse while the world slept. Even when her legs weakened to needing a cane, she held my arm for support as I sat her amongst the flowers, she curling into me as we wiled away the hours discussing life and our menial day-to-day.

I lay those same flowers on her grave, as she requested of me, and took care in their upkeep every week. I would sit with her in the evenings, that block of marble shining as she did under the moon, and tell her of my life without her, how I missed her, and couldn’t wait to see her again.

My ghost. My mourning dove. My Moonflower.

My sweet Fosca.

#fosca ricci #fosca (passion)#patti lupone

81 notes · View notes

creeksandsocks · 2 days ago

Text

Lovefool (A valentines special)

New to being a couple, you and Eddie enjoy your valentine's day home alone with movies, roses and whipped cream…

Pairing: Inexperienced!Eddie x Inexperienced!Reader

[6.3K words]

A/N: Happy valentines day! I hope you guys like this - i've been working on it for a while!

Tags: Smut, 18+, MDNI, groping, blowjobs, eating out, protected!PiV, kissing, eating food off each other, nervous sex, saying “I love you”.

You finish applying a final layer of Pink Lemonade Kissing Potion Lip Gloss as you hear 3 solid knocks on your front door. You already know who’s knocking, you've been nervously awaiting his arrival all morning - doing your morning routine with extra care, tucking in your freshly washed sheets, making sure you have a brand new pack of condoms waiting in your nightstand drawer - From your mirror, you peer over your shoulder and see the clock on your nightstand reading 4:00 PM exactly. You appreciate that the heartthrob on your front porch is timely.

You bound down the staircase, familiar stairs taken two at time -anything to reach the front door faster. Once you reach your entryway, you quickly compose yourself and smooth your hair down before you reach for the front door handle and swing it open. As planned, standing outside is Eddie, your boyfriend(!). He's sporting a rom-com pose with his hand braced against the door, leaning into it, and a red rose stem gripped between his teeth and his left arm hidden behind him. “Hello valentine” he swoons through gritted rose-biting teeth.

“Hi Eddie”, you greet him sweetly as you both swoon at one another - this is the first time you've seen each other for three days, you've both been busy during the week. This only adds to the nervous anticipation for tonight. He removes his arm from the door frame, takes the rose from his mouth and nestles it behind your ear. He uses his now free arm to cup your face and kiss you hello. It’s very solid and sweet, you both know it’s not the last time that you’ll kiss each other tonight. Once you separate lips, you're still hungry, you place both your hands on his neck and pull him forward, kissing him again, this time open mouthed and harder, pressing into each other.

“Mmm”, he hums when you part, licking your lip gloss from his lips, “strawberry?”. You shake your head, “strawberry lemonade, actually, maybe you should get another taste? Just to make sure?”. He doesn’t hesitate when you give him permission to kiss you again. He leans in and gives you several earnest pecks, all over your mouth. He's aware of the fact that you're both perched in your front door frame in plain view of all your neighbours, doing nothing too R rated, yet. You're both giggling by the time he pulls back and puts on an exaggerated thinking face.

“I don't know if i'm getting lemonade, babe - you gotta give me another taste”, he jokes and jumps into you, teeth bared like he's a vampire coming to get you. You play with him, and jump back from the door, back into the entryway of your house- he follows you right in and drops the shopping bag he was holding in his hidden arm and closes the fron door all in one smooth motion. He stretches his wingspan fully and clutches your wrist as you scurry away. He pulls your wrist into him and he spins your bodies into the door. He's got you caged in, hands on your waist and wall keep you stuck. Eddie bears his teeth once again like he's going to bite you and lunges for your neck, instead of sucking your blood, though, he starts sucking bruises into your neck. Once his lips have traveled down the expanse of your throat, he's reattached himself to your mouth.

