#chocolate crackle coffee

[gyuuberryy]

teeth

“let's play together, you make me so thirsty”

pairing: vampire!heeseung x reader

synopsis: you were not thrilled about the move in of your new neighbour. mostly because he was so strange and seemed to be hiding something dark. and partly because you couldn’t stop yourself from getting closer to him because of your unwanted attraction. you were determined to expose his dark secret and get rid of him once and for all. but, it was proving to be a difficult task because he was just so irresistible..and needy.

genre: enemies to lovers, vampire au

warnings: lots of suggestive content!!(read at your own discretion), blood, alcohol, getting trapped in a lift, making out, teeth and biting(obviously)

note: this is like my first time writing something suggestive so i was a little nervous, but i think it turned out well! there's no smut tho. teeth is such a freaky song teehee, i hope this gives off the same vibes. listen to the song while reading this, enjoy!

word count: 5.2k

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

fairy lights strung across the hallway cast a warm glow on the gaggle of your neighbours crammed into the shared corridor. plates heaped with enough food to feed a small army overflowed from a makeshift table, the air thick with the aroma of baked ziti and something suspiciously like burnt brownies.

it was the monthly floor potluck, a supposed chance for neighbourly bonding. you, however, stood alone by the shoe rack, arms crossed and a scowl firmly in place.

the source of your discontent? lee heeseung, the new resident in 3B. he'd moved in a week ago, and in that short time, had managed to charm the socks off everyone else. mrs. kim from 3A gushed about his "angelic smile," mr. lee from across the hall swore he'd single-handedly fixed the perpetually leaky faucet, and even the ever-grumpy mrs. park from 2B had softened to his "polite demeanour." you, however, weren't buying it.

there was something… off about him. he was a little too pale, a little too perfect. the way his eyes seemed to glint in the fairy lights sent shivers down your spine, not the good kind. maybe it was the way he never seemed to eat anything, politely declining every dish offered with a charming smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. or maybe it was just a gut feeling, a primal instinct screaming that there was more to heeseung than met the eye.

as you nursed your lukewarm coffee, heeseung materialised beside you, a plate piled high with (uneaten) pasta in his hand. his smile, as always, was dazzling.

"hey there! i'm heeseung, from 3b. i’ve been meaning to meet you for a while! everyone's been raving about you."

you narrowed your eyes at him. "is that right?"

he chuckled, a sound a little too melodious. "absolutely! they say you make the best chocolate chip cookies on the floor." he gestured to the burnt offering on the table. "though, these brownies look like they could use some work."

a sarcastic snort escaped your lips. "they're mrs. park's. apparently, baking isn't her forte."

heeseung's smile faltered for a brief moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features before he recovered. "well, maybe next time you could bring your famous cookies," he suggested, his voice smooth as silk.

you raised an eyebrow, suspicion solidifying in your gut. "maybe i will," you said, your voice devoid of warmth.

heeseung seemed to hesitate, the air crackling with a strange tension. then, with another dazzling smile, he excused himself and moved on to mrs. kim, who was already gushing about his "nonexistent" culinary skills.

you watched him go, a cold dread settling in your stomach. he might be fooling everyone else, but you wouldn't be swayed by his facade. there was something about heeseung, something dark and unsettling, and you were determined to find out what it was.

weeks bled into months, and your suspicions about heeseung only intensified. he'd become the bane of your existence, a charming yet infuriating shadow that seemed to follow you around the building. every potluck, every hallway encounter was a constant push and pull between your icy suspicion and his playful facade.

he revelled in teasing you, his compliments bordering on flirtatious. "looking lovely today, aren’t you?" he'd purr, his eyes gleaming with an amusement that sent shivers down your spine. you'd counter with sarcastic remarks that usually sailed right over his head, leaving you more frustrated than ever.

one particularly rainy afternoon, you were rushing down the hallway, arms laden with groceries, when the treacherous floor betrayed you. your foot slipped, and you went sprawling towards the cold tile. but before you could hit the ground, strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you upright with surprising ease.

for a moment, you were trapped in heeseung's embrace. your ear was pressed against his chest, and a jolt of fear shot through you. there was no comforting thud of a heartbeat, just a chilling silence. his touch was icy cold, sending a wave of goosebumps erupting across your skin.

you scrambled away from him, a mixture of terror and anger twisting your features. "don't touch me!" you hissed, dropping a bag of groceries with a clatter.

heeseung straightened, his smile unwavering. "whoa there. just trying to be a good neighbour."

you glared at him, your voice trembling. "there's nothing neighbourly about you, heeseung. what are you?"

his smile faltered for a flicker of a second, a flicker you caught this time. but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual charming facade. "just a guy who likes to help out a damsel in distress," he said, his voice laced with amusement.

but the amusement didn't reach his eyes. they held a glint of something predatory, something that confirmed your worst fears. he wasn't normal. and whatever he was, it was becoming increasingly clear that he was toying with you.

you grabbed the remaining grocery bags, clutching them tightly to your chest as if they were a shield. "don't think this is over, heeseung," you hissed, your voice surprisingly steady despite the fear gnawing at your insides. "i'll find out who you are, and i'll expose you."

he tilted his head, a playful glint back in his eyes. "is that a challenge, darling?" he asked, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down your spine. "be careful what you wish for. you might just find out more than you bargained for."

with that cryptic message hanging in the air, he turned and sauntered back to his apartment, leaving you alone in the hallway, the weight of his words and the chilling memory of his touch settling over you like a shroud. you were determined to unravel the mystery of heeseung, but a new, terrifying question gnawed at you: were you prepared for what you might find?

sleep evaded you that night. the unsettling encounter with heeseung replayed on a loop in your mind. you tossed and turned, the silence punctuated only by the rhythmic tapping of rain against your window. finally, unable to bear the tension any longer, you crept out of bed and tiptoed towards the door, hoping to get some fresh air.

just as you were about to unlock the door the ‘ding’ of the elevator’s arrival stopped you in your tracks. who could it be this late at night?

peeking through the peephole, you were met with a sight that sent a fresh wave of terror coursing through you. heeseung stood casually a few feet away from your door, the rain slicking his dark hair back from his forehead.

he was whistling a cheerful tune, completely oblivious to your scrutiny. but what truly sent shivers down your spine was the state of his hands. they were stained with something dark and viscous, drying in the cool night air. it looked… suspiciously like blood.

the blood ran cold in your veins. just as you were about to pull back, heeseung paused, his head tilting ever so slightly as if he could sense you watching. a slow, unnerving smirk spread across his face, his eyes seeming to lock with yours through the peephole. how? it was impossible.

panic clawed at you. you stumbled back, adrenaline flooding your system. you had to warn the others. heeseung couldn't be trusted.

the next day, you stormed into mrs. kim's apartment, her usual cheery demeanour replaced by a frantic urgency. you blurted out everything – the coldness, the lack of a heartbeat, and the bloodstains you witnessed the night before.

mrs. kim, however, listened with a furrowed brow. "blood? are you sure, dear? heeseung wouldn't hurt a fly."

heeseung, conveniently appearing in the midst of your outburst, played the part of the concerned neighbour perfectly.

"is everything alright here?" he asked, his voice dripping with feigned innocence. "seems a little tense."

mrs. kim just dismissed him, shaking her head with a small chuckle, “nothing dear, it’s not important.”

his smile was disarming, his eyes brimming with feigned innocence. "oh i see. what were you two talking about so intently then?"

you glared at him, your voice trembling with barely contained anger. "i was just telling mrs. kim about your… unusual habits." you recounted the previous night's events, your gaze flitting between mrs. kim and heeseung.

heeseung chuckled, a light, airy sound that sent shivers down your spine. immediately, his expression morphed into one of concern, looking at mrs kim. "hasn’t she been acting strangely lately? maybe a little… stressed?"

his words stung. he was twisting the narrative, making you seem paranoid and delusional. your frustration grew, your voice rising as you tried to explain what you saw, but your neighbour's eyes held only pity and dismissal.

mrs. kim patted your hand soothingly. "maybe you're just a little stressed, dear. heeseung's a good boy, always looking out for everyone. don't you worry about him."

shame burned in your cheeks. you were alone, your warnings falling on deaf ears. heeseung's smile widened, the glint in his eyes predatory.

"see?" he said, his voice low and menacing, but directed only at you. "sometimes, silence is the best policy."

with that, he turned and sauntered away, leaving you trapped in a nightmare you couldn't seem to wake up from.

back in your apartment, you sank onto the couch, a defeated sigh escaping your lips. you were alone, your suspicions dismissed as paranoia. but the image of heeseung's bloodstained hands, his chilling smirk, burned into your memory. you wouldn't give up. you had to find a way to expose him, to prove to everyone that the perfect neighbour was nothing but a monster in disguise.

the bass vibrated through the floor, the air thick with sweat and the sweet scent of spilled cocktails. you were lost in the music, laughing with your friends, a rare moment of reprieve from the constant worry that was heeseung. the tipsy buzz from the vodka-cranberries only amplified the carefree feeling, pushing his unsettling presence to the back of your mind.

tipsy from a few too many drinks, you excused yourself, needing a momentary escape from the pulsating heat of the dance floor of the club. the cool night air was a welcome change as you stepped into the balcony, the cityscape shimmering under the neon glow. a sudden prickle ran down your spine, making you stop mid-step. it was the distinct feeling of someone's gaze boring into you, a predator sizing up its prey.

your heart hammered against your ribs as you spun around, searching the crowd. there, leaning against the wall opposite the club entrance, stood heeseung. his perfect features were cast in shadow, but the glint of his eyes in the darkness sent a shiver down your spine. he held a drink in his hand, his knuckles white around the glass, as if tightening his grip to control himself.

the moment you locked eyes with him, the air crackled with a tension so thick you could almost taste it. it wasn't just fear this time. there was a strange undercurrent, a dark energy that seemed to emanate from him.

your mind, fuzzy from the alcohol, couldn't quite grasp it, but your body reacted instinctively. panic surged through you, erasing the tipsy haze. this wasn't the charming neighbour; this was the dangerous entity you'd glimpsed before.

you didn't waste a second. turning on your heel, you practically sprinted back into the club, weaving through the crowd. your breath came out in ragged gasps, fueled by a cocktail of fear and the alcohol throbbing in your veins.

with a desperate lunge, you pushed open the nearest door, the sign above it proclaiming it a restroom.

just as you fumbled for the lock, a strong hand shot past your shoulder, wedging itself between the door and the frame. you froze, staring in horror as heeseung casually pushed his way in behind you. he slammed the door shut with a sickening thud, the lock clicking ominously behind him.

he cornered you against the door, his body acting as a wall and a scent that was both familiar and strangely intoxicating. the air crackled with unspoken tension, thick with the remnants of your fear and an undeniable spark of…something else.

“what do you think you’re doing?”, you winced at how weak your voice sounded.

he leaned impossibly close, his breath chilly against your ear. he seemed to be tipsy as well, with the way he stumbled and invaded your personal space.

the alcohol loosened your inhibitions, and his voice, usually smooth and playful, now had a dark, alluring edge to it.

"you looked beautiful dancing under those lights," he whispered, his words sending shivers down your spine. "such a shame you seem to hate me so."

his nearness was overwhelming. you couldn't feel any heat radiating from his body, but the way his lips brushed against your ear sent a jolt through you. his voice, usually smooth as silk, now had a rough edge, sending a shiver down your spine that wasn't entirely unpleasant.

your mind, fuzzy from the alcohol, struggled to process the situation. he was terrifying, yes, but a strange, confusing attraction warred with the fear simmering beneath the surface.

your gaze latched onto the physical beauty in front of you - the sharp angles of his jaw, the way the moonlight glinted off his dark brown eyes. all the warnings you'd tried to ignore hammered against your intoxicated mind, but for some reason, they held no power in the face of the undeniable magnetism of the man pinning you to the door.

“what do you want from me”, your words came out in a hushed whisper, scared as if speaking any louder would ruin the moment.

his gaze flitted down to your lips as he got closer to you, now only a breath away. he leaned closer, the scent of something foreign, yet oddly alluring, invading your senses.

his gaze dropped to your lips, painted a soft pink from the drinks you'd consumed.

before you could register the movement, his lips were on yours. the kiss was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions – the initial shock giving way to a surge of heat that defied logic. his hand slid down your back, pressing you flush against the wooden door.you clung to him, a confused mix of fear and a thrilling sense of forbidden desire coursing through you.

the kiss deepened, becoming desperate, hungry. he tasted of something sweet and metallic, a strange anomaly that sent a jolt through your system. you ignored it, caught up in the intoxicating whirlwind.

his body was freezing cold, save for his lips, his skin a contrast against the heat from your body which made a wave of concern rise up in the back of your head. but it was all forgotten as his hand moved to your neck, his fingers trailing a chilly path before dipping behind your ear.

you gasped at the sudden feeling, and heeseung took the opportunity to let his tongue enter your mouth. the kiss got messier and hotter, as if he was trying to devour you whole.

he rained kisses down your jawline, each one a searing brand against your skin. his touch sent shivers of anticipation down your spine, your breath hitching as you felt his teeth graze a sensitive spot.

it wasn't a bite, not yet. it was a brush, a feather-light caress that sent a jolt through your system. but it wasn't just the touch. there was something… different about his canines. they were sharper, pointier than human teeth, and the sensation sent a wave of surprise through you.

he froze, the movement of his mouth stopping abruptly. his breath hitched in his throat, coming out in ragged gasps like a predator startled mid-hunt. his eyes, locked on your neck, flickered with a mix of hunger and… something else. a flicker of remorse, a struggle you couldn't quite decipher.

the tension in the room was suffocating. you stared back at him, your mind a tangled mess of confusion and desire. but before you could form a question, before you could understand the shift in him, heeseung pulled away. his grip on your neck loosened, replaced by a cold indifference.

his eyes, once filled with a dark desire, now held a chilling emptiness. the warmth of his body vanished as he stepped back, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. he stared at you for a long, agonising moment, his eyes unreadable.

then, in a swift movement, he turned and walked out of the bathroom, leaving you pressed against the door, the memory of the heated kiss a stark contrast to the cold dread settling in your stomach.

the heat of the kiss still lingered on your lips, a confusing memory tainted by the chilling realisation of what he truly was. you cradled your neck, the phantom sensation of his sharp touch lingering long after he was gone.

days bled into a strange silence. the unsettling encounters with heeseung, once a daily occurrence, had vanished. you wouldn't normally miss his presence, but the sudden absence gnawed at you with an unsettling curiosity. you found yourself glancing down the hallway at his door more often than you cared to admit, the memory of the stolen kiss replaying in your mind in a confusing loop.

the thought of venturing to his apartment, of seeking him out after the charged encounter in the washroom, sent a jolt of nervous energy through you.

shame burned in your cheeks at the memory of the heated kiss, a stark contrast to the chilling way he'd left you. yet, a sliver of concern gnawed at you. his absence was unnerving.

finally, curiosity, laced with apprehension, won over your better judgement. you stood outside his door, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. taking a deep breath, you raised your hand and knocked tentatively.

the silence stretched for what felt like an eternity before the door creaked open a sliver. heeseung stood there, his face pale and drawn, dark circles smudging the area under his eyes. he looked… unwell.

"heeseung?" you ventured, surprised by the concern that slipped into your voice. "are you alright? you look terrible."

he didn't answer, just stared at you with an icy indifference that sent a shiver down your spine. the playful glint in his eyes, once so unsettling, was replaced by a hollowness that chilled you to the bone.

heeseung scoffed, a harsh sound that scraped against your nerves. "i'm fine. now leave."

the hostility in his voice stung. the concern you felt evaporated, replaced by a cold anger.

"look," you snapped, "i just came to see if you were okay. but clearly, you don't want the help."

he scoffed, a humourless sound. "of course not. why would i need help from the likes of you?"

he slammed the door shut before you could retort, leaving you standing alone in the hallway, the echo of his harsh words ringing in your ears. shame burned in your cheeks, a confusing mix of hurt and anger churning in your gut.

how dare he act like you were the villain? he was the one who made your life a living nightmare, the one with secrets that sent shivers down your spine.

scowling, you berated yourself for your momentary lapse in judgement. you hated him. you had to.

he was a danger, a monster in disguise. yet, the flicker of something vulnerable you'd glimpsed in his eyes, the way he'd pulled away so abruptly… it was a confusing puzzle you couldn't seem to solve.

heeseung stumbled out of his apartment, a desperate lurch in his gait that spoke volumes of his weakened state. he fumbled with grabbing his keys, nearly dropping them, before finally unlocking the deadbolt.

he needed to get out, anywhere but the suffocating confines of his apartment. he threw a glance down the hallway, hoping for an empty elevator, but his luck had run dry. the red "in use" light mocked him above the metal doors.

he slammed on the button, urgency pushing past the haze in his head. as the doors dinged open, revealing you standing there, his heart sank.

heeseung flinched back, shuffling into the corner like a wounded animal. "get… out," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper.

"seriously?" you scoffed, following him with your glare. "that makeout session in the club must have been rough if you can't even stand the sight of me now."

heeseung remained silent, the effort of breathing stealing his focus. you rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath about his lack of manners. you turned away, choosing to ignore him.

suddenly, the elevator lurched to a halt, plunging the cramped space into slight darkness. a metallic groan filled the air.

"great," you sighed, reaching for the call button. "looks like we're stuck."

a strained voice answered through the speaker, informing you that a technician would be on their way shortly.

"shortly?" you groaned. "how long is shortly?"

"it's hard to say, ma'am. there's been a minor fault in the system."

you groaned, sinking down onto the floor.

heeseung remained silent, his body trembling. every passing second felt like an eternity. hunger gnawed at him, a primal urge clawing its way to the surface. he gritted his teeth, fighting against the monstrous transformation that threatened to take over.

"hey," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper.

you shot him a sceptical glance. "what?"

shame burned in his throat, but the need for survival outweighed his pride. "do you… by any chance… have any blood on you?"

you leaned closer, your suspicions finally confirmed.

"about time you admitted it," you cheered, a triumphant smirk creeping across your face. "i knew you weren't normal."

heeseung let out a dark chuckle, a sound devoid of humour. "don't get too excited," he rasped. "you shouldn't be so happy about this."

"oh, come on," you scoffed. "spill it. what are you? some kind of freak?"

a tense silence followed, broken only by the hum of the faulty elevator. finally, he spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

"vampire."

shock flooded your system. it was one thing to suspect, another to hear it confirmed.

"no way," you scoffed, refusing to believe it. "vampires don't exist."

but his next words sent a shiver down your spine. "the reason i stopped you at the club… it wasn't because of the kiss. it was the smell of your blood. it was… intoxicating."

"ever since i've met you…" he began, his voice surprisingly soft despite the edge of desperation in it. "the smell of your blood, so sweet, has been driving me crazy. so different from anything i've ever encountered."

he paused, a tremor running through his voice. "for years, i've resisted feeding on humans. morality, you might call it. i rely on animal blood, a poor substitute at best. but your blood…" he took a shaky breath, "it was like a siren song. after that night, i can’t even smell any other type of blood without my stomach churning in disgust."

you listened intently, a strange fascination battling with the fear that coiled in your gut. this wasn't the heeseung you knew, the playful neighbor who reveled in teasing you. this was a creature raw and exposed, driven by a primal need he could barely articulate.

