#flora with her HAIR DOWN???

[magicwhiskers29]

i needed to draw them again (Happy Flora Friday!)

[gh0stsp1d3r]

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ rafe x his calico critter obsessed gf

cw: none! all fluff (: my favorites have always been my lil deep sea Sylvanian family… so..

MASTERLIST

“Y/n! why the hell is your rabbit in my underwear?” He asked, holding up the little figurine, your little flora rabbit in his hands.

“Oh! I’ve been looking for that! Thanks, ray!” You beamed, ignoring his question. He huffed, throwing the animal on the bed next to you.

“How does it even end up there?” He mumbled to himself, putting on his pants with an eye-roll.

You held it in your hands, standing up to put her in her respective place on the shelf next to the others. You shrugged, “Well, maybe it’s like Toy Story.”

“… what?” He asked, pausing his rummaging in the closet to turn back and look at you.

“Yeah. You know, when we see them they’re just toys, and then when it’s night they come alive.” You spoke, sitting in front of your vanity, fixing your makeup and hair

“Right… and your dumbass little rabbit walks into my underwear drawer?”

“Hey! Don’t call her a dumbass.”

He shook his head with a small, amused smile on his face. He got out his suit jacket, pulling it over his shoulders. You stood next to him, leaning against him.

“So sorry, babe.” He retorted, you moving to help him tie his tie. He looked down at you, a soft smile on his face. He grabbed your face when you were done, pecking your lips.

He grabbed his briefcase off his bed, you sitting back down on the bed with a small pout on your lips. “Do you have to go?” You asked him, already knowing his answer.

“I’ll be back quick, baby.” He told you, putting on his shoes. “Just- like I said, go out and have fun with your friends or whatever.” He waved his hand, standing up again.

You stood up again, going over to him. You had a small smirk on your face as you pulled out your little shark clothed figurine, hiding it as you kissed him, his hands going to cup your face. You moved your hand, slipping it into his suit pocket square before moving your hand on his back, pulling him closer, his body molding into yours.

“Mm-mm- baby, baby, I gotta go.” He told you, pulling away for a moment, giving you one last kiss. “I love you!” He spoke while running down the stairs, looking down at the watch on his wrist.

“Love you too!”

Oh you are good, you thought as you heard the door shut.

And so, Rafe walks into the meeting with a little shark clothed creature in his pocket- it was comical. The whole meeting, people glanced at each other and he heard a few whispers while he spoke. Although confused, he ignored it.

It wasn’t until his receptionist spoke up, right when he was walking out the doors.

“Mr. Cameron, you do know you have… something.. right there… right?” She motioned to the spot on his chest, him knitting his eyebrows together with confusion.

“What?” He mumbled, looking down at his chest. The corners of his lips quirked up, a groan leaving his mouth as he pulled it out of his square pocket, examining it while rolling his eyebrows, tucking it back into his pockets.

Taglist:

@moonssyrup @koibleufish @anamiad00msday @wearemadeofstardust0

[rafescvntyclubgf]

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕨𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕃𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕤

𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warnings: older!rafe, age gap (college senior with rafe in his 30s), secret dating, angst, fighting, suspected cheating, name-calling, swearing, pet names, rafe grabs the reader’s face, spanking, spanking with a belt, bdsm, wet and messy, squirting, edging, multiple orgasms, threats, unprotected p in v, orgasm denial and control, rough sex, fingering, manhandling, soft!rafe at the end, praise, dirty talk, brat taming, teasing

📖 All of my asks got deleted 💕😭 so I'm not sure who requested this, but thank you! This was not a kinkmas ask, but I made it one 😋 The premise is that Professor!Rafe has been distant and now after cancelled plans you want to know what the hell is going on.

Masterlist

Reader’s POV:

The brisk December air bit your cheeks as you stepped out of your apartment and headed downtown. Christmas lights glowed warm along the street, but your mood was anything but light. You stuffed your hands into your pockets; your arm looped in your friend’s, head tilted on her shoulder as you suffered in silence.

All your finals were done, a long, relaxing break to look forward to, but all you could do was think about him…

For months, you had been navigating your whirlwind romance, secretly dating your Professor—sexy, intelligent, successful… And you had fallen hard against your better judgment. It was wrong… It was risky as hell… But it was real. Or, at least, you thought it was.

Lately, though, Rafe has been pulling away—canceled plans, vague apologies— his lingered gaze that you had gotten so used to fizzling away. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration. A night away, just the two of you, celebrating your completion of the semester and a week of rest and relaxation for the both of you.

He hadn’t even brought up winter break… Rafe wasn’t looking toward the future anymore. He was completely checked out.

But tonight was different… He canceled, and unlike before, you didn’t ask for an explanation. And to your disappointment, he didn’t give one either.

“Forget him,” you grumble, momentarily wallowing in self-pity.

“Forget who?” Your friend asks with a laugh as she squeezes your arm a little tighter.

You bite your lips, taking a shallow breath as you let those two words slip your lips. “This guy from my econ class,” you lie. “He blamed our B on me…” Another lie.

”Who complains about a B in college?” Your friend scoffs and laughs, tipping her head on yours. “Forget him? Fuck him…”

“Agreed,” you smile, the wavering in your tone making her raise an eyebrow, pressing again.

“Is that why you didn’t want to come out?” She asks as she softens her voice. You flutter your lashes, feeling the emotion you’ve been pushing down bubble up in your chest.

It’s not like anything has happened… Nothing has happened, as a matter of fact. He was giving you nothing, yet you felt his silence was speaking louder than any words could. And who could you talk to about it? No one.

“Babe?” She tries again as your friends walk across the bustling street, heading into the flooded downtown area.

“Just not feeling like myself lately…” Your voice floats away with the winter wind as you see Rafe open the door, holding it open for a woman to pass through.

He looks handsome in his fitted suit and black wool overcoat, his hair brushed back, giving you a glimpse of his perfect face and chiseled features.

Your friend coaxes you forward, but your body freezes in the middle of the sidewalk. You watch as Rafe and a beautiful woman in a powder pink dress fall out of sight, disappearing behind the doors of The Flora Room.

“Seriously, what’s going on with you?” She asks, shaking you playfully to get you out of your daze.

“Where do you guys wanna go?” One of the girls in your party calls out. You look around the little town square, seeing bar after bar, knowing it would be a tough sell to get your friends to sit down even for a single drink in there when they could buy three shitty drinks for the fee of one overpriced martini.

You watch your friends drift to one of the downtown sports bars, but you keep your feet grounded. Your friend reads the room, hanging back with you, following where you lead, her curiosity piqued.

“You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?” She mumbles from the corner of her lips as the two of you pass through the doors.

There’s no bouncer at the door; your shoes don’t stick to the ground with each step. Screaming, laughing, and a deep bass rumbling from the speakers are exchanged for light conversation and piano music. It’s rich and elegant, the polar opposite of what the two of you are used to on a typical night out.

“We’re just gonna sit at the bar,” you smile at the hostess, who extends a hand, ushering you back. Your eyes dance around the space, looking for Rafe and the women as you feel your anger and unease fester.

So busy you couldn’t see me, huh? You seethe as you position yourself just far enough away from him.

The situation is hard to read—a party? You look at the group he’s with; the lot of them dressed to the nines. Watching with your breath held as she laughs, his head tilting slightly as if the woman said something clever.

She looks sophisticated and expensive, her curves hugged in a dress that seems to have been made for her. She reaches out, squeezing Rafe's bicep as she chuckles again, making your stomach churn.

The bartender rests your martinis in front of you. You keep your eyes locked ahead; the tears in your eyes sparkle in the bar lighting. It's impossible to see without blinking, but you know the second you do, they’ll fall.

Your friend's hand rests on your thigh, and with that little bit of physical contact, your eyes shut. Tears roll down your cheeks and fall off your chin. She looks ahead, following where your attention was paid before looking back at you and back at him again. “Oh…” she breathes, before her eyes widen.

“Yeah,” you whimper, knowing she put two and two together. ”Just don’t-”

”I won’t say anything,” she assures before you can even finish, reaching over, blotting the tears off your cheeks with a bar napkin.

You reach in your purse, hands tightening around your phone, and without thinking, you open the text thread… The one where Rafe left you on read.

You: We’re done.

You watch as Rafe’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He adjusts slightly, looks at the lock screen, and sees the notification with your name on the front before stuffing it back in his pocket, not giving it any more attention.

Missed call after missed call; text after text… It only took a few blocks before Rafe finally pulled his phone out of his pocket and gave you the time of day.

You couldn’t help but give him a similar treatment, watching as all his attempts rolled in, you not making any effort at all. You look over your shoulder as you walk into your apartment; there are so many texts from Rafe that you know he can’t be far behind.

You pace your apartment, just waiting for the inevitable. Regardless of what that was or what that wasn’t, he’s been ignoring you. How simple would it have been to let you know where he was going and the real reason why he canceled?

That woman—who the fuck was that? A friend, I’m sure… But you couldn’t even fathom Rafe watching that all go down. He would feel the same fucking way, especially if you were giving him reasons to worry before.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

You hear Rafe’s heavy footsteps on the other side of the door, making your stomach sink, jarring you out of your thoughts.

“Baby,” Rafe’s familiar voice called from the other side. “What the hell is going on, huh? Open the door.”

Your fingers curl into fists by your sides, annoyed at how easily Rafe could demand your time. How he only seemed to care when you sent those three words. “Go away!” You shout, feeling goosebumps spread across your body.

“Not fucking happening,” his tone was firm—the frustration bled through his words. “Open the door.”

“No.”

“You kiddin’ me?” BANG. He bangs his fist against the door in frustration. You hear his voice soften as he gets closer to the door's seam. “What the fuck is going on?” He hisses.

“Why don’t you tell me,” you step a little closer as well.

“If I knew, I would apologize. Alright? I got nothin’ to hide from you-”

”Bullshit,” you cut him off. “Who was she, Rafe?”

“What?” He cries out as he jiggles the door handle rapidly, testing it and then testing it again. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“The women from the bar, Rafe. I was there.”

“Princess… What the hell?” He breathes. “You don’t understand, baby. C’mon.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly, Rafe,” you snap as you bang against the door yourself. “You’ve been ignoring me for days, you barely look at me anymore, you're canceling our plans, not telling me where the hell you’re going, and then I find you on the night we were supposed to actually spend some goddamn time together flirting with someone else. Yeah, Rafe. I understand. You’re a liar.”

Silence falls heavily outside the door. You furrow your eyebrows, looking through the peephole straight at your neighbor's door, your heart breaking when you don’t see him on the other side.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, making your heart leap.

Rafe: Have a great night, sweetheart.

“You’re joking me,” you huff as you push out into the hall, gasping as Rafe pushes you back in.

“I love you. But you’re being a fuckin’ brat,” he grunts as he lets the door clap shut behind him before dragging you a few steps to your room, slamming that door as well.

“You have five minutes to explain, Rafe,” you shout, “then I’m kicking you out.”

“Five minutes, sweetheart? After all this time? That’s generous of you.”

“Talk or leave,” you snarl before Rafe shoves you down on the bed, making you gasp again as he mounts you fast, his hand slapping against your mouth, holding it shut.

“Stop fucking testing me and listen. Alright?” You mumble underneath his trembling palm. “If I lift my hand, you’re gonna listen to me, do you understand?”

Your eyes narrow on his, and he cocks an eyebrow at you. “I’ll tape your mouth shut if you won’t listen to me. You know that, right?” He asks in a gentler tone, contrasting his dark words.

You roll your eyes, finding yourself getting more annoyed by the second. “The fuck has gotten into you, huh?” He asks as he looks down at you below him, wearing a new defiance you’ve never shown before.

He lifts his hand, and you huff out a breath, scowling as you look up at him. The older man looks back at you with the same disgusted look.

“What, Rafe?”

“There’s been a rumor circulating around the campus that a professor has been sleeping with a student… I’ve been dealing with that—I have not been avoiding you for any reason other than that. And that woman… That woman who could never be you, princess, is not who you think. Okay?”

“So, who is she, then?” Your glare softens slightly, the bite of your tongue still there. “Because you sure seemed like you were enjoying her company, Rafe.”

Rafe sighs deeply, dragging his hand through his hair as he steps off the bed. “She’s the new University President… That was the faculty Christmas party. I forgot to tell you because I was too caught up in all this shit.”

”You forgot?” You ask. Rafe is taken aback by your attitude, even after telling you everything.

“Yes. I forgot,” he answers, his tone sharp. “Because I’ve been trying to figure out how to protect us,” he chides as he gestures between you. “The scandal, the risks… You kept sayin’ everything was fine, so I wasn’t worried. I have never worried about you.”

You feel a slight guilt creep in, seeing him so vulnerable. You would be lying if you said you didn’t assure him everything was okay and that the two of you were fine. “Well, maybe if you’d told me, I wouldn’t have assumed the worst.”

“Assumed the worst?” Rafe’s scoffs, his frustration crystal clear. “You mean accusing me of cheating and ending things over a text? A text? Because that’s a rational response right there, sweetheart. Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?”

”You don’t get to turn this shit around on me, Rafe. You’ve been distant. When I told you I was “okay,” I wasn’t… Didn’t you notice a change between you and me? Couldn't you hear it in my voice that I clearly was not okay? You’re so distant. It’s like we’re not even together-”

“I’ve been distant because I’m dealing with this—this shit has real consequences, princess. This isn’t a fuckin’ game. If anyone finds out about us-”

“Then talk to me!” You yell over him as you step closer. “You’re acting like I’m irrational. I would have understood. All you had to do was tell me what’s going on!”

“And all you had to do was ask instead of throwing a fuckin’ tantrum,” he shoots back.

Your jaw drops, temper flaring even more. “A tantrum?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, his gaze unwavering. “A tantrum. You’re acting like a spoiled brat-”

”Fuck you,” you hiss. “Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

“What the hell?” He laughs at you weakly, looking back at you like you’ve gone completely mad. “Where’s my girl? What the fuck is happening?”

“Do you need help finding the door or what?”

His eyes widen; the man struck utterly silent. “Please tell me you haven't been feelin’ this way the whole time we’ve been together,” he asks, the exhaustion of the fight wearing on him as he looks back at you, shoulder slumped, breathing heavy.

“The last few weeks, yeah-”

“But not the whole time, right?” He asks, the tone of his voice letting you know you both know the answer.

“No… Not the whole time,” you mumble.

“Couldn’t have given me the benefit of the doubt, princess? I mean hell, sweetheart. You could have looked around the goddamn bar. What the hell would I be doin’ hanging out with your Econ teacher if I could be spendin’ the night with you? Why would I be rubbin’ shoulders with Dean Richardson— your Dean, by the way, unless I had to, huh? Don't you think I’d rather spend my night with you?”

You look back into his piercing blue eyes, your cheeks burning with a mix of shame and anger. You open your mouth to speak, but he steps toward you fast, standing above you as you sit on the edge of the bed. You squeak as he grips your cheeks in his big ringed hand, forcing your gaze.

“I love you, princess… But you need to grow up. Use your words. Stop jumpin’ to conclusions and start cuttin’ me some fuckin’ slack.” You mumble, but he pinches your cheeks even more. “Stop cuttin’ off before I can explain myself.” Rafe slots himself between your thighs, loosening his hold slightly.

“I…” You hesitate, taking a little breath as you look at him. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“No.” Rafe silences you as he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss on your lips. “Apologies are fine, but you need to listen. This isn’t some fling. This is real. And if we’re gonna make this shit work, you have to trust me. Even when it’s hard,” Rafe whispers, letting his lips graze against yours.

Your heart pounds in your chest, thighs drawing in slightly. “I trust you, baby,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe pulls away, his gaze softening more than before, but his frustration hasn’t completely faded from his beautiful blue eyes. “Then show me… Stop playin’ these games.”

“I wasn’t playing games,” you protest, but he cuts you off with a look that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand straight.

“You sent me a breakup text, then ignored me when I came here to fix it,” he chides. “I’m not some frat boy—not some college kid you can pull that shit with. Aight? And if you don’t think that little stunt you pulled is a game, I don’t know what is. Do you know how many times I called you?”

“I texted you too, and you ignored it,” you mumble as you look away, feeling the weight of his gaze as your face heats up.

“N’why do you think I had to do that, huh?” He adds condescendingly.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Knowing that answering a text from you, a mid-faculty party in the light of a scandal, probably wouldn’t have been Rafe’s best move.

“We’re done with this little back-and-forth bullshit. If you have a problem, tell me. And if I screw up, I’ll do the same.” You nod, looking at Rafe again as he cups your face, his rough thumb tracing your bottom lip.

“Rafe…” You pout.

“Yes, baby,” he responds gentler than before.

“Why aren’t you talkin’ about the future anymore? I know you wanted to take the heat off us but didn’t even ask what I’m doing for break. You didn’t even make plans with me-”

“Shh…” He shushes you as he looks down at you tiredly, about ready to lose his mind that you’re still challenging him in some way. “Take out my phone,” he mumbles. You lower your gaze slightly, reach into the pocket of his dress slacks, and pull out the device. “Your birthday, baby,” he hums his passcode. You unlock the phone, looking up at him again. “Open my email…”

You pull up Rafe’s Gmail and see the confirmation for the Four Seasons Resort and Residences in Vail, with your name attached to the reservation made a week ago.

“You drive me insane, you know that?” He murmurs as he grabs the phone off your hands, tossing it to the side.

“I’m sorry-”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“I mean it, Rafe. I-”

“You think you can sass me, throw a tantrum, and walk away without consequences?” He mumbles. “I think it’s time someone teaches you a lesson about being a brat, princess,” he whispers as his lips find your neck, licking and sucking your hot skin, making your pulse race.

Rafe’s loosened tie hangs from his neck, sweeping against your thighs as his teeth graze along your ear. You grab it, pulling him toward your lips, making him chuckle against yours.

“Got some shit you wanna say, sweetheart?” He laughs darkly.

“Maybe I like being a brat, Rafe,” you whisper, feeling him smile against your lips.

Rafe kisses you deeply, sucking off your bottom lip, taking it between his teeth, nipping with enough pinch to make you whimper into his open mouth. “Then I guess this is going to be a long night for you, princess,” he rasps as he grabs your tights between his fingers, ripping them open. You inhale sharply as he cups your pussy in his big hand, rubbing your sex over your wet panties.

“Fuck,” you whimper as he slaps your cunt, making your thighs draw in just for him to force them apart. He continues to tease you over your panties as he gathers your hair with his other hand, tugging it back.

“These last few weeks… Fuck, they’ve been frustrating, huh?” He asks as he pushes his big fingers into your entrance, the threshold of the wet cotton blocking him from going any deeper than a knuckle deep. “And you’re gonna misbehave? Make it harder on me? You know I could have just taken my frustration out on this pretty little pussy, baby,” he mumbles as he hooks his finger around your panties, pulling the fabric tight, making you whimper.

“Rafe, please-”

“We’re at the finish line. Two days away from a vacation that I’ve been plannin’ for weeks. That I was gonna surprise you with… and you’re actin’ like a fuckin’ brat? What’s that about, huh?” He asks as he paws off his tie, tosses it on the bed, and pops open the buttons of his shirt one by one.

You take in his gorgeous body as he exposes more skin—his broad chest and his cut abs, the deep ridges of his v-lines kissing the top of his pants. You bite your lip, stripping yourself of your tattered tights and clothes as he undoes his leather belt, releasing it with a crack before tossing it on the bed.

“Stand up,” he orders, and you do as your tummy flutters. “Turn around. Hands behind your back.” Rafe reaches for his tie, running it through his big fingers as he takes in your body. “Wrists, baby,” he mumbles against your neck as he stands close, his rock-hard cock pressing against your ass.

Rafe binds your wrists and grabs your hips, sitting down on the bed, guiding you to lay over his big thighs, your ass in the air. Rafe’s rough fingers drift up the back of your legs, making you tremble, your wetness already weeping from your aching hole.

He chuckles as he runs two thick fingers right through it, taking it between his lips, moaning around his digits. “Fuck, princess… You’re a problem aren't you? Gettin’ wet off this shit, huh? Like gettin’ yelled at and punished.”

“Yes,” you whimper.

“Yes, what, princess?” He groans as his hand comes down on your ass, making you cry out.

“Yes, sir,” you sniffle. “I like getting yelled at and punished.”

“Atta girl… Look at you. Already turnin’ that little attitude of yours around, huh?” He asks as he thrusts his fingers in your pussy, making you wail. He fucks them into you fast and hard, your warmth squelching lewdly.

You crane your neck, eyes widening as he goes for his leather belt. You struggle slightly, your natural reaction to move away, but his big arm wraps around you, holding you in place. “Think you’re gettin’ away from me?” He chuckles. “Not a fuckin’ chance.”

CRACK.

Rafe delivers a loud smack on your supple flesh. You let out a loud cry, feeling the sting and tears welling on your waterline.

“You had a lot to say before, baby,” he mocks as he drags the leather up the back of your thighs. “Where did my bratty little bitch go, huh?” He mumbles as he lands another hit, making the tears spill over.

Rafe tosses the belt to the ground, plunging his fingers into your slickness again, only to find that you’re even wetter than before. “Stop enjoyin’ this shit so much, pretty,” he breathes, his smug smile heard in your tone as he curls his fingers inside you.

“Yes, baby,” you moan as your head falls forward, feeling yourself about to cum around his big fingers. “Oh, Rafe.”

“Mmm… I should stop, shouldn’t I?” He asks as he continues his brutal pace.

“No… No, please,” you sniffle as you feel your body tighten around him, your peak approaching fast. You lift your ass in the air, following his fingers as he pulls them away gradually, yanking them out right before your body gives way. You gasp, breathing heavily as Rafe robs you of your orgasm, your heart banging in your chest.

“How do you think it felt gettin’ that text tonight, hmm?” He asks as he lifts you off his lap, shoving you on the bed—your chest on the mattress, and your feet on the floor. “The love of my life… The only thing-” CRACK. He spanks you yet again, making you scream. Rafe laughs mockingly into his next couple of words, “The only thing that has ever truly mattered to me,” he mumbles as he lowers himself to his knees. The warmth of his breathing hits your throbbing cunt. “Broke up with me… through a text message. Fuckin’ insane, right?”

His tongue plunges into your drooling hole, fingers swirling on top of your throbbing clit making your thighs tremble. Rafe sucks and tongue-fucks you like a god, taking you right to the edge of ecstasy again. Your muscles clench, fists balled up, rising on your tippy toes reeling, and right when you're about to break, he pulls away again.

“Rafe, please!” You sob.

He steps forward, the front of his muscular thighs flush with the back of yours. You whimper as he draws away just enough; his swollen head rubs through your drenched folds, teasing your clit, toying with your glossy hole ‘til you’re burying your face in your comforter.

"Beg for it, princess. C’mon…” He whispers as he taunts you with his tip.

“Please…” You beg, lips quivering with every breath. “Please… I’m begging you, daddy. M’sorry. I’m so fucking sorry,” you whimper. “I love you… I love you so—oh, fuck,” you cry as he sheathes his cock into your swollen cunt.

Rafe grabs the edge of his tie, knotted around your wrist, using it as a hold to fuck into you deeper, gliding into your greedy hole, your body quickly cumming around him, pussy flutter wildly, but he just keeps on going.

He yanks the tie, pulling it loose. He flips you to your back, looping your legs over his shoulder before plunging in again. Rafe brings his big body closer to yours, folding you in half, toned hips clapping against your body with each rough stroke.

“Didn’t ask for permission, princess. Creamin’ around my dick when I should be usin’ you like my personal fuck toy...” You follow his gaze, looking down at the place where you context the creamy ring of your arousal glistening around his thick base, the picture alone leaving you feeling like you could cum on sight. “You better ask… I know you're about to cum again. And if you do-”

“Rafe, I-” You grit your teeth, fighting back another orgasm you know he’ll deny.

“I’m not done talkin’. Fuck, have you learned nothing?” Hot tears roll down your cheeks, wetting the bed below as your body shakes. “If you cum without askin’, I'm gonna tape those pretty little lips of yours shut, grab that vibrator from your nightstand, and have you cummin’ ‘til you pass out.”

“Please. Please. Please,” you sob.

“Might do it anyways, princess. It’ll be good for you…”

“Rafe!”

“Cum for me, baby.”

You grab the edge of the bed, holding on tight as Rafe makes good on his words, taking his frustrations out on your tight cunt as you squirt around his length.

