#it won't take long for darkness to come in your life.
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slytherinslut0 · 2 months ago
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SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER
fuckfest. the slytherins — groupsome / drunk sex.
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KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.
summary: malfoy manor is a great place for drinks, laughs, and…. orgys?
warnings: 18+ MDNI, SMUTTTTTT, porn with negative 100 plot, literally just sex and mentions of alcohol, group of uni students that love to consensually gangbang when they have the chance (sorry i’m cackling at that), pansy and reader kiss a few times, multiple orgasms from some of the boys, anal sex, fingering, oral.
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Habits are simple, predictable things, slipping into your life without much thought. Some are reckless, some harmless. And some, well—some come with the taste of someone else's lips.
You're not sure when kissing Pansy Parkinson became one of them. What started as a drunken dare, a little more fun than you'd planned for, has now undoubtedly turned into something else—something almost close to ritual. With every night that stretches long, every round of drinks that comes too fast, it's inevitable that your lips will find hers at one point or another, like clockwork.
And a habit is just a habit, but this one—this one you never feel like breaking.
"You ever try body shots with tequila?" Pansy whispers, breath warm against your lips as her smirk hooks you, the same way it always does.
"Plenty of times." You grin back, your mouth barely brushing hers. "What, you want me to lay back for you, Parkinson? Shirt pulled down—or off?"
Theo whistles, and Pansy giggles. They've seen this before, watched it unfold in countless variations, yet it's still equally as entertaining every single time.
"Pull it down, take it off, whatever gets me there faster." She's already moving, grabbing lime and salt with hands that are too steady for how much you've all been drinking. "You know I won't complain either way."
You pour her a shot, liquid gold catching the dim light in the room. You feel the weight of every inebriated gaze on you—Draco, Blaise, Enzo, Mattheo, Theo—all of them watching, same way they always do when you and Pansy put on a show.
You blink and she’s back in front of you, lime and salt in hand. You feel bold, drunk on the moment as you hook your fingers under the hem of your shirt, leaning into her kiss only to break it as you pull the fabric over your head. The boys shift around you—more whistles—and Pansy's hands find your face, greedy and gentle all at once, barely giving you a moment to toss the shirt aside before she nudges you onto your back.
"You're so fucking hot," she purrs, slinking between you and the boys who are seated around the table, grinning. "Tilt your head, that's it—here—"
She nestles the cool shot glass between your tits while sprinkling the salt on your neck—then, the lime slice is between your teeth before you can even register it, and now you're staring straight at Blaise—his dark eyes roving over you like a feast, lips parted just enough that you can imagine the feel of them pressed against your own.
Your thighs tense, heat pooling low in your stomach.
"The boys wanted a show," Pansy whispers as she pulls off her own shirt. "They'll get one."
You hum in agreement and she works like she's done this a hundred times— shot glass disappearing between her lips, tossing the tequila back before she sets it aside— warm tongue dragging along the line of salt on your skin, moving up to suck juice from the lime between your lips. She meets your eyes for what feels like a split second before the lime is yanked free and her mouth is on yours, lips tasting like tequila and salt and something wild—
You close your eyes against the flood of sensation—the alcohol, the heat, the spinning of the room—and kiss her back with equal fervour. Her lips crush yours, sloppy and wild, a thousand impulses spinning through your mind and inevitably, you're too weak to fight them, tugging her closer as a result.
Pansy huffs, fingers curling into your hair as she crawls on top of you—straddling your hips on top of the table as one hand slips down to your chest. The boys are muttering things that you can't hear as the kiss is frantic now, teeth grazing, tongues tangled, the taste of lime and tequila lingering in each exhale.
"Gods, Pansy," you gasp into her mouth, hands sliding down her waist, digging into the fabric of her skirt. "You're insatiable."
She pulls back just enough to smirk, breathless, her dark eyes glinting. "I could say the same about you, babe."
You feel the tension in her greedy fingers as they curl against your scalp, her weight pressing you down into the table, and suddenly—all the teasing, all the playing at flirting feels too far away—you need her closer, need to take control back, need to feel her beneath you instead of towering over you—
"Pans—" your hands find her hips, gripping tight as you push against her, trying to flip her onto her back—but in your haste, you misjudge the edge of the table and before you can stop her she's tumbling forward, off the side, straight into Draco's lap. "Oh—shit—"
Everyone gasps, the room pausing for a moment and you're vaguely aware of Blaise's hands clutching your waist, pulling you steady into his lap as you teeter off the table too, the tequila making your head spin. Pansy is sprawled over Draco on the floor, skirt hitched high enough to give the rest of you a perfect view of her ass—to which everyone in the room is admiring. Shamelessly.
It's a spectacle—and the boys have always loved a fucking spectacle.
"Merlin's sake—" Draco grunts as Pansy slumps over him, straddling his waist. You catch the way his hands grip her thighs, fingers flexing like they don't quite know what to do with themselves. "Always the bloody dramatics with you two.”
"I'm not even sorry." Pansy grins, unrepentant as ever as she leans into Draco's neck, teasing like nothing's even happened, like she's perfectly content to remain there, straddling his lap. "You make a good seat."
Draco scoffs, and Theo snickers from across the table.
"You're a menace." The words from Draco's lips sound a lot like praise, and something about the way his eyes flutter shut when Pansy's tongue finds the sensitive skin at his throat makes your mouth go dry. "You're alright, though?"
"Fine," she murmurs, though her tone suggests she's thinking of anything but her well-being. "Totally fine." Her fingers brush over his chest, tracing the buttons of his shirt. "Are...are you fine?"
"I'm—" his voice catches when her fingers undo the first button. "I'm fine."
"You are," she agrees, voice a little hoarse, as she undoes the second, then the third. "Very, very fine."
Draco's face flushes, and there's a sheepish edge to his smile as his hands—almost without thought—begin to slide higher, fingers trailing under the hem of her skirt, pulling it just a little further up her hips. Her eyes flutter closed for just a second as he settles over the curve of her ass, and there's a spark, a shiver of something between them—
Your gaze flicks to Blaise, feeling his presence at your back—solid, grounding, the warmth of his chest pressed against you as you lean into him. You don't have to see him to know he's watching, though you find the confirmation anyways, his dark eyes tracing every movement, every shift between the two heated Slytherins on the floor.
When you glance back, you see the boys are all watching, too—Theo, Enzo, Mattheo—all glued to the sight, silent in their anticipation.
Pansy grinds down, and Draco's head tips back, eyes closed, hands clinging to her hips, her ass, anywhere he can find—
"They don't waste any time, do they?" Blaise murmurs, words a tickle at your pulse, the sound of his voice pulling you back into your own body, your own skin.
You shiver as his fingers trail lightly up your ribs, teasing the edge of your black lace bra—you tilt your head and you catch Theo's gaze sliding over you, flicking back and forth between Pansy's legs and the way Blaise's hands have begun their slow exploration along your sides. You grin as you meet Enzo's eyes next, his lip pulled between his teeth, fingers tracing the rim of his cup—
"You could take notes, Zabini," you murmur, the words catching in your throat as his lips graze your shoulder—so close, too close.
"Me? Take notes?" He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the spot just below your ear. "I've already got it down to a science, baby.”
"Yeah?" You hum, lost in the feel of his mouth on your skin, the way his fingers are edging dangerously close to your breasts. You can feel Mattheo's gaze, burning into you from across the table, but you don't dare look, you'd crack if you did. "You sure about that?"
"Quiz me if you'd like." As if to prove his point, he pushes past the fabric of your bra, long fingers finding a nipple, and your hips twitch of their own accord, a gasp leaving your lips.  "I'll pass any test you give me."
"Cocky." There's a slight edge to your voice as you roll your hips, meeting his heat with your own—just to distract him, of course. "You're gonna' make the others jealous."
"They'll have their fun," his finger toys with the clasp of your bra, now. You feel him undo it. "I want you first."
"Oh," you gasp at the sensation of cool air against bare skin as he yanks it off your arms, exposing your tits to everyone at the table. "Cocky and greedy."
"You'd expect nothing less, baby." He practically growls.
You choke on a moan. "Blaise-"
"That's my name," he's groping, his fingers pinching your nipples just hard enough to make you squeak. "I know you're real familiar with it."
Pansy's moans, soft and breathy, fill the space as Draco works her out of her skirt, mouth moving between her thighs. You clench—seeing them—her fingers in his hair, her gasps growing louder and more frantic—your pulse quickens—
"Jealous?" Blaise's taunts, having caught you staring.
You shake your head, but—Merlin, how could you not be? You'd give just about anything to relieve the heat between your thighs. To feel the heat of all the eyes watching you right now against your skin. Mattheo, Theo, Enzo—
"Not jealous." Even you can hear how breathless you sound. "Just impatient."
"Patience is a virtue," Blaise says, all mock-virtuousness, squeezing your tits again, as if to punish you for being impatient. "One I'm happy to reward—"
Mattheo is the first to snap, shoving the half-empty bottle of alcohol aside and standing up, chair scraping across the floor. Theo considers doing the same, you can tell, eyes still glued to your half-naked body as he drains his cup in one gulp. Your eyes flick to Enzo, who's merely staring, his lip still being bitten to death between his teeth.
Merlin help you.
Mattheo strolls around the table—eyes roaming as he moves, stopping just behind where you sit on Blaise's lap, breath warm on the back of your neck as he murmurs in your ear—
"I've been patient." You think it's to Blaise. "Where's my reward."
Blaise snorts, and then Theo stands up.
"We've been patient." He's looking at Blaise, lips just starting to grin. "Real, real patient."
Enzo laughs as he rises, too—all three of them forming a loose semi-circle around you and Blaise. You can almost taste the testosterone—hot and eager and hungry—as their eyes rake over you.
Blaise tugs you closer, his hands sliding down to your hips. "I'm feeling outnumbered."
"You're outnumbered," Theo agrees, smirk growing as his fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you off Blaise's lap and to your feet. "You're also outvoted. You think we're going to just sit around and watch?"
"Not a chance in hell," Mattheo growls as he moves behind you, calloused hand running up your thigh.
Blaise grunts from where he's still seated, watching you with molten eyes, "you lot are animals, you know that?"
You almost laugh at that, considering he had your bra off in minutes.
"We're just—eager." Theo whispers, leaning in just enough to breathe against your neck, kissing a path up your jaw while Mattheo's hands work at undoing your skirt. You're so turned on you're not sure how you're not dripping down your thighs. "I wanted to be inside you three fucking hours ago."
You whimper at his words, the thick air of the room suddenly too much as Mattheo's hands push your skirt down your legs.
"Three hours is generous." Enzo's moving now, but he isn't looking at you—his eyes are locked on Pansy as Draco slams into her—the two of them locked in a trance. "My head's been filled with filth since this afternoon."
"Filth?" Blaise cocks an eyebrow. "Is that what you're calling it now?"
"Filth," Mattheo husks, and his hand comes up to wrap around your throat—lips pressed to your ear. "All I've been able to think about for the past week."
Your hips twitch at the pressure against your throat—and you moan louder than Pansy. "Gods—if one of you doesn't fuck me in the next minute—"
"Told you," Blaise chuckles, watching Mattheo's hand around your throat like a hawk. "Animal."
"Then what?" Mattheo ignores him—fingers pressing against your pulse just a little harder as he pulls you flush against him, teeth finding your ear, and you feel Theo's fingers trail down your front, teasing your slit. "What're you gonna do?"
"Fuck," you mutter, breathless, hips jerking toward the touch. "I'll die—"
"Oh, that's not good." Enzo's looking now, circling around to stand on your free side, his gaze traveling from your face, down your body, to where Theo's fingers are centimetres from pushing into your soaked cunt. "Is it our responsibility to prevent that?"
"Probably. It's only the right thing to do." Mattheo's cooes against your neck. "Can't have you dying on us, now can we?"
"Mm. Not the only," Theo murmurs, pressing his lips to yours as he pushes a finger inside you. "I can think of a dozen things to do right now."
"A dozen?" Blaise scoffs. You're starting to hate the sound of his teasing fucking tone. "Only a dozen?"
You can't even reply—any words you possess are swallowed by another moan as a second, then a third, of Theo's fingers push deep into you. Even his fingers are long, you think. You forgot just how big—
"Merlin, Theo—fuck—"
"That's the idea," he grins against your lips—you moan again when his fingers curl deep.
"You like that?" Mattheos hands are all over you—your tits, your ass, the press of his chest against your bare back—and you think that you need to see his face, need to see his eyes. "You need more?"
"Yes." You're not sure if you're speaking to Mattheo, or Theo, or Enzo or Blaise, or all of them. "Yes, please—please—"
"Oh good," Blaise muses. "She's polite."
"Of course she is," Theo groans as your cunt clenches around his digits—your slick sounds filling the space between you, mingling with the sound of skin smacking from a few feet away. "So good for us."
"Mm," Mattheo adds, teeth scraping over your shoulder, squeezing your ass to make you gasp. "Very."
"A real angel," Enzo purrs, still circling like a fucking shark, eyes flitting over to Pansy and Draco again as her moans grow louder, more insistent. "Especially when she's begging."
It's all too much—Theo's fingers pumping deep, his thumb swirling your clit, the sounds of Draco and Pansy and the feel of hands and lips and intoxicated eyes everywhere—
Your head falls back against Mattheo’s shoulder. "Oh, please—fuck—please—"
"What're you begging for, Bellissima?" Theo murmurs, drawing your eyes back to his. "Wanna use your words?"
You gasp as his fingers move faster, deeper, as if he's trying to pull the words out of your throat. "Need—"
Blaise snickers. "Yes?"
"Need to cum—" you cry out, hysterical as Mattheo pinches your nipples, groans against your neck. "Need to be—fucked—"
"And I'm the greedy one." That's Blaise again, insufferable as ever.
"We like greedy," Theo grins against your mouth, fingers crooking, and your knees buckle. "Right, boys?"
"We do," Mattheo growls.
"We like it a lot," Enzo agrees, his eyes finally meeting yours. "We love it."
"Then what're you waiting for," you gasp, unable to take much more of the heat building, twisting, every point of contact sending a new wave of need through your body. "Give it to me—"
"Give you what?" It's Blaise again—God, he's driving you fucking insane tonight. "You gotta be more specific, babygirl."
"Give—ohh—" your orgasm is right there. Right. Fucking. There. "Give me your fucking dick, Zabini—fuck—you called first—"
"Oh I did, didn't I?" Blaise still hasn't moved from his seat, but you can see the way his trousers are straining. "Guess it's my lucky day."
Theo lets loose a groan, and you can feel his hips jerking in rhythm with his fingers. "Thank Merlin for small favours."
"Lucky for all of us, really." The corner of Blaise's mouth twitches, almost with the suggestion of a smile. "Don't you think, Enzo?"