"years," he continued, his voice cracking slightly. "years of animal blood, a constant reminder of what i can't have. but then you…" he trailed off, the echo of that night in the club hanging heavy between you.

a shiver ran down your spine, but it wasn't entirely from fear. there was a vulnerability in his confession, a desperate need for something more than just sustenance.

"the challenge," he said, his voice gaining a tinge of bitterness. "the forbidden fruit. maybe that's what drew me in at first. but then…" he hesitated, a flicker of something akin to shame crossing his features.

"then what?" you prompted, your voice barely a whisper. this wasn't how you'd imagined confronting a vampire, yet here you were, drawn into his story.

"don't you see?" heeseung's voice rose, a tremor of desperation colouring it. "you make me weak, vulnerable. yet, your defiance only intensifies the pull. you're everything i shouldn't want, everything i crave."

the revelation sent a jolt through you, a terrifying mix of fear and… something else. the line between predator and prey seemed to blur in the confines of the elevator. you were trapped, yes, but there was also a strange sense of being held hostage by a creature consumed by a desire he both craved and loathed.

the silence that followed heeseung's confession stretched on, thick with a tension that was no longer just fear. you understood him, perhaps better than he understood himself.

taking a deep breath, you surprised yourself by what you said next. "maybe there’s another way."

heeseung's head snapped up, his eyes searching your face in the dim light. "what do you mean?"

"i can help" you held out your wrist, the moonlight filtering through a crack in the elevator door illuminating the delicate veins beneath your skin. "you said you needed blood. maybe i can…

he recoiled as if struck. "no. absolutely not. i won't—"

"heeseung," you interrupted, your voice firm despite the tremor in your heart. "look at me. i'm not scared. in fact…" you hesitated, a blush creeping up your neck. "maybe i… feel the same way."

the air crackled with a new kind of tension. heeseung stared at you, his face a mask of disbelief. "the same way? how?"

"like you said," you whispered, "forbidden. a dangerous attraction." you met his gaze, holding it with a newfound resolve. "if this is what you need, i… i consent."

heeseung's breath hitched. shame flickered in his eyes, quickly replaced by a raw hunger that made your own pulse quicken. "but," he said, his voice low and urgent, "i need more. much more. and from… a different place."

your stomach lurched. "different place?"

a flicker of vulnerability crossed his features. "my apologies," he murmured. "to properly sustain me, i need… the jugular."

the word hung heavy in the air, a primal request that sent a wave of apprehension through you. the image of a vampire sinking its fangs into someone's neck flashed before your eyes. but then, against your better judgment, you found yourself nodding slowly.

a surge of relief, tinged with desperation, washed over heeseung. he moved towards you, a predator closing in on its prey. the closeness brought back a memory - the night in the club bathroom, pressed against the wall, his chilly breath on your neck.

he trapped you against the corner, his body a wall of heat, completely different from the other day where he was freezing.

"please," he rasped, his voice raw with hunger and a strange, desperate plea. "i can't control myself much longer. let me…"

his voice trailed off, replaced by a whimper that both shocked and ignited something within you. this wasn't the cold, calculating heeseung you'd feared. this was a creature on the brink, his monstrous hunger battling with a threadbare shred of control.

"alright," you whispered, the word leaving your lips before you could overthink it.

he didn't hesitate. he leaned in, his movements a blur of desperation. kisses, hot and wet, rained down on your neck, each one a branding iron leaving a fiery mark. you closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the pain. but it never came.

instead, as his fangs pierced your skin, a jolt of something unexpected surged through you. it wasn't pain, but a warmth that spread through your body like liquid fire. your mind grew hazy, your senses overwhelmed by a wave of pleasure that originated from the very point of contact.

he moaned, a deep, primal sound that echoed in the confined space. "so sweet," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "the best i've ever tasted."

he drank deeply, his body trembling with each intake. you could hear him purring, a low rumble that resonated deep within your core. the pleasure was overwhelming, a dizzying mixture of pain and pleasure that left you gasping for breath. your mind turned hazy, each noise tumbling out of his lips sounding like liquid gold to you.

when he finally pulled away, breathless and satiated, he looked at you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. he languidly licked away the remnants of blood from the wound, his warm tongue sending a jolt of electricity through you.

he didn't stop there. he swiped at the blood that trickled down your collarbone, his tongue making a suggestive swipe against your skin. a dangerous glint flickered in his eyes, and you couldn't help but lean closer, a thrill coursing through you.

the jarring hum of the elevator coming back to life jolted you both from your current position. heeseung, his fangs retracted, quickly pressed the button for your floor. a strange mixture of fear and elation bubbled in your chest, a sensation as unfamiliar as the pleasure you'd just experienced.

he turned to you, his eyes searching your face. "are you alright?" his voice was concerned, a stark contrast to his needy whines just moments ago.

you hesitantly reached for your neck, expecting a throbbing pain. instead, you found smooth, unmarked skin. a gasp escaped your lips. "it… it healed?"

heeseung nodded, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "vampire saliva," he explained casually. "has a few… interesting properties. speeds up healing, for one."

a blush crept up your cheeks as you recalled the wave of euphoria that had washed over you during his feeding. "and…" you stammered, "the pleasure?"

"speaking of pleasure," heeseung's voice dipped to a husky whisper, "vampire saliva has another... side effect."

he leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "an aphrodisiac," he breathed, his words sending a shiver down your spine. "especially potent when mixed with a good dose of desire. all thanks to those initial kisses on your neck i had planted.”

"so that's why…" you mumbled, suddenly embarrassed.

the elevator doors slid open, revealing the familiar hallway. you stepped out, feeling oddly energised despite the ordeal. a playful smile tugged at your lips.

"so," you said, turning to face him, your fingers playfully tapping his arm, "how do you plan to repay me for that little… service?"

heeseung raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. before he could answer, he leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a sweet kiss. pulling away, he grinned, his fangs catching the dim light playfully.

your heart hammered in your chest as he took your hand, his touch sending a spark of heat through you. stepping closer to your apartment, he winked.

"let's discuss repayment options in private, shall we?" he said, his voice dripping with a promise of things to come.

he took your hand again, his touch surprisingly warm despite his vampiric nature. before you could respond, he gently steered you towards your apartment, leaving you breathless and caught in the undercurrent of a dangerous, exhilarating game you'd just begun to play.

as you fumbled with your keys, trying to unlock the door in hurry, he leaned down next to you and murmured, his voice a low, suggestive rumble.

"i'm sure you taste just as good everywhere else."

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

[osamucide]

WHAT THEIR LOVE FEELS LIKE . . .

. . . ft. BSD men

⊹ ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA . . . freshly steamed rice, sherpa blankets, the moon in the sky during the day, well-loved dirt paths, comfortable sweatpants, clean kitchens, perfectly made lemonade, finding a dollar in your pocket, gentle cat paws, scratching a lover's back.

⊹ OSAMU DAZAI . . . used books with vigilant annotations in them, jazz music, charm bracelets, quiet and steady streams, lined leather journals, light rain, flickering flourescent light, cracking the spine of a new novel, knowing looks, linking pinkies while walking, caramel drizzle.

⊹ CHUUYA NAKAHARA . . . boozy chocolate-covered cherries, leather car interior, red sangria, gold jewelry, peeled clementines, extinguished matches, the peaceful room next door to a party, counting a lover's freckles, cupping your hands around a flame, divine geometry.

⊹ AKUTAGAWA RYUUNOSUKE . . . star anise, black lace, fig jam, perfect puddles of rainwater, vanilla ice cream, soft distant thunder, silver jewelry, blackberry-stained lips and fingertips, tracing sweet words into a lover's palm, the moment of silence and peace when you pass beneath a bridge while it rains.

⊹ RANPO EDOGAWA . . . shortbread cookies, wool socks, poppies, stray eyelashes, strawberry jam, argyle and pastels, candied fruit, chess matches, foil-wrapped chocolates with sweet sayings inside, when a dog at a party likes you best, collections of old keys, shooting stars.

⊹ DOPPO KUNIKIDA . . . peonies, perfectly pulled shots of espresso, letters with broken wax seals, comfortable routines, toffee and brown sugar, freshly ironed clothes, finding something that's been lost, completed to-do lists, cats sleeping atop stacks of books.

⊹ YUKICHI FUKUZAWA . . . photo albums hidden in plain sight, flickering candles, the breeze on a cloudy beach, stars on a clear night, perfectly steeped tea, crackling fireplaces, a safety net, clean sheets and pillowcases, crisp mountain air, packing a lover's lunch in the morning.

⊹ SAKUNOSUKE ODA . . . steam from a bath, soft and implacable floral scents, typewriter font, concentric tree circles, fallen bird feathers, uplifting newspaper headlines, children's laughter, protective hugs from behind, stratus clouds like blankets over the sky, dreams that make you want to sleep longer.

⊹ ANGO SAKAGUCHI . . . brown italian leather, vintage cameras, subtle gemstone details, warm french bread, fancy bookmarks, polaroids in your wallet, tying a lover's shoes, laughing at everything when you've drank a bit too much, dried rosemary and blood orange and pomegranate.

⊹ FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY . . . frost-covered cranberries, string music, coffee table books on classical art, accidental halos of light, perfectly toasted marshmallows, the crunch of fresh snow beneath your boot, coconut and dark chocolate, a stray cat trusting you to pet it.

⊹ NIKOLAI GOGOL . . . pistachio ice cream, mourning doves on a wire, strands of pearls, opalescence, sitting side by side at a piano, salt water taffy, blowing a perfect bubble with your gum, the television flickering as you sleep, cradling a lover's face, banana pudding trifle.

⊹ SIGMA . . . fresh linen smell, rose gardens, pressed flowers, sleek dress shoes, swan necks in the shape of a heart, satin and silk, bouquets in translucent cellophane, sleeves wide enough to fit someone else's arms in, lace folding fans, white chocolate truffles.

[freedomfireflies]

Knockout*

Summary: The one where Harry is a handsome stranger who always comes to your diner covered in bruises.

Word Count: 9.4k (jeepers, sorry!)

Content Warning: 18+, smut, slight exhibitionism, very brief violence

Your stranger is here.

He’s sitting in his favorite booth, fifth one down from the first row, directly next to the window.

He’s got his usual hoodie pulled over his head, obscuring any view of his face. His clothes are dark and seem to cover nearly every inch of his skin. His knuckles are wrapped in white gauze, but are stained with streaks of red.

And he’s looking down. Staring at the menu on the table as though he doesn’t order the exact same thing every time.

A cup of coffee – black – and a slice of pie.

He’s like clockwork. He comes in exactly five minutes after midnight, takes a seat in his booth, and orders his usual.

Then, he pays his bill, and he leaves.

You’ve grown used to him. Comfortable with the idea of his face and his voice and the strange, but unsettling presence he brings with him.

You find that it’s more unnerving when he’s not here than when he is. 

“Hi, Cherry.”

Your stranger’s voice cuts through the quiet diner and forces your attention from the mug of coffee you’re pouring. 

You glance up, finally able to see his face now that he’s lifted his head. His skin is littered with deep cuts and vicious scratches. There’s a bruise just by his eye that’s dissolving into an unsettling shade of purple and his bottom lip is split down the middle.

Even still, he’s smiling. A gentle upturn that looks almost painful given the cracked fibers and dried blood.

“Hi,” you reply softly, feeling your heart race beneath your chest as his eyes find yours. “Would you like your usual?”

Somehow, his grin gets a bit brighter. As though he’s touched by the question. “Of course,” he answers calmly, in a voice you imagine you’d recognize anywhere. It’s deep and sultry, but it crackles like lightning. Sensual in a way you can’t exactly explain. “What have you made tonight?”

“Chocolate,” you tell him, glancing back toward the counter where the pies are displayed. “With extra whipped cream.”

“Mm.” His hum is playful, and it matches the glint in his eye. “How much extra?”

“As much as you want.”

He laughs, and you swear fairies are born. “Then I will have a slice of your chocolate pie, with as much whipped cream as you’ll allow.”

You feel your cheeks warm as you nod and turn on your heel to grab his order. Setting the coffee pot down before grabbing a small plate.

Once it’s ready, you return, sliding it across the table beside his mug. “Is that all?”

“No,” he says simply, gesturing now toward the seat across from him.

And just like every other time, you feel your pulse jump. “I’m…I need to get back—”

“You don’t need to go anywhere,” he interrupts with a wry grin. “Please?”

Your lips roll into your mouth, and your heart lands in your throat. Your stranger has always been good at getting you to do what he’d like, and it seems tonight is no different. 

So, with a sigh, you glance back toward the kitchen. Checking to make sure you aren’t needed too direly before you slip off your apron and slide into the booth.

“There,” he hums, placing his arms on the table to learn forward. “S’much better, hm?”

And you can’t help but smile as you nod and glance toward your cuticles. Avoiding that vivid green that always seems to send your stomach into a frenzy. 

“How are you?” he asks next, and his voice is soft, as if attempting to draw your attention back.

Braving a glance, you lift your head, and meet his eye. “I’m all right. How are you?”

“Good. Better now.”

The flirtatious remark sends a rush of heat to your cheeks. But you don’t respond, instead reaching out your hand toward his. Allowing your fingers to dance along the gauze that’s wrapped around his knuckles. 

“It’s bad again,” you whisper, and you feel him study you. 

There’s a gentle pause. And then, “Not by much. It’s been worse.”

You suck in a quiet breath and hold it deep within your lungs. Turning his arm around in order to inspect the wounds painted near his wrist. “You promised.”

Even without seeing the full of his face, you catch his expression fall. 

“I know, Cherry,” he murmurs. “And I’m trying, I promise. S’just…not that easy.”

Your throat constricts, growing dry from the implication. “I know.”

It’s almost inaudible, but your stranger still hears it, and he sighs as he slips his fingers between yours. Pulling your focus back to him. 

“You know you don’t have to worry about me,” he says, squeezing your palm as if to cement the point. “M’gonna be okay.”

“Are you?”

He looks gutted. Ashamed of your disappointment. “It’s just something that I have to do.”

“Why?”

He considers this before shaking his head once. “I don’t know.”

It’s the same answer every time. You ask him who does this to him. Why he does this to himself. Where he goes, why he keeps going back.

But he never offers anything concrete. Just enough to keep you hoping.

He leans closer. Desperate to make you understand. “I’m gonna be all right, Cherry. I promised, didn’t I?”

“But this isn’t ‘all right,’” you argue quietly, once again studying his scars. “You hurt yourself. Or you let somebody else hurt you. And I don’t know why.”

He takes in a breath before setting it free. “I don’t know why, either. But it’s not forever. And I promised you I would be okay. So, I will be.”

You release him and pull yourself from his grasp. Creating a physical distance much like his emotional one. 

“I have to be,” he adds, and that charming smirk reappears. Popping a dimple from his cheek. “I’d miss your pies too much.”

Even if your insides have twisted, you can’t help but laugh. “I suppose they’d miss you, too.”

“Good, I would hope. Might be my second-favorite sweet thing here. Only after you.”

Again, his coy remark leaves you entranced. Hands gathering on your lap as you look out through the large window beside you. “You’re quite forward tonight.”

“M’forward every night. You just don’t notice.”

“Is that right?”

“It is. Can’t really help myself, Cherry.”

The familiar nickname feels like home. It was coined after the first night he’d come in. He’d sat in your section – this very booth – and made small talk while you served him. 

He asked for your recommendation, and you suggested one of the desserts. The pies were your specialty, and you made a new one every evening. He seemed charmed by this and ordered two slices.

That night was cherry. He ate every bite between sips of his coffee and compliments to you. Leaving nothing but crumbs once you came to collect his plate.

He told you he loved cherry pie. It was his absolute favorite. But he’d never had a pie as good as yours.

And from that night on, you became his Cherry.

He never asked for your real name, and you never offered. You supposed this was intentional. A way to protect you from whatever life he led outside the diner doors.

And in the few weeks he’s been coming back for yet another slice of your pie, you’ve learned only three things about him:

He always pays with big bills.

He drives a vintage, black ’69 Mustang.

And his name is Harry.

Anything past that you suppose isn’t yours to know. Yet despite that, you feel drawn to your stranger. Even if he only seems to exist after midnight.

“You weren’t supposed to be working tonight,” he says, calling your attention back. 

You glance away from the window just in time to see his frown. “Joshua asked me to cover a few of his shifts,” you explain. “I’ll be here through the weekend.”

“You covered him last week,” he reminds you, with just a touch of disapproval. “And a few weekends before that.”

Your stranger is right, but you merely lift a shoulder and let it fall. “I don’t mind. The extra money is nice, and the night shift is always quiet.”

“Not always,” he retorts, and you notice the pull of his eyebrows. “Not everybody is as kind as you, Cher. Not in this part of town. Or this late.”

You can’t help but smile at his need to shelter you. “I know. But Owen is here, and he makes sure to check on me from time to time.”

However, Harry’s expression seems to settle into something hard and unnerved. “And what if he gets distracted? What if he doesn’t see some loser trying to grab for you? Or talk to you? Or take advantage of you?”

His voice is rising, a gentle but obvious crescendo that turns the heads of the few patrons scattered about the diner. 

You reach for his hand once more, squeezing it hard to implore him to listen. “Then I will use my extensive training as a waitress and kick their ass.”

You can tell he doesn’t want to, but he smiles. Brushing his thumb along your wrist before looking down. “I’m only trying to protect you.”

“I know,” you whisper, dipping down in order to find his eye. “But I’m not the one who needs protecting.”

The air is charged with a sort of tension you can’t explain. He feels so close and yet so very far away. Your heart aches for your stranger, and for his scars that never heal.

“Hey,” calls a loud voice, ringing through the small diner until you and Harry both turn. You find a man sitting near the counter, wearing a camouflage baseball hat and flannel shirt. His beard is long and scruffy, and his expression is wildly annoyed. “Do you fucking work here or not? Been waiting on a refill for ten goddamn minutes.”

Feeling rather embarrassed of the way you’ve neglected the other customers and deserted your post, you quickly slide out of the booth and stand. Cheeks warm and heart racing. “Yes, of course. I’m so sorry, sir.”

You rush to check on the coffee pot near the counter, making sure that it’s hot and fresh before you approach. Then, you tip the spout into his mug, and refill his drink that’s already three-fourths of the way full.

You can see Harry watching you from his spot. A similarly irritated look behind his eye as he studies the man sitting before you.

Once the coffee has been refilled, you nod an apology, and begin to retreat.

“Not so fast,” the customer grumbles, clearing his throat as he straightens up. Forcing you to hesitate. “I want my check. And a slice of pie on the house. For my troubles.”

Your heart leaps into your throat, but you nod again. The Starlight Diner doesn’t exactly offer free pastries, and anything that a staff member has to comp comes out of the employee’s paycheck. 