"There you go, fuckk. There's my girl,” he murmurs, smiling smugly, tilting in and kissing your forehead sweetly, his punishing strokes telling a different story entirely as he chases his climax, emptying himself in your fluttering cunt with one final thrust.

Rafe lowers your trembling legs, dragging back, but you grab his hips, pouting your lips and shaking your head ‘no.’ He smiles down at you, lowering himself to your lips, kissing you deeply.

“I’m sorry…” You whisper.

“Don’t be, baby. I never want you to think I don't care. Okay? I'm sorry… Should have let you know what was goin’ on. I should always be takin’ care of my girl,” he mumbles between gentle kisses. “You were right. Alright?” He whispers before kissing your forehead.

“I thought you didn't want to be with me anymore…”

“That’s crazy, baby. ‘Course I do. I was serious; you're the only thing that truly matters to me…”

You bite your lip, smiling into your kiss. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you, princess.”

tags: @rafesthroatbaby @littlelamy @kisses4angels @watchmerora @buckybarnessweetheart @anamiad00msday @namelesslosers @cades-outsider @romaescapes @starkeysprincess @oxpogues4lifexo @unrealmirrorball @sleepiibunniiii @gri959 @rafesgiirl @daryldixon83 @akobx @hyperfixationgirl @lhhlver @rrafeswhore @slut-4-gojo @blair-bears-blog @loveesiren @cameronwillow @rafegf-real @alphabetically-deranged @ariana2saucyy

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Okay but imagine sex pollen with Miguel fucking you on your back and then even when he cums he just keeps going and it’s spilling out and refractory period who and you’re overstimulated and he’s like no no you’re not allowed to tap out and he — and he —!!!!!

Sorry

MONA. You put me in a fucking MOOD LMFAO This is way longer than I intended. And its pure filth 🫣

Word Count: 2k+

NSFW below the cut.

Part 2

...

Earth 703- A post-apocalyptic world in which New York was nothing more than a ferocious jungle.

You stared off into the distance, the familiar city skyline overrun by wild flora and thick green vines sneaking in through broken windows and cracked concrete. 

“What the fuck.” You whispered to yourself, eyes now trained on the massive dragonfly that whizzed by you. Miguel grunted, punching a large finger over the screen of his watch.

The mission was supposed to be simple: Catch the anomaly—send them back to their own universe—go home. That’s it. No detours, no distractions. In and out.

“Are we close?” You questioned, pressing up against Miguel’s side at the sight of another massive insect, “I wanna get the hell outta here.”

“We just missed him.” He sucked his teeth. His mask disappeared in a flash of digital pixels to reveal his scowling face, narrowed red eyes and brows furrowed in frustration.

You’ve been wandering around the city for forty-five minutes, trekking through the godforsaken jungle with no luck. The anomaly, a Prowler from some random universe (you couldn’t remember, you weren’t paying attention at the meeting), was clever, quickwitted, and inconspicuous. You’d wished Miguel had chosen Jess for this one, but he’d refused. He’d used the excuse of her pregnancy but really, she’d already complained to you beforehand that the humidity would do her hair no favors. 

“What now?” You questioned, plopping down at the base of a bulky tree trunk a few feet away. The trees were so massive that the branches seemed to kiss the sky, monstrous green leaves blocking out most of the morning sunlight.

“Keep lookin’,” he huffed, running his fingers through his hair, “we’re getting close.”

“Miguel,” you whined, your head thumping back against the trunk, “you said that forty-five minutes ago.”

“Get up,” he demanded, shooting out a web of electric red to swiftly pull you toward him. You yelped, crossing the distance within seconds, crashing into Miguel's sturdy body.

“I hate when you do that.” Your words were muffled by his broad chest, peeling your sweaty cheek away from the synthetic material of his suit. The tiniest smile ghosted over his lips. 

“I know.” 

… 

You’d left Miguel on his own for a few minutes. 

You’d gotten distracted, swinging up into one of the treetops to observe one of the colorful parrots squawking in the distance. It’d looked just like the ones back home, except this one was enormous, probably bigger than a medium-sized dog. 

“Fuck!” You’d heard Miguel yell from down below, spitting out curses in Spanish, choking on the words as coughs racked his body. He’d been waving his hands in front of his face to clear his vision to no avail. You watched as his body reacted immediately to whatever it was that ailed him, his body hunching over as if in pain.

“Miguel!” You dropped to your feet in front of him and attempted to reach for him, but he recoiled, fearing your touch. 

“Stay back!” he wheezed, crouching down and holding his head in his hands.

“What’s wrong?”

“It hurts,” he groaned, his eyes screwed shut as his body trembled, his fingers weaving through his thick hair strands to violently tug from the root.

“Stop,” you scolded, getting on your knees in front of him to pry his hands away, “tell me what’s wrong so that I can help you.” You shoved him down by the shoulders so that he was sitting with his knees out, bringing a hand to his face and yanking it up by his chin. His eyes, normally a mahogany shade glowed a disturbing red, his pupils dilated. 

“Ran into a plant,” he forced the words from his throat, his skin gleaming with sweat, “s-some flower, I don’t know, some kind of pollen.” He groaned again, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Shit, ok, ok, ok, we can fix this,” you panicked, placing the back of your hand against his forehead. He was burning, skin blistering hot. “Where does it hurt.”

Miguel remained silent, breathing harshly through his nostrils as beads of sweat began to trickle down his face. He looked down between his legs and you followed his line of vision. Oh. OH.

His bulge was tenting through his suit, fighting against the restraints of the digital fabric. The area glimmered brightly before his cock burst through the pixels, flopping out and twitching with need.

Miguel was big. 

His cock stood tall and proud, bobbing against his stomach, the tip leaking a thin bead of precum that ran down his length. 

You stared for a moment, transfixed on the angry red tip before you found your voice. “Miguel—”

“You need to go,” he spat viciously, his fangs protruding as if to scare you away, “if you don't I’ll—” He stopped himself, lips pressed into a tight line as his chest began to heave. You could hear his heart rate accelerate with every passing second.

“Let me help you,” you whispered, your hand hovering over his cock. He looked away from you, his skin flushed from his cheekbones to the tips of his ears. “Miguel, please, let me help you.”

“I don’t want to force—”

“You’re not forcing me,” you breathed, letting the pad of your finger tap against his tip, smearing his precum over the surface. Your cunt throbbed, squeezing tight with an overwhelming desire to be filled. “I want to.” You cooed, your tone causing his eyes to flutter. 

Miguel grunted, grabbing your hand and placing it over his throbbing cock.

“Then help me.” He hissed.

…

You needed a new suit. Immediately.

Miguel had torn into it, ripping the seams apart from the crotch, all the way up to your neck, revealing your chest and glistening pussy. You had no time to complain, mewling when he spread your thighs apart with his large hands, his eyes trained on the heat between your legs before diving in to eat from you.

You squealed, your hands flying to his head as he kissed and licked and spit over your cunt, his nose pressing against your clit. His tongue dipped into your hole a few times before licking one long stripe up to your bundle of nerves, swirling his tongue around it before sucking it into his mouth.

Okay—you’ve had your pussy eaten before, but goddamn never like this, never like it was a matter of life or death, as if your pussy alone was the answer to all things.

Miguel continued his ministrations, releasing a growl every few moments, licking to oblivion until you thought his jaw would lock. 

He made you see stars, groaning loudly as you gushed into his mouth. He savored your tangy taste as he lapped at your wet folds, making sure to lick up every drop he could find. 

His mouth and chin were soaked in your juices when he came back up, and it shot a fresh wave of arousal through your veins. His hand reached out to cup your face, his thumb smearing over the traces of his cum dotting across your cheek when you’d sucked him off earlier, catching some of it in your mouth before he'd pulled out, wanting to paint your face with it at the last moment. 

He dipped his thumb into your mouth, forcing you to clean it as he slid his cock over your messy pussy, smearing the underside in your juices. His body shook with need, his eyes glazed and lidded, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he whimpered something about you being so wet.

He pulled out his thumb from your mouth with a pop and watched how you panted underneath him, your exposed skin now covered in a sheen of sweat.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, positioning your legs over his shoulders before draping himself over you, folding you in half, “I’m sorry if I’m not gentle.”

Gentle? You were a big girl, you didn’t need him to be—

You cried out as soon as he pressed his fat head into your tiny hole, forcing your pussy to open up for him as he pushed in deeper without giving you much time to adjust.

“Fuck,” you sobbed, your hands scrambling to grip his arms as he began to thrust his hips, dragging his cock in and out of you at a bruising pace. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Miguel began to babble, grunting when your cunt squeezed the life from him, the slick noises of your drenched pussy egging him on. 

Maybe…gentle would have been nice knowing now how big he was, but you understood the circumstances of the situation. This was meant to be anything but gentle.

He had you coming again, your back arching and your bare chest pressing against his clothed one before he filled you with his own spend, pushing it as deep as he could into you. He pulled out harshly causing you to moan, watching his cum leak from your swollen pussy before slapping his length over your folds a few times and dipping back in.

He fucked you harder this time until your pussy throbbed and burned from the size of him, filling you up with so much of his cum, and delighting in the way it dripped out of you. 

“Again.” He grunted, pushing his cock into your convulsing walls, slamming in deep as he licked and sucked on your nipples, leaving red love marks over your skin. You sobbed from the pleasure, feeling his weight push you into the ground.

“I can’t!” You cried, pushing weakly against his shoulders.

“You can and you will.” Miguel commanded. He couldn’t stop, barely giving you a minute to catch your breath after making you both cum again before sinking into your searing heat, stretching you beyond your limits.

You were lightheaded and spent, losing count of the number of orgasms he’d given you. Miguel growled, pulling out his cock from your abused hole and shooting his load over your body. He pressed it into your skin, smearing it over your breasts and tender nipples, down your abdomen, and finally, over your burning pussy. 

He paused, his eyes tracing over your fucked out form before reaching down to pump himself with the leftover cum in his hand.

“I’m sorry, Hermosa,” he whispered, draping himself over you again, “I can’t stop, you feel too good. So fucking tight.” He slurped your nipple into his hot mouth, sucking the taste of him from your skin as he pushed his large cock into you. 

Your eyes fluttered and you cried out, your fingers digging into the earth, focusing on nothing but Miguel's rich voice:

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m—

…

It was nightfall by the time Miguel was satiated.

You felt weak, eyes heavy with sleep and body limp. Miguel sat against a tree and had you cradled in his arms, your body nestled comfortably between his legs. He rested his head over yours, inhaling the scent of sweat and dirt trapped in your hair. 

“See that flower?” He muttered, pointing straight ahead at a few giant white daisies clustering around a tree. They were massive, like everything else in that universe, the stems taller than Miguel when he was standing at his full height. You nodded sleepily, ignoring the ache in your still exposed cunt. “Don’t go near it.”

“Got it.” You absentmindedly played with the frayed pieces of your suit, letting Miguel shield your exposed skin from the elements.

You probably should’ve left already, should’ve gone back to HQ for a much-needed shower and rest, probably schedule another meeting, but Miguel wouldn’t budge, his grip on you tightening whenever you so much as shifted against him.

“Quèdate quieta.” He grunted.

“Miguel,” you protested, “we have to go home. The anomaly—”

“I know, hermosa,” he murmured softly, “I know.” You never seen him this soft before, nor speak in such a gentle way, not with anyone and least of all, not with you.

You both sat there in silence, processing what happened while listening to the sounds of the jungle, the birds chirping in the distance, the leaves rustling in the gentle wind. You sighed, playing with his interlocked fingers over your stomach. It was strangely intimate (despite everything else that happened), having him coddle you. 

“Miguel?”

“Mm?” 

“You better get me a suit like yours.” 

“What’s wrong with the fabric ones from HQ?”

“It’s a waste if you’re just gonna rip it off again.” You heard him snort out a breath, just the tiniest thing that implied he understood your meaning. You were hoping this wouldn’t be the first nor last time you’d be under him. “We got a deal?” 

Miguel chuckled, his hand leaving the safety of your abdomen to venture down into your sopping-wet folds. You bit your lip, spreading your tired thighs, whimpering as his thick fingers swirled inside.

“Deal, Hermosa.”

...

Quèdate quieta- Keep still

[earthtooz]

you're the only one that can tame diluc's anger. reader is called 'lady' but other than that no pronouns are mentioned, fluff, diluc being a softie in this, 1.2k wc.

your husband is notorious for being the stoic, level-headed character that he is. unperturbed by all things so long as mondstadt was safe and at peace, and when the city had someone as diligent as diluc protecting it, there was virtually nothing that ever made him falter. as much as you love and adore his rationality and straightforwardness, there was nothing that you hated more than his unwillingness to compromise in an argument.

his bullheadedness caused you to storm out of the manor, trek through the expansive fields of the winery in order to reach mondstadt. there, you calmed yourself down with a quick bite from good hunter before heading to the library because a quick rant to lisa would generally soothe the anger you felt. 

however, your original plans of returning to the winery changed when a book that was recently returned caught your eye. noticing your fleeting glance, the electro-user recommends it, detailing its popularity and captivating storyline.

when lisa feels so passionate about something, how could you not be curious? she rarely gets a sentence out without a yawn nowadays so to hear her speak animatedly about a book is bound to get your attention.

without a second thought, you postpone your plans of returning home and find a comfortable couch to sit on before reading.

you must have spent longer than planned, and a favonius soldier barging through the library doors indicates as such, whose expression so panicked you would have thought there was a hillichurl invasion. he takes a quick scan of the room and relief floods his posture when his eyes land on you.

“lady y/n, you must come with me this instant,” the soldier demands after a quick salute.

“what is the issue?” you ask, undeniably curious.

“master diluc is searching for you and i fear that he is very angry. not even barbara can calm him, some of flora’s flowers have been singed, and he might burn down monstadt next, please come with me before it’s too late!”

you know that the soldier is merely exaggerating because as long as you were in mondstadt, diluc would never dare harm the city. moreover, he would never dare lay a finger on the city he loves, but his anger is nothing to take lightly, and you understand the knight’s fear.

although, you really don’t want to meet your husband.

“fine, i suppose i can classify this matter as urgent,” you sigh. “lisa, could you please let me borrow this book? i’ll return it in two weeks.”

“not a problem dear. better run along now before your husband supposedly burns down the city,” the librarian waves her hand, beckoning you to go, so you do.

the knight leads you to the whereabouts of angel’s share and before you could even turn the corner, you hear a mix of kaeya and diluc’s voices.

“i don’t know where y/n is, which is why i have my knights running around to find-” exclaims the calvary captain, beginning to sound perplexed at his brother’s uncharacteristic display of irrationality and franticness. 

observing the scene, you see your husband right in kaeya’s face and suddenly you understand why the knight who brought you here was so frightened. the air had risen significantly in temperature and if you were a moment too late, he actually might have drawn out his claymore.

his red eyes glance behind the navy-haired to see you and in the blink of an eye, the red-haired pushes past the knights before storming down the street, right towards you. 

“where have you been?” diluc asks, stopping only two feet before you. the deep frown on his face is evident of his displeasure, but the concern swimming in his eyes tell you that you don’t need to be scared.

“i was reading in the library,” you gesture to the book you were holding. “enjoying a peaceful afternoon until i got word that you were creating a ruckus.”

the winery owner visibly relaxes, tension flooding from his shoulders whilst a gloved hand runs through his hair, causing his bangs to fall messily in front of his eyes. “let’s talk about this at home,” he states, tone returning to normal as he takes your book from your hand, his vacant hand finding yours. diluc’s grip is tight and unrelenting, leaving no room for you to slip away as he turns to apologise to the knights of favonius.

then, the two of you leave through the main gates. 

“are you still upset?” your husband asks and you squeeze his hand.

“a little,” you murmur before a small laugh escapes your lips, “but i wish you would have seen how terrified that knight was when he found me. it entertained me quite a bit, guess a thank you is in order for that.”

diluc doesn’t say anything but the guilt dripping from him is practically tangible, pooling around your feet and reminding you of the unpleasant argument you had earlier. as the sun begins to dip below the horizon and the sky turns a calming shade of orange, you realise just how long you spent away from him. no wonder why he was so frantic about finding you. 

“the next time you storm out of the winery, can you at least let me know where you are going?”

you laugh at his proposition, unsure of how to respond but he stops. you’re forced to stop too when his unwavering grip makes you turn and look in the ruby eyes that set ablaze in the gold of the setting sun. diluc’s beauty is truly undeniable, and it’s moment like these that make you feel a little jealous that he was graced with such a gift. 

“i’m serious, y/n, you worried me to end when you didn’t return after three hours. i thought something might have happened to you.” his gaze falls downward with his soft confession. “your safety is the most important thing to me, even when things between us are rocky, because- well, you know…”

your heart tightens and the step you take closer to him is instinctual, letting go of his hand to hold his face instead. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to worry you.”

“no, you have nothing to apologise for, it was my fault for being so unbearable in the first place,” the red-haired shakes his head, his hands finding a home on your waist. “i’m sorry too.”

“i forgive you,” you hover a kiss over his nose, causing it to scrunch at the sensation. when you lean back, the softness in his eyes and smile is unmatched and you’re grateful that you’re the only one with the luxury of seeing him as such. the only person he’s let into his kingdom of concrete walls is you, gifting you a more vulnerable side of him that the rest of the world has not seen in years. 

“i love you,” you murmur and diluc hums, tapping your waist three times in response. “oh but diluc, you must tell me how worried you were over me, i think i deserve to know.” 

the red-haired rolls his eyes before dragging you down the hilly path back home. you are perhaps the only one in mondstadt who could perplex him to no end, but that is just another testament of the love he holds for you. 

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[djphantomlight]

Mom friend icons.

Flora icons

Like/reblog if you save or use

© @batgirlbarbg

[bruhstories]

Muse I

p.2 && p.3

summary: after futile attempts of producing paintings for the councillors of piltover, you finally find your muse. pairing: viktor x painter!reader warnings: suggestive content, strangers to friends-ish, angst, some swearing, afab!reader with she/her pronouns who wears skirts and dresses, somewhat canon divergent, particularly in part 2 w/c: 4k

a/n: this might be my magnum opus lol. it will come with a part 2. likes and reblogs are much appreciated and encouraged!

Paint dripped on the marble floor of your atelier — an unfortunate safety hazard that you were used to by now. You couldn't fill in the blank canvas with anything other than still life, despite being commissioned to paint portraits of every councillor, as well as a landscape of Piltover. But you lacked inspiration. Motivation. You had no muse, and councillor Salo definitely wasn't one, not with his snobbish attitude. 

"I'm afraid we'll have to postpone your portrait, Councillor." You excused yourself and left the room, armed with nothing but a sketchbook and a dull pencil.

Piltover was a beautiful city, and you knew you could paint it if you just found a nice spot to view it from. Somewhere high above, where you could see it in its entirety. But until you found that perfect place, you roamed the streets, closely observing the architecture, the flora, the fauna. You walked on grass — you weren't sure it was allowed — and found a fountain, clear water trickling down the granite curves and slopes. Whoever sculpted it did a brilliant job, despite the water eroding the stone. In fact, the erosion added a certain charm to it.

You took your sandals off and sat down on a patch of grass to sketch the fountain, steady, so as to not mess up your drawing, even if it was just a guideline for your future painting. It was then when you saw him — the most beautiful creature you ever laid eyes on. His unkempt chestnut brown hair framed his face in a way that made your heart flutter, but his striking amber eyes had you hooked. Even from such a distance you could see the yellow and orange hues mixing in his irises. 

Quickly flipping the page of your sketchbook, you began to draw him. Graphite slid up and down the parchment as your hand moved naturally, like it had a mind of its own. You sketched and shaded, not stopping until he did. Until another man joined him, effectively blocking your vision. No matter, your visual memory aided you in finishing the drawing, but you didn't stop there. You found your muse, and you needed to paint him.

Your nights grew restless as you juggled between painting Piltover, the councillors, and him. But he inspired you somehow, leaving only Councillor Medarda, half of the landscape, and his portrait unfinished. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get the colour of his eyes right, and it drove you mad. You couldn't remember exactly how much yellow you needed, or how much red. Was there a hint of green? Did you need to add a drop of blue? 

A soft knock on the door of your atelier startled you, and you opened it, greeting Councillor Medarda. You forgot she was due for her portrait, and invited her into your messy chamber.

"My apologies, Councillor, I didn't have the time to tidy up." 

"It's quite alright. I prefer this — the raw, unfiltered creativity. Besides, I've never met an artist that's organised." She smiled. "May I?"

"Of course." You nodded, bringing her more canvases and sketches to look at.

"You truly are gifted. The colours, the highlights, you must be a prodigy." The councillor nodded. "Is that-"

You snatched the paper from her hand, clutching it at your chest.

"Sorry, that one's... personal." 

"Funny. I thought I recognised that man." She pondered, and the gears in your head rotated. 

"If you do know him, could you introduce us?" You chewed on your lower lip, then left to show her another one of your paintings. "I just can't get his eyes right."

"Viktor." Councillor Medarda gasped at the sheer hard work you put into the portrait. "You weren't commissioned to do this."

"Like I said, it's personal. Practice." You swiftly corrected yourself. "Yes, good practice."

"I suppose I could take you to his lab. A fair warning — you might have to bring your supplies there, because he will never leave his work to pose for a painting." She scoffed. 

"I can figure something out."

Mel Medarda kept her promise after what seemed to be an eternity. Although you hadn't finished her portrait, you managed to paint a good chunk of it, laying down all the base colours and shapes. She would have to come back another day, however. You walked with her, closely trailing behind with a box full of paints, brushes and thick paper. You didn't bring his portrait with you yet, because you needed to assess him first, and you couldn’t paint anywhere else but your atelier. Sketching was different — that you could do anywhere, at any time. But painting was intimate. However, you were considering making an exception for him.

"Goor afternoon, Jayce." Councillor Medarda greeted a very cheerful, very lovestruck scientist. 

You could clearly see that he was doting on her, and she tried to hide her own excitement while maintaining a professional persona. It was cute to see a respectable scientist and a reputable councillor behave like teenagers — her hitched breath, his voice cracking, the quiver of her lip, the twinkle in his eyes — they were adorable. But you were here for someone else, not to witness their blooming love in a cold lab.

"Ahem." You cleared your throat inconspicuously, feigning a cough, and she remembered her promise.

"Jayce, this is Y/N. She's been commissioned to paint portraits of the councillors. Y/N, this is Jayce Talis, scholar, scientist, politician." Mel said, and you reached out your hand to shake Jayce's while propping the box in your hand with your knee.

"Nice to meet you, miss." His grip was firm around your fingers and palm. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The councillor stifled a chuckle, her thin, delicate fingers covering her mouth. As always, Jayce thought himself to be the centre of attention. He was the centre of her attention, that much was certain.

"She's here for Viktor. Have you seen him?"

"Viktor, yes." Jayce awkwardly rubbed the back of his head, then looked at the crate in your arms. "Do you need a hand?"

"Thank you, Mr. Talis, but these materials are quite precious to me. I'd rather hold them myself, if you don't mind." You gripped the box tighter. 

Jayce found it amusing how fond you were of your paintings supplies, something you had in common with Viktor. He, too, was possessive of his work, in an incredibly stubborn, annoying way.

"Very well. Follow me." The scientist said, and you and councillor Medarda walked down a corridor of marble and limestone.

In classic Piltover architecture, golden columns decorated the tall walls, with blue spheres embedded in them, contrasting the polished white floor. Whoever designed it had a keen eye for details, you thought. Jayce and Mel partook in small talk, but you didn't intrude. You much preferred memorising the way to the laboratory, the number of stairs, and the motifs on the walls.

Two wooden doors stood in front of you, intimidatingly tall. Jayce opened one of them, inviting you and councillor Medarda in first, like the gentleman he was. You were taken aback by the materials on the worktops, the tools, the lights, the runes. It was a lot to take in, and you wouldn't understand what you were taking in exactly. But behind the tables full of hammers, screwdrivers and wrenches was your muse. He was focused on something, brows furrowed and lips pursed. A tiny bead of sweat trickled down his temple, slowly reaching his jawline, and you instinctively licked your chapped lips. 

"Vik!" Jayce called out, but the man offered no response, still concentrating on whatever he was doing. "You'll have to excuse him. When he's working, he seems unable to hear."