It’s wet and hard and he's using his hips to press you into the door frame. You eventually start slowly sliding your back down the door, bringing him down with you. Your mouths stay connected until you've reached the floor. Your legs are parted and bent and his body is slotted between them, he's sitting rather pathetically on his knees before you. You raise yourself and shuffle forwards and onto his lap. From your new seat you press your chest into his own, kissing his head down and laying him down in your entryway. You massage one hand on the taught expanse of his chest using your nails to scratch at him through his sun-bleached band tee and the other holds you up. You disconnect your mouths momentarily and take the moment to appreciate the man splattered out beneath you. His hair has fallen around his head like a halo and his lips and cheeks are flushed sinfully red. He's got a defeated look on his face, though, ever since you pulled away. So, you decide to soothe him and kiss him again. You're sitting on his stomach, just above his belt, letting the feeling of his torso beneath you ground you as you kiss each other senseless. You’re near fucking him five feet from your front door when your kitchen clock starts blaring.

It shocks you both, regretfully separating. He lifts his chin to peer into your kitchen as you raise your head to look at. You are suddenly reminded that you've got something to attend to in the kitchen and start climbing off him. “MY CINNAMON ROLLS” you say as you stand to your full height above him, legs still bracketing his sides. You reach forward with both arms to help Eddie stand up and he graciously takes your hands to aid in pulling himself up. He’s not even balanced himself when you start dragging him into the kitchen, dropping his hand to place oven mitts on and snatch the oven open. You sigh with relief to learn that your baked goods haven't burned and are perfectly golden brown. When you're distracted with taking them out of the oven, Eddie takes the moment to readjust himself in his jeans, hoping to cover his straining cock.

You turn around with the baking sheet in your mitted hands, showing off your creation, perfectly round a gooey cinnamon buns. You bashfully say “They cooked well! They aren’t super even, like, that one's huge- but I think they'll taste good”. Eddies having none of it, “no, baby they look great! Really, you did a good job, they're gonna be delicious". You smile to yourself and spin to place the patinaed baking pan on the stove. Eddie parks himself next to you, placing his hand on your ass and caressing you as you both admire the dessert in front of you.

You drizzle the glaze over them (not without immature jokes from both of you comparing the icing to cum), and plate them up. Eddie, ever chivalrous, demands that you feed each other. So, you eat while standing face to face gently placing the buns into eachothers mouths. You're glad to see you did in fact do a great job on them, they are perfectly baked and taste great. You feed each other the rest of your deserts with awkwardly twisted arms, and sticky mouths from missed bites, but neither of you would change for the world. Tonight alone with your lover (however cringey it may be to say), feeling like real adults and taking advantage of the hours of independence you've been granted with each other. After placing your dishes in the sink and rinsing off your hands, you share a sticky sweet cinnamony kiss before rinsing the lower halves of your faces in the sink, too.

Feeling tired and heavy from your decadent desert you and Eddie bundle up on the couch, the ending of winter's cold still biting you in your revealing dress. Sitting with your butt tucked in the corner of the couch, and your legs folded over his lap, you tuck your arms around each other and wait for your movie to start. My Bloody Valentine, your pick. It’s the perfect movie for the occasion, holiday accurate? Check. Gore and thrill? Check. Romance? Check… All the depictions of love on the screen remind Eddie of the bag of goodies he's brought to your house. He kisses you “goodbye” before he leaves sprints to his shopping bag and back to you on the couch with it in hand. You're both giddy about what eddies got in his mystery bag as he reveals the items to you slowly. First, revealing a beautiful bouquet of hand picked roses. You smell them once he’s given them to you, enjoying the honeyed floral scent. You thank him and gently place them on the coffee table, readying yourself for your next gift. He’s taking his valentine out “okay, I poured my entire heart and soul into this, my fair maiden. Please read it after I leave, I'm embarrassed.” you promise him “I'll wait, cross my heart. To be honest, I wanted you to read mine in private, too”. You hold your hands out and receive an intricately handcrafted card in return. On the cover, you find an illustration of you and Eddie as zombies, the drawing is titled “to death do us part (and not even then)”.