Granted, one slice won’t set you back too far, but the shame will. The idea that you left a customer waiting while you chatted with a man you hardly know. It’s unprofessional and not at all how you’d like to be perceived in the workplace. As a mindless girl who merely doddles her day away. Fawning over handsome strangers and daydreaming about a life she can’t have.

“Absolutely,” you tell him, rushing to grab him a fresh piece just as Harry begins to stand from the booth. “Will that be all?”

“Don’t be stingy with the whipped cream,” he instructs. “In fact, I’d like to see you put it on in front of me. So I can make sure you aren’t trying to fuck me over.”

The blood drains from your face. You feel humiliated under the warm hue of lights strung up around the restaurant. Grabbing the can of whipped topping in a desperate attempt to please and end the interaction all together.

“Why don’t you watch your fucking tone,” Harry grits, approaching the man from his left.

But the customer merely scoffs, refusing to offer him even a disinterested glance. “Yeah, and why don’t you mind your own business?”

Suddenly, Harry’s hand smacks down onto the counter beside him, inches from his plate while the coffee inside his mug trembles.

You can’t help but jump, arm recoiling away from the pie while the entire diner grows quiet. Everybody’s attention has turned to your stranger. Watching him closely as he leans forward, and dips down to catch the man’s eye.

“Wasn’t a question,” he murmurs darkly. “You watch your fucking tone when you speak to her. Or I’ll watch it for you.”

And you can tell the older gentleman is a bit off-put by Harry’s distressing demeanor. Yet he remains rather calm, clearing his throat again before leaning back. “And what are you gonna do about it, cupcake?”

Harry’s head cocks to the side. “Would you like me to show you?”

“Harry,” you whisper, just loud enough to force his eyes to yours. “It’s okay. It’s fine.”

“Yeah, she’s fine, buttercup,” the customer snorts, spinning around to face you once more. “Now let’s go, princess. I don’t have all fucking night.”

His fingers snap together before he points toward the pie. Instructing you to continue applying the fluffy cream until you hesitantly continue.

The whipped desert sprays out of the can in a steady stream, piling higher and higher atop the pie until it begins to spill over onto the side.

Yet he doesn’t stop you. He simply nods and mutters for you to keep going. To fill the plate until he’s satisfied. 

And you know exactly why he’s doing it. Not to satiate a sweet tooth but to demean you. To force you under his cruel, sadistic stare until you fold like a house of cards.

Your stranger fumes from his place a few feet away. You can tell he’s desperate to intervene, but he obeys your look of frantic insistence. Remaining quiet while you oblige the customer’s request. 

Soon, the can runs out. The last few drops spewing from the nozzle until you’re left with nothing but air and an empty bottle.

With a hitch in your breath, you begin to withdraw your hand. He’ll have to drop this degradation act now, and you hope that he only demands the rest of his check before going about his night.

However, before you can fully retract your arm, a collection of grimy fingers dart out and curl around your wrist. Keeping you in place while the man’s eyes narrow and he hisses, “Did I say you could stop?”

But the moment his palm touches your skin, Harry is stepping forward, grabbing a fistful of his collar, and hoisting him from his seat. Then, he shoves him back against the tile wall just behind him, the connection so forceful, it knocks the gentleman’s hat askew.

The other customers, including yourself, gasp from the sudden act of violence. Watching as Harry steps up to him and sneers in his face with the vilest look of disdain you imagine you’ve ever seen.

“Don’t ever…” he seethes through deep, even breaths, “…put your fucking hands on her…again.”

And he’s terrifying. So utterly terrifying, with his busted knuckles, his cracked lip, and his bruised jaw. It’s clear he’s a threat, and the man he’s holding goes deathly pale as Harry keeps him trapped against the wall.

All he can do is nod his understanding, choosing to end the fight before it can begin while Harry – after a very long moment – finally lets him go and allows him to flee from the diner.

There’s a stillness in the café that makes your heart race. The few regulars that are left watching on with a mixture of sympathy and embarrassment. It’s not until Harry shoots them their own venomous glare that they quickly turn away and continue on with their meals.

You slump into the counter, letting the can drop to your side while the sound of a door flinging open echoes from somewhere behind you.

“The hell…is going on?” Owen calls, exiting the kitchen in order to get a better look around. He finds you first, raking his stare up and down your frame before looking to Harry. “What happened?”

“You fucking left her out here, alone,” Harry barks. “That’s what fucking happened.”

Owen’s eyebrows raise as he moves his attention to you. But you quickly side-step into Harry’s path, attempting to end another confrontation before it can begin.

“Just…a customer,” you finally answer softly, reaching for the plate in order to clear your regret away. “It’s fine. He left.”

Your boss nods once. “But he paid first, yes?”

Again, your heart sinks into your toes. Lashes fluttering when you realize his bill will be coming out of your paycheck. “He…um, no, he…he left before I could collect it—”

“Darling,” Owen sighs, and it’s heavy with disappointment, “what did we talk about?”

“I…I know. I’ll…I’ll pay for it—"

Harry’s palm suddenly smacks down onto the counter for a second time this evening. Yet now, there’s a wad of cash beneath his hand. From the looks of it, well over a hundred dollars.

“This will cover it,” he mumbles, turning his unforgiving stare to your boss. “And it’ll cover the rest of her shift, too. She’s done.”

With that, his fingers are wrapping around your upper arm before you can even wrap your head around his offering. Blinking wildly while Owen glances from the cash to you in an effort to piece together Harry’s instruction.

 But your stranger leaves you no room for questioning or bargaining. He’s pulling you out the diner door and into the dark parking lot before you can even bid your boss goodbye.

He strides between the cars before hooking a left around the building. Leading you toward the back alleyway where he normally keeps his car, the wet pavement squeaking beneath his sneakers.

 And during this fervent stalking, his fingers slide down from your upper arm and into your hand. Grasping it tightly as if to make sure he won’t lose you.

Perhaps a part of you would like to feel miffed or ashamed of what just took place, but you can’t seem to fault him for his reaction. He’s always been nothing but kind to you – even if he doesn’t always lend that kindness to others. Expressing his desire to protect you, even if he doesn’t know you.

You wonder if this need to defend is part of the reason why you’ve only ever seen him covered in scars and bruises. If he comes to the diner in the dead of night in order to watch over you. Like a guardian angel or vigilante. 

Right now, however, he disappears into the shadows, gently pulling you along with him until you see his car only a few feet away. He releases you at the same time that he releases a heavy sigh, running a hand through his dark curls as his hood is pushed down. 

“Harry…” you begin quietly, tentative of startling him.

“I’m sorry,” he says before you can even finish. “M’sorry, I lost my temper. I know.”

You watch the way he turns away from you. Bracing himself against the hood of the Mustang while dropping his head in what you only assume is remorse.

And your heart aches for him. For the gentleman that lives beneath the outlaw. “Harry,” you whisper again, stepping closer in order run your fingers down his back. Feeling the way his muscles tense before melting beneath your touch. “I’m not mad, I promise.”

“I know you don’t like it when I interfere,” he mumbles, and it’s almost swept away by the cold, early morning air. “But he fucking touched you, and I—”

“I know,” you interrupt tenderly. “I know, and I’m not mad. I’m glad you did it. I’m glad you were here.”

He hesitates, face turning toward his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You allow your chest to meet his spine. “Always feel safer with you.”

He exhales deeply, releasing something heavy before he’s turning around, and reaching for your cheeks. The soft, stained gauze slides against your skin, and his touch is firm. Keeping you in his embrace while he gazes at you warmly. 

“Are you all right, Cherry?” he asks now, thumbs sweeping beneath your eyes. “Did he hurt you?”

Your head shakes. “No. Scared me a little, but I’m okay.”

It’s clear he doesn’t like this, that familiar frown reforming as he holds you a bit tighter. “He never should have spoken to you like that. Much less put his fucking hands on you—”

“I know, but it’s okay,” you interject again, hoping to ease his stress. “I’m okay because you were here.”

And this is the only thing that seems to calm him. That familiar smile of his the perfect remedy for such a strange night. You don’t want to tell him how often this happens. Especially during the later shift. But that’s what you get for working at a 24-hour diner, and you’re starting to think this is merely part of the job.

And truth be told…you think he already knows.

His forehead meets yours, and you can’t help but grin yourself. Grateful for the comfort he provides – stranger or not.

“Speaking of which…why are you here?” you ask gingerly. “I thought you didn’t come in on my days off?”

“I don’t. But…I saw your car.”

“Oh…how?”

His smirk transforms into something coy. “I was driving by.”

“Oh, really?” you tease. “On purpose?”

The smile slips now, a more reverent look in his eye as he nods. “I like to check on you. Make sure you’re okay.”

And maybe in any other universe, this would strike you as odd. Perhaps even unsettling or disconcerting. 

But even if you don’t know him, you know him. You know his intentions have only ever been pure, and even without having much more than his name, he has always made you feel safe. 

You choose to believe in him. In the goodness of your stranger and the care he provides. Inside and out.

“You do?” you murmur, allowing your hands to rest on his chest. “How often?”

A beat. Then, “…every night.”

The alley grows quiet. Scattered streetlamps reflect off the pools of water that are sprinkled across the cement, warming the dark night with their sepia-toned beams.

And you stand there, just you and him, while the weight of the world seems to rest on his shoulders.

But instead of chastising him or asking any further questions, you push yourself up onto your tiptoes…and kiss him.

It’s not the first kiss you’ve shared, and you know, undoubtedly, that it won’t be your last. Your stranger has been stealing your kisses for weeks now.

And you suppose stealing isn’t exactly a fair comparison. After all, you’ve nearly pleaded with him to kiss you every time he’s come in. 

Not that there’s much need for begging when he’s so willing to offer them to you. Sneaking you away the moment your shift is through. Chasing you through the parking lot…pulling you into the backseat of his car.

It makes you giddy. You feel like a schoolgirl with a crush on the handsome senior. Slipping into the shadows where he waits. Letting him hold you, kiss you, touch you.

It doesn’t matter if you don’t know more than his name or what he does behind closed doors. You choose to share these special – albeit somewhat scandalous – moments with the mysterious gentleman in booth 505.

“My sweet girl,” he breathes against your lips. The wonderfully delicious nickname melting on your tongue. “Missed you.”

You want to remind him that it’s only been about two days, but you can’t. Because you missed him, too.

“And m’so sorry,” he says next, trailing his quick but fervent kisses down your neck. “So fucking sorry for being so bad. Never wanna scare you or make you anxious.”

A soft, delicate noise bleeds from your throat, and you cling to his much stronger frame as though you’re afraid you’ll simply disappear without him.

“Wanna make it up to you,” he whispers. “Will you let me, Cherry? Let me be good again?”

You nod, needing him to keep himself as close to you as he’ll allow. You want to settle him in your lungs, keep him snug inside in your chest. Against your heart.

And a large part of you just wants to keep him…always.

“Let me make it better,” he says, hands dropping to your hips in order to push you toward his car. Placing you against the door in order to trap you and deepen his kiss. “Let me be good, sweet girl. Be good for you.”

And he’s always good. Good to you, good for you. It doesn’t matter how he is with everybody else. 

“Please?” he asks again, leaning back just far enough to catch your eye. “Will you let me?”

He wants your explicit consent. Wants you to say the words before he continues, and you appreciate this stricter habit. 

“Yes,” you manage to answer, exhaling the word with the little strength you still possess. “Yes, please—”

He takes your hand before you can finish, guiding you over toward the backseat before swinging the door open and stepping aside.

“Lay down, baby,” he mumbles gently, pressing a kiss to the side of your head while guiding you in. “On your back, okay? Want you comfy.”

You do as instructed, dipping down into the vehicle before settling into the soft, leather seat. Flipping over until you can find a position you like. 

Harry is quick to follow, landing between your thighs before pulling the door shut. You both maneuver until he can hover his body above yours, keeping you beneath him as he runs a palm up the side of your leg.

His warm hand feels good against your bare skin, the dress you’re required to wear as part of your waitressing uniform bunching just at the top of your knees from the new position. But it’s like ecstasy, heating up your goose bumped skin from the nippy air outside. 

“How’s this, hm?” He squeezes your hip. “You all right, Cher?”

You rest your head against the door and nod, fingers already itching to reach for him again. “Yes, I’m okay.”

“Promise?”

“Mhm. Promise.”

The side of his mouth curls up, and it makes your stomach flutter. “Good girl. Gonna go slow, okay? Earn my forgiveness.”

He continues the lazy strokes to your thigh, falling all the way down to your ankle before going back up. It is slow, and it almost drives you mad. Because he knows what you want. And he knows just how badly you want it.

Things with Harry never go further than you. Something you’re almost tempted to find odd, but he’s a giver. That was made clear from the first time. He derives more pleasure out of your orgasms than he apparently does his own. He only ever wants to touch you, taste you, feel you. It’s never about him. 

You often wonder if there’s a deeper reason for this. If he’s denying himself release on purpose or if he’s merely terrified of getting close. And occasionally you wonder if he simply just doesn’t want to fuck you, but something tells you that’s not the case.

Maybe one day you’ll be brave enough to ask.

Tonight, however, it seems he’s still determined to put the attention on you. Long fingers gently scratching at your leg until you shiver. It makes him grin.

“Can I see you, baby?” he asks softly, letting his eyes trail beneath the hem of your dress. “See how pretty you are?”

Again, you can only whine pitifully as you motion your head up and down quickly. Wanting to succumb to his strong touch. Only feeling grounded if he’s there to hold you.

“Thank you, sweet girl,” he breathes, using his scarred hands to push your outfit up a bit higher. Revealing your quivering stomach and the delicate pair of panties around your hips. 

They’re nothing special. In fact, you imagine they’re rather embarrassing. A simple, tan fabric that does absolutely nothing to make your pussy look more desirable. 

Perhaps it’s a little silly, but you like to look nice for him. On the nights you know he might be coming to see you (which has been every night you’ve worked since you met), you tend to pick prettier pairs. 

Some with lace, some with little bows. Sweeter colors, sexier colors. Anything that might make him smile.

But you hadn’t anticipated seeing him tonight, and now, you almost want to shy away. Lashes fluttering as you look up toward the roof of his car.

But he doesn’t seem to notice. Nor does he seem to care about the color around your waist, his eyes growing wide as his attention glues to the mesmeric sight before him. Pink, bruised lips parting with wonder while he moves closer. 

“Cherry,” he exhales, the feel of his breath sweeping against your bent knee, “missed you so much. Been forever, hm?”

You nod again, braving another glance just in time to see his hand lower. And then you feel him. Feel his thumb pressing gently into the front of your underwear, just above where your clit lies.

Your entire body seems to spark to life like the flicker of a flame. And you gasp, subtly bucking up into his touch in search of more. In search of him.

He smiles. “S’it feel good, honey?”

You let out a soft breath, chest nearly caving in as you whisper, “Harry…”

He looks up, eyes flicking to yours as that coy smirk grows. “What, baby? You okay?”

Of course you’re okay. He knows you’re okay, but you’ve noticed he likes to hear you say it. He likes to know he’s making it better for you. That he’s helping, that he’s doing good.

When you don’t answer, he returns to your pussy, fingers strumming up and down your covered cunt like he’s playing an instrument. Tuning your body to his needs. 

“Can I touch you?” he asks now, dipping down to nudge his nose beneath your jaw. Pressing a soft kiss to your throat. “Wanna touch you…be good for you, Cher. Was so bad…just wanna make it better.”

He’s attempting to atone for what he did in the diner. To apologize, offer his remorse.

And even if you know he has nothing to apologize for, you can’t find it in you to deny him. Reaching up to tangle your fingers in his curls as you tug him closer. Kissing him fiercely.

He’s hard on himself. You know he is. You don’t know why. You don’t know what the cause is. But you can see the repercussions. They’re painted all over his body, and he wears them proudly. 

He curses against your mouth, and you’re reminded then of his busted lip. Instantly pulling away while you mumble an apologetic, “I’m sorry. I forgot—”

“No,” he nearly groans, slipping his other hand around the back of your neck to keep you close. “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind, I promise. I like it.”

His kisses become hard again. Anxious, desperate, and rushed. As though he needs you in order to survive. His nose knocking into yours from the way he readjusts himself. Wanting to take you deeper, really taste you. 

You’ve never been so happy in your life.

He only pulls away in order to slip your panties down your thighs, pushing them to your ankles until he can really see you.

His entire expression softens the moment his eyes find you. Filled with a certain kind of hope and indulgence as he gazes at you almost tenderly. Unable to resist reaching out and letting his finger brush down your folds. 

You make another noise, but he doesn’t notice this one. Too content to be touching you. Feeling you. Spreading you open just to watch you drip.

“So fucking good to me,” he murmurs. “You know that, sweet girl? So perfect for me. Exactly what I need and far more than I deserve.”

You aren’t sure what he means, but the implication makes you frown. Pulling on his hair a bit harder while he moves to your clit and begins to press down.

The pressure of his thumb against the more sensitive nerves leaves you breathless. Squirming beneath him from the rush of pleasure that only serves in making you needier. 

“Always so warm,” he muses quietly. Almost as if to himself. “So soft. So sweet. Can’t ever get enough of you.”

It makes your head spin the way he seems to adore you. The way he talks about your body as if he can’t believe he’s lucky enough to behold it. To feel it, to get to indulge in it. Worshiping you like you’re his religion.

He begins to rub your clit in slow, teasing circles. Kissing you once more in order to taste your whines and feed off your desperation. Wet noises fill the car. Not just from your pussy, but from his frantic kisses that echo between the foggy windows. 

It makes you shiver, loving the way he nips at your bottom lip just to leave you restless. The way he whispers your nickname before moving to your neck, pulling your skin between his teeth and smoothing over the mark with his tongue.

He goes faster. Chasing after your whimpers and the way you arch your body into his. Loving how excitable you get from only a few flicks of his thumb across your sensitive clit.

Then, he slows down. Exhaling a heavy breath as if bracing himself to edge you. Like it hurts him more than it hurts you.

And you mewl pitifully as you cling to his broader frame and tug him down into your arms. “Harry—”

“I know,” he coos, and it’s gentle the way he speaks. Sympathetic almost. “I know, sweet girl. But m’not done with you yet. Just wanna keep you a little longer. Is that okay?”

You bury your face in his neck and make another noise. Something akin to his name that gets lost in the way he curses.

“It’s okay,” he tries again, allowing you to use his body like a lifeline. “I’ve got you, baby. All right? M’right here, I’ve got you.”

He proves this by resuming his sweet torture. Circling the nerves a time or two more before moving down. Smoothing through your folds and lowering toward the pooling of arousal that waits for him. 

You hear him hum. “So precious. S’this all for me, then? Mine to play with? Mine to taste?”

You whine, “Yes, yes, yes,” as quickly as your mouth will permit, and he chuckles. 

The tip of his finger dips inside, presumably to collect everything you have to offer him before he’s lifting it toward his lips.

And you settle back against the door to watch. Enchanted by the way he places you on his tongue and sucks. His lashes fluttering and cheeks flushing from the taste.