You smiled — it was a trait you both shared. Whenever you immersed yourself in painting, you couldn't pay attention to your surroundings. 

"Viktor!" Jayce moved closer to the table, snapping his fingers in Viktor's face, until the man scoffed.

"Yes?" Voice laced with irritation, he finally looked up at Jayce, then behind him. "Oh."

"Viktor, this is Y/N. She's an artist." Mel's hand reached out, and with a nod, you stepped forward, placing the heavy crate on an empty chair.

"I'm terribly sorry to bother you, but I... well, how shall I put it?" You rummaged through the box and pulled out your first sketch of Viktor. "I would like to paint you."

He took the paper from your hand, amber eyes wide at the beauty of it. Viktor scanned the sketch and every detail that went into it, pale cheeks tinted pink.

"I understand if you find this awkward, or if you don't agree." You carried on, but there wasn't an ounce of emotion on his face.

"When did you do this?" Viktor asked, still staring at himself. It was like looking into a mirror, yet he couldn't recognise himself.

"A few days ago, by the fountain." You tried to guess his feelings, but he didn't let you see them. "Again, I understand you probably consider me strange for doing this, but I must paint you, sir."

"I'm flattered, miss. But perhaps Jayce would be a better candidate? You'll find he is much more appealing to the eye." He handed you back the sketch.

You glanced at Jayce, a look of disgust on your face that you tried to hide. Sure, he was objectively attractive, that you could agree on, but you didn't want that. You wanted him. You wanted your muse.

"I think it would be a great idea, Vik!" Jayce beamed at his partner. "You need a break."

"That is precisely what I don't need." Viktor rolled his eyes. "Besides, I don't want to leave my lab."

"I could do it here." You offered. "I won't talk, I won't disturb you, you won't even know I'm here."

"It's already crammed."

"Please." You leaned forward, palms slammed on his table, trying to get a better look at his eyes. You probably looked insane like that, but you didn't care — you were desperate. "If you don't like it, you can hide it, break it, burn it. It will be yours to do as you please."

Viktor was past the point of being irked. He was downright furious, but he had to shut you up somehow. And Jayce, who really needed to wipe the shit-eating grin off his face.

"Fine." He mentally scolded himself for agreeing to do something so stupid. Posing for a painting? Ridiculous. 

"Thank you so much. This means the world to me!" You picked up the crate to find an unused spot in the lab. 

Viktor didn't mind your presence. You were true to your word — quiet. You didn't ask questions, didn't walk around the lab, didn't make him sit in some egregious position. In fact, he was surprised to see just how focused you were on your paintings. The fact that he didn't pose made it difficult for you to do a portrait — the whole point of it was for your model to sit still. And he did, just with his back at you, slouched and avoidant.

And you weren't always there. Bouncing between your atelier and the lab, between sleepless nights and painting, your schedule had become hectic. The bags under your eyes and poorly buttoned shirts, the strands of hair that stuck out from your updo, or the lines of green and blue on your cheeks were a dead giveaway. 

But Viktor was the exact same, missing only the paint on his face and the skirt. You were like two peas in a pod, so much so that it drove Jayce up the walls to practically have two Viktors in the lab. Stubborn, hard-working, irritable, he found it ridiculous that you didn't become friends yet, or at least something more than strangers, considering how similar you were.

But you weren't strangers.

The act of transcribing one's mind, body and soul onto canvas, without losing any tiny detail in translation, was intimate in itself. You had to study Viktor, to memorise his gestures, his quirks — the way his forehead creased when he focused, how he found comfort in gripping the handle of his cane, the twinkle in his eyes when he had a brilliant idea. You didn't need words to understand him.

At first, he found it odd. Having an intruder in his lab, in the only place that brought him comfort, joy and privacy, felt violating. It definitely didn't help that you kept a close eye on him. He understood why — you needed to look at him to be able to paint him. But it was, naturally, strange. Then, he became used to you, to your shadow, your scent — of roses, cinnamon, a hint of vanilla. Viktor never grew tired of the smell of copper and smoke, but whenever you walked past him in the afternoon to set up your easel and paints and brushes, he took a very deep breath in, just to oxygenate his brain with your scent.

The utter silence in the laboratory frustrated Jayce. Since you trespassed with their consent, his partner became quieter, and you barely uttered a good morning or goodbye. He really hoped you being there would help Viktor socialise, but it did the opposite. The sound of graphite scraping on paper, or bristles on canvas was the only thing he heard in days. It was too much.

"I need a break." Jayce slammed a screwdriver on the table, startling you, but Viktor was unmoved by the sudden rattle. "Viktor?"

"I'm fine." His partner waved his hand dismissively. 

"Y/N?" 

You set the brush aside, then cracked your knuckles. It had been hours since you had a drink or food.

"I'll take a break. I can't be efficient if I burn out, and I still need to finish the landscape." You got up from the wooden stool to stretch.

Behind the cogs and tools, Viktor glanced at you, amber eyes fixated on your neck, trailing down your collarbone, and your half-exposed chest. He didn't know when you unbuttoned your collar, or when you bunched up your skirt, but the clothes looked like an uncomfortable confinement on you. Like they stopped your body from flowing naturally. He wondered — an intrusive, improper, shameful thought — if you sometimes painted naked. If you were more creative when not clothed. But he shook the thought away when you walked around his table to the small stove behind him.

"Would you like some tea, Mr. Scientist?"

Viktor had forgotten how sweet your voice was, like a siren lulling sailors to their demise. He nodded, back facing you. He didn't dare to look at you after picturing you nude.

"Where did you study?" Jayce asked, and you really wanted Viktor to make that sort of small talk with you.

"Ionia, the Academy of Arts." You stirred the honey in Viktor's cup of tea.

"Mel tells me you're quite talented." Jayce complimented you, and you should've thanked him. 

"Talent is nothing without hard work, Mr. Talis, as I'm sure you already knew, given your career."

Viktor smiled, even if you couldn't see him. He wholeheartedly agreed with you — even if both him and Jayce were geniuses in their fields, they wouldn't have accomplished anything without sheer hard work and dedication. 

"You need to stop calling us Mr. Talis and Mr. Scientist." Jayce chuckled. "You've been in our lab for weeks now. You're part of the team."

"I wouldn't say part of the team, but I do appreciate the company. I can be quite lonely in my atelier." You placed the Viktor's tea on his table.

He couldn't help but feel a slight jab from your words. He, too, was lonely when Jayce left. But he didn't make an effort not to be. Work was more important, and he hadn't yet found anything to prioritise more than that. Jayce pulled out his pocket watch, and froze.

"Shit, I must go. I'm late to my date- my meeting. Sorry, Vik. Be right back! "

"Eeh, we both know these meetings take some time." Viktor grinned.

It wasn't the first time the two of you were alone in the laboratory, but it always happened when you were both working. You, however, were taking a break, and you needed it before returning to your portrait. Sitting in complete silence, you sipped on your tea, brainstorming ideas for the title of your painting. Viktor's Portrait didn't have a nice ring to it.

"You never asked to see it." You spoke, fingers wrapped around the warm mug, interrupting him for the first time.

He didn't, because he only agreed to it to shut you and Jayce up. He was never curious to see it finished, let alone in progress. But after spending weeks in your presence, and after you said that, he couldn't deny the curiosity that bubbled in his chest. Still, by this point, he could wait a few more weeks.

"I don't have any inclinations towards the arts, Miss Painter." Viktor playfully mocked the way you called him Mr. Scientist for so long. "I doubt any feedback I give will be useful."

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. Why were there two wrenches on his table? And two cogs? Two cups of tea? No, he was seeing double, his head was pounding, ears ringing. Viktor reached out for his cane, but when he took one step, his legs wobbled, refusing to support him. You caught him, a firm grasp around his forearm, and pulled the nearest chair for him to sit down after setting aside your mug.

"I suppose I am in need of a break, too." The scientist sighed.

Lately he had been looking paler, thinner. His clothes didn't fit him like they used too, trousers loose around his waist, held only by a leather belt. You brought his cane before he even asked you for it, and dug into your bag for food. Unwrapping the muslin cloth, you offered him your lunch — bread, cheese and a few dried fruits. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. 

"Eat, please." You encouraged him, breaking the bread in small bites. 

"No, it's your food."

"And I'm giving it to you." The stern tone of your voice had him oblige. 

"I've wondered, Miss Painter-"

"Y/N." You corrected him.

"Right, Y/N. I've wondered why did you want to paint me?" He asked after swallowing the food. "I'm a broken scientist, surely you could do better with your models."

"I am doing better." You pulled a chair for yourself. "I haven't had any inspiration in a very long time, despite being commissioned to paint fairly simple things. But then I saw you, and everything changed. Like it or not, Viktor, you became my muse that day."

"Well, I'm flattered. Truly." He winced at the weight of his brace around his calf. "I need to take this off. Too tight." Viktor bent over but his vision blurred, forcing him to lean back in the chair.

"I'll do it."

"Please, I don't need pity. Just to rest." He scoffed.

"It's not pity, it's help."

"Help because you pity me." 

"Help because I want to help. Have you never experienced honesty from people?" You kneeled down between his legs to get a better look at his brace.

His jaw clenched at the sight of you like that. It has been too long since he touched someone, and although your intentions were pure, he could not block his sinful thoughts from tainting his mind. You were beautiful, clever, and you shouldn't waste your time with someone like him. Yet there you were, nimble fingers working the leather straps of his brace. You pulled it off, resting it against the table behind you.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" You looked up at him, and he drowned in your doe eyes.

Oh, there were plenty of things you could do for him, he just couldn't utter them, only imagine them.

"No, I'll just rest here if that's alright with you." Viktor nodded.

"Very well. I shall get back to my painting, but please, if you need any help, tell me."

When Jayce returned, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. You were meticulously combining colours, eyeballing the necessary amount you needed to create the shades you desired. Viktor was back at his table, brace around his leg and a chair closer to him. And it was quiet, normal.

Days of hard work proved fulfilling — you had finished the landscape of Piltover, handed the portraits to each councillor, and got paid. There were other requests that you received, but they could be postponed. You were so close to finishing Viktor's portrait, and you didn't need to do it in his lab anymore, only adding minor details.

But you couldn't just gift it unframed, and so you bought a simple wooden frame that you painted yourself to match the portrait. Purple and golden. You signed it and added something only the Academy of Arts in Ionia taught — a magical rune. Focusing your intentions in it, visualising the magic in the painting, you wrapped the canvas and took it to the laboratory. 

Jayce wasn't there, and you were so grateful for that, because you wanted Viktor to see it privately. You wanted to cherish that moment, just the two of you. Opening the tall wooden doors that you were so familiar with, you walked into the lab, portrait in your hands. Viktor was shocked to see you look so well put together — a dark green dress and heels that clicked with each step on the cold stone floor. He had seen you at your worst, face covered in paint and fingertips darkened by coal and graphite. But now he had the privilege to see you at your best, he thought. 

"It is done." The smile on your lips was contagious. 

His long fingers touched the twine knot around the canvas, almost afraid to untie it and look at the portrait, but your encouraging, eager eyes stopped him from hesitating. Viktor pulled on the string and unwrapped the paper, looking at himself. But he was different. His hair was longer, silver mixed in his brown locks. A purple cloak was wrapped around him, with golden adornments, and his cane was a staff, the handle circular and matching the golden in his outfit. The dark background was lightened by pale yellow shapes and lines, and his eyes were identical, the same amber hues he saw when he looked in a mirror.

"Have you thought of a name?" Viktor asked, still shook by how beautiful he was in that portrait.

"The Herald." You nodded.

The painting belonged in a museum, not in his bedroom to collect dust. He examined every detail, even the frame that was in harmony with him. Was that how you saw him? Like a god?

"I honestly don't know what to say. It's beautiful." Viktor's eyes narrowed down on the small rune in the corner of the canvas. "What is that?"

"Magic." You grinned. "At the Academy they taught us to weave magic into our art."

"Magic? What for?"

"Hopefully to help you get better."

"I'm afraid that is impossible, Miss Painter. But I do appreciate the thought." Viktor offered you a bittersweet smile. "How may I repay you?"

"By doing me the honour of modelling for me." You folded your arms across your chest.

"Didn't I just do that?" He snorted.

"No, you worked. I would like to study you more. Your features are unique, Viktor."

"That one I have never been called. Weak, broken, handicapped, but unique is a new one." Viktor sighed. "I think you've had enough fun, Miss Painter. I won't be an object of mockery."

You were stunned. Did he honestly think you were making fun of him? That you spent countless days and nights painting him just to ridicule him? That you lost sleep and hurt your fingers just to insult him? No. He was insulting you.

"Very well." You straightened your posture. He was not about to wound your pride. "Good luck with your work, Mr. Scientist."

[pseudowho]

Grandpapamin

(help me find the Nanami artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

When Nanami Kento becomes a grandfather...

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento thought the happiest day of his life was when he became a father...but then, his baby had a baby.

It was like love...squared.

He and you dutifully took care of your daughter's house while she was in labour. Kento pruned the plants, and baked, and paced, and paced, and paced.

While Kento knew in his heart his daughter was being well cared-for, he felt stunningly unable to protect her while she went through the biggest day of her life.

In the night, you woke, and your hand brushed out across the sheets for Kento...only to find him not there.

You creep through the house, and find him sat in the armchair by lamplight, his eyes glistening with tears as he goes through an old box, full of photographs of his baby, little onesies, a handprint in clay, a decoration she made at school, her first drawings and handwriting.

You sit with him, in front of the fire, warm and reminiscent, of those long-short years when your babies were babies.

"...she'll be alright?" He worries aloud.

"She'll be more than alright. She'll be amazing," you reassure, kissing his greying temples, stroking crow's feet.

You lead him back to bed, his hand dry, like soft warm leather, and you hold each other with the earnest familiarity of an aged love.

When Kento's phone rings at 7:37 in the morning, a time he never forgets, he is out of bed with a lithe hop, answering, desperate for news.

A sweet, swooping joy, an excited wake-up, an embrace and relief; his grandchild is born, and everyone is safe.

Kento has a grandson; his daughter is resplendent, pink-cheeked, exhausted and proud. Kento holds her close, shedding tears into her hair as she cradles his new grandson; "I'm so proud of you, darling. I always have been. You deserve him."

He drives his daughter and her partner home, knowing they are exhausted.

Kento and you never overstay your welcome; you ensure the new family is comfortable, give kisses and hasty reassurances that you are both just a phone call away, and go home.

Kento cannot stop jiggling his leg in delight on the way home. He is imagining all the wonderful things he wants to do with his new grandson.

Kento calls everyone-- Gojo, Yuuji, Ino, Higuruma. Everyone is delighted. Everyone secretly wants him to be their grandfather.

It is only when Kento and you have gone, that your partner opens the freezer-- "Oh my god!" They exclaim, laughing, "I think your dad has cooked enough to last us a month!" Kento has, obviously. He believes in being organised.

Kento spends the next few years of his life being a thoroughly naughty responsible grandfather.

Visiting Grandpapamin? Oh, only the finest will do.

While Kento always plans wonderful meals with you, his daughter turns her back for just one minute, and returns to find her son with a treat in his hand.

Kento pleads ignorance as he slides the biscuit tin back into the cupboard, a glint in his eye.

Wickedly good at hide and seek. Teaches his grandson all the tricks.

Takes his grandson down to the river, Kento in some waders, his grandson in shorts and rubber boots up to his knees, with little nets, glass jars on strings.

Kento has a reference book for everything; birds, fish, flowers, trees...he and his grandson catch minnows, his grandson splashing, holding his little round cheeks in joy.

Kento thinks his heart might burst, retaliating playfully when his grandson splashes him, giggling.

Kento's grandson is well-versed on the flora and fauna by the little river, by the time he is a grown man. All he wanted to inherit from his grandfather was the old reference books they pored over together.

His grandson inherits Kento's Cursed-sight too, a truth which Kento feels deeply responsible for, as he did when it passed down to his daughter. He fears for his grandson and the terrifying visions he will see in the world.

One day, you catch Kento teaching himself little magic tricks. He curses as he gets tangled in long colourful handkerchiefs; you laugh and blush as he pulls garish flowers out of his sleeve for you. He shows them to his grandson like he has known how to do magic his whole life.

After long sunny days in the garden and by the river, you often find Kento asleep with his snoozing grandson drooling on his chest. You take a photo, every single time, put a blanket over them and leave them in peace.

Kento, who tucks you under his arm on the sofa when they've all gone home, your evenings as intimate as they have always been.

Kento would rather his daughter didn't spend all of her hard-earned money on daycare. Instead, Grandpapamin arrives at her house at 7:30am sharp, ready to babysit ahead of the workday.

The days are silly, wholesome. Tears and tantrums are swiftly, calmly de-escalated. Kento can and will persuade and bribe at mealtimes.

Kento who is just disappointed when his grandson behaves badly-- and that is so much worse than angry.

Kento who takes such good care of his and your health, determined to spend as many healthy years with his family as possible. His old scars ache and creak though; he longs for the sun and sea.

The next year, his grandson is big enough to carry Kento's birthday cake to him, and Kento grumbles, pink-eared as he mulishly accepts a chorus of "Happy birthday". There is an envelope with the cake.

"What's this?" He grumbles again, shooting his daughter a chastising look, "I told you you didn't have to get me anything." She smiles at him, lovely brown eyes twinkling. Kento looks inside-- tickets. Flight tickets. He looks up in surprise, eyebrows raised.

"Kuantan?" He presses, excited despite his earlier chastisement.

"I thought we could all go. Together."

Though his blade hangs up on the wall, proud and displayed, at your insistence, Kento feels like he has been bestowed with the luck of the gods, to have dodged every bullet to get here.

His old scarred burns tingle and prickle, his eyepatch is old and worn, but his grandchildren never feared him; he is just Grandpapamin. He bakes. He takes them to the river. He teaches them how to whittle. He gives the best advice. He wears the softest cardigans.

Kento, who spends the golden years of his life with you, his world, the one who hung the stars.

[goldenstring6123]

Lnds: Flowers for the man

Author's note: Requested by Anon! this was interesting to write as I have no idea how to make it different for each character, hehe. I did my best though and I hope you guys like it! Warning: Lengthy read! 5k words! reader is not the mc but works as a hunter (in Xavier's part)

ZAYNE: Blue roses Mystery, aspiration & admiration

The city park was as beautiful as ever, clean and quiet, with only a few people walking about and doing their business. It was Monday, after all, and most people were at work. Meanwhile, you were able to snag a day off, which was pretty rare. 

It was too much of a nice day to spend alone, and luckily, a particular surgeon was also on his day off. 

You took a little bit more time walking towards your designated meeting area, enjoying the cool spring breeze as it brushed your hair from your shoulders. Off into the distance, you could see that tall silhouette standing by, looking at his phone, before pressing it against his ear. 

With a much quicker pace, you came closer. 

"Yvonne, it's my day off." Zayne sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose shortly after. "Yes, do tell him I'd appreciate it if he respected my decision," he paused. "Yes, I informed him, and I finished all my paperwork before I left last night."

From the tone of his voice, it seemed like Zayne was slowly transitioning into a sour mood. You looked around, almost instinctively looking for something to cheer him up.

Maybe there's a stall somewhere offering some sweet treats?

There were none in the vicinity. Except for the quaint flower store. Can flowers cheer up Dr. Zayne? It can certainly keep him company in the office until it wilts. You looked for a flower that suited the doctor. Perched atop a wooden display of colorful flora, hyacinths, cacti, snake plants, and… blue roses? That's unique! 

You made an effort to tiptoe to the inside of the store, keeping your eyes on Zayne, who failed to notice your presence and was still on his phone call, his sour mood amplifying his annoyance. 

The bell by the door emitted a wonderful chime to your ears, and from the counter emerged a beautiful lady wearing a cherry-colored apron. She smiled at the sight of you approaching.

"Hello, ma'am, how much for the blue flower in front?" you asked.  She named her price and took one out of the flower fridge, swiftly and professionally folding some colorful paper to wrap it around with. She finished off with the golden ribbon, tying the whole thing together. 

You peek out through the front window. Perfect timing! Zayne was no longer on his phone. His back was turned towards you, and you couldn't help but admire the broadness of his shoulders and the slimness of his waist in his dress shirt. 

In order to surprise him, you hurriedly ran to bury your face in the crook of his back. As expected, he flinched at the sensation before recognizing an arm that wrapped around his waist. "You're here." He was trying to turn around to look at you, but you stuck to his back like a mouse stuck to a glue trap. 

"Close your eyes first, Zayne," you chirped. He stopped moving.

"Is this one of your pranks again?"

"Oh, just do it! C'mon, please?" You cooed at him and buried your nose against his back once more, taking a sniff at the faint detergent scent. You could see his elbows shift and his face rise, lightly covering his eyes.  You let go and get on your knees as if you're proposing. With the singular blue rose raised up to him, you tell him to open his eyes. "You can look now, Dr. Zayne."

He slowly opened his eyes, seeing that you were not in his line of sight. He looked back and then forward again before looking down. Zayne's eyes were devoid of thought before slowly, a sheen of light coated his eyes, and the image of you kneeling and offering him a blue rose finally sank in. 

At that moment, his heart stopped beating, and his mind conjured up only a single thought. This woman enamors me beyond human comprehension. The park was quiet, with no one in sight—only the two of you on the trail, sandwiched by beautiful pink and green trees. Faintly, he could hear church bells ringing in the distance. 

"A blue rose for the coolest surgeon in Akso Hospital," you grinned. You got up and waited for him to take the rose; he did, but before you let him say anything, you pulled him by his collar and roughly placed a quick kiss before pulling an inch away and whispering, "And a devoted lover to the luckiest girl in Linkon City."

Everything became much more evident at that instant. Any doubts Zayne has on his mind, any insecurities, or any worries about the future. Everything dissipated like snow on a sunny day. Zayne's smile appeared as you pulled away. His gaze was turning softer, and his cheeks showed that tinted pinkish hue you always adored. 

The sight of his annoyed face became a distant memory. "Thank you; I'll put this on the vase on my desk in the hospital." Zayne placed a kiss on your forehead.

"You're welcome! You do your best to make my day, so I want to do so as well." Your fingers intertwined as you and your partner began to walk to wherever you were going. 

"You always make my day; I've told you that countless times." 

"Yeah, but a while ago, you looked like you were having a bad time with that phone call."

Both of you stopped in your tracks, and you barely saw his face in surprise. "You saw that? I apologize, that was…"

"There's nothing wrong about it, Zayne."

He lets out a sigh before reaching out for your palm. Without a word exchanged between you, his hands made gestures atop your palm, encompassing it with a cool breeze and glowing blue hue. For a brief moment, your palm turned icy cold until it lifted slightly. The image of a small blue, icy ring appeared on your palm. It had a small, beautiful flower as its focal point, and you couldn't help but marvel at its beauty. 

"This is my gift for the flower." He smiled, picking the ring up and sliding it onto your middle finger. 

"Dr. Zayne, are you proposing to me?!" you jokingly asked, exaggerating your tone to not make him feel pressured. 

He chuckled at your wide-eyed expression. "Not yet, but maybe in the near future," he mumbled. "You deserve a better ring than the one I made."

"Oh, so romantic, you're going to make me have heart problems."

"I certainly hope not." Zayne let out a hearty laugh at your joke. 

XAVIER: Daisies Innocence, New beginnings and cheerfulness

"Xavier?" you called out in the forest. Only the birds responded to your call. "Xavier, Nero said he was sorry!" you added.

Still, there no response. 

This wouldn't have happened had Nero been more careful.

It was summer, and unfortunately, the wanderers were at their peak, disturbing more provincial areas than usual. You and Xavier had to be dispatched on opposite sides of the city, reducing your time together. It had been exactly a month and a half since you and Xavier met face-to-face, and tomorrow should be the only time when you have matching leaves.

If only Nero didn't screw up the day-off schedule he submitted to Jenna. 

Well, you can understand Xavier's frustrations, and quite honestly, you predicted that he would at least complain, but to see him walk out? It was something.

The forest you were in was no stranger to you. This was the small buffer space between the city and the field where you and Xavier liked to hang out. It was once a decrepit land devoid of flora and fauna, yet it developed and managed to change into a beautiful flower field over time.  On the horizon, you can see that area; with it, you can see Xavier standing and staring at the blue sky.

Your heart ached at the sight. He looked lonely. 