Before you can even comprehend Enzo's response, Theo curls his fingers just right, thumb rubbing your clit just right, Mattheo groping your chest and kissing your neck just fucking right—and then you're there—climax charging you, release spilling all over Theo's fingers—
"Oh, fuck—yesyesyes—"
You cry out and shudder forward, only being held up by Theo and Mattheos hands, and you're barely back on earth before you feel Blaise's fingers under your thighs—urging you back and laying you out across the table as if you're a fucking feast for him—
"Patience," Blaise grins down at you, hands finding your thighs, squeezing hard enough to drag you back to reality and realize he's got his trousers undone. "Is really such a virtue."
"Right," you mumble, still breathless as you look up at him. "Too bad I'm fresh out."
Blaise chuckles at that. "I can tell."
Fuck this—
"Blaise—if you don't fuck me right now—" you push up from the table, urging him back into the chair he was sitting in. "I will let everyone else fuck me first and make goddamn sure you watch."
There's a flicker of surprise in Blaise's eyes as he slumps back in the chair—Mattheo snorts behind you and for a second you wonder if you may have just gone too far—
"Not a chance," he smiles, his words coming out in a growl that's all heat and lust and something just a little dangerous. "We'll have none of that."
And then, he's on his feet again. But this time, when he touches you, it’s firm and fast and not at all gentle. He directs you around the table before bending you over it, and you hear someone—Theo, you think?—groan like they're in pain, the sound swallowed by a desperate moan that you know for certain is Pansy's.
Your eyes flutter when you hear it—you just don't know where to look—
"No, look up. Up." Blaise's hand is in your hair, forcing you to look up from the table, and you realize where the sound came from. "I want you to watch."
Your head's spinning in a way you're sure is not entirely from the alcohol, and it only intensifies when your eyes focus on the scene just across the room—Draco and Pansy sprawled on the couch, now, Pansy riding him while stroking Enzo's insistent dick, his glossed eyes glued to yours, watching, just watching—
Blaise's hand is still in your hair. "That's it. Watch."
Enzo smiles at you, cheeky and fucking taunting before Pansy tightens her grip while jerking him off and his head tips back—
"Gonna' be good for me," Blaise murmurs against your back—his tip pressing against your dripping entrance. "Gonna' take it all for me?"
"Yes," you gasp, catching a glimpse of Mattheo and Theo just off to the side of you, sharing a smoke. "Fuck yes—"
"That's it, baby. Just relax," he cooes, and then he's pushing into you. "Relax and enjoy it—"
There's a sting as he stretches you, and keeps stretching you until he's bottoming out far fucking deeper than you'd remembered—there's a moan from you that gets tangled between your teeth, a gasp from infront you, a moan from someone else, and—gods, if Blaise doesn't start moving—
"Blaise—oh, fuck—"
Blaise gives a low moan as your walls flutter around him, a swear under his breath that's punctuated with a hard squeeze of your hip. "Good—god—Merlin—"
He pulls out just enough to make you cry out, shameless—and it melds with Pansy's from across the room.
"Shh," Mattheo steps infront of you, blocking your view of Pansy and Draco and Enzo. "Let Blaise feel you—"
—and suddenly, Mattheo's hand is on your jaw, forcing your head back, coaxing your eyes to his. His other hand disappears, down past his belt, and you moan again—wet walls squeezing Blaise as he slowly starts to rock into you.
"I wanna' fuck your throat," Mattheo murmurs, so close you can feel his breath on your lips. "Badly."
"So needy," your words are a breathless moan, but Mattheo doesn't seem to mind—he just grins as he unbuttons his trousers. "Can't even watch for five minutes without—"
"I know, I can't," he interrupts, and his hand's back at your jaw, gripping hard. "You've got me too fucking hard."
You're about to reply with another smartass comment, but Theo saddles up next to his fellow Slytherin and before you can blink his hand is on the back of your head, tangling in your hair, angling your lips toward Mattheo's now-exposed cock—
"Don't worry about the smart mouth," Theo leans down close to you, every intention of cutting off your reply. "We have other uses for it."
You'd probably roll your eyes at the phrase if it wasn't for Mattheo's dick pushing past your teeth and hitting the back of your throat so quick you gag— eyes squeezed shut as Blaise bottoms out, again and again.
"That's one of them." he adds with a smirk, watching you choke on his best friends dick.
You can't even think. Every thought that enters your head is immediately replaced with another moan, another sensation, another need, another—
"Draco! Fuck!" You hear Pansy cry out from the couch.
"Keep going, Pans," Enzo grunts, his voice sounding choked. "Just like that."
"She taking you good, Blaise?" The question comes out in a moan of his own—you think it's Draco—and you wonder idly who's doing what over there now. "Tight as I remember?"
“Tight and wet and—fuck—" Blaise's voice has taken on a new level of strangled, desperate, need that's almost too raw to hear it, and— "she's—good. She's good."
"That's it," Draco grunts again, like he's pleased to hear it. "She's an—oh, yes, Pansy, fuck—"
The noise from the couch is too much—you're not able to think past the fullness—the desperate, overwhelming heat that's consumed you, and that's when you feel a pair of lips at your ear—
"Does it feel good?" Theo's words are barely louder than a whisper, your gagging sounds almost drowning them out. He grabs your hand, slowly bringing it to his crotch. "Having us like this?"
Your fingers are clumsy, shaky as they wrap around him and try to push his trousers down—it's hard to see past the water in your eyes but once you do you're rewarded with a gasp and a low swear under his breath that sounds so damn good you want to hear it a million times more.
"Mmmfff." You moan around Mattheo as Blaise's fingers find your clit, coaxing you towards a high you're not sure you can handle—
"That's it," Theo whispers, moving your hand just the way he likes it. His fingers are tangled with yours while his free hand finds your hair again, shoving you closer to Mattheo. "Fuck. That's it."
Everything is spinning and whirling in the best way, the best possible way, and you know you're there, so close, but it's so hard to think, so hard to do anything—when—
"You gonna' cum for us, baby?" Another pair of lips at your ear, not Theo's voice, but Blaise's—ragged with his deep thrusts. "Gonna' cum for us good and hard?"
Your response, which most likely would have been something along the lines of: "yes" or "please" or "gods yes fucking please," is completely smothered by Mattheo—his hand at the back of your head alongside Theo's, fingers tangled in your hair, cockhead slamming the back of your throat over and over and over—
"Then do it," Blaise knows your answer anyways. His fingers rub quicker, his hips piston faster. "Now."
And it's in this moment where you lose yourself completely—the world narrows down to your body, every sensation flooding through you, and the fucking sounds—Pansy's moans, Theo's groans, Blaise's pants, Mattheo's swearing, Draco's whimpers and Enzo's fucking grunting—where you can't do a goddamn thing to stop it, not that you even wanted to. You do what Blaise told you, cumming so hard you see stars behind your eyes, and for one blissful, everlasting second—you feel nothing but pure unadulterated pleasure, until it all comes rushing back with force.
You think you hear Theo say "good girl" as your body tenses—shaking, trembling, clenching around Blaise so hard his pace falters and his hips slow and his thrusts turn erratic—and then you feel it—the result of his pent up passion as he slows to to an absolute standstill—spilling his cum deep into your cunt while he shudders against you, gasping out a curse that might have been your name.
"Oh, fuck," he groans, slowly—carefully—and you feel him pull out of you just as Mattheo moans, hands tightening in your hair, spilling his own release down your throat. "Oh, sweet Merlin."
It takes a moment for reality to filter back in, and you try to catch your breath in a way that's probably not very dignified. You're not quite sure what to do with yourself—and quite frankly, you're not given the chance to figure it out as Mattheo pulls out too and Theo slips up behind you—
"Come here, Bella," he murmurs, his lips at your ear again—he sounds like he's trying to catch his breath, too. Through the fog you remember that at one point you were jerking him off—and you feel the confirmation of his need still hard against your ass as he pulls you up against him. "There we go. Easy now."
You try to speak—you're not sure what you would even say—but your voice is as shaky as the rest of you, and all that comes out is a soft moan.
"She's—" Blaise's still trying to steady his breath as he slumps into his prior chair, trousers still half undone. "—she's on mars."
"I've a feeling we all are," Theo mutters, holding you against him. His fingers skim down your stomach, almost like he's mapping out the aftershocks. "Some more than others."
You can almost feel the way his eyes flick across the room with that—noting the way Draco's splayed out on the couch next to Pansy who's now riding Enzo and jerking a still half-hard Mattheo—
"Oh, relax," Draco scoffs, eyes shut and head tipped toward the ceiling. "I'll rejoin the land of the living in a moment."
"Sure, Draco," Mattheo huffs, and you can practically hear the roll of his eyes from here. "We'll be here when you do."
"Mm—fuck, Pansy—"
Enzo's moan cuts through their bantering and it's at that moment where Theo finally decides he's waited long enough—he grabs your wrist and pulls you away from the table, directing you to the couch where he slumps down and drags you into his lap, your thighs on either side of his—throbbing, leaking cock pressing against your cum soaked cunt.
You moan, and Pansy moans beside you.
"I think," Theo murmurs into your neck, his words as thick and as needy as his hardness, "I could get used to this."
"S'that right?" You try to keep your words cool, to be as unaffected as you'd like, but—there's no hiding the way your breath hitches, the way you move your hips just the slightest in his lap. "I can't say the same about your size."
"Take me at your own pace." He husks, a smirk you're sure is attached to the words. "I'm halfway there already from that handjob."
You'd laugh at that if you weren't still so breathless and shaky from before, so instead the laugh comes out as a needy moan as you slide forward, shifting in his lap until you feel his tip brush up against your already sensitive clit—
"Gods," you breathe out the word, bracing your hands on his shoulders. "Such a gentleman."
"Always," he replies, completely sincere just before his hands grab your hips and in one quick motion—he's guiding you down onto him. "Always for you."
You'd reply—you'd probably even say something that might be sweet, if you could, if the rest of the world didn't fade into a sort of pleasurable blankness as you sink down—down until the moan that leaves you is so unbridled that it should have been embarrassing if the whole fucking lot of you weren't so far passed embarrassment—because just the head of him is so thick and you're suddenly thankful Blaise stretched you out so deliciously because otherwise you think it'd be too much, too quick and—fuck.
You're still sensitive, and you know he can tell—
"Oh, she's tight." Theo's voice is low in your ear, his lips tracing your jawline. "Too much?"
"Never," you gasp out, offering some weak shake of your head. "Never too much."
He grins against your pulse, teeth scraping across your skin—
"Good."
He punctuates the word by sinking you down a bit more, the stretch of his shaft drawing out a moan from deep in your chest—
"And when it is?"
—he pauses, tightening his grip on your hips to pull you up slightly before sliding you back down—
"Tell me."
You're only half able to form the thought at this point—the other half of you is so preoccupied with the feeling of his hands holding you, his lips against your skin, his voice in your ear—you nod, anyway, and there's another moan from somewhere in the room—Enzo again, and it's more of a whimper than anything else.
"That’s it, Pansy, so good—"
"Feels good, Enzy?" Her response comes through gasps. "You like it like that?"
Blaise answers for them both—you catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye, slumped back in his chair with a new drink in hand. "Keep that up and he'll never leave that couch again."
"He's not the only one." Theo's words vibrate through you, and while you're not sure if it's the meaning behind them or the way they're sent deep into your neck with a hint of teeth, either way you have to swallow a moan before you can respond.
"Is that so?" You reply, doing your goddamn best to keep your voice steady as Theo's hips roll up into you again.
"It is so," he murmurs. "You think you can handle staying on this couch all summer?"
Summer. Hardly a week away. You think of the days and nights you're going to spend in this manor, in this room—in this room on this fucking couch—
His hands slip to your ass, guiding you up and down. "You think you could last another hour?"
"Mmm," you manage to get the sound out before he rolls up again, the perfect angle to hit that sensitive spot somewhere deep inside you and that's all you have to say before all other higher level thinking goes out the window. "Oh, Theo, you’re fucking deep—"
"I know," he replies, his breath harsh against your throat, his words lost between the moans you can't seem to keep from slipping out. "I know, bella, I know—"
Cocky bastard.
You lean down, pulling his head against your chest with hands in his hair and he follows. You'd think he'd try to pull back, just to say something witty with a smirk on his face—but instead he groans, his tongue flicking over your nipple and that's when you hear Mattheo grunt from somewhere beside you—
"Fuck me." His voice comes out as a gasp that he's struggling to keep from sounding strangled. Pansy's still lazily stroking him, multitasking while riding Enzo. "I'm so fucking hard again."
If you could manage a proper response, you might have said that was the idea—you'd probably have said something very clever about how you wouldn't mind letting him down your throat again.
You can still think, but the thought is a struggle, so all you manage is a breathless—
"Matt—“
"Mmm?" Hardly a hum—and for some reason it's so much more attractive than it probably should be. "Yes, princess?"
The way you shiver at the pet name is something you're going to have to examine at some point—not now, though, because if you have to put any more thought into any single thing you're going to explode.
"You—you—"
Theo interrupts before you can finish the sentence. "Fuck her, Riddle."
If Mattheo's surprise at Theo's apparent order is evident, it's masked by the moan he lets out as Pansy does something that must have felt especially good.
"I, fuck—I already fucked her throat, Nott. If you'd finish gatekeeping her—"
"She's got another hole, Riddle," Theo replies, with that self-assured tone that's too goddamn cocky to be legal and you wonder absently if he knows what it does to you as he gives a sharp, deliberate roll of his hips. "She can handle it, can't you, bella?"
You try to moan out an answer—you're sure there's a sound there—anything to let him know that yes, you not only can but that you're not sure there's anything you'd rather do—yet the words die before you can get them out as Mattheo is already moving—rough hands finding your ass, spreading your cheeks as he leans down to press a kiss to the dimples on your lower back. The sensation catches you off guard but you don't have time to think about that before you feel something wet—his saliva, you think—slick between your cheeks and then his fingers are there, rubbing and massaging against your tight hole—
And then, he's pressing a finger into you. "Oh—"
You're not even sure if your gasp is a reaction to Theo's movement or Mattheo's—all you know is that for a moment it all just combines into a whirlwind that seems to just drown all the oxygen out of your lungs completely—
"I know," Theo's breath is as laboured and rough as yours—the rumble of his words vibrating against your chest, your collarbone. "God, I know—"
"Jesus," another moan, strangled and needy, and it's not from you or Theo or even Enzo—it's from Mattheo. "Oh, this ass is tight—"
That's not something you're going to be able to get over—hearing that coming from him. "Oh fuck, Matt—"
"Mmm?" There's a smile in his voice—and you'd see it on his face if you were facing him, if all of his focus weren't so decidedly somewhere else. "You want me to fuck this perfect ass, don’t you?"
With that he pushes another finger into you while Theo wraps his arms around your waist to hold you steady to his chest. His hips cant up into you, and you swear you're on fire—Mattheo chuckles.