You don’t imagine you’ll ever get used to watching him do that. After all, you’ve never been particularly…unbothered by the idea of somebody tasting you. Not even with past partners. You get too caught up in your own head. Worried about the taste, the feel, the smell.

Truth be told, most of the men you’ve been with before were never interested in you. They wanted what you could give them. And then they wanted out.

By all accounts, Harry is nothing like anyone else you’ve ever known. Not just because of the mystery that follows his persona, but because of his endless attention to you. To what you need, what makes you feel good. 

He devotes every second to making you feel like you’re God’s gift to Earth. A gift to him. Praising you for simply existing. Indulging in your taste as though you're the sweetest dessert he’s ever had.

Like now, while a deep moan reverberates from the depths of his chest. Filling the car and your ears like music, making your thighs clench around his hips.  

“S’why I call you my sweet girl, you know that?” he murmurs, sucking on his fingers until you’re sure there’s nothing left. And even then some. “So fucking sweet for me. Can’t ever get enough. Gonna get me addicted, baby. Might already have.”

The moment he takes his hand back out, you’re lifting up, and pressing your mouth to his. And you don’t even care if you can taste yourself on his tongue because all you really taste is him.

But the mixture of him, and you, and the slight tang of blood from the busted fibers of his lip is euphoric. Strange but lovely in a way you hadn’t anticipated. 

He seems to understand this despondency, growing a bit more frantic in his need to please. No longer focused on edging as he drops his fingers back to your cunt while his other hand moves for the buttons on your chest.

He pops them free one by one until your equally plain bra is revealed to him. But again, he doesn’t take notice of such things. Instead swallowing thickly at the sight of your breasts that swell behind the cups.

He kisses you again. And again, and again. Then he moves to your cheek and down your neck. Trailing his tongue toward your collarbone and along your sternum. 

You feel restless. Waiting for something – for him. You already know how magical his touch is. You already know the kind of pleasure he provides, and it nearly drives you mad to simply sit in anticipation. Stuck on his time.

Eventually he reaches your chest, lips moving for the curve of your tit before he’s making another noise and sucking into the tender flesh. Nipping at it, pulling it between hungry teeth. Smoothing over the marks with the warmth of his mouth while you reel.

Your hands disappear back into his hair. Stroking the curls almost fondly, nails lightly scratching at his scalp.

He’s always seemed to enjoy this. Instructing that you pull on him as hard as you’d like. That you tug and scratch. That you use him to inflict your pain and your pleasure. That you think of him first and foremost.   

Now is no different. He nuzzles himself further into your breasts while simultaneously sighing with contentment at the way your hand feels against his head. The way you keep him close to your heart. 

You’d keep him forever if you could.

You hardly even notice the way his finger has slipped inside. The way it strokes your delicate walls that flutter from the intrusion, tensing before relaxing in order to allow him in.

“There,” he whispers, pleased with the way your body obeys him. “S’okay. Gonna make it better. I promise.”

And you know he will.

“So tight today, baby,” he says, leaving another kiss to the swell of your chest. Open-mouthed and messy. “Has it been that long?”

You don’t know. You can’t remember the last time he touched you, although you’re almost sure it hasn’t been more than a week. The two of you have become rather insatiable for each other. Chasing after a kind of release you only seem to find within the hands of the other.

Those beautiful green eyes flitter up to yours, studying you closely. Benevolently. “Have you not been taking care of yourself, sweet girl?”

You take a moment to consider what he means before you feel your cheeks warm. Offering him nothing more than a quick shake of your head.

He frowns, brows pulling together. “Why not, hm? Thought you promised you’d try for me. Help make things better when I’m not around.”

You shrug, growing a touch embarrassed. “I know, but…it’s not the same. Don’t like it.”

“Is that right?”

Another shake. “Get bored.”

“Bored,’ he repeats, and there’s a certain glint in his eye. But instead of disappointed, he seems empathetic. “Cause it’s not the same, yeah? Your fingers too small?”

Now you nod, making a noise of agreement. 

He nods along with you, beginning to smirk. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Bet it’s just so frustrating, isn’t it? Trying to find all your sweet, little spots, but just not quite being able to reach?”

You cling to him as he stretches you a bit further. Doing everything you can’t do for yourself. Effortlessly curling his finger into that one spot until you begin to shake.

“Just like that, hm?” he mumbles, pressing another kiss to your collarbone. “S’that what you can’t find, baby? S’that what’s so achy?”

And it is. It’s so infuriatingly sore that it almost makes you cry. Wishing you could chase after that feeling until your heart gives out. 

“I bet.” More kisses to your chest. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna fix it, okay? Make it all better again.”

“Please?” you whimper, nails scratching down his broad back. Attempting to pull him closer. 

“Mhm.” He leans forward and brings his lips to yours now. His kiss quick but full of promise. “Always gonna take care of you.”

He begins to thrust the longer digit in and out. Slow enough to work you up but fast enough to leave you wanting more. Coaxing the muscles open before bringing a second finger into play.

The sounds of your wetness being pushed and pulled by his hand are sinful. Sending a chill down your spine and directly into your cunt.

You moan when you feel them, writhing a bit beneath his body until he has to press his leg into yours to keep you still.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he mumbles. Leaving another kiss below your jaw. “Know you can take it, baby. You always do. Don’t you?”

And even if that’s true, you aren’t opposed to the slight sting. Instead invigorated by it and the way he uses great care with you. Wanting to make sure you’re all right so he can please you the way he wants.

Yet somehow, it’s still not enough. Even with the way he curls, and pumps, and thrusts those beautiful digits into your pussy, you feel empty. Barely scratching the surface of that itch as he presses his chest to yours to calm you.

Your noises are becoming more pathetic. Your entire being heaving with the weight of promised pleasure in a way you can’t seem to understand.

His thumb presses into your clit every few minutes, attempting to guide you closer to your release, and it works. The combination making your stomach coil until you nearly see stars. Every cell in your body tightening.

“You close, Cherry?” His free hand moves for your face. Palm pressing into your jaw as the bandage on his knuckles sweeps across your cheek. “Hm? You gonna cum for me?”

And you are. You are, you are. You can almost taste it. Can feel it bubbling up from between your thighs, ready to unravel like the seams on your favorite sweater. 

“Yes,” you gasp, arching from the leather seat. “Yes, please…please don’t stop. Please—”

“Won’t stop,” he promises in a soothing tone, lips ghosting atop yours. “Never stop, I promise. M’gonna be right here until you do, okay? Go ahead. I’ve got you.”

And this is all you need. It happens suddenly and yet far too slowly. Pulling you apart from the inside out. 

You moan so loud, your chest shakes. Eyes rolling back and nails scratching down his spine as it hits you. 

Instantly, he moves his hand from your jaw to your lips. Palm pressing hard against your mouth in order to silence you as he whispers, “Shh, baby. Gotta be quiet for me, okay? It’s okay, you’re all right. Just let go—"

And you do. Allow your body to deplete itself of all energy as he works you through every goddamn second. Dragging it out as far as it’ll go. Increasing the speed of his flicks and thrusts. Pumping your orgasm out of you until it sits in his waiting hand.

“Good,” he breathes before finally removing his hand in order to kiss you quickly. Fingers squeezing the back of your neck as he brings you closer. “So fucking good, there you go. S’okay. Keep going, come on.”

And it’s so good, so wonderful. You feel like you’re floating, high up into the clouds. You decide then that he must be an angel, carrying you in his wings and setting you on a sunset.

But you’re still squirming, seemingly discontented, and he notices far too easily. “You okay, Cher?”

“More,” you whisper faintly. “More…please…”

“More,” he echoes. “My sweet girl wants more. More what, hm? What do you need?”

“More,” is all you say. Once again wiggling your hips down as if to sink his fingers in further. “More, Harry, please.”

“Oh. You want another one. Is that it?”

You nod silently, too strung-out to think in coherent sentences.

He chuckles again, kissing your other cheek before pinching your chin. “All right. Give you as many as you want, baby.”

Feeling incredibly grateful, you allow your trembling limbs to fall slack. Once again settling beneath him as he works to get you to your second.

But even as he resumes the languid but practiced thrusts of his fingers, you feel unsatiated. Eager for something else, but you aren’t sure what.

He realizes before you do. “S’not enough, is it?” he coos. “Need something bigger, don’t you?” 

That’s what it is, and you nod eagerly as your nails scratch down the sleeves of his hoodie. 

“Think you can take something bigger? Think you can take another finger, baby?”

Another nod. Faster, more fervent. Eyes pleading with him to give you anything he has to offer.

He obliges this, glancing down before lining his fingers up, and slowly slipping all three inside.

This stretch is a bit more prominent. He’s deliberately gentle, never giving you more than he assumes you can handle. 

And he watches you closely. Searching for any grimaces or winces of discomfort. 

When he finds none, he seems relieved, kissing up from your chest to your throat once more. “Good girl. There you go.”

You begin to writhe a little more ardently until he has to bring his other hand to your knee in order to press it down into the seat. Keeping you spread and still until you settle.

“Easy,” he coos gently, placing some of his weight onto your thigh. “Gonna have to be good, baby, and relax for me. Let me make you feel good, okay?”

You want to obey. You do, really. But the overstimulation and sensitivity from your first orgasm is almost too much. Making you choke on the heated air until you can hardly breathe.

“Like it when I take care of you, don’t you?” he asks you now. Licking a stripe along your jaw. “Like it when I steal you away from them?”

He’s right, you do. Perhaps you shouldn’t, but there’s something about the way he makes you feel as though you deserve more than this. As though you’re meant for more than the diner. He makes you feel invincible.

“Maybe one day I’ll take you away,” he decides. “Fucking take you from them and make you mine. Forever. For always.”

And you decide you like the sound of that.

Another moment of his strenuous torture passes before he leans back to watch. And you notice something in his face. Utter fascination and lust over the way your body bends to his will. Over the way it stretches around his fingers, the way he pulls it open.

He releases a deep, coarse groan through clenched teeth. Fixated on the way his fingers disappear into your pussy. “Taking me so well, baby. Know you’d take my cock, too, wouldn’t you?”

You whimper miserably, undone by the thought. You can’t deny that you’ve wondered what he’d feel like. All of him, stretching you open. Fucking into you while leaving you a panting mess.

You often imagine what he’s like in bed. In an actual bed and not in the backseat of his car or yours. What he might be like when he’s truly lost himself to the pleasure. Guiding his hips to yours, bending you into a hundred and one positions meant just for his indulgence. 

You wonder if he’d be just as careful as he is now. Just as devoted to you. If he’d be hard and fast or soft and slow. If he has dirty kinks, secret fantasies. If he likes the lights on or off. If he likes the bed or if he likes it up against the wall. 

You hope one day you get to find out. 

“Think you would, yeah?” he continues, sliding his digits all the way to the knuckle. The fibers of the gauze brushing against your clit. “Know you would. Be so good for me. This sweet little pussy would treat me so well, wouldn’t it?”

You nod quickly, pouting at him anxiously.

“I know,” he tuts, finally leaning back over to kiss you again. “Know you’d be such a good girl for me. Let me work you open until you could fit me…let me stretch you just right.”

You reach out for his wrist in search of something to squeeze, and it makes him chuckle. Teeth sinking into your bottom lip until you moan.

“Might take a while,” he muses. “Might take hours. Days. I’ll have to just keep you in my bed until you can fit me, hm?”

He attempts to pull away, but you chase after him. Looping an arm around his neck in order to yank him back to you. 

His smirk feels good against your lips. “M’not going anywhere, sweet girl. Just like to watch you. Bet it’d be fun to watch you take my cock, wouldn’t it? Watch it sink right into this tight little hole.”

He’s evil. Absolutely sadistic and it makes you groan against his tongue until he has to soothe you.

“I know, baby. One day,” he breathes. “I promise. M’gonna take you away and do it right. Make it worth it.”

The thrusting of his fingers becomes more poignant. Enough to drive a plethora of desperate moans from your chest as he nuzzles his nose below your jaw and simply breathes.

“Gonna worship you. Give you everything you deserve.” He sucks in a quiet inhale before dancing his lips along your throat. “Have you sit on my face until I can’t breathe.”

The image has your eyes rolling back. Even if you aren’t sure you’d ever feel comfortable doing so, you’re enamored by the idea. Of the thought of him holding onto your thighs, pressing you down to his mouth. Completely controlling you. 

“Can never breathe when I’m with you, anyway,” he whispers, and you almost don’t catch it. You wonder if you were meant to. “M’gonna do it right, sweet girl. I promise.”

And this is the vow that pulls you through to the other side. Large digits curling up into that one spot that makes your legs shake and you’re falling apart for the second time.

But he still doesn’t stop. Stroking, pressing, pumping even after the tears have begun to slip from your eye. 

“Keep going, there you go. Does it feel good? Feel so good, cumming all over my hand?”

And it does, but you can’t exactly answer. Can’t seem to do anything but cry out as you ride the wave and his fingers as though your life depends on it.

“Doing so good,” he murmurs gently, raising up to kiss you once more. Swallowing your pitiful mewling. “So fucking good, baby. M’so proud of you. Took me so well. So beautiful when you cum, Cherry, you know that? Could watch you forever.”

The sentiment makes your entire body grow warm. You’ve always wondered what you might look like when you orgasm, and truth be told, you imagine it’s not very pretty.

But to hear him say it now – so earnestly – makes your stomach wrench. Nails curling into the seat below as you lift off the leather and knock your chest into his.

He holds you as tight as he can before slowly pulling his fingers out. Relieving you from the overstimulation before putting you back in his mouth. Sucking until a string of saliva drips down his into the gauze on his knuckles. Painting it a much prettier picture than the red has.

After swelling every drop of you with a lewd groan, he finally pulls his hand out, and takes you into his arms. Kissing you through the remnants of the blissful rush.

“So good,” he says again, face burying back into your neck while stroking your thigh with his soaked fingers. “Always make me so proud.”

Your limbs tangle with his as you both slouch into the backseat. Allowing your heart beats to synchronize into one, steady rhythm. 

And once they have, you begin to grin. “Harry?”

“Mm?”

“Thank you.”

He exhales a soft laugh before leaning back onto his knees to get a good look at you. “What for, sweet girl?”

“Just for…this, I suppose,” you mumble shyly. “For all of it. Tonight. Standing up for me and…you know, this part.”

His chuckle becomes a bit more smug. “Are you thanking me for making you cum?”

“I’m…trying. I think.”

“Hm.” His grin is playful and so damn charming as he dips back down to hover his lips near yours. “Don’t have to thank me, Cherry. Believe me. It’s my pleasure.”

His teasing remark makes you giggle, and you kiss him hard before he has the chance to leave you again.

You kiss for a while. A long while. Until you can hardly breathe, your muscles beginning to ache and your eyelids beginning to grow heavy from the lack of sleep in this early morning hour. 

It’s not until you actually yawn that Harry finally remembers to pull himself away and reach for the panties around your ankles. “Shit, it’s late, isn’t it? Know I’ve kept you longer than I should have.”

With a quick shake of your head, you push up onto your elbows. “No. I’m fine, I promise. Just…cumming makes me sleepy, I guess. And you’re so warm. It’s nice.”

This makes him smile again, and that dimple of his makes your heart ache. “You know I’d keep you in this car until the sun came up if I could.”

“I know.” Your fingers outstretch for his hoodie, tangling into the material on his stomach while he guides your underwear back up around your hips. “Maybe one day, yeah?”

His expression softens, and you almost swear you see a flash of sadness behind that sage green. “Yeah. Maybe.”

It’s quiet as you rebutton your dress and pull the hem back down. And even quieter as Harry opens the door and slips out of the car, extending his hand toward you in order to help you out as well.

But once you’ve straightened up and turned to face him, you see that something has changed. A look of longing that hadn’t been there before etched between those scarred features.

His thumb brushes just beneath your eye and then down to your lips. Tracing the lines and dips before he sighs and cradles your cheek in his palm. “Are you gonna be all right?”

You place your hand over his and squeeze. “Are you?”

Another deep breath. Heavier and more forlorn. “You know I’ll try.”

“Promise?”

His forehead meets yours, and you both still. “I promise.”

And you choose to believe him.

You say goodbye, and regretfully let him go. Shaky legs carrying you back to your car as his eyes follow you all the way. Making sure you get there safely before you take off down the road and leave him behind.

A few nights later, you’re back for your next shift. And truth be told, you’re almost excited. Because having to go so long without him feels like a form of punishment. Like your days aren’t nearly as bright without him. And neither are your nights.

You can’t help but count the seconds as you go about your evening. Unable to distract yourself with the pastries no matter how hard you try. Thoughts drifting back to those chocolate curls and that devilish smile.

When midnight strikes, you feel relieved. Releasing a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding as you grab your notepad and slip out of the kitchen. Ready to greet him in his favorite booth.

But the moment you slip past the door, you find that the diner is empty. Not a single customer to greet you as you scan the floor in search of that familiar face. Even a glimpse of his shoes or the sound of his voice.

But the booth is empty, the diner is quiet, and it’s 12:06. 

Your stranger isn’t here.

I know not too much has happened yet but we are building up to tons more smut and plot and angst and fluff, I swear!! 😭💞

Next Part:

~ Whiplash*

~ Main Masterlist

~ Blurb Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @lovebittenbyevans @caynonmoondreams @amberbambridge

[memorabxlia]

Cum for me ━ 윤호

genre: smut summary: you had your night cut out for you... warnings: language, unprotected sex (wrap up irl!!), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampie, mentions alcohol (def forgot something) pairing: nonidol!yunho x fem!reader wc: 3k a/n: DAY 8!!! nets: @blossomnet @k-labels @k-films

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm, amber glow across the room. Outside, snowflakes drifted lazily from the night sky, blanketing the world in a silent, white hush. Christmas lights twinkled from the tree in the corner, their colors reflecting off the ornaments like little bursts of joy. The scent of pine and cinnamon mingled in the air, wrapping the room in a cozy, intimate embrace.

Yunho leaned back against the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He looked effortlessly at ease, his sweater clinging just enough to hint at the lean muscle beneath. His arm rested casually along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. You shifted slightly, feeling the heat of his touch even through the fabric of your sweater. Your heart thrummed in your chest, a quiet but insistent rhythm that seemed to echo the soft hum of the fire.

“This is nice,” he said, his voice low and smooth, like velvet. His eyes—dark, warm, and impossible to look away from—met yours, and you felt a shiver run down your spine, one that had nothing to do with the winter chill outside.

“It is,” you agreed, your voice softer than you intended. You took a sip of the spiked hot chocolate in your hands, the warmth of it spreading through you, loosening your nerves. But it wasn’t just the drink making you feel this way. It was him. His presence. The way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the room worth his attention.

The silence settled between you again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was loaded, charged with something unspoken. You glanced at him, catching the faint curve of his lips, the way his eyes lingered on you.

“What?” you asked, feeling your cheeks flush.

He tilted his head, a small, almost mischievous smile playing on his lips. “Just… enjoying the view.”