Eddie’s a talented artist, at least when it comes to eldritch horrors and hobgoblins for his campaigns, so its clear that the decaying loves depicted are definitely you and him, paired with a heartfelt caption his most badass handwriting font, the card couldn’t be better. “You made this?” you ask. Even though you know it's definitely him who put the hours into creating it, “Eddie I love it! It's amazing! I'm putting it on my wall, or in a safe protected by lasers!”. He’s bashful “well, i just love you. And I'm grateful for you, and that you think stuff I think is cool, is cool. Like zombies in love and stuff”. He's blushing, he’s known to put up a hard exterior, preventing people from seeing how sensitive and kind he really is, but he lets you see. He lets you know how he really is without protection, he's funny and nerdy and smart and hot and romantic and perfect for you. You want nothing more than to show him how you feel, too. You let your eyes focus on floorboards as you mull over how much you want to let him read your possibly embarrassing (though he won't think so) valentine that you too spent hours creating. You want to let Eddie, your Eddie, know how loved and perfect he is, and how deserving of a perfect valentine's day he is. “Eddie, I want to give you mine now, but it’s upstairs”. You return your gaze to him, with a devious smirk on his face, and a bottle of whip cream in his hand - “I’d love to see it, but, oh baby, I was planning on taking you upstairs anyways”. You both laugh at the absurdity of what he’s proposing, but, yeah, you want to fuck him real bad. So, you take his hand (the one that's not holding the whip cream) and bound up the stairs hand in hand.

After you breach entry into your bedroom doorway, you're once again being pinned up against it and kissed. Hes curving down into you, stray curls tickling your cheeks and forehead, your hands are grabbing at each others clothes and pulling, praying that the one in, like, fifty billion chance of particles perfectly lining will just take his shirt off and reveal his skin to you without having to disconnect lips for even a second. But, (this time at least) his shirt isn’t coming off like that - and you have to stop kissing him and pull his shirt off yourself, he aids you and raises his arms so that he can be disrobed in one smooth motion. He’s pressed you back against the door and is kissing your neck as you grope each others bodies - he takes his hands through your hair, down your ass, squeezing as he glides his hands over your flank. He moves his hands to your outer thighs and starts hiking up your dress, using his hands to pool it around your waist and uncover your painties to him.

You allow him to fist at and pull ar the fabric around your waist with one hand as he breeches the elastic of your underwear with his other, sliding the lip his pointer finger under the elastic that covers your hip and moving it in an arc shape just under the edge of it, moving closer to the mound you really want him touching. He likes the feeling of your sensitive skin below his finger and he pushes it further into your panties, touching just above your inner slit. He’s not teasing you on purpose, he's not really in the mood for being mean - but as his fingers are exploring your sensitive skin you feel depraved, like he is teasing you.

You press off from the doorframe. Keeping mouths locked as you walk him backwards to the ledge of your bed. You climb over him on all fours and arch your back instinctually as you mouth at the sensitive skin below his ear. Once you've left him a sufficient hickey you pull back and give him a lusty look that would send him to the floor if he wasn’t already laying. You grab your hair, collecting the locks that had fallen around your shoulders and twisting them behind your neck, you slide off eddie and present your back to him, he springs up and starts mouthing at the nape of your neck and shoulders, leaning his body over the contour of your while his fingers slide between you two and start unzipping your dress. As he slowly reveals the delicate and freckled skin of your back, he kisses each newly revealed part until he cannot bend down any further without fully readjusting himself on the bed.

Eddie stays sitting up, but reclines on his extended arms as you stand up and face him, letting your dress drape off and revealing your more-exposed form. You've got some tricks up your sleeve too, and are now standing in a brand-new matching set, a triangle bra and cheeky panties, made of a combination of carmine red cotton and mesh. You smirk to yourself, knowing you’ve got him entranced. He tilts forward on the bed and rubs his hands over the small of your waist. Taking in the intricacies of your hosiery. His voice is rough with want as he appreciates you “your gift’s got me beat. You look… beautiful”. You shyly smile to yourself, and rush to your vanity. Thankfully it's located just next to your door, Eddie was able to abandon his can of reddi-whip on it earlier instead of dropping it to the floor, risking an explosion.

You shake it as you walk back, preparing the can to be sprayed over your bodies, while really you had no tempting intentions in your actions, the way you stride back over to him, tits shaking with the bottle Eddie is pinching himself, reminding himself that this perfect, fantasy girl is here and his. He unbuckles his belt and slides his black jeans off, appreciating that his throbbing cock is now under less constraint.