The sensation is so much you’re crying out again, his teasing turning infuriating. "You're a goddamn—ah—bastard—"
"Maybe so," he replies, with a smack to one of your asscheeks. "But a bastard that's going to—"
He stretches you out, pumping and scissoring slow, just as deliberate as everything else he does—and the moan you let out is enough to drown out whatever witty, dirty words you're sure he was going to follow that with—
"Fuck—fuck," the word is all you can manage as you brace your hands against Theo's shoulders, nails digging into his skin— "oh, fuck—"
Mattheo groans against your back and you swear it's intentional because he has to know what all of this is doing to you—what it's doing to Theo by association.
"Fuck, she likes that—" Theo's gasp hits you like a punch in the gut. "I should have—"
It's like there's a whole sentence, some snarky, perfectly articulate statement he had in mind, but whatever words it was comprised of are lost in the way he shivers—in the way his hips jerk more erratically due to how tight you're squeezing him—due to the way your walls spasm as Mattheos fingers keep pumping, stretching—
"Should have what?" It's a miracle you manage the words, and you're feeling particularly proud about the way it's more of a challenge than a question, even if it's half mumbled.
Whatever it is, he can't say it, and whatever retort you had for that is interrupted by the sound of a grunt—Enzo. His face is screwed up in pleasure, his breath is coming in ragged, uneven pants and there's a look in his eyes that looks distinctly broken.
Mattheo groans and pulls his fingers free. You feel the tip of his dick replacing them. "Can’t fucking wait any longer."
Enzo's eyes meet yours, then, and they're absolutely wrecked. "I'm going to—"
Pansy grins and moans out her reply. "Yeah, you are."
There's little else you can say—not that you'd have the words even if you weren't as lost as the rest of them. You just have a flash of thought about how you've never seen Enzo look like that before, open and vulnerable and completely at the mercy of whatever bliss he's riding right now, but then there's another feral moan escaping your lips—
"Oh, Gods, Mattheo!—"
Theo groans into your neck as Mattheo presses in and it takes merely two seconds before your eyes roll back—the way he sinks into your ass is a level of fullness you weren't sure you could reach, and even that's a thought that's too complex for you to process as your head drops, forehead pressed to Theo's shoulder.
There's a hiss from his lips, another muttered curse that you half catch as he bites at your collarbone, his hands moving back to squeeze your hips—
"Fuck, yes," Mattheo's voice sounds more strained than you've ever heard it. "Jesus Christ, that feels good—"
"Don't think the saviour would like you taking his name in vain," Blaise says, from somewhere in the room. "Not in this scenario at least."
No, he wouldn't, you think, but there's no way you've got the wherewithal to speak now—any focus you had is lost now that you're impaled on not one, but two cocks and it's like your entire nervous system's been turned over to the sensation of being so fucking full, so surrounded—of not being able to do anything except try to remember how to breathe.
It's not working very well.
"Mm," Theo's moans, fucking up into you nice and slow. "I think he'd understand."
"I think that's a rather blasphemous stance to take," Blaise replies. "Then again, given the scenario, perhaps that's not the most shocking revelation I've had of you all today."
"Blaise," Enzo groans, his tone somewhere between pleading and demanding. "Are you really going to try and have a conversation right now?"
"Just making an observation," Blaise says casually, and you swear that part of your brain that still functions can see the smirk plastered on his face in your mind. "Merely commenting about the depravity on display."
"Your commentary is duly noted," Mattheo breathes, his words punctuated by a low moan as he smacks your ass. "And dismissed."
There's a grumble of agreement through the room at that, including one from you, but all your words come out as a gasp—
Theo loves you like this. You can tell he's fucking savouring it. "That's it, bella. You don't need to do more than that."
Part of you wants to protest the statement, wants to argue that you have it in you to contribute more, but no matter how hard you try—and you do try—all that comes out around the moans is an inarticulate mess.
"Yeah, that's it," Mattheo groans, and you'd be embarrassed about how utterly ruined by all of this you are if you could focus on anything other than the two dicks pumping you in rhythm. "Just let me and Nott take care of your—mmf—tight fuckin' holes."
There's a whine that worms its way out of your chest and through your lips at that, and you don't know what it's begging for—just that it's begging, and all your mind cares about right now is that Theo and Mattheo understand that.
Theo's response is a moan of his own and a hand finding the back of your neck, his fingers wrapping around your hair. "So fucking wet—tight—"
"And taking us so goddamn well," Mattheo adds as one of his hands grab your ass again, spreading you open. "Fucking hell—I'm so close—"
"So are we," Theo responds for you, and the words are harsh and desperate and make your whole body shudder. "So—ah—so are we—"
The realization that he can feel how close you are makes you clench—walls fluttering around the both of them as they fuck you tempered—it’s only a few more seconds before you're seeing stars so bright you hardly register the sounds of Enzo and Pansy reaching their climaxes next to you—the feeling of Pansy crashing her lips to yours as she cums and moans into your mouth propelling you further over the edge, into your own ecstasy—
And if there were a way to describe it, you're sure you'd think of it later, but right now it's all just fire and lightning—pleasure wracking your body until you're certain you're not going to come down for hours. You can't really hear anything—just the rushing of your own blood pulsing in your ears—but as it starts to subside, your vision returns and the sound follows—your lips still pressed to Pansy's as Theo moans underneath you, spilling his release into your cunt while Mattheo is still thrusting slow—
"Oh my god," you gasp as you break the kiss, all of you breathing so hard you're sure it's going to take a while for the oxygen levels in the room to return to normal. "Oh my god, oh my god—"
"Mmm," is about all Theo seems to be capable of currently.
It’s a rare thing for him to be rendered speechless—and you'd grin at the knowledge if it weren't for Mattheo still thrusting deep in your ass—leaving Theo trapped inside your cunt, his length still twitching and throbbing within your walls.
"Still with us, princess?" Mattheo's chuckle is somewhat strangled, and the hand he's not gripping your ass with finds your hair again, tugging your head back to expose your neck. "You aren't done already, are you?"
If he expects—or even wants—an actual answer to that question, he's going to be very disappointed because all you can manage is a strangled half-moan that's a decent representation to how you're feeling right now—
"I think she's lost her words," Mattheo murmurs—and then it's like he realizes something. "Maybe we should test that."
"Wha—"
It's not a proper word, but you don't even have the chance to fully get it out before his hand in your hair is pulling your head back even further and you realize that at some point Pansy had gotten off of Enzo and he's now kneeling on the couch in front of you with his cum covered cock aimed directly at your lips—
"Clean me off."
It's another demand you'd probably be inclined to respond to with a snarky reply if you were at all confident in your ability to do anything other than open your mouth and let him press the tip to your tongue—
"Good girl," Enzo says, and the praise is delivered with that voice that sounds like it came from some dark place inside him, the one that's only ever really appeared in the privacy of these walls and with this group of people. "Taste your bestfriend on me, hm? You like that?"
It's a question you'd probably deny a few months ago, but that's not the case anymore—and you know that the answer would be obvious regardless, given how you've just proven you're more than happy to share them with her. So instead you give an answer that's a better representation of how you feel without having to admit it, and it only comes out as a hum of agreement as you taste her.
"I know you do," Enzo replies, and he's got that same smirk he usually has when he's got the upper hand, the one that usually makes you feel at least mildly put out—now it just makes you shiver. "Little slut."
Theo, who's still trapped underneath you and still half hard inside you, moans at that.
"Mmmm-" yes, you want to say, but you can't and the noise you manage instead, around the taste of your bestfriend on your tongue, comes out more like a whimper that has absolutely no business doing as much to you as it does.
Mattheo growls with a deep thrust into your ass, and the whimper turns into a whine as Pansy moves closer to you.
"You look pretty," she murmurs, her mouth pressed against your hair as Enzo pushes his dick deeper down your throat. "You look so fucking pretty right now."
There's something about that, the way her voice caresses the words, that makes something warm rush through you, wrapping around the bliss and squeezing until you're almost overwhelmed again.
Your eyes water, as you gag. "Mmgh—"
"Mhmm," her lips move down your cheek, next to your mouth where Enzo is still slowly fucking it, and it's like the action is deliberate—a way to show, without saying it outright, just how wrecked you are. "And you say I'm insatiable."
That's fair, because right now you're fairly certain you've never wanted something to continue forever quite as much as you do this, regardless of the fact that you know it's not practical.
"Ah, fuck—" Mattheo grunts with a messy thrust. “Oh, fuck—"
He's not the most loquacious person in the world but even he is having a hard time getting words out—and you're not much better, with the only sounds you're capable of making completely indecipherable even for you, let alone the rest of the room.
"Fuck—" with a final curse, he spills his release deep into your ass and Theo groans from under you as you clench as a result. "—yes."
The feeling of him twitching and spilling inside you makes you moan around Enzo, and he groans too—one hand tangled in your hair and the other tangled in Pansy's to keep her close—
"Mm, yes," Enzo moans now, jerking his hips toward your face. "Feels good—so good—“
—and close is an apt word because they're all close to you, all surrounding you—even Blaise and Draco's exhausted presence are felt in the background.
"I'm pretty sure she's gonna be sore for days after this," Pansy says, the words whispered. "I hope you all know—"
"I think she'll be thanking us for that," Theo replies before anyone else can. "In a day or two at least."
Pansy giggles, a sound that's soft and familiar and comforting even in this current state of being surrounded and overwhelmed, and her cheek brushes up against yours as the two of you peer up at Enzo—
"You're probably right." She whispers.
Enzo grunts, pulling his cock from your mouth and offering it to Pansy who greedily takes it in her own—
"Selfless generosity," Theo murmurs from directly under your chin having just witnessed that, and his tone suggests he's got his signature smirk in place. "How noble of us."
"Very selfless," Blaise says, from somewhere in the room again—and even as you're lost in pleasure you know that statement borders on sarcastic. "Absolutely nothing in it for any of you."
"Nothing at all," Theo replies, the same amount of sarcasm in his voice as Blaise's. "It's all self-sacrifice."
"Mm," Mattheo murmurs against your shoulder, before he pushes himself off you and finally pulls out. "Not even a shred of personal satisfaction."
You're still collapsed on top of Theo, as boneless as a human being can be, and a quiet whine escapes your lips at the loss before you can stop it.
"See," Theo murmurs, a hand coming up to run through your hair. "We've practically made a martyr of ourselves here. Selflessness at its finest."
"So humble," Blaise says, and you swear you hear the eyeroll that's almost certainly included. "I think this calls for medals and a parade through the streets. A holiday, maybe. Selfless Slytherin Day."
Enzo huffs—you can tell he's considering telling Blaise to shut up before he ruins his orgasm but as Pansy drags her tongue along the underside of his shaft, he seems to forget about it—
"Absolutely," Mattheo says—and if you had the strength to lift your head and look at him there'd likely be a smug smirk on his face. "I'd volunteer to be parade marshall, personally."
Enzo pulls out of Pansy's mouth with a gasp—and it's all but two seconds before he sprays sticky jets of cum all over your face and hers, his head tipping back as he does—
"I'm sure you would," Blaise says dryly, his voice coming from closer now than before. "I'm sure you would also volunteer to accept the medal, and then offer a speech about how humble you are."
"Mhm,” Mattheo sounds unbothered. You know he is. "Obviously. Someone's got to make sure the truth is told."
Pansy giggles against your face, then, before her tongue drags across your cheek, collecting some of Enzo's release. "Well, it's no good if you all are going to keep doing a poor job at the selflessness part.”
"I think we're well past the point of pretending we're doing this selflessly," Theo mutters dryly as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. "If we were capable of that level of pretending, we'd all be in Ravenclaw."
Your hands find Pansy's hair, holding her close to you as you lick Enzo's cum off her chin and jaw.
"You're welcome to switch houses if you'd like," Blaise responds dryly. "Some of us were sorted to our houses for reasons other than self-satisfaction—"
"Oh, shove it, Zabini," Enzo says as his breath comes back. "You're acting like a bloody dad."
Blaise opens his mouth, presumably to offer some kind of sharp retort, but before they have a chance, Pansy cuts in. "If you're all quite finished with the pissing contest—“
"We've been done for minutes," Theo replies quickly, hand now stroking through your hair. "Now we're just bickering for the sake of it, as usual."
"Which means we've got at least another half an hour to go," Blaise mutters—before apparently giving up all attempt at sounding cool and collected and flopping down on the nearest open section of sofa.
"At least," Mattheo agrees. "Maybe an hour, if we're lucky."
Next to you, Enzo grunts out a laugh as he starts trying to fix himself back to modesty. "Lucky is one word for it—"
"I think lucky is an excellent term for the current state of things," Theo replies, his voice all smooth and silky and perfectly at fucking ease. "In fact, I'd be hard pressed to think of anything more lucky than getting to experience this."
Everyone is in agreement, at that.
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monster-disaster · 4 months ago
Note
I would love if you could write something about a dragon having a girl for a mate and praising/ pleasing her with his tongue with in tune gets him off as well
Request 2: Could I request a dragon story? The reader gets forced by her village as an offering to a dragon to keep him at bay. He takes her as an offering and instead of torturing her as she thought he claims her as his life long mate and wishes to please her and praise her? Mainly by eating her out constantly
dragon!Diman x human!Reader Good to know: size difference, smut, dead animals
You should have seen this coming.
You noticed the glances, the whispers behind your back, and the cold silence that followed you among the villagers. The signs were all there. And most importantly, you rejected one of the elders' sons when he asked for your hand in marriage. That sealed your fate.
Even now, bound and frightened, you don't regret it, though. Not one bit.
Being offered to a dragon, whether as a toy or a snack, you can't be sure, still feels like a brighter future than living under that man's thumb for the rest of your life. The thought of enduring him as a husband, dirty and loud, is more terrifying than anything else you might face now. Cooking for him, bearing his children... No. You'd rather face a thousand monsters than live that kind of life.
"Are you still sure of your decision?" He asks, pulling you from your thoughts. His piggy eyes are fixated on you. The pale color of his irises reflects the silvery light of the moon in the dark sky.
"Yes," you reply, your voice almost drowned out by the noise of the villagers gathered at the foot of the hill. You have to force your expression to remain indifferent, hiding your disgust as you look at him. His double chin obscures the line of his jaw. His round face is covered with stubble and small gashes from his clumsy attempts to shave.
"You'll regret it," he huffs. His grip is bruisingly tight around your arm as he uses you to haul himself up the hill. With every step, you sink back a few inches under his weight.
No, you think, but don't say it out loud. I won't.
No matter what happens when the dragon arrives, it's still better than the image in your head of the man panting and moving above you in bed. Even the thought of it makes your stomach turn with disgust and bile. His stubby fingers would fumble over you, grasping all the wrong places, and you’re not even sure if he could manage to put it in with his large stomach in the way. But, of course, his looks are the least of your concerns. If he had a lovable personality, it might have been bearable. But he’s rotten to the core. He could be more like the son of one of the hunters; a big guy too, with a mess of blonde locks on the top of his head and bright blue eyes that always shine with humor and happiness. His chubbiness only makes him look several years younger, adding to his boyish charm. But you aren't that lucky. He’s in love with your neighbor.