Your breath hitched, and you looked away, pretending to focus on the fire. But you could feel his gaze on you, steadfast and unrelenting. It was like he could see right through you like he knew exactly what you were thinking. And maybe he did.

The air between you shifted, growing thicker, heavier. Your pulse quickened, your palms dampening against the mug in your hands. You set it down on the coffee table, the clink of ceramic against wood startlingly loud in the quiet room. When you turned back to him, he was closer, his body angled toward you, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your stomach flip.

“Yunho…” you started, but the words caught in your throat. You weren’t even sure what you were going to say.

He didn’t say anything either. He just leaned in, his hand sliding from your shoulder to the back of your neck, his touch firm but gentle. His breath ghosted across your lips, warm and tantalizing, and you couldn’t help but part them, a silent invitation.

And then he kissed you.

It was slow, deliberate, his lips moving against yours with a kind of urgency that made your head spin. His hand tightened in your hair, pulling you closer, and you melted into him, your hands finding their way to his chest. You could feel the steady thump of his heart beneath your palms, the heat of his skin through his sweater.

The kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against yours, and you moaned softly, the sound swallowed by him. His other hand found your waist, his fingers splaying possessively against your side. You could feel the tension in him, the restraint, like he was holding himself back. But you didn’t want him to.

You broke the kiss, just enough to breathe, to look into his eyes. They were dark, almost black, his pupils blown wide with desire. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and you could see the effort it took for him to keep himself in check.

“Yunho,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I…”

He didn’t let you finish. In one swift motion, he stood, pulling you up with him. His arms wrapped around you, lifting you effortlessly, and you gasped, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He carried you to the couch, his steps sure and unhurried, and laid you down gently, his body hovering over yours.

For a moment, he just stared at you, his eyes roaming your face like he was memorizing every detail. Then he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low, guttural rasp that sent a shiver through you. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

You didn’t have time to respond. His lips were on yours again, more insistent this time, and you kissed him back with equal fervor. His hands moved to the hem of your sweater, pulling it up and over your head in one fluid motion. The cool air hit your skin, raising goosebumps, but you barely noticed. His hands were everywhere, skimming over your ribs, your stomach, your breasts, and you arched into his touch, a needy whimper escaping your lips.

He pulled back, his eyes raking over you, and you could see the hunger in them, the barely restrained desire. His hands went to his own sweater, tugging it off, and your breath caught at the sight of him. His chest was lean but defined, his skin smooth and warm in the flickering firelight.

He moved over you again, his body pressing into yours, and you could feel the hardness of him through his jeans, the evidence of his desire unmistakable. You reached for his belt, your hands trembling slightly as you fumbled with the buckle. He watched you, his breath coming in short, sharp pants, and when you finally managed to get it undone, he helped you push the jeans down, kicking them off along with his boxers.

The sight of him made your mouth go dry. He was thick, hard, and achingly beautiful, and you couldn’t help but reach for him, your fingers wrapping around his length. He hissed through his teeth, his hips jerking into your touch, and you stroked him slowly, reveling in the way he responded to you.

“Fuck,” he murmured, his voice strained. He caught your wrist, stopping your hand, and leaned down to kiss you again, his tongue delving into your mouth. “Not yet. I need to feel you.”

He reached between your legs, his fingers sliding under the waistband of your panties, and you lifted your hips, letting him pull them off. His hand returned, his fingers skimming over your slick folds, and you gasped, your back arching off the couch. He slid a finger inside you, then another, and you moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“You’re so wet,” he said, his voice thick with lust. He curled his fingers, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur, and you cried out, your hips bucking against his hand.

“Yunho, please,” you begged, your voice breaking.

He didn’t make you wait. He positioned himself between your legs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and you

"Yunho, please," you whispered, your voice trembling with need. His dark eyes locked onto yours, intense and unwavering, as he slowly pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance. You could feel the heat of him, the way he stretched you just enough to make your breath hitch. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine.

"You want me to take you?" he asked, his breath hot against your skin. You nodded frantically, your hips already rocking up to meet him, desperate for more. He chuckled, the sound deep and throaty, and then, with one slow, deliberate thrust, he sheathed himself inside you.

You gasped, your nails digging into his back as he filled you completely. He was huge, stretching you in ways you hadn’t thought possible, and yet it felt perfect. Like you were made for him. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed against yours as his breath came in ragged pants.

"You feel incredible," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "So tight. So fucking perfect."

You moaned, arching your back and digging your heels into the couch for leverage, silently urging him to move. He obliged, pulling out almost completely before slamming back in, the force of it knocking a choked cry from your lips. He set a rhythm, deep and relentless, each thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing through you.

"Ah—Yunho!" you cried out, your hands clawing at his shoulders as he drove into you again and again. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your gasps and his groans. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as his hips continued their relentless pace.

"You’re so fucking beautiful," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with need. "I can’t get enough of you." You could feel the intensity in his movements, the way he was holding back, trying to savor the moment, but the heat between you was too much to contain.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groaned, his hips stuttering for a moment before he adjusted his angle. Suddenly, his thrusts hit that spot inside you that made your vision blur, and you cried out, your body tightening around him.

"Fuck, Yunho—right there!" you gasped, your nails raking down his back as he aimed for that spot again and again. The pleasure was overwhelming, building and building until you felt like you might shatter from it. He reached between you, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles, and you screamed, your body convulsing as the first wave of your orgasm crashed over you.

"That’s it, baby," he growled, his voice rough and strained as he felt you clench around him. "Cum for me. I’ve got you."

You could feel yourself unraveling, the pleasure so intense it was almost painful as it ripped through you. You clung to him, your nails leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin as you rode the wave, your hips bucking against his as he continued to thrust into you, prolonging your orgasm until you were gasping for air.

But he didn’t stop. He kept moving, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, as if he was chasing his own release. You could feel him trembling, his muscles tight with tension as he held himself back, determined to make you cum again.

"Yunho—I can’t—"_ you whimpered, your body still sensitive from your first orgasm, but he just growled, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pulled you down onto him with each thrust.

"You can," he said firmly, his voice low and commanding. "I’m not done with you yet."

You moaned, your body responding to his words despite the overstimulation. He was relentless, his cock hitting that spot inside you again and again until you felt the pressure building once more. This time, it was different—deeper, more intense—and you knew there was no stopping it.

"I’m—I’m gonna—"_ you cried out, your voice breaking as the second orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, tearing through you with such force that your entire body went rigid. You could feel yourself tightening around him, your muscles spasming as the pleasure consumed you, and he groaned, his hips stuttering as he finally let go.

"Fuck," he hissed, his cock pulsing inside you as he came, filling you with his release. You could feel the warmth of it spreading inside you, and the sensation was enough to send another wave of pleasure rippling through you as you trembled beneath him.

He collapsed on top of you, his breath coming in ragged pants as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, rapid and erratic, and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as you both caught your breath.

"You’re amazing," he murmured, his voice soft and filled with awe as he pressed a gentle kiss to your neck. You smiled, your fingers threading through his hair as you basked in the afterglow, your body still humming with pleasure.

But then, you felt him shift, his cock still buried inside you as he lifted his head to look at you. His eyes were dark, filled with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine.

"One more," he said, his voice low and filled with promise. "I want to hear you scream my name one more time."

Your breath caught in your throat as he moved, his cock sliding out of you before he flipped you over onto your stomach. You barely had time to process what was happening before he was behind you, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you back onto him. You gasped as he entered you again, his cock filling you to the brim as he began to move.

"Yunho—"_ you whimpered, your body already trembling with anticipation. He leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back as he whispered in your ear.

"Scream for me, baby. Let me hear you.”

And you did. Your voice shattered into a moan as he hit that spot inside you, the one that made your vision blur and your toes curl. Your body convulsed, clenching around him as you came, and he didn’t stop. He kept moving, his cock relentlessly pistoning into you, dragging out your orgasm until you were trembling, overstimulated and overwhelmed.

“Y-Yunho, please—it’s too much—” you whimpered, your voice barely audible over the sound of skin slapping against skin. But he only chuckled darkly, his hands sliding up your sides to grip your shoulders, pulling you back against his chest as he continued to fuck you.

“You can take it,” he murmured, his lips trailing down the side of your neck. “You’re doing so good for me, baby. Just one more. I know you can do it.”

You wanted to protest, to tell him you couldn’t possibly cum again, but your body was already betraying you. The friction of his cock inside you, the way he angled his hips to hit that spot over and over—it was too much, and yet, it wasn’t enough. Your breath came in short, uneven gasps, your hands reaching back to grasp at his thighs as he pounded into you.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice rough with desire. “Cum for me again. I want to feel you squeezing my cock.”

And just like that, you were falling apart again. Your body arched, your back pressing against his chest as another orgasm crashed over you, more intense than the last. This time, you screamed his name, the sound echoing in the room as you came harder than you ever had before. Your nails dug into his thighs, your body shaking uncontrollably as he continued to thrust into you, his pace never faltering.

He groaned, his hands sliding down to grip your hips again as he fucked you through your orgasm, his cock buried deep inside you. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he muttered, his voice strained. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Before you could even process his words, he was pulling out of you, leaving you empty and aching. You whimpered, your body still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm, as he flipped you onto your back. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and hungry, as he positioned himself between your legs, his cock brushing against your sensitive entrance.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice firm but gentle. You obeyed, your eyes meeting his as he pushed into you again, slower this time, savoring the way your body wrapped around him. “You’re mine, baby. And I’m not done reminding you of that.”

You moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders as he began to move, his thrusts deep and deliberate. His eyes never left yours, his gaze intense as he watched you fall apart beneath him. You could feel every inch of him, the way he filled you completely, and it was almost too much. But you didn’t want it to stop. You never wanted it to stop.

“Yunho—” you gasped, your nails digging into his skin as he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot inside you that made your entire body light up. He smirked, his hands sliding up to cup your face as he leaned down, his lips brushing against yours.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he murmured, his voice low and possessive.

“You,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. “I belong to you.”

He kissed you then, his lips claiming yours with a ferocity that left you breathless. His tongue slid into your mouth, tangling with yours as he continued to move inside you, his cock hitting that spot with every thrust. You could feel it again, the pressure building low in your belly, your body coiling tighter as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s it, baby,” he said against your lips, his voice rough with desire. “Cum for me again.”

And just like that, you shattered. Your body convulsed, your legs wrapping around his waist as you came, your nails scratching down his back. He groaned, his hips stuttering as he felt your walls clench around him, pulling him closer to the edge.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his hands gripping your hips as he began to thrust harder, faster. “I’m gonna fill you up, baby. You’re gonna take every last drop.”

You nodded, your body still trembling from your orgasm as he slammed into you one last time, his cock buried deep inside you as he came. You could feel him pulsing, filling you with his warmth, and you moaned, your body still sensitive as he collapsed on top of you, his breath hot against your neck.

He stayed like that for a moment, his cock still inside you, as he pressed soft kisses to your neck and shoulders. You could feel his heart racing, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to catch his breath.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and satisfaction.

You smiled, your hands running through his hair as you whispered, “So are you.”

He chuckled, lifting his head to look at you, his eyes filled with warmth and desire.

❥﹒ ateez taglist: @minkilicious @ololoxbeans @lice @casemoa143 @amarecerasus

[mingtinys]

what dating seventeen feels like

pairing : seventeen x gn!reader

headcanons , fluff , misc

warnings : none

word count : 1.1 k

requested ? no

a/n: just a small collection of the things i love in life that i associate with seventeen

choi seungcheol

falling asleep on the couch and waking up in bed. chocolate-covered strawberries. the kind of love found in romcoms. expensive dinner dates and champagne.

cologne that lingers on your clothes and bed sheets. tight, bone-crushing, hugs. his hand almost always under the hem of your shirt, skin to skin (it grounds him). him letting you win when you play wrestle. cute aggression victim.

having a rock to hold on to amidst a raging current.

yoon jeonghan

diving under a crashing wave to find calm, gentle, water. rollercoasters with big drops. feathers. lavender fields. leaving the theater and realizing night has fallen.

always saying the same thing at the same time (it scares seokmin). naps on the couch. sending each other pictures of weird-looking animals with the caption "you" or "us." partners in crime. braiding his hair.

having not only a boyfriend but a best friend in jeonghan.

joshua hong

warm blankets, fresh from the dryer. pancakes and orange juice in the morning. raw honey. the scent of freshly baked bread. scented candles and wax melts.

lives up to the gentleman title. opens doors, bides by the sidewalk rule, lends you his jacket, etc. acts! of! service!! fighting over who pays the bill (he's actually ambushed your waiter to pay before you can even see the check). domestic, mundane, slice-of-life type of love.

a honeymoon phase that never ends.

wen junhui

walking down empty streets without a care in the world. morning cartoons. clingy cats. ice cream for dinner. frozen pizza with red wine. airport liminal space hours.

taking pictures of sunsets to send to each other. doodling on his hand. staying up until 3am accidentally. back hugs galore. resting his chin atop your head. him getting as close as possible when showing him something on your phone (i'm talking cheek smooshed up against yours). sleepy jun asking for kisses every morning.

living life in the moment because you know the future can wait for you two.

kwon soonyoung

energetic snow days. sledding, snowball fights, building snowmen. energy drinks and all-nighters. watermelon sugar. summer bonfires. the ambiance of muffled music through club bathrooms.

zoo dates. always wins you the biggest prizes at carnivals. his favorite place to nap is your lap. sweaty post-dance practice hugs. he gets pouty if you start a tv show without him. baking brownies at 3am. talks about you non-stop to anyone who will (or won't) listen.

excitement that isn't momentary or overwhelming. excitement that makes life meaningful.

jeon wonwoo

tulips blooming in the spring. waxing gibbous moons. amethyst. resting after a long, busy day. the scent of old, yellowed books. rhythmic clicking of a keyboard. warm, smooth, riverbank stones.

re-adjusting his glasses for him after every kiss. let's you design his character's outfits in video games. tells you about the book he's reading like it's gossip. he's always taking candid photos of you. quiet mornings. elderly couples who see you two are reminded of how they fell in love.

defining love not by how much it's said, but by how it's felt.

lee jihoon

thunderstorms that lull you to sleep. shiny, red guitars coming to life with smooth melodies. the crackle of a fire. rosemary. empty highways at night. lightning that strikes twice.

morning coffee dates at home. napping on his studio sofa while he works. quality! time! absolutely spoils you every chance he gets. pretends to act all cool when you catch him staring. writing songs for you. his hand routinely finds your knee when he's anxious. he prefers intimate and private acts of affection to the alternative.

cherishing all the little things that make your relationship important.

lee seokmin

wishing on dandelions. blue skies. morning dew on grass. golden hour. that burning sensation you get in your lungs when laughing too hard. iced lattes.

always asking permission to kiss you. so, so attentive. falling asleep on facetime. pillow forts. lots, and lots, and lots of nose kisses. him never wanting to leave you in the morning. "five more minutes" type of guy. his favorite feeling in the world is making you laugh.

finally knowing what it means to love someone so much you'd give the world for them.

kim mingyu

sleeping by a window with the sun warming your skin. hearing your favorite song on the radio. silky white sheets. first date jitters. first love. receiving a bouquet of roses.

admires you so, so, much. talks about you 24/7, much to his members' annoyance. (jk, they love you, they just like to tease him about it). literally a sponge the way he starts picking up your habits and slang. he's physically incapable of rejecting your puppy-dog eyes. likes to lay sprawled out on top of you. he'll often seek you out if he needs a little extra support.

the feeling that comes with knowing you've found "the one."

xu minghao

the autumn leaves changing. winter constellations. a solar eclipse. the quiet of a house before everyone wakes. those cozy granny-square blankets. white wine. laughing at scary movies.

wine and painting nights. him always making two cups of tea. art museum dates. swaying together to music in the kitchen. him secretly being a sucker for your doting. has your mannerisms memorized and prides himself on it. somehow always knows what to say when you're feeling down.

growing, learning, and experiencing life alongside each other.

boo seungkwan

warm, summer air. mystery flavored lollipops that somehow taste like every flavor all at once. rosy red cheeks.

teasing each other and inside jokes. nicknames like loser, stupid-head, idiot etc. (affectionate). hours long gossip sessions. kisses that taste of coffee and tangerine chapstick. stars in his eyes whenever you're doing literally anything. having his undivided attention.

resident happy pill and mood-maker seungkwan knowing he can let his mask fall around you without judgement.

hansol vernon chwe

watching city lights blur past in the passenger seat of a car at night. cereal at 1am. falling asleep while watching tv. poorly handmade, yet meaningful gifts. assorted candies. buying road trip snacks.

communicating with a single look. ice cream dates in the middle of winter. speaking purely in movie and tiktok references. late-night conversations that take a weird turn. (you've once debated if aliens would like pineapple on pizza). pretending not to notice how shy he gets when initiating physical affection.

loving the strange, bad, and hidden parts of each other as much as the good.

lee chan

the comforting buzz and motion of a subway at night. toothy smiles. watching reruns of your favorite childhood show. surprise parties. the first snow of the new year. concert lights.

driving at 2am, singing at the top of your lungs. random dance parties in the living room. getting noise complaints and giggling about it. pillow fights and board games, competitive, yet both trying to let the other win cause it'll make them happy. asking him to open jars. him getting exceptionally giddy to open said jars. (you're completely capable, but know he likes to feel needed).

making each other's inner child feel safe.

[winterstelltales]

Coffee and Vanilla

word count: 1k

pairing: zayne x reader

summary: you just can't get enough of zayne's scent

content tags: winter setting, cuddling, loads of kisses

warning: slightly suggestive at the end

a/n: fic was inspired by post by @wolfofcelestia

The air inside the cabin was surprisingly warm. Despite the heavy snow storm raging outside, inside was filled with a cozy silence, only interrupted by the crisp sounds of the wood crackling by the fireplace every now and then. 

 The room was bathed in a pleasant glow, and the scent of fresh snow seemed to linger around, but it wasn’t enough to conceal the sweet smell of hot chocolate and the plate of cookies placed in front of you. 

 You didn’t know what it was, maybe it was your sense of awareness as a hunter that made you pick up all these at once, and you were suddenly filled with an overwhelming feeling that you couldn’t explain. It wasn’t bad, you were partly sure it was because you were overjoyed, but it still left a heavy something inside you.. With nothing to do about it, you tightened your arms around the person you were cuddling with, burying your face further into his neck and took a deep breath. 

 His scent easily conquered everything. With Zayne taking a break from the hospital for a long time in a while, he didn’t smell much like disinfectant and hospital anymore. Sure, it was still there, a faint scent that you hoped would never leave him because you had gotten so used to it and you knew you were going to miss it if it ever disappeared. 

But with his usual scent gone, only the warm sandalwood and touch of sugary scent of pastries remained, though you were certain the latter was because he had stuffed himself up with some unhealthy amount of desserts, justifying it with the excuse that it was the holiday season.

 You indulged him of course, just as he has done countless times in the past when you particularly felt like you didn’t want to follow his doctor’s orders. 

 Zayne didn’t react immediately as always, his brows furrowed a bit, one hand coming up to pat the top of your head as he observed your sudden burst of affection. 

