#depending on the amount of sauce

[yogirl-willow]

The Crimson Pact | Part 5

Characterizations | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

SoulBond!AU

Pairings: Yandere!Saja Boys x F!Reader

Synopsis: You were never supposed to remember them.

Four hundred years ago, a pact was made—a blood-soaked bond tying five demons to one human soul: yours.

They’ve waited lifetimes for your reincarnation, cursed with obsession, tethered by fate.

And now that you’ve returned?

They’ll burn the world before they let you go again.

Warnings: Soul bond with the Saja Boys, Yandere themes!, obsessive behavior / possessiveness, romantic psychological tension, mentions of implied past death / reincarnation, intense emotional fixation, yearning, dark romance, hurt/comfort

A/N: Story is rolling along folks! I plan to flesh out each and every one of the boys + get the plot rolling a bit in this chapter and the next. Thank you for all your lovely comments! Unfortunately, Tumblr only allows a certain amount of tags so I sincerely apologize if I was not able to tag you on here (I tried adding everyone I could). 😭 But just know that I'm so grateful to everyone reading my story. 🥺 If you'd still like to be tagged and you weren't on here just comment and I can try adding you to the next update!

───────── ༺🜃༻ ─────────

The Saja boys are all demons.

They are wrath and ruin. Jealousy and death.

And yet, before her, they kneel.

Because she is the Heart. Because her soul is what keeps them from unraveling into true monsters. Because they were bound by her love and her curse.

They don’t just crave her—they depend on her. Without her presence, their minds deteriorate. Their bodies decay. Their hunger becomes unbearable.

Only Y/N’s touch tames the demon inside.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Part 5:

The Closer You Come

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet. Galbi sizzles in the pan. Romance stirs the sauce for the bulgogi with a flick of his wrist, lips pursed, jaw tight. Baby’s lounging on the couch, flipping through channels absently—volume low. Mystery sits on the floor nearby, sketchpad in his lap, but the page hasn’t flipped in minutes.

And Jinu? Jinu is standing stock still, eyes unfocused, head tilted just slightly—like he’s hearing something the others can’t. 

Then it happens. A pulse.

A flare of heat through the bond—so sudden, so visceral it feels like it cracks through their spines and settles in their chests. Like lightning, but slow. Like breath hitching in someone else’s throat. Jinu exhales, long and low, the tension in his jaw deepening.

“She kissed him,” he mutters, voice dark with something ancient. Romance drops the spoon. The sound of it hitting the counter echoes too loud in the kitchen.

“She did what?” Baby straightens, head whipping toward the hallway. His eyes sharpen like a knife drawn slow from its sheath.

“They’re close,” Mystery whispers, eyes wide, hand still frozen over the paper. “Closer than before.” A breath. A heartbeat. Then—

Another pulse. Hotter. Slower. Deeper. This time it ripples. Like need. Like skin. Like hands where only air used to be. Romance presses both palms on the counter and hunches forward, exhaling like he’s in pain. “She’s letting him touch her.” he smiles wrily. “Lucky motherfucker-”

“Oh, fuck.” Baby hisses and scrubs a hand over his face, pacing now. “I swear, if he’s inside her right now I will burn this apartment down.”

“Shut up,” Jinu growls. “Don’t ruin it.”

“But—!”

“She’s choosing him,” Jinu says, quieter now. Not angry. Not jealous. Just… reverent. Like it hurts. Like it heals.

“Not that far, not yet.” Mystery whispers, his voice small. Hopeful.  “But she’s starting to want us,” “Really want us.”

Romance says nothing. His expression unreadable. He stares down into the bulgogi sauce like it’s the only thing holding him to earth.

“She’ll come to us too,” Baby mutters, sitting back down, hands twitching on his thighs. “Eventually.”

Another pulse hits—this one sweet. Soft. Settled. They all exhale like they’ve been holding their breath. Then—Romance smiles. A slow, dangerous thing. “Let her fall in love,” he says. “Let her remember what it feels like to be worshipped. To be ours.”

He finally looks up, eyes gleaming. “She’ll never escape us after this.”

────────── ⚘ ──────────

You wake to the steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath your ear.

Warmth surrounds you—solid muscle, arms like a fortress around your waist, breath brushing your hair. You blink sleep from your lashes and lift your head slowly. The room is dim, painted in faint light from the setting sun bleeding through the curtains. Abby- no, Haneul’s arms tighten for just a moment, as if sensing your stirring.

His eyes crack open, slow and groggy, but the second he sees you awake, he smiles. Soft. Boyish. Unbelievably gentle for someone so sharp-edged and dangerous. "Hey," he murmurs, his voice still sleep-rough. "Sleep okay?"

You nod. "Yeah. Better than I have in a while." You don’t say why. But you both know.

Your body aches—not from pain, but from feeling. From finally letting something out, something ancient and caged and suffocating. Haneul’s story had shattered something in you, and you hadn’t realized how heavy it all was until he held it with you.

You rest your hand on his chest again, listening to the thud beneath your fingers. He exhales, like your touch soothes something deep in him.

Then a knock. Light and polite. “Dinner’s ready,” comes Mystery’s voice from the other side. “Abby, bring her down or I will.” You hear the smile in it. A threat. A promise.

You feel Haneul’s chest rumble with a low growl. “He’s getting too bold.” You laugh quietly and push off him, sitting up. “You promised not to kill your own bandmate.”

“Did I?”

You throw a pillow at him.

The dining table is already set—cozy and warm, lit with soft ambient lights and the faint smell of something savory and a little sweet. Galbi and Bulgogi, with tea and little folded napkins in the shape of hearts. You don’t ask who did that. You already know.

Mystery’s eyes light up the second he sees you. Not like they’re glowing (though they are faintly), but like you are. He takes your hand without asking, leads you to the table, and pulls out your chair with an elegant, shy little flourish. Then, before you can sit, he kisses your forehead.

You freeze. His lips linger longer than they should. Then he pulls back and simply stares at you. His fingers remain laced in yours as you sit.

You let him.

The others notice. They don’t speak on it, but you feel it—the way Jinu softens, the way Romance hums thoughtfully into his cup, the way Baby flicks his gaze from Mystery to you and back again, unreadable but watching.

Something’s shifted. Maybe it happened the moment Haneul touched your soul and showed you his scars. Maybe it happened long before that. You sip your tea in silence, letting Mystery’s hand remain curled gently over yours.

They keep glancing at you—each of them. Not out of suspicion, not even obsession this time. Something else. Affection. Maybe even awe. And for once… it doesn’t frighten you.

If Haneul’s story was that tragic, you think, tracing your fingertip over the lip of your mug, then how many other lifetimes have I lived inside their sorrow?

Your voice breaks the quiet. “I’m… sorry. For earlier. I know you guys mean well.”

Jinu shakes his head slowly. “You were scared. You had every right to be.”

“Still. I should… trust you.”

Romance leans his chin in his palm, watching you intently. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”

You swallow once. “I need to know something.” Every head lifts at the shift in your tone. “Why are demons following me?”

They exchange glances. It’s Jinu who speaks, his voice calm but iron underneath. “Because word got out.”

“About me?”

“About The Pact.” Romance’s voice is silk over steel. “Some of them doubted it for years. Thought Gwi Ma was bluffing. But now that they’ve seen you… they know you’re real.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. Jinu nods once. “You’re a symbol. A myth. The key to everything.”

“To us,” Haneul adds from across the table. His gaze is steady, anchored to yours.

“And now they want you,” Romance finishes. “To marvel. To worship. Maybe even to steal. Depends on the demon.”

You stare down at your food. The sudden weight of it all feels like it could crush you. But then—warm fingers squeeze yours. Mystery. Unwavering. Devoted. 

“You are ours to protect,” Jinu says. “Whatever comes. That bond between us? It’s not just magic. It’s real. It’s what keeps you safe.”

You look up. They’re all staring at you now. And not a single one of them blinks. You swallow past the lump in your throat. “Okay,” you whisper. “I trust you.”

And the relief in their eyes is so pure, it nearly breaks you open all over again. You begin to eat the delicious food prepared and go to grab more of the Bulgogi across the table. 

“Haneul, could you pass the Bulgogi please-” There’s a beat of stillness so sharp it cuts the air.

He freezes.

Your voice had been soft—barely above a breath—but it might as well have echoed off the walls. Four pairs of eyes flick to him instantly. Abby—no, Haneul—doesn’t move for a full second. Jinu’s lips twitch into the ghost of a smile. Romance hums, pleased. Mystery beams openly. Even Baby’s lip quirks in that subtle way of his.

But it’s Haneul who looks undone. His eyes meet yours—dark, glittering, soft in a way that should be terrifying coming from someone who could end nations. And yet, the only thing they carry is adoration. Worship. Wonder. 

He swallows. “Say it again.”

You blink. “Haneul—”

He closes his eyes. “Again,” he whispers.

“Haneul.” His knuckles turn white against the table’s edge.

“You’re going to make him short-circuit,” Mystery says fondly. Haneul smiles and every boy at the table watches that moment—not with envy, but with a shared fondness. Because the bond did flare then. You felt it. So did they. Threading tighter. Warmer. More unbreakable than before. And none of them would say it aloud… But they knew. That name in your mouth was holy. And it belonged to him.

Haneul coughs, handing you the bowl of Bulgogi with a slight tinge to his cheeks that made you gush internally. Cute.

The clink of chopsticks against porcelain fills the air as you eat dinner. Mystery leans closer as he gently places another spoon of Galbi onto your plate. Jinu silently refills your tea. Abby watches you from across the table, his grip tightening every time you look away. Romance twirls his spoon like he’s thinking too hard. Baby doesn’t eat—he just stares.

Dinner tastes warm, comforting. You toy with your rice for a moment. “Can I ask you something again?”

Jinu looks up instantly. “Anything.”

You hesitate, then glance at each of them. “Why are you in a boyband?”

Everyone goes still for a moment. Romance’s spoon halts midair. Jinu doesn’t blink. Abby’s jaw ticks, hard. Mystery goes stiff. Only Baby doesn’t react—but his eyes narrow slightly.

“That’s a fair question,” Jinu says at last. Too smooth. Too calm. Romance flashes a smile. Too polished. “We needed a way to be seen.”

“We came up with the idea and Gwi Ma told us to go ahead with it,” Abby grumbles, tone clipped.

You blink. “The demon king?”

“Yeah,” Romance says, more gently now. “We thought if we were famous—if the world worshipped us—you’d find your way to us again. Hear our voices. Remember something in your soul.”

“And it worked,” Mystery whispers, squeezing your hand. “You’re here.”

You look down, stomach fluttering. “So… everything was just for me?”

Jinu nods. “Always.”

Romance leans forward, voice soft like velvet and lined with knives. “You were the only one who was ever supposed to hear the songs. The rest of the world? Just echoes.”

Abby’s voice is low. “We became everything they loved so you’d never miss us.”

It’s overwhelming. A little terrifying. But something about the way they look at you makes it feel… real. True.

You don’t notice how they exchange glances once you lower your gaze to take another bite of your meal. Don’t see how Jinu’s knuckles whiten around his cup. Or how Baby finally looks away—like even he can’t hold your gaze when you’re this trusting.

They’re lying. Not about the bond. Not about the fame. But about the purpose.

Because the truth—about the souls their voices seduce and collect for Gwi Ma, about the weight of every fan who screamed their name and unknowingly gave up a piece of themselves—that truth would shatter something still fragile between you.

They’ll tell you. One day. But not tonight.

Tonight, you smile at them with trust blooming behind your eyes. And none of them have the heart to destroy it. Not yet.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The apartment is quiet except for the soft hum of the air purifier and the occasional flip of a page. You’re curled into the far corner of the couch, reading the book Romance gave you. The velvet cover is worn, the margins marked with his elegant handwriting—tiny, circling certain lines, underlining others. As if he already knew which ones you’d love.

Mystery sits beside you. Your legs are tucked over his lap, a throw blanket draped across both of you. He hasn’t moved in ten minutes. Not really. Just subtle things—his fingers occasionally grazing your ankle like he needs the contact. Like he’s memorizing the weight of you. He watches you read with an expression so soft it feels like it shouldn’t belong on a demon’s face.

“You’re quiet,” you murmur, not looking up.

“I like when you read,” he replies. His voice is low. Breathless. “It feels safe.”

You glance at him. He’s not blushing—he never really does—but his eyes are wide, unblinking. Locked on you like a starving thing. He continues, voice barely a whisper. “I hear feelings. Yours are quiet. Not sharp. Not angry.”

You hesitate, your thumb pausing mid-turn on the page.

“Most people… when they feel something, it hurts my head. Makes me itch. Makes me want to run.”

His hand brushes against your calf, soft. “But your fear doesn’t push me away. It makes me want to stay. Makes me want to hold you tighter.”

You look at him, your heart heavy. He’s so gentle when you let him be. So emotionally loud even in silence. You shift slightly and reach up to brush the strands of hair from his face. His lashes flutter as your fingers graze his temple. He leans into your touch like a cat who’s been cold for centuries and has finally found the sun.

You both stay like that for a moment—your fingers in his hair, his palm resting gently over your shin. Then the door opens. Jinu walks in first, flanked by Romance, Baby, and Haneul. Their jackets are damp from evening mist, the faint scent of cologne and cold air clinging to their clothes. They’re speaking lowly among themselves until they notice you and Mystery curled together on the couch.

Romance's mouth lifts at one corner. “Hope he wasn’t being too clingy.”

“He was perfect,” you say, brushing your fingers through Mystery’s hair. He leans into it with a soft hum. Baby drops into an armchair and sprawls like a cat. “Hope we didn’t interrupt.”

“Not at all,” you say. “How was everything?”

“Fine,” Jinu says. “Promotions. Interviews.”

“You didn’t watch the broadcast?” Romance asks, raising a brow.

“I caught some of it,” you reply. “Congrats on the win, by the way. I saw you beat Huntrix for the number one spot.”

There’s a silence that engulfs the room. Utter and immediate. You blink. “What? That’s a good thing, right?”

The shift in the room is subtle—but palpable. Romance’s jaw clenches. Haneul straightens. Baby stops playing with the sleeve of his hoodie. Mystery’s hand tightens slightly over your leg.

You frown. “Is there… something I’m missing?”

Jinu sighs. “The Huntrix girls…they’re not just idols,” His voice is quiet. Calculated. 

“They’re hunters,” Haneul adds, eyes unreadable.

Your brows furrowed in confusion and you tilt your head to the side in the same adorable way that made Baby want to squish you the other day. “Hunters? What do they hunt?”

“Us.” Mystery utters.

You pause. “Like… demon hunters?”

A beat.

“Yes,” Baby says softly. “Exactly like that.”

The words hit like cold water. “But…” You sit up straighter. “I talked to one of them once… Zoey. She seemed really nice.”

“What?” Romance snaps. His voice is sharp, already halfway to furious.

“She—she asked for my Instagram. And I gave it. I didn’t know she was—”

“You what?” Haneul’s voice is low. Dangerous. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

You flinch. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

“They’re not your friends,” Baby says, rising now, steps slow and deliberate. “They’re trained to destroy everything you’re starting to care about.”

“They don’t want your feed,” Mystery murmurs, brows furrowed. “They want leverage.”

You stare at them. At the fear disguised as anger on all their faces. The way they’re circling now. Closing in—not at you, but around you. Like a shield.

“I didn’t know,” you whisper.

Jinu moves closer. “Of course you didn’t.”

Romance exhales hard, running a hand through his hair. “That’s why we’re telling you now. So you don’t make that mistake again.”

“I didn’t think they were dangerous,” you say. “Zoey… she smiled. She even handed me some medicine.”

“Smiles don’t mean safety,” Haneul says.

“Some demons smile before they tear out your soul,” Mystery adds. “And some humans smile before they take a blade to your back.”

You look down at your hands, guilt pooling deep in your stomach.

“We’re not angry with you,” Jinu says after a pause, kneeling in front of you. His voice is low. Calming. “But you have to be careful.”

“They’re forming a barrier,” Romance says. “The Honmoon. A seal meant to lock demons out of the human world.”

“It’s been around since before we were demons,” Haneul adds, voice low. “They don’t just hunt. They exterminate.”

“But why?” you ask. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Silence stretches. One beat. Two.

“They don’t care about innocence,” Haneul says finally. “To them, a demon is a demon. No exceptions.”

“And the less we can touch this world,” Jinu murmurs, “the safer they feel.”

Baby’s jaw tenses. “And you… you’re close to us. Too close. That makes you a threat.”

You blink. “But they don’t even know what this is. They don’t know about the bond.”

“No,” Romance says, eyes unreadable. “But they see how we look at you. How we follow you. They know we’d burn everything to protect you.”

Mystery leans in, voice soft but sharp. “That makes you leverage.”

Your chest tightens.

“They’ll try to use you,” Haneul says. “To get to us. To break us. And they won’t care who you are.”

You press your fingers to your temples. The air feels heavier now. Like the weight of things you never asked to carry has settled on your shoulders. Still…

As you look at the boys—at their tension, their fear masked as fury, their tenderness wrapped in obsession—you don’t feel unsafe. You feel shielded. Even if their love is dangerous. Even if you’re only beginning to understand how far they’d go to keep you.

Baby steps forward and kneels beside you. He takes your hand gently and lifts it to his lips. “We’ll always be with you,” he says, breath barely brushing your skin. “Even if you don’t see us. Even if the whole world turns on you.” He presses a kiss to your knuckles. “Sleep safe tonight.”

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The next day Mystery insists on walking you to work. He doesn’t say it outright. Just appears beside you with his hoodie half-zipped, his fingers brushing yours like they belong there. And maybe, at this point, they do.

“You don’t have to come,” you murmur, adjusting your bag.

“I want to,” he says simply. His gaze doesn’t quite meet yours, but you feel the intensity behind it anyway. “You were upset yesterday. I didn’t like it.”

You smile, small. A little tired. “You’re all like this, you know.”

He shrugs. “Only with you.”

The walk is quiet. Easy. At least until you turn the corner onto the street where the café should be—and everything stills. Mystery’s hand tightens around yours. There’s yellow tape stretched across the door. A printed notice slapped onto the glass:

“CLOSED: PENDING INVESTIGATION.”

Your breath catches. You step forward like it might change something. “No,” you whisper. “What—?”

Mystery doesn’t move. You spot Mina, your coworker, nearby and jog over. “What happened?” 

Mina looks shaken. “They said someone reported us—health code stuff, really serious. Spoiled food, pest control, tampered beverages. They think someone’s been… messing with customer orders.”

“That’s insane,” you breathe. “No one’s ever gotten sick—”

“I know,” Mina says, voice hushed. “It doesn’t make sense.”

She frowns. “You should talk to the owner, though. He said you shouldn’t come back. For your own safety.”

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The second you walk back into the apartment, the atmosphere shifts. Mystery lingers at the door behind you, but the rest of the boys are already gathered—waiting. Like they knew. Like they planned this.

Romance raises a brow. “Back so soon?”

“Cut the act.” you jab. “You had the café shut down.”

Jinu doesn’t flinch. Neither does Baby. Only Haneul lowers his gaze, jaw tight. You look at Romance. He’s smiling faintly. Too sweet. Too calm.

“That place was a risk,” he says. “Too many unknowns. Too many people getting too close.”

“I worked there.”

“You don’t have to anymore,” he replies softly. “You have us.”

Your hands ball into fists. “You didn’t even ask me. You just—took it.”

“Well, we did ask you to quit… multiple times.” Romance steps forward, cupping your cheek. His thumb brushes under your eye. “We didn’t take anything,” he murmurs. “We removed what was hurting you. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

You pull back. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“But we will,” Baby cuts in, his voice like a warning purr. “If it means keeping you.”

You look at all of them—beautiful, terrifying, devoted—and feel the ground tilt beneath you. “I need air,” you mutter, pushing past them.

You shove open the sliding door and step out onto the balcony, the cool air cutting against your skin like glass. You grip the railing so tightly your knuckles pale, breath uneven from the fire still twisting in your chest.

They shut down your job. Your café. And maybe you weren’t in love with the place, but it was yours—your choice, your independence, your routine. And they just took it.

The door slides open behind you. You don’t turn. Of course it’s him. You’d know the steady footfalls of Baby anywhere. The calmest storm in the room.

“You knew,” you say, voice tight. “You all knew.”

He says nothing at first. Just steps up beside you, arms folded lazily over the balcony edge. “Romance was only trying to help.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “He has a funny way of showing it. That café was—”

“Beneath you,” Baby interrupts, turning to face you. “That café was full of men who stared too long. Of customers who asked for your name so they could whisper it later. Of noise. Of danger.”

You snap your gaze to him. “There were other people working there, too. People who needed that job. And now it’s shut down. Just so you could—what—feel better?”

He doesn’t blink. “I don’t care.”

The wind stills. “You—what?”

“I don’t care about them,” he repeats, voice soft but final. “You’re all I care about.” He steps closer, expression unreadable. “They’ll find something else. You? You’re not replaceable.”

You stare at him. Words jam in your throat, tangled with disbelief, frustration… something rawer, something too close to the chest. “I had a life,” you whisper. “A normal life.”

“You were haunted in it,” he says flatly. “And none of them knew.”

You open your mouth, but he cuts you off again—quietly this time. “You think you’re mad because you lost control,” he murmurs. “But it’s because we took what hurt you before you had to ask.”

He pauses, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek with more tenderness than you expect from someone whose words feel like a cage. And then, gently, with a voice full of conviction: “Let us be your monsters. We already are. The only difference is we’d kill for you.”

You exhale, shaky. The rage in your chest ebbs—but doesn’t vanish. You don’t know if it’s fear or relief or both. Because he’s not wrong. After what happened in the café yesterday, after the demon— You had been scared. And he knows that. They all do. And they’re doing what demons do: protecting what they think is theirs.

Even if it means burning everything else down.

You step back inside after a few minutes, arms folded tightly across your chest. All five boys are in the living room now, waiting. Watching. Jinu straightens first, and the others fall into line without speaking—like soldiers sensing their commander’s cue. But there’s no war here. Only the tension you dragged in with you.

You glance between them and sigh. “I’m still mad.”

Romance opens his mouth.

“Don’t,” you snap, holding up a hand. “Just—don’t.”

He closes it. Smiles. But there’s something smug tucked beneath it. You flop onto the couch with an exaggerated huff. “Well. Congrats. You’ve successfully ruined my only source of income. What now? I need to pay rent, I need to make a living—I have to find another job.”

Abby blinks. “No, you don’t.”

You throw a pillow at him. “I do! Unless you want me starving and sleeping in a park—wait, actually, I live here. So technically that’s your fault now.”

Romance hums, lounging against the arm of the couch. “We’ll give you whatever you need. How much do you want?”

You stare at him like he’s sprouted a second head. “What?”

“Money. Name your number.”

“I—what?! That’s not how this works!” You fling your arms in disbelief. “If anything, I should be paying you for letting me stay here!”

Jinu shrugs calmly. “Think of it as… us paying you to stay.”

Your jaw drops. “You’re renting me?”

“No,” Baby deadpans from the side, arms crossed. “More like… pay-to-own. Although—technically—we already own. So maybe it’s just… property tax?”

You gape at him. “Are you hearing yourselves?”

Mystery, perched beside you like a content shadow, takes your hand and kisses the back of it without a word. You stare at him. He stares right back. Shameless.

“You’re insane,” you mutter.

“Only for you,” Abby adds with a grin, ruffling your hair. You groan and sink further into the couch. “I seriously need to rethink every decision that brought me here.”

“You don’t have to work,” Jinu says, voice softer now. “Not if you don’t want to.”

You shoot him a tired glare. “And do what, exactly?”

“Whatever you couldn’t do before,” he says gently. “Sketch. Paint. Read all the books you used to dog-ear. Let the world slow down. Let us take care of the rest.”

You pause. There’s sincerity there, under the obsession. Love tangled with possessiveness. A future they’re building for you whether you asked for it or not.

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “I still feel like I’ve lost something.”

“Maybe,” Romance says, kneeling in front of you with a hand on your knee. “But you’ve gained everything else.”

His smile is too sweet. Too sharp. And in the quiet that follows, you feel all of them closing in—not physically, but emotionally. Wrapping around your life. Like a cage made of velvet and affection. You sigh again.

And no one dares point out that you didn’t stand up to leave.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

An hour later, the door clicks softly behind them.

They’re gone. Just for the day—practice, recording, meetings. You’d seen the schedule laid out neatly on the counter that morning. It felt strange… watching them move from obsessions to idols in a blink. Haneul’s soft kiss on your temple. Mystery brushing your hair with his fingers before pulling away last. Romance not saying anything, just looking at you like he’d already won.

You walk through the apartment barefoot. Too quiet. Too big…

It’s not long before you find it. A studio room. Sunlight filters in through gauzy curtains. Canvases leaned in a perfect row, a new sketchbook waiting, and a full set of paints—brushes already soaking in fresh water.

Your breath catches. They’d set this up.

Romance, maybe. Or Haneul. Or all of them together, orchestrated like everything else. As if giving you a toy better than the one they had just taken away.

Still—your fingers twitch. You walk towards the table and run your hands along the grain, the weight of the sketchpad like something sacred. You sit. When was the last time I did something for myself?

You open the book, pencil hovering. The first line is shaky. But the second is steadier. Soon, shapes form. Flowers. A hand. An eye. Hours pass. Paint clings to your fingertips. Your world shrinks to canvas and color.

And yet… it doesn't feel free. You look around at the soft studio light, the way everything’s been made to please you.

They say it’s freedom. But it feels like a beautifully decorated cage.

A gilded sanctuary. One they carved for you with devotion sharp enough to bleed. You sigh and glance at the piece you made—a half-formed portrait of someone smiling. You don't even remember choosing the smile. It just… happened.

Your lips twitch. Haneul. The way he looked at you when you whispered his name. When you touched his skin and felt him tremble like you were salvation.

Mystery—how he held your hand like it was glass and pressed a kiss to your forehead like he’d never known tenderness until then.

You smile. But it fades. Because then there’s Romance. Romance who always speaks last. Who always speaks right. Who makes you think it’s your idea to stay, to trust, to choose him—when you know, deep down, he’s been choosing for you since the moment you met.

Romance loves like a chess master—every word, every pause, calculated.

You remember his voice that morning—smooth, unapologetic. He made you feel unreasonable for being mad. He makes you feel like you’re choosing him… even when he’s already chosen for you.

You dip your brush in red. You drag the stroke across the page. Maybe it’s not even about what they do anymore. Maybe it’s about what you’re becoming.

Is this real love? Or just the kind that demons can offer?

You stare out the window for a long time. The sun’s dipped lower now, painting the sky in shades of peach. You used to have things—schedules, coworkers, rent. Now you have five boys, a luxury apartment, a sketchbook you didn’t buy… I want to stay, you think. But it’s hard to want something… when it’s already been decided for you. 

You lean your head against the wall, paint drying on your palms. Your chest aches. You want to believe their love is enough. But maybe it’s not about enough. Maybe it’s about control. And what’s left of you if you give it away.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The sound of the front door clicking shut echoes through the apartment. “We’re back,” Jinu calls. No response.

Baby’s brow furrows. “Where is she?”

“Maybe her room?” Abby—Haneul—starts to move, but Mystery shakes his head. “She’s in the studio,” he says quietly. “She needed quiet.”

The boys file down the hall and stop at the doorway. The studio light glows warm and low. And there you are—curled up on the little couch, a blanket half-draped over you, a half-finished painting of red and twilight left on the easel nearby. A brush rests loosely in your hand.

Romance exhales softly. “Of course she paints when she’s sad.”

Haneul steps forward but stops when Romance moves past him. “I’ve got her.”

Carefully, reverently, Romance scoops you into his arms. The others don’t argue. They only watch—some with envy, some with longing—as he carries you through the apartment like you’re made of glass. But they understood he probably wanted a moment with you alone today.

He lays you down on the bed and slips in beside you, one arm curled beneath your neck, the other splayed across your waist like a vow. You stir slightly at the shift in warmth.

He gazes down at you in adoration, dipping his nose into your hair to breathe in and savour your scent. “I just want what’s best for you,” he whispers into your hair. “Even if you don’t know what that is. Even if it means you’ll hate me.”

Your brow twitches. Your breath shifts. Minutes pass before you squirm in his hold. “Go back to sleep,” he murmurs, brushing your hair off your face.

Your eyes crack open, just enough to catch the shadows of his lashes. “I’m not tired,” you mumble.

A soft, amused noise vibrates in his chest. “Tsk. You shouldn’t lie.”

You nuzzle closer, eyes still fluttering shut, and whisper faintly, “You should take your own advice.”

Romance goes still. Then he smiles, crooked and heartbroken all at once. “You’re clever even when you’re half-asleep,” he mutters, lips against your temple.

You shift again, now more awake, but still safe in his hold. “Romance…”

He exhales like your voice is a drug. And then he says it—quiet and trembling. “I was scared you hated me.”

You meet his gaze. “I don’t.”

His smile is faint. “Even if you did… Hate me, love me… I’m not leaving. Not in this lifetime. Not in any other.”

There’s something dangerous in the softness of his voice. Something that grips your ribs from the inside and refuses to let go. And yet, you ask—quietly, carefully, “But…Why?”

His hand rises, fingers brushing your lower lip, thumb lingering like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth. “Do you really want to know?” he murmurs.

You nod.

He leans his head back against the pillows, gaze dragging up to the ceiling—but you know he’s not seeing this room. He’s seeing a world long gone. A memory still bleeding.

“I was born the son of a courtesan. A secret whispered behind painted screens. A mistake never meant to speak above a whisper. I learned early that love doesn’t come freely. People love you for what you give them—what you show them. Not for what you are.”

You stay still, heart beginning to pound.

“They taught me to survive. To smile like I meant it. To lie like it was devotion. I could make anyone believe they were the only person in the world to me. I… I never had a name worth keeping. Just looks and lies and the ability to make people want me… for a night. Never longer. And I never believed in love… not really. Until you.”

His jaw tenses.

“I met you when you were everything I wasn’t. You were a noble. Engaged to a man who didn’t even look at you the way I did. And I—God—I wasn’t supposed to touch you. I wasn’t even supposed to breathe the same air.” 

He scoffs lightly, eyes pained. “You were a softness I couldn’t corrupt. But I tried. God, I tried. I lured you in like I was taught to. Sweet words. Secret meetings. Lies that sounded like dreams. But you saw me. Past the charm. Past the mask. You chose me.”

Your throat tightens.

“I fell in love with you. For real. For the first time. I asked you to run away. You refused. Not because you didn’t want me—but because you loved your family more than you loved yourself. You were protecting them.”

His voice lowers. Breaks. “They found out and they said I ruined you. That I spoiled something pure. They had you killed to keep your name clean.”

Silence. Dead, aching silence. You released a shaky breath and a tear trailed down your cheek at the pure ache in his voice. 

“I didn’t last long after that,” he says. “Not with a shattered soul and nothing left to lose. And I—” His voice breaks. “I died knowing it was my fault. That if I’d never touched you, you’d still be alive. I died. But not before whispering your name to the darkness and begging—begging—to see you again. I gave up everything for that one wish. And Gwi Ma listened.”

You press your forehead to his chest, the thud of his heart steady and real beneath your ear. His shirt takes your tear stains. “So that’s how it happened…” you whisper. Your heart ached at his pain. Not just how he lost you, but his life leading up to that. The longing he had for you- someone he thought he could never have. 

“I didn’t think I deserved to have you again,” he breathes into your hair. “But fate disagreed.” He kisses your temple. Then your cheek. Then lower, over your jaw.

“So this time…” he murmurs against your skin, “I won’t let go. You can run. You can yell. You can curse me.” His hand slides up your back, trembling with restraint. “But I’ll still follow. I’ll still want. I’ll still love you until it breaks me.”

You don’t answer. You just look at him—really look at him. At the boy who once had nothing. The man who once begged for your love and paid for it with your life. The demon who clawed through centuries just to see you again. And he’s here. Broken. Beautiful. Yours.

Your lips hover near his—close, trembling, not touching. He waits. He always does. Like he’s terrified you’ll vanish again if he moves too soon.

Then, at last, you lean in. Your mouth finds his like a sob. Like surrender. Like an apology across lifetimes. And he shatters.

His hands fly to your waist, yanking you into his lap like it’s instinct—like every part of him has waited for this moment with a hunger no mortal could endure. He kisses you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, like he can breathe through your mouth and nothing else. He’s rough, then gentle, then rough again. Kisses that taste like desperation. Like regret. Like devotion sharpened into something feral.

You gasp into him, and he swallows the sound greedily.

But then—you break.

A sob catches in your throat. Your eyes flood. You pull back, barely, lips brushing his, and whisper through the ache, “You must’ve been in so much pain…”

He stiffens. Then stills. You’re crying. For him. His gaze darkens with something ancient and raw. And then—he moves. He leans in, eyes locked on yours, and licks the tear as it slips down your cheek. Slow. Reverent. Like your sadness is sacred.

Then he kisses it. And the next one. And the next.

“I was in agony,” he murmurs between soft, trembling kisses. “When they took you. When you wouldn’t run. When I couldn’t save you. I burned every night with your name in my mouth. But this—” his voice breaks as he kisses your jaw, your cheek, your eyelids— “this is worse. Watching you cry for me. Knowing I did this to you again.”

You try to speak, but he cuts you off with a kiss. Tender. Then deeper. Deeper still. His hands slide beneath your shirt, not to take—just to feel. Just to touch the skin he lost so long ago. His fingers tremble as they trace the curve of your spine.

“You were too good for me then,” he says into your neck. “And you’re too good for me now.”

“Stop it,” you whisper, hands fisting into his shirt. “Don’t say that.” 

There’s a silence that washes over the room, a silent understanding, like he’s savoring your presence in his arms like this, in a way he never got to have you before. In a way that he thought only existed in dreams. 

You lean your forehead against his, and with a whisper you ask: “…What’s your real name?”

He stills. Then leans close—his lips brushing yours with infinite gentleness. “Seoha.”

You whisper it back, trembling: “Seoha…”

He exhales, like you’ve just undone him completely. “Say it again.”

You do. He lets out a sound between a sigh and a moan. He presses his forehead to yours like a prayer. “You don’t know what that does to me.”

You kiss him again. Longer this time. Deeper. And he kisses you back with every century in his bones. With every nightmare. With every echo of your name whispered in the dark, across lifetimes he thought he’d never escape.

“I’ll never lose you again,” he breathes. “Even if you hate me. Even if you run. I’ll burn the world before I let anyone take you.”

You curl against him, his skin hot against yours, his arms locking around you like chains spun from longing. Your tears finally stop. And just before you fall asleep in his arms, you whisper one last time into the quiet of his chest—

“Seoha…”

His grip tightens. And in the dark, he breathes against your temple:

“This time… I’ll keep you forever.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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A/N: Wahh I hope you guys enjoyed this one! I wanted to focus on Romance's actions and understanding his character and why he is the way he is. Given his backstory, it explains why he's more controlling and manipulative- because you didn't listen to him once before and it cost you your life. Which explains his need to control you and your decisions. I also chose the name Seoha to fit his character - it means “dawn river” — and it evokes something calm, seductive, poetic… but also inevitable. Like a current pulling you in, and feels like someone born of the night world who dreams of the sun: aka you!

Let me know if you liked this chapter! Every comment, reblog, like, I see it all and really appreciate it! <3 And as always, thank you for reading!

Willa x

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[mrmilomoo]

Best to worst: Munching the box

18+ MDNI

Ranking TF 141 on how good they are at eating a girl out.

1. John Price - This one is pretty self explanatory. I mean, just look at him. Daddy. Need I say more? Obviously it goes without saying that he’s got the experience. Like a true gentleman, he wouldn’t dare take his cock out without getting you off on his tongue and fingers first.

2. Kyle Gaz Garrick - Hard to go wrong with natural talent combined with a healthy amount of experience and enthusiasm. Can confidently claim that he eats ass as well. For his pleasure.

3. Johnny Soap MacTavish - Enthusiast… perhaps a little too enthusiastic. Absolute munch. Disgustingly sloppy with it. Slobbering like a dog. Gets lost in the sauce.

4. Simon Ghost Riley- Depends on if he’s willing to lift the mask over his mouth. Never been in a long term relationship to hone the skill. Would be a quick learner though. He may be socially inept, but he knows how to take a hint. Especially when he’s got his face buried in it.

[ozzgin]

Some more dick-related brain rot…😘

We take the self serve dick bar and use monsters for the monster hotel. We are going to have that full “continental breakfast.” So we have a forest entity cumming maple syrup, a Minotaur cumming milk/creme, a yeti who cums slushies, a slime who cums various jams depending on whatever fruit we feed it, and any more monsters who we can utilize ☺️

When you were talking about your rats, it made me think of some rat-hybrid monster where reader can steer him via. his dick, like a reverse Ratatouille scenario 🐀

Having a robot/android partner, I could use his dick as a literal joy stick when playing video games. Also, if I have to charge robot/android, do you think his dick acts like a giant extension cord I could just plug into the outlet in the wall? Also does that mean he technically “eats” with his dick? I assume when traveling with him internationally, I gotta get a lot of compatible adapters so he can get plugged in successfully🕹️

A Hydra monster would be kinda funny to have sex with, cause maybe if you cut its “head” down south, two more will grow back 🤔

I think that’s all for now. Tell your man that he is very much appreciated, and it’s nice he’s in this club of debauchery 😉

-👘

This amount of thirst and depravity is exactly what the monster guests would come up with just to have Reader employee touch them. 😭 Content: gender neutral reader, rancid NSFW!!! (more white sauce I’m afraid), monster smut

The latest fad your centaur manager has been into is food cooked with bodily fluids. This has had several implications, all of them regrettably involving you.

While the idea has been gripping at his mind like a great plague, he can't possibly ask you to just...let go over his breakfast toast. He can already see how exhausted you return after being used by the starved guests. They stuff you just enough for you to wonder if you'll survive it, then make sure to clean up their mess, politely aiding your speedy recovery, almost as if they weren't the cause of destruction to begin with. The manager has heard it one too many times that your nether regions are numb from all the monstrous tongues and appendages.

Maybe a change of scenery will help.

"Kitchen staff? I thought I'm supposed to clean the rooms", you inquire, somewhat confused by the sudden proposal.

"It's not quite...kitchen duties, per se. We need someone to help with the hotel's breakfast. We have a new experimental menu, though not enough...hands."

You should've expected it. How bad could it possibly be, you told yourself, pouring some orange juice for the seated guests? You had your first suspicions from the big, flashy sign now propped outside the room: service provided by our esteemed and loved human employee. You didn't need to ponder much on its meaning. Once inside, your task became painfully clear. You were to milk the guests for the required ingredients.

Having their way with you is a treat in itself, but seeing you struggle with your small, human hands, trying to figure them out? Priceless. Well, for them, anyways. Despite your protests, you have left your morning shifts with a ridiculous number of tips. Maybe it's the way you look up through your lashes as you explain: "Of course I know your weak spot. You're one of my- our regulars." Or maybe it's the way you tease your favorites, wondering out loud, with a grin, if you should have some of the generous release for your own lunch later.

Your hard work has not gone unnoticed. The centaur head manager recently made the sheepish suggestion of having you at the receiving end of this new service, trying his best to sound convincing, and hiding the fact it’s been his most ardent wish for the past couple of weeks. Maybe he will get his breakfast topping, after all.

[Monster Hotel] | [More Monsters]

[vroomvro0mferrari]

LN4 | Kiss and Make Up

Summary: You used to get along with your brother’s best friend, but at some point, it all changed. Lando’s rude comments frustrate you to no end, and your brother is fed up with your complaints. Max only sees one solution: you need to make up.

Lando Norris x Fewtrell!Reader (enemies to lovers)

WC: 5.0K

Warnings: cursing?

Masterlist

You heard the keys jiggle in the door, followed by the creaking sound of it opening, and your brother stomping through the hallway of your parental home. You finally have some time off from school after the insane amount of deadlines and exams that filled your last couple of weeks and decided to visit your family. You like studying and university, but it’s nice to come home and be taken care of instead of doing everything on your own. However, you’re still in charge of dinner tonight. You can never make it back home without being forced to make your famous lasagne at least once and tonight’s the night your family will be blessed with your famed, home-made dish. 

Max smiled when he saw you standing in the kitchen, chopping up the veggies for tonight. Although he’d never tell you directly, he had missed you. Max still lived close to your parents whereas you had moved further away for school. It made it difficult to see each other regularly, especially since Max had started Quadrant with Lando and didn’t make the effort to visit you anymore. Seeing you in person had become a rare occurrence, something that would only happen in his parents’ house.

Max put his hands on your shoulders as he leaned forward to watch what you were doing. “Hey sis, are you making lasagne?” He said with a smile.

“Hello Y/N, I’ve missed you. How are you doing? – I’m doing well, Max. Thank you for asking.” You mumbled as you continued to cut vegetables for dinner.

You couldn’t see it with your back towards your brother, but he smiled at your antics. “Hello my dear sister, I haven’t seen you in such a long time. I do wonder how you’re doing.”

You turned around and smiled when he pulled you into a hug. “It’s your own fault. You never come to visit me, but I’m doing well now that the exams are over,” you tell him with a chuckle.

Max decided to ignore your complaint, instead redirecting the conversation to what you were busying yourself with. “So, lasagne?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, Max. I’m making lasagne for dinner.” 

He silently cheered at your response. A cheeky smile made its way onto his face when he asked, “Is there enough for one more?”

“Depends… Who’s it for? P?” You said, looking back over your shoulder to meet his eyes as you cut up more veggies.

“Does it matter who I invited? You won’t let anyone else eat your lasagne?” He said with a laugh, but you knew the question was serious. He knew you didn’t particularly get along with some of his friends – actually, one of his friends, Lando. To say your relationship with Lando isn’t great would be an understatement. Max didn’t know why exactly you didn’t get along, you’ve never indulged him, but the dislike is clearly noticeable and has been going on for ages. Max had tried to improve the relationship in the past, but nothing had worked, only making it worse. He doesn’t understand why Lando, specifically; you don’t seem to have any issues with his other friends. 

You looked at Max pointedly; he was asking for something he already knew. Of course, you’d let people other than P eat your lasagne. There’s only one person that you wouldn’t allow.

Max sighed at your seriousness, “Yes, I’ve invited P,” he told you.

You smiled triumphantly, “Good! I’ve missed her; more than you, actually,” you said with a snort.

Max rolled his eyes at your comment. “I should never have introduced you two. You’re suspiciously close,” he mumbled as he shook his head, leaving the kitchen.

You grinned at his comment and continued to prepare dinner. You carefully cut the veggies, made the sauce and built the lasagne before you covered it with cheese. After you finally put it in the oven, you went to your room to freshen up. Of course, you cannot cut tomatoes without getting juice on your shirt, so clean clothes are a necessity. You quickly changed your shirt, reapplied your deodorant, and fixed up your hair before you heard the door opening, footsteps and voices following soon after. You smiled as you walked down the stairs, excited to see Pietra after months. You walked into the room, ready to hug your brother’s girlfriend, only to see his boyfriend making himself comfortable on the couch.

Your smile dropped from your face in an instant, and you narrowed your eyes at him. “Lando,” you said in a low voice. What on earth was he doing here? Your brother told you he’d invited his girlfriend, your friend; was she not here yet? Lando must’ve come to pick something up, right? He wouldn’t visit around this time unless he came to pick something up… Or come for dinner… Judging by how comfortable he had made himself on the couch, you doubt it’s the former.

“Y/N! How are you?” Lando said, getting up from the couch to properly greet you. You scoffed and folded your arms as he moved closer.

“What are you doing here?” 

“Nice to see you too,” Lando said with a smirk.

“I hope you’re not here for dinner,” you continue.

“I am here for dinner, actually. Max invited me.”

You shifted your eyes over to Max in anger. He’d told you P would be coming over, not Lando. The little bitch. 

“I take it P’s not coming, then?” It was evident in your voice that you were upset.

Max looked at you with apologetic eyes, like a child being scolded, as he avoided your gaze. At the lack of response, you turned your attention back to Lando.

“There isn’t enough food for all of us, and even if there was, it probably wouldn’t match your fancy diet anyway. Go buy a salad or something,” you told him, rolling your eyes.

Lando couldn’t help but smile at your response. “Such hostility,” he said, his hand resting on his chest in fake hurt, and a teasing grin on his face that made you want to slap it off.

You gritted your teeth at the teasing – God, this man frustrated you to no end, and he was enjoying it, too. 

“Fuck off, Lando. You’re not welcome here,” you said before walking away.

Lando was about to follow you into the dining room, unable to resist teasing you further, but Max stopped him. “Come on, man. Don’t provoke her. She’s already annoyed, especially because I lied to her.” 

You paced the dining room in an attempt to calm yourself down while the lasagne cooked in the oven. You grabbed the plates from the cabinet and started setting the table. You'd cooled off until you realised you’d have to set a place for Lando. You frowned as you stared at the last plate. Why couldn’t Lando just leave you alone? He should know not to bother you, you’d shown him before how petty you could be when he frustrated you, so why did he have to try again and again? Should you act like the bigger person, get over yourself and set the table for Lando, or should you 'forget' about Lando and set only four places? Your parents would be upset for sure, but the urge to retaliate is so strong. You stood still for at least a minute as you weighed your options. 

A smile crept its way on your face when you spotted the kids’ table in the corner of the dining room. Usually, it’s only used for big family events, when your much younger cousins would come to visit. They don’t properly fit at the adult table and have their own tiny table in the corner of the room. A normal-sized human wouldn’t properly fit on one of the seats, but then again, Lando’s short, right? Besides, if he acts like a child, then he can sit at the children’s table. You grab the children’s cutlery and plate from the cabinet and set a special place for Lando. You can barely keep your laughter back at the thought of Lando sitting at the small table in a chair that’s way too tiny for him.

When you heard the timer beep, you tried to neutralise your expression. You placed the lasagne on the kitchen table before calling your family (and Lando) for dinner. Your parents were, unsurprisingly, the first to join you at the table. The boys, naturally, were still finishing up the game they started before dinner was finished. Your parents were already seated and provided with drinks before the boys came walking in. Although your parents hadn’t noticed the table in the corner or the missing chair, your brother noticed straight away.

He looked at you disappointedly as he said, “Y/N, did you seriously not set a place for Lando?”

“No, I did. It’s right over there,” you said, pointing to the kids’ table.

The boys looked in the direction you were pointing, and Max started laughing immediately. Meanwhile, Lando was shocked at how blunt you were being. So far, every retaliation you’d ever taken wasn’t that obvious. His eyebrows were furrowed in confusion and disappointment as he stared at the table – did you really dislike him that much?

“Where’s the other chair?” Max asked, still chuckling as he stood at the empty spot by the table.

You didn’t look up when you responded, “I don’t know,” shrugging your shoulders as you casually continued to divide the lasagne.

Lando sighed as he tried the chair, his knees pointing out above the table. Max only laughed louder at the image, and your dad couldn’t resist chuckling either while Lando pouted.

“I can’t eat like this.” 

“Then don’t. I told you you’re not welcome.” 

“Y/N!” Your mum scolded you before turning to Lando. “You’re always welcome here, darling. Ignore her,” she said, smiling sweetly at him.

You rolled your eyes.

“Where did you put the chair?” She questioned you.

You sighed, “They’re just in the pantry,” you admitted.

Your mum stood up and grabbed the chair for Lando who was still sitting in the tiny seat, while Max took pictures to post on his story, laughing. Lando smiled thankfully when she came back with the chair and grabbed a normal plate to serve him a generous portion of your homemade lasagne.

You couldn’t help but glare at Lando when he took his first bite. He was undeserving of the food which you had put so much effort and love into. You couldn’t even enjoy your own portion with the boy sitting across from you, although it tasted great. But Lando couldn't enjoy it either with the glares you kept sending him. Your resentment made him uncomfortable, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d be afraid that you’d poisoned his dinner. That was not your style though; he knew exactly how you liked to take your revenge. After all, he had experienced your wrath many times, and he had to admit you were very creative in creating your retaliations. He could never be entirely sure, or prove that you were the cause, but everything about the weird situations he’d been in the past years screamed your name.

There was one time that he’d gotten tens of phone calls every day for a week about a missing key. Even now, he occasionally gets calls about a key that was found. It seems quite innocent, but Lando’s phone was blowing up the entire week at the most inconvenient times: while he was in important meetings, when he was spending time with friends, even when he was streaming. Another time, Lando’s Netflix was completely messed up. All the recommendations on his home screen were for kids’ TV and romcoms. This, too, seems innocent enough, but after he had watched Netflix together with Daniel Ricciardo, and his homepage was filled with Cocomelon, The Kissing Booth, Riverdale and other films and series of the same genre, he had to hear about it for years to come. Some other time, Lando’s clothes mysteriously fell apart after only a few hours of wearing them after he’d stayed the night at Max's place at the same time as you. He didn't know how, but he was sure you had something to do with that too.

Although your reactions were very petty and often childish, Lando did admire your perseverance, resourcefulness and creativity. If he wasn’t always the victim of your crimes, he would have loved them, and perhaps even encouraged them, because, let’s be honest, it’s impressive if you can make someone’s clothes fall apart when you’re not even near them.

Lando didn’t really understand why he was always your victim, though. When you were younger, you’d gotten along fine, but as you’d gotten older you’d become meaner to him. He didn't know where things went wrong, and whether it was his fault or you just decided you were done with him. You used to tease each other, yes, but that was always mutual and lighthearted. Neither of you minded the comments that were made because you both knew it was all in good fun. At some point, you just started doing things like these, and Lando still doesn't know what initiated it.

You know exactly when it started, though. Everything was fine until Max and Lando hit puberty. Suddenly, they were ‘too cool’ to hang out with you, and you were excluded from all of their activities. The teasing didn’t really feel like teasing anymore, but rather mean comments that hurt you. Lando never caught onto your change in perception; he thought you still saw it as teasing. But the comments became more rude over time, and it felt like the boys who were your friends once, were now making fun of you.

Like when you were invited to apply for Honours College at your university. You were extremely proud that your grades in your regular courses were good enough to be admitted, and that you’d been invited to apply. But Lando just called you a nerd and laughed before continuing to talk about his own achievements, as if what you’d done was nothing important or impressive.

It wouldn’t have mattered much if it were any other friend of your brother, but Lando was important. You’d known him for about ten years, and he was basically a part of your family. What didn’t help either was that you had developed a small crush on him over the years. By the time he turned twenty, he’d gone through a glow-up. He finally learned how to deal with his curly hair and his face had matured to that of a handsome man. You were attracted to him, but his ugly personality distracted from his looks – most of the time.

Nevertheless, you wanted to impress Lando; to make him like you so he would stop with the off-handed comments. Though you weren’t necessarily good at sports or karting like he was, you excelled academically. You thought by showing your intelligence, you could gain his respect. Unknowingly, it made Lando feel dumb. He’d never even finished secondary school, and you were taking on extra classes in university without any troubles. He reacted differently than he would have liked to, but he thought you’d understand it was a joke.

Another time, you organised a last-minute surprise party for your brother. You had made sure there were decorations, music, food, and most importantly, drinks. You were happy with what you had managed to do in the time available, but your mood significantly worsened when Lando jokingly said you could have put in a little more effort. He was smiling when he said it, but it felt like he was making fun of you; of the amount of effort you had put in to make sure everything was organised as perfectly as possible. Despite his intention to tease, it didn't feel that way to you.

The comment that you believe triggered your best revenge was on Pietra’s birthday. She celebrated her birthday at Max’s apartment, and of course, you’d come to visit and celebrate with her. A few months before her birthday she’d shown you a top she really liked when she was online shopping, but the colour wasn’t right. So, for her birthday, you decided to crochet the top in her favourite colour. It was a bold choice because you didn’t have much experience crocheting, nevertheless, you tried. If she didn’t like it, you would just buy it from the store after all, or get her something else. You thought it looked pretty good, especially for your first try. Regardless, there were some mistakes and uneven shapes.

Pietra was completely surprised and elated with the present, especially when you told her you made it yourself. She knew how much time and effort it probably cost you to make it, but Lando didn't consider that when he commented on the piece.

“You made it yourself? Maybe you should practice a little more, huh?” He said, laughing, before handing it back to P.

You felt the smile drop from your face at the hurtful remark, but Lando was oblivious to the fact he hurt your feelings. Max turned to Lando in shock, while Pietra assured you that she loved the top, and couldn’t wait to wear it. You plastered a smile on your face, but it was obvious (to anyone but Lando) that it was fake. That night, after drinking your feelings away, you tore the seams in Lando’s clothes. Not every single one, but enough so it would fall apart after too much exertion; the punishment should fit the crime.

The anticipatory pleasure at the thought of Lando’s clothes tearing at an inconvenient moment was enough to satisfy you. When you heard about what happened a few days later from Max, you could barely keep your laugh back.

More recently, you had gone clubbing with your brother and his friends. It was an unusual event because your brother didn’t want to see you flirting or dancing with random boys in the club, but this time it was different. He knew you’d been stressed from school, and he’d rather you let loose when he’s there than when he’s not there to keep an eye on you. 

You were dancing with your brother and his friends when a cute boy came up to you, asking if he could buy you a drink. You said yes, of course. You would never refuse a free drink, especially in good, handsome, company, and you wanted to get over your small crush on Lando. You don’t know why or how, but he always seemed ten times hotter in a club, and you needed to get away from him. The longer you stayed near him, the more his pretty face and well-dressed body seemed to distract you from his unattractive personality, and that couldn’t happen. 

You followed the man to the bar and ordered a drink as he flirted with you. His attention was completely focused on you, but you kept getting distracted by the feeling of eyes on your back. It wasn’t until you were dancing in the middle of the large crowd that the feeling faded. You felt free without the supervision of your brother, and without Lando to distract you.

The man pulled your back closer to him, and you let him. You swayed from side to side with your arms in the air while he kissed his way down your neck. It didn’t feel right, but that didn’t matter; it was good enough. You liked the feeling of his lips on your neck and felt yourself get lost in the moment until suddenly there was a tug on your arm.

Your eyes opened in shock as you felt yourself get pulled away. The man you were dancing with didn’t seem to mind much and moved on with another girl standing nearby as you stared at Lando confused and disoriented.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You asked him as you struggled to pull your arm from his firm grip.

“I’m taking you back to the group, you need to be more careful,” he explained.

You scoffed, “What? I was perfectly safe! Let me go!”

“Were you? He seemed untrustworthy,” Lando continued as he pulled you through the club.

“I was just having fun! God, you’re so annoying!” You say with a huff before walking back to your brother.

Lando watched you as you walked away. He didn't want you to dance with that man, or any man for that matter, even though he would never admit it. However, you had misunderstood his intentions. To you it seemed like he was interrupting your fun, cockblocking if you will, and it frustrated you to no end. 

For days to come, you complained to your brother about what happened, insisting that it was none of Lando’s business and he should’ve left you alone. However, your brother grew tired of your complaints really quickly and couldn’t deal with your issues anymore. Your ongoing dispute with Lando had dragged on for too long and it needed to be resolved, soon, before he went insane. During your next fight, Max would force the two of you to repair your relationship, whether you wanted to or not, because he simply couldn’t take it any longer.

It didn’t take long until your next fight. You were looking at pictures of Lando and Max on Instagram from when they went golfing a few days back when you spotted something. In one of the pictures, Lando was taking a photo with a camera, a camera which he had seemingly ‘borrowed’ from you without your knowledge. 

The second you saw him enter your parents’ house, you targeted him.

“You stole my camera?”

“Hello to you, too, Y/N,” he responded with a grin.

You rolled your eyes.

“Where is it, Lando,” you continued, stepping closer to him.

“I gave it to Max. He was supposed to give it back. He hasn’t yet?” 

“No, he hasn’t. And you shouldn’t have taken it in the first place.”

Your gaze shifted to Max, who walked in behind Lando.

“Where is it, Max?” 

“In my room somewhere, I think.”

“Can you go grab it? Please?”

The words you said were much kinder than the way you said them. Max sighed before walking up the stairs to his room, you and Lando in tow. He looked around the room, getting on his knees to look under the bed.

“You put my camera under your bed?” You asked angrily.

“I’m not sure if I did, that’s why I’m looking, Y/N.”

Max thought this was the absolute worst. He had gotten himself pulled into one of your arguments again, and now he was being yelled at by you when it wasn’t his fault to begin with. He sighed before getting up. 

“I’ll just go grab my phone for the flashlight,” he said before leaving the room.

You merely nodded in response as you continued to look around the room in search of your camera when you heard the door close, the lock falling in place.

“Max? Did you just lock the door?”

Lando lifted his head from his place on the floor, where he was looking under the dresser, at your insinuation. He quickly changed his position to sit up, staring at the door with you.

“Yes, I did. The two of you need to make up. I won’t let you out until you get along. I can’t handle the two of you fighting anymore. It’s really fucking annoying,” he said through the door.

You looked at Lando in shock, to find him already staring back at you.

“Max, you can’t do this! What the fuck is wrong with you! Let us out!” You yelled as you knocked on the door.

When he didn’t react, you hit the door again, “Max!”

You looked at Lando at the lack of response, “Do something!” You said, but he merely looked at you.

“What am I supposed to do? Knocking the door won’t help. I actually think it might be a good idea for us to talk everything out.”

You looked at Lando in shock. “Are you serious?”

He shrugged while he stared at you, and you shook your head in response.

“I’m not doing this,” you said, pacing around the room while Lando followed you with his eyes as he sat on your brother’s bed, an amused smile on his face.

“I’m leaving,” you said, opening the window.

“What are you doing?” Lando asks, quickly getting up from the bed.

“I’m leaving,” you repeated, sitting on the window sill, throwing one leg outside.

“What have I done to you to make you this angry? I can’t believe you’d rather fall out of a window than talk to me,” Lando frowned.

You let out a choked laugh, mouth open in shock. “Are you serious? You don’t know what you’ve done?” You said as you sat on the window sill, one leg outside the window, the other still on the floor.

“Yes. Please tell me, because I’ve obviously missed a lot if you’re willing to climb out of a window. By the way, stop climbing out of the window!” Lando said, all but running to prevent you from dangling your other leg out of the window too. It was already halfway there, leaving you in a very uncomfortable position when Lando grabbed your leg.

“You’re going to hurt yourself, Y/N!” 

“No, I’m not,” you grunted out as you tried to kick him away. You leaned away from him, losing your grip on the windowsill at the exertion. Lando could barely catch you before you fell out of the window. 

“Fuck, Y/N! I told you to get away from the window!” He yelled as he pulled you away from it and back into the room before quickly closing the window. He stood in front of it as if he was trying to block your way from the window, trying to block your escape.

You rolled your eyes at him, “Don’t be such a baby, I’m fine.” 

“Only because I was holding your leg.”

“If you weren’t holding my leg I wouldn’t have fallen in the first place.” You stepped closer to him, huffing in defiance. 

Lando sighed, but he didn’t respond. He kept silent while he stared at you, challenging you as you crept closer without breaking eye contact. The tension in the room was palpable, and it only increased the longer you stared at each other. Your breath was shallow from the adrenaline of your near-fall, and your glare was met with a look of annoyance. Lando’s hands hung limply by his sides, the complete opposite of a mere moment ago when he grabbed you with such urgency.

"Why do you always have to make things so difficult?" Lando's voice was low, strained with frustration.

"Me?" you shot back, your voice rising. "You're the one who's always so demeaning, so... so infuriating!"

"Infuriating?" Lando repeated, scoffing. "Coming from the girl who sabotages my Netflix and sets up kiddie tables for me?"

"You deserved it," you retorted, folding your arms and looking down. "You always mock me and belittle everything I do, every achievement, every effort… Do you have any idea how much that hurts?"

Lando’s confidence faltered at your confession. His eyes softened, and he took a small step closer, stroking your arm softly. "I never meant to hurt you, Y/N. I thought... I thought we were just joking around, teasing. I didn't realise-"

"Didn't realise what?" you interrupted, eyes brimming with tears. "That your words actually affect me? That I care what you think?"

Lando's hand reached out, tentatively brushing a strand of hair from your face. The touch was gentle, almost adoring, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I didn't know."

You closed your eyes, breathing out through your nose as you let the apology sink in. When you opened them again, the regret you saw in his eyes made you believe him. But it was the love and adoration in his gaze that convinced you.

"Lando..." you began, but your voice caught in your throat.

Before you could finish, Lando closed the distance between you, his hands cupping your face. His eyes searched yours for any sign of hesitation, but all he found was longing. Slowly, almost apprehensively, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in an uncertain kiss.

Your initial surprise was quickly replaced by the warmth spreading through your body. Almost automatically, your hands found their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. The kiss deepened, filled with your pent-up frustration and unspoken feelings. Your hands slid up Lando's neck and you ran your hands through his hair, pulling on it softly. The sensation of Lando's hands on your body, and his lips against yours felt right, making everything else fade away.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing heavily. Lando’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes searching yours for any sign of regret. You could see the uncertainty in his gaze, and you were certain your eyes showed the same.

“What… what just happened?” you whispered, your voice shaky.

Lando sighed, running a hand through his hair, which was now slightly tousled from your fingers. “I don’t know. But it felt… right.”

You swallowed, trying to make sense of all of the emotions running wild inside you. “We can’t just pretend this didn’t happen, Lando.”

“I don’t want to,” he says firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. 

You laughed softly at the situation, leaning forward to rest your head against his shoulder. Lando wrapped his arms around you straight away. 

“This is not what I expected to happen,” you whispered.

Lando chuckled softly. “Me neither, but it’s not so bad, is it?” 

You snuggled into his neck, sighing contently once you were comfortable. No, it wasn't bad at all.

[mosswalk]

Primarch Headcanons: Ice-cream Edition

In honour of the wretched summer months, and the delicious ice-cream I thoroughly needed the other day, I've been thinking: what ice-cream flavours would the primarchs like?

Lion: Vanilla, occasionally a sneaky neapolitan. He's a simple man with simple needs, and he likes his one scoop vanilla ice-cream in a cone. When no one is watching? Rainbow sprinkles. Post-heresy? He no longer cares if anyone is watching, he's dunking that in the sprinkle tray.

Fulgrim: A connoisseur of ice-creams, a true enjoyer of the experience of melding flavours and deliciousness for a decadent cone of enjoyment. Hard to say which ones he loves the most, really, but he'll take three scoops in a cone, dunk that in purple sprinkles, add whipped cream, fluff, and wafers, fruity sauce, the whole ten yards. This is an indulgence and by the Emperor, he'll indulge. And post-heresy? The only thing that's changed is the portion size. And maybe some less uh... hinged flavours.

Perturabo: Believe it or not, Perty likes a very specific combo. One scoop of dark chocolate, one scoop of mint. Not mint chocolate chip, no no, it has to be one scoop of each, equal size, in a cup, not a cone. And he eats it with a spoon, one bite at a time. He's very particular, but it brings him a certain amount of joy. He makes a little origami structure out of the cup when he's done. It is somehow sparkling clean. Post-heresy? Nothing's changed, not even a galactic war can keep him from his rare, frozen treat.

Jaghatai: Going with his theme, I think he's lactose intolerant and thus avoids any milk-based treats. Instead, it's the sorbets. He's not picky and will pick a kaleidoscope each time. Has been seen enjoying a snowball of shaved ice and syrup, usually in rainbow colours.

Leman Russ: Oh he'd absolutely go for the bacon ice-cream when he realises it exists (and now you do too) but he'd go for pistachio too, sometimes mixing them together. Beyond that, he'll devour just about any ice-cream really, and he'll do so at an alarming rate. He doesn't get brain-freeze.

Rogal Dorn: He has two flavours he goes for, depending on the day, the time of day, the tilt of the planet, and the rotation of the sun. One is rocky road, in a cone. Because it is fortified with both soft (marshmallow) and hard (choccy bits) armour and this pleases him. The other is buttered pecan, in a cone. Because it surprises its consumer with harder pecan bits to chew, and he must remain vigilant, even when eating ice-cream. No toppings.

Konrad Curze: Surprisingly normal. He likes stracciatella ice-cream. There is nothing weird about it either, it's not infused with blood or pulverised bone, or fortified with the screams of criminals. It's regular vanilla with choccy drizzles inside. He'll get his ice-cream and go huddle in a corner somewhere, devouring it slowly, not because of any weirdness but because the sharp teeth are a bit temperature sensitive.

Sanguinius: To absolutely no one's surprise, he really likes strawberry ice-cream, with extra jam. Maybe with a sprinkle of choccy bits and a little dollop of whipped cream. His wings fluff up when he eats it. It's a little embarrassing.

Ferrus Manus: Had a little trouble with this guy, but he strikes me as someone who'd enjoy chocolate a lot. Either chocolate ice-cream, or vanilla doused in coco and chocolate sauce. Maybe with a sneaky hazelnut scoop now and again, for variety.

Angron: Shaved ice, and not too sweet. He likes a large snowcone with tiger's blood syrup. If that's not available, he likes any syrup but please don't mix it. Tiger's blood (watermelon, strawberry, coconut) is an exception cause it sounds metal as fuck and it's refreshing. Post-heresy? He doesn't eat much ice-cream anymore. But every so often, every so often, there's a rare moment where he can get a snowcone. And he gets a snowcone and forgets the world for a few blissful moments.

Roboute Guilliman: He's a simple man who likes simple things. He fucking loves tiramisu ice-cream. In a cone, please. Post-reawakening: He still loves tiramisu ice-cream but now he smiles a bit more when he has it. He can appreciate it so much more now.

Mortarion: Anything floral. If there's no flower-based ice-cream, he'll go for something with a subtle, refined, gentle flavour. Something just a little sweet, a little tart, a hint of ginger, you get the idea. In a paper-cup, so the risk of him actually touching (and sullying!) his ice-cream is lessened. Post-heresy: ... One of two things. Either we go with the happy route, that sometimes he secretly makes a little bit of ice-cream for himself, or the not-so-happy route of describing what Champions of Nurgle eat. I'd rather not do that last one, I'm in a good mood today.

Magnus: He loves watermelon and pineapple. One scoop of each, topped with poprocks, marshmallow fluff, and rainbow sprinkles. In a cup. Sometimes he's dumb and forgets to put his cup in the trashcan (he has things to DO!) He'll also make little sculptures in the fluff for fun, before eating it.

Horus: A cone with one scoop of salty licorice and one scoop of vanilla, with a little bit of hazelnut sprinkled on top and a slight drizzle of caramel. A slightly odd combination but he really enjoys it. And he sometimes forgets to get it all around, so occasionally melted ice-cream will drip over his hand and on his chest. Without a shirt. You're welcome.

Lorgar: He likes parfaits, so when it's ice-cream time, he likes passionfruit and mango, with whipped cream, in a cone. It's like a slightly colder parfait and it makes him happy. Post-heresy? He still gets his ice-cream now and again, when he can get the materials past angry Corvus outside. Erebus and Kor Phaeron gets no ice-cream.

Vulkan: He loves caramel. No matter what he picks, there will be caramel. He doesn't do the unholy trinity of caramel ice-cream doused in caramel sauce with caramel fudge bits on top though. He'll mix it up now and again, but caramel will always been incorporated somehow. Because caramel? Is sugar forged in fire and that really does something for him.

Corvus: Big dark birbman likes, to no one's surprise, dark chocolate. Bitter, sweet, lots of coco sprinkled on top. In a cone. Just one scoop though, no need to overdo it. Post-birddaemon? Rarely but sometimes he'll somehow get his hands on a cone of dark chocolate ice-cream and stand outside Lorgar's house, menacingly, while eating it.

Alpharius: Fuck knows. Sometimes he claims he doesn't even like ice-cream and yet the day before he was happily munching on a banasplit. Go figure.

Bonus #1 - Emperor: Anything with alcohol involved. Rum Raisin for instance. Whiskey ice-cream. Vodka-doused fruity ice-cream. If it has alcohol, he's reaching for it. And adding more alcohol. Man can't get drunk, so he's enjoying all the subtle flavours of booze and ice-cream mixing together.

Bonus #2 - Malcador: The fruitiest, sparkliest, girliest, most flamboyant ice-cream known to man, with sparklers, cocktail umbrellas, coloured plastic cocktail stirrers, you name it. He goes all out with this, because he stopped giving a fuck many years ago. And maybe, just maybe, he's ordering it just to fuck with other people.

[mongoosingisme]

Can I request pre-relationship and pining Shane? I feel like that man LONGS and I need to see that. Possibly some angst too or miscommunications. And for possible NSFW, his best friend is totally his hand 😼

Ding dong

Here's the longing you ordered

I threw in a side of yearning and a little self-deprecation dipping sauce.

Enjoy, and don't forget to tip your driver!

Title: Pepper Problems

Pairing: Shane x fem!reader

Word Count: 2580

Rating: Explicit, just to be safe. 18+ only, if you would be so kind.

Tags and story under the cut

Tags: yearning masturbation, fantasized oral sex, fantasized rough sex, sad sack Shane

As a rule, Shane tried not to want things.

When you wanted things, you resigned yourself to one of two eventualities. You either didn’t get what you wanted, or you got it for a while and then it turned to shit.

Better to live with what you had.

Then the new farmer moved in, and Shane found himself breaking his own rules.

He watched her as he slouched at the bar. She was making her rounds, like she did a couple times a week. She liked to give gifts, smiling and laughing, a kind word for everyone she encountered.

She remembered names.

She remembered stories.

She was a ray of fucking sunshine.

It rankled.

“Brought you some peppers,” she said, handing him a bag with a smile. “Heard you liked them.”

They were beautiful, shockingly red in the clear plastic bag. He could tell just by looking at them that they’d taste delicious - a firm bite, spicy with a slight bit of sweetness beneath them.

He wanted to smile. Wanted to thank her. Wanted to bask, for a bit, in her sunshine. To photosynthesize, to unfurl, to become green and bright.

But there was a limited amount of good that could be in Shane’s life at a time. He’d learned not to push things. The farmer, with her bright eyes and pretty smile, was far too much good to fit.

So he’d let a look of disgust cross his face. “You got the wrong guy.”

It felt right, the way shame washed over him as her face fell. Shame he had space for. His capacity for it was limitless.

“Well, what do you like?” she’d asked. 

“Being left the fuck alone.” 

And that should have been that.

————

Of course it wasn’t.

Of course the farmer started showing up even more. 

Not to see him, but she seemed to have made friends with Emily… along with everyone else in the fucking town.

They loved her, and who could blame them? 

He kept his head down, listened to her voice. It changed depending on who she was talking to. Sardonic when joking with Emily. Respectful when Louis leaned against the bar. Light and a little flirty when that writer guy was there.

They’d make a good pair. Shane imagined it as he stared at his glass. Imagined the way the writer would touch her, all slow and gentle probably. Kiss her knuckles, say something romantic. Undress her slowly, respectfully.

Not like Shane would. Not like he wanted to. Fast and rough, buttons flying, thin cotton ripping in his haste to get to her, to find the warm skin underneath, to grab, to bury his nose and mouth into every inch of her, to breathe in and feel her surrounding him, overwhelming and sweet and -

“Hey Em, can I get another?” He gestured to his glass, trying to stop the train of thought before it could pull any further out of the station. 

“Pickles.” The farmer was looking at him. She was speaking to him. The words didn’t make sense, though.

He hadn’t had that much to drink, had he?

“Do you like them?” She was waiting for an answer.

“Fuck no.” It was honest, at least.

“Hmmmmm…” She seemed to be making a list in her mind. “No peppers. No pickles. Berries?”

“Beer,” Shane said, as Emily set another drink down. “And silence.”

“Got it,” the farmer said, and turned back to whoever else was there. The doctor guy. Harold or Hector or whatever the fuck his name was. Her voice was slower when she spoke with him. She seemed to weigh her words more carefully.

Shane wasn’t sure what she sounded like when she spoke with him. He was too wrapped up in his own response. 

Her eyes met his. Squinted. Seemed to weigh his glance.

He’d been staring.

He quickly looked down at his glass, and didn’t look up again until she left.

———————

The days were always the same. Wake up with a headache and a sour stomach. Summon a gentle word or two for Jas as he left for work (“have a good day, Peanut”). Move through his tasks. Try not to let his disdain for his boss show. Try not to take out his frustration on Sam (the kid was alright, another one of those rays of sunshine. How did they keep finding him?). Suffer until work was done. Tell himself he was going to go right back to the ranch to make dinner for Jas and read her a bedtime story. Fail to do that. Sit at the bar instead, basting in uselessness and self-disgust.

The pattern was grinding, but at least it was predictable.

Unless the farmer showed up.

She changed the gravity of the saloon. Something tipped sideways whenever she walked in. 

She kept trying to give him things.

Why did she do that?

“Sunflowers?” She had a bouquet in her hand.

“What the fuck would I do with those?”

She considered. “I heard they’re pretty good roasted.”

“What, like in an oven?” Shane was curious despite himself.

“I think? I mean, sunflower seeds are good, right? So I think it’d be like a big mouthful of them?” She examined the flowers. They looked bright and cheerful. Just like her.

Her hair was loose that day. She usually wore it pulled back.

Not that he kept track of that sort of thing.

“Ooooh, my sister loves those!” Emily was admiring the flowers, and the farmer’s attention left him. 

That was okay. It let him watch.

She leaned against the bar, showing off the flowers. So fucking cute, that farmer, all happy and proud. 

Would she have looked at him like that if he’d taken the peppers?

He took a long drink.

The way she was leaning stretched her back out long. A thin strip of skin was bare between her pants and shirt. He imagined running his mouth up the length of her spine, skin all smooth and soft. Imagined holding onto her hips, sinking his fingers into the soft flesh there, moving her back against him.

He shifted and took another drink. 

The farmer had one too now. Same beer as him. Must have been a long day. She usually had a beer after a long day. Less intense ones usually ended with wine or a cocktail. She’d been doing gin and tonics lately.

Not that he was paying attention.

She would sip at her drink, talk with whoever was nearby. It was incredible, the way she could strike up a conversation with anyone. He was never able to do that. Three words in and he was doubting himself. 

His eyes flicked to her breasts as she leaned forward to laugh at something Emily said. A quick glance. Just enough to see the way the bar pushed her up, gentle curves mounding above her neckline. He thought about pressing his mouth there, scraping his teeth against her skin. Grabbing at her breasts, pushing them together. Would she let him fuck them? What would they feel like, surrounding his cock?

Probably really fucking good.

The writer guy wouldn’t treat her like that.

He took a drink.

His glass was empty. 

“Hey, Em?” 

“Yep.” Emily was moving, refilling his glass.

“This one’s on me,” the farmer said. “Since it’s the only thing you like.”

“He likes peppers too,” Emily said, setting his glass down.

The farmer made a squawking sound. It was adorable. “I tried to give him peppers but he turned them down!”

“That’s because he’s very stupid,” Emily said evenly.

Shane raised his glass in agreement. His stomach was turning, shame filling up the corners. 

He shouldn’t care about getting caught in a lie.

It shouldn’t matter.

The farmer was switching seats, coming over to sit next to him.

“No,” he said flatly as she settled in.

“I bought you a beer, the least you could do is give me a complete sentence.” She was leaning on her elbow as she said it, body starting to soften. It usually did when she was more than halfway through her drink.

“No is a complete sentence.”

“Do you like peppers or not?” There was no sunshine in her voice when she spoke to him, he realized. There was a gentle directness, though, that made him feel entirely off balance.

“Does it matter?” He focused on his drink, and not the way her cheek looked so soft as it settled into her hand.

He wanted to be her hand.

“Yes,” she said simply. “So answer the question.”

Shane sighed. Studied his glass. There was a small chip on the rim. 

“Yeah, I like peppers.”

The farmer made a satisfied sound. Shane risked a glance at her. She was smiling, but not the big sunshiney one. It was smaller. Controlled. 

Sincere.

It felt like being let in on a secret.

“I have more. I’ll bring them tomorrow.” It wasn’t a discussion.

Shane wondered how much of her sunshine was an act.

“Don’t… don’t just… I don’t need your fucking peppers.”

“Well, what do you need?” Her gaze was level. 

Shane looked at his glass again. Spun it around with his fingertips. “Nothing from you,” he finally said.

Something in the farmer seemed to deflate. Shame boiled again, but then he realized he hadn’t punctured her. He’d relieved her. Taken some burden off her shoulders he hadn’t realized she carried.

“Thank Yoba,” she laughed, then took a long drink. “I swear I need a different personality for every person here.”

Shane made a quiet sound of acknowledgement. 

The farmer didn’t say anything else.

They sat together in silence, finishing their drinks.

It was nice. 

It was really, really fucking nice.

Shane began to realize he was doomed.

——————

The farmer pushed at the edges of Shane’s mind, a persistent pressure that fogged him over whenever he let his guard down.

Stocking cans of string beans? She was leaning over him, checking the nutrition label.

Walking over the bridge? She was sitting on the side, smiling that controlled little smile.

Watching a snack spin round in the microwave? She was behind him, talking to Jas, fitting into his life in a way that made him ache.

So he tried not to think about her.

It almost worked, except for when she was there at the saloon.

Laughing. Talking. Giving. Smiling.

And then he couldn’t not think about her. Couldn’t not acknowledge her. Couldn’t not follow her down whatever conversational path she wandered onto.

“It’s disgusting.” A flat refusal.

“She’s right.” Emily backed her up.

And Yoba help him, he was drawn in. “Get a more adventurous palate.”

“Pineapple on pizza isn’t adventurous. It’s blasphemy.” 

She was on her second beer now, body loose and leaning in a way that made him want to move, to press her back against the bar and see just how pliant she could be. 

He bet he could make her real pliant.

“It’s the contrast,” he tried to explain. He was on… was it drink five? They all started to blur together after a while. “The sweet and juice against the salty and chewy from the ham. They have to go together.”

“Yeah, in the fucking garbage.” There was a teasing brightness in her eyes. 

“Philistine,” he said. 

The farmer laughed.

That felt really, really good.

He took a gulping drink. 

The sound of her laughter followed him home.

Stumbling into his room, he heard it.

Shucking his pants, his jacket. Falling into bed. It surrounded him.

He’d made her laugh. Made her look surprised, happy. Made light come into her eyes.

He gave her something.

It was so good.

But there was so little room for good in his life.

There was no way to make her fit.

His mind spiraled. 

Her laugh. 

Her smile.

Her face.

Her hair.

Her body.

That, at least, was a safe enough place to let his mind rest. 

It didn’t hurt so much, to parse it in terms of sex. To fantasize and want. Darker and harder than her laugh and her smile.

The farmer, spread out beneath him.

Soft and giving.

He could grab at her, see the way her body molded to his hands. Feel her give way to him.

His hand found his cock.

What would she sound like, if he pressed at her breast with harsh fingers? Would she whimper? Cry out? Would she love it?

(yeah she’d love it she’d love it so fucking much, arch her back up into his hands and keen and moan and beg for more, fucking beg for his hands on her and…)

Her smile. Her fucking smile. That mouth and those lips and that tongue. Soft, had to be soft, would feel so good wrapped around his cock, sucking, taking him as he thrust down into her throat.

(she’d take it so good, he knew it, knew she’d groan around him and look up at him with those pretty eyes, tears at the corners while he grabbed at her hair, moved her head, made her choke on him and the whole time she’d keep those eyes on him, asking him for more…)

The tension in his body started to coil.

He worked himself faster.

Fast, like he’d move inside her. Put her on her hands and knees. Press a hand down hard on the small of her back, make her arch. Or, no, hips, those hips, that softness giving way to his fingers as he pulled her back. 

(she’d move, he’d make her move, make her tighten and gasp and shake, make her fingers claw at the blanket, the one that was under him right now, make her bite at the bedspread to keep from screaming, because he’d pull her in just right, just the way she needed [he knew she needed it, he knew, he knew he could give her just what she fucking needed], and she’d tense and tighten and tremble and squeeze and come and come and come and when she was done he’d make her do it again, just keep her there under him, around him, her hair and her neck and her eyes and her smile, smiling back at him as he pushed in hard and deep and…)

He came, a weak, unsatisfying thing.

He pressed a hand over her face.

He could still hear her laughing.

He wanted to hear her laugh.

What the fuck did he do now?

——————

That night the farmer had a bag with her.

A jar of pickles, for the doctor.

A bundle of wool, for Emily.

A bottle of wine, split between the writer and that chick who moved in near the ranch.

A bright, round orange for Gus.

Smiles all around, given and returned.

Nothing for him.

“On a scale of one to ten, how grouchy are you today?” She settled in next to him with a drink.

Shane didn't say anything, just shot her a tired look.

“Me too,” she said, and smiled. Controlled. Real.

“Wanna split some pepper poppers?” He’d said it without planning to, without thinking.

“Nah, I hate peppers.” She rested her head on her hand.

“Noted.”

He wanted to be her hand.

He wanted.

As a rule, Shane tried not to want things.

But some part of him, a traitorous vine, kept reaching for her light. And as they sat there in silence, a heaviness settled in.

There was no way this didn’t end in pain.

Sometimes it was better to cut things off before they’d had a chance to begin.

(Looking for a part 2? You got it. Find it here.)

Masterlist

[elodieunderglass]

Hi Elodie, I'm sorry to bother you but I figured you might be able to help! I've recently come into possession of a garden in southern England, and would like to plant things to attract butterflies. Do you have any suggestions, please?

That's a lovely thing, congratulations on your garden! I'm so pleased for you.

And what a timely question! Here in the UK, the yearly Big Butterfly Count is about to start. It's a great citizen science project that's super easy to take part in - especially this year, when the UK is in a state of butterfly emergency! You just download an app, stay still in one place for 15 minutes (quite a nice thing to do) and record how many butterflies you see. "no butterflies" is a perfectly good answer, since the data is compiled against previous years!

It's brilliant that you started by naming where you are. Thank you so much for that! It's super common in plantcraft circles for everyone to assume the same priorities and geography, meaning that that most posts about ecological gardening - questions, answers and discourse - are just slop. repetitive slop. slop that causes you to learn less about plants. Let us proceed behind the cut in an attitude of NO SLOP.

There are a lot of angles to approach the question, and an entire universe to discover in each answer. For example, if you just want to plonk down a plant and get INSTANT BUTTERFLIES to watch, then you might want butterfly bush (Buddleja davidii.) This strong-smelling plant grows VERY quickly, requires little care (although it requires reasonable maintenance) has a huge amount of nectar, and summons butterflies from all over for you to watch.

However, it's a species that isn't native to the UK. It behaves invasively - buddleja will try to grow in roof tiles; carparks and unused spaces are rapidly colonised by buddleja. It grows VERY quickly, and if you plant a bush from a garden centre, you will need to cut it back every year. It will fill about 1 green bin per year by itself, so you'll need waste disposal.

Buddleja is a great plant to talk about for revealing priorities, politics, and the reliability/unreliability of information. Buddleja, as a plant, challenges you: what are you really asking when you ask the question? what are people really telling you? You will get 1000 answers from 1000 "plant influencers."

The point about "not being native" unpacks again in so many ways. On the one hand, it's a very rich source of nectar, and probably the best and easiest way to see butterflies in your garden. On the other, isn't everyone always saying native is better somewhere? The logic of immigration and invasion and indigeneity hovers like a butterfly above Buddleja, but here's why it might matter in your case: not being "native" means that caterpillars native to the UK don't really eat it.

Nectar is pretty much just nectar, albeit with higher or lower nutritive values, and butterflies will happily nurse on ANY old nectar - butterflies will drink blood, butterflies don't care - but butterflies care about where they lay their eggs, and caterpillars are surprisingly picky about what leaves they'll munch. And you can't have butterflies without caterpillars. But - because it is an easy and effective plant that will present you with the sight of butterflies - you'll hear a lot of recommendations for buddleja. So that's an example of where you can get LOST IN THE SAUCE with this question! (I personally hate buddleja - I seem to be allergic to it - and I destroyed the one that came with our house. I don't like how blowsy it is, and how you have to constantly dispose of its stupid deadweight in biomass that you don't even WANT.)

So we can start with some food plants for caterpillars. Of these, the thorns might be problematic depending on your garden, but holly might be a nice thing Vigorous and violently prickly, but if you cut it back in winter you can use the cuttings to make a wreath. Of the other plants, honesty (lunaria annua) is not bad in a garden. Nasturtiums are super easy to grow, and you might enjoy ivy as a deliberate garden feature somewhere.

Interestingly, there's evidence that Painted Lady caterpillars will eat artichoke leaves (artichokes are thistles), and artichokes are a perennial in the UK - a really interesting statement in a border, a beautiful plant, not as abrasive as wild thistle, produces SPLENDID flowers that butterflies and bees love, and you can eat the flowerbuds with butter. A tall, striking plant with broad silvery-green leaves, it's perfectly ornamental.

So that's my suggestion of Globe Artichoke. What a great guy. So many uses. Nobody's doing it like Globe Artichoke.

You could keep some (potted) mint, or plant some oregano in your herb garden, to support the Mint Moth (not a butterfly, but a local cutie).

Then we can move on to flowers. The top-tier methodology is to look at flowers ACROSS TIME - not just things that flower all at once, but a garden that consistently feeds throughout the growing year.

In general, it's lucky - flowers that smell and look nice in a garden are often butterfly-friendly. We're looking for things that are pleasant in a garden and ideally serve multiple purposes. Honesty and ivy appear again here, adding weight to those suggestions. Rosemary and thyme join your herb garden, and there's a lot of support for thistles - and its sibling Cardoon - solidifying the idea of Globe Artichoke. Lavender is always super welcome, and with its strong scent, does a lot to attract visitors from far away, who can then stick around to see what other food you're offering.

Butterflies like warmth and heat (as do most of their plants). So that's lucky.

That's where most people stop, but just randomly naming plants isn't very helpful, is it? Here are some garden features you might want to develop in the future.

an apple tree, with muscari and daffodil bulbs planted at the base.

a garden arch twined with ivy or roses, used to separate spaces of the garden into "rooms." (Don't encourage ivy or roses to grow onto anything architectural!)

a buddleja, if you think it's pretty and you'd like to have one!

a kitchen herb garden for your use in cooking, with rosemary, thyme, oregano and lavender. Mint nearby, confined in a pot.

a "wild patch" that you don't need to access, where you allow things like teasels to grow. You don't need to allow this if you don't want to, or if you need to use all of your garden. Teasels, when dried, are nice for flower arranging, or you can give the heads to a fibercrafter friend as a little trinket.

A typical English cottage garden border with tall perennial cottage plants at the back and small plants at the front, with tall plants including globe artichoke and verbena/purpletop vervain at the back.

A demonstration of mastery of the English cottage garden - a true testament to the craft of the gardener - is that it should have flowers and multipurpose plants giving "a show" from March to November. There should be colour, shape, and form firing off - exactly like a timed fireworks display - throughout the entire growing year. You can visit National Trust gardens to see various examples of this being practiced.

In general, the public haven't developed the eye for looking at a garden bed - they just see Lumps of Flowers in a park and presume it always looks like that - but there's a whole art/science/craft/hobby to it. The Cottage Garden should be fairly low-maintenance, have colour throughout the year, and each plant should serve multiple purposes (i.e., scent+colour, flower+food plant, butterfly food + caterpillar food, flower you can cut for a quick bouquet to gift someone.)

Bear in mind that it's generally recommended by Wise People not to to anything "big" with new property until you've observed it for a year. If it's a bare space, then by all means, chuck stuff in - but if it's already a fairly functional garden, there might be timed displays you haven't seen and surprises that you haven't uncovered yet, so don't feel like you have to do everything this year, or anything that you don't want to do.

Welcome to the area and thanks for writing to me! I wish you the best of luck.

[raggedytiger]

ragatha/agatha and pomni/penny human hcs!

(r)agatha:

is an english teacher!

yes she still loves horses. she used to ride them, & she loves old western movies.

owns cowboy hat and boots.

analytical and loves long & winding conversations.

has a very happy cat named sandwich.

patches her own clothes, doesn't have kids but if she did she would embroider their names into their belongings.

she still plays cello, she loves music in general, probably sings like an angel.

can't do any mathematics.

can drive, but like a lunatic. somehow has never had an accident though, so it's fine.

probably has a cute little baby blue/yellow car now, but definitely had a beat up offroader truck at some point that got put to good use. or maybe she still does, i'm not the boss.

total lesbian, a bit of a heartbreaker but not intentionally (women just keep falling for her)

goes to town/neighbourhood/community meetings. likely is/was in a knitting circle

absurd number of quilts in her home

pomni/penny:

is an accountant as we know, and cannot cook for shit as we know.

no pets she can barely take herself for walks. is more similar to a cat, but had a dog growing up. would love a collie or a dalmatian probably.

would name the dog something stupid like Thermometer Johnson.

she can drive, but nervously.

really quick thinker, like impressively, unless she's under HUGE amounts of stress. is literally always thinking at 100mph.

no sense of interior decor or personal style. all practical, kind of butch. really does kill a suit.

very much lesbian but not fully to terms with it. probably had short-lived relationships with men in which she was 'content' but didn't really care for it. seeing agatha as agatha for the first time was probably a crazy punch to her little gay heart. not to mention the cowboy gear.

autistic

watches 90s anime to wind down

listens to every single genre of music. passes a lot of time with headphones in, slowly making her way thru the entire world's discography

owns no band merch or anything though she just listens

can't sleep without a fan on, thunderstorm 12hr audio, blackout curtains, weighted blanket, water nearby

does not sleep a lot

both of them (going to call them pomni and ragatha for convenience):

didn't immediately recognise one another. i havent got an exact idea of how they reunited after getting out, but there were tears.

bonded in a very rare and unique way - they got to revel in the newfound joys of real life again. they got to eat delicious food, go on long, unobstructed walks in the real sun, be warmed by it, chew on ice cubes and shiver at the pain, listen to each other's heartbeats, listen to real music, read real books, smell soaps and flowers and sauces. they went to the supermarket together and read all the labels, and bought one of each type of fruit to try between them, and smelled all the candles, and touched all the blankets. spent a lot of time holding hands and kissing and i'm sorry to say, probably having sex, because holy shit, i'm real, you're real, we're real

now live together in ragatha's apartment, after pomni moved out of her small and confusingly-furnished flat.

both of them feel inadequate from time to time. this is resolved by a stern-but-loving talking-to.

sandwich likes pomni very much. pomni doesn't really get cats, but loves sandwich a great deal, and enjoys letting her sleep on her lap.

ragatha is very pleased to see her girls getting along.

ragatha cooks, pomni chops the veg. she often doesn't fuck it up

pomni cleans a lot as a 'thank you for letting me live here, i love you'. she's very much acts of service, ragatha is words & physical touch <3

they watch a lot of movies together. depending on how long they've been stuck, they might have culture to catch up on

ragatha wants to have a house with a garden one day. pomni starts germinating seeds from their fruit & veg like a weird science experiment. ragatha is delighted when she is presented with a baby tomato plant.

clothes are shared. ragatha's are bigger, but most of pomni's are ill-fitting anyway so it can go both ways. ragatha likes to dress pomni up in different outfits and have her do a little fashion show. pomni pretends not to savour the confidence boost.

pomni starts sleeping more

[featherwurm]

Thinking about what these goober's spice tolerance is - so here's some headcanons! Of course these aren't what they'll eat everything at - this is just the max they'll go for if heat is an option for a dish:

Astarion: -1, No Spice! He's not got the best time digesting... food anymore (probably can still manage things that are close to components of blood - sugars, water, proteins but still). There are some kinds of blood he would describe as being 'spicy' (Tav's for instance, since she's a tiefling) but he's not really a fan of heat. No pepper no nothing. Is mayonnaise spicy? Well...

Gale and Shadowheart: 1, A Little Spice. Neither of them are big on a lot of heat, but stuff to give flavoring and a little kick is good, stuff like sweet paprika, very small amounts of mace or cayenne, and more generous amounts of tarragon and chili pepper flakes are good. Sweet pickled peppers can be a nice side. Shadowheart is getting used to food outside the convent and Gale is used to Waterdeep fare which runs more rich and hearty than spicy.

Wyll: 3-4, A Moderate Amount of Spice. Spicy stuff is good, just not TOO hot. Bring on the Faerûn equivalents of Sriracha and Valentina, and PLENTY of Tabasco too. Poblano, anaheim, and jalapeño peppers are great as main ingredients. Curry and generally 'spicy' versions of classic foods are on his list of stuff that's tasty - pretty typical for a Bauldurian, honestly, the mediterranean climate of that area of the Sword Coast lends itself to heat in mainstay dishes. Do I want to eat a bag of blue Takis with Wyll Ravengard? Yes I do.

Lae'zel: 4-6, HOT. It depends on what exactly it is, but she likes stuff that's bright and spicy and burns your tongue. Sichuan peppers, hot curry powder, things that are labeled 'EXTRA HOT' are where she's happy. She'll eat habanero and scotch bonnet peppers just... on their own (though it's unclear if she actually likes this or she's just boasting). As she says, she has no weaknesses.

Tav: 6-9, VERY HOT. Hot, spicy, and enough to make you sweat and your mouth go numb. Birds-eye chilis and ghost peppers are pretty nice, she thinks. She'll always go for hot sauce if it's available - although she still values flavor over straight heat. Likes to order curries and noddles and so on as 'extra spicy.'

Karlach: 10, HOT AS YOU CAN GET, BABY. She's on the Hot Ones challenge going "oh this is a nice lunch actually" while taking more tastes out of the bottles because it's good. She'll eat a Carolina reaper straight up. She'll go for the novelty "EXPLODE YOUR ASS DEVILS HOT JUICE" sauces and 'one chip' challenges and sweat of course, but also just be like 'well that's fun!' Look, after the Hells, not much phases her and her iron constitution. (She and Tav easily share leftovers of equivalent 'Thai hot' takeout in the modern AU and can easily down an extra spicy hot pot with glee.)

[thatdeadaquarius]

Hello there, friend I'm here for fluff

OK, this has been on my mind for a while

But like

The reader is just becoming the biggest parent to the Benny's adventure team kids

And the wolfs

We are like a parent of like 27

Knitting and making food brushing razors hair(let's be for real, you would hear a crunch when you brush it)

I'm not gonna lie

Do these kids know what spices are?

Cuz when I think about it

Razor hasn't had shit so he's has the least tolerance for spice

He would probably cry if you feed him a pepper

Bennett has tried spicy food but does go well with it

And not completely sure if fischl has had a spicy food before

But what flavor does mondstadt add to their food??

These kids need the damn flavors

AHDHAKALL FERAL ANIMAL AQUARIUS- ANOTHER PLATONIC ASK AAHHHHGGGGDJJSFHSAK!!!!!

AND ITS YOU!! ITS- ITS- ONE OF THE WRITING RULERS OF SAGAU (FOR ME AT LEAST) <3 !!!!!!!!

You cooking in genshin all anime studio ghibli style looking like food from god (literally): ⬆️

Sun: Reader (you/they/them)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

Stars: Benny’s Adventure Team! (Bennett, Fischl, Razor), Diluc, mentions of other Mond characters

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: mild cussing, & Trigger Warnings: none known.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

☆

^^ The posts being referenced in ask, (OG Razor ask) (Benny + Razor) and a more direct sequel, a part 2? a part 4 atp?? of this post (Imposter/Not Dark AU + Razor + Diluc) ^^

OMFG

ALRIGHT LISTEN UP BITCHES

SINCE UR IN TEYVAT

YOU GONNA COOK LIKE TEYVAT

AS IN-

SHIT BE SUPER EASY TO COOK, AND MASS MAKE DEPENDING ON COMPLEXITY OF DISH

(So, like Zhongli's special Bamboo Shoot Soup is like getting made... once a year if you read the little desc. for that dish 💀)

AND THEYRE ALL LIKE-

ANIME GORGEOUS FOODS ✨️❤️‍🔥

OKAY SO

PROMO TIME-

U GUYS HAVE TO WATCH THE ANIME "CAMPFIRE COOKING IN ANOTHER WORLD"

Bc that's mostly where this inspo gonna come from to both be realistic cooking + best parts of video game cooking

A guy gets isekai’d and instead of hero powers he just gets the skill of "online grocery shopping" LMAO

and ofc he gets insta gifted whatever he orders and starts making dishes and adding spices and regular stuff you know. like soy sauce.

but the best part is the food in that world is like British medieval soup shit

like barely salted, no spices definitely, no sauces, its barren

so he ends up attracting all kinds of interest that want to eat his cooking ofc

And it gives buffs too!

dw i didnt spoil anything u don't learn in the first episode, but that's just to say that's exactly whats happening here

u DO have to manually collect more ingredients but its so worth it, also u can just buy in bulk or put a commission thru the adventurer guild

tbhhh now that i say that, that could be how u end up drawing in Benny’s Adventure Team even more, bc they just take all ur quests for collecting ingredients around Mond!!

(u have to actively sneak behind their back and whisper to Katheryne that you want to put in other food quests in other guilds tho, silly kids will absolutely go running around Liyue and crazy shit just to have an adventure and do smth for you + eat ur banger food lol)

omfg the first time u barbecue smth???

the wolves, Razor, and Andrius??? Go feral.

Fischl and Benny who were already on their way to u guys to hang out again start booking it thru the woods, dodging hilichurl camps (thatve since settled down and been v peaceful to the wolves + anyone in the woods of Wolvendom after u started living there)

they knowww ur cookin smth fucking amazing

(and u even have some hilichurls and mitachurl that wander close to Andrius’ edge of the woods to shyly beg for scraps,, u give them a portion)

Razor was actually lookin at u like u hung the stars just for him when u gave him a homemade barbecue sauce to put on his food

(u acc may have done that to Teyvatians according to Andrius + the stories u overheard from Springvale…)

ok but the amount of begging u get for desserts like-

No, Razor u cannot have chocolate cake/cupcakes after every meal, u need to take care of ur teeth

(u use ur collection of mora-monster-donations for comms for more ingredients and living supplies like fabric + furniture, u cant afford dental on top of that for ur boy)

Fischl dutifully declares you the “best chef in the kingdom” and writes down all ur recipes (u have them auto-stored in ur settings obv but it cant hurt to have a physical copy, and they look so happy doing it, u don't have the heart to tell them its not necessary-)

Benny insists on both giving u extra ingredients when he takes ur commissions, and giving u handmade trinkets or weapons for the meals!!

No!! He will not take “im good” for an answer!! ur sharing ur home-cave with him, taking care of his best friend Razor, and now feeding him food better than Liuli Pavilion!!! There’s no way he can just take all that and give nothing back!!!!

and theyre not the only ones getting some food tbh

when the knights begin patroling near Wolvendom and slowly all of Mondstadt to search for their “All God”, u break up the beginnings of a fight between 2 confused knights and the now peaceful hilichurl camp at the edge of Wolvendom

U offer some snacks u were going to give Benny’s Adventure Team when they got back (u made little triangle sandwiches, rice balls, etc. finger foods, and u made plenty extra bc u kno their teenage appetites lol)

the knights and hilichurls nearly cried with appreciation, which made for a hilarious sight when the teens actually showed up lmao

ur wearing ur cloak, bc u dont wanna take on that whole “creator of worlds” title just yet, and the kids helped verify u werent anyone suspicious (Benny + Fischl keep ur godly secret, theyre the best like that 🥰)

the knights just swing by for snacks occasionally (they also either pay u in trade or with mora, theyre not bullies)

another person who gets flavored food privileges is the lazy librarian witch herself

u also sometimes pick Razor up from Lisa’s tutoring and bring “the best tea and tea snacks in the world” along with to share with Lisa and him

(she is also fully aware after awhile of meeting u of what u are, and fully believes this is why the food must be enchanted to be so good, but u dont want to be treated super reverently she can tell, so she keeps ur secret too and is just extra flirty when u come by lol)

(Razor refuses to let his pare- Lupical move out of ur cozy cave to the library, so he sometimes hauls u away when Lisa flirts too much LMAO)

…and the moment you've been waiting for.

Yes, Diluc got to try ur food that night he was searching Wolvendom for signs of the god of Teyvat

tbh Diluc was half-convinced that shit was a fever dream.

a bunch of sleepy wolves, a coffee table in the stone colosseum, a giant spirit wolf licking a big plate clean, the wolf-kid glaring at him, and you.

you with gold eyes, staring right thru his soul, like you already know everything there is to know about him, (like the way Kaeya looked at him that night),

like he doesnt even have to introduce himself

and he doesnt, u just lightly smack Razor’s hands until he gets rid of his claymore w/a pout, since Diluc had long since dropped his,

and grab a plate, piling on what leftovers u could, and turn back around from the coffee table to smile at him, patting the cushion-seat beside u for him to join

The giant glowing wolf licks his lips and watches him, the wolf-kid’s creepily watches him, and you, with eyes gold in teh light of a simmering bonfire just past the table, watch him

he just sits down and begins to eat.

its the best food he’s ever had, its his dad’s favorite dish, but not realistically, but the way memory embellishes a dish so much it can never be tasted again, except its right here. in front of him. u pour some wolfhook juice for him, and offer him a napkin to wipe his mouth and eyes

Diluc visits often after that, obviously.

u give him snacks too, and when he lets the staff try some, Adeline will not stop harassing him abt gettin ur recipes/ingredeints so u get him to pay Fischl to get a copy of their recipe book :)

including blank pages for future entries, and Fischl is literally glowing with happiness, would not stop monologuing abt ur food for weeks (send help Oz wants some peace and quiet sometimes)

Oh Diluc absolutely told the Favonius knights he found you. But he’s not saying where LMAO

Jean is actually begging him, Diluc ik u hate the knights but this is an international investigation-

this is the closest Diluc has ever gotten to getting under Venti’s skin.

when he told him this at Angel’s while bartending, he just casually ofc said this, just his smug little smirk, and the anemo god cracked a glass and everything- esp when he said he tried ur cooking??

he's gotta start looking over his shoulder in the city bc not only is Venti stalking him, the entirety of Mondstadt’s citizens are glaring at him in envy everywhere he goes LMAOO

(Venti now has a bar glass or too on his tab to pay off as well)

mans is literally paying u in weapon/artifact materials/mora to make him lunch one day and Venti nearly lunges over the counter

(Diluc purposefully ate it in front of him 💀)

ur food is the ultimate, “u could make a religion out of this!” /ref

like Diluc fully gives u offerings of ingredients he can pay for shipping from other countries + along with regular materials after grinding in domains

does the rest of Mondstadt + the world find out where u are?

only if Diluc lets them tbh. LMFAO

☆

bk trashfire my beloved <3 love ur ideas and stuff, goes without even saying im so sorry i took actually forever to respond :’(

hope u have a great weekend and i did this little side story justice for you

Safe Travels BK Trashfire,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡my beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily / @justinsomniachild / @nanithefuck / @questionotmystopit / @chinuneko / @silvers-tongue

@kiyomi-uchiha777

[maincharactermuse]

The one where there is a third date (and a morning after.) (8)

(Find my masterlist here)

The kitchen smelled incredible - rich, warm, something tomato-based simmering low on the stove. She sat perched on the edge of the marble counter, legs swinging slightly, a glass of red wine balanced in one hand.

Harry stood at the stove, wooden spoon in hand, focused on stirring the pot like his life depended on it.

She dipped the spoon into the sauce when he wasn’t looking, tasting a little mouthful with a mischievous grin.

“Oi,” he said, turning just in time to catch her in the act. “There’s gonna be nothing left by the time it hits the plate.”

She grinned, licking her lip. “If it’s that good, you should be flattered.”

“I am flattered,” he said, mock-defensive. “But also deeply stressed. You set the bar unfairly high last week.”

She rolled her eyes. “Stop. That tart you made for dessert was, like, Michelin star level. I almost proposed.”

He smirked and moved closer, still holding the spoon, resting it carefully on a dish beside the stove. “Dangerous words,” he said under his breath, voice low as he came to stand between her knees.

Her breath caught slightly as he gently nudged her legs open and stepped into the space, hands coming to rest softly on her thighs. She instinctively set the wine glass down beside her and leaned in just as he did, and their mouths met in a slow, easy kiss.

She sighed into it, arms wrapping loosely around his neck as his hands slid up her waist, the warmth of him so close it made her pulse skip.

The kiss deepened naturally, languid and warm, their bodies pulling closer without thought. His fingers curled slightly at her sides, thumbs tracing soft circles beneath the hem of her sweater.

But after a moment, he broke the kiss with a small, reluctant groan, resting his forehead against hers.

“I could do this forever,” he murmured, breath fanning over her skin. “But I’m really trying to make a good meal here.”

She laughed, head tilting back a little. “Okay, okay. Duty calls.”

“Damn right,” he said, stealing one more peck before slipping out from between her legs and returning to the stove. “But just so we’re clear, I’m counting on dessert being a joint effort.”

She hopped down from the counter, brushing against his side as she moved. “That depends,” she said, her tone teasing, “on how well you do with the entrée.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her with a smirk. “Pressure’s on, then.”

And though she laughed, something about the way he looked at her - warm, soft, just a little wanting - told her he was reading the space between their words just as clearly as she was.

By the time they made it to the table, the kitchen was heavy with the scent of roasted garlic, simmered tomatoes, fresh basil, and just the right amount of char on the crusty bread Harry had insisted on warming up “the proper way.”

She settled into her chair, tucking one leg beneath her, still glowing from the kitchen kiss - and maybe from the wine, but mostly from how easy everything felt with him.

He came around with two plates, carefully setting one in front of her, then his own. “There,” he said, straightening up with a small satisfied grin. “A very humble attempt at recreating the masterpiece we had at that place in Hackney.”

She looked down at the bowl - the same type of hand-cut pappardelle, ribbons curled delicately in a slow-simmered tomato ragu, finished with a generous dusting of parmesan. A sprig of basil nestled on top.

“You remembered,” she said, smile growing as she reached for her fork.

“‘Course I remembered,” he said, sitting down opposite her. “You were basically glowing the whole time you were eating it. I knew I’d never hear the end of it if I didn’t try to match it.”

She forked up a bite and tasted it with a quiet, thoughtful hum.

“Well?” he asked, eyebrows lifted in anticipation.

Her lips twitched. “Might actually be better.”

He gave her a narrow-eyed look. “Now that is dangerous talk.”

“I mean it,” she said between bites. “You nailed the sauce. It’s got that… richness but without being too heavy. And the pasta’s got a bite- did you make it from scratch?”

“I did,” he said proudly. “Even used the fancy semolina flour.”

“Look at you,” she said, impressed. “Musician, actor, chef… anything you can’t do?”

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said smoothly, then immediately chuckled at his own cheesiness, holding a hand up. “Sorry. That was a terrible line. I take it back.”

She laughed, covering her mouth with her napkin. “No, no. Keep it. That one’s going in the quote vault.”

“Oh, brilliant. Now I’ll be haunted by it.”

Their plates steadily emptied between easy conversation, their voices dipping into that soft, familiar tone that always seemed to find them when it was just the two of them. They talked about food and work, travel dreams and odd habits - like how she secretly loved reorganizing bookshelves when no one was watching.

At one point, he reached across to wipe a smear of sauce off her cheek with his thumb, completely without thinking. She froze for a second - not out of discomfort, but from the intimacy of it. The casualness. It wasn’t the first time he’d touched her tonight, not even close, but something about the gentleness of that moment made her heart tighten.

She leaned her chin into her palm and watched him for a second as he refilled both their wine glasses.

“What?” he asked, catching her gaze.

“Nothing,” she said softly. “Just… I really like this.”

His expression softened. “Me too.”

They lingered at the table long after the plates had been cleared. At some point, she’d padded into the kitchen to help with dishes, and he’d wrapped his arms around her from behind, chin resting on her shoulder, hands fitting naturally over hers as she rinsed a bowl.

Now, with the lights low and music playing faintly from a speaker in the corner, they’d made their way to the couch, wine glasses back in hand.

She sat cross-legged, curled up beside him, her shoulder brushing his with every laugh. At one point, she laughed so hard she knocked into his side, and he took the opportunity to pull her closer, his arm draping around her with easy affection.

She leaned into it, eyes flicking up to meet his.

“You’re really comfortable,” she murmured.

He arched a brow. “Is that… a compliment?”

“It is,” she said with a small nod. “Third date, and I don’t feel like I have to pretend to be anything else. It’s nice.”

His smile dimmed to something more thoughtful - not serious, just weighted in the way he looked at her.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said quietly. “I like who you are.”

A silence fell between them then, not awkward, just dense with that familiar energy they’d been circling since the first time their hands had brushed.

She shifted slightly, lifting a hand to brush a lock of his hair behind his ear. “I feel like I’ve known you longer than I have.”

He turned toward her then, shifting just enough so that their knees knocked gently, so that he could fully see her face. His hand moved to her cheek, thumb brushing lightly along her jaw.

“You look really beautiful tonight,” he said, almost a whisper.

Her breath caught just slightly, and for a moment, she just looked at him, as if waiting for something to pass between them - confirmation, courage, certainty.

And then she leaned forward, closing the space.

The kiss started slow — soft and sure. But it deepened quickly, familiarity and newness folding together in the way her hands moved to his shoulders, the way his settled at her waist, anchoring her.

She shifted closer, until she was practically in his lap, and his hands slid up her back, one finding the base of her neck. Their mouths moved in sync, tongues tasting gently, reverently - heat curling low in her belly at how careful and intentional he was, never rushed, never assuming.

When they finally pulled apart, she was a little breathless, eyes half-lidded, a lazy smile spreading across her lips.

“I could kiss you all night,” she murmured.

“Funny,” he said, voice low and a little rasped, “I was just thinking the same thing.”

His thumb brushed along her jaw again, eyes locked on hers like she was the only thing in the room. “Are you sure?” he asked quietly, his voice lower now, more grounded. “You want to keep going?”

She didn’t hesitate. “I’m so sure.”

Then, with a soft, amused tilt to her head, she glanced downward - the heat of her body nestled into his lap making the situation pretty undeniable. Her brows lifted slightly, lips curving with a teasing smile.

“I think you’re sure too.”

He groaned, half-embarrassed, half-laughing. “That’s… yeah. Okay. Embarrassing.”

She leaned in, kissing the corner of his mouth. “It’s not. I’m not offended.” She shifted in his lap, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt at his back, skin meeting skin. Her voice dropped, quieter now, but steady. “I’d really like to go to your bedroom.”

His breath caught. That was all it took.

He stood slowly, guiding her up with him, hands gentle but sure. They didn’t rush - not yet. He took her hand and led her down the hallway, the two of them half-laughing at how her socked feet slipped on the wooden floor, how she clung to his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

———————————————————————————

His bedroom was quiet, warm. The kind of soft lighting that fell across walls like moonlight. As they stepped inside, there was a charged stillness - a shared breath.

Then he kissed her again. This time slower. Deeper. More like promise than invitation.

Clothes were discarded between soft laughter and quiet gasps, pieces falling like leaves behind them. He treated her like something sacred, fingertips memorizing, not claiming. Her hands in his hair, her knees pressed to the edge of the bed, his lips everywhere she needed them to be.

The rhythm of their bodies came naturally - no awkward stumbles, only pauses to look at each other like they were still surprised this was real. It wasn’t about perfection. It was about connection - warmth and want and vulnerability all wrapped into one moment where they chose each other again and again.

And when they finally stilled - breaths tangled, limbs loose and tangled, hearts beating in sync - there was silence for just a moment.

Then, both at once:

“Wow.”

They looked at each other, blinking, and broke into laughter, limbs shaking gently with it.

She tucked herself into the crook of his arm, letting the weight of the moment settle.

His fingers threaded through her hair, slow and absent, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “I really, really like you.”

She tilted her head up slightly. “You’re okay.”

He gasped, overly dramatic. “Wow. Geez. Just absolutely hitting me where it hurts.”

She giggled into his chest. “I’m joking.”

“Better be.”

She nudged her nose into his collarbone, voice softening. “I really like you too. I’m so happy you came into the café that first time.”

He smiled against her temple. “And I’m so happy you flirted with me.”

Her head popped up. “I did not flirt.”

He raised an eyebrow.

She groaned. “Why does everyone keep saying I flirted?”

“Because,” he said, lips curving again, “you totally did.”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stop smiling. And he just kept looking at her like he couldn’t quite believe she was really here.

Wrapped in each other, they drifted - not just into sleep, but into something more settled. The kind of quiet that only comes when things feel exactly right.

———————————————————————————

group chat: the coven 🔮

Y/N

currently hiding in his bathroom

…to say I may have just had the best sex of my entire life

that is all

send thoughts and electrolytes

Noor

OH MY GOD

how many stars??

scale of 1 to rebirth?

Grace

Bathroom texting = serious

Was it soft?? Was it hot?? Was there music playing??

WAS THERE AFTERCARE?? 👀

Y/N

all of the above

Noor

Hello?? That’s it

You are never allowed to ghost us like this again.

Grace

Y/N

You can’t end it there

Y/N!

Noor

She’s gone

live your dream, queen 💅

———————————————————————————

The morning light bled in through the bedroom blinds in pale strokes, catching dust in golden halos. The sheets were warm, tangled. Her cheek was smushed into the pillow, the scent of him still clinging to the fabric. She stirred slightly as something - someone - pressed a kiss to the top of her head, warm and gentle. But she was still somewhere between dreams and waking, and all she did was murmur something incoherent and bury her face deeper.

Harry paused there a moment longer, standing by the bed. The blanket had slipped down her back in the night, and the morning light kissed across the top of her bare shoulder, her collarbone, the elegant slope of her spine. His hoodie was draped over a chair nearby, discarded during some late-night laughter. He nearly grabbed it, but didn’t. Not yet.

She looked beautiful. Like… achingly so. Sleep-soft and peaceful. Her lips slightly parted, hair a mess, one hand curled into the pillow like she was still holding onto something.

He sighed, reluctant, but habit tugged at him. Mornings were his thing - movement, fresh air, head cleared. So he leaned down once more, another brush of lips to her forehead, this time softer, like a silent promise. Then he forced himself to go.

By the time her eyes blinked open, the sun was higher and the room had shifted from golden to warm white. She stretched slowly, turning onto her back and immediately noticed the bed was empty. Her brows drew together faintly. She reached out to the other side. Cold.

Frowning slightly, she sat up and scanned the room. No sound of the shower running. No footsteps from downstairs. Her heart didn’t exactly leap into panic, but… it did twist a little.

Was it too much? Did he wake up and think differently about everything?

She got up slowly, grabbing the first thing she saw: his hoodie. It swallowed her as she pulled it on, the hem brushing her bare thighs, sleeves covering her hands. She padded out to the hallway quietly, peeking into the living space. Still no sign of him.

She told herself not to overthink it. But her fingers nervously twisted the cuffs of his sleeves anyway.

That’s when the front door opened.

She startled slightly, backing up instinctively a step - and then there he was, stepping in, cheeks a little flushed from the cool morning, hair tucked under a beanie, holding a tray of coffee cups and a paper bag that smelled suspiciously like heaven.

“Hey,” he said, pausing when he saw her. She looked… soft. Rumpled and still half-asleep, his hoodie swamping her, legs bare. Her eyes were wide, uncertain.

“Everything okay?” he asked gently, stepping closer.

“Yeah,” she said quickly. “Yeah. I just… woke up and you weren’t here, and-” She trailed off, clearly unsure if she was allowed to say what she was really feeling. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t know where you were.”

His face softened as he crossed the room. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry.” He held up the coffee tray. “Went for a jog. Stopped by the café. Ryan and Lucia said this one’s your favourite.”

He offered the bag toward her. She took it slowly, fingers brushing his. She didn’t say anything for a second - just looked at him with a slightly shy, sleepy expression that made his chest feel warm.

His hand found her waist, the fabric of the hoodie bunching slightly under his touch. “You sure you’re okay?”

She looked up at him, eyes a little clearer now. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

He dipped down to kiss her softly - slow, a little lingering, as if to reassure her all over again.

They moved to the couch with their pastries and coffee, legs brushing under the blanket she pulled over them. Her body slowly eased, the nerves falling away as the warmth settled in again.

“So,” he said after a few quiet bites, “we’ve officially passed the third date milestone.”

“Oh?” she said, raising a brow, sipping from her coffee. “And what does that mean?”

“It means,” he said seriously, “I’m now contractually obligated to always bring you baked goods when I disappear in the morning.”

She smirked. “Mmm. Noted.”

“Also,” he added, “you looked beautiful sleeping.”

She blushed, ducking her head. “Don’t say that. I probably had, like, pillow lines and drool-”

“Nope,” he said, grinning. “Just perfect.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, and her foot nudged his under the blanket.

The morning unfolded softly from there. No pressure. No rush. Just two people easing into something real, something that felt more and more like home.

———————————————————————————

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked softly, crouching in front of her with one hand braced on the armrest. His curls were damp from the shower he’d taken post-run, a few tendrils clinging to his forehead, and she noticed how he still hadn’t caught his breath completely.

“I’m fine,” she nodded, then grinned, tilting her head slightly. “Though, it’s kind of a shame you weren’t there when I woke up.”

Harry blinked, caught a little off guard. “What do you mean?”

She bit her lip, eyes dancing. “Oh, nothing. Just thought maybe… you might’ve preferred a different form of cardio this morning.”

He stared at her for a beat, lips parting just slightly. Then his eyebrows shot up, and he let out a sharp laugh. “Miss L/N,” he said, exaggerating his poshest tone. “The profanity at this hour.”

She sipped from the coffee he’d brought her, feigning innocence. “What? I’m just saying, that pasta last night wasn’t the only thing that blew my mind.”

He choked on his own coffee and narrowed his eyes at her, grinning despite himself. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

“Mmm,” she hummed, dragging a bite from the pastry. “You’re just slow.”

Harry stood back up and leaned over the back of the couch, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “Slow, but sweet,” he said into her hair, his voice lower now, tender. “Wouldn’t want to rush a good thing.”

They sat like that for a moment - him hovering over her, her leaning back just slightly into his warmth - before she reached out, fingers catching the hem of his shirt, tugging him toward the bathroom.

“Shower?” she asked casually, like it wasn’t anything new, even though both their stomachs fluttered with the newness of it all.

He didn’t say anything, just smiled, and let her lead.

———————————————————————————

The bathroom filled with steam as the shower hummed to life. She leaned against the sink, still in his hoodie, fingers absently tracing the edge of the porcelain while Harry adjusted the temperature behind the curtain of fog.

He turned, lifting an eyebrow at her. “You planning on standing there all morning looking that smug, or…?”

She grinned and stepped forward, peeling the hoodie over her head in one slow motion. His gaze dropped, just briefly, and then returned to her face - reverent, not ravenous. Like he was still surprised she was real.

“You’re staring,” she said softly.

“Yeah,” he replied, no apology in it.

They stepped in together - careful, close, steam curling around their shoulders. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t about lust. Not anymore. It was him reaching for her shampoo without asking. Her tipping her head back, trusting him to rinse the soap from her hair. Quiet laughs when water ran into her eyes. The curve of her back pressed to his chest as his arms wrapped around her waist from behind.

And when she turned to face him, her fingers tracing the water dripping from his jaw, he kissed her like he had all the time in the world.

Later, wrapped in towels and warm skin, they padded back into the bedroom. Her wet hair left little crescent moons of damp on his T-shirt, now draped over her shoulders. He tossed his beanie at the laundry basket and missed by about two metres.

She raised a brow. “Athlete of the year.”

He flopped onto the bed, arms behind his head. “You’re just jealous of my form.”

She climbed in beside him, curling one leg over his and resting her chin on his chest. “So what’s next?”

His fingers found the small of her back. “Next?”

“Yeah,” she said, eyes curious. “Is there, like… a post-third-date itinerary I should know about? Fourth date protocol? Do we go apple picking now or get matching tattoos or something?”

Harry laughed. “God, you’re chaotic in the morning.”

She smiled, then softened. “But really. What happens now?”

He looked at her for a long moment - not in a heavy way, but with a kind of stillness. His hand slid up, fingers brushing her damp hair back behind her ear. “We keep going,” he said simply. “If you want to.”

She searched his face for any flicker of doubt, and found none.

“I do,” she said, voice quiet.

His thumb brushed her cheek. “Good. Because I’m not ready for this to be a one-off.”

She leaned forward and kissed him - soft and sure.

When they finally rolled out of bed again, hair half-dried and faces glowing with that slightly smug look of two people who’d had a very good night, she found her phone buzzing on the nightstand. Two missed messages.

———————————————————————————

group chat: the coven 🔮

Grace

Are you alive or did you actually dissolve into a puddle of orgasm and steam???

Noor

Blink twice if you’re being held hostage in a man’s hoodie.

(We approve either way.)

Y/N

still alive

hydrated

recently shampooed

will report back in full detail later

xo

Grace

Ffs I have work and you’re out here living my dream.

Noor

I’d be mad but also

🕯️ blessings to your loins 🕯️

———————————————————————————

Nana

Hi baby

Just checking in.

Is that boy still being good to you?

Y/N

Hi Nana 💛

He brought me coffee this morning.

And a cinnamon pastry.

Still good.

Nana

Good man!

Don’t let him get lazy

They all get lazy if you let them.

Y/N

😂 I won’t.

Promise!

Nana

Okay - im glad he’s treating you well.

Text me if he gets lazy. I’ll sort him out.

[pinkmom3]

NSFW QUESTIONS

1: When did you lose your virginity? 17 prom night to the boy that became hubby 1.

2: Rough sex or soft sex? Mostly soft sex, rough on occasion.

3: Do you have any unusual kinks/fetishes? Oh boy...my son, his friends, CNC, and multiple men

4: Weirdest place you’ve had sex? Plate glass window of a hotel in Vegas, or balcony of a suite on a cruise ship.

5: Favourite sex position? From behind, doggie if you will.

6: Do you like to be dominant or submissive? I can play either, I tend to be aggressive in my sexual acquisitions...lol

7: Have you ever had any one night stands? Yes, blush

8: Sex on the bed, couch or the floor? I prefer off the floor, but everywhere is fair game.

9: Have you ever had sex in a public place? See #4

10: Have you ever been caught masturbating? Blush...yes, brother, mom, boyfriends, roommate, hubby....

11: What does your favourite sexy underwear look like? Black lace

12: How often do you have sex? Not enough...weekly

13: Is there anybody right now you’d like to have sex with? Yes yes yes. Jason Mamoa, Chris Evans, Tom Hardy, Ryan Reynolds, Scarlett Johansson....

14: Do you prefer giving or receiving oral sex? Giving, I consider it my strong suit.

15: Most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you during sex? Passing gas...enough said.

16: A song you’d listen to during hard/rough/kinky sex? Nine inch nails "closer" Brittany Spears "work bitch"

17: A song you’d listen to during soft/slow/passionate sex? Enigma "lust"

18: Are you into dressing up for sex? Depends on partner, but yes

19: Would you prefer sex in the bath or sex in the shower? hmmm...bath, we have a hottub

20: If you could have sex with anyone right now, who would it be? Anyone? Elon Musk, Jeff Besos, Scarlett Johansson

21: Have you ever had a threesome? If not, would you? No, multiple men is one of my fantasies.

22: Do you/would you use sex toys? I have a vibrator.

23: Have you ever sent someone a dirty text/picture? Yes...blush

24: Would you have sex with your best friend? No...she's a bit of a stick in the mud, sexually speaking.

25: Is there anything you do after sex? (for example, smoke, eat, drink) I usually drink before sex, afterwards I like to shower..

26: Something that will never fail to get you horny? A hard cock on a nice guy.

27: Early morning sex or late night sex? Late night...

28: Favourite body part on the opposite sex? Face or cock.

29: Favourite body part on the same sex? Face or boobs

30: Something that you have hidden in your room that you don’t want anyone to find: My vibrator...

31: Weirdest sexual act someone has performed [or tried to perform] on/with you: No comment

32: Have you ever tasted yourself? [If no, would you?] [If yes, what did you think?] Yes, I taste good on some man's cock.

33: Is it ever okay to not use a condom: Yes, no disease verified...

34: A food that you would like to use during a sexual experience: chocolate sauce

35: Worst possible time to get horny: At church...

36: Do you like it when your sexual partner moans? Yes yes yes

37: How much fapping is too much fapping: One must be able to function in society so any amount that keeps one from life, or that stops sex

38: Best sexual complement you ever got: "You are the best in bed i will ever have."

39: Favorite foreplay activities: Kissing, oral, touching...

40: What do you wear to bed? Panties...

41: When was the first time you masturbated: 10 or 11

42: Do you have any nude/masturbating pictures/video of yourself? No comment.

43: Have you ever/when was the last time you had sex outside? Yes, camping few years ago.

44: Have/would you ever have sex in public? Yes sort of...handjob in the park.

45: Have/would you ever had a threesome? Answered this already...

46: What is one random object you’ve used to masturbate? No comment.

47: Do you watch gay/lesbian porn? why/why not? Not really, I find other porn more stimulating.

48: Do you like oral sex? (why/why not) Yes, I condlsider it my strong suit.

49: How do you feel about tattoos on someone you are interested in? Love them.

50: How would you feel about taking someones virginity? Fine, I'm a good and caring lover.

51: Is there any food you would NOT recommend using during a sexual encounter? Bananas

52: Would you rather be a pornstar or a prostitute? I would like to think I'd be expensive...so prostitute. Been called many times.

53: Do you watch porn? I do I do

54: Have you ever been called a freak? Why? No, not really.

55: Do you feel comfortable going “commando”? Yes, often.

56: Would you have a problem with going down on someone if they hadn’t shaved their pubic hair? Of course.

57: If you could give yourself head, would you? Uh yeah...

58: Booty or Boobs? Boobs.

59: Have you ever cheated on someone? (Why?) Yes, vengeance, compensation

60: If you were the other sex for a day, what are five things you would do? I have no idea...sad

61: have you ever watched someone masturbate? I have I have

62: has anyone ever watched you masturbate? Yes, blush

63. Have you ever had an erection and someone noticed? Nope, I'm female

64. What is your method of masturbation? (ie. toys, clitorial, prostate) Clitorial, vibrator or shower head.

65. What is your bra/penis size? 32DD

66. What is the strangest thing you have ever put up your vagina/anus? No comment

67. When was the last time you masturbated? Last night.

68. When was the last time you had sex? Last week.

69. When was the last time you watched porn? This morning.

70. Have you ever bought a sex toy? If so, which one did you buy last? First sex toy? If not, which one do you plan on buying when you do? First was a mail order Dillon, last was a pink rabbit vibrator.

71. Guys: Circumcised? Preferably, but not necessarily.

72. Which not-genital part of your body do you like being touched? My low back.

73. Which genital part of your body do you like being touched? My lips.

74. Girls:Are you able to achieve orgasm just through breast stimulation? No

75. Have you anonymously sent a sexual ask to someone on tumblr? Not yet.

76. When was the last time you have had a wet dream? Hmmm this week.

77. Which wet dream was your favorite? Hands and cocks in the dark.

78. Is there a friend you would willingly have sex with? Yes

79. Is there a celebrity/character you would willingly have sex with? Yes

80. Favorite sexual position? From behind

81. Do you like being called a slut or whore in bed? No

82. Are you into any BDSM? No

83. Have you ever wanted to have sex with someone but knew you couldnt for any reason? Why? Yes, out of my league or just wrong.

84. Do you like dirty talk? Risque and flirty, not crass

85. Are you loud or quiet during sex? Both Masturbation? Quiet

86. Have you ever been interrupted during sex or masturbation? Who/what? Yes, both...many people, worst was my brother or mom

87. What kind of porn do you like to watch? Mom and son.

88. Have you ever confessed to someone that you got an erection over them? What about masturbated to them? Yes I have.

89. Have you ever masturbated because your sexual partner wasn’t there when you needed them? All the damn time.

90. Have you ever had a one night stand? Do you still keep in contact with them? Yes, sort of...

91. Have you ever had a friends with benefits? Are they still beneficial? Yes, several, one or two...

[rootedinrevisions]

Enough for You: Part 3

SUMMARY: After he showed up unexpectedly at your door trying to make amends, you and Tyler spend a cozy evening together, starting with making dinner in the kitchen as light banter fills the space. After a fun and easygoing meal, the two of you curl up on the couch to watch TV, enjoying each other's presence and sharing quiet moments. As the night winds down, you ask Tyler to stay the night, feeling comforted by his warmth and company. Tyler, happy to stay, holds you close as you both drift off into a peaceful sleep, deepening the bond that has grown between you.

WARNINGS: Fluff.

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

OTHER PARTS: PART 1 I PART 2

NOTE: There will be a PART 3! I have it mostly written and just need to finish editing it. Part 2 got away from me so I decided to break it up as to not have one crazy long fic.

TAG LIST: @omgbrianab I @shanimallina87 I @callsign-diva I @starshinegrl I @willowpains I @beltzboys2015-blog I @fanficmom94 I @smoothdogsgirl I @djs8891

Later you and Tyler had settled into the comfort of your couch as the world outside seems to fade away. The warmth of his presence next to you, the way his hand rests on your knee, and the steady rhythm of his breathing create a bubble of serenity around you. Time feels like it’s slowing down as you both get lost in the closeness and talk. The tension from the past week melts away as you slowly lean your head on his shoulder. You hadn’t planned to spend the past few hours on the couch with him, but it’s as though neither of you can bear to let go of the other.

It isn’t until the soft grumble of a stomach fills the silence that you both freeze, then exchange an amused look. 

"Was that you or me?" Tyler teases with a chuckle, his hand giving your knee a playful squeeze. 

You can’t help but laugh, realizing how long you’ve been so engrossed in each other that dinner slipped both your minds. “I guess we kind of forgot to eat,” you say, grinning up at him. 

"Guess it's time to get out of this cocoon and figure out dinner, huh?" Tyler jokes, but neither of you seem quite ready to move.

Tyler glances around your apartment and then nods toward the kitchen. “How about we cook something here? I’m no chef, but I think I can handle pasta this time.”

You raise an eyebrow, the memory of his past cooking adventures making you smirk. “Are you sure you’re up for the challenge? Last time you tried to make pasta, we almost had to call the fire department”

He laughs, shaking his head. You bite back a smile, feeling a sense of ease wash over you as you both drift toward the kitchen, the earlier tension between you replaced with a playful energy. It feels natural—like slipping back into a rhythm you didn’t realize you missed. Together, you start pulling out ingredients, ready to tackle dinner as a team, side by side.

“You’re actually going to follow the recipe this time, right?” you tease, referencing that one infamous night with the team when his attempt at cooking had been… less than successful.

He rolls his eyes dramatically but grins, a mock-serious tone in his voice. “I promise, no improvising tonight. We’re sticking to the directions like my life depends on it.”

You laugh, stepping up beside him as he starts boiling the water. Together, you work on the sauce—chopping garlic, stirring in tomatoes, and adding the perfect amount of seasoning. The kitchen fills with the rich, savory aroma, and the easy banter between you feels as natural as breathing. You catch him stealing glances at you now and then, the soft kind of looks that make your heart skip a beat.

At one point, you’re standing close, both concentrating on the sauce. Tyler hands you a spoon and nods toward the pan. “Go on, taste test. Let’s see if we nailed it.”

You take a bite, humming in approval, but before you can respond, Tyler’s gaze sharpens. His lips twitch into a grin. 

“You’ve got a little… right there,” he says, gesturing to your lower lip where some of the sauce must have landed.

Before you can wipe it away, Tyler steps closer, his eyes fixed on yours as his hand reaches up. His thumb brushes gently against your lip, lingering for just a second too long. There’s a charged silence, the air between you suddenly thick with tension.

Then, in one smooth motion, Tyler’s lips hover over yours. Instead of wiping the sauce away, he closes the distance and gently kisses it off, his lips brushing yours in a brief, heated moment. His mouth lingers for a beat, as if considering whether to deepen the kiss, but he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.

You feel your heart race as his thumb traces a light line across your lip, and you both let out soft laughs to ease the tension, though neither of you moves far away from each other.

“Well, I’d say that’s pretty good,” Tyler says, his voice low, and the double meaning doesn’t escape you.

After a second, you step back, breaking the tension with a smile. “Let’s see if the rest of the meal lives up to that standard.”

You sit down together at your small dining table, a cozy space that feels perfect for the two of you. The pasta is simple, but delicious, and you both dig in, the conversation flowing effortlessly.

Tyler leans back, twirling his fork in the pasta. “So, be honest… was the sauce better than last time?” he asks with a grin, clearly referring to his past kitchen disasters.

You smirk and tilt your head. “It was way better. This time, I didn’t feel like I was risking my life.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I’m never living that down, am I?”

“Nope,” you say with a grin, taking another bite. The warmth between you isn’t just from the food—it’s from the way you feel sitting across from him, sharing something simple, yet meaningful.

The conversation meanders from lighthearted memories of the team to more personal things. Tyler shares a little about his week, and you talk about yours. Every now and then, he’ll throw in a joke that makes you laugh, and each time, his smile grows wider, like your laughter is exactly what he needed to hear.

At some point, the meal slows down, and the pauses between words become longer. But the silences aren’t awkward—they’re comfortable, filled with the sound of utensils against plates and the occasional soft smile exchanged between you both.

Tyler leans back in his chair, watching you for a moment before speaking. 

“This feels good,” he says quietly, almost to himself. His eyes linger on yours, and you know he’s talking about more than just the dinner.

You nod, your heart swelling with a quiet happiness. “Yeah,” you agree softly. “It does.”

With dinner finished and the dishes stacked in the sink, the atmosphere between you and Tyler has settled into something soft and warm, like an easy current pulling you both along. The quiet hum of the street outside your apartment window is a gentle backdrop as you both make your way to the couch, the leftovers tucked away and the weight of the evening hanging in the air like a comfortable blanket.

You grab a couple of throw pillows and settle into your usual corner of the couch, feeling the softness beneath you as Tyler sits next to you, his arm casually resting along the back. His presence feels different tonight—not distant, not guarded—just close. Like the space between you both has finally disappeared, leaving only a warmth that feels entirely new but somehow familiar.

“You know,” Tyler says, leaning back, “this is probably the most relaxed I’ve felt in a while.” He tilts his head toward you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Though that might be the carbs talking.”

You laugh, the sound light and effortless. “I guess a successful meal can do that.”

His eyes twinkle. “I told you I’d follow the recipe this time.”

There’s a pause, the kind where neither of you feels the need to fill it. The quiet hum of your living room lamp and the distant sounds of life beyond your apartment windows make the world feel small, like it's just the two of you in this cozy bubble. You pull your legs up underneath you, feeling the comfort of the moment settle in.

Tyler glances over at the TV remote sitting on the coffee table. “Movie?” he suggests, though there’s an undertone in his voice that says he’s just as content to keep talking, to keep soaking in this rare and quiet space you’ve found together.

“Yeah,” you nod, reaching for the remote. “Something light.”

As you scroll through your options, you feel Tyler shift closer to you, his knee gently brushing against yours. It’s subtle but enough to send a pleasant warmth coursing through you. You glance over and catch him looking at you, his expression soft, almost thoughtful, as though he’s savoring every second of this moment.

“You pick,” he says softly. “I’ll watch whatever you want.”

You smirk and raise an eyebrow. “Even if it’s a rom-com?”

He chuckles, leaning back. “Even if it’s a rom-com. I’m trying to earn brownie points here.”

You laugh, and before long, you settle on a movie—a lighthearted one neither of you has seen before. But as it begins to play, you find that you’re more aware of Tyler’s presence next to you than anything happening on the screen. 

His arm eventually slides down from the back of the couch, wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you gently into his side. The contact is natural, easy, like he’s done it a thousand times before. And maybe, in some alternate version of your life, he has.

For a while, neither of you speaks. You just sit there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the glow of the TV casting soft shadows around the room. At some point, your head naturally leans into his shoulder, and his fingers trace light, absentminded circles on your arm. You feel his steady breathing, his heart beating in rhythm with yours.

Tyler’s voice breaks the quiet after a while, soft and almost hesitant. You tilt your head slightly to look up at him. “I’m really glad I came tonight.”

His words are simple, but the weight of them lingers. You feel a swell of warmth in your chest, and you nod, a smile spreading across your face.

“Me too.”

He holds your gaze for a moment longer before pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. It’s tender, full of unspoken promises that neither of you are rushing to put into words just yet.

The movie drones on in the background, but for the rest of the night, the only thing that matters is the quiet, cozy space the two of you have built together—one that feels like it’s always been waiting for this moment.

As the credits roll on the movie, the soft hum of the television is the only sound in the room. You glance over at Tyler, who’s been quiet for the last few minutes, his arm still wrapped comfortably around you. The warmth of his body feels like an anchor, keeping you grounded in this perfect, simple moment.

Tyler shifts slightly, and with a gentle touch, he reaches up and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger there for a moment longer than necessary, his eyes searching yours. “You okay?” he asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’s afraid to disturb the peace you’ve found together.

You smile, a soft, genuine smile, and nod. “Yeah,” you whisper back, the word carrying more meaning than its simplicity suggests. Everything feels right in this moment—more right than anything has in a long time.

Tyler’s eyes flicker with something deeper as he leans in, brushing his lips gently against yours. The kiss is slow, tender, as if he’s savoring it, committing every second to memory. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and he asks again, quieter this time, “You sure?”

You look up into his eyes, feeling a rush of emotion well up inside you. You could pretend to be calm, but the truth is, this moment feels like a turning point, like everything you’ve been waiting for is finally within reach. “I don’t want you to leave,” you confess, your voice soft but filled with vulnerability. The words hang in the air, delicate and full of meaning.

Tyler pauses for a beat, his thumb brushing gently along your cheek. His gaze holds yours, as though he’s searching for any hint of uncertainty. “I can stay,” he says, his voice low and careful, “if you want me to.”

You feel your chest tighten at the tenderness in his words, and you nod, your heart racing. “I want you to stay,” you murmur, the vulnerability in your voice now mirrored by the warmth in his eyes. 

You smile, and without saying anything more, you take his hand, leading him down the short hallway to your bedroom. Once inside, the atmosphere shifts slightly—more intimate, more real. You reach for a pair of soft pajamas while Tyler tugs off his shirt, the sound of fabric falling to the floor barely registering as you change. When you turn around, you find him standing there, stripped down to his boxers, watching you with that same look in his eyes—like he’s seeing you for the first time.

You both climb into bed, the sheets cool and inviting. Tyler lies back, his arm automatically reaching out for you, an open invitation. Without hesitation, you curl up into his side, your head resting on his chest as his arm wraps around you, holding you close. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, a calming rhythm that makes you feel completely safe.

For a few moments, the two of you just lie there, the silence between you filled with the kind of comfort that doesn’t need words. But eventually, Tyler’s fingers start tracing lazy patterns on your back, and his voice breaks the quiet.

“This feels good,” he says softly, his breath warm against the top of your head.

You nod, your eyes half-closed, the weight of the day finally catching up with you. “It does,” you agree, your voice thick with sleep.

There’s a brief pause before Tyler speaks again, quieter this time. “I’ve missed you.” His fingers continue their gentle path along your back, his voice carrying the weight of everything unspoken between you.

You tilt your head slightly, just enough to look up at him. His expression is soft, and in the dim light of the room, you can see the tenderness in his eyes. “I’ve missed you too,” you admit, the words coming out in a sleepy murmur as you feel yourself beginning to drift off.

Tyler’s hand stills on your back, and you feel him press a gentle kiss to the top of your head, the warmth of his lips lingering against your skin. “Get some sleep,” he whispers, his voice barely audible now. “I’ll be right here.”

And with that, you let the last of your worries fade away. You’re safe, comfortable, wrapped up in Tyler’s arms. The world outside can wait—right now, all that matters is this moment, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you, and the warmth of his body next to yours.

Tyler stays awake for a few minutes longer, watching as your breathing evens out and your body relaxes against his. A small smile tugs at his lips as he presses another kiss to your forehead, his heart full. “Sweet dreams, beautiful,” he whispers, though he knows you’ve already fallen asleep. He closes his eyes then, pulling you even closer as he finally allows himself to drift off too, knowing that when morning comes, you’ll still be right there, next to him.

[zomboivex]

Do they like Mayonnaise?

A TKD headcanon shitpost.



Jin Kamurai - no. Don’t ever put that slop in his face again, peasant.

Tohma Ishibashi - if it’s on there he won’t complain but he doesn’t actively seek it out.

Kaito Fuji - mayo is great for many things. Especially when making various ‘sandwich salads’.

Lucas Errant - a little goes a long way

Alan Mido - is indifferent about it. Not sure why it would be a big deal.

Leo Kurosagi - spicy mayo is good. Regular? Add hot sauce too. But straight mayonnaise? Only weirdos eat straight mayonnaise.

Sho Haizano - you better not waste it and scrape it off.

Haru Sagara - he doesn’t have time to care. If it’s on cool. If not, cool!

Towa Otonashi - no! And it better not be on anything! Also it smells icky! No!!

Ren Shiranami - in small amounts, it’s fine. A good sandwich has mayo on it. But a thin layer.

Taiga Hoshibami - is it anomalous mayo? Then yes.

Romeo Lucci - fuck no. Fuck no.

Ritsu Shinjo - like all foods, it has its benefits in moderate portions.

Subaru Kagami - oh… you put mayo on the sandwich…? Oh. No. It’s fine. I’ll eat it.

Haku Kusanagi - it’s decent depending on what you’re using it for.

Zenji Kotodama - oh, how he misses the taste of food! Even mayo would be heavenly now!

Ed Hart - humans eat anything, don’t they?

Rui Mizuki - mayo has its purposes. And it’s an important component in different foods! Such as egg salad sandwiches!

Lyca Colt - either scrunch his nose in disgust but try it because humans eat it or he’d eat it in globs. No in between.

Yuri Isami - sparingly. But he’d rather eat clean.

Jiro Kirisaki - no. He maintains a mostly liquid diet.

[what-even-is-thiss]

Toast dried chilis like California chilis or something in the oven for like 3 minutes at like 350-400 F or something or until they’re fragrant then remove the pith and seeds and stems maybe leave some of the pith if you want it more spicy idk then pour some boiling water over them and let them soak in the hot water for 1-3 hours and then put them in a blender with the water you soaked them in then you’ve got a sauce pot right you put the blended chiles in there with some tomato sauce or paste and some water idk depends on how thick you want it and then you add a generous amount of cumin, oregano, garlic powder, salt, and pepper to it and simmer for like 10 min

You can freeze that in like 1 cup measurements in cups or bags or something. Makes for easier prep later.

Now what you do next is you get chicken thighs like enough for 3-4 people or more idk you might want leftovers, you cook the chicken in salted water or broth in a wide pan until they’re cooked through and then you shred the chicken with a fork and then you add the sauce and cook off almost all of the remaining liquid and then you make tacos out of that and it tastes really good

[iminyourwallsbabe]

Arcane Incorrect Quotes/As Stuff My Friends Have Said

Caitlyn: Come get your freak of a woman, she's doing things

Ekko: No, I let her out on purpose. She needs enrichment.

Vi: STOP I CANNOT BEND MY MORALS FOR LESBIAN COPS AGAIN

Loris: You drink like a white man in the throws of divorce and I respect it

Doctor: Hey can you roll for initiative

Viktor: Okay, 17

Doctor: Cool. You have aids now

Vi: Wow you're beautiful you're like a painting from the rain and sauce era

Caitlyn: I'm sorry, the what?

Vi: Yk, the ray of sorts. With the hands reaching and stuff. Rein a source

Caitlyn: Renaissance?????

Vi: I've had a considerable amount of vodka. Oopsies

Jinx: Straight?

Vi: Nah, gay

Jayce: That's my emotional support entity of questionable moral standing

Powder: I'm on my way to come be helpful

Powder: I almost fell down the stairs when I typed that

Lest, to Mel: DENIAL IS A RIVER IN EGYPT YOUR HUSBAND IS GAY

Jayce: Pro tip: If you doing any kind of performance and you hear a black woman go "it's okay baby!" just know you fucking up OD and it is not okay baby

Caitlyn: I don't care if the hexstrap fake I said nut in me!!

Ekko: When I hear a man bragging about his fancy house and I hit him with the "wow what does you wife do for a living?"

Jayce: How do you say "keep that same energy" professionally?

Mel: As we move forward from today, please remember the basis with which we held this conversation

Vi: If I don't get strapped soon I think I'm gonna die

Jinx: Helpful thread for deciding what to get *insert thread about guns*

Vi: Oh baby I was talking about lesbian sex... but this is helpful

Vi: If I had a dick I'd stack donuts on it

Jayce: If I had a pussy I'd let the homies hit

Viktor: You got an ass though so what's the hold up

Jayce: I hate when girls say "wow I didn't peg you as a gentleman" uh you haven't pegged me at all yet, get to it

Jayce: My girl look so good today I'm about to scream and moan and throw up

Vi: My girl is mad at me I hope I die

Ekko: My girl can wear whatever she wants because I'm scared of her

Mel: Been fucking this dude who is NOT CUTE LMAO but he is cool to hang out with and I be faking like I don't got me a little crush but I do. I like his lil ugly ass. He shot two people

Jinx: Y'all corny asf kissing under fireworks and shit, kiss under some gunshots if you real

Viktor: This man from the undercity gave me a pill for my headache and I haven't blinked in 6 hours... sir you are going to JAIL

Viktor, hours later: Y'all I just came out of the hospital it was crack

Silco: If I get cancelled and any of you say "I always knew he was weird" I'm beating your ass

Jinx, fighting with Vi: I'll whoop yo ass. Your girlfriend look like my mom

Sky: But it WAS gay, why should I have to apologize? I SAW gay, so I SAID gay. That ain't bullying, that's an astute observation!

Ambessa: Bitch dependency is no laughing matter, addiction to a bitch can fuck with your friends, your health, and scarily enough even your money