You took a step closer, stepping on the patches of grass that led to his spot. It had been a while since you visited the field, and you couldn't help but reminisce about the calm mornings you'd spent with him here.  Xavier heard your footsteps and felt your presence but ultimately chose to stay in the same position, not sparing you a glance. After all, the look of silent anger still lingered on his face. Turning your back to him as well, you squat down to your knees, hugging them while fiddling with a white, singular daisy near your shoes. 

"Nero says he's sorry," you stated matter-of-factly.

"Of course he would," Xavier replied. He let out a sigh, easing out the tension in his back and shoulders. "I just… I was looking forward to our day off." He can't help but rub the back of his neck, absorbing the fact that he walked out rudely on his co-worker.

"I was too, Xavier," you replied back.   Silence.

"I missed you a lot." You picked the daisy flower and watched as one tiny petal fell onto the grass; it looked like a small cloud falling gently. "I know we call and text every day, but that isn't enough for me either, so I get why you're mad." Gentle, comforting words escaped your lips.

"I'm sorry you had to see me walk out," he whispered.

"There's nothing to be sorry about."

Another minute of silence; this time, something was yearning to be said, not by you but by Xavier.

"Things are dangerous for us hunters," Xavier began. "You never really know when you or someone else can die at the hands of wanderers." The image of the past flashed itself into his vision. A colleague is sitting up against a rock, bleeding and clutching the only picture he has of his wife and daughter. "And… it's frightening, even for me. I guess I'm lucky enough to work for the same company as you, but knowing what we need to go through daily, I just want to make the most of our time whenever possible." Because I don't want to regret not seeing you in case something happens.   His words didn't need a reply from you.    You twisted the flower's trunk, wrapping the stem's end towards the bottom of the flower. You weaved it together and slipped it on your finger. It nearly slid to the side because you made the loop too big. You took it off and knelt on the grass; hearing that crunch was satisfying. Xavier was still facing away from you even when you turned. 

You tugged on the hem of his shirt, and finally, he turned to you, looking down as you knelt on the grass on one knee. No words were exchanged between you at that moment; only the chirping of birds filled the silence in the air. Your hand gently took his own, and he stared promptly. 

The daisy looked even more beautiful the moment you slid it onto his ring finger. It looked bright and wonderful against his long and slender fingers. You kissed his hand gently,  like kissing an infant. Your lips brushed against his knuckles like silk gliding against his skin. 

You finally looked at him as well, and you could immediately catch the redness of his ears. "Cheer up, Xavier." You cooed at him. "There's no way of telling when we're going to last see each other, and hopefully we don't ever go through that." 

Xavier helped you get on your feet and took a small step closer to you. "So, let's spend every moment we can together, even just 30 minutes during our lunch times. Besides, we're just busy because it's the summer. Any other season, we're good to go."

"Yeah, you're right," he replied, intertwining your fingers together with ease. He wrapped his other hand around you and nudged you for a hug, which you happily gave him. Unknowingly, he looked at the hand with the flower ring, a smile creeping up his face. 

At that moment, all his anger had subsided, and the memory of you sliding on the ring was the only thought that occupied his head. Xavier likes giving you flowers, and you know he likes being given food, but this little, simple gift felt more special than anything else. 

His heart thumped against his chest very loudly, and you could only chuckle, finally clinging to his neck. You kissed his jaw and buried your face at the crook of his neck, letting out a breath you unconsciously held in. It was nice to know that Xavier was no longer angry. 

"I love you," you told the wind.

"I love you too." Xavier's embrace made your heart overflow with happiness, and even with that simple gesture, it was more than evident that you were captivated with each other in more ways than one. 

RAFAYEL: Hydragreas Gratitude, understanding & heartfelt emotions

'Do me a favor, please,' Thomas pleaded. 'Rafayel has been in a foul mood since yesterday, and I don't know why, but he has an upcoming exhibition next Tuesday. He says he doesn't want to come. It's really important and could cost him his career and mine.' 

Those were the poor words of Thomas, who called you yesterday at 12 in the morning. You can't remember exactly why Rafayel was in a bad mood, but you were certainly sure that you agreed to help everyone just so you could go back to sleep. 

You can't help but let out a sigh. It was already hard enough to ask Rafayel on a date with his moodiness, but you managed to get him to meet you at the park. He was against it at first, making excuses like he was out on a trip or doing a painting, but with a bit more perseverance, you managed to let him say yes.

Now, the next problem is: How do you cheer up a grumpy boyfriend?  A kiss wouldn't be enough, that's for sure. It's too early to coax him with special methods. He doesn't really like sweets, and he's super sensitive when he's mad; you can't make fun of him. 

Your boots clacked rhythmically on the pavement, your eyes wandering about for inspiration or a clue on how you could brighten Rafayel's day. What's something that can make him blush? That's certainly one way of getting rid of his anger. 

Something unexpected. Something you haven't really given to him yet. 

Something fragrant.

Colorful

Something from the shop directly beside you. "Bloomscape" is the small wooden signage displayed. A beautiful, tall plant crept up the brick corners of the single-floor structure. A stair-like display rack carried baskets of different green grasses and arranged bouquets. 

A light bulb popped over your head. 

You made your way inside the quaint shop. You explored your options, admiring the wonderful displays of the plants. The colors were so vibrant and beautiful, similar to the paints that Rafayel would use in his works.  There was one bouquet that caught your eye the most. It looked like an arrangement for a wedding, dawning a light blue hue mixed with white roses and round leaves. He would like this. You could imagine him smelling the thing. 

"I'll take one of those," fingers pointed at the arrangement. The lady nodded and took the best one off of the display, placing it in a paper bag for you. You hummed as you left the little shop, eager to show the flowers to your boyfriend. 

Rafayel sat on a lonesome bench hidden from the main pathway of the park. You've seen him once or twice there, so it wasn't really much of a surprise when he was there now. According to him, he liked that seat because it was under a tree and away from people. He could think and bask in silence at that particular spot. 

You lowered your stance as you came to approach him. Carefully avoiding the sticks to not make a sound. You placed the paper bag down on the ground and carefully snaked both of your arms around his waist. He flinched at an unexpected sensation, wanting to turn his head, but you didn't let him by lowering your head to his shoulders.

"Hello!" you chided. 

"Did you really have to sneak up on me like that?" Rafayel sounded a tad bit annoyed. 

"I do," you replied back. "Close your eyes." 

"Close my eyes? Why?" Rafayel raised an eyebrow. You can't help but intently stare at him. He stared back, the wrinkle on his eyebrows disappearing. "Alright, fine, but I'm leaving if there's anything that involves cats." Rafeyel closed his eyes.

"No peeking!" You hopped over the bench as you would over a barricade and took out the flower from the bag, immediately getting on your knees. You straightened your back and held the bouquet properly, stretching it closer to his face. 

"Open," you ordered. He squinted and looked down at the blue and white glow of the flowers before letting his eyes go wide. He blinks once and then repeatedly. His hands wrapped around my own, and he finally held onto it, somewhat perplexed. 

"Did you, did you just…" He scoffed, looking away before looking back at you with a betrayed face. "Did you just propose to me? Wasn't I the one who was supposed to do that? Are we switching gender roles now?" His expression was undoubtedly something, but you were 100% sure it was not anger. 

Not when his ears were as red as a tomato. Rafayel was simply bluffing. I guess this guy has a hard time saying thank you when he's flustered. 

"I would if I gave you a ring," you mumbled. You dusted off your knees and slipped both of your palms into his jaws, urging him to look up at me. Rafayel's eyes were bright underneath the dispersed light of the trees. "I heard from Thomas that you were in a bad mood, so I wanted to cheer you up."

"Thomas, that snitch." He pouted and furrowed his eyebrows. "I'll get back at him when I see him in his office!" 

"You can't blame a guy who wants you happy." I squish his cheeks and plant a kiss on his puckered lips. "He knows you were in a bad mood; cut him some slack." Rafayel's frown quickly dissipated into nothingness, and he voluntarily turned his head to the side and then pressed it against my stomach. 

Were you cheering him up? You honestly weren't so sure, but Rafayel looked like he needed that gift to brighten his day.

"I wanted to cheer you up in a new way, so I got you flowers. Do you like them? They're the prettiest in the whole shop." 

"Yes, they're very pretty," Rafayel mumbled again, his ears turning slightly pinkish. You were caught off guard when he turned his head up to look at you, again frowning. "But I'm more pretty than these flowers, right?" His eyes were staring deep into yours, impatiently waiting for that sweet yes from those lips. 

There it was—a perfect opportunity to coax him. "You can be if you give me a smile."

He looked at you like he was being deceived, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting like he normally would. "So you're saying I'm ugly when I don't smile? That's a mean thing to say coming from my girlfriend!"

A breeze blew past you two, sweeping your soft hair to your cheeks. You laughed at your boyfriend's endearing childishness, recalling why you really love to poke fun at Rafayel sometimes. "You're the prettiest fish in the sea, Rafayel. The most wonderful flower in the garden, the cutest cat in Linkon City—"

"Cat?!"

You purposefully hook your index finger underneath his chin and say, "And the most handsome boyfriend of mine." Before letting him say anything, you took the opportunity to peck him on the lips to shut him up for the time being. You leaned back to study his oh-so-beautiful face. Off of a peck, he was already intoxicated. How adorable. "As of now, at least." You stuck your tongue out to mock him.

"I'll pretend that I didn't hear that." He wrapped a hand around your waist and pulled you closer to his lap, finally kissing you deeper. "Thank you for the flowers; I appreciate it."

That's a job well done for you. You deserved a treat for making your boyfriend happy.

"Alright, now that you're no longer mad, let's go to a restaurant. They serve the best shrimp pasta and fermented wine." With an outstretched hand, you waited for him to take it. Rafayel chuckled and sniffed the bouquet, locking his fingers with yours and swaying it forward and backward.

SYLUS: Black Dahlias Sadness and betrayal or Grace beneath pressure

The warm evening breeze was a wonderful sensation against your chilly cheeks and nose. It had been a while since fall had started, and the city was basked in a warm hue of orange and yellow leaves.

You can't help but shiver in your scarf. Maybe you should've worn more layers. 

It was rare for Sylus to ask you to meet in broad daylight. Knowing him, he'd usually be at work during the afternoons and evenings, and he frequently worked in the N109 zone rather than in Linkon City. 

'I have some business in Linkon City today; let's meet in the afternoon.' 

"Wow, so you won't even ask if I'm free?"

'I know your schedule is free, sweetie; our calendars are synced.'

'Plus, you owe me another date for sleeping in on me last time.'

'hehe, alright. I'll meet you at the park. By the fountain? '

'by the fountain.'

It was rare to see the park so empty. Usually, at a time like this, the park should be filled with children running about with their pets and families running amok in the dull grassy field. 

There was a magazine stand at the corner where you and Sylus would meet. While you were a few meters away, you could see him reading a newspaper and conversing with the old stall owner, who was reading the same material. You can't hear their conversation, but Sylus was certainly not happy. 

You could recognize that frown anywhere, especially those knitted eyebrows. Uh-oh. 

It's been a while since you've last seen that face, and of all times, it's reappearing now. A moody syllable is someone who's a bit hard to cheer up, and you don't want to waste the evening trying to do so. What can you do to cheer him up?

A small wind chime caught your attention. You turned to your left and saw a cute but lonesome little flower shop and a couple exiting holding a bouquet of flowers. The arrangements were undoubtedly pretty, especially under the warm pixie lights, yet none of the flowers really suited Sylus. In fact, Sylus and Flowers really don't seem to belong with each other, but maybe that's why you were enticed to buy him one in the hopes of cheering up his mood. 

You entered the store, and the lady greeted you with a hello.

"Good evening. Do you have a flower that looks—?" Your thoughts wandered for a split second, reveling at the fact that you were unprepared for this conversation. "—cool?"

"Cool?" The flower lady tilted her head in confusion, much like yourself. "Like a cold flower? Or a blue-colored plant?"

"Oh, no, no." You scratched the back of your head and went a little closer. "A flower that suits an image of a cool, mysterious person." Unsure of how helpful that would be, you stared at the lady in anticipation, hoping that she would get what you meant.

"Hm, we have peonies." She gestured to various peonies of different colors, ranging from pink to a dark maroon shade. The dark-colored flower is certainly pretty, but it doesn't look suitable for Sylus. You shook your head.

"Anything else?"

"How about…" She disappeared into the back room and brought out a small bucket full of beautiful black flowers. "These? Black Dhalias; they're freshly delivered." You can't help but stare at the flowers. The image of the flowers on his nightside table popped into your head. It looked just about right. 

"I'll take four of these, please."

The lady arranged it for you beautifully and even gave you a discount. Before you left, she gave you a wave of goodbye. You were suddenly hit once more by the cold autumn air and the dimming lights of the sky. The lamps were now turned on, illuminating the park beautifully. 

You sneaked around the corner and saw Sylus gone, yet he was sitting on a bench, reading a different magazine. A pink magazine hat looks uncanny in his grasp. You tiptoed to the back of the bench and squeezed the flowers in between your thighs. You gently covered his eyes. 

"Hah, brave of you to attack me from behind, Sweetie." His voice let out a melodious chuckle at your actions. 

"I'm sorry for keeping you waiting; I had to pick something up from nearby." You still kept your hands over his eyes. "It's my gift for you."

"Is it a gun? Did you manage to steal a gun from your company's armory and give it to me?"

"That would be a crime, Sylus, and no, it's not a gun; it's something you wouldn't receive from any other girl except for me. Take a guess."

Sylus was bemused by what you said. He's received many things in his life and is not short of a single object. His fingers closed the pink date spot magazine and chucked it to the side before crossing his legs.

"A kiss?"

"I give you that practically every day!"

"Is it another plushie?" "No..try again."

"Your Lingerie—"

"SYLUS!" you shrieked, stopping him from finishing his words. "You're bad at guessing; you know what? Just keep your eyes closed." You carefully peel your hands away from his eyes. Sylus didn't move an inch.

"Are they closed?"

"My eyes are perfectly closed. I can't see a thing, sweetie."

While he sat on the bench, you made your way around him and got on your knees. The bouquet rustled in your clasp, making Sylus shift slightly in his seat. You held the flowers up to him, and their wafting scent gave him a cue to open his eyes. 

"I got you flowers. As an apology for being late and sleeping on our last date," you let out a goofy grin while waiting for Sylus to grab the gift from your palms. He grabbed it and placed it in his own arms. 

For a minute, he stared at the flowers in disbelief. You were right: It was a gift he never received from any other girl. Sylus thought that the first and last time he would receive a flower was on his deathbed, which was practically never. Still, here he is, sitting in a park on a random evening, his lover overtaking him with a flower like she was about to ask for his hand in marriage. 

A genuinely baffling sight, even for the leader of Onychinus.

He was certainly the type to dislike flowers, especially the vibrant ones, but the black dahlias you gave him suits him well. The scene was also beautiful and would most definitely fit on the vase he has in his office.  Absent-mindedly, Sylus stood up, which caught you off guard. For the first time, you couldn't comprehend the expression on his face. He certainly wasn't angry, nor did he look disgusted, but he wasn't happy either. 

"I'm giving you five seconds to run, sweetie," he said. You froze at his words, bewildered. Was he not happy with the flowers?! Did he not like them?! 

"Five." He started counting.

It was like all hell broke loose at that instant. Before anything else could happen, you got up, disregarding the dirt on your knees, and ran towards the city. You dug your own grave when you gave him the flowers. With all the speed you can muster, you manage to get to the street where the city is. You crossed the road and turned back, seeing Sylus chasing you among the throngs of people. 

What the heck is wrong with him?! He doesn't seem particularly mad, but what did he really work up over the flowers?

You turned into an alleyway in between two random shops. Your lungs burned from the lack of oxygen, and you just needed to stop for a bit. The brick wall of the store pressed against your coat, and puffs of smoke escaped from your mouth as you wheezed in silence. 

"Where is he?" you mumbled. You peeked out of the alley only to sense that ever-familiar, spine-chilling breeze when he teleported. In a blink of an eye, you were yanked deeper into the dim area, Sylus pushing you against the cold and damp wall. 

"I caught you," he stated, blocking any way for you to exit.

You balled your fist and aimed for his gut, lightly jabbing it. "What the heck?!" Relief washed over you like a tide when you saw the gentle smile on his face. The fear of his wrath disappeared rather quickly, which made your muscles relax. "I thought you were going to kill me!"

He kept his lips shut. Under the dark shadow of the alleyway, you could still see the vibrant red glow of his eyes. Quietly, you leaned forward, letting your chest press against his own, and your feet raised you the highest they could. He was a tall man, and it was hard to reach his lips, so with one hand, you yanked his turtleneck, and with your other hand, you wrapped it around his neck. 

He resisted first and let him laugh through his nose. Softly, your lips pressed against his own, and you patiently waited for him to return the gesture; he did, albeit rougher and hungrier. You didn't know how it happened, but the next moment, his tongue was inside your mouth, exploring every crevice and getting that sweet and flavorful taste like a deprived man. 

Your body burned at the sensation; erotic sounds were escaping from both of your lips. His hand rested on the dip of your back, holding you closer to him. To Sylus, you weighed nothing more than a weighted blanket; moreover, you were warm to the touch, which he found soothing.  "Why did you make me run?"

"Because I know you'll find a place to hide from me," Sylus said, tucking stray hair behind your ear. "And I get to kiss you out in public."

"You…know you could've just kissed me in the park, right?"

"So you want to let people see us all hot and bothered?" You could see his eyebrow arch. 

"Fair point. Kiss me again," you demanded. "I need compensation for that flower."

Sylus let out a laugh. "What kind of person demands compensation for a gift? You're certainly the only one who does that, sweetie." Again, he pushed himself closer to your face and pulled on your back. "But I'll happily oblige." 

Amidst the noise of the busy streets in autumn, hidden from the blaring lights of the vibrant city, you and Sylus remain hidden in your own little alleyway, holding each other like teenagers in love at the peak of their youth. 

'What a beautiful season,' you thought.    

Author footnotes: I'm trying to go back to a story-telling format. It's been a while since I've done that! Layout by me, using canva premium | Do not repost |

[foreingersgod]

You (on my arm) . CH

pairing: caroline harvey x reader

synopsis: cute moments with kk throughout your relationship!

A/N: this came out kinda shitty, but i promise i’ll have better kk content coming haha

I wanna sit around and watch you do your hair

“you’re so pretty,” caroline sounded from the doorway of the bathroom “d’you know that?”

it was nearing 6:30 am on a friday morning. you hated getting up early with every fiber of your being, wanting to stay wrapped in caroline’s arms for as long as you could. but today, she had an away game, causing the both of you to pack an overnight bag and make an excruciatingly long drive.

you quite honestly looked a mess, dressed in your comfy clothes and your face decorated with the smallest amount of makeup. your hair was a disaster as you brushed it out, trying to style it in a somewhat presentable manner.

“shut up,” you laughed, looking at her through the mirror. she looked so good, also in her lazy day clothes as she leaned against the frame of the entry way, arms folded across her chest. she looked you up and down, smiling adoringly “i look like a disaster”

“not to me,” she came up behind you, moving stray hairs away from you neck so she could rest her chin on your shoulder. her hands planted themselves on your waist “you look gorgeous no matter what”

you turned your head, planting a kiss to her temple, humming against her skin. she sighed as she gave a gentle rub to your hip.

“love you” she mumbled, voice muffled by your sweatshirt.

“love you more” you confessed to her like you had a thousand times before. she was your person, your everything.

Talk it all into the ground

Have a ceremony there for something, don't know what it'd be

you were sprawled across the grassy meadow, long green blades standing tall, surrounding your body. your sundress rode up your thighs a bit, sneakers kicked off somewhere next to you. your arm was outstretched to your left as your hand fit snuggly into caroline’s. she laid next to you in the grass, smiling at you past the scattered flora. you looked radiant like this: skin glowing and sunkist, hair descending down your shoulders and onto the dampened earth beneath you, teeth sparkling as you let out the most infectious laugh.

she sat up, rolling onto her side and propping her head up on her hand as she stared down at you. her free hand maneuvered over to toy with the hem of your dress, fingers gliding across the soft material.

“i’m gonna marry you one day, i swear”

your cheeks burned from the sun, growing even hotter as she said that. there weren’t enough words to describe how caroline made you feel, so appreciated and wanted and loved. you had every intention of marrying her. although for now it would have to wait, you hated the idea of planning things and balancing school and a job and a full on wedding at the same time. but you both knew, without having to say it, that it didn’t matter if you married or not. the love was there all the same.

“one day,” you mirrored her movements, also rolling to your side “and i can’t wait for that day”

But it'd become nothing, it's nothing

And you'd smile at me

you had done it. through all the last minute study sessions, stressful midterms, and the nights spent crying at the kitchen counter as caroline rubbed your back sympathetically. you had finally graduated college. it was a beyond thrilling moment to slip on your gown and bobby pin the unflattering cap to the top of your head. just thinking of walking away with your degree made your stomach ache with excitement.

your high heel clad foot bounced against the floor as you stood in the long line. the room felt hot and crowded while you waited to make your way across that stage and get your degree. in the distance, the boom of the microphone could be heard echoing through the stadium as the names of the graduates were announced. with each passing moment, you were getting closer and closer to your turn. the hundreds of faces sat in the stadium made its way into the view as the line slowly inched forward. you strained your neck looking around the different sections, trying to find caroline’s familiar face.

unfortunately, your parents and the rest of your family couldn’t make it to this huge milestone in your life. you had gone no contact with the majority of them a while back once they ‘disowned’ you. when they found out you were dating caroline, a girl, they were furious and couldn’t stand having a daughter that followed such a lifestyle. your sister was the only one you stayed in contact with, but she was studying abroad and couldn’t make it back to the states in time to see you graduate. you were absolutely gutted about the whole situation.

but caroline was there for you through it all. sat with you while you sobbed the day before graduation because it was all settling in. she assured you that, even though it wasn’t the same as having your parents and sister there, she was going to be there front and center to watch you succeed. caroline was by far your biggest supporter, your rock through everything. you couldn’t believe you had gotten so lucky with someone so attentive and prideful towards you.

so as you finally reached the front, body shaking with excitement, your eyes bounced around all of the smiling faces. it was only when you handed the announcer your name card, taking your first steps onto the stage, you saw her. she was beaming ear to ear as she locked eyes with you. she had her phone out, ready to record her gorgeous girl accepting her degree. caroline had dressed up just for you, sporting a navy blue dress shirt and slacks to match the colors of your university. she watched as you accepted all the hand shakes, posing for pictures with the dean, and evidently walking off that stage with that cherished piece of paper.

you walked off the stage and started to make your way back to your seat to finish out the rest of the grad ceremony. you looked over to her, finally able to get a clear look at her face. you gave her an excited wave, showing off your degree to her. she clapped for you and blew you a kiss, still smiling as brightly as before.

‘i love you’ she mouthed ‘i’m so proud’

and you smiled, mouthing back to her with tears in your eyes ‘thank you’

I wanna be, I wanna buy you pretty little things

And never ever lie to you

“what’s all this?” you asked, stepping through the door into your shared apartment with caroline.

you had gotten off of work quite upset, driving home with irritation coursing through your veins. you got called in for a so called ‘emergency’ even though you had requested the day off for yours and caroline’s anniversary. in reality, it wasn’t an emergency, rather your boss just needed someone to run errands for him. your girlfriend was so sweet and had planned out the entire day to celebrate, you were in a bad mood the whole day wishing you could just got back home.

but when you walked through that door at around 7pm, the scent of pine wafting around the kitchen, your heart melted. a bouquet of your favorite flowers sat upon the marble countertop, a neatly sealed letter leaned against the vase. there was a small box that also sat next to it with a baby pink ribbon tied around it. caroline stood from where she was previously sitting on the kitchen stool, coming over to greet you.

“just wanted to do something since you had to work today, s’all” she shrugged, pulling you into her by your waist as you set your stuff down on table “happy anniversary, baby”

you felt like you could cry, tears welling up at your lash line. you had felt horrible for spoiling the day by going into work, but caroline was so sweet and understanding and always made sure you felt seen.