 You both were already cuddling in front of the fireplace, unable to go out because of the sudden snow storm that had occurred. You sat sideways on Zayne's lap, head supported on his broad shoulder while his right hand played with your hands lying on your lap. 

 “What is it?” His gentle voice knocked on the door of your thoughts, his hand coming back up to wrap around your waist.

 But you weren’t capable of giving him an answer, so you took another deep breath and tightened your arms around him more. 

 You weren’t sure if you could consume someone’s scent, but you were desperate for Zayne’s. 

 “It’s not that I don’t love you hugging me, my love, but I’m having trouble breathing,” his voice sounded strained in your ear. This time, you immediately loosened your arms around him, looking up at him with apologetic eyes.

 “Sorry,” you said softly.

 The corners of his mouth turned up, “don't apologize,” he said, his hand coming up to brush a stray hair on your face.

 “Is something bothering you?”

 You stayed silent for a second, then rested your cheek on his chest, feeling the beating of his heart. 

 “No,” you said and lifted your chin, smiling, “You just smell really good.”

 Zayne pursed his lips, the tips of his ears turning red almost immediately. He was never good at receiving compliments, but that didn’t mean you were ever going to stop giving them. 

 He coughed slightly, turning his head away for a bit. 

 You traced his sweater covered chest with your fingers, drawing simple patterns, “Like a little bit of coffee and a little bit of vanilla,” you continued, nosing his slightly red cheek, inhaling his scent deep to your core. His newly shaved face was soft to the touch, and it was getting warm more and more as words left your mouth. 

A smile grazed your lips as you kissed him softly on his ear, making his breath hitched.

Zayne’s hand on your waist tightened, squeezing you in warning. The blanket covering both of you had slided off by now, exposing you to the cabin air. 

“Did you use that sandalwood soap I bought you?” you asked, adjusting yourself somewhat to straddle him. 

Now with your whole body facing him, Zayne had no choice but to look at your face with his arms resting at your sides. Adam's apple bobbed slightly as he swallowed, the gentle movement drawing your attention to his neck.

 “You’re so beautiful,” You said softly, palming his neck with your hand.

You leaned in and pecked his lips, pressing your face against his forehead.

You were certain that even if you lived a thousand lifetimes, you could never fully grasp the depth of Zayne's beauty. It was a wonder that defied time, something you could admire endlessly, yet never quite get enough of.

His hand caught yours in a gentle grip, his flustered state disappearing in a blink of an eye as he stared at you with intense eyes, gaze falling on to your lips, “Not nearly as beautiful as you.”

And suddenly you were aware of everything again, but nothing was quite as alarming as the hard thing resting underneath you. Blinking, you returned your gaze back to Zayne, eyes twinkling with excitement.

 “Oh”

“Oh?” Zayne lifted an eyebrow and before you knew it he was grabbing you by the waist, pulling you impossibly closer to him until everything you could feel was the warmth radiating off him and his hard length resting under you. 

You support yourself by grabbing onto his shoulders, mouth slightly agape as you try to calm yourself down.

Seeing you like that was enough for Zayne, his lips found your neck instantly, peppering your skin with kisses that turn into little bites and sucks. You gasp softly, letting the weight of your body fall onto him. 

One of his hands finds themself under your sweater, calloused fingers trails up your spine, rousing a path of goosebumps as you lean more into his embrace.

“It looks like I've been far too lenient with you,” Zayne’s voice low and resonant, sending soft vibrations against your neck as he spoke. 

His nose presses against your skin, inhaling and tracing a path on your neck with his teeth before whispering, “Since you seem to enjoy teasing me so much, maybe it’s time I return the favor.”

dividers by @rookthornesartistry

[pupkashi]

let it snow!

it’s snowing, but you don’t have anywhere else to be

a/n: if you saw this two nights ago,, no u didn’t i rewrote the whole thing :P

masterlist

wordcount - 844

satoru’s fireplace crackles a bit, lighting the room in a warm light as he holds you a bit closer on the couch, making sure you’ve got enough blanket covering your body. the hot chocolate on the coffee table has melted marshmallows floating atop it, with a romcom playing on the tv.

“it’s snowing so much” you comment, adjusting yourself slightly from your boyfriends grip to peek out the window. there’s sheets on white falling from the sky, the wind blowing it every which way and blanketing the once colorful world in white.

“they did say it was gonna get bad out there,” he mumbles, “‘s why i wanted you to stay over here, since I’ve got a fireplace” he has a toothy grin on his face that makes you roll your eyes, settling back into his arms and focusing back on the tv.

“alright you trust fund baby not all of us are rolling in it” satoru feigns hurt at your words, pouting at you and peppering your face with sloppy kisses. the action makes your burst into giggles, trying and failing to push him away from you.

“take it back!” he says between kisses, finally landing one on your lips and letting his eyes flutter shut. you can’t help but return the kiss, instinctively letting your fingers find purchase on the hair at the nape of his neck.

“don’t think i will” you mumble against his lips, smiling before giving him one last peck and shoving him softly. he’s can’t help but smile, pearly white teeth and dimples on full display as he dramatically lays besides you on the couch.

you don’t mind the heavy snowfall, knowing you had nowhere to be but besides your lover. a content sigh leaving your lips when satoru all but pulls you onto his lap, letting yourself relax into him as you continued to watch the movie.

hours later the two of you are in the kitchen, satoru slowly stirring the soup you’d help make and finally turning the heat off. there’s a sparkle in his eyes as he serves a bowl for you at the dinner table, his chest puffed out when you let out a satisfied hum at the first taste of it.

there’s small talk between the two of you, never once a dull moment despite the endless amount of time you’ve spent together talking. laughter and the crackling fireplace fills the air of satoru’s house, a place he claims you made a home (he’s been trying to convince you to move in with him.)

the two of you finish up dinner, practically connected at the hip as you hand satoru the washed bowls so he can dry them and put them up. “it’s still snowing hard out there” he comments, the two of you taking a moment to look out the window facing his backyard. “bet your complex lost power” he snickers, bending down and kissing your cheek as you roll your eyes at him.

the lights are dimmed low, with the fireplace slowly dying as the two of you settle onto the couch. satoru doesn’t say anything as he lays down, only extending his arms to signal for you to lay atop him. there’s a comfortable silence that falls between the two of you, letting yourself relax under satoru’s touch as he runs his fingers up and down your back.

“i love you sweetheart” he whispers, eyes focused on the dwindling fire, watching as one log crumbles and falls to the ash, embers going up the chimney.

“and what brought this on?” you tease, making your lover scoff and softly push you, “i love you too, angel boy” you say softly, craning your neck and placing a kiss on whatever exposed skin you can find. it doesn’t take long for satoru to help you find your way to his lips, large hands finding your waist and sitting up while holding you close to him. one of your hands is lost in his hair, the other on his chest as you push him softly when you pull away.

satoru doesn’t hesitate to press his lips back on yours, the two of you breaking into a fit of laughter when your teeth hits his. “should we watch the fire die or should we put a movie on?” you ask, breath hitching in your throat as you admire his crystalline eyes.

“whatever you want sugarplum” he sighs happily, eyes tracing your features and committing them to memory as you light up and decide on a movie to put on. he doesn’t really care, knowing you’d be asleep thirty minutes in and he’d spend the rest of the time fighting sleep to spend another second awake in your company.

the snow was relentless, but you were safe in what would eventually be where you called home, in your lovers arms. you didn’t mind the snowfall, not when you had hot chocolate on stand by and endless kisses to be had by the fireplace. as long as you had satoru, let it snow all the sky wants.

taglist: @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @beautiful-is-boring @sweetheart-satoru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi @kentocalls @sadmonke

[amongemeraldclouds]

a summer night with the slytherin boys

Ft. Lorenzo Berkshire, Mattheo Riddle, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott

My official entry for week two of @thatdammchickennugget and @finalgirllx's Jinxed July. Challenged myself to do all prompts!

✿ Masterlist | 1.9k words | Fluff, established relationship

Lorenzo Berkshire

Too Sweet

The firewood popped and crackled as you inhaled the smell of burning sugar. You instantly yanked your hand away along with the stick you were holding out. You frowned at the small fire that once was a sweet, innocent marshmallow.

Beside you, Enzo cackled. “Bringing the fire closer to you, dear?” You groaned impatiently. It had been your third attempt at roasting a marshmallow. Having been raised in a concrete jungle, you had never gone camping before nor tried making s’mores. When Enzo invited you to go as part of your summer adventures together, you jumped up and down with excitement.

There was nothing exciting about it now. You stared at the charred remains as the orange glow flickered out in the cool evening air. It seemed the marshmallow was roasting you instead. “Now now, that poor marshmallow did nothing to you,” Enzo said as he lowered the stick, bringing it away from your eye level.

“It’s taunting me,” you snarled.

With an amused smile, he sat closer to you. While you held the stick, he removed your latest victim from the other end and replaced it with a fresh marshmallow. “I’ll show you, okay?”

He wrapped his hand around yours and all the annoyance melted. In your rage, you hadn’t noticed how much closer he had gotten.

When you turned to look at him, you took in the upward curl of his thick lashes that you were always jealous of. His eyes glittered like the stars you were gazing at. His mouth curved with that special smile he only had when he was around you. You had been together for a while now and yet the butterflies still raced around your stomach as if you had just seen him for the first time.

With his hand on yours, he moved the stick back to the fire and it snapped your attention back to the present. “The key here is to bring it just close enough,” he said patiently, “spin it like this so the heat gets distributed evenly.” Your insides seemed to twist along with the motion as heat crept up your cheeks and it wasn’t from the fire.

“And that’s it,” he said, bringing your hand back with a perfectly toasted marshmallow this time. He grabbed the crackers and chocolate you had laid out and pressed the marshmallow in between, squeezing it into gooey goodness.

“I don’t know how I’ll eat that when you’re the sweetest thing here tonight,” you said, beaming up at him.

“And your words alone will give me diabetes,” he quipped, bringing the s’more to your mouth.

You took a bite and closed your eyes, feeling the chocolate and marshmallow melt in your mouth as you chomped on the crunchy crackers. “Never mind. I take that back, it’s sinful for something to taste this good.”

“Hey, no take backs,” Enzo insisted.

Mattheo Riddle

A treacherous wave in the late hour

You pushed Mattheo away and used the momentum to propel you forward, your laughter ringing out into the evening air, sand spraying behind you as you ran towards the sea.

When Mattheo first invited you to go backpacking with him this summer, you nearly said no, because it meant tossing your carefully laid out schedule into the wind. But you didn’t want him to spend another summer alone in his family’s depressing house.

And you hate to admit it, but he was right. There was a thrill that came with living in the moment, not caring about the days ahead. There was also the fact that being with Mattheo meant exploring exotic places, laughing over late night shenanigans, and more adventures in a few weeks than you’ve had in years. You had never felt more alive.

You squealed as the cold water hit your skin, waking you better than any coffee could in the late hour. “I won!” You declared proudly, turning back to see Mattheo joining you.

“You cheated,” he said, playfully splashing water at you.

“You just said, first one in the water wins so I win,” you shrugged. “Now where’s my reward?”

“Yeah?” He said, a dangerous smirk on his face as he prowled towards you. You tried to take a step back but the treacherous wave pushed you closer to him instead.

When he was near enough, he pulled you in, his strong arms locking you in place against his toned body. There was no place you’d rather be anyway. He brought his mouth close to your ear as his hands traced your figure. “I can think of so many rewards.”

Draco Malfoy

A colourful promise

You stepped out the into the evening air and took Draco’s hand as he led you to the balcony of his family’s holiday home overlooking the beach.

You pulled the shawl tightly around you as a chilly breeze drifted past. Draco wrapped a protective arm around your hip to warm you up. For a quiet moment, you watched the rippled glow of the moon on the sea as waves crashed onto the shore and retreated.

“What surprise could you possibly have for me this late in the evening? You could hardly see anything,” you asked.

“That’s exactly why it’s perfect, love,” he winked at you as he pointed to the sky. “Here goes.”

You followed his gaze, unsure what to look at until lights exploded in the sky. Fireworks. You watched in wonder as small circles burst and expanded, illuminating the dark sky.

You looked at his grinning face and watched his features reflect the glowing colors. He promised you the best summer of your life and you told him not to make bold statements. He just scoffed and said ‘watch me’.

And there he was, flying you to different places that summer in a private jet, taking you shopping and dining at the finest restaurants. Now lights exploded in the sky simply because he promised this summer would be memorable.

“Look at the fireworks, not at me,” he said smugly when he caught you staring.

“I just can’t believe you,” you admitted, gazing back at the colourful sky.

“It’s you I can’t believe. See those fireworks? That wonder I saw in your eyes? It’s how you make me feel.”

Blaise Zabini

Summer lights

The wind carried your hair as you propelled yourself forward, letting the swing carry you as you leaned your head back. If you weren’t so wrapped up in the moment, you would have noticed your boyfriend stop his swinging to gaze at you.

He tried to commit the moment to his memory. Your carefree laughter, the clean smell of your shampoo, your beautiful face. He felt so lucky to have you.

You swung back again and the wind brought your hair in the opposite direction, covering your entire face. You laughed at how silly it all was. You planted your feet in the sand to slow the momentum.

Earlier in the day, you were nervous that Blaise was taking you to meet his mum for the first time. A thousand thoughts crossed your mind in the days that led up to that moment. What ifs that kept your heart racing like they were its personal trainer. Blaise assured you that you’d hit it off and surprisingly, you did.

You finally noticed Blaise’s eyes on you. “What? I still don’t have that cake on my face, don’t I?” You ran a hand through your face, “I swear, I wiped—“

Blaise chuckled, “no, I just like seeing you happy.” You mirrored his grin and then a small blinking light beside him lit up.

“You didn’t tell me you had a floating light in the garden,” you remarked.

It was his turn to be confused and he followed your gaze where a few more floating lights appeared. “These are fireflies!”

You gazed around the garden as more and more drew closer, lighting up the garden. It was as if the stars descended from the heavens themselves. You watched them glow in wonder.

“Did you know that if you catch one, you can make a wish?” He said holding out his hand as a firefly landed on his palm. “Like this,” he cupped it and whispered his wish before releasing it back.

“I don’t need to wish for anything, I have everything I need here,” you beamed at him.

“Okay love, I’ll buy all the clothes and hand bags you want,” he teased and you slapped his arm.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

He brought you in for a hug, savouring the way you melted against him. “I know,” he said gently kissing your forehead.

“I’ll buy you all the shoes you want instead,” he quipped.

“Blaise!”

Theodore Nott

Sunshine smile

(A/N: this is the only one that happens during the day and is not an established relationship)

Theodore Nott hated summer with its long, hot days that scorched everything it touched. Public places were more crowded than he’d like. He wouldn’t see his friends again for a few months and he sure as hell wasn’t going to go home to his father. Instead, he went to a resort on a remote island to get away from it all.

He met you while he was sulking over breakfast, trying to get lost in a book. You excitedly introduced yourself and despite being friends with Enzo, Theo could not for the life of him figure out how someone could have so much energy so early in the day. You had recently read the exact book he was reading and loved it!

He was about to ask you to leave when you took the seat across from him and sat down like you owned the place. (He would soon find out that your family actually did.)

You wanted to know his thoughts on the book. When you shared yours, he was surprised how insightful you were, he even found himself agreeing with most of your ideas. Though he kept that to himself.

He was relieved when breakfast was nearly over so he could have his peace and quiet back, but then you offered to be a local guide to the island. When you mentioned a bookstore that contained rare books and lesser known authors, he found that he couldn’t say ‘no’ to you.

That was how he find himself pedaling beside you as you shared the history of your home. There was something so charming about the island as if it were untouched by the world outside it. Just the open air and clear skies.

The quaint little town in the distance was just a small stretch of buildings that contained the necessities. There were other spots you promised to show him in the coming days. In the meantime, you browsed the bookshelves together as promised and he bought a few rare items he was excited to dive into.

When you returned to the resort, you relaxed by the beach chairs, listening to the ocean waves as the sun splashed hues of orange and yellow against the blue sky. Theo opened the book you recommended and was already captivated by the first few pages.

When he looked at you to share his thoughts, he found you peacefully asleep on the chair. He took that opportunity to study you, the way the wind caressed your hair and your chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. He found himself smiling.

Summer, he thought, wasn’t so bad after all.

✿ Masterlist

[morverenmaybewrites]

Imagine Early Mornings with Jason Todd (Jason Todd x Reader)

Imagine a morning with Jason Todd, on that first day after he moved into an apartment.

(An apartment, you think, not a safehouse where the roof leaks and the wind howls so eerily that it sounds like weeping. You had often wondered why Jason or any of them called them safehouses when they never made you feel safe, not really.)

You wake alone, to a room that only has the bare minimum. A mattress so new that it still smells like the store, with sheets so fresh that they still feel stark against your skin.

(The bedframe, you had been told, will be delivered in a week. Until then, you have to contend with waking up to a back so sore that it’s a wonder it doesn’t crack like dry twigs.)

On Jason’s side of the bed, a cardboard box had been overturned to make a hasty nightstand. The edges are ragged and curling where someone had spilled coffee on it.

(It is not yet home, you think. This place chafes against your skin like an ill-fitting shirt. The wind sings a different tune as it blows throught the windows, the roof does not leak from the same spot.)

(No, this place is not quite home. Not yet.)

On top of the cardboard box is a book. The Black Hunger, you read. By Nicholas Pullen. From the carefully placed bookmark, you can tell that Jason is nearly finished with it, and it makes you wonder if he had gotten as little sleep as you did.

Imagine a morning with Jason Todd, on that first day after he moves into a new apartment.

You wake alone.

You sit and you stretch, and your back crackles like dry twigs.

And you swallow your doubts where they settle in your stomach, as heavy as stones.

This is good, you think to reassure yourself.

Different, but good.

You try not to think about how, the first night you moved into Gotham City, you had slept as soundly as infant in a crib, for the first time in years. Convinced that finally, that you had found home.

(Last night, you had tossed and turned and sweated. You had counted sheep, you had counted the exhalation of your breaths. It was only when you felt Jason’s arm wrap around you, did you finally begin to settle. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.)

(Instead of your own breaths, you had fallen asleep counting the steady rhythm of his.)

Even the temperature of the room is different, you note. And really, how can something like temperature be different in a place as dour and as rainy as Gotham City?

You wonder how Jason slept, if he did at all.

You can smell coffee and freshly-backed pastry, and you follow the scent of it into the hallway, where the wooden boards creak at the wrong places and the floor feels warm against your feet instead of cold.

This is different, you reassure yourself. But different can be good.

You find him in the kitchen.

Imagine a morning with Jason Todd, on that first day after he moved into an apartment.

There are dark shadows underneath his eyes, and you know, just by looking at him, that he had gotten less sleep than you.

And he moves in that odd, stiff way that tells you he’s hurting.

(You think back to the mattress, to the way your back sound like dry twigs when you stretch, and you wonder how much pain he woke up in this morning.)

“Morning,” you say, and you wince at the way your voice cracks.