And this, all of this, leaves you for the dragon.
When you reach the top of the hill, your legs are sore, and lungs tight from panting. The man behind you shoves you to the ground. The impact hurts, but it's still better than the feel of his sweaty palm on your bare skin.
"Don't even try to run," he warns. The words leave his lips in heavy puffs. "If you do, we have hunters ready to shoot you."
You don't respond, turning your head away from him and only looking back when he finally turns to leave you there. Oh, how you wish he’d trip and roll all the way down into the crowd of villagers below. He’d knock them down like a huge ball. A sweaty, hairy ball. You are sure he would sound like the pigs too, crying and wailing.
Adjusting yourself on your knees, you straighten your back and scan the view in front of you. You don’t attempt to escape. You have no doubt the hunters would stop you if you tried anything. And where would you even go? Your home is the village, with all your possessions left behind in your small hut. And with your hands tied behind your back, you wouldn’t survive the night in the woods. The villagers would hunt you down like an animal. You would become the pig, dying in the dirt. The thought makes your heart ache with betrayal. It leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You once believed the village and its people were your home, your safe haven. Now, you are nothing more to them than something they can sacrifice.
With a heavy sigh, you gaze over the woods stretching out before you; a tangle of shadows with sharp edges and twisted shapes. Behind them, the tall, looming mountains' jagged silhouettes reach skyward as if trying to pierce the darkness. The familiar view that once gave you a sense of safety now leaves you with a cold, gnawing unease in your stomach as you wait. The villagers, whom you know all too well, are silent now, waiting just like you.
And none of you have to wait for long.
The sight of the dragon in the dark sky takes your breath away. The moon’s silvery light catches its enormous body, revealing the scales in sharp detail. You see its muscles shifting and moving beneath the hard skin. Each powerful stroke of its wide wings sends ripples through the night air. You hear every rhythmic beat growing louder as it gets closer and closer. Its large head, long and sharp, is supported by a thick neck that connects to broad shoulders. Along its spine, sharp ridges jut out prominently, extending all the way to the tip of its swinging tail. It cuts into the darkness with a fluid grace.
Your chest heaves as you try to get air into your burning lungs, but it seems that even the sight of him alone is enough to leave you breathless. His formidable presence commands awe, respect, and fear. Each powerful movement echoes his sheer strength. When he lands not far from you, the ground shakes and trembles beneath his massive weight. The vibrations crawl up through your bones.
"You are my payment," he says. His voice is deep and rumbling.
The word choice makes you flinch, and though it’s not a question, you nod in response anyway. "Yes."
Living so close to a dragon is always a risk, but as far as you know, most places find ways to protect themselves from the wrath of these huge creatures. The villages offer them gold, food, or humans.
For a long, long second, the dragon looks over you with his almond-shaped eyes. The weight of his gaze is heavy on you as well as his next words. "You will do."
For what, you want to ask but decide to stay quiet instead.
"Will you try something silly if I cut your bounds?" He asks with amusement.
You shake your head. "No." What could you do against him? Run? Fight?
"Good," he hums, reaching behind you to slice through the ropes around your wrists with a quick flick of his claw. Your breath catches in your throat at the sudden closeness, and you dare not move, terrified of the damage he could inflict if you were to make a wrong move.
"Do you want to say your goodbye?" He asks, watching you rubbing your wrist where the robes cut into your skin.
You frown. "No." The word escapes your lips as a harsh spat.
He almost laughs. You can feel the deep rumble under your feet. "Good."
A loud, high-pitched squeal escapes your lips as he grabs you with a swift motion. His large hand envelops your entire body, fingers curling around you with ease. He lifts you off the ground effortlessly as his wings start to beat, raising you both into the air. You want to grab onto his fingers automatically, but his hold around you is so tight that you can't move.
"Wait, wait," you gasp hurriedly, and to your surprise, he stops in mid-air.
"For what?" The dragon asks. His golden eyes with black slits in the middle survey you waitingly, but when you open and close your lips several times without saying anything, he turns his attention away from you to continue his journey back to his home.
You want to take one last look at your village, the place that was your home until tonight, but your position in his hand makes it impossible. All you can see is the underside of his thick neck and head, along with the towering mountains in the distance. The late-night wind is cold on your face, yet his large palm around your body keeps you warm and secure in the air. Despite his size, he flies effortlessly, and soon, instead of the familiar hill and clearing, you find the dark wood underneath you.
His lair is nestled in a cove within one of the largest mountains. The air here is colder, and the wind is stronger, too, as he sets you down well away from the rocky edge, and you lose the warmth of his hold around you. After being carried, you feel unsure on your own feet as you look back to see the dark view of the landscape bathed in the moonlight. You can see your village in the distance, small and insignificant.
"Come," he breaks the silence. "It's warmer inside."
Going into a dark cave with a dragon several your size doesn't seem the brightest idea, but looking down the steep mountain beneath, you don't really have any other option.
"Wait," he says, making you stop immediately. "You need some light," he says as if reminding himself. "You humans barely see anything."
Without waiting for your response, he takes a deep breath, and before you can react, the dark hole is suddenly illuminated by the intense flames bursting from his massive jaws. The fire roars to life, casting flickering shadows across the cave's walls. Thick smoke surges into the cold night air, smothering you with its warm, acrid smell that stings your eyes and clings to your skin. When he finally closes his mouth, the flames recede, leaving the cave bathed in the dim, flickering light of burning torches mounted on the rugged walls. With the newfound illumination, you realize the cavern is even bigger than you first thought. Of course, a massive creature like the dragon standing before you requires as much space as he can get to move around freely.
"Come," he says, not even looking at you to check if you follow him.
Both of you know you don't really have any other option.
The dragon's lair is a maze that winds deeper and deeper into the heart of the mountain. Steep slopes and jagged inclines alternate with vast, rocky halls that are filled with rusty weapons, tarnished armor, and forgotten trinkets. The air is thick with the scent of the stone walls and smoke. Each breath you take feels heavy and warm. As you follow the dragon, the torches he lits along the way cast flickering shadows on the walls. By the time he finally halts, you're out of breath, coughing from the smoky air.
"Where are we?" You ask him when you find your voice. It's hoarse and tight.
"Does it matter?" He asks. "You can't leave anyway."
You don't know where you get the courage to scowl at him. "Rude."
The dragon scoffs, amused. "We are in the heart of the mountain," he says.
The place resembles a grand hall with towering walls and thick, imposing columns that stretch up into the shadows above. The ground is littered with various objects, shiny ones, and old ones. Piles of gold gleam under the dim light, scattered carelessly among the mess. Books are strewn about haphazardly, their pages yellowed and edges worn, as if they’ve been forgotten in the chaos. At the center of the hall is a massive nest, sprawling and chaotic, made from a jumble of materials and what-not.
The dragon gives you a moment to take in your surroundings, but the silence only heightens your anxiety. Is this really it? Is this where you’ll meet your end? You can't help but imagine your clothes and bones tossed carelessly into the pile of treasure where the dragon sleeps. The thought that nobody will ever find you, that no one will even search, gnaws at you. You’ll be forgotten, just another insignificant meal for the beast.
"Are you going to faint?" The dragon's voice suddenly rumbles through the cavern, making you jump. The sound echoes off the stone walls and ripples down your spine.
"No," you manage to gulp out. "Why?"
"You look like someone who is ready to faint," he says. His tone is so casual that it’s almost infuriating. You are surprised you can feel anything else besides fear.
"Do you see a lot of humans faint before you?"
His grin is slow, almost mechanical, revealing sharp teeth that glint under the dim light. "You could say that."
"So," you begin, licking your lips nervously, "what do you want to do with me?"
His grin widens, and your heart races. "Let's sleep for now, hm?"
Your eyes widen in surprise. Sleep? That wasn’t the answer you expected.
"What?"
The dragon rolls his large, golden eyes, clearly bored with your reaction. With a graceful, feline-like motion, he climbs into his nest, settling down with a heavy thud that makes the ground shake beneath your feet. His massive body curls in on itself, his tail wrapping around him as his head rests on a pile of treasure. Or trash. You can't decide.
That’s it? You think, bewildered. He just wants to sleep?
When you remain frozen in place, your legs trembling beneath you, the dragon lets out a scoff. In one swift motion, he reaches out, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you off the ground. Your startled squeal echoes through the hall, but he ignores it. He just places you close to his head with a gentle but firm grunt.
"Sleep." His warm breath washes over you, providing a stark contrast to the cold, unyielding walls of the mountain.
You’re too stunned to resist, and the strange warmth of his breath is oddly comforting in the darkness.
_
As you soon find out, the dragon has entirely different plans for you than your village, which was so eager to throw you into the beast's arms. Or mouth.
Two days later, you finally gather the courage to ask. "When do you plan to... kill me?"
The dragon's response is not what you expect. He laughs, a loud, rumbling sound that echoes through the cavern and lingers long enough to make your skin burn with embarrassment.
"Eat you?" He asks, still chuckling. "Why would I do that, little morsel? You're so small... not even enough for a quick snack."
"Well..." you clear your throat, searching for words. "Isn't that what dragons do?"
He hums thoughtfully. "I won't lie," he admits. "The taste of human flesh is not... unfamiliar to me, but no, I don't plan to eat you." His laughter bubbles up again, and you scowl at his obvious amusement.
"Then why are you keeping me?" You press. Confusion and frustration mix in your voice.
He pauses for a moment, considering. "To entertain me."
"Entertain you?" You repeat, incredulous.
"Yes."
"What?" You scoff, disbelief creeping into your tone.
The dragon huffs as he leans closer to you. His massive head is now just inches away. Each exhale ruffles your hair, the warm breath unsettling yet somehow familiar after two days of spending time with him.
"Do you think you're the first human who has been given to me?" He asks, not waiting for your reply. "You’ll stay here with me until I tire of you."
"And after that?" You whisper, your voice barely louder than a whisper.
"I will let you go," he says. He almost sounds bored. "Just as I let the others go when they could no longer amuse me."
"You let them go? Alive?" You ask, hardly daring to believe it. You've never met anyone who was captured by a dragon and got out without a fight.
"Yes," he replies, rolling his eyes at your disbelief.
When you don’t respond, he turns away from you. His tail nearly knocks you off your feet as he heads toward one of the corridors.
"Where are you going?" You call after him, watching his massive form disappear into the shadows.
"I’ll get you some food," he says, laughing again. "Stay there."
"I don't even know your name!" You shout after him. You can hear your voice echo in the distance.
"Diman, little morsel."
Diman.
You're not sure how long he's been away. In the deepest part of the mountain, you can't see the sky, and not knowing whether it's day or night is starting to drive you mad. The dragon is rude and blunt, but you're beginning to think he won't be your biggest problem if you have to stay here with him.
When Diman returns, you feel a pang of disappointment as you see he has come back empty-handed. Your stomach growls with hunger, but before you can voice your frustration, he stops in front of you. With a deep breath, his large mouth opens, and two rabbits tumble onto the ground.
They're covered in his saliva, and they are unmistakably dead.
"You know what to do with them, right?"
"Yeah," you reply, trying to suppress the grimace threatening to spread across your face. "Thanks."
You grab the rabbits by their hind legs, searching the cavern for anything that might help you prepare them.
"You can find knives..." he muses for a moment. "Anywhere, I guess."
You glance at him, surprised by his nonchalant response. He smirks. His eyes gleam with a predatory glint, and the slits of his pupils widen slightly as he takes in your reaction. "You couldn't hurt me even if you wanted to," he adds with obvious amusement.
Without saying a word, you sigh and turn your attention back to the task at hand. You have dragon-saliva-soaked rabbits to prepare.
_
"Can I clean myself somewhere?" You ask.
After several days in the dragon's lair, you've yet to see the outside world, something you'll need to address with him eventually, but you have more important things in your mind. You've grown increasingly uncomfortable in your own skin. Your clothes reek of smoke and sweat.
Diman surprises you by standing up in his nest. "Good. I was starting to think you preferred being... like this."
You frown at him, feeling a mix of frustration and weariness. If this continues, your irritation with the dragon might become more than just a fleeting emotion. "What do you mean?"
"I thought you liked being stinky," he replies with a shrug. His muscular body, covered in thick, scaly skin, moves fluidly as he stretches.
"Why didn't you say anything before?" You splutter, annoyed and embarrassed at the same time.
"I didn't want to be rude," he says with an air of nonchalance.
You can’t help but scoff at his response, unable to hide your frustration.
"Come on, then."
The dragon leads you through the corridors. His massive strides force you to almost run just to keep up with him, and you have to watch out for his tail, too. It swings left and right in front of you with every step he takes.
For a long while, you wonder if he’s taking you out into the woods to find a river. But when he finally stops, and you step out behind him, you gasp in awe.
Before you is a new cave, even larger than the main hall at the heart of the mountain. Sunlight streams through natural openings in the walls, casting a warm glow on the time-carved columns that support the rough ceiling. The light dances across the surface of several pools of varying sizes scattered throughout the space. The water in them is crystal clear, reflecting the rugged walls with shimmering ripples. The air is thick with warmth and steam, which rises gently from the springs.
"Oh," you gasp, taking in the unexpected sight. "I didn’t know about this."
"Of course, you didn’t," Diman replies, his tone matter-of-fact. You give him a look, but he is not the type to shy away. "Do you want to bathe or not?"
"Yes," you reply, "I do. Do you have a change of clothes for me?"
"I’m sure I’ll find something," he says, and with that, he leaves you alone in the cave.
"Like a maid," he adds under his breath.
With his departure, you waste no time stripping off your clothes and stepping into one of the pools. The water laps gently against your bare skin, and you can feel your muscles and joints relaxing as the warmth envelops you. Leaning against the edge, you face the openings in the wall, allowing the sunlight and fresh air to wash over you.
When your village cast you out, you never imagined you'd end up here. You can’t help but think about how the others must assume you are long dead by now. You had thought so too, that your fate would be sealed and your life cut short. Yet here you are, unexpectedly alive and soaking in comfort. The irony of your situation is not lost on you.
You’re almost asleep when Diman returns, his heavy footsteps echoing softly in the cave. Something soft lands on the ground beside you silently. Opening your eyes, you see what looks like a nightgown spread out on the floor.
"And I brought you towels," he adds, his voice low and gruff.
You sit up, blinking in curiosity. "Why do you have towels?"
He shrugs, the movement causing the thick plates of his muscles to shift. "I have many things I have no idea how I got."
"Yeah. I saw."
Diman catches the subtle change in your tone and tilts his head. "Do you have a problem with it, little morsel?"
"It's... messy," you reply cautiously, watching his reaction. While Diman can be blunt and intimidating, he hasn’t harmed you yet, and you’re careful not to overstep.