“caroline, you didn’t have to do this!” you gestured to the flowers and box, leaning in to smell the flowers “i spoiled our anniversary, i don’t deserve this”

“don’t be ridiculous, you didn’t spoil anything” she kissed your cheek, you could feel her lips curl against your skin “and of course you deserve it, you deserve the world. now open your gift!”

the small ribbon glimmered underneath your dim kitchen lights as you ran your fingers over it. you looked at her with a skeptical face, smirking slightly when she laughed at your expressed. she urged you on, promising that you would like the small little present. you untied the ribbon excitedly and lifted the lid carefully.

sat on a small bed of tissue paper, was the most beautiful charm bracelet you had ever seen. you instantly pulled it out, putting it up to your face to see it closer. it was only when you had gotten a closer look that you had realized what it was.

when you met caroline, you noticed she had always worn a small little bracelet on her left wrist. she told you about a month into your relationship that it was something she’s had since she was a kid, a way to keep important memories close to her. you adored the thing, always asking about the charms that she added and what her favorite ones were.

the bracelet she had gotten you was a near exact replica of hers. it shared a few of the charms that hers held, ones that you said were your favorite. but it also had several new ones. many came from the vacations you and caroline took together, others she bought because they reminded her of you, and one that had both of your initials in a heart. it was by far the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever gotten for you.

“caroline,” you exhaled, completely blown away “baby…i don’t know what to say”

she laughed, taking the bracelet from you and grabbing your hand. she delicately wrapped it around your wrist and secured the clasp. she pulled you in for a passionate kiss, wiping away the tears you seemingly couldn’t stop shedding.

“i hope you like it,” she said “i just know how much you like looking at mine and so i thought-i don’t know maybe it’s silly, but i thought you might like one of your own so we can match”

“of course i like it” you shook your head, looking back at your wrist to admire the charms “this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me…thank you so much, babe”

you spent the rest of that night on the couch, curled up into her side with a glass of wine as caroline explained each and every detail of the charms she picked out. she watched as you giggled at every fond memory she took inspiration from, noticing how you ran your fingers across the intricate designs of the little pieces, thinking about how much she loved you.

Watch you get dressed

And compliment your taste

she laid on your side of the bed, extended horizontally so that her stomach stretched along the width of the bed. her elbows were propped up to support her head as she watched your gorgeous figure from across the room. at first she was scrolling mindlessly on her phone to pass the time until you were ready to leave for your guys’ date, but now she was beyond distracted.

you emerged from the bathroom, hair done up and makeup dewy, walking over to your walk-in closet. you wore nothing except your nude bra and underwear, rushing around frantically trying to pick out an outfit. caroline was practically ogling at you, drooling at the sight.

“is this cute?” she had snapped from her trance when you came out, holding up a yellow dress to your body “i don’t know i can’t decide”

her eyes flickered back forth between your stressed expression and the frilly, lacey dress that had previously been tucked in some corner of the closet. she had seen you wear it a few times, remembering how much she loved the neckline and the way it flowed gracefully down your thighs. in truth, she loved everything you owned no matter what it was. she thought you looked good in everything.

she grinned at you, wanting to scream from how beautiful you looked “yea honey, that looks perfect”

“are you sure?” you asked again. she knew you liked things to be perfect, wanting to look your best for outings and such. but caroline always thought you looked your best no matter what “is it too fancy or anything? i don’t want to look like an overdressed loser or something-”

“hey,” she interrupted, making you quiet down and take a deep breath “you’re gonna look amazing, ok? you could be wearing a paper bag over your head and you’d still turn heads”

“you’re too sweet to me” you said rushing over to press a small kiss to her forehead before scurrying back into the closet to change. caroline observed you through the small crack you left in the closet door. not in a lurking way, she just wanted to appreciate her girl.

she bit her lip as she watched how you shimmied the dress over your hips, how you stuck your tongue out as you tried to zip up the back, and how you ruffled up your hair in the mirror probably a dozen times before deciding you were ready. then you waltzed out, just as beautiful as you were before, grabbing your bag and ushering her off the bed. you kissed the back of her hand as you interlocked fingers, making your way out the door.

man, she had really hit the jackpot with you.

…I'd be better armed

If you agreed to take it <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[evilgwrl]

Arranged marriage! With ghost where she’s from a small island and ghost comes to collect taxes well the island is just a few hundred short they can make it up next year? Right?! Nah ghosts is like mmmmm I’ll take what yall call a princess mean while she’s struggling as much as the other fokes on the island so when Simon takes her way and finds out she’s never lived the simple life he makes it his mission to show her the good that can out of this arrangement smutty if you would 😭 I’m obsessed with the arranged marriage trope with ghost he’s a cutie patootie

Arranged Marriage w/ Simon Riley

Holy moly I love this…

Thank you for this idea @creepytoes88 I hope you don’t mind that I made him a king, I just wanted it to flow with giving her a better life and the tax collection <3

King!Simon Riley x Reader

Archipelago

CW: Being sold by your family to pay off debt, sharing a bath, oral sex (f receiving), orgasm bc simon knows what to do ;)

Word Count: 2,623

Twisted fingers hooked under the bark, knees scraped with stagnant flora, coiling limbs of bushy thorns blistering around the tropical plains. There was a subtle burn that sunk through your thighs, muscles gnawing at your bones before you finally settled on a thick branch, wind hissing in your ear, almost warning you. You paid no attention.

Pupil-blown eyes stared off to the view in front of you, lapping in the vicious strain of turquoise, untouched coral glistening an array of colours under the harsh sun. There was a trickle of sweat that ran down the back of your neck, your hair thrown into a rough bun as you shielded yourself with raggedy, overworked fingers.

You watched the skerries surrounding your island, a flurry of birds swooping low before nestling down on the warmth of the rocky floor. It was a peaceful sight. Nothing but the low crash of waves to be sound, the occasional calling of a fellow Islander working its way through the palms and out of the sand, before landing in your ear.

You felt the prickle of pain shoot through your feet as you landed on the ground, the grass covered in speckles of yellow dust sticking in between your toes as you hurried down to the village. Any bit of tranquillity soon disappeared as your eyes locked into the sight of the townspeople, the Island far too small to accommodate such needing families.

“Y/N! Where have you been? The King shall be here soon and you’re off running with the fairies.”

Your Mother’s tone was harsh and reprimanding, her eyes tight with wrinkles as she scowled, chucking a makeshift broom at you. You weren’t exactly sure what the difference of you sweeping would make, the life you live here, swept or not, is strikingly different to the one of a King. No matter how beautiful your Island is, your feet are permanently stained with grains of sand, skin is littered with dull scars and fresh scratches.

You understood her worry, offering her a gentle, apologetic smile as you followed her bustle of orders. Your Father was the village Chief, a wise man who led the people to survive without the worry of advanced civilisation.

You were seen as a headcase to the others. A woman whose head wasn’t fixed well enough to her shoulders. A dreamer. Your mind was amplified by the need to do more, to see more. Untouched beauty too turns mundane when you’re not allowed to experience it.

As night fell, the waves seemed to settle, burying themselves in the crops of sand that spanned around you, 10-legged creatures hiding away in the cocoon of a cracked shell. Palms slept with the safety of coconuts that would blossom into the town’s delicacy, the meat tender on the tongues of children, the water fuel for the fishermen. There was a large bonfire lit, the earthly crackle occasionally popping as a spark flew out, hissing against the cool air before dispersing into a drag of smoke.  

Girls chattered around you, smoothing down their appearances as they used crushed berries on their lips and the apples of their cheeks. You were never fussed about the King, hardly paying attention to him on his previous arrivals if he even bothered to show up. You took note of his lack of empathy, normally sending one of his men in his place, unbothered by the Island that’s supposed to fall under his command.

You heard the ship pull up, wood striking against the ground as it split between the beach, a carved woman tangled to the figurehead, flowing hair etched between wood and a man’s knife as she breached the island. They were a loud bunch, deep voices echoing across the Isle as your father walked down to greet them formally.

The air grew silent, thick smog suffocating the air as your father appeared, his figure shaking as he hobbled towards you. Toughened hands gripped your cheeks, stroking the sun-kissed skin to comfort you.

“Father, what’s wrong?”

“We- We’re short on our taxes,” he gulped, a hand planted in your matted hair as you scrunched your brows together.

“But how? We’re sensible, we work harder- How?”

“Things happen beyond our understanding sometimes, sweetheart, just know me and your mother love you very much.”

“I know? Why are you-” you stalled “- Why are you telling me this? What’s going on?”

“The King needs a wife,” he hiccupped as realisation set in, spine snapping into a cold flush as you attempted to wriggle free from your father’s grip.

“No-“

“I have to, Y/N, I don’t have a choice!”

“A choice? There’s always a choice! How could you do this to me?” The strain of a sob wracked through your chest, your heart beating eerily slow against your rib cage as you wailed out for your mother who only walked away, her face concealed by strands of hair. Hands coiled around your biceps, dragging you towards the ship as you carried on, cementing your heels into the dirtied sand to anchor yourself.

“Stop resisting,” A harsh voice spoke into your ear, nails breaking the surface of your tender skin as you nipped at the air, wriggling. Your limbs felt mangled as you were thrown over someone’s shoulder, your stomach caving in with a penetrative force as you choked on the air, saline tears streaming down your face.

Aching skin collided with the sand as you were thrown onto the floor, leather boots staring back at you as your head cocked up. His figure was tall, dressed in all black with a row of medals displayed on his breast pocket. His stare was dark, irises the colour of burnt whiskey, pale lashes flickering down at you before looking back up. The rest of his face was covered by a woven garment, handcrafted to perfection, painted with a white skull.

“Did you find it necessary to throw her at my feet like she’s some dog?”

“Your Majesty she was res-“

“It is a yes or no question.”

His voice was thick with malt, a hidden arrogance underlying his words as his eyes spoke for him. A veiny hand was offered to you, light scars tracing his knuckles before he lifted you, admiring you for a brief second.

“She’ll do. I’ll be back in 6 months,” The King spoke roughly.

The sea breeze was tranquil given the circumstances, the ocean rocking your tears to a halt as you huddled yourself away in the captain’s quarters. Your body was trailed with layers of silk, dirtied clothes moulded to your skin as you sniffled. There was a vast smell of salt, almost suffocating you as it burnt through your nose and hair. You scrunched your skin, rubbing at your nostrils before nestling yourself into a pillow.

You awoke to the sound of commotion. You took in the handful of women surrounding you, their hair tied back in a tight bun, protected by a frilly cap. They wore black and white dresses, aprons attached to their fronts and smiles on their faces.

“Good evening, your majesty. Shall we run you a bath?”

You sat up, hands creasing against the sheets below you as your eyes adjusted to the new scenery. You weren’t on the ship anymore.

“Where am I?” You choked out, huffing your chest out to look more intimidating. In reality, you look cowered, skin droopy with betrayal, burst blood vessels evident under your eyes.

“In your private quarters, the King requested we come to you, settle you in.”

You scowled, “I just want to be alone.” They left in a hurry, feet skidding against the floor in a squeak as they shut the large oak doors behind them.

The room was one for Royalty. The large bed was dressed in golden sheets, red swirls detailing the plush headpieces, solid gold baubles along the edges as tall stakes met the ceiling, lace hanging from them for privacy. Your feet hit the polished marble floors; calloused skin not used to such luxury that you almost yelped in unfamiliarity. Glass trickled from the overhead chandelier, an arrangement of crystals advocating flickers of light across the room, an occasional rainbow seeping through like a diamond in the rough.

Oil paintings hung from the walls, detailed gold wrapping around them as the figurines stared at you dauntingly. A plethora of books rested on shelves, a comforting sofa tucked away in the corner, highlights of red bursting through the stuffed pillows, plucked by the finest of feathers.

The room felt suffocating, the air a terminal sickness that wove into your lungs as you realised the severity of the situation. Your father – your parents, had sold you away to the King to pay for lost taxes. You were a miserable sight as you huddled over onto the floor, chest collapsing with cries as you attempted to grip the material beneath your knees, desperate for the sensation of sand.

Simon watched you intently from the door as he cracked it open, a deafening cough sounding from him as you looked up at him, bewildered.

“I understand the circumstances aren’t the best, but your people owed me, and they chose you as collateral.”

“I want to go home,” you hiccupped, facing away from him in humiliation. His leather shoes hit the floor, striding up to you in only a few steps.

“This is your home now, and in a few weeks, we shall be wedded. Whether or not you choose to invite your family is up to you, but I shall not tolerate disrespect. If you didn’t want the maids to tend to you, that’s fine, but I will.”

You watched his stalking figure disappear into another room attached to your quarters, the heavy pour of water indicating that he was running you a bath. You rose to your feet anxiously, popping your head around the corner as you took in the room. A large tub was carved with porcelain, wide in size with golden feet, bubbles guzzling under the powerful stream as the scent of lavender filled the air.

“Undress,” He spoke as you cocked a brow.

“In front of you?” You scoffed.

“You didn’t want the maids, now you have me. Undress.”

Your clothes itched as they were ridden from your skin, bare body flushed under the light as you attempted to conceal yourself from his bruising vision. The water scolded you as you sunk in, muscles relaxing instantly under the soothing oil. It was an irregular feeling.

You heard him shuffle behind you as you turned, eyes gawking wide as you took in his naked figure, cock resting low against his thigh. A squeak slipped through your lips as you turned around in a fluster.

His mask was off, his face a welcoming surprise. His brows were thick, bulging above slit frames, his nose slightly crooked with a masculine appeal to him.

“What are you doing?” you gasped, chest tight, eyes bulging.

“Bathing,” he practically snarled, “move over.”

Your belly felt hot, the unknowing feeling of arousal seeping through your pores as you adjusted in the water, the liquid rising as he stepped in before you were pulled back against him, bottom flushed against his thighs. You were tense.

“Relax, it’s just a bath. We will not do anything until you’re ready but after marriage, I will need heirs.”

“Heirs? I don’t even know your name!”

A hand coiled around your waist, tugging at the tender skin for a moment before it rested, settling at your upper thigh.

“It’s Simon, Y/N.”

“How do you- “

“What kind of King would I be if I didn’t even know the name of the woman I’m marrying?”

The air was hazy with steam, almost suffocating you as you felt yourself relax against his hard chest, delicate twirls of hair tickling against your spine. As your body settled, Simon washed you, entwined rag lubed with delicate soap as he massaged it into the crevices of your skin, any dirt seeping into the water. His fingers were long as they massaged against your scalp, digging any knots out with a gentle force before rinsing it.

You found yourself refreshed as you settled into the sheets once more, body fresh with a floral scent, skin drenched in almond oil, the glistening reflecting against the flame of the fireplace. The bed sunk in as Simon crawled in next to you, menacing frame wracking against yours. It was silent, the usual sound of waves and birds no longer hushing you to sleep.

Your fingers twitched as you played with the hem of your nightgown, letting out a low, exhausted breath.

“I shall not hurt you for as long as you are mine, Y/N. I hope you grow to trust me and understand that I am a man of my word. If you allow me, I would like to show you who I am and the life you can have here.”

You swallowed. There was an itch inside you that couldn’t be scratched, his words only adding fuel to an uncontrollable flame as you turned to face him, cocked up on one arm. Your gown hung low, strap dangerously low on your shoulder as he adjusted his vision back to your face, lips parted with a flushed manner.

“I’ve never experienced anything before.” Your voice was low, an evident streak of self-consciousness staining it as you averted your gaze.

“Let me help you.”

Rugged fingers lifted your gown up, silk resting against your stomach in a hunched manner as Simon gripped at your thighs, spreading them lewdly. He huffed out a hum of appreciation as you jolted in embarrassment. You were so open, so exposed to fresh eyes.

“No one’s ever touched you here?” He asked. You shook your head, gazing down at him with an unspoken innocence. You felt his lips curl against your thigh as he placed a gentle kiss to it, letting it rest against the warm skin before two fingers pulled apart your lips, glistening folds presented before him.

You felt pleasure tickle up your spine as the King placed a small kiss against your clit, a mewl escaping you as you instinctively attempted to press your thighs together. He let out a tsk as he looked up at you, amused by your reaction.

“Relax for me,” he said, arms flushed around your thighs before his tongue soaked up the middle, your juices drenching his lips as you squealed, your fingers wrapping into his dusty hair as he ravaged the taste of you.

The noises you made were wanton, slopping breaths soaking the air as he worked against you, slurping you into his mouth with an aggravated need for you. His teeth grazed against your sensitive clit, wrapping his lips around it before sucking, an obscene scream sounding from you as he continued the assault.

“Taste so fucking good,” he quipped, holding your belly down in place as your hips lifted, clit overstimulated by the amount of pleasure it only just began receiving.

“Sim-Simon, I feel strange- somethings happening,” you croaked, pulling at his hair in an attempt to stop him.

“Let it happen,” he growled, his tongue thrusting against your entrance as a finger pressed against your nub, rubbing it in circular motions as you began to hold your breath.

The pressure in your belly was turmoil like an unknown danger was approaching. Simon didn’t stop, the sound of your breath hicking stirring something primal inside of him as he held you down before the pressure inside you popped, a broken whine piercing the air as you came, hips rocking desperately against the King’s face as he growled against your heat.

He pulled away, spit slick against his chin, cocky smile on his face as you panted, chest rising and falling in a synchronised fashion. Your legs closed instinctively, wetness seeping between your bottom as you shivered, satisfied clit throbbing.

“I’m not done yet, sweetheart.”

[tinylilacbun]

Toddler!reader waking up brother!jj cause she thinks she has heard a noise under her bed and comes to jj, asking if he can check in

It's a rare occasion you and JJ sleep at home, for obvious reasons but sometimes there's just no way around it that's how you find yourself in your room, snuggling your Winnie Pooh plushie when a thump noise ripped you out of your slumber.

You sit up, rubbing your eyes tiredly and mumble softly. "Jay?"

There's just silence but you're startled when you hear that thump noise again, your hold tightening on your stuffie. With a whimper you get out from under the covers and carefully slide down the side of your bed, your naked feet hitting the ground.

You quickly toddle over to your door, barely reaching the handle and pull it open, going straight to JJ's room right across from yours.

As you push his door open you see him laying on his stomach with his leg slightly propped up and snoring faintly. Standing beside his bed you reach up to poke his cheek. "Jay..."

When he doesn't move you try it again but this time pat his cheek a few times with your tiny palm, whining a little. "Jayj wake up!"

Finally he starts to stir, peeking one eye open. "Why are you up...it's- damn it's 3 in the morning."

"There's a monster in ma room..." You whisper, glancing at his door before back at him.

"A monster huh? It ate your toes or somethin'?" He asks, his voice heavy with sleep and still laying in the same position you found him in.

"Don' say that! S'not funny." You whimper, trying to climb up his bed and he stops you.

"Didn't say it was. Listen, there are no monsters 'kay? Go back to sleep." He mumbles into his pillow but you don't give up, now pulling at his hand.

"Pwease come check...m'scared." You admit and JJ sighs, sitting up with a yawn.

"Okay. Okay. I'm comin'."

He lets you lead him back to your room, stealing a glance at the living room he sighs seeing his father sprawled out on the ground beside the couch and with no doubt fell out of it in his sleep. That's probably the reason you woke up and it's funny in a sense you think there's a monster considering what kind of a person your father is.

In your room you stand by your closet pointing at your bed. "S'under there."

"A'ight..." He mumbles, going to crouch down to look under it, standing back up after checking. "Nope, no monsters living here."

"You sure?" You ask, your voice muffled from hiding your face behind your Winnie Pooh.

"Mhm, you're safe to go back to sleep." He says, waving you over to him. "C'mon, I'll tuck you in."

You shuffle closer to him, letting him pick you up and lay you back down in your bed. He pulls the covers over your body, ruffling your hair. Before he could leave you grab his hand again. "Can you stay til I asleep?"

He smiles softly, nodding his head. "Course kiddo."

You scoot over a little to make room for him and he slips under the covers, making sure you're comfortable and have your stuffie, chuckling when you snuggle closer to him. "Night-night, jayj..."

"G'night, sweetie."

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

@mythixmagic @iris-xoxo-juhu

For JJ:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity @flora-eva

[dead-lights]

simblreen 2024 gift #1 // portraits of the devampiros

Elle would like to know why they own so many picture frames but only six photographs. He doesn't really know what to tell her.

This is my first Simblreen gift - I have one more coming. I don't feel up to turning on my porch light tonight, so I'm just going to post this as is :) @simblreenofficial

There isn't enough vampire wall art, so I've created 6 Century Conflict-era photographs of minor characters to add a classy touch of history to your lair! Film-based cameras were invented during this era, after all.

Elle and Dillon are the characters from the trailers who demonstrate that vampires can get it on as bats and in coffins. He uses the same model as Dillin Derito from the Malpractice trailer and they may or may not be the same person (if so, that is extremely hilarious). I've fallen way down the rabbit hole developing this family - you can find those posts about them here.

There are 3 recolors in this set, downloadable separately because 1 requires vampires and 1 requires werewolves to use.

download all (requires vampires & werewolves) [SFS]

flawed masterpiece (requires werewolves) [SFS]

flora in the moonlight (requires vampires) [SFS]

vampires in a box [SFS]

full-sized renders and cc below the cut!

cas

elle's wedding dress: june by @buzzardly28

elle's wedding crown: ishtar headpiece by @bradfordsims

elle's black gloves: miss scarlett's gloves by @ice-creamforbreakfast

young dillon's outfit: young lad's outfit by @linzlu

florencia's hair: franny by @buzzardly28

florencia's dress: medusa dress by @renorasims

poses

young dillon: from child poses 03 by @helgatisha florencia: from pose pack 29 by @katverse

florencia: from edwardian socialite by @funkyllama

dillon: from 18th century portrait poses 1 by @anachrosims

elle: pose and violin accessory by @natalia-auditore

elle & dillon: from jane austen poses by @atashi77

elle: from look at this wonderful dress by @helgatisha dillon: from gentleman poses by @akuiyumi

[naffeclipse]

Charm Brought It Back Pt. 3

Reader x Witches!Sun, Moon, & Eclipse

Commission Info

The lovely @pure-plum request a third part to @jackofallrabbits's and my Hocus Pocus AU! I'm so excited to share this next installment. The witch boys are far from done with the little historian and Michael has some explaining to do. Sun needs to share some vows and Eclipse tries to explain some things on the roof of Michael's home. Enjoy!

Content Warning: Suggestive themes, heavy kissing, heavy touching, injury, blood, violence, fire, (temporary) animal death and (temporary) character death.

———

On the outskirts of town, where the buildings and the suburban life thins into winding roads and wild, pale orange and deep red trees, is Michael’s home. He lumbers towards it like a creature from a 1950s movie.

Weaving between your footsteps is Vanessa, the talking rabbit. Her ears stay pricked and her wide, green eyes scan the starry skies constantly—blades of dead grass stick to the legs of your pants. Holes decorate your sweater, and your breathing has yet to level into something less frightening by the night's events.

You close your eyes for a brief moment to contain all the terror within you, but you almost trip on the dark pavement of the road. Michael reaches out to steady you with a rotten hand. Straightening quickly before giving him a glance of reassurance that you're alright, you nod. You stare at the putrid flesh of his fingers. Your stomach twists.

His dark eyes, alit only with twin, pale pricks of light, linger upon you. The weight is unbearable.

You’re not walking much better than the cursed, rotting man with a broken leg. When you asked him if it hurts, he said no. He can’t feel much of anything. You almost burst into tears, but he told you to keep going. It’ll be alright. 

You don’t know what to think anymore.

“There, up ahead,” Michael's voice churns with gravel. He gestures with a putrid arm. “My house. We’ll be safe there.”

It’s a bonte-white structure, a touch old considering the peeling paint on the outside as well as the overflowing garden of lavender—but you understand now why the flora flourishes on the grounds. 

Two stories tall, the roof slants over the attic. On top, a cupola framed in square panes of glass gives a small sense of safety, like a lighthouse on a cliff overlooking a stormy sea. The dark shingles slope down over the upper-level windows. 

“Do you know where Afton’s home is?” Vanessa speaks, and it almost startles you out of your wits. Her small, fuzzy head turns towards him while he reaches the front gate and shoves it open. You follow in afterward.

Your brow crinkles. When Michael first approached you, inquiring history of some genealogy he was doing on his family, you did point out a few historical buildings and locations within town. He said he needed your research for… personal reasons.

“I do, thanks to our friend,” he gestures to you. 

Vanessa flatly says, “The virgin.”

You cringe as the rabbit hops onto the porch. Michael stops before the cement steps with a quiet growl.

“Don’t say that.” He turns to you. “Can you help me up? I’m sorry, I smell like death.”