You perch yourself on his lap, and place your hand over his demon tattoo as you push him back. You're no longer sitting on his stomach though, you placed yourself right on the tent in his boxers, which are a red striped pattern, he’d been saving them for today. “Are you ready?” you ask him, as you uncap the can, give it one more shake for good luck (this time giving an extra shimmy in your shaking giving hopelessly-in-love-with-you Eddie a rice picture of your rack). “Ohhh yeah!” He exclaims, “this is actually fulfilling a big fantasy of mine, honey - you better do a good job”, he jokes with you, he doesn’t actually put pressure on you like that.

You decide to go all in, spraying a thick stripe of whip cream from the base of his ribs to his nipple. His muscles tense at the cool sensation as it sits on his abdomen. You once again reassume your position on all fours, you stick your tongue out and lick halfway up the stripe on his ribs, stopping halfway through to swallow. You softly giggle to each other, but you're enjoying how the little wet spot on his boxers grows as you lick over him. You finish the last of the whip cream with more confidence, biting his nipple once you licked over it. You were gonna joke with him, say something like ‘was it worth being sticky?’ But when you make eye contact, his eyes are so dark and he's looking at you with stars in his big eyes that you just dont - you dont want to take him out of the moment so, instead you earnestly ask him “so, was it everything you wanted?”.

“Yeah, actually it was - I've been wanting to do that since I read it in playboy in like ‘eighty four! I wish I actually didn’t say that- so ignore that part - but, yeah that's definitely gonna be fueling my spank bank for the rest of my life”. You giggle and assure him “oh, we're nowhere near done”. You crawl down the edge of the bed and settle on your knees between his thighs. You spray some below his belly button and over the tip of his cock in his boxers, right under where you were sitting. You use one arm to press him into the mattress, gently guiding him back down as you work your magic below, rubbing your face into his boxers and inhaling as you lick the cream off his body, ending with dipping your tongue under his waistband. At the motion Eddie lifts his hips off the bed and helps you shove his boxers off, revealing his already fully hard cock to you. It's dripping with precum, one drip has already traveled inches down to the base, leaving the soft matte skin glossy and sticky.

“Baby, you know you don’t have to right? Only if you want to - I’m happy, honestly, with whatever you want to do. I promise it’ll feel good for me”. He’s sitting up now at 90 degrees, pushing your hair behind your ears, you lift up and kiss him sweetly, promising Eddie, the ever insecure gentleman, that you know he won’t force you to do anything, and that you want to suck him off. You go back to sitting on your calves and get to work. You bend down lick him hard at his pelvis, in the junction between his boner and stomach, at that he's laying down again hissing in pleasure. You start working your mouth up the side of his shaft, almost kisses following the wake of your hand as you slowly stroke upwards. Once you’ve reached the tip, you run your tensed tongue over his dripping head, and swirl it once. At that, Eddies stopped pleasurably hissing and started taking deep breaths - he lets out a full while and bucks his hips up, wanting more. You oblige, spitting thick saliva onto his cock and jerking him off until his entire cock is lubricated. You put your mouth back to work, covering your teeth with your tongue and lips and taking him into your mouth. The heat and feel of your mouth makes him moan, bucking his hips up for ore. The weight of his cock in your mouth makes you drool, such an intimate weight - known only to your body. Your mouth is like magma as you suck him down further, pulling off before you gag before returning to suck him again. You let the slimy trail of your spit connect your lower lip to his cock as you pull back for a real, deep breath.

You're about to go back in, hopefully take him further down your throat and lick his balls when he gently taps your cheek and rasps your name, “Baby - I-” he takes a deep breath and tries again, “you gotta stop, or else this is gonna be over real quick. It’s good - feels really good”. You pull back fully now, giving him space to regain stamina. Without warning, he bursts up from your bed and speeds on shaky legs to your bathroom down the hall. You barely get a glance of his bare ass before he’s gone. “Eddie? Where are you going?”. He hollers from down the hall, but it’s obscured by the sound of your sink faucet blasting. He comes back, still on shaky legs but a bit more stable as he scurries back onto your bed, a damp maroon towel in hand. He starts wiping himself down, using the cool rag to clean himself of any stick remnants - he’s barely cleaned once of his pecs before you ease the rag from his hand and clean him off yourself. He obliges you, and hums as you clean his body for him. His face is wet all over, droplets hanging from his jawline and his bangs are stuck together into thick strands. While a nice blowjob definitely gets Eddie all sweaty, you hadn’t gone long enough for him to be so fucked out already. You decide not to comment on it - but you know that he’s splashed his face with cold water in the sink as he was preparing the rag.