"And it should bother me because...?"
"I didn’t say it should bother you," you tell him softly, trying to choose your words carefully. "But it’s not really... homey."
"It’s a cave," he retorts as if that explains everything.
"But it’s still your home," you reason.
Diman considers this, his gaze thoughtful. "Okay then," he agrees with a slow nod. "You’ll be here for a while, you might as well clean up if you want to."
Great, you think sarcastically. Just what you wanted, a never-ending cleaning project.
"Now," you say after a while, breaking the silence with a bit of hesitation, "can you leave?"
Diman frowns. "What?"
"I’m naked!" You exclaim, pointing out the obvious. With nothing else to distract you, you’re acutely aware of the fact that you’re completely bare in front of him, even though the pool and the water offer some privacy.
"So?" His tone is indifferent.
"Out!" You insist, your voice rising a bit in embarrassment.
For a long moment, Diman just stares at you, half-serious, half-amused. When you add a soft, "Please," his expression softens slightly.
He sighs but begins to move anyway. His large frame shifts with a resigned grace. "It is my lair, you know? You can’t just order me around."
It seems you can, but you wisely keep that thought to yourself.
Later, you find yourself nestled in Diman’s nest, a place that was initially intimidating but has become oddly comforting. You didn’t dare say anything about sleeping here at first, but now you don’t mind it. His warmth is a blessing against the cold mountain nights. A cocoon of heat that keeps the chill at bay.
"Read me something," Diman’s voice rumbles, breaking the silence.
"Read you something?" You ask, turning your head to look at him. His massive head rests on a pile of unidentifiable objects, his golden eyes reflecting the flickering firelight.
"Yes," he replies with a hint of impatience in his tone. "There are tons of books all over. Find something."
"Okay," you agree. You are not really sleepy either and glad for something to occupy your mind.
You rise from the nest, your nightgown swishing around your legs as you begin to sift through the scattered piles of belongings.
Diman watches you silently. There’s a quiet contentment in the way he observes you without saying anything. His tail curls slightly around himself some more. The sight of you in the soft, flowing nightgown fills him with a strange sense of peace. It’s almost enough to lull him to sleep, but he’s not quite ready for that yet.
As you pick through the mess, carefully avoiding knocking over anything, you come across a book that catches your eye. The cover is worn, and the title is barely readable, but it feels right in your hands. You bring it back to the nest and settle in beside Diman. Opening the book, you begin to read aloud, and soon, your voice fills the cavern. The dragon listens, his eyes half-lidded, and his breathing is slow and steady.
He spent the last decade mostly asleep, lost in the deep slumber of his kind. But now, with you here, being awake doesn’t feel like a burden anymore.
_
You and the dragon fall into a routine surprisingly quickly. The strange part isn't how easily you've adjusted to your new life, but how little you miss your old one. Yes, you miss your cottage, its cozy walls, and familiar smells, but you don’t miss the villagers. Why would you? They threw you away like garbage. With a few exceptions, they can rot where they are. You were right, though, choosing to be with a dragon is still a better option than staying with that fool of a man.
"What are you doing?" The sudden voice of Diman makes you jump. You almost drop the bundle of clothes in your hands. His large frame looms in the entrance. Shadows play and stretch on his scales in the dim light.
"Cleaning," you reply, steadying yourself after a second. You notice the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. "You're home early."
"There was a storm last night," he explains. His answer rumbles through the walls like a distant thunder. "It means plenty of fish."
Without further ado, he opens his massive jaws and drops a writhing pile of fish onto the stone floor. They flop and gasp, their silver scales glinting as a thin layer of water and dragon saliva spreads beneath them.
"Oh, god," you groan, stepping back in disgust. "They’re still alive!"
Diman tilts his head, watching you with a curious glint in his eyes. "You don't like it?"
"I do," you say, though your gaze remains fixed on the pile of struggling fish. "I just... I hate killing them."
"What?" He asks, genuinely puzzled.
"They're so wiggly!" You groan again, shuddering at the thought of touching their slimy bodies.
The dragon laughs. The deep, resonant sound echoes off the rugged walls. "I see. I’ll take care of them while you finish cleaning then."
You blink in surprise at his offer, but quickly nod anyway. You won't argue about this. "Thank you."
While he effortlessly handles the fish with his massive talons, you return to organizing the books you’ve been gathering from around the lair. You’ve created a neat pile in a corner. Diman could have a full library, though you’re not sure if dragons can even read.
"You’ve been busy today," he comments, his eyes flickering over to you as he lights a fire for cooking. Doing it in the heart of a mountain might not be the best idea, but for now, it’s your only option.
"Yeah," you sigh, placing your hands on your hips as you survey the hall. The place is still a chaos, but it’s better than before. "What do you do with so much gold?" You ask, nodding towards another glittering pile that catches the warm glow of the torches.
Diman shrugs. "They’re pretty."
"And the books? Or the clothes?" You continue, settling down next to him by the fire. Your stomach growls at the sight of the fish, now neatly arranged and ready to cook. "I understand the weapons and shields, but everything else seems so random."
He shrugs again. "I take what I find interesting or pretty. I mean, you’re here too, no?"
His words catch you off guard, a rush of warmth rising to your cheeks. "Well, yeah," you mumble, flustered.
Diman grins, revealing rows of sharp teeth. "You look better when you’re not trying to faint from fear."
You scoff. The moment between you two passes as quickly as it came. "Shut up."
He chuckles but falls silent, allowing a peaceful quiet to settle over you both as you begin cooking dinner. The fish sizzles over the fire, filling the cavern with a mouth-watering aroma.
"You seem to like it," Diman teases, watching you tear into the white flesh with both hands. Your hunger overwhelms your manners.
"Sorry," you mumble, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "I didn’t get to eat fish often back in the village. The river was far, and when people caught something, they sold it too expensive for me."
Diman’s gaze softens slightly. "Did you have problems there?"
"Not really," you reply between two bites. "I didn’t have much, but it was enough, you know?"
He hums in understanding, lowering his massive head to the ground as you continue eating.
"Do you want some?" You ask, holding out a piece of fish on your plate toward him. "It’s delicious."
The moment the words leave your mouth, time seems to stop. Diman stares at you, shock clear on his face. You have no idea what you’ve just offered him. Offering food among dragons is a gesture of profound significance, far beyond the simple act as it is for humans. It’s a symbol of trust, of bonding, of something deeper that you can’t even begin to comprehend.
For a long moment, Diman hesitates, torn between his instincts and the awareness that you don’t understand the weight of your gesture.
"No," he finally says, though his voice is softer, almost tender. He relaxes back onto the ground, his massive form curling slightly around you. "Eat, little morsel."
You continue eating, unaware of the change between you and the dragon and the silent vow Diman has made to himself. He will make sure you never leave him, even if you don’t fully understand the bond you’re forming yet.
_
“When will you get bored of me?” You ask the dragon after two months of living with him. The two of you sit at the entrance of his cave, basking in the last golden rays of the summer sun as it slowly dips behind the horizon. His emerald scales shimmer under the warm light. He sprawls on the ground, seemingly at ease.
At your question, his muscles tense, and he lifts his massive head to look at you. “Do you want to leave, little human?” He asks. The question rumbles with a barely suppressed growl of disapproval.
In truth, you have no desire to leave him. The thought of him sending you away gnaws at you daily. Where would you even go? Your old life was left behind, abandoned along with your cottage. Now, this cave, with its towering stone walls and the dragon who lives in it, is the only home you know.
A long, silent moment stretches between you as he watches you intently. Slowly, you gather your courage and shake your head. “No,” you admit, your voice steady. “That’s why I’m asking.”
His gaze softens slightly. “You don’t want to leave me?” He asks again as if needing to hear it twice to believe it.
You shake your head once more.
Living with Diman has been surprisingly comfortable. Despite his size and the sharpness of his claws, he’s become a constant presence around you, a source of safety. He’s often infuriating, teasing you just for the fun of it, but there’s warmth in his companionship that you’ve come to cherish. The thought of leaving him, of leaving this mountain, fills you with anxiety.
“Would you let me go if I wanted to leave?” You ask suddenly, the question escaping before you can stop it.
Diman sighs, his eyes drifting over the darkening landscape. “That would be the right thing to do, wouldn’t it?” He muses aloud.
“Yeah,” you agree quietly. “I guess.”
He meets your gaze with a guilty smile. The corners of his large mouth curve up. “I say yes, as long as you promise not to test it.”
Diman has always been quick to let go of the men and women offered to him over the years. A lot of them stayed only a few days before he grew bored and sent them on their way. But with you, it’s different. He has no intention of letting you go. It’s not just about the entertainment you provide, though, you do make him laugh more than he has in years. No, it’s more than that. You make his cave feel like a home, and every time he leaves to hunt, he finds himself eager to return. When he sleeps, he looks forward to waking up, knowing you’ll be there. You’ve brought something into his life he didn’t know he was missing.
To his surprise, you laugh, the sound light and genuine. “Okay,” you say with a smile. “I won’t test it.”
And with that, the conversation ends. You lean back against his thick arm, closing your eyes with a contented sigh.
That night, the two of you drift off to sleep with anticipation and some lightness in your hearts.
_
"When will you be back?" You ask Diman, standing under the entrance of the cave as the rain pours down in heavy sheets. The dark clouds above rumble and flash with lightning every few minutes, casting brief, eerie illuminations across the landscape. The forest below is still green, but it looks weary and tired as the autumn approaches.
Diman turns to you, a grin spreading across his massive face, revealing his sharp teeth. "Are you worried about me?" He teases, expecting your usual playful retort, but when you don’t respond with your typical energy, his expression softens, and he answers more seriously. "I’ll be fine," he assures you. "This weather is nothing to me."
You nod, but the sigh that escapes you betrays your concern. "Okay."
"I’ll be back soon," he adds, trying to reassure you. "It shouldn’t be more than a week. Maybe two."
You don’t like the uncertainty in his answer, but you nod again anyway. "Okay."
"Take care of yourself while I’m away," he says, his voice gentle, as if trying to ease your worry.
"I will," you reply, though the words feel hollow.
Diman has to leave to hunt and prepare for the approaching winter. With his large appetite, he needs to be mindful of the animal population and cover more land before he accidentally empties the surrounding forest. And while you understand the necessity, you don't like it. You’ve grown used to his presence, his constant warmth. The thought of him being gone, even for a short while, leaves you feeling strangely vulnerable.
But you know it’s something he must do. So, you watch him as he spreads his enormous wings. The muscles in his body flex in preparation for flight, and with a powerful leap, he takes to the sky.
You watch him until his form is swallowed by the stormy clouds.
As you retreat back into the cave, it feels emptier without him. Colder somehow. You wrap yourself in a blanket, trying to shake off the unease settling in your chest. You tell yourself he’ll be back soon, just as he promised, but until then, the cave, and you, feel just a little lonelier.
While Diman is away, you continue to tidy up the cave, but it becomes increasingly difficult as the days drag on. Without his presence, the mountain walls feel heavy and claustrophobic. They close in on you more and more with each passing day. The silence is deafening, and the nights are too cold without the dragon’s warmth beside you. The cave now feels more like a prison, its stone walls offering little comfort against the loneliness that gnaws at you.
As the end of the first week without him approaches, you find yourself spending more and more time at the entrance of the cave, staring out at the still-raging storm and the dark sky and hoping to catch a glimpse of the returning dragon. Nature seems to be shedding its lush greens at an alarming speed. The forest below transforms into shades of orange and brown as autumn takes hold.
One day, you sit at the entrance of the cave, wrapped tightly in a blanket as the storm continues its relentless assault on the world outside. The sky above is dark, and heavy with clouds. The wind howls, and the rain pounds against the rocks, but you barely notice it anymore. Your thoughts are far away, lost in worry and longing for Diman's return.
The rumble of the ground beneath you is subtle at first, a faint vibration that you almost dismiss as part of the storm. But then it intensifies. The mountain itself groans under the pressure of some unseen force. You stand up, alarmed and with a racing heart as the tremors grow stronger. For several seconds, you stand there, frozen in place until the rocks around you begin to shudder. Dust and small pebbles rain down from the ceiling. A deafening roar echoes through the cave, and the ground lurches violently beneath your feet. The entrance, your only connection to the outside world, begins to crumble too. The rocks above shift and crack, and with a thunderous crash, they fall. The cacophony of stone grinding against stone drowns out everything else.
You barely have time to leap out of the way as the massive boulders come crashing down, sealing off the entrance in a cloud of dust and debris. You hurl yourself to the ground, rolling to the side and curling into a tight ball in the midst of the chaos. Your heart pounds as you squeeze your eyes shut. Your muscles are tense as you pull your knees to your chest. One arm wraps protectively around your head, while the other digs into your legs, anchoring you as the world around you crumbles.
When it finally stops, the silence is absolute, broken only by the muffled sound of the storm outside.
Coughing and gasping for breath, you push yourself up with a groan. Darkness surrounds you, thick and impenetrable. The air is heavy with dust, making it hard to breathe. Your hands scrape against the rough stone floor. You reach out, feeling your way through the pitch-black void, but your fingers meet only cold, solid rock and hard edges. Desperately, you search for any sliver of light, any gap that might offer a way out, but there’s nothing. The cave is sealed tight, and you are alone in the stifling blackness. The once-open space is now filled with a thick wall of stone.
You sink back to the ground with a rising panic in your chest while trying to steady your breathing. Your shoulders feel heavy as you force your mind to think. Diman will come back, you tell yourself. He’ll know something’s wrong. He’ll dig you out. You are safe with no injuries besides a few bruises and cuts here and there, and for now, all you can do is wait, alone in the darkness, hoping that Diman will return sooner rather than later to save you.
Hours pass in suffocating darkness. You sit, knees drawn to your chest, straining to hear anything beyond the silence. Every creak and groan of the mountain around you sends a jolt of hope through your heart, but it’s always nothing. Your dragon is probably far away, having no idea of the situation you are in. Your mind races with worry and fear, but as time drags on with no sign of Diman, a cold, grim resolve begins to take hold of you. You can’t just sit here, waiting. You have to do something.
With a deep breath, you push yourself to your feet. Your hands reach out to the rough, familiar walls of the cave, guiding you as you navigate through the pitch-black corridors. Every torch is blown out, making each step you take slow and careful. It feels like an eternity by the time you reach the grand hall. You can’t see it, but you know the space by heart.
First, you need fire. The torch is hard to find. Your hands are shaking when your fingers finally close around one, but lighting it is even more difficult. You are clumsy, trembling with cold and fear, but after several tries, a spark catches, and a small, flickering flame bursts to life.
The light is weak, barely enough to push back the darkness, but it’s something. It gives you the courage to move forward.
You gather as much supply as you can carry, stuffing them into a small sack before making your way to the baths. The walls here are punctuated by holes that let in some natural light, even though it's not much now with the storm outside. It's better than nothing, though.