“It’s okay,” you smile, then immediately grimace at the stretch while you take his arm. “It’s not… going to fall off if I tug you up, right?”

His dark hair falls across his forehead while he shrugs. “I hope not.”

With that cheerful reassurance, you hook his elbow. Shadowing his step, you help him lift his bad leg onto the step, and pull the rest of his body afterward. Repeating the motions, you fall into a natural rhythm by the time you reach the front door. All the while, your mind whirls at Michael’s current condition while the rabbit waits impatiently at the door and the bizarre events since you lit the starry candle. 

“You didn’t tell me…” you say softly but fall short. You don’t want it to be an accusation, but you want to know. “You didn’t tell me about the brothers.”

He turns his face towards you. The clogging scent of decay infiltrates your nostril and you’re forced to cough to clear it away. Spying the yellowed cusps of his molars between threads of his cheek flesh conjures a sickness in your middle. His half-rotten lips press together into a thin line.

“It’s hard to approach someone with ‘Hey, I’m a witch hunter, just like my great ancestor who hung witches.’”

“Michael,” you chide.

“I warned you,” he says.

“I know.” You shake your head. Reaching out, you grab the door handle and push it open. “We need to brace your leg. Just because you don’t feel hurt doesn’t mean you aren’t.”

“Cursed,” he corrects quietly. “Not hurt. It could have been worse.”

His eyes drift to Vanessa, who stands guard for one moment, staring out into the darkness, before he returns his attention to you.

“I can still do things, though I wouldn’t want to be caught by the witches. They would torture me for eternity if they had it their way, I’m certain,” he drips derision.

A dark fist squeezes your heart. Heavy and pained, you guide Michael into his home. You’ve been in here once or twice, advising him in his research since he asked for your help. It was fun. You like talking about the town’s history how many historical homes are still maintained in the area and what significant events took place on what are now random fields or paved parking lots.

“Do you have some wood boards or planks we can use for a splint?” You ease Michael onto a blue couch, ripping slightly at the seams along the arms. The pale wood coffee table is overrun with books, an assortment of old and dark pages worn by time. You’re tempted to flip through titles, but fear keeps you on track. Michael might dissolve into dust and bones right before your eyes. 

“Yeah, under the sink. I have medical supplies in there.” Michael nonchalantly grabs his ripped jeans leg by the knee and hauls his broken leg up to prop it across the coffee table. A part of you squirms to see the unnatural bend in his shin bone, the leg all but collapsing. He continues without missing a beat, “Don’t worry about cleaning the wound or painkillers.”

“O-okay.” You sound far away. Those aspects are important to treating any injured person but what rules apply to a cursed man? Dizziness circles your skull as you stumble into the kitchen. A few dirty mugs are left in the sink. Rummaging underneath it, you find a black tote filled with medical supplies, a suspiciously, well-prepared assortment from bandages to antibacterial ointments. Needles for sutures wink up at you. Wooden stints wait as if expecting you.

Why does Michael have so much emergency aid prepared? It would be nice to think of Michael as simply a man who is well-prepared for the worst, but after tonight, how can you believe that? He’s a witch hunter in the modern day. 

There’s so much you don’t understand. 

Picking up the entire tote, your questions follow you back into the living room. Vanessa sits on her haunches on the coffee table, her fur still caked with streaks of dirt as she examines Michael’s broken leg. He straightens on the couch as best as he can when you kneel beside his wounded leg.

Following Michael’s instructions, you set the splints around the limb, up his knee, and over the top of his shoes. 

“Ties,” Michael says, “right here.” He leans over and fishes through the tote until he finds dark cords. 

You tie it carefully. You don’t want it too tight or else it could cut off blood circulation—if that is still functioning within his walking corpse. Dismissing the idea, you shudder and finish off the knot. 

“Do you have salt? More charms?” Vanessa asks, her attention upon Michael.

“I do. Weapons too,” he says.

“Wait.” You straighten, stepping back to gaze at both of them. This is not a normal conversation. This is not a normal get-together with a zombie and a rabbit—you need answers. Now.

“What is it?” Vanessa asks, her little rabbit face perturbed by your behavior.

“What is going on? No one has given me a straight answer all night.” You cross your arms, clutching at the torn sleeves of your sweaters. 

Michael and Vanessa share a glance as if they’ve known each other far longer than just this evening. Isolation settles upon you.

Michael faces you, testing the splints to see how well they hold. They remain rigid around the broken limb.

“The brothers are witches. They’re very real, and they’re very dangerous,” he says, his dark, sunken eyes holding your gaze. “My ancestor, William Afton, was a witch hunter. He hanged them for their crimes.”

“They were supposed to stay dead.” Vanessa’s voice lowers. Shame and hatred mingle into a chord under her tone. “I was there the day the brothers were hanged. I was the one who led Afton, my master, right to their home. For that, the brothers cursed me with immortality and this wretched body.”

Her ears flick. A heaviness settles over your chest, and your breath quickens into a shallow, desperate rhythm.

“You mean… all this time?” you whisper. 

Vanessa stares at you. Her green eyes are unreadable.

“All this time, I guarded the starry candle. Until you came along,” she seethes for one brief moment.

“Vanessa,” Michael’s voice cuts over her. “Don’t… I shouldn’t have let anyone go there, much less alone.”

“There’s the ceremony we must worry about,” she jumps in place, twisting to face him. “We must only wait them out until dawn, and they will return to their graves.”

Your head spins. The witches who spun you around and purred in your ear have wrecked so much havoc, even after their demises. You turn away.

Michael calls out your name.

“Do you have a shirt I can borrow?” you ask, not looking back at him. Your fingers knot ceaselessly into the fabric of your sweater, widening the holes further. 

“Of course.” Michaels’ voice softens. “Up the stairs, in the attic. Take whatever shirt you want. There’s something else we need to tell you, though. Can you wait a moment?”

“No,” you whisper, then shake your head, “Just… Just give me one minute, okay?”

You don’t wait for an answer as you step out of the room. Hurrying up the stairway that leads to the attic, you hear a hushed exchange. The rabbit harshly wonders if it’s wise to let you leave. You hurry up the steps.

The landing is open, sprawling with chests shoved against walls and a dusty desk left beside a window overlooking the garden sprawling with lavenders down below. A sack of wooden and leather charms sits near the top of the stairs. Across the room, a bed sits with a thick, brown quilt depicting yellow and orange flowers in geometric patterns over the cover. Does Michael sleep up here?

You venture forward, finding a closet with bi-folding doors. You nervously touch your fingers to the handle. Michael said it was alright, but somehow, this feels like an invasion of privacy. A little funny, considering you don’t know as much about your friend as you thought. 

Sliding one open, you find a few shirts hanging. Plaids and button-ups and pullovers, all with the faint hint of Michael’s musky, woody scent. You reach for a fisherman’s sweater, green and thickly textured. Lifting the hook off of the rack, you gingerly handle it with grimy fingers. You make a quiet sound of equal disgust and annoyance at yourself.

Look at you. You’re a mess. You went to explore a historical home and brought three witches back to life. Michael and Vanessa know who the brothers are and the brothers have seemingly claimed you as an intricate piece in a ceremony you have yet to understand.

You should listen to what the witch hunter and cursed rabbit woman have to say. Learning more and diving deep into the past has never been a feat you’ve shrunk away from, but you feel so strange. Confused. 

Phantoms of Eclipse’s hands slip underneath your sweater. Moon’s vows circle your head in a chant, spell-binding and complete. Your stomach burns with the memory of Sun pulling you onto his lap and flying off. 

This should be simple, like a fable. The witches must be defeated and the village saved. Historically, however, witches were only innocents. They were victims of powerful people and scapegoats for natural disasters and widespread sickness. They weren’t luring children away into the house of candy. They were simply practicing an art or culture that so few understood.

A gentle stroke of pity fills you when you think of the brothers and their hangings. Were they truly so evil they deserved to die?

You hear a soft creak of wood just above your head. Your eyes lift to the ceiling. The home is old. It’s bound to groan and settle in around you. Though your heart briefly knocks against your ribs, you clutch at your holey sweater and remember what you’re doing.

Michael and Vanessa are waiting for you. There’s more you don’t understand, and you have to face it. You lower your shoulders and close your eyes, then shiver.

A cool draft ghosts through the room. You turn, dropping the red sweater on the bed. Curiously, your eyes roam the windows, searching for which one hangs open—and why you didn’t feel a breeze before.

A spiral staircase leads up into the cupola. You peer skyward into the black, starry darkness through frames of wood. One of the glass panes is slightly ajar, pushed in, and left precariously loose. A chill slips against your skin through the holes of your sweater.

Was that always open?

Your spine tingles; the sensation of no longer being alone. 

“Hello, sunshine,” a cheerful, dripping voice slips into your ear from behind you.

Sun.

You inhale sharply. Before you can scream, a hand clamps over your mouth. An arm, lithe and solid as iron, wraps around your waist. The witch lifts you off your feet. Struggling, you claw at the hands holding you. Panic surges into your veins as you’re carried across the room and then twisted around to face your abductor. Without his warm, dark palm leaving your lips, Sun pins you onto the bed. You gaze up at him, eyes wide as he grins devilishly. He immediately slots his knees on the other side of your legs, hovering above you like a dark red sunrise, securing you in place.

A quiver runs through you. Your middle returns with a familiar warmth while you roam over his visage. His wide, pale eyes greedily devour you. His other hand softly pets your collarbone, hooking the collar of your shirt to expose more skin.

“There you are.” His thumb softly swipes your cheek without giving you room to speak. “I feared the fool rabbit and the rotten witch hunter spirited you away from us. No need to fear, my darling. We’ve come back for you.”

You whine underneath his palm. His grin widens as if he finds your little muffled sounds adorable. Sharp teeth glint in the near darkness of the attic.

Squirming, you grab at the edge of the bed and attempt to pull yourself out from under him. Sun clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“Ah, ah, ah, my dove! I haven’t gotten a kiss from you yet.” He shakes his head with great sorrow. “Don’t you want to hear my vows?”

He snatches your wrists, one by one, and shackles them in his one fist. He lifts them over your head and holds them against the headboard. Your heart thunders at how easily he contains you. Yet, you twist and flutter at him so close. A scent of honey and wildflowers falls from his cloak, sweet and intimate. You gaze up at him, little more than a fly caught in a spider’s web.

“It’s truly breaking my heart,” he feigns dramatically slumping. “My eldest brother has the pleasure of knowing the taste of your lips, and my twin has spoken his vows to you, but what of me? What am I supposed to do but die of heartbreak?”

He leans closer. Your eyes dart to his mouth and back to his gaze, holding you in a feverish, boiling want. A swipe of his tongue wets his teeth. A heat floods your cheeks.

“Shhh, sunshine. I’ll remove my hand so long as you’re good.”

You weakly nod. Your jaw trembles under his palm before the witch spears you with one last warning. His grin, however, grows. His hand lifts away and frees your mouth. Nervously, you lick at your lips while he studies the movement with pleasure staining his expression.

His hand falls, his dark satin fingertips flowing down your chin before ghosting over the sensitive cords of your throat. As if painting with his hands, he follows the curve of your collarbones. You wince when his claws cut through your poor sweater as he warms your chilled body with his palm pressed against your shoulder.

“Will you allow me the honor of becoming your husband?” He holds your gaze. 

Your breath slows as his hand falls to your side and begins softly caressing you through a notable tear in the knitwear of your shirt. A shiver spreads across your body from his touch. He tilts his head, his sun rays cutting through the darkness in a peacock-like twirl.

“Will you allow me to worship you endlessly, to be at your beck and call, to endure curses and terrors, and to witness blooming gardens and bright days by your side?” He sighs so sweetly as if he can’t stand the thought of stalling a moment more. “I’m afraid you are simply too lovely. Let me show you my devotion, then you may say ‘I do.’”

A tender pang in your heart ripples through you. Gazing into his pale, wide eyes, you fall into them. Would someone so evil have so much good to say? Would he ask for your hand in marriage if he truly meant harm?

“Sunshine?” Sun purrs gently. “It’s alright. You can speak your vows later.”

“Wait,” you whisper. Your gut twists as you think of Michael and Vanessa. Your friends are cursed, and they have the power to undo it. “Michael and Vanessa are suffering. Can’t you remove the curse placed upon them?”

Sun’s mouth pulls taut into a razor-sharp grin, but he doesn’t truly smile. Your stomach clenches with dread.

“How sweet to think the enemies of my brothers and I deserve mercy.” He withdraws his hand from the hole in your sweater and slips down to the hem slipping up your waist. His thumb slides over your hip bone. Softly, he begins circling it and you must bite your bottom lip to keep from gasping at how gentle his touch is. 

“Please,” you say quietly. You curl your fingers, still trapped under Sun’s grip. “I can’t say what you want me to say until Michael and Vanessa are free.”

“Hm,” he hums, the sound rolling deep in his chest, “A great gift to demand as our bride. Why don’t we speak of something else? Something more delicious.”

Your lips part as he leans down. His face is mere inches from your own, and you feel a buzz upon your mouth in anticipation. Shyly, a pink blush fills your face.

He draws his hand from your hip and takes your chin in his hand. His thumb gently brushes your bottom lip, holding you in place.

“You have the most beautiful freckles,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded and sultry. “Your lips are like roses. Won’t you let me stain myself in them?”

“Sun.” You want to turn your face away, but he’s so close. You can smell the sweetness of his person, and your core becomes molten. 

His mouth finds yours, and heated light falls over you. You fall utterly still under his gentle and smooth, practiced motion. Pushing and pulling, like steps to a dance, he kisses you. His tongue softly swipes at the seam of your lips, asking for entry. A mewl catches in the back of your throat. Insistent but gentle, Sun’s tongue finds its way past your teeth. The molten heat within you becomes lava, volcanic, and you are filled with his feverish desire to love you.

His grip softly flexes against your waist and wrists. Your back arches slightly, and his hand slips underneath you to support your spine. He draws you flush against him. Your sweater rides up, and you feel the soft fabric of his billowy shirt and the smooth, marbledness of his torso. A great fluttering erupts within your chest. Dizzy and struck by his full attention, you are molded by the sheer heat of his affection.

You’ve never felt such love before.

His tongue caresses your own before he draws it slowly out of your mouth. A stretch of spit follows before it snaps. He breaks the kiss, leaving you cold. You whine, afraid to never have such a connection again. You fall back to the mattress but Sun’s hand splayed over your back refuses to let you go, and you remain fast against his body.

He chuckles. “You are so sweet and precious. I have had lovers before, but you are the one who will stay with me. You are mine.”

You breathe out heavily. Your chest is gooey and warm, and your heart beats to a fiery tempo. 

“It’s alright,” he speaks in a low growl, passionate and terrifying, “Accept my vows, and I will love you for eternity. I will give you my heart on a silver platter. I will be your undying servant. I will dance with you every dawn. Sunshine, say ‘I do.’”

It’s on the tip of your wet lips. The words. The one phrase that will somehow evoke magic and time and fate, and make you entirely his.

“Oh, Sun,” you breathe, shaking your head.

Would it be wrong? Couldn’t you show him that he has too many curses? There are other ways he and his brothers can use their magic, right? They don’t have to be like this again.

“One more kiss,” he breathes against your cheek, fingers curling against the dimples of your spine before he bows over you. Your breath catches at the touch of his lips—

Footsteps thunk, slow and uneven, up the stairs. Michael's voice calls out to you, gently, but the undertone of concern does not miss your ears. The splint is working. The quick scurry of little claws scrabbling upwards echoes towards you and the witch about to kiss you.

Sun snarls silently. 

You clench your hands.

“Don’t hurt them,” you whisper, “Please.”

He levels you with a look, a glint of a blade-like calculation.

Rising, Sun pulls you after him in a whisking motion. Your vision spins as your hands fly down to cling to his shoulders. Taking your hips, Sun secures you against him, glaring daggers at the steps leading into the attic room before Michael’s purple face emerges, then widens in alarm and fury. Vanessa bound inwards and jerks to a stop, stunned. 

Sun cackles as he skips you backward in a dizzying, near glide upwards to the cupola. 

“Go and rot elsewhere, witch hunter!” he calls out. You clutch at his arms as he pulls you towards the askew window pane. The night breeze causes your hair to flutter around you. Sun grips you tighter, bowing close and protective over you. “It’s a beautiful night for a wedding, don’t you think?”

“No!” Michael shouts your name, stumbling forward at a break-neck speed. Vanessa scrambles up the thin, narrow steps with bounding legs.

Before you can cry out, Sun bends in half, forcing you down with him as he sticks one leg out of the window, and in one smooth motion, taking you in his arms like it’s your wedding night, he slides you out of the window and onto the roof of Michael’s home. You catch the last fleeting glimpses of Michael and Vanessa, both slapped with horror.

Sun extends his hand. With a hushed but fierce chant, magic heats the air. The little hairs on your arms prickle with a sizzling sensation as Sun casts a spell from his lips. The glass becomes molten, shining orange and taffy-like as it remains stuck within its frames, and then with one more word, Sun changes the glass once more. It warps and expands, becoming almost triple in thickness. 

You catch the sight of Michael throwing himself up the stairs. A warning flies from your lips. Whether he can’t hear you or he can’t stop himself if he wants to or not, he flies into the glass. He bounces off of it as if it were a steel wall. He hits the other end of the cupola, almost falling down the steps before he catches himself.

You gasp sharply. Clinging to the shoulders of Sun’s cloak, he purrs in delight as he slips carefully down the old, faded shingles.

“It’s alright, sunshine.” He pecks your cheek as the sloped roof descends to a dangerous lip with only the gutter acting as a barrier between you and a 20-foot drop. “Eclipse should have cursed the witch hunter into a rabbit. A yellow one with purple eyes. I would have let you keep him as a pet. Vanessa, too, if you ask nicely.”

“Don’t drop me!” your voice rises shrilly as you tuck your face against his neck. “Please.”

“Oh, I’ve received enough lectures from my brothers,” he laughs, then presses close to your cheek, contrite. “Please, forgive me, my darling. My excitement overtook me. I merely had to have you—and our vows still haven’t been exchanged!”

He steps over one of the windows, taking you to the south-facing side of the house, away from the window you both emerged from. Sun is light and graceful as he crosses the dizzying slopes of the roof. 

“The bride returns,” a familiar voice crones. Eclipse.

Lifting your head, you start as Sun slips towards the very lip of the roof. There, floating right in the open air, dozens of feet above the lavender garden, is Eclipse. Moon perches on an arch upon the roof with a disgruntled expression twisting his face while he strokes the warm, honeyed wood of Sun’s broom.

“I’m surprised you didn’t drop our bride once more,” Moon drips with venom. You gaze at him, remembering how he pinned you to the mausoleum wall. A bubbling roil returns to your middle.

“Silence, brother,” Sun growls, “You had your chance to exchange vows and you lost it to a fool imp and a vermin!”

Moon’s red eyes soften upon you when your gazes meet.

“Hello, little mouse. We almost lost you.”

“Moon,” you say softly, blinking against the starlight.

“Come here, little comet.” Eclipse opens his arms out to you. You openly stare. With ease, he balances upon the slender reddish-brown wood of his broom, his cape descending around him like wings. His grin is sharp and earnest, all at once. “We must make haste.”

“Wait, wait,” you try to shake your head but Sun passes you easily onto Eclipse’s lap as if you were mere feathers. 

“Sun?” Eclipse looks to his brother.

“No, I didn’t get vows in return,” he huffs, “the nasty witch hunter has a habit of interrupting private engagements.”

“I thought so.” Eclipse faces you. You sit securely upon his lap. His black cloak drapes slightly over your legs in the manner of a warm blanket. He gently takes your chin in his hand. You are still at the slight trace of his other circling your waist and securing you close. “You need to perform the ceremony with us.”

“Why? Why is it so important I perform the ceremony with you?” you ask softly. The cool air sends a chill down your back. Eclipse frowns before he hugs you close to his chest, sheltering you from the elements.

For a beat, he is silent. He strokes your arm with the back of his hand in slow, tender motions. Your eyelids flutter under such gentleness.

The sound of glass cracking jabs into the air, muffled but distant. A sharp growl echoes from Moon and Sun. You try to twist back to see if Michael is emerging onto the roof but Eclipse hums sharply, regaining your attention.

“It’s important because of you,” he answers gravely but with no less affection. “I have waited a whole life and death for you. As have my dear brothers. Sunrise will be here soon.”

“Sunrise?” you ask, confused. You’ve heard them tell of the bells ringing for them at dawn. “What does that mean then?”

Eclipse cups your face, forcing your attention upon him despite the rush of footsteps scrambling over the roof, and the harsh breaths and sharp curses.

“You love us, don’t you?”

Your lips part breathlessly. His eyes hold you in molten gold, and you become unbalanced once more.

Do you?

Can you marry these strange and handsome witches the very night you brought them back from their graves?

He drops his touch from your mouth and softly caresses the back of your hand. He looks down at it, admiring the small hills of your knuckles and the softness of your skin.

“We don’t have long,” he says. “We have already devoted our hearts to you, little comet. You have the power to—”

“LET THEM GO!” Michael shouts.

Eclipse’s head snaps back to the roof. Sun and Moon are clawing over the singles, the former giving chase after Michael. Shards of glass stick out of the sleeve of his torn shirt, embedded into his flesh; he seems to ignore the wounds entirely. Moon snatches a white rabbit rushing over the arch of the roof with a swipe of his claws. A sharp squeak of pain echoes from Vanessa. Holding up his catch like a fox with his meal, the witch cackles. 

You startle and start to wiggle desperately off of Eclipse’s lap. 

“Please!” You extend a hand towards Sun and Moon. “Don’t hurt them!”

Eclipse begins to wrap both arms tight around you, despite your struggle. Michael recklessly charges down the slope of the roof and reaches deep into his pocket. Producing pale lavender petals, he tosses them like confetti into the air just as Eclipse curses, then shrieks as the petals fall over you both like rice at a wedding.

“No! We’re running out of time!” Eclipse shrieks as he rapidly swipes at his person, removing the petals with a pained expression, but his golden eyes hold you captive. “My bride.”

You sadly shake your head. A dark mouth swallows your heart in a twisting torment: to stay or to leave. To forsake your friends or to give in to your suitors. 

On a nameless fear, you turn back to the roof and fling yourself off of Eclipse’s lap. His claws swipe at your sweater, ripping a tear into the back of it but you managed to land on the lip of the roof. The gutter buckles. You scream. Michael yanks you by the collar of your almost-ruined shirt and drags you up the roof. Sun cuts into his path.

“Nasty little corpse,” Sun snarls, “I’ll teach you to stay dead.”

“Sun, don’t!” Your eyes widen.

His pale eyes flash to you, his wicked grin easing. In the brief moment of Sun’s distraction, Michael squeezes several petals and a charm in his fist. The lethal design flashes in the starlight. Michael hurls the charm and the few petals left. When the charm hits Sun’s chest, a sharp sizzle echoes. The witch yelps, writhing as you fear a searing of flesh before he manages to fling it off of him. Sun is left clawing at where a mark burns through the fabric of his shirt.

Up the roof, Michael scrambles, towing you after him, trying as you might to look back at Sun in your worry. You reach a hand out towards the witch. He stops in his writhing to look back, but Michael pulls you faster until your feet almost give out from underneath you. Across a peak in the roof, Michael zeros in on Sun’s broom.

“Michael,” you say, but he is already striding towards it. Using his un-splinted leg, he brings his boot down hard on the broom until it snaps and cracks in half.

“Afton!” Sun howls, “I’ll make you pay!”

You hear a sharp snarl from across the roof. You face Moon clutching Vanessa as he begins the mutterings of a curse. Vanessa is kicking with her hind legs and writhing. His black claws wrap around her dirty white fur before she manages to twist and sink her teeth into his hand. A growl, pain-filled and brimming with loathing, echoes before he hurls her away from him. Vanessa falls down the roof and over the edge.

“Vanessa!” you scream out.

“She’s fine, she’s fine,” Michael utters, dragging you back to the cupola. “Go, go, she’ll be outside on the grass, and then we’ll run.”

“No, no, no!” you half-sob. You lock eyes with Moon, his expression unreadable. His eyes are red like blood but he makes no more to stalk after you as Michael shoves you through the shattered window. Thick shards of glass lie upon the steps of the narrow staircase and the wood frame is splintered. 