Once you’ve decided he's been adequately cleaned, you toss the rag onto your bedroom floor close to your bed. Figuring you could use it later. Eddie’s kissing you again by the time you return your full attention to him, using tongue and spit to kiss you as deep as he can in the moment. He wraps his arms around you, still on your knees, and fumbles with your bra clasp before he eventually unhooks it, humming into your mouth when he does so. You stand up and sit on his lap again. He’s moving to lay over you, easing you into your back as you did with him moments before. He desperately kneads your tits, wiping his thumbs over your nipples as he continues to kiss you breathless. If you allowed yourself to dwell on it, you could almost get teary-eyed at moments like these; feeling so warm and safe and loved under the weight of Eddie - him doing everything he can to make sure you have a good time with him. The heat of your love filling the room. You softly pull his face from yours and confess to him “I love you”. This isn’t the first time you've said it- but this time it feels different, like, saying it now makes you want to cry, because you love Eddie and Eddie loves you. His brows pinch together above you, and he sincerely responds “I love you, too”. You admire his face before you reach up and kiss him again, sealing your promises with true love's kiss. He confesses to you “I love you baby - every part of you. I want to show you. Can I?”. You nod, you're at a loss for words, if you speak now, you risk crying. Crying at this perfect man who just wants to show you he loves you.

He slowly starts moving down your body - kissing every inch of you as he goes down, mouthing at your neck, collarbones, your inner elbows and palms. He spends time licking at your tits, your ribcage, your bellybutton. He eventually lays down on his stomach between your knees, kissing your inner knees and maneuvering your legs to kiss the top of your feet. The action makes you both giggle, but it doesn't remove you from the moment. Eddie lays his head on your inner thigh and looks up at your face through the valley of your breasts, though he makes sure to get an eyeful of them, too. He gives you a cheeky smile as he sneaks his hand under your bent knee and grabs the whip cream, still uncapped on your bed. He shakes it, preparing the can and squirting some into his mouth. He offers you some too, holding out the can and spaying it into your mouth as you hold it open for him. He climbs back up to quickly kiss the mess of whip cream from your mouth and repositions himself between your thighs.

He dips the tip of the bottle in your belly button, and makes a childish swirl around your abdomen. You're both belly laughing now - taking in you looking like a diner waffle, piled high with sugar. But, he wastes no time burying the lower half of his face into the mound of whip cream, easily breeching through it and lathing his tongue against your stomach. While at times it's ticklish, it does feel good - the best part though is the visual, his eyes closed as his jaw works open to clean you off. It only makes you clench the muscles hidden beneath your panties, waiting to be really touched. By the time he's eaten it all, his entire lower face is sticky, covered in a layer of whip cream. He blindly reaches one arm off the bend and feels for the rag. Still damp, he wipes it over your stomach and then his mouth, taking care of you before he even thinks of cleaning himself off.

Eddie throws the rag over his shoulder and makes deep eye contact with you, he's asking - asking if he can show you how much he loves you like he promised he would before. You wantonly nod your head and roll your hips forward, almost glazing your covered clit over his chin. He understands what you want from him and focuses his eyes down into the gusset of your panties. A damp wet spot has accumulated there, almost covering the entire expanse of your slit. Eddie reaches his finger under the crotch of your panties, and parallelly strokes his finger against you, collecting your slick on the back of his knuckle and bending his finger when he ghosts over your clit, giving you a taste of the pleasure he's gonna give you.