You set your torch in a holder on the wall, letting the warm, flickering light mix with the cool, natural glow filtering in. The bath hall is a large, cavernous room with several pools fed by underground springs.
Okay, you think. It's much better. You have light, clean air, food and water. You will be fine until Diman comes back.
You lay out the blankets, creating a small nest for sleep. The air here is warmer, the water giving off a gentle steam that eases the chill in your bones. You take a deep breath, the first one since forever that doesn’t feel suffocating. The fear and loneliness are still there, gnawing at the back of your mind, but it’s easier to push them aside now that you are safe and out of the dark.
Diman will come back. He has to.
As the second week draws to a close, the storm that has raged on for weeks finally begins to ease. For the first time in days, you feel a small sense of relief. Being able to see the sky helps soothe the anxiety that has been eating at you. The knowledge that the world beyond the mountain still exists and turns is a comfort you didn't know you needed so much.
It's early Friday morning when a deep rumble shakes the cave, jolting you awake. Your stomach tightens with fear. The memory of the last collapse flashes through your mind as you brace yourself for the worst but this time, the ground doesn’t give way, and as the rumbling continues, you realize it’s not the mountain. It’s Diman’s voice, echoing through the labyrinth of stone.
A gasp escapes your lips as you scramble from your makeshift bed, your heart pounding with a mixture of relief and anticipation. You hesitate at the entrance of the cave that opens to the baths, unsure whether to move or stay put. You have to keep your tensing and twitching muscles from running. The maze of tunnels and chambers could make it harder for him to find you if you wander too far.
You call his name, your voice trembling as it bounces off the rugged walls, merging with his deep, booming calls.
“Y/N!” His voice is closer now, filled with urgency and worry.
Tears well up and spill down your cheeks as you see his massive form emerge at the end of the corridor. His eyes are wide and frantic as he spots you. Relief washes over you like a wave as you rush toward him, your arms stretching out instinctively.
“I’m here,” you cry out. Your voice breaks with emotion just as his large head presses into your embrace. You wrap your arms around him as best as you can, feeling the cool, rough texture of his scales under your fingers. Your feet lift off the ground for a moment as you cling to him. His deep, rumbling hum vibrates through your body as he tries to calm himself.
“I saw the entrance,” he says, his voice choked with fear and lingering panic. “I thought- I saw your blanket between the rocks- and- ”
“I’m fine,” you reassure him, caressing the thick scales beneath his eyes. “I was lucky; it didn’t hurt me.”
“Why were you even there?”
“I was waiting for you,” you reply.
“Little morsel,” he sighs, snuggling even closer. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“I promise." His large, gleaming eyes soften as you continue to stroke his scales. “I’m fine now that you’re here,” you whisper. The warmth of his presence chases away the lingering fear and loneliness that had weighed on you for so long.
Diman hums again, a low, soothing sound that vibrates through the air. It wraps you in a cocoon of safety.
“I’ll never leave you like that again,” he promises, his voice firm and unwavering.
You smile, wiping away the last of your tears as you nod. “It's fine by me.”
For a while, both of you bask in each other's embrace while talking quietly about the last two weeks. Diman needs a long time to calm down and believe that you are really okay.
"I will go and take care of the entrance," he says after a while. "And lit some fire."
"Okay," you nod even though you have to force yourself to let him go.
"Stay there until then," he says. "I will come back and get you."
As Diman busies himself, you slip away to take a bath. The warm water washes away the grime and stress of the past weeks, and as you change into clean clothes, a sense of relief settles over you. The knowledge that Diman is back, safe and sound, lifts the heavy burden that had weighed on your heart. Even as you hear the rumble of debris being cleared and feel the tremors beneath your feet, the fear that once accompanied these sensations is replaced by contentment. The mountain, which had felt like a prison in his absence, now feels secure and comforting again.
By the time you finish, Diman has completed his work. The entrance to the cave is clear once again, and as you step into the great hall, the fire’s orange glow flickers warmly on the walls, bringing a sense of normalcy back to your life.
"We need to change a few things around here," Diman says, his mind clearly racing with ideas. "I want you to have an escape route even when I'm not here. You need more light and—"
"It's okay," you interrupt gently, smoothing your palm over his thick arm. The texture of his scales is rough beneath your hand. "We can figure everything out later. Are you hungry?"
He looks at you, surprised. "I just came back from hunting."
You shrug, settling into your usual spot near his nest. The fire crackles, casting dancing shadows on the walls, and while you miss the open view of the outside world, the warmth and light bring a sense of peace. "You worked a lot today."
His smile is gentle, and there’s a new light in his yellow eyes that you’ve never seen before, something soft and tender. "No," he replies after a pause, his voice low and soothing. "I'm not hungry, but let me feed you."
"Oh," you say, surprised by his offer. "Okay," you add, smiling at him as he moves to prepare your meal.
Despite the obvious difference in size between him and the portion you eat, he works with surprising speed and care, and soon, the cave is filled with the mouthwatering aroma of vegetables and fish. Your stomach growls in response, reminding you how long it’s been since you’ve had a proper meal.
"Where did you get fish?" You ask, watching him with curiosity. You had finished all the meat in the last two weeks before it could spoil.
"On my way back," he replies with a nonchalant shrug. "Now, eat."
You take the plate he offers, the food warm and inviting. As you savor each bite, you glance up at Diman. His eyes are fixed on you, watching with a kind of quiet contentment that makes your heart swell. You’ve never seen him look at you like this before, and it fills you with a warmth that has nothing to do with the fire.
"Thank you," you say softly, and Diman responds with a deep, comforting hum that reverberates through the cave. The sound is rich and soothing, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. "Are you sure you don't want some?" You ask, holding up a piece of fish between your fingers. You could use a fork, but Diman doesn’t care about etiquette, and you quickly grew tired of searching for usable cutlery in the vastness of his home.
As the words leave your lips, the air between you shifts. Something unspoken and electric crackles in the silence as your eyes meet, holding each other's gaze a moment longer than usual.
"Do you know what you're offering me, little morsel?" Diman's voice deepens, resonating with a gravity that makes your heart skip a beat. The black slits of his pupils widen, nearly overtaking the molten gold of his eyes.
You hesitate. The answer is on the tip of your tongue. "No?" You say instead.
"Sharing food in my culture is an offer to share everything," he explains, his gaze never wavering. "It’s a bond between family and mates."
"Oh," you manage. Your throat tightens at the realization. "So..." you croak, still holding up your hand with the small offering. "Do you want some?"
A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his lips, revealing the sharp edges of his teeth as he grins down at you. There’s a predatory glint in his eyes as he leans in, his massive head drawing closer. His tongue flicks out, surprisingly gentle, as he licks up the morsel from your hand. It’s likely not even enough for him to taste, but the significance isn’t lost on either of you. You’ve offered something sacred, something profound, and he’s accepted it with a puffed-out chest and a heart swelling with warmth.
As you watch him, a thought strikes you. "Wait," you say, your voice breaking the quiet. "But you..."
Diman watches you with amusement, the corner of his mouth curling up. "Yes, little mate?"
"You prepared my food so many times."
"I have," he agrees, his voice steady and sure.
"Well," you clear your throat, feeling a little foolish but pressing on. Your heart races in your chest at the silent change between you and the dragon. "Do you want some more?"
Diman chuckles. "No," he replies with affection. "Eat now." But even as he speaks, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he stays close, his head rubbing gently against your side and arms, careful not to knock you over with his size and strength.
His gaze never leaves yours as you take a sip of water, trying to calm yourself after your last bite. Your stomach twists into a tight but excited knot. Your hands tremble as you reach out, letting your fingers trace the space between his nostrils, feeling the rough, resilient scales that shield him from nearly everything.
Diman hums softly, a deep, resonant sound that vibrates through the air and ripples down your spine. “Lay down, Y/N,” he murmurs, nudging you gently with his head. “I hunger for something else.”
A quiet “oh” escapes your lips. It's more of a breath than a word, but you obey without trying to say anything else. Your movements are slow and deliberate as you lower yourself to the ground. Your eyes are still locked in his intense gaze. The cold, uneven ground presses against your skin through the thin fabric of your nightgown. It barely offers any protection from the roughness and the cold beneath you. Goosebumps wake on your skin, but you are sure it has more to do with the dragon than anything else. You’re very aware of how exposed you are, both physically and emotionally, as you settle down before him. Diman watches you with a look that’s a mix of hunger and intent. His eyes glow with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. His attention is heavy and burning. His massive form shifts closer. His breath is warm against your skin. There’s a powerful, magnetic pull between you two that sparkles under the silence that settled over the hall in the last few minutes. It's primal and impatient. His gaze sweeps over you, taking in every detail and every breath you take, and for a long moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. The cave, the firelight, the very air around you, all of them fade into the background. Your nipples harden into tight peaks under the white fabric you wear. Your arms start to move to hide yourself, but you decide against it at the last moment. Instead, you rest your hands on your stomach and open your legs without Diman having to tell you what to do. The mix of the cold mountain air and his warm breath fans over your center, making your pussy clench around nothing. The sudden feeling takes your breath away for several seconds. The dragon didn't even touch you yet, but you are already damp and eager. The muscles of your thighs are hard, and your insides tremble with anticipation. Your chest rises and falls with each shallow breath, pushing the soft globes of your breasts against the nightgown. The fabric clings to your skin as Diman's golden eyes trace over your form. His gaze is intense as he takes in the sight of you laid out before him. He hasn’t touched you yet, but the promise of what’s to come hangs thick in the air, a palpable tension that has your heart racing. You can feel his warmth and his presence, so close yet not close enough, and it drives your desire even higher.
"Good, mate," Diman rumbles with satisfaction. "Open up for me even more."
With a shaky breath, you obey, forcing your legs further apart. You can feel the stretch of your tendons, the pull of your muscles as you do exactly as he commands. The hem of your nightgown slips down, gathering around the base of your thighs, leaving you bare and utterly vulnerable before him. Your lips are dry as you wait for his reaction, and your cheeks are hot with need and a hint of embarrassment.
His eyes rove over your exposed form once again. His warm breath fans over your center, over your whole body, making you quiver with anticipation.
"Such a beautiful sight," the dragon murmurs. His voice is a low growl that makes your pussy clench with need. He leans in closer, his large head hovering just above your thighs. The approval in his gaze makes you feel both cherished and possessed.
Your heart races, each beat echoing in your ears as you lay there, completely exposed. The rough texture of the ground beneath you only serves to remind you of the dragon's power above. His large form makes the cave look small as you look up at him with anticipation. Your whole body is tense as you wait for him to do something.
And when he does, you forget how to breathe.
Diman's tongue flicks out. The tip barely brushes against your inner thighs, and yet, it sends a jolt of pleasure through your body. Your back arches instinctively, and a soft moan escapes your lips. Maybe if your mind would be clearer, you would be embarrassed because of your reaction, but the haze is already too thick in your head to care. He moves slowly and exploratory. His tongue traces patterns across your skin but never goes further up than the base of your thighs. Each touch and caress is something new you both try to savor.
"You're perfect, little mate," Diman whispers, his voice thick with emotion.
His presence is overwhelming, his scales cool and firm against your skin, while the heat of his breath washes over you in waves when finally, his enormous head settles down between your legs. You feel the sheer magnitude of his closeness in every fiber of your body.
His tongue, wide and powerful, flicks out to tease you. The rough texture sends jolts of pleasure through your core. He starts slowly, almost lazily, trailing his tongue along your inner thighs, leaving a tingling, wet path of warmth in its wake. The contrast between his cool scales and the heat of your arousal is intoxicating.
When you waited for him at the top of the hill, you never imagined it would lead to this, that you would end up breathless and aroused beneath the beast. A wry smile tugs at your lips, thinking of the people you once knew. They have no idea how much of a favor they’ve done for you.
A soft gasp escapes your lips as his tongue finally makes contact with your pussy and cuts the train of your thoughts. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine. His tongue is wet and rough just enough the make you buck your hips against him while he watches your every reaction with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. His molten gold eyes are filled with a hunger that only stokes the fire within you. The black slits of his pupils are almost orbs as he tries to take you in.
He takes his time, exploring you with slow movements that leave you on the edge of madness. The rough texture of his tongue adds a delicious friction that makes you moan with need. Your hips lift again, seeking more of his touch, but Diman holds you in place with a gentle but unyielding pressure, savoring the control he has over your body.
“Diman,” you breathe, his name escaping your lips in a desperate plea. The tension inside you coils tighter with each teasing stroke. Your body aches for release.
“Patience, little mate,” he rumbles, his deep voice vibrating through you like a physical caress. Your back arches at the feeling. The sound alone sends a pulse of arousal straight to your core, making you clench around nothing. His words only heighten the anticipation building inside of you.
He dips lower, circling your entrance with agonizing slowness, making you gasp and writhe beneath him. The tip of his tongue traces your folds, gathering your wetness and savoring your taste with a low, approving hum that resonates through you. He flicks your clit over and over again until your thighs tighten around his large jaw and nose. He teases you restlessly, slipping down across your folds and going straight to your entrance. He prods you there for an endless moment, making you whine and fidget with impatience bubbling in your chest.
The dragon laughs at that, and the rumble of his chuckle echoes in your body. The feeling punches a moan out of your lips, and you barely have time to come back to your senses when his tongue slides inside you with a slow, deliberate push. He fills you up in a way that’s both overwhelming and strange. The wet muscle penetrates you, making you cry out breathlessly. Your back arches off the ground almost painfully, and your walls clench around the thickness of his tongue, only making it rub over your sensitive spots even more. He moves in and out of you as he fucks you with a measured, unhurried pace. He lets his tongue soak in your arousal while he listens to the sweet sounds you make. You are the prettiest thing he has ever seen with your half-closed eyes and trembling muscles. He can feel every flutter of your pussy around his tongue as he pushes deeper, finding every spot that makes your voice go higher with several octaves.
The pleasure is intense, almost too much to bear. Your body is stretched and filled by the sheer size of his tongue. Each of his movements is precise, calculated to drive you to the brink without ever pushing you over the edge. You can feel every inch of him, every ripple and curve of his tongue as it slides in and out of you. The sensation swirls the world around you once, twice, three times.
“Please,” you whisper. “I need-” The end of your sentence is drowned by the ragged breath that bursts out of your lips as you wheeze and pant.
Diman’s response is a low, satisfied growl that reverberates through your entire body. He increases the pace slightly, his tongue fucking you with a slow, steady rhythm that has you gasping for air. The pressure builds inside you, a hot, insistent ache that demands release, and your body tightens with each thrust. You feel like a drawn bow.
And...
and...
He pulls back just enough to flick his tongue over your clit. His touch is electric, sending shockwaves through your entire body, yet you cry out in frustration. Tears gather in your eyes, and your hips buck up against him as you chase the high that’s just got out of reach. Diman seems to relish in your desperation, his tongue alternating between fucking you deep and teasing your clit with a maddening, feather-light touch.