“Hurry,” Michael urges. He pulls you rapidly through the attic room. He stops only to snatch a leather bag and throw it over his shoulder. “It’s not safe here anymore. They’ll curse it. We have to get to town, shake them off our trail.”

“But Michael, Vanessa,” you sob and realize how stupid you are to trust the witches. They are violent. They are wicked.

You wanted so badly to kiss them.

“Focus up,” he says firmly. “Stay with me.”

You catch a whiff of smoke. You and Michael both pause on the top of the staircase leading to the ground floor, and peer up to find flames licking at the wood of the cupola greedily, and descending further, and further down.

“Fire. Of course,” Michael mutters. “Let’s go.”

He yanks on your arm and you both fly down the steps. Out of the door, you scramble over the porch and onto the lawn, finding the still form of Vanessa on the grass. Just like Michael said. You tear away from Michael to snatch up the rabbit’s body in your arms. You turn her head and find blood splattering the side of her face. Her poor, broken body hangs limp in your hands.

“Vanessa,” you wail.

“Run. It will be okay.” Michael pulls you after him. He races down the lone road, towards the light of the town. 

Twisting back once to stare up at Michael’s home now descending in rapid, unnatural flames of bright orange, you almost fall at the sight of it becoming ash. Upon the roof sit three witches, watching you race away. Their stillness pierces your heart. You sob once more and kiss Vanessa’s head in apology. You didn’t mean for her to die.

Why would they do that? You begged them not to.

Michael keeps running an awkward gait with his splinted leg and his rotten flesh. You keep pace, shoes slapping on the pavement, hugging a dead rabbit to your heart with tears spilling down your face.

[neteyamsilly]

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 4

summary ;; A father protects, that's what gives him meaning. Jake Sully has failed. PART 3 | PART 5 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; PLEASE READ AUTHOR NOTES. I explicitly said in the previous chapter I would NO LONGER BE TAKING TAG REQUESTS. You're just going to have to check my profile every now and then. I also will not be re-tagging the peeps I did in the last chapter’s replies, it’s just a lot 😭 I'm sorry for the inconvenience and thank you for your understanding! Now I present you, the long awaited angst and groveling of Jake. Enjoy! Please excuse my mistakes if you see any. Thank you so much for the lovely comments and support, I hope the angst hits the way you wanted it / was expecting HHHHH

It’ll shine better, Jake mused to himself, rotating the lumpy amber around in his fingers to better reflect the sunlight streaming in thin rays from the hands of the dense flora above, once I dip this in that polish oil. It’s not entirely unsalvageable. 

At least he hadn’t scraped too much in attempts to give it a rounder shape, the bug at its core you were gushing about to the point of waking him up at zero dark thirty was still intact. He had been summoned from his dreams to look at a cool rock. 

Jake couldn’t not gift it to you as something to be permanently worn after that.

The problem? He was ass at this. Always had been. No drop of craftsmanship in his bloodstream at all when the Na’vi were particularly fond of their ornaments and accessories, making it themselves, in fact. 

Songcords were put together from beads, bones and stones, virtuosity was a must intrinsically woven into everyday life, methodized and irreplaceable since it wasn’t as if mass production could ever be a thing in Pandora. Everything was handmade. 

Jake’s worst enemy beadwork was in their clothing, for example, even in braids — his maladroit at it may or may not be why he wore his hair in plain dreads now. 

He wasn’t an artist or a creator, his hands were more comfortable being fit around a gun or a knife than slipping effortlessly in the rhythm of weaving or the act of making. All his end results were dreadful enough to be bullied relentlessly by his kids — except for you, that is. You absolutely loved them for reasons your mother or none of your siblings could understand. 

Jake’s blundering conscience would melt at the sight of your eyes shining and the biggest smile almost splitting your head in half as if he had just handed you the world every single time he gifted you the newest of his clunky handiwork. He didn’t know why that made you the happiest. You’d been that way ever since you saw him carving and personally adding a bead to his songcord about how he got his firstborn daughter to utter her first word: dada. 

It was important to him, so, down it had gone into Jake’s life story; putting official significance to the moment he never wanted to forget in the same thread that carried the story of him becoming Toruk Makto, just beside Neteyam’s first word, which was also dadada. (Neytiri had Lo’ak’s mam, and Kiri’s perfectly articulated mommy.)

Ever since that day, you had made grabby hands at the bead all the time when he picked you up, teethed at it like a puppy trying to grab a toy, tried to rip it off to make it yours — anything, until Neytiri made you one, but no, you wanted it from dada. 

So dada started making you little trinkets. 

He didn’t know if it was a good or a bad thing you never grew out of receiving gifts from your dad he himself cringed at. Jake wasn’t one to complain, not when someone in this life would feel such enough joy to purify thousands of blighted souls upon receiving his ugly personal work. It made him happy, stroked his ego to high heavens that his sweetheart was doting on dada to see the imperfect as the most fascinating. 

That’s why he had taken on the daunting task of making a bead for you out of the amber you’d fixated on, rasp in one hand, sitting on a thick log that cut into the little stream he and his family were spending leisurely time that day, one leg pulled to himself and one feet in the water up to his ankle. Even though he had half an ear on his four children playing around in the shallow water of the creek, all the screams and squeals of joy felt weak compared to the contained huff of amusement that escaped from his mate who had come up to Jake while he was way too engrossed in his task. 

His eyes shifted to Neytiri, watching her hop on to the log in one agile move. “Don’t laugh.”

“I am not laughing,” Neytiri said, crouching to sit, her mouth twitched upwards as she looked at the amber in his hand.

“I have eyes, Neytiri, I literally see you laughing.” His face used to burn at her openly teasing about beadmaking, but his oldest daughter’s attentions had restored his bruised confidence over the years. The slander wasn’t taken lightly these days as Jake had proudly relabeled the odd shapes of his work as a creative choice. “Right to my face.”

“You’re mistaken.” 

Jake made his jaw drop, overacting his bafflement. “Wow, gaslighting? Really?”

Neytiri hit his arm lightly. In her terms, it was light, at least. “I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s something you shouldn’t do to your mate.” He turned his back to her, giving a look over his shoulder. “You’re abusing me. I’m being abused.”

“Baby.”

“No amount of pet names are gonna fix my broken heart.”

“No. You are a baby. I’m insulting you.” Neytiri hadn’t even laughed, but the uplifted timbre of that sentence sure did make Jake snicker in disbelief. “If you can’t take it, maybe you should leave beading to me.”

“I would say they are fashionably off,” he defended. You carried them with delight, so why shouldn’t Jake take more pride in his work? “And you said practice makes perfect years ago, I remember the exact words—”

“Years ago. You still haven’t gotten any better at it.” Neytiri was his biggest supporter and criticizer at the same time. “And you became a part of the clan back in the day in three months Jake. Never a more unbelievable thing to me than this.” 

“I’m trying alright?” He turned back to the bead, or, vaguely bead-shaped amber, if technical terms were involved. It still had a whole adventure to embark on until it could receive the noble title of a bead. “She likes what I make, at least.”

“It’s because she’s your daughter and anything you do is out of this world. Beauty in the most unlikely places. A child’s love is pure that way.” The unexpected hypnotism of poetry in that sentence alone pulled Jake’s gaze to Neytiri’s, and for a moment, he could physically feel his heart within his ribcage being squeezed, tethering on painful, but with a joyful tinge. “She doesn’t have standards yet.”

Well, that hurt. “Damn.”

“Damm!” A pair of small and branch-thin arms wrapped around his neck from behind, and something, or rather, someone, latched onto his back. “Rahh!” 

Jake should have been suspicious of how silent it had gotten halfway into his talk with Neytiri. Turns out, you had swam underneath the log to get out of his line of sight, climbing with the stealth of a bug to come up undetected. 

Well, mark Jake down as impressed, you weren’t able to do that without being spotted until today, this was another wonderful milestone for you — you had learned impressively, taking advantage of his distraction, avoiding making noise and using water to your advantage. Neytiri must have given you some pointers. 

And now he was wondering if his mate was in on this all along, purposefully disturbing his peace so their kids could see an opening to pounce on him.  

“Oof!” Your hold on him was something he could break out of any minute with how adorably strong you were exerting yourself to make it, but he wanted to play along more than anything. Jake was acting panicked, swinging his body left and right from the waist, but really, it was just a light warm-up exercise with the easiest deadlift possible. “I’m being ambushed!”

“I got you now, Toruk Makto!” You wrapped your legs around his torso, and he felt like this was just a piggyback ride with extra steps. “Watch this, mom!”

Oh, it’s on. 

Discreetly handing Neytiri the amber, Jake stood up, bringing you up with him and fighting a smile at your clipped squeak as the height became too much too quick, causing you to cling onto him stronger. He reached behind, and within seconds, he had you in his hands, holding you from the armpits and dangling you above the stream, your kicking legs beating the air, and he cackled like a villain threatening to fling the hero from atop of a skyscraper. 

“You got me? Please.” He loosened his grip the slightest amount to give you the illusion he would let go, and you stopped struggling to scream, catching his forearms. “A measly thing like you? Conquering me? I’ll show you why I’m the king of the skies! Here I come!”

Making sure you wouldn’t get hurt, Jake threw you into the water as gently as possible, but made the angle entertaining enough so you would go flying. He wasn’t sure who’d screeched the highest, your three siblings who had you spearheading this little operation with full trust in your capabilities, or you reacting like you were falling down from an ikran midair. Either way, he was enjoying bullying his kid a bit too much. 

Emerging from the stream and shaking the water off too akin to a wet dog, your first action was to shield your siblings, open arms and whole body and all. “Nete, run! Protect Lovak and Kiri, I’ll save you!”

Jake’s evil smile looming on his kids wavered at that. 

You had problems with some letters even at the big age of eight, two vowels next to each other in one word was one of them, along with the confusion of “f” and “b”, and sometimes “p” — it made for hilarious misunderstandings Jake had to fight to be a parent about instead of busting a lung from laughing. 

One of the many unforgettable events was deemed “The Fish Incident” between Jake, Max and Norm. He had been recording Neteyam’s first catch on his own to add it to the cute memory pile he and his mate would watch in the future after all their children eventually moved out to pursue their paths. You happened to be present that time, watching intently as your big brother shot a particularly giant yellow fish, eagerly jumping down to the pond to get it and showing it to the camera with a shy, yet proud grin on his face. 

“Good job, boy!” Jake had cheered. “Say I got that fish!”

Out of the camera’s frame and making little jumps on your toes, you’d blithely yelled. “Yeah, you got that bish!” 

The rest of the footage was shaky and out of focus, the microphone hadn’t picked up any sound but Jake’s uncontrollable laughter, kicked off by an exploding snort of shock. 

You and Neteyam had no idea why, but after he’d stopped recording with tears streaming down his face, wheezing because he couldn’t stop laughing, you’d joined to laugh and play with him regardless, mirroring his excitement. 

Later though, Jake had to actively make it so you wouldn’t have to say the words kitchen and pitch (and obviously, fish) out loud, at least, in front of Neytiri. He didn’t want to abstain from having a little fun himself, so under no circumstance was she allowed to find out and correct you. And he had it going strong for a while until it slipped when he was talking about a scientist friend over at Hell’s Gate called Richard and you repeated it as “Bitchard”. The word had somehow weaseled into your English lexicon as well, and Neytiri wasn’t illiterate enough to be oblivious to what you’d merrily blurted. 

Good old days. Jake sometimes missed hearing you curse innocently. Neytiri had to take that source of joy away from him. Discouragement and warnings would be given to his kids if they knowingly cussed, of course, Kiri calling Lo’ak penis face was something he’d immediately shot down, but this was harmless, he thought. He could have let you be blissfully unaware until the day you learned the meaning of the words, or gain consciousness of the articulation errors as you grew up and naturally fix it yourself. It was only a natural part of a child’s growth.  

But he had other entertainment. The obligatory consonant you had to sometimes add to two different neighboring vowels if it was too difficult for you to pronounce, for example. Your little brother was a victim to this. Thankfully, Lo’ak wasn’t bothered to be called Lovak by his older sister, somehow thinking of it as a nickname, but Jake could bet his ass the boy would use this as infinite ammo against you once both of you were older. He would of course forget how you always protected him in play fighting like right now, of course, maybe you would remember enough to accuse him of ungratefulness, and perhaps Lo’ak would declare he didn’t recall anything such as that. 

How bittersweet of a thing it was to drift into imaginations of how his kids would be like when they grew up. Like the stinging ache Jake always got when he was confronted with the sadness of losing his children forever one day — the need to put every minute with them in a bottle, and the feeling of time slipping through his fingers, the same old melancholy each time: when it first dawned on Jake that you’d successfully sneaked up on him just now, when Neteyam had captured his first fish all on his own without assistance, when Lo’ak showed him the knife he had successfully carved by himself to get his approval, and when Kiri had tended to a scratch wound of his better than her grandmother did with precocious wisdom on her face. 

Jake was making every moment count. Just like this one. 

“Nobody is safe from me, I’ll huff and I’ll puff and blow your house in!” He jumped down from the log with the grace and intimidation of a leopard who had been disturbed while eating up the tree he’d dragged his meal on, splashing water everywhere. “What will you do, o’ mighty hunter?”

You loved being called mighty hunter by him, he saw the sparkle in your eyes. 

“Noooo!” Kiri cried, pulling on both Lo’ak and Neteyam’s arms huddled behind you. “He’ll get us!”

Your thought process, completely spooked by Jake, was painfully visible. But surprisingly, you yelled, “Scatter!” with the experience of a rave addict who would take a forty and smash it on the ground as the police closed in on the party grounds. And his kids ran in different directions, like a group of cockroaches when someone approached them, they all ran in different directions. 

Sloshing water all around to make it more terrifying, he got Kiri first, hauled her right over his shoulder when she made for Neytiri, thinking her mother could protect her, but no. Jake was inevitable. Lo’ak gave him a weak challenge trying to step around him, getting Jake to confuse his steps as if they were playing basketball, but this was his dad he was facing and not Spider, these tricks didn’t work on veterans, so now he was flush to Jake’s side, tail facing forward, carried like some strapless bag, it didn’t even put any strain on the man’s bicep. Neteyam was the last, hiding beneath the water level and holding his breath, but the little nose peeking out for air gave him away, and Jake had him up the other shoulder in seconds, the boy didn’t have enough time to run away even though he’d spied from underwater that Jake was coming for him. 

Three out of four. That left only his eldest daughter. 

You were nowhere to be seen. The delighted and struggling giggle-cries of the three kids in his arms and shoulders didn’t help at all to Jake taking his surroundings in with a keen ear, all senses attuned to spotting the stray. 

A rustle from above. 

“Attack him!” 

He didn’t have enough time to see just which branch of the trees cocooning the creek you had climbed on before all three in his arms turned on him, flailing around together in unison to get Jake to fall down and kneel, and it surprisingly worked, he couldn’t even recover between the blink of a time between them getting off the way and you jumping down on him. The height at which you did that knocked all air off his ribcage for a second as he tried to retain balance, and you took that chance to sit on his shoulders, your legs dangling from each one, grabbing onto two dreads on his head as if they were the tails of Toruk he once had held onto like leashes. 

Jake had to give this one to you, damn. When had you become a student of the art of strategizing? 

But, defeat was defeat. He had to play his part. “This can’t be!” He opened his arms, making it seem cartoonishly like he had been incapacitated. “I’ve been… bested?”

“That’s right!” The cockiness was dripping from you as you pulled on his dreads. “I’m Toruk Makto Makto now. The first of my name!”

Your siblings started cheering battle cries, repeating the word. 

Don’t laugh, he ordered himself. Toruk Makto Makto, what a title, oh Jesus Christ. 

“Alright, alright, you got me, mighty hunter.” 

“So I win?”

“Yes, you win.”

He was going to have two less dreads on his head if you kept pulling on them like this. “Hell yeah!” 

After hearing the declaration, his other children also joined in on the ‘Hell yeah!’ train. Jake supposed he could let this slide for now, you guys were too happy, he wouldn’t sully it. 

“You’re gonna rip my hair off, get down now.” You understood play time was over from his tone, and obeyed, hopping down his shoulders when he lowered you into the water, immediately attempting to rush to your siblings’ side to be celebrated, but Jake had something else in mind. “C’mere for a sec.”

He pulled you to the edge of the stream where water met grassy land, dipping his hand into the wet soil under your confused gaze and bringing his fingers up to trace a pattern on your face.

The reaction was instantaneous. You pulled back. “Ew, mud!”

“Hold on,” he gently warned, or rather, encouraged.

You let him continue whatever he was doing then, albeit not losing the laughable concern along the way. “What’s this?”

“Well, you’ve tamed Toruk Makto before an ikran. My mighty hunter should be painted accordingly, no?”

He pointed down and you followed it with your eyes. Seeing your reflection and the ‘V’ shape with a dot on your face in the water, you stopped yourself from touching it with the impulse control that kicked in at the last second, looking up at Jake, jumping up and down, unable to contain the energy, knowing exactly what he did just now. He’d recognized you as a prospective hunter candidate. “Thank you, dad!”

Jake could swear his insides liquidized at that. “Always, sweetheart.”

“Will you paint me like this when I finally get an ikran, too?”

“Of course I will.” He actually wanted to cup your cheeks and plant a little kiss at the adorable flat of your nose but the mud would be ruined, so he pet your braids instead. “As will your mother. It’s what family does.”

At the time, Jake didn’t have the slightest inkling that the paint would end up being your own blood. 

Neytiri’s bloody hands — your blood, his child, his child, his baby Jake’s entire day would stop at seeing one tear on her face — had been stroking your face, trying to hold on to you anywhere she could to soothe your flaming pain as you were squirming like a dying animal fighting for the next breath. His heart beating right behind his eyes in a massive pulsating headache, Jake was too desperate fighting his swelling panic with each noise that ripped from you to notice they had left the vague pattern of Iknimaya paint pattern in their wake. 

She did. 

And her following anguished, gasping shudder as her shaking hands hovered above your contorted face, tracing the air along the lines the blood had left on your face ended up hitting him right in the gut. He couldn’t dwell on it. He couldn’t let this random twisted sign sweep him into the roaring waterfall of torment, your life was on the line.  

Jake didn’t have any coherent memory of running back to the mouth of the cave from the family tent. One moment, he was back with his brain fried from thinking about Quaritch in the aftermath of an hour that had just taken twenty years from his lifespan, avoiding the inquisitive silence of his kids who hadn’t gone back to bed yet; and the other, Neytiri was screaming in the distance with terror worse than the anguish he’d heard her go through upon losing her father and her home. Jake had all but flown there, mind blank in swirling, spasming panic. 

Neytiri had told him he had a strong heart the first time they’d met. No fear. Even though Jake was aware he was being disliked strongly, this quality of his she had remarked on, honest to her soul. 

But she was wrong. 

That fearless fortress heart of his had begun to crumble the moment he learned of Neteyam’s existence. And with each and every new addition to their family, Jake had been rehabilitated on what fear truly was, like a baby learning a language. 

Losing. It was all about losing. 

He would wake up from terrorizing, choking nightmares with the sensation of his family being violently taken away from him when his children were in his arms, sleeping peacefully all along. He couldn’t stop it. It had spiraled out of control after the sky people came back, turning him into a paranoid, angry man who was ruled by fear. He worried for the safety of his family every day, obsessed over it — beneath the impenetrable iron mask of a leader his whole clan was leaning on, Jake was nothing more than a weak, emotionally crippled father who would lose it the more his children grew up to take reckless actions he made worse by the inability to govern his fear-curbed anger. He called it tough love. 

That tough love had resulted in this. Loss. Loss. Loss he had tried his damnedest to prevent. It was blood slipping through his fingers from a wound he had no way of stitching back together. 

The more he pushed to block the bullet entrance point, the more you fought Jake, making feral yowls that weakened into animalistic whimpers and throaty whines that all but ripped his heart off muscle by muscle, your hits and scratches didn’t faze him, but the noises. Eywa, the noises. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know you’re in pain, I know, I know, I’ll make it go away, please hold on, c’mon.” The droplets of sweat that had formed in the matter of seconds rolled down his face. You had begun to hyperventilate from the accelerating pain because of his efforts. “C’mon sweetheart. Breathe for me, breathe for dad, okay? You gotta breathe. Breathe!”

You were unhearing, lost in the overwhelming, blinding, deafening agony he couldn’t anchor or shield you from. The grunt of desperation that escaped his sore throat rattled his carbon fiber infused bones.  

Jake didn’t have time to think. His reason had flown out the mountains to be able to force one single word to form in his mindscape. He just knew he had to stop the bleeding, propelled by concentrated instinct. You were struggling too much for him to have a solid hold on you. Everything, too slippery. Too much blood. Too fucking much. The sickening smell of iron bit at his senses. 

(Was it the liver? The spleen? Pancreas? One of the major arteries? But Na’vi biology wasn’t the same as humans. Fuck.) 

Then, you were being restrained by a third party, Neytiri was too devastated to make that reasonable decision, and in his peripheral vision, he saw it was Neteyam who had sat down on your legs, restricting your movements with incredible strength. Jake couldn’t even bark at him to go away with how much Neteyam looked in control, a rock he and Neytiri both could draw strength from. Behind him, Lo’ak was a stone statue just standing there, frozen, his eyes not leaving your bloody abdomen. 

When you let out a yelp his heart could no longer stand, he yelled, “Bring a stretcher!” to nobody in particular, out of his goddamn mind. Lo’ak jumped at it, coming back to his senses, hesitating what to do for a second before he was off to god knows where. He had to take you to Norm’s, and then a doctor—

A tiny, trembling voice he couldn’t recognize as Neteyam’s reached his ears. “Dad…” 

The boy was looking at you, blown eyes shining with unshed tears, upper set of teeth sinking in his shaky bottom lip. 

You had gone slack in his arms. 

He hadn’t even seen the moment, didn’t stop putting pressure on the wound as the dread assaulted his body. And a biting shiver went down his spine before Jake also looked down on his eldest daughter. Your eyes weren’t closed all the way, halted gaze focused on something to the side, one tear rolling down your temple. 

“Don’t do this to me.” Jake couldn’t breathe as he shook his head, he was about to lose it, about to tumble down the edge he could never climb his way up from. In denial, he didn’t lift his hands, losing all strength in his upper body and gradually collapsing forward as his forehead found yours. “Don’t do this to me, sweetheart, not like this. Please, not like this.”

The last thing you were looking at was the ikran you’d gotten.

Jake didn’t feel that very ikran making its way to their side, flapping its wings, didn’t feel anything to react when a snoot reached down and ever-so-gently nudged you, like you were asleep and it was given the duty to wake you up in the morning that day. 

Your ikran nudged you once. Twice. Thrice. Each push was harsher than the other. 

You didn’t wake up. Your eyes didn’t get their light back. 

A paralyzing numbness took over Jake’s body, all his neuron ends stunted. The moon stopped spinning, time stopped moving, he ceased existing, all at the same time. 

A piercing ringing stabbed his ears, took away his hearing. He didn’t hear Neytiri scream louder than the ikran, you were ripped from his arms, and he couldn’t move to do anything about it, just staring into the distance, at nothing, bloodied palms facing upwards in his lap. 

It was Neteyam who tried to stop his wailing mother from going mad with grief, trying to get her to set down your body from her crushing embrace even though he couldn’t take his misty eyes off your body. It was Lo’ak, frantic in his run even though his panic-frozen face gave away nothing, who had rushed back with Mo’at and Kiri. It was Tuk who had thrown herself into his arms for a hug Jake wasn’t in his body to reciprocate, his seven year old child, in tears, comforting him when Jake, as the adult and the father, should have had his shit together and be the provider of comfort. 

Instead, all he could feel was the blood on his hands, one small part in his mind making him focus on that one amber with a bug inside he’d carved for you, years ago, now in your hair.

The tears didn’t come. His world was shattering all around him, but not one tear made it to the surface. 

Someone was talking to him, but Jake wasn’t there, experiencing the moment behind a thick veil of silencing glass. 

“Open her mouth, Jakesuli.”

He looked at the source of the muffled sound breaching the ringing in his ears, painfully empty and unfeeling. It was Mo’at. In her hand, a woodsprite gently floated in the air and landed before it repeated the motion again. It was as if his brains had been emptied from his skull. He didn’t understand. He didn’t see. Tuk was clinging to him, Neytiri doubled down in waves of cries in Neteyam’s arms. Jake wasn’t there. 