His eyes find you, in that searching way he does and you wonder if he’s cataloging you the way you catalogued him: does he wonder if you’ve gotten enough sleep, if the lack of bed frame hurt your back?

(Is he wondering if this was a mistake?)

His face is a mystery, and all he says is, “Breakfast.”

He gestures to the table, meticulously clean despite the bareness of the kitchen. Two wooden chairs, the paint peeling off to reveal the termite-eaten wood. One for you, and one for him.

And despite yourself, you find yourself smiling.

Though, the paper package is still carefully folded, the scent rising from it is unmistakable. Freshly baked pastries, the barest hint of dark chocolate.

Gotham City had everything, including, in your opinion some of the best bakeries in the world.

Before you moved into Jason’s apartment, there had been one right next door to you. Every morning at 4 am, like clockwork, the scent of their products would fill the entire street.

It was better than any alarm.

You remember finding yourself on these mornings, leaning on the rusty railings of the fire escape, taking gulps of the crisp morning air, as if the smell alone could fill you.

(It was, in your opinion, the best place to be.)

(Have you told Jason this? You don’t remember.)

What you do remember is the view outside Jason’s new apartment: greasy diners that have not changed since the 70s, swinging yellow lamps that made everything look jaundiced, the air thick with cigarette smoke from their patrons.

(Jason had taken one look at these places and wrinkled his nose. You found that they had their charm. But perhaps not in the morning, with your stomach still roiling from lack of sleep)

There are no quiant little bakeries in his street corners. At 4 am, the air smelled like thick smoke belched from delivery trucks.

“Where did you get this?” You asked, carefully unwrapping the package.

Freshly baked bagels, smothered in cream cheese. Muffins dotted with fat blueberries, the insides stained with their dark juices. Croissants so delicate that its buttery surface practically crumbled against your fingertips.

He made sure you had options.

You inhaled the steam rising from them in soft tendrils.

(The crisp air at the fire escape.

Watching the sun begin to rise over rooftops.

Mornings that convince you that Gotham City is the best place in the world to be.)

Jason shrugged, an odd one sided shrug that barely lifted his shoulder.

He takes a deep breath.

“Gas hasn’t been connected yet,” he said, by way of explanation.

That would explain the takeout.

“I don’t remember seeing any bakeries around here,” you said lightly.

That shrug again.

The barest hint of a flush crawls up his shoulders, it leaves the scars around his neck discolored, where the skin doesn’t take on any color. He turns away.

You had the sudden, vivid image of him waking up early, taking the subway back to your old place and picking his way through the winding streets, to find your previous haunts. Carefully picking the pastries you love the most to bring back to you.

Your fingers find his arm, and he visibly tenses.

“Thanks, Jason.” You said. “Which one do you want?”

“I’m not picky. Take what you want.”

Your fingers climb up, gently touching the stiff shoulder.

Underneath the shirt, you knew that it is a ruin of scar tissue, hardened to the point that it pulls at the skin, making it difficult to move on cold mornings.

(The fire escape.

The best place to be.)

“Hurts?” You asked softly.

(Your back cracking like dry twigs.)

“I doubt the mattress was very uncomfortable,” you added.

“I’m fine.” His answer is almost automatic, then he pauses.

Breathes.

“It’ll get better once I get some movement in.”

That’s as much as an admission as you’re going to get from him.

Normally, you’d prepare something warm for him to press against the stiff muscles and loosen them, so it doesn’t have to hurt so much when he moves.

But—

(He answers your question before you even speak it.)

“Gas hasn’t been connected yet,” he reminds you with a wry smile.

You let go of his shoulder, to find the coffee cup he had set aside for you.

(Somehow, you know, that it is the from the same bakery. Somehow you know that it will be exactly how you like your coffee.)

You lift your coffee, the stiff cardboard still warm against your fingertips, offering him a smile of your own.

He lets out a small gust of air, the closest thing to a laugh he has most days. The corners of his eyes crinkle.

“If you want to try,” he said, in a tone that tells you he’s humoring you more than anything.

He sits down, allows you to press the cup against his stiff shoulder, careful not to spill liquid on him.

Your voice is soft as you speak.

“I’m sorry. This isn’t how I imagined your first day at your new apartment would be.”

And it isn’t.

Jason deserves so much more than a leaking apartment in Old Gotham, where the gas and heating hasn’t even been connected yet.

He deserved golden mornings with the sunlight just barely peeking through lace curtains. Waking up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee, perfectly circular pancakes drizzled in warm honey.

Not…whatever this is.

The corners of his lip quirks. “S’not so bad,” he says.

He shifts, takes your hand in his to move the cup a little to the left. Your skin tingles at the contact.

“It’s hotter here. Reminds me of Santa Prisca.”

Your breathing stutters.

He rarely talks about his past, and even rarely talks about those years he spent as the Arkham Knight, lost in rage and dreams of bloody violence.

The question nearly lodges in your throat like a thorn.

“What was it like there?”

He turns his head so that you can’t see his face. The flush is back again, ending just at the terrible scar that encircles his neck. You picture garrottes, piano wire wrapped tightly around his throat, destroying the tissue underneath.

You wonder what it must have been like: those early days in the heat and unfamiliarity of a new country. The boiling rage.

And perhaps, the sheer relief in knowing that, at last, he was out of the Joker’s grasp.

(Perhaps, you think, Santa Prisca wasn’t all that bad. Perhaps, there had been a relief in starting something new.)

When Jason shifts to look at you, he’s smiling. The barest lift of his lips that makes the brand of his face almost invisible.

“It was okay,” he said. “This…this is better, though.”

He takes a deep breath.

Exhales.

(The fire escape.

Crisp morning air and the best place to be.)

“Back in Santa Prisca, I didn’t have you.”

[mywhisperingwords]

the truth always comes out | george f. weasley

summary: a game of truth and dare with a little twist word count: 1.2k masterlist

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with the kind of reckless energy that could only come from a group of seventh-years who had long since stopped caring about rules.

Outside, a thunderstorm rattled the windows, but inside, the fire crackled warmly, casting golden light over the cozy chaos of Honeydukes wrappers, Butterbeer bottles, and a pack of Exploding Snap cards smoldering on the coffee table.

George Weasley was sprawled across an armchair like a king holding court, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he flicked a Chocolate Frog wrapper at Lee Jordan’s head.

You were sitting cross-legged on the rug, half-listening to Fred recount yet another tale of mischief involving Filch and a bucket of undetectable swamp goo.

Your laughter came easily, but your attention kept wandering to George.

He looked especially unfair tonight—the firelight catching in his messy hair, his crooked grin lighting up his face every time someone laughed at one of his jokes. It was infuriating how effortlessly charming he was.

And it didn’t help that you’d been harboring a not-so-small crush on him for the last couple of years.

But you kept it hidden, afraid of what would happen if he’d find out about it. The two of you were friends—nothing more.

“Alright, alright!” Fred clapped his hands, dragging you back to the present. “Let’s shake things up a bit, shall we?”

Lee raised an eyebrow. “What’s your grand idea this time? Another one of your ‘genius’ inventions that turns us all into canaries?”

Fred grinned wickedly and reached into his bag. “Better.” He pulled out a small vial of clear liquid, holding it up dramatically.

Your stomach sank. “Fred, is that—?”

“Veritaserum!” Fred declared triumphantly.

The group erupted into chaos.

“Where the hell did you get that?” Angelina demanded, crossing her arms.

“Let’s just say Professor Snape is a bit careless with his potion stores,” Fred said smugly.

“You’re going to get us all expelled,” Alicia groaned.

“Only if we get caught,” Fred said cheerfully. “Which we won’t.” He plopped the vial onto the table. “Now, who’s ready for the most honest game of truth or dare you’ll ever play?”

“Absolutely not,” you said immediately.

“Absolutely yes,” George countered, smirking down at you. “What’s the matter? Scared someone’s going to dig up your deep, dark secrets?”

You glared up at him. “I have nothing to hide.”

“Prove it.”

Damn him and his stupid grin.

The rules were simple: each player took a drop of Veritaserum before their turn. If you chose “truth,” you had no choice but to answer honestly. If you chose “dare,” you were still at the mercy of the potion—it would compel you to follow through.

You quickly discovered that this was both hilarious and deeply dangerous.

Fred was the first victim. Lee dared him to serenade McGonagall’s portrait, and despite Fred’s protests, he found himself kneeling before the painting, belting out a completely off-key rendition of Can You Feel the Love Tonight.

“Points for commitment,” Angelina said, stifling a laugh as McGonagall’s painted self scowled down at Fred.

Next up was Alicia, who admitted under duress that she once accidentally walked into the boys’ dormitory wearing nothing but a towel and had been hiding from the twins ever since.

Then it was your turn.

You took the drop of Veritaserum with a sigh, feeling the potion settle like warm honey in your chest. Fred leaned forward with a gleam in his eye.

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” you said, because you weren’t stupid.

Fred grinned. “Who was your first kiss?”

Heat rose to your cheeks. “That’s easy. Michael Corner. Fourth year. It was awkward and terrible.”

The room erupted into laughter.

“Michael Corner?” George snorted. “Did he even know how to kiss back then?”

“Barely,” you admitted, rolling your eyes. “I spent the whole time wondering if it was supposed to feel like I was kissing a wet sponge.”

George was laughing so hard he nearly fell off his chair.

As the game went on, the questions and dares got bolder.

Angelina dared Lee to wear a full set of Gryffindor Quidditch robes while reciting lines from Romeo and Juliet. Alicia admitted she once nicked a bottle of Firewhiskey from Hogsmeade and replaced it with water, leaving an unsuspecting Filch none the wiser.

And then it was George’s turn.

He took his drop of Veritaserum like a champ, winking at you as he did.

“Truth or dare?” Fred asked, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Truth,” George said easily.

Fred’s grin turned downright evil. “Who do you fancy?”

George’s smirk faltered for the briefest moment. His eyes flicked to you, then away.

“I…” He hesitated, his hands gripping the arms of his chair as though physically restraining himself.

“Come on, Georgie,” Fred teased. “We’re all waiting.”

George groaned. “Fine. I fancy—” He stopped again, his jaw tightening as his gaze drifted to you.

“Spit it out!” Lee said.

“I fancy you!” George blurted, his face going crimson.

Your heart stopped.

The room exploded into cheers and gasps.

“You what?” you managed to choke out.

George looked mortified, running a hand through his hair. “I—I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

Your cheeks burned as every eye in the room turned to you. “You fancy me?”

Everything about this felt like a dream, too good to be true.

“Yes,” George said miserably. “I have for ages.”

Fred let out a low whistle. “Well, this just got interesting.”

You did not know what to say. If it wasn’t for the truth serum, you could’ve sworn this was all just a stupid joke. But it wasn’t.

Everyone’s eyes were watching your next move, but all you could do was stare at George with disbelief.

The awkwardness didn’t last long—Fred saw to that by immediately daring George to snog you.

“Fred!” you yelped, your face burning.

“What? It’s only fair!” Fred said, grinning.

To your utter shock, George didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward, cupping your face gently as he watched your reaction carefully. When you didn’t pull away, he kissed you. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, your heart racing as you kissed him back, all the tension and unspoken feelings between you finally bubbling to the surface.

When he pulled away, his cheeks were pink, but his grin was pure mischief.

“Worth it,” he said.

The room erupted into wolf whistles and applause, and for once, you didn’t mind being the center of attention.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter and ridiculous dares. By the time the fire burned low and the last drops of Veritaserum were used up, you found yourself curled up next to George on the rug, his arm slung casually around your shoulders.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear, “this might be the best night I’ve ever had.”

You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder. “I’d hope so.”

When he laughed softly in your ear, you knew that this was exactly where you were meant to be.

[multific]

Happy New Year

Dimitri Kravinoff x Reader

Summary: Your first New Year's Eve with him.

Dimitri’s home felt different tonight. 

The typically stylish, luxurious space was softened by warm lights hung in the windows. 

Soft music played in the background, the crackle of an old record adding a layer of intimacy that only Dimitri would have thought of.

You sat on the couch, legs tucked under you, a glass of champagne in your hand. 

Across the room, Dimitri was arranging a plate of fruit and chocolates on the coffee table. 

His rolled-up sleeves revealed his forearms, and his movements, though usually effortless, seemed more deliberate tonight.

He looked delicious. 

"This is really something," you said, breaking the calm. "You didn’t have to go all out."

He looked up at you, his mouth curling into a small smile. 

"It is a special night after all," he replied, straightening. "I wanted our first New Year's Eve to be amazing."

"It already is," you assured him, patting the space beside you. "You being here with me? That’s all I need."

He hesitated briefly before joining you on the couch. 

His arm brushed against yours as he settled beside you, his eyes were filled with kindness.

"You know," he began after a moment, his voice lower, "I’ve never really been one for New Year’s Eve celebrations. Too loud. Too crowded. Always felt... meaningless."

You tilted your head to look at him, intrigued. "Then why celebrate this year?"

"Because with you, it feels like it actually means something."

A smile spread across your face at his words, your heart felt so full.

You leaned closer, resting your head on his shoulder. 

On the TV, the countdown began, numbers flashing boldly across the screen.

"Ten seconds," you murmured, glancing up at Dimitri.

His focus wasn’t on the TV. 

His eyes were entirely on you. 

His beautiful eyes held a depth of emotion you couldn’t quite figure out, but it made your pulse quicken.

"Five," you whispered, leaning just a little closer.

"Four," his hand found yours, his fingers moving through yours with purpose.

"Three," you could feel his breath on your lips.

"Two."

"One," his lips found yours, gentle yet purposeful as if he’d been waiting for this moment and didn’t want to rush it.

You could hear the people on the streets cheer, but it felt distant.

To you, everything disappeared. 

It was only the two of you in the moment. 

His touch was warm, his hand cradling your face with a tenderness that made you forget about everything else.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, a small smile on his lips. 

"Happy New Year," he whispered.

"Happy New Year," you replied.

You knew exactly what the new year would bring.

It will bring love and care.

Freedom and passion.

You couldn't wait to explore it all with him.

A/N: Above photo is not mine! Hope you liked this!

Happy New Year to everyone!

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief 

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen @mel-vaz @akamitrani

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[onlyhereforthestories]

Ours (Alessia Russo x Reader)

Day 20! My first Russo fic? This was another cheesy one to write, I think this time of the year gets me in my feels. Not long to go!

The glow of the Christmas tree lights filled the living room with a soft, warm ambiance as you placed a tray of paints and brushes onto the coffee table. The soft hum of holiday music played in the background, blending with the occasional crackle from the fireplace. Alessia, who had just returned from the kitchen with two mugs of hot chocolate, raised an eyebrow when she saw the collection of art supplies you’d gathered.

“What’s all this?” she asked, handing you a mug and taking a seat on the floor beside you.

You grinned, reaching for one of the plain, round ceramic ornaments from the box. “I thought we could make some decorations together. Something special for us to hang on the tree every year.”

Her lips curled into a soft smile, and she took one of the ornaments from the box, examining it thoughtfully as if planning what she could do with it. “You mean, something for us to laugh at in five years when we remember how bad we were at this?”

“Speak for yourself,” you teased, grabbing a brush and dipping it into the paint. “I’ve got big plans for mine.”

Alexia chuckled, leaning closer to inspect your work. “Oh? Big plans like what? Scribbling our initials on it?”

“Very funny,” you shot back, though you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. “Watch and learn, Alessia Russo.” You said as you turned your back to her slightly.

You began painting in earnest, starting with a simple heart shape in bright red at the centre of your ornament. Alessia, meanwhile, selected her paints with a surprising level of focus from someone who laughed this idea off a second previously, furrowing her brows as she considered which colours to use.

“What are you going for?” you asked, glancing over at her.

She smirked, tilting the ornament in her hand to show you the start of her design. “A masterpiece, obviously.”

The “masterpiece” in question was a series of uneven lines and smudges of green and gold, but the pride in her expression made you smile.

“You’re so modest,” you quipped, nudging her shoulder playfully.

As the evening went on, the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, dipping brushes into paint and laughing over your attempts to create something meaningful and cute. Alessia’s focus wavered quickly; every time she made a mistake, she would throw her head back and laugh, claiming it added “character.” At one point, she accidentally dipped her sleeve in the paint, leaving a streak of gold across the table.

“Oops,” she said, holding up her arm with a sheepish grin.

You couldn’t help but laugh, grabbing a cloth to wipe up the spill. “At this rate, you’ll have more paint on yourselves than the ornaments you are making.”

She shrugged, grabbing a smaller brush and adding a blob of white to her design. “It’s abstract. I’m an artist. Don’t all artists get covered in their artwork.”

Your evening continued like this for the next 30 minutes, you and Alessia exchanging playful comments or sharing your attempts at art on the decorations you were making. All your ornaments slowly took shape, bright, cheerful designs, one for which featured the date of your first Christmas together and a little snowflake on the back as created by yourself. Alessia, on the other hand, had abandoned any pretence of a cohesive design. Her ornaments had become a chaos of colours and swirls, one was all green with a tiny football painted near the top.

“You’re going to hang that on the tree?” you teased, gesturing to her mess of a creation.

“Of course,” she replied, holding it up proudly. “It’s a reflection of my soul: messy, colourful, and full of love.”

You laughed, reaching over to add a little star to the edge of her ornament. “It’s perfect,” you admitted.

When both of you finished your next ornaments, you set them aside to dry and reached for the next blank ones. Alessia surprised you by grabbing your hand, stopping you mid-motion.

“Wait,” she said softly, her expression suddenly serious.

You raised an eyebrow, wondering what had shifted. “What is it?”

Alessia hesitated for a moment before taking one of the blank ornaments and handing it to you. “Let’s make one together,” she suggested.

“Together?”

“Yeah. Like you know, both of us working on one. Something that’s really ours.”

Your heart warmed at the suggestion, and you nodded, a smile spreading across your face. “I love that idea.”

You scooted closer to her, holding the ornament between you as you decided on the design together. It started with a big, bold heart in the centre, with your initials inside. Around the edges, you added tiny stars while Alessia painted little footballs and a small Christmas tree. Every few minutes, your hands would brush, sending sparks of warmth through you.

At one point, Alessia paused, holding up her brush with a mischievous grin. “Hold still,” she said.

“What? Why?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at her.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she swiped a quick streak of red paint across the tip of your nose.

“Alessia!” you exclaimed, laughing as you grabbed a brush of your own.

A quick, playful battle ensued, with streaks of paint finding their way onto your cheeks and Alessia’s chin. By the time you called a truce, both of you were a mess, your faces streaked with colour and your hands covered in smudges. You had placed your shared ornament down on the table before you retaliated so that it wasn’t part of the faux war.

“Okay, okay,” you said, still laughing as you leaned back. “I think the ornament’s supposed to get painted, not us.”

Alessia chuckled, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. “It’s a work of art either way.”

When the shared ornament was finally complete, the two of you held it up to admire your handiwork. It wasn’t perfect in its own way, the lines were a little uneven, and the colours had smudged in a few places, but it was undeniably yours.