The tension coils tighter and tighter inside you, every muscle in your body straining as you teeter on the edge of release. The dragon's tongue works you with a relentless, skillful precision, drawing out every ounce of pleasure until you’re a quivering, breathless mess beneath him.
“Let go,” he murmurs. His voice is like a deep, soothing rumble that wraps around you like a warm embrace. “I want to feel you come for me, little mate.”
His words are the final push you need as his tongue finds its way inside you with a quick, bullying motion. Your body surrenders to the overwhelming pleasure that crashes over you like a tidal wave. The orgasm tears through you, leaving you breathless and shaking. Your muscles contract and release in a rhythm that matches the waves of ecstasy flooding your veins. You, your body, and your orgasm are in sync with the rapid thrust of his tongue that pounds in and out of you as you fall over the edge.
Diman doesn’t stop. His tongue continues to fuck you through your orgasm, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until you’re left trembling and spent beneath him. Your body is a live wire of sensation, every touch sending aftershocks of pleasure coursing through you. Your climax and his saliva are a mess of mix between your thighs, soaking the floor underneath.
When he pulls back, his eyes glow with a satisfied light as he watches you catch your breath. His chest expands with pride at the sight of you. Your gown clings to your skin, highlighting the hard peaks of your nipples. A thin layer of sweat glistens on your skin under the orange glow of the fire. You are beautiful, and something in him, something primal and demanding, awakens again, but instead of burying himself between your soft thighs again, he just licks his lips to savor your taste while you slowly get back to your senses.
"Diman?" You breathe out his name, searching for him even though your eyes are still closed.
"I'm here, my love," he hums. "I won't go anywhere."
"What about you?" You ask him, and the dragon can't help but chuckle. His own arousal is still hard and leaking between his hind legs, but there is no way you are up to explore the physical possibilities between the two of you.
"I can wait," he says, hauling you up in his hand gently to settle down in his nest with you close to his massive head. "Sleep, my mate."
As the new mate of the dragon living among the clouds and resting in the mountains, your old life becomes a quickly fading memory. And when your love starts to rebuild his cave just to make it more of a home for you, you never look back. Not once.
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madebycloud · 22 days ago
Text
Ex at New Year
violet "vi" x female reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
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summary: a second chance at love. a first chance at happiness. the love of your life is knocking at your door. do you let them in? warnings/themes: fluff and angst, ex lovers, breakup, new years eve, pining lmao, a lot of flashbacks, slightly suggestive, everyone is alive and happy au, modern au, mentions of: smoking, drinking, vi is DOWN BAD! serenading you with a boombox in the rain? yes please words: 24.7k (hell yeah...?) notes: i swear this is so fking sappy man like a hallmark christmas movie or smth like that... forced myself to NOT pull a 'past lives' ending. nyways my friend told me to listen to "ocean's & engines" just to write an angst so yeah... — ✩ part one, part two
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The walk to your apartment is a quiet one, neither of you speaking a word. You're both lost in your own thoughts, the only sound being the soft scraping of your shoes on the sidewalk. Finally, you reach your apartment building. You stop in front of the door—the same door she slammed shut and left you behind three months ago.
Your hand automatically reaches for your keys, but your fingers linger, not yet grabbing them.
“So, this is it, huh?”
You nod, your eyes still trained on the door in front of you. “Yeah.”
There's a pause. A long pause before Vi speaks again, “Good night.”
This sucks.
“Good night,” you murmur.
She hesitates, like she wants to say something more. But she doesn't. With a nod, she turns and starts walking away.
You swallow the lump in your throat, finally reaching into your pocket and grabbing your keys. You put the key in the lock and twist the doorknob. The door opens with a soft click, and you're face to face with your lonely apartment. It's dark inside, save for the light that comes in through the window. You step inside, shutting the door behind you.
You take off your shoes, kicking them off to the side. You drag yourself over to your bed, slumping down against the footboard. Your hand fishes into your pocket, pulling out your phone.
Scrolling through your phone, you notice a notification from your mother, sent an hour ago. “How's Vander's Christmas party?” it reads.
You sigh, not really wanting to respond. It's already 1am, but you decide to give your mother a call anyway. After a few rings, she picks up.
“Hello?” her voice rings through the speaker. You can hear the faint noise of a TV in the background.
“Still up watching your favorite show?” 
“You know me,” she replies. “Your father is asleep already,” she pauses before asking, “You're going to come over today, right? I'll cook your favorite dish. You better.”
“Yes, I won't miss it,” your fingers playing absently with a loose thread on your sheets.
She hums on the other side of the line. “How was Christmas Eve at Vander's, by the way?”
You shrug, even though she can't see you. “It was pretty good,” you answer. “Food was good. Mylo and Powder are rowdy as always.”
“Oh, I could imagine,” your mother chuckles. “What about-” suddenly she stops, cutting herself off. “How was... how was Vi?”
You hesitate before answering. “She was... fine.”
There's a long pause, the sound of the TV filling the silence. Finally, she speaks. “And how was it, seeing her again?”
You exhale, staring up at the ceiling. “It was fine,” you say again. “It was just... fine.”
She hums, hearing the lie in your tone. But she doesn't push, not this time. “I see…”
After a moment of silence, you ask, “Mom, can I ask you something?”
Your mother pauses. She senses the seriousness in your tone. “Of course, sweetheart,” she says, the TV shutting off in the background.
You swallow, fiddling with the loose thread on your sheets again. “Hypothetically speaking…” you start. “If an ex asked for another chance... would you give them one? I mean, despite everything that's happened.”
There's a deep breath from the other side of the line, followed by a thoughtful hum. “Hypothetically speaking…” she echoes. “I suppose it would depend on why the relationship ended in the first place.”
“But let's say... hypothetically speaking…” you pause. This is going to sound ridiculous. “You have no idea why they walked away. They just... left, and then they turned up a couple months later, asking for another chance. Would you still let them in?”
Your mom takes a moment to answer. “Hypothetically speaking…” she finally replies. “I think if someone wanted another chance, the least you could do is hear them out. Find out the reason they walked away in the first place.”
“But... isn't that just asking for heartbreak all over again?”
“Not necessarily,” your mom says. “Maybe they finally realized how much they still... care for you.”
You close your eyes, pressing your knuckles against them. “But what if... what if they leave again? what if they change their mind?”
“I suppose that's a risk you'd have to be willing to take.”
“I don't know if I can go through something like that again.”
“Listen, honey,” you can almost hear her shaking her head. “If you don't try... how will you know?”
“I just... don't want to get hurt again,” you say, your voice quivering.
Your mother sighs. “Sometimes taking risks is worth it.” She's quiet for a moment before continuing, “Sometimes people make mistakes. They leave, they come back, they leave again, they come back again... but that's what happens when it comes to love. It's messy, complicated, and sometimes it hurts like hell, but it's also the most beautiful and powerful thing in the world.”
You chew on your lip. “I'm so scared, mom,” you admit. “I don't really know what to do.”
There's another pause, then her voice softens. “Remember when you were six, and you wouldn't go on the big slide at the park?”
You frown, her sudden question confusing you. “Yeah?”
“Remember what I told you?”
Thinking back, you recall the memory. Young you, clutching your mom's hand as the other kids swarmed the slide. You were shaking, too scared you'd fall. Her voice drifts through your memory. “I told you that sometimes it's okay to be scared, but you won't know if you like something if you don't try.”
“Besides,” she had said with a smile. “I'll be right here to catch you if you fall.”
You remember how you nodded then, letting go of her hand and slowly making your way up. You're trembling as you stand at the top of the slide, preparing yourself to go.
Your mother's gentle smile, her encouraging words. “Take a deep breath, sweetheart. Everything will be okay.”
Before you knew it, you were off. You were flying, wind in your hair, laughter bursting from your lips. By the time you reached the bottom, any fear you had was replaced with pure happiness.
True to her word, your mom was there to catch you at the end.
“You loved the slide after that,” she chuckles. “You went down it countless times, right until we had to go home, and I'll tell you now…” Her voice turns serious again. “Even if you're scared and you fall, I'll be right here to catch you, okay?”
“I…” You can feel yourself starting to tear up. “Okay,” you whisper, swallowing back the lump in your throat.
She gives a hum, and you can almost see her nodding. “There's my brave girl,” your mom says, a smile in her voice. “Get some rest, and we'll talk more in the morning, alright?”
“Yeah... okay.” you take a shaky breath. “Thanks, mom. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you. Don't stay up too late.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you smile, though it fades quickly. “Love you too.”
You hang up, setting your phone down on the bedside table. You sigh, scrubbing a hand over your face. You push yourself from the footboard and make your way to your bed. Crawling onto your stomach, you bury your face deep into your pillow and groan.
Taking risks, giving second chances, hoping for the best, fearing the worst...
You just wish you could shut it all off and just sleep.
3 MONTHS BEFORE CHRISTMAS, THE BREAKUP
You sat at the kitchen table, picking at your dinner halfheartedly. You glanced up at Vi, who sat across from you. Her plate of food hardly touched. She's avoiding your gaze. She's just right in front of you, and yet she feels as if she's millions of miles away.
“We need to talk about what's going on with us.”
Vi didn't even bother to look at you. She continues to push her food around her plate.
You slammed your hand down on the table, a loud clang breaking the quiet room. “Don't ignore me.”
That got her looking up to you. “What do you want to talk about?” 
“You know damn well what I want to talk about,” you snap, “this. this." you gesture between you and her.
Vi stands up suddenly, pushing her plate away from her. “I'm tired,” she mutters, avoiding your gaze. 
“Tired of what?” you stand up as well, eyes narrowing. “Tired of this, of us?”
Vi sighs, her shoulders sagging. “Can we not talk about this?’ she says. “I'm just... I'm not in the mood right now, okay?”
It has become a familiar habit. Every time you tried to address the issue, to have a serious conversation about the state of your relationship, Vi would shut down. She would do everything in her power to avoid facing the problem.
You throw your hands up, exasperated. “You've said that every time I try to talk, 'I'm not in the mood', 'Let's talk later', 'Can this wait?'” you mimic her voice. “If we're not gonna talk about this, then when?”
“I don't feel like talking right now!”
“That's the thing! there's never a time that you feel like talking. You always have an excuse, or you brush it off like it's nothing, like our relationship is nothing.”
“That's not true!” Vi snaps back, clenching her jaw. “I care about you and this relationship.”
“Then why do you keep shutting me out?” you interrupt. “You refuse to talk, you distance yourself from me, you dodge every attempt I make to connect. You're pushing me away every chance you get.”
“Jesus Christ, I'm not pushing you away,” Vi says. “I just need some space sometimes, I need to think.” Her tone softens, expression shifting from irritation to something closer to pleading. “Can you give me that at least? just some time to myself to process things.”
“Time to process things,” you repeat. “What things, Vi? see? this is what I'm talking about. You keep everything bottled up, and you never talk to me about it. I can't read your mind, and I can't fix what I don't know. I'm your girlfriend, and yet you treat me like some stranger.”
“What do you want me to say?!” Vi explodes, her voice echoing in the kitchen. “You want me to just pour out my heart and soul to you? spill all my problems and insecurities like some open book? is that what you want?!”
“Yes!” you snap, voice just as loud as hers. “I want you to talk to me! I want you to trust me enough to share what's going on in that head of yours! I can't keep going on like this, walking on eggshells, never knowing if I'm going to say or do something that's gonna piss you off.”
“Maybe I don't want to talk to you all the time,” Vi says. “Maybe I don't want to burden you with all my crap all the time. Maybe I just want some time to myself to deal with it on my own.”
“Of course you don't.” It’s sarcasm, pure and simple. “You're Vi, too tough for feelings and emotions. God forbid you show some weakness. You're so tough and strong and independent, you can handle everything on your own.” “This is why I don't talk to you,” Vi exclaims. “Because I know you'll turn it around on me, you'll make it out like I'm the one that needs fixing. You're so quick to assume the worst in me, to assume that I'm the problem. Have you ever considered that maybe—just maybe—you're the one who's being too clingy, too needy, too-”
“Too what?” you interrupt. “Say it, Vi. I'm too clingy? too needy? go on, get it out. You've wanted to say it for a while—so say it.”
“You're too much!” Vi blurts out. 
“Too much,” you repeat. “I'm too much.” It came out like a scoff. “I'm too much for trying to get you to open up? I'm too much for trying to save this damn relationship? I'm too much for wanting you to fucking talk to me?! I'm just trying to have a damn conversation, but apparently that's too much for you to handle.”
“Yeah, because everything you're saying is bullshit,” Vi retorts. “All you ever do is criticize me and bring up the same crap over and over again. You don't actually want to fix anything. You just want to complain about how I'm not living up to your perfect vision of a partner.”
“Oh my god,” you rub your temples. “My perfect vision of a partner? really? really? I'm not asking for the damn stars and moon. I'm asking for the bare minimum. I'm asking for basic communication. I'm asking for emotional connection. How's that a perfect vision'? How's that being too needy?”
“I wouldn't have to keep bringing up the same crap if you would just talk to me. I wouldn't have to repeat myself. We wouldn't be having this same damn fight again and again if you would just-” you stop yourself, taking a breath. “You know what? no. I'm done. I'm done with this. I'm done with trying to pull teeth, to drag anything meaningful out of you.”
You pace back and forth. “I've been trying to be a good girlfriend. I've given you space, I've been patient. I've listened, I've supported, and I've tried to give you what you needed. But it's never enough, is it? it's always about your space, your needs, your feelings. But what about mine? what about what I need? or does that not matter, because I'm just the clingy, needy girlfriend?”
“Well, screw that!” you continue. “Screw the fact that this whole thing has been tearing me apart from the inside out. Screw the fact that I'm miserable because I'm not even sure if you still love me. Screw the fact that I've been crying every damn night, wondering what I did to mess us up this badly.” You want to scream, to throw something, to run until your lungs burn. “Screw the fact that I can't even sleep at night because all I can think about is our fights. I can't even focus on work because all I can think about is what's going on between us.” 
You pause, choking on the lump in your throat. “But I guess you don't care about any of that, huh? because I'm just the needy one? I'm just the emotional one, the one who's too goddamn sensitive.” You press your palms against your eyes, fighting to keep the tears from falling. “I'm sick of this. I'm sick of feeling like I'm in this relationship all on my own. I'm sick of feeling like you'd be happier if I wasn't even here. I'm sick of feeling worthless.”
The tears start to fall. You wipe furiously at your face, but it was no use. They were quickly replaced with new ones. “I just want you to want me.” You choke back a sob. “I want you to want to share things with me. I want you to want to open up. I don't want to have to drag things out of you. I don't want to have to beg for your love and attention.”