He reaches his hands onto the hips of your panties and pulls them down. Placing them gently next to you before he wraps his left arm around your thigh. His face remains drooly and focused as he drags his pointer finger over your pussy, softy dragging it over your hole to collect your arousal before gently rubbing it against your clit. He’s new to this, you both are, but enthusiastic, and you are more than happy to learn with him. He kisses the inside of your thigh once before asking “can I taste you? I've never done this before- so please tell me if you like it”. You feel pathetic when you can only reply “uh huh”. But, all thoughts of embarrassment are lost when he buries his face in your pussy - immediately sliding his tongue up and down your sensitive and drooly slit. What he’s doing is passionate, nothing like in porn you've seen: disconnected and carless tongue flicks made to appeal to the camera - his entire face is buried between your legs. His hot breath is at equilibrium with the body heat being expunged from your spread legs and his mouth, too, is liquid hot as it almost cups your entire pussy. He flicks your clit with his tongue when he pulls away. You whine at the loss of pleasure and the wetness between your legs quickly cooling to room temperature. “Is it good? Like- that's the right spot right?”. “Yes- Eddie it's really good, please don't stop”. You throw your head back into your pillows and fully relax into them, allowing yourself to moan and gasp as he feasts between your legs. He grips your thighs tightly as he humps into your bed, rubbing this throbbing cock for some relief.

He eventually latches his mouth over your clit and sucks, the suction is incredible, you arch your back lifting your shoulder blades off the bed. He slowly slides his right arm from around your thigh and teases your hole with his pointer finger. Slowly breaching your entrance and sinking his digit into you knuckle by knuckle, twisting at the wrist to give you pleasure. He continues lapping at your clit as he starts fucking another finger into you, he’s at a steady and solid pace when the pressure in your core builds. White hot pleasure Feeling better with every time he moves his head or hands. “Eddie-” you warn “im close-”. He speaks into your wet heart, something that sounds like ‘really!?’, but you're unsure, The hum of his mouth sending you over the edge. The muscles in your pussy clamp even tighter over his fingers as they pulse in orgasm. You clasp your hand over your mouth and moan his name. Once you've finished with the brunt of your pleasure, you wince at the raw sensitive feeling in your clit, ha hasnt stopped touching you, even though he's watched enough porn to know you've come. The overstimulated feeling causes you to grab his hair harshly and pull his face up to meet yours.

The entire expanse of his entire lower face is covered in your slick, you're both desperately panting. He’s got more energy than you at the moment though you both feel fucked out, so he bumbles “Babe, that was good - really good. I liked it. Did you like it?” and he softly smiles when you hum and nod in agreement. He admits “ It tasted… good by the way. You taste good”. You both laugh at the sentiment, though you know he's being honest and he flops down over your body. You feel his throbbing erection brush against your leg, and you're reminded Eddie still hasn't come yet.

With a remarkable amount of strength, you twist and flop both of your bodies closer to the edge of the bed, arms length from your nightstand. You're sitting on his hips, as he paws at you from below. You look over him, taking in the intricacies of his chest, tattoos, his heaving chest and blushing ears. You look down below you and see your perfect man, your Eddie who did everything he thought to do to make you cum first, to make sure you aren't sticky. He got you flowers and met up with you at your house. You decide right then you're about to give Eddie the ride of his life.

You snake your arm behind you, and peer over your shoulder. You gently jack him off behind you. His cock has gone red, now, irritated from being humped against your bed frame. You look at him again, he’s staring at your exposed tits, bare skin and the peek of your slit that's been revealed to him. You put your arms on his chest, on either side of his sternum and press up. You try not to cringe at the gushy sound your dripping cunt makes as it separates from his happy trail. He whines at the sound, desperate to enter you. You lean over and pull open the top drawer of your nightstand, Eddie securing your hips with strong hands as you lean over him, making sure you don’t fall. You blindly rifle through and ‘ah-ha!’ when you find the plastic-sealed box of condoms that you've stashed in there the day before.

You return to your seat on Eddie and attempt to rip the plastic seal of the teal blue box, shaking hands proving your unwrapping efforts to be futile. You press the box into his chest, and give him begging eyes, importing him to open it. He grasps the box and ravages the plastic, using his teeth to break the seal of the plastic and tear the cardboard closure. You then take the box back from him, digging around for the roll tucked into the box.