“I love it,” Alessia said softly, her voice filled with genuine affection.

“Me too,” you agreed, setting it gently on the table to dry.

You spent the rest of the evening cleaning up the mess you’d made, trading kisses and light hearted jokes as you worked. When the ornaments were dry, you carefully hung them on the tree together, stepping back to admire how they looked amidst the twinkling lights.

Alessia slipped her arms around your waist from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder. “These are going to be my favourite decorations each year.” she murmured.

You leaned into her, your heart full. “Ours,” you corrected gently.

She smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Ours,” she agreed.

[washoping]

Christmas reminds me

── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Emily Prentiss x reader

summary: As the holiday cheer clashes with the turmoil of your past mental health struggles, particularly your eating disorder, Emily’s presence becomes the support you need the most.

tags: emotional hurt/comfort, mental health issues, eating disorder, christmas

2.5k words │ ao3

a/n: the holidays can be tough for some of us - so i wanted to offer this quick oneshot, filled with emily’s comfort, as a hug from me to you during this time. you’re not alone <3

english isn’t my first language, typos and mistakes are all mine.

── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Snow drifted lazily outside the window, each flake dancing as it fell while you were sitting curled up on the sofa with a blanket draped over your shoulders like an armor against the cold world outside. The soft hum of instrumental Christmas music played faintly in the background, mixing with the soothing crackling coming from the fireplace you had lit up a while ago. The twinkling lights of the Christmas tree reflected off the silver ornaments. All of the decorating you had done earlier should’ve made you feel warm, safe even. But there was a weight in your chest. It was uninvited but unfortunately familiar to you - you dreaded it every December.

The holidays had been a double-edged sword for you as long as you could remember. There was joy and there was laughter, sure. But for you, there was also an immense amount of pressure and anxiety. Pressure to join in the dinners with your family, to take part in traditions that all revolved around food, to pretend that you were okay when in fact you weren’t. At all.

The voice in the back of your mind was loud today, so cruel in its persistence. It clawed at your insecurities and brought back painful memories from the past family gatherings where you had felt judged, scrutinized and never enough for anyone. The voice had told you lies about how everyone noticed every bite you took, how every calorie would show and somehow expose your failures. You remembered the whispers that your mind had made up to be comments about the amount of food you were eating or not eating. Sideway glances from family. People perceiving you. You hated it.

The living room started to feel smaller and the lights dimmer as your thoughts pulled you inward, deeper into the suffocating ache of self-doubt.

The ache had been there since the moment you woke up, but despite it, you had managed to decorate the apartment. You knew your girlfriend, Emily, was working late for the last day before her holiday break and for a fleeting moment you had felt a desire to make the space festive for her. It was the least you could do after Emily had so kindly promised to spend the holidays with you. Just the two of you, so you wouldn’t have to go to family gatherings. You were grateful.

The Christmas tree stood tall in the corner, decorated with silver ornaments you and Emily had collected over the time you had been dating. You had hung up tiny fairy lights and stockings and even placed a few scented candles on the coffee table. Vanilla and cinnamon, Emily’s favorites, you had learned. The effort had been both a distraction for your own sake and also a way to show Emily just how much she meant to you.

The sound of the front door opening, and closing just as quickly, snapped you back into the present moment. Emily’s voice echoed from the hallway, light and cheerful. You knew she was relieved to have some days off from work.

”Sweetieee!” You heard the familiar warm voice and couldn’t help but smile.

A moment later Emily appeared in the doorway, carrying two mugs of steaming hot chocolate from your favorite café down the street - you recognized the logo in the takeout mugs instantly. Emily’s dark brown eyes swept over the room, taking in the decorations. She froze in spot, her expression shifting from tired but happy to radiant in an instant. She smiled to brightly. ”You did all this today?”

You nodded, suddenly a bit self-conscious. ”I… thought it might be nice.”

”Nice?” your girlfriend asked and set the mugs on the coffee table. She took her winter coat off and then crossed the room in a few strides, sitting down on the sofa and wrapping you in a tight hug. You couldn’t help but smile when you felt her arms around your body. ”It’s absolutely perfect. You’re amazing, you know that?”

She looked into your eyes and pressed a quick kiss on your lips before she turned to admire the decorations again.

Emily’s excitement was infectious and for a moment the weight in your chest lifted. It made breathing a bit easier. But as Emily settled properly on the sofa next to you and cradled one of the mugs in her hands, her gaze sharpened. Her smile softened when she tilted her head, looking at you.

”What’s going on, baby? You seem… quiet”, she then asked softly.

You forced a small smile on your face, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

”Just a bit tired, I guess”, you tried but it wasn’t convincing at all.

Emily placed the mug back on the table and shifted closer, her hand finding yours. Her touch was warm and grounding. You looked down at how her thumb started slowly caressing the top of your palm.

”Honey, I know how difficult the holidays can be for you”, she said, her voice low and steady. Each word was so carefully chosen and wrapped in love. ”I just want you to know that I’m here for you, okay? Every step of the way. You don’t have to pretend with me. You don’t have to carry all this on your own. You’re not alone.”

Couple tears came streaming down your cheek before you could do anything to stop them. Before you knew it tears blurred your vision, making the room’s soft lights smear like watercolor. Emily didn’t say anything else, she just wrapped her arms around you and pulled you against her chest.

The fabric of her sweater was soft against your cheek. She smelled like vanilla, a scent so distinctly Emily that it felt like home. You closed your eyes and listened to the rhythm of her heartbeat against your ear. It was the most comforting sound you’d heard all day - steady and strong, grounding you. You let yourself sink into Emily’s embrace and somehow she made all the tension you had carried inside your body all day unravel under her touch.

”It’s not easy”, you eventually whispered, your voice muffled against her sweater. ”I hate that it’s so hard. It’s like… like every bite feels like a damn battle. It’s so exhausting.”

Emily pulled back just enough to be able to cup your face in her hands. Her thumbs brushed away the tears on your cheeks softly. Her chocolate eyes, filled with unwavering determination to show you how she was there for you, searched for yours.

”I know it’s hard, baby. And it’s totally okay to feel that way. All your feelings are valid. But I see you, I see every part of you and I love you for all of it. The good days, and the not so good ones. You are enough just as you are, my love.”

You tried to look away, ashamed.

”It doesn’t feel like it’s enough. I always feel like I’m failing. Every time I try to eat, there’s this… this voice inside my head, telling me that I’m doing it wrong. Too little or too much. That I can’t even eat right. That I’m weak. And it’s so fucking loud, Emily. I can’t shut it off, especially this time of the year when everything revolves around food. I’m so tired.”

Emily’s hands tightened their grip around yours, grounding you further.

”Sweetheart, you’re not failing. You’re fighting. And that voice? It’s lying to you, big time. You’re so much stronger than it wants you to believe. It’s going to take time, but you’re not alone in this. I’ll be here to remind you of that whenever you need it. I’m not leaving”, Emily told you in a comforting voice.

You couldn’t help but think back to the night you had first told her about your problems with food. How controlling what you put in your mouth had been your way of dealing with stuff you couldn’t control in your life for the longest time. Emily’s face had softened, her eyes filling with tears she refused to shed. She hadn’t said much at first. She had just listened to you and then held you as if letting go would shatter you somehow. Later, she had told you she’d do everything in her power to make sure you never felt alone in this again. The promise had become her mantra, spoken to you softly in moments like these, when things were too heavy for you to carry.

”I just feel so broken sometimes”, you admitted with a trembling voice. ”Like… why can’t I just be normal? Why does food have to be this… this thing?”

Emily’s hands squeezed yours, her grip firm but still gentle. It anchored you to her presence and you were able to stay here, and not slip away.

”You’re not broken, my love. You’re human. And this ’thing’, as you call it, doesn’t define you one bit. You’re so much stronger than that. We’ll take it one day at a time. One meal at a time, together. And you don’t have to do any of it alone. If it feels too much, we’ll stop. That’s why I told you we could spend this Christmas together, just you and me. You don’t have to be perfect with me, you just have to be you. Because I love you, for you.”

”I just… I don’t want to ruin everything because of stupid food”, you confessed, your voice breaking now. ”Sometimes it feels easier to just not show up, not eat, not let people see me struggling.”

Emily’s gaze softened, her thumb continuing to stroke gentle patterns over your knuckles again.

”You’re not ruining anything, I promise you. It’s okay to struggle. It’s okay to have hard days. In fact, it would be weird if you felt completely okay about the holiday season. I would be worried. What matters the most is that you let me know. And that you’re trying. I can see you’re trying so hard every day. I see how hard you’re fighting, even if you don’t feel it”, she said. You let out a shaky breath you didn’t notice you had been holding.

”But what if I mess up? What if I can’t do it?”

Damn self-doubt.

Emily leaned in, her forehead now resting gently against yours. You looked into her beautiful eyes full of kindness. One of your favorite things about her.

”Then we’ll pick up the pieces together. There’s no such thing as messing up when you’re healing and recovering. Every step, no matter how small, is still a step forward. And when it feels like it’s too much, I’ll be right here. Always.”

You hated that they did, but something in Emily’s words cracked your shell and made you sob harder. Emily held you tighter, her hand cradling the back of your head in a comforting manner.

”Let it out, love. Shh… I’ve got you. I’ve got you, I’m not going anywhere”, she whispered against your hair. Her fingers stroked it, each pass a quiet reassurance that everything was going to be okay. Her short nails scraped your scalp lightly. ”We’ll take it one moment at a time and if it gets too much, we’ll take a break. We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

You nodded against Emily, grateful beyond words so you didn’t even try to explain. Emily had a way of making you feel so seen, not in the scrutinizing and suffocating way that your family did, but in a way that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. In a way no one else had ever seen you before. Emily didn’t demand anything, didn’t blame, didn’t try to fix you. She just… stayed. Supported. Loved you.

When your tears had dried Emily got up.

”Please, don’t lea-”, you managed to mumble, worried of where Emily was going. You just wanted to be in her arms right now.

”I’ll be back in just a second”, she said quickly and flashed you a bright smile.

She disappeared into the bedroom and when she returned she was holding a small neatly wrapped red box in her hands. The paper was patterned with tiny white snowflakes and there was a beautiful silver ribbon curled perfectly on top of the box. The light from the tree caught on the foil, making it shimmer.

Emily sat down next to you again. Her knee brushed against yours as she placed the box in your lap.

”For you”, she whispered sweetly and smiled. Her voice was gentle in a shy way, as if she was unsure of how you’d react. You hesitated, your fingers brushing over the edges of the paper. The texture was smooth underneath your fingertips.

”Em, you really didn’t have to.”

”I know, but I wanted to”, Emily said determinedly. ”You mean everything to me. Please, open it.”

You peeled back the paper carefully, as if unwrapping something fragile. Your hands trembled a bit. The folds gave a way to reveal a small wooden box. It was carved full of your favorite flowers, each petal and leaf so detailed you couldn’t help but admire them. You lifted the lid and inside was a stack of cards. You recognized Emily’s handwriting in them. Your heart got caught in your throat as you picked up the top card and read it.

You are more than enough.

You picked up another one. You deserve love and kindness, especially from yourself.

Card after card each message was a quiet affirmation, a reminder of your worth and strength. Some were simple, like Take a deep breath, while others felt like whispered secrets from deep inside Emily’s heart. Support for stuff only she knew you had been through.

By the time you had gone through a handful of them your vision was blurred with tears again, but this time they carried a different weight. Gratitude, not sadness.

Emily’s hand rested on your knee. When she saw the tears filling your eyes, she squeezed.

”Whenever you’re feeling overwhelmed, you can pick up one. Or ten. Whatever helps. I’ll add more as we go. Every word on those cards is true and I’ll remind you every day if I have to”, she said and leaned against your shoulder.

You couldn’t find the words to express how much the gift meant to you, so you just turned into her direction and pressed your lips on hers. Emily sighed, smiling into the kiss. You clutched the box in your hands like a lifeline. Emily’s arms came around you again, pulling you closer to her and deepening the kiss at the same time.

”Thank you”, you whispered when your lips parted a little.

Emily pressed another kiss, a tender one, on your temple. Then on your forehead. Her lips lingered there for a moment before she cupped your face with her hands.

”Always, my love. Always.”

She kissed you again.

[bluejutdae]

• Stray Kids as very specific vibes | OT8

Chan: brushing your teeth side by side, making sure the other sleeps enough, late night city dates, plaids, dimples, racing each other on the street, spraying perfume on pillow cases, trying new stuff, 3 am runs at the grocery store, trust, last minute flights, glass clinking, lightnings, early morning fog.

Minho: reading books to each other, cat cafés, cooking together, the crackling of the fireplace, the first snow of the season, camping and fishing, quiet acts of service, giving each others silly gifts, cats stickers all over the house, warm blankets and cups of tea.

Changbin: vanilla scented candles, gym dates, sharing food, laughing carelessly, meeting the families, kissing on the shoreline, summer days, sea salt on your skin, warm hands, blowing on birthday candles, quality time, feeling safe, warm bathrobes, the smell of fresh laundry.

Hyunjin: paint stains, oversized shirts, matching nail polish, staring into each other's eyes, waking up in the middle of the night, heart wrenching movies, holding hands, whispers at night, talking about true love, soulmates, words of affirmations, sharing a blanket, museum dates.

Jisung: hysteric laughing, iced americanos, playing catch, fixing hair behind the ear, sharing earrings, falling asleep on the floor, neon lights, chapped lips and bitten nails, sharing earbuds, calming tones, shaking hands, goodnight pecks, dreaming of flying, Icarus poems, silver jewelry.

Felix: late night train rides, sitting on a car roof to watch the sun rise, the fresh water of a pool, the relaxing presence of your best friend, videogames, arcades games, golden hour, pretty smiles, silly tattoos, sharing playlists, trying new food, learning to braid hair.

Seungmin: study dates, white and baby blue flowers, coffee stained pages, journals and diaries, house keys, silly key chains, good morning videocalls, matching outfits, the warm wind on a summer night, the smell of oranges in the air, the feeling of belonging, tight hugs.

Jeongin: the glint of the snow, cold hands around warm chocolate, daily outfit pics, playgrounds, pranks, sharing secrets, watching reality shows, watching the full moon, counting stars, no fear of being judged, first love, setting goals, singing out loud into fake microphones.

[littlelamy]

The air feels heavy with comfort, the world outside irrelevant. A thunderstorm crackles in the distance, its soft rumble a perfect soundtrack to the lazy day stretching before you like a silk sheet. The only things you care about right now? Rafe, the couch, and the towering stack of rom-coms queued up on the screen. The rest can wait.

The plush couch practically swallows you both, oversized cushions giving way to tangled limbs and slow sighs. Rafe is sprawled in that effortlessly confident way only he can pull off, one arm slung lazily across the back of the couch, the other draped over your shoulders, his fingers absently stroking little circles into your skin. It's maddeningly gentle, just enough to send goosebumps rippling across your arm and down your spine, but not enough to be outright distracting. His touch lingers, as though he’s savoring the feel of you curled into him like this.

The movie plays on the TV, some classic rom-com that never fails to make you laugh—though you’ve barely been paying attention to the dialogue. Popcorn sits untouched on the coffee table, along with a half-empty box of assorted chocolates. You’d started the day determined to pace yourself with the snacks, but Rafe had been the first to break that unspoken agreement, popping a caramel-filled chocolate into his mouth with an exaggerated, sinful groan that made your cheeks flush and earned him a playful swat to the chest. The bastard had only grinned in response, his blue eyes twinkling like he’d already won some private game.

Your legs are tangled beneath the fuzzy throw blanket, and you can feel the heat radiating off him even through the fabric. His scent—woodsy cologne and just a hint of the peppermint gum he’s been chewing—fills your nostrils every time you shift a little closer, your nose brushing against the cotton of his well-worn T-shirt. It’s stretched snug across his chest, a sliver of skin peeking out where the fabric rides up just above his waistband. Your fingers twitch with the urge to touch, to skim your nails lightly down that strip of exposed skin and feel him shiver beneath you.

“Not paying attention, huh?” His voice is low, teasing, as he glances down at you, catching the way your eyes lingered for just a beat too long. He doesn’t bother hiding the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, his thumb now tracing slow, deliberate strokes along your collarbone. You’re painfully aware of how the strap of your tank top has slipped down, leaving the thin fabric precariously close to revealing the curve of your breast. And judging by the way his eyes flick down for just a split second, he’s noticed too.

You play it off with a roll of your eyes, nuzzling deeper into his side. “Shut up and watch the movie,” you mumble, though there’s no heat in your tone. Your fingers toy idly with the hem of his shirt, brushing against the warm, firm plane of his stomach. His abs tighten under your touch, just for a second, and you can’t help the tiny, triumphant smile that plays on your lips.

Twenty minutes later, you’re both a lost cause. The movie’s still playing, but the dialogue’s just background noise now, a soft murmur under the sound of your combined breaths. At some point, Rafe had shifted, pulling you into his lap so you’re straddling him, the blanket forgotten on the floor. His hands rest on your hips, fingers slipping just under the waistband of your leggings, his thumbs making lazy circles on your bare skin. You’re keenly aware of the way his touch is just shy of too low, the teasing pressure sending little sparks shooting up your spine.

Your hands are on his chest, fingers splayed over the firm muscles there, your thumbs grazing the peaks of his collarbones. He’s watching you like he doesn’t care if the rest of the world burns to ash, his eyes dark and soft all at once. The tip of his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, and it’s all you can do not to lean in and bite that same lip, just to hear the growl you know he’d let out.

“Chocolate or me?” he murmurs, one brow quirking up in that infuriatingly cocky way that always drives you crazy. His hands squeeze your hips gently, and you swear you feel his thumbs dip just a fraction lower. “Be honest.”

You let out a breathy laugh, leaning down until your faces are just inches apart. Your hair falls forward, brushing against his cheeks. “Is that even a question?” you whisper, your lips grazing his with the barest hint of a touch, enough to make him tense beneath you.

And then his hands move—one sliding up your spine, his fingers splaying wide across your back, the other cupping your ass through the soft fabric of your leggings. He pulls you closer, grinding you against him just enough to send a delicious ache pooling low in your belly. His lips capture yours, firm and unrelenting, and you swear you taste the lingering sweetness of chocolate on his tongue. Your hands move of their own accord, sliding up into his hair, tugging lightly until he groans against your mouth.

The bowl of popcorn teeters precariously on the edge of the coffee table before finally tumbling to the floor, forgotten entirely. The storm outside grows louder, the patter of rain against the windows mixing with the muffled moans that escape you as his lips trail down your neck, his teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive skin there. Your tank top shifts further, the thin fabric barely covering you now, and when his lips brush over the curve of your shoulder, you can’t help the way your back arches into him, inviting more.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know you should care about the mess you’re making, the popcorn scattered on the floor, the chocolates now smudged into the couch cushions. But with the way his hands are roaming over your body, his lips teasing and tasting every inch of exposed skin, you can’t bring yourself to give a damn. The storm rages on outside, but here, in this little cocoon of warmth and tangled limbs, nothing else matters.

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