“I'm so damn tired of feeling like I'm not good enough for you.” You wrap your arms around yourself, hugging yourself tight. “Or maybe…” you say, hiccupping in between sobs. “Maybe I'm just not good enough at all. Maybe I'm the problem. Maybe I'm the reason you can't open up, can't bear to let me get close, and maybe—maybe I'm the problem.”
“I just…” you begin, and your voice shakes so much, it's hard to get the words out. “I just want to be enough.”
“I want you to see me,” you continue, hugging yourself tight. Your nails are digging into the flesh of your arms. Anything to keep yourself from falling apart. “I just want you to see that I can be what you need, that I'm enough for you, but no matter what I do, it's not enough. I'm not enough for you. I'm… I will never be enough.” 
You drop your hands to your sides, clenching them into tight fists to stop yourself from reaching for her. You're trying so hard to hold yourself together, but it's not working. You're breaking, you're shattering, you're crying so hard you can barely speak.
“Maybe we shouldn't be together.”
Your stomach dropped to your feet. You don't think she'll go there, but here she is, talking about breaking up.
“What?” you force out, voice cracking. “Is that what you want?”
“I don't know,” she says, still not looking at you. “You need someone who can give you what you need, someone who's not so broken and messed up and damaged-” she clenched her jaw tightly, hating every word that left her mouth. “You'll find someone better. I know you will.”
Everything started to spin. You couldn't breathe. You feel like you were spiraling, grasping at straws, doing anything to reach her, to connect with her. This was happening, it was really happening—you were losing her. 
“You're serious,” you whisper. “You really want to break up.”
A part of you had been holding on to the hope that she'd change her mind, that she'd take back what she said. that this is some sort of prank and for her to burst out laughing and say 'gotcha!'.
but with each second of silence that passed, that hope was slowly dying.
You try to steady your voice to keep control. “If that's what you really want, then fine. Break up with me. Leave. Go be happy without me.”
“Okay.” And just like that, the fragile string that had been holding everything together snapped.
Vi walks to the door, her movements so slow. It's like she's in a trance, or maybe you are, because time seemed to slow down. This couldn't be happening. Please, tell me this is just a bad dream. But it isn't. It is real. It is happening.
You couldn't let her go like this. You couldn't let her walk out the door and out of your life without a fight. You had to stop her, you had to, you had to—
Your hand lasts out, grabbing her arm. “Please,” you beg. “Don't do this. We can talk, we can figure it out.”
Her hand paused, hovering over the door. She couldn't bring herself to turn around and face you.
“Don't... please,” you plead. “Don't just throw this away. We can work through this, we can fix it. We just need to talk.”
You're not above begging, not if it meant keeping her from walking out that door. You had pride once, but it has shattered into pieces. Now you are just a trembling, broken mess, desperate to keep her with you.
You desperately want her to turn around and look at you. To see that this wasn't what you wanted, that you didn't want things to end like this. “Violet, please,” you repeat. “I love you. I love you, please don't—please don't leave me.”
“There's nothing left to talk about,” she says. “There's nothing to fix. We're over. Done.”
All the hope, all the love, all the dreams you'd had together—it was all falling apart in front of you. Because Vi, the woman you were sworn to spend the rest of your life with, is walking out that damn door, leaving you alone in the silence of the apartment.
This can't be real. It has to be a nightmare. You will wake up, and she'll be there beside you, holding you like she always did.
You found yourself looking around, half expecting to see her sitting on the couch or coming out of the kitchen. But she's not there. She's not here.
Tears start to well up in your eyes. You stumble back until you hit a wall and slide down to the floor. Your hands came up to your face, trying to hold yourself together. You can't stop the tears or the sobs that wracked your body. You can't stop wishing she’s still here with you, in your arms, where she belonged.
You clutch at the thin fabric of your shirt. It hurts, everything hurts. Your head, your chest, your heart. You can't remember ever feeling like this. You can't remember ever feeling so alone and broken. You curl up on the floor, your whole body shaking, your tears leaving dark spots on the hardwood floor.
Every memory you had of you and Vi flashes through your mind. Your first date, your first kiss, your first time. All the happy memories, the laughter, the love.
But all of it was tainted now, stained by the knowledge that it is over.
You thought you knew pain before, but this... this is a new level of hell.
2 DAYS AFTER CHRISTMAS, PRESENT
“You fucked up.”
“Thanks, Powder. Real insightful,” Vi mutters, rubbing her forehead. She's sitting in an armchair, surrounded by her family.
Claggor shifts in his seat, Mylo just rolls his eyes, and Silco and Vander exchange a glance.
“Hey, come on. Don't be so hard on Vi,” Claggor says, eyebrows furrowing.
Mylo snorts. “Yeah, she's already down after ending her four-year relationship. No need to pile on.”
Powder just shrugs. “I'm just saying what we're all thinking.”
Caggor sighs. “Let's just... drop the topic of the breakup, alright? it's in the past. There's nothing we can do about it now.”
Vander nods, a pensive look on his face. Mylo slouches back against the couch. “What's the point of us all sitting here bitching about it? it's not gonna change anything.”
Powder huffs. “I still think Vi should've handled it differently.”
“And I still think you should mind your own damn business,” Vi mutters, glaring at Powder.
Claggor glances at Silco and Vander, silently pleading with them to step in before it becomes an all-out argument. but neither of them say anything.
“What would you have done differently?” Powder snaps. 
Mylo leans forward in his seat. “This should be good.”
Claggor just rubs at his temples. This is going to turn into a shouting match.
Vander leans his elbows on his knees, sighing. “Alright, let's all just calm down-”
“We are calm,” both Vi and Powder say at the same time. They both glance at each other, and Vi frowns.
“Oh yeah, sure, real calm.” Vi scoffs.
Vander rubs his face. “Can we all just chill-”
“No!” Powder snaps. “I'm not gonna chill! Vi just-”
Mylo grins. “This is great. It's like a soap opera.”
Claggor pinches the bridge of his nose. “Can you both stop arguing?”
Powder is glaring defiantly at Vi. “No, I'm not going to stop. You need to listen-”
“Oh, I need to listen? you're the one-”
Vander cuts them off. “Both of you, shut your damn mouths!”
The room falls silent. Everyone looks at Vander. Powder huffs, slouching back on the couch. Silco gives Vander a nod of appreciation.
Claggor looks relieved the arguing is over... for now, anyway. Mylo is visibly disappointed. “Man, I was just about to get the popcorn.”
Vander glances around the room, his gaze coming to rest on Powder, Mylo, and Claggor. “You three, get out.”
“Hey!” Powder protests.
Mylo grumbles, “Why do we-”
Vander raises a hand, cutting Mylo off. “No arguing. Get out. Now.”
Powder grumbles, shooting a glare in Vi's direction before storming out of the room. Claggor and Mylo follow, both of them looking slightly offended. The room falls silent once the door shuts behind Claggor.
Silco sits quietly, his hands folded in his lap. Vi looks at him for a moment before shifting her glare to the carpet.
Vander sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Christ,” he mutters. He looks tired, which is understandable. “Now, can we have an actual civil conversation this time?” No one says anything, so Vander takes that as a yes. He glances at Silco, a silent question in his eyes. Silco looks at Vi for a moment before turning to Vander and giving a slight nod. Vander sighs, sitting back in his armchair. “Alright, I'm just going to say it. Why didn't you tell us?”
Vi glances up, her eyes meeting Vander's. There's a pause before she speaks. “Because,” she starts. “I...I didn't want to deal with all this bullshit,” she gestures around the room. “I knew you'd all react this way, and…” she trails off, rubbing at her face.
Silco chuckles. “You thought you could just avoid dealing with it?”
Vander shoots him a glare.
Vi sighs, sinking into the armchair. “Look, I know I should have told you all sooner, alright? but I was-”
“Being a coward?”
She clenches her jaw, and she snaps, “I wasn't being a coward. I was just…”
“Stalling,” Silco adds, raising his eyebrows.
“Fine. I was stalling. Are you happy now? i didn't want to deal with the questions, or the pity, or the-”
“You didn't want to deal with the support?” Vander interrupts,
Vi looks at the carpet, her hands clenching into fists. “I don't need the support, okay? I'm doing fine on my own.”
Silco snorts. “Clearly you were really fine.”
Vander shakes his head. “Vi, we're a family. You should have come to us-”
Vi snaps, standing up. “And what could you have done, huh? would you have fixed my relationship? found me someone new?”
Vander opens his mouth to respond but closes it.
Vi throws her hands up. “Exactly. Nothing. I didn't tell you all because it'd be pointless. Because it's just a breakup. It's over. There's nothing you can do about it. It's in the past, so why does it-”
Vander cuts her off. “Why does it matter? is that what you were about to say?”
Vi's shoulders sag, and she nods.
Vander stands up as well and stares her down. “It matters because—because we care. Because you shut us out, because you made us think you were fine, when you were not.”
Vi scowls, her arms crossing over her chest. “Why does it matter? why do you all care so damn much?”
“Maybe because you've been moping around for a month,” Silco says. 
Vi looks around the room. “So, wait a minute, you knew?”
“'Course we knew. You think you're good at hiding things?” Silco raises an eyebrow. 
Vander sighs, ignoring Silco's comment. “We just don't want to push you.”
“Well, that explains it.” Vi glares at them both. "That explains why you invited her here."
Vander and Silco exchange a glance. “Vander and I... we both knew your little play,” Silco scoffs, lounging in his chair. 
Vi's eyes widen in disbelief. “What?”
“We just wanted to see how long you'd keep this up.”
Vi is stunned, her arms falling to her sides. “You all just... let me make a fool of myself?”
“You were doing that on your own,” Silco adds.
Vi sighs, running a hand through her hair. “I...it's for the sake of appearances, okay?” she scowls, hating that she has to even explain herself. “Because I didn't want all this bullshit over the holidays. It's Christmas. I didn't want to ruin Christmas for everyone.”
Silco stands up from his chair. “You were worried about us? you had to fake a relationship just to keep us happy?” he shakes his head. “What are we, children?”
Vi frowns. “That's not-”
Vander raises a hand, cutting her off. “No, Silco's right. You do treat us like children.”
Silco scoffs. “You always act like you're responsible for everyone, that you have to keep us all happy. When are you going to realize that we're adults? We can handle things ourselves. You don't have to fake a damn relationship just to make us happy.”
Vander sighs. “You think we can't handle knowing about your breakup? that we'll break if things aren't perfect?”
Silco walks around, sliding a hand through his hair. “You act like everything's your fault, like you're responsible for all of us. When are you going to stop acting like a damn martyr?”
Vi says nothing, just clenches her jaw.
“You do this all the time, hiding when you're not okay, pretending that you're fine. Do you even realize how much damage you're doing to yourself?”
Vander nods, stepping forward to look Vi in the eye. “You're driving yourself crazy. You need to learn to let us take care of you for once.” He gently squeezes her bicep. “You need to stop trying to protect everyone. Start worrying about yourself for once.”
“I just didn't want to burden anyone,” Vi whispers.
“Stop acting like you're a burden. You're not a burden, Vi. We care about you. We want to help you.” Silco lets out a huff, “We're family. You should be depending on us. You can lean on us occasionally without the world falling apart.”
Vander gently squeezes Vi's shoulder. “We'll do anything for you, darling, but you gotta let us help you sometimes.”
Vi closes her eyes, a single tear slipping down her cheek. She hates crying in front of them, hates letting them see her like this.
Silco sighs, leaning over to gently dab the tear away with his thumb. “Stop being so damn stubborn, girl. You don't have to handle things on your own.”
Vander gently kisses the top of her head. “You're not alone, Vi. We're here for you. Always.”
Vi sniffs, blinking to stop the tears from continuing.
Vander pulls her into a hug, his arms wrapping around her. “You're not making us miserable, okay? you don't gotta be perfect. Just be you. You're enough for us, kid.”
Vi nods, burying her face in Vander's chest. Silco rubs her back. Vander pulls back from the hug, holding Vi by the shoulders. “Now, we've talked about you,” he says. “What's going on between you and your girl?”
“We talked,” she mumbles. “I asked her to...give me another chance. To fix things…”
Vander and Silco share a look, a smirk on Silco's face. Vander clears his throat. “And what did she say?”
“She said...she'll think about it.”
Vander nods, while Silco's smirk widens. “Is that so?” he hums. “You finally grew some balls and asked her.”
Vi shoots Silco a glare. “You don't know a damn thing,” she grumbles, her cheeks burning.
“It's a step in the right direction, regardless.” Vander pats Vi on the back. “If she says she'll think about it, then she's considering it.”
“And if they say yes…” Silco says, then he glances at Vander, the two sharing a chuckle.
Vander pats Vi on the back again. “Then you'll get your girl back.” He pokes her cheek. “So, don't give up. Don't lose hope.”
Silco grins, “We just have to wait.”
“Waiting.”
“Which you're not so great with,” Silco snorts. “Anyway, if she says yes, remember to thank us.”
“You guys didn't do anything.” 
Vander and Silco share a smirk, the same thought clearly going through their minds.
Vander grins. “We didn't do anything at all.”
Silco nods. “Absolutely nothing.”
1 MONTH BEFORE THE BREAK UP, MARRIAGE
You're lying your head on Vi's lap, enjoying the feeling of her fingers running through your hair. You look up at her, watching her face as you speak, “Hey Vi?”
She pauses, her fingers falling still for a moment. She looks down at you, raising an eyebrow. “What's up?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot,” she says, her hands resuming at running through your hair.
“Have you ever thought about marriage?”
Her fingers stills, just a tiny flinch that she quickly tried to hide. But you noticed.  “Not much.” Vi shrugs. “What about you?”
You can hear the way her heart is thudding, how her words sound so strained. You reach up and take one of her hands, gently running your fingers across the back of it. You see her reaction. The way her eyes widen and her jaw is tense. It's not hard not to notice—you're literally lying on her lap, looking up at her. The topic of marriage suddenly came up out of nowhere.
“I've been thinking about it a lot, actually... marriage, I mean.”
“Marriage, huh?”
“Yeah..”
You're mentally freaking out. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you can feel how your stomach is doing backflips. You want to desperately know what she's thinking. Are you freaking her out? what is going on in her head? is she disgusted at the thought of marrying you?
“Is that so?”
She is trying so damn hard to sound unphased, but you know her too well. You know her body language, the way her ears go slightly red when she is flustered, how tense her muscles become when she is nervous. 
“Just wondering what it'd be like, I guess,” you continue. You shift on your spot. The feeling of her fingers running through your hair is pleasant, but it is so hard to focus on that feeling when your stomach is flipping over itself every few seconds. “I'm just curious,” you add. “I can't help picturing it and wondering what it'd be like to marry you someday.”
Vi is silent for a moment, her fingers stopping in your hair. She licks her lips, trying to come up with a response. “Marriage,” she says again. “That's uhh…” she swallows, trying to compose herself. She starts playing with your hair again, trying to give her hands something to do to hide the way they