You finally pull it out of the box and rip one off the chain, tossing the others onto the floor. You're nervously fumbling with the package when Eddie lifts one of his arms up, and wraps it around your back pulling you down to him and kissing you desperately before releasing you and letting you sit up. You take a grounding breath, and shuffle down his body, now sitting on his thighs, just below his shaft.

You roll the condom onto him, looking up assuredly once its guarded his entire length, making sure you've done it right. Eddie takes one of his palms that was just gripping the sheets and strokes himself twice, making sure the rubber is secure. It doesn’t budge so he lifts his liberated hand out you, aiding you and you shuffle up him and hover above his lap. “Eddie, y’know i've never done this before either - tell if it's bad or you don;t like it or something”. Eddie promises you, singsoning you your nickname, “i'm gonna like it - but i'll tell you if that impossible situation comes to be”. He knows you're nervous to please him, he feels the same way with you - praying that he can perform for you even though you're still new to sex. He holds out his pinky to you, and you wrap yours around it. A pinky promise from him is all you need before you reach your arm behind you and line his tip up with your hole. Slowly you sink down onto him, giving the most delicate parts of your body time to adjust to the harsh intrusion.

You’ve reached the base now, his entire length seated inside you. You feel so full, it’s almost hard to breathe. He’s feeling the same way, staining when he asks “You good so far?”. The ache has started to subside, and the throb of him inside you has started to soothe your want. You adjust your hips on him, making sure you really are okay before you confirm “yeah- im okay”. With one final deep breath, you lift yourself on his cock, barely two inches up before sitting back down onto him. You look to his eyes for assurance, but they pinched shut. His mouth is gaping open as he makes a punched out sound. That's enough motivation to continue, you start gently rocking your hips in circular motion. You can tell Eddie feels fucking fantastic, labored deep breaths and small moans. He walks his hand from your hip to your hand, grasping it tightly to his chest as you ride him.

You're gasping and groaning from above him, the seat of his cock inside you feels like the best massage of your life or itching a hellish scratch - finally some relief. You get more confident now, lifting up higher and slamming down onto him as you go. Eventually you adjust your hips slightly, rolling your hips, you stop feeling really good and start feeling great. His cock ramming into your sweet spot as you moan like you're in heat. After just a few minutes of riding, Eddie tightes his iron grip on your hand warning you “im gonna cum. Can I? Inside?”. You moan out an assurance as you start giving it your all, arching your back and relaxing your head out behind you - giving Eddie, with eyes now shot open, a perfect view of your bouncing tits. His eyes drifting from your rack to see your blissed out face did him in. As he cries out, you feel the condom fill with his release.

You slow down the rock of your hips and you feel the throbbing in his cock dissipate as his orgasm finishes. You stop the movement in your hips entirely and he stops gasping out. You can’t tell if he's laughing or moaning or crying - but you know he's tired. You use your leverage on his chest to push yourself off and let his softening cock slide out of you and you gingerly lay down beside him. You both stare up at the ceiling, catching your breath when Eddie grasps at your hand again, grounding himself as he gently squeezes it. You hear his hair slide against his pillow as he turns his head to look at you. He asks “you've never done that before? It was insane. You gave me the ride of my life!”. You chuckle at this joke and tease him “you know I haven't!” you tease. “I love you” he says and wets his chapped lips with his tongue. You decide to a hard time, making a huffy face and wrapping your arms over your chest. “What?!” he questions, latching his fingers into your sides, making you curl up as he tickles you, realizing your sides once you admit that, fine, you love him too. He peels the soggy condom off himself, holding it by the tip like it's a lab experiment, allowing you both to be intrigued by the item before he sings it into the trash. He stretches, almost falling off the bed, but doesnt, so that he can grab the now barely wet towel from the ground. He’s unsure if you want him to clean you up - so he hands it to you and lays back as you wipe the sweat and arousal from your inner legs before you hand it to him, he does the same thing.

You curl up on his chest and trace his tattoos, basking in the sweaty air of your bedroom. You revel in his warm arms, softly rubbing and scratching your back until you've both got enough energy to put clothes back on, finally give Eddie your valentine, feed each other chocolate and eat dinner. But, until then you're more than content to just rest with him.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut

71 notes · View notes