“Open her mouth so I can keep her spirit here longer,” Mo’at said. “Do it now. We do not have much time.”

And Jake could breathe again, his soul slinged back into his body, feeling returning to the tips of his fingers, kicking into action. 

He cradled your body from the cold ground you were lying on, bringing his shaky hand to your tightly shut jaw. Your body couldn’t have been experiencing rigor mortis, so you must have been clenching your teeth to the point of your jaw locking to fight the pain, and he was nearly blinded from the sheer strength with which he had to hold back from hugging you. But he eventually opened your jaw with a sickening pop that made him visibly grimace, and Mo’at guided the woodsprite to slip inside the cavity of your mouth.

The bioluminescent dots on your body began to flicker the moment your mouth was closed again. Jake gave a shuddering breath at the sign of life, hands unsure if he should continue to cover the wound again. 

“Eywa has allowed her to remain. For a while.”

“Oh Great Mother, thank you!” Neytiri took one of your hands, pressing it against her cheek and kissing it over and over again. “Thank you, thank you.”

“Bring her to my tent,” the Tsahik simply stated, and Jake didn’t even stop to consider how he should be taking you to the science guys, how they were probably going to say you needed a blood transfusion and surgery right after they got the necessary tests such as MRI and blood analysis out of the way. Kiri, sniffling weakly, took the crying Tuk away so Jake could carry you. He couldn’t comfort his girls the way he wanted to, couldn’t attend to Neytiri as their sons consoled her and got consoled in return in a tight hug together; he was on the move, heart about to beat out of his chest.  

He took you in his arms and clutched your unconscious and ashen blue body tightly to his chest, your head lolling in the crook of his arm, arriving to Mo’at’s tent faster than she did — and oh, how small you were compared to him, how fragile and vulnerable. The attitude made you appear bigger than you actually were, and Jake was reminded how you were still a child from how light his daughter was, like a fleeting bird. He’d forgotten. It had been forever since he last held you like this that he couldn’t bear to lay you down on the mat. If only he could hide you away within his ribcage, away from the pain and the suffering, forever.

“Everything in this world is borrowed,” she told him, an incense was burned, salves were prepared, tools he had no idea on what they were used were brought out. Plants, herbs. Jake stood there, helpless. “Even this child, Eywa has lent to you. She is borrowed from the bosom of our Great Mother, entrusted to you. Entrusted.” Your freckles were still flickering, and Tsahik’s tone, clipped. “I will converse with her. Ask if she plans to call her daughter back home today.”

Ice washed over Jake. “No, you gotta heal her, Mo’at, I can't lose m—”

“Everything in this world is borrowed. Each breath. Each heartbeat. All children. All gifts from Eywa.” Her eyes bore into him. “I can only ask.”

Neytiri pounced on him as soon as he stumbled out of the tent, beaten and spent despite not having one scratch on his body, upon Kiri’s entrance to assist her grandmother in tending to you. 

“Your fault!” He was violently pushed back, only able to take in the woman’s bloodied, wrathful face, tear tracks freshened with saltwater she couldn’t stop shedding. “This is your fault! I told you! I told you to fix this!”

Jake was aware other clan members were watching even if they weren’t out of their homes, he was Olo’eyktan, their leader, his pride would have taken this to their own tent had this been any other debate, but now, he couldn’t give a flying fuck. Bruising his back was the weight of a failed father instead of the ornamental piece of the clan leader, it was unbearable enough. She was right. There was nothing else to be said. His mate was right. 

“Mother, please,” Neteyam was right beside them in a flash, holding Neytiri back and shielding his father from her. His sunken eyes found Lo’ak and Tuk crouching at the edge of the tent, huddled together, the youngest having the crying hiccups as her older brother had an arm around her, himself looking traumatized enough. 

“Don’t, boy.” Jake put a hand on his stone-hard shoulder, moving him aside. Neteyam took one hard look at Neytiri half-circling his father in long strides, and decided it was best if he took care of his siblings instead even if he wasn’t told outright. He ushered Tuk and Lo’ak up and away, to the other side of the tent where they wouldn’t disturb their parents by staying in the field of vision. 

Jake should have been the one to take control, but Neteyam had stepped up for it — he was a kid, too, eldest child or not. What the fuck am I doing? 

In his tumultuous sorrow, every piece of the fortress Jake had put together was coming down, every decision re-evaluated, emotion overtaking what he once thought as logic. His fault. His fault. He had ruined his children, all of them. He had thought embracing the iron will of a war chief would allow him to be a strong father figure, but it had only alienated his family. 

You had died in his arms. 

Jake contained every storm in a box inside his body, Neytiri lived those storms, she was strong that way. He would take it. Her eyes were only seeing red at the moment, the grief and wrath of a wronged mother. “Yeah, it’s my fault,” he told her, something between a whisper and a sigh. His kids deserved to hear it. “I know.”

“She is dying because of you!” Jake couldn’t escape the truth by closing his eyes, but he did anyway, like an automatic body reflex against detecting something would be hitting him. He swallowed, his mouth was drier than a desert, no relief was found in the action. “My daughter! My child! Your child!” She pushed him again, hissing. Jake didn’t do anything to stop it. “All because you told her to go today—everything, everything… All because you didn’t reach out to her. She hid that.” A shiver shook her voice. “That… because of you. You! She thought you would be angry!”

Violent horror seized his heart, ears pinning back on his head, knuckles clenching so light blue they were almost white. “I would… I would never—how could I ever—?”

But it was in character, wasn’t it? Jake always getting angry over worry for his children. Going crazy because they could have gotten hurt. Fear grows into anger, worm eating away the bark of a tree into poisonous snake. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, chest rising and falling in big breaths, there was no air.  

“She said you hated her. Over and over again, she said you hated her. Not to call you because you would hate her for it, Jake!”

Bitter guilt and glacial shock rose from his stomach, choking him, his eyes looking at anywhere but Neytiri’s blazing golden eyes, to his children who sat together seemingly away from them but blatantly listening, to the tent flames were barely illuminating the shadows inside. His legs were weak. All that he had been breaching behind a wall to prioritize your safety flooded rancid to his mind. 

Jake got angry at you all the time that you’d expected it at your most vulnerable. That he would blame you, reprimand you for his enemy’s actions.

His memories were attacked by all sides. That you had gone off on your own for the Iknimaya everybody should have been there for, he should have painted your face personally for. That you have been hiding the bleeding out from the moment Jake had found you pinned down by the dead body of an avatar, from the moment you’d answered positively to the question of if you were hurt or not, with that rifle he’d thought you didn’t let go because of how the events had shaken you. He opened his mouth, a gaping fish, but no words came out, mute and voiceless. 

Hate you? Hate you? Hate his own child he would burn the whole world for?

His child. Suffering in silence when her nature was anything but silent. Afraid of her father when she was the most fearless of his kids when facing him.

You thought you weren’t loved.

“What have you done to our children? What has this family become? What are we if our children are too afraid to come to us in their darkest hours?” Neytiri was snarling, both fury and grief battling inside her, teeth gnashing so hard they could sharpen a knife. “What child does not seek her parents when she is hurt?” 

Unseeing, Jake couldn’t stand anymore, staggering towards a particularly large rock and sitting on it, he raised his hands to rub his face but stopped when he saw the blood. 

All yours. All his daughter’s who he had failed. Who had died in his arms thinking she was hated because Jake was a shit excuse of a father you couldn’t trust to say you were hurt that you would take the risk of dying so he wouldn’t find out. 

His daughter’s blood, on his hands. 

He put his elbows to his legs, crossing his wrists to lean his forehead on, yet unable to hide his shaking hands even if he managed to hide his face. Jake couldn’t comprehend any of this, crushed beneath the skyful of burning hot shame and the guilt dwarfing him — tears he couldn’t seem to shed found life in his eyes at him trying to blink away the memory of you clinging to your ikran at the flight home. You had been suffering the whole time and all he could think about was Quaritch when he should have been thinking of you.

“What child would rather hide her injury than let her father know?” It shocked his spine like lightning, and Jake visibly flinched, fists clenching and unclenching. “Explain this to me!” 

Shame. Shame. Shame. Jake was about to throw up, rocking back and forth.

He had nothing to say. Nothing could ever excuse this. He couldn’t wash away all your moments from this night, all a cursed film strip haunting his every breath accompanied by thorns that ripped apart his insides. 

“If she lives,” Neytiri said, pointing a curled hand at him, slowly, scarily calm, but shaking with mastered rage. If she lives destroyed Jake.  “We would be lucky if my mother doesn’t decide to perform Stxel’eveng as Tsahik!” 

Jake’s head shot up at the word, his arms dropping altogether and meeting his mate’s tortured stare. As Olo’eyktan, he had to be taught the traditions and ceremonies to the point of talking in his sleep from overlearning — this one was a long lost one the clan hadn’t performed for a long time, as the Omatikayan were faithful and loyal to Eywa and her teachings. 

Stxel’eveng was the shortened word for ‘Gifting of a Child’ — an adoption ceremony within Na’vi that didn’t even have the word ‘adopt’ in their vocabulary, simply because it was almost non-existent, most Na’vi didn’t even know the existence of such a tradition. If the parents were unable to care and provide for their child, mistreated on purpose or neglected them to the point of no return, they were to be publicly dishonored by the gifting of said child to another willing family. A knot would be formed between the three, one thread bound around the waist of the mother signifying the womb, one thread fastened to the queue of the father, and the final thread to the wrists of the child as if they were captive. The knot, then, would be severed by Tsahik to symbolize the dissolvement of the familial relations in Eywa’s eyes.

The biggest shame a Na’vi could bring upon their name. 

“No,” Jake muttered, his mind going blank yet again. Fuck the shame. Damn his name. He couldn’t lose you. It’s a stone in his throat he can’t swallow, whales on his tongue he can’t speak to save himself.

“Pray to Eywa it doesn’t happen. Because if I was Tsahik, I would do it.” Neytiri turned away from him, pushing the heel of her hands on her damp eyes. “I cannot bear this shame, Jake. I can barely breathe.”

He quivered like a baby leaf caught in a storm, a couple more tears rolling down his cheeks. “Neytiri…” 

“I lost my daughter today. She slipped from my fingers. I watched her die.” He lowered his head at her grief, vision swimming. “How am I a mother when I can't feel her pain? How am I worthy of being her mother when I saw my child’s pain and just sat there helpless? Why would the Great Mother ever want to send her back?” She just kept going, not having any mercy on Jake’s soul. “Where was I when she won against her ikran? Where was I when she had her first flight? Where was I to protect her from those demons?”

A father protects, that’s what gives him meaning.

Who was Jake Sully?

“Lo’ak, come back here!” 

Both of them turned just in time to see their youngest son running away from the back of the tent they’d been hiding, Neteyam following a couple steps before he stopped to look back, probably at his sister. 

“I’ll get him,” Jake said, soulless and absentminded. Neytiri didn’t respond, stalking back to Mo’at’s tent, just kneeling in front of the entrance, wrapping her hands and tail around her knees. Tuk turned the corner, scampering towards her and finding refuge in Neytiri immediately wrapping around her protectively. 

Jake wasn’t allowed to comfort his mate. 

But he could get to his children who needed it. Trust, Neytiri had said. Honesty. 

Walking up to Neteyam, he put a warm hand behind his rigid back, and felt the taut muscles relax underneath his touch, another wave of shame hitting at the inability to recall just when he had last comforted his boy. 

“Get Tuk. Go home. Rest.”

Neteyam turned to him, scandalized. “We will stay.”

“Neteyam—”

“Dad—sir, please. I can’t leave my sister.”

That sir was a splash of acid on his already weeping heart. 

It dawned on Jake that Neteyam was the one witnessing your moment of death. Death. A surge of nausea shot up from his esophagus, and he didn’t stop himself from hooking an arm around the boy, careful of using his hands not to get blood on the eldest, pulling him into a much awaited embrace. He hadn’t allowed him to be a kid.

“It’s okay, Neteyam,” he croaked. “She’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

Neteyam’s arms didn’t wrap around him, unfamiliar to the gesture — crumbling Jake’s already broken heart into dust, but he did shiver, fighting the tremble. He simply said, “I pray so.”

He was still trying to hold it together — for everybody’s sake. 

Jake felt the boy’s tears on his skin, and didn’t let him go when he tried to step back to wipe them, letting Neteyam cry silently as much as he wanted. He owed the boy that much, as his father. It was the least he could do. 

Jake would stitch this family back together. He had to.

Washing the blood off his hands had taken a while. Jake wasn’t let off easy, cursed by the remaining line of bloodied dirt in his nails. 

He found Lo’ak at where it all began. The mouth of the cave where your ikran was disturbing the other ones with restless chittering, reminding Jake of a wolf howling all night at the full moon. 

His youngest son was transfixed by the blood staining the ground. Just standing there, looking at it. Jake couldn’t protect him from the sight. Not anymore. He himself could barely stomach it.

“Is sister going to be taken away?” was the first thing he asked Jake, not looking at him still. 

Jake didn’t know if he meant death, or Stxel’eveng. 

“I pray not,” he told Lo’ak, honest for once. 

And like him, the boy wasn’t sentimental or emotional enough to bear his wounds to another, even to a family member, and fell silent. “It has Toruk’s colors,” he said instead, referring to your ikran’s red, orange, yellow and black patterns. Looking at the creature, Jake tried his hardest to stand up straight when he discerned all the blood coating its neck and back from the natural red color disguising it. “I wanted to fly with her.”

Pulling him into a side-hug, “I’m sorry, Lo’ak,” Jake admitted, causing him to finally break the trance he had on the blood. Speechless at his father, proud and strong, admitting he was wrong out loud and that he was being hugged when it wasn’t like his father at all to show them casual physical affection. Jake knew what must be going through his head, he would be thinking the same if his own father had ever taken responsibility for wrongdoings, as well.  “It’s my fault you didn’t get to.”

Lo’ak’s mouth was hanging low. “Dad…”

“But you will,” he said, determined and full of hope. He had to be. For his children. 

“You think so?”

“I pray so,” he quoted Neteyam. “Your sister is stubborn. She will pull through. Don’t lose faith in her.”

Lo’ak’s grip on his forearm was painful. 

“That ikran’s lost the half of its tail fins,” the boy sniffled, thickening his voice to hide the tears. “How did it get all the way here?”

It stung in Jake’s chest. The same way you’d hidden that injury. Your ikran was fueled only by the desire to get its rider to safety, it seemed. 

It would never fly again. 

Jake looked down at Lo’ak, only to be met with him avoiding his look, still concerned with hiding the tears. “Loyalty,” he said. “Devotion. Sometimes you don’t want to lose the things you love no matter what, that desperation gives you enough strength to push through any trial by fire. You would do anything. Anything.” 

And sometimes it was fear that did it, but he didn’t mention that to Lo’ak to not put salt on their family’s injury. Jake didn’t want to think about how terrified you must have been, or he would actually go insane. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of you not making it in the end. He had to keep going. He had to push forward. Be the father this family needed him to be. 

“Come on, boy,” he pulled Lo’ak gently. “Let’s go back.”

Your ikran whined at this pitifully. Jake tried not to think. He tried not to imagine what your reaction would be upon learning you would never fly together again, and had to put down this ikran that had been devoted endlessly to you if you wanted to get a new one. 

Jake didn’t think. Because if he did, he would actually go insane from the pain. 

Mo’at and Kiri emerged from the tent only in the morning, by which the whole family was cocooned in Jake’s embrace for the first time in years before the sky people had come back. They all had scrambled to get up, waiting with bated breath for one syllable of good news as Kiri slipped into Jake’s arms, one wink from falling asleep while standing. He kissed the girl’s head, soothing her, hoping this could be you eventually. He had been praying for it like a madman. 

“Eywa has accepted to bestow your daughter back to you, Jakesuli,” was the only answer Mo’at had for them, no word about your physical wellbeing. “But only if she accepts as well.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“You must go speak with her. At the Tree of Souls.”

taglist: @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis@alohastitch0626 @jackiehollanderr @lucciera @qvrcll @iloveavatar @velvtcherie @ssc7514 @goldenmoonbeam @neteyamforlife @itsluludoll @jakesullys-bitch @blubrryy @sully-stick-together @arminsgfloll @alice121804 @noname2246 @justthingzsblog @eywamygoddess @m-1234 @ellabellabus07 @hellok1ttycake @dakotali @bluefire12348 @abbersreads @yellooaaa @aimsro @octavias-next-meat-bite @nikqdn @nao-cchi @spicycloudsalad @yeosxxx @heybiatchz @winxschester @elegantkidfansoul @eichenhouseproperty @kakimakiloh @dueiosy @liyahsocorro @dimplesxx @tigresslily@n8ivatar @strnqer @lillybbyy @jakesullyssluttt @r3dc4ndy @myheartfollower @gcldtom @bunnyrose01 @aceofheartzzz @ghoulbli @slasherfcker505 @ducks118 @megsthings @graykageyama @gwolf92

@thotd-f1 @httpjiikook @nipoxe @fussel9913 @gloryekaterina @nxptury @thesheelfsworld @heyyitsmaiaa @anyasullyyy @rey26 @in-luvais @em-100 @n7cje @kpopslur @holysaladapricothero @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @maviee @grxcisxhy-wp @me-marilm @n39ro-chann

[justmatches]

Let Me Be Your Own

Charles Xavier (Professor X) / fem! reader

Chapter 1

Word Count: 1490

First Meetings, Slow Burn, SLOW slow burn, set in mid-First Class

Note: Reader's mutation gives her the ability to manipulate/communicate with plants. Her powers are there but not very developed whatsoever, that's what Charles is going to help with :). This is him finding her after using Cerebro.

The world was quiet where she sat, her serene little nook in the park giving her a breath of fresh air for the first time that day. Work had been stressful – her boss angry and her coworkers impudent – leaving her mind buzzing and strained.

The grass beneath her was thick, a carpet on the damp Earth where she resided. She found peace in the seclusion of nature, listening to the warm thrum of the plants around her. One thing she learned since she developed her mutation was that even though there were significantly more plants than people, they were much quieter, speaking only when spoken to or when they felt something strange, something new.

Speaking of which, her thought process was interrupted by a whisper from behind her, somewhere on the ground. Someone’s coming. 

The soft sound of dress shoes clicked across the path that wound through the park, the sound turning into a light shuffle as it turned toward her, nearing closer. “Is this seat taken?” A warm voice spoke over her shoulder, compelling her to open her eyes. She turned slightly, glancing at the man behind her.

It was a generally younger man, his hair short on the sides and swept up top, a warm smile on his face, and faded blue eyes bringing forth an almost boyish quality to his features. He was put together, and dare she even say charming.

“Not yet it’s not.” She smiled, trying to hide her confusion at his sudden appearance. She watched silently as his smile widened and he came forward, sitting down in the grass beside her. She felt the grass rustle around him, the blades as curious as she was. 

As he finished settling in the grass he looked out across the park, a warm expression crossing his face at the swaths of green painting the precious little patch of the city.

“Beautiful day out, isn’t it?”

He mused, eyes flicking to read her expression, noting the curiosity of her gaze before flicking back, fixing on something in the distance.

She could feel the flora around her thrumming with a strange energy, enamored by his presence. There’s something special about him. The world seemed to hum, one of the lower-hanging branches, rustling with interest. That thought sparked her thoughts, the feeling registering that he was like her, a mutant. But a simple mutation wouldn’t send the world around them into such a state, it was almost as if his energy was reaching into that of everything around them. Strange.

“Who are you?” She asked, a little more bluntly than anticipated. Somewhere in her mind, she felt bad about being so straightforward, but her curiosity was killing her. Her eyes were trained on his, studying his features, his reactions, trying to pick up anything she could.

He chuckled, his head turning to her in reaction to her blatancy, an unbothered look on his face. “Charles Xavier,” He smiled, a nearly smug expression on his face. “You know, I’ve actually been looking for you.”

“What?” She choked, not expecting that whatsoever. What could he possibly want with her? She knew he was a mutant, but did he know she was, too? How could he know?

“I know what you are, though I haven’t quite figured out what you can do.” He stated, the words somehow answering the questions flashing through her mind.

“How did you know?” She asked, her voice low with caution.

“I have some tricks, too.” His voice echoed in her mind, her eyes squinting and then widening as she realized he never opened his mouth. He was inside her head.

“How did you-?” She stumbled, blinking away her shock. She felt an odd mix of emotions inside of her – shock, fear, comfort – all swirling in her stomach. Was she going to puke? She might puke. She had seen other mutants before but she had never talked to them, too scared to interact, and the premise that one (much less one that was literally inside of her head) was speaking with her was terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time.

He chuckled, the light sound coming out in more of a breath than a laugh.

“Telepathy, darling. I can see every little thought flying through your mind, you know.” He teased, voice dancing on the air between them. She briefly thought that the sound was borderline musical.

She breathed out, a slight sound of amusement at the mix of the pet name and how obvious it was that he spoke to her through telepathy. She internally chided herself for the near idiocy of her last question, though she quickly blamed it on the shock of his voice inside of her skull.

“Then you already know what I can do, can’t you?” She asked, quirking her brow. He smiled, though lightly shook his head ‘no’.

“I’m afraid I don’t. You see, I do my best to avoid prying into people’s minds past the prominent, surface-level thoughts. I find it quite rude to snoop.” He explained, his voice serene but still laced with that joyous, youthful tone. She recognized it as hope, as though he looked confidently at every word that came from his mouth.

She nodded in acknowledgment, understanding his reasoning. “For what it’s worth, I appreciate you not picking my grey matter,” She joked, feeling the tension start to ease from her body. She was still a bit unsure of him, but he was kind, charming, seemingly honest, and the plants hadn’t yet had any objections to him. “Nevertheless, I assume you want to know what my mutation is, then?”

His lips quirked with amusement at her attempt at a joke. He could feel she was nervous, her emotions being one of the most prominent, unsilenceable thoughts she had, but nodded, affirming her question.

“I showed you mine, I think it’s only fair you show me yours.” He teased, returning her lighthearted, joking manner.

She bit back a chuckle and nodded, placing her hand in the grass between them. “It’s nothing much…” She muttered as she focused on the green blades around her fingers, the energy of their livelihood thrumming through her veins before channeling it into the ground a few feet in front of them. She listened to their voices, using the energy to spark the growth of a plant, stems and vines suddenly spilling out of the ground, sprouting up a foot or two before blooming into a delicate flower, the petals bright with energy and life. She heard him laugh beside her, a joyous, excited sound.

“Stupendous!” He uttered, amazement clear in his voice and eyes as he took a knee, leaning forward to examine the new plant closer. His hand twitched at his side and he reached out, about to touch the petals before looking over his shoulder, exhilaration electric in his eyes. “May I?” 

She nodded, a bright smile on her face as he watched him carefully take a petal between his fingers, thumb ghosting along the top of the smooth petal. He muttered something to himself, too quiet for her to catch before he turned back to her, his attention devoted to her. 

“I suppose I haven’t yet told you why I came looking for you.” He chuckled, wonder still lacing his tone.

She shook her head, a small laugh bubbling from her throat, surprised that she hadn’t yet to ask of his intention throughout their meeting. “And I suppose I never asked. Care to tell?” She smiled, eyes meeting his, his excited energy still prominent in the air.

“I’m creating a school for mutants – a safe space for anyone interested. So many of us have lived our lives in fear, in hiding; I want to help those who are willing to come with me. To learn how to control and embrace their powers, to use them for good. To build a better future,” He explained, serious and passionate at the same time. “And I want you to come with me.”

She felt a lump in her throat at the idea of leaving everything she knew behind. But in hindsight, would it be worth it? She didn’t have much to leave behind – no family, not much of a social life, and a pretty awful job. In her few seconds of indecision, she realized that what he was offering would be much better than her current life. She would be surrounded by people who understood her, who were like her, and she would have friends and a stable home. She could have everything a reasonable person wanted.

“Okay,” She breathed, her smile growing as the hopes of his better future embraced her thoughts, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the man in front of her. Though they were strangers she felt comforted by him, she knew she could trust him as he stood up, offering his hand. His smile was warm and exhilarating, giving her a hope she had never known before.

A/N: I just want to say this is my first time properly writing and publishing a chapter of a fic, so feedback is very welcome and appreciated!! My requests are open if there's anything you're itching for, and if you want more of this story, let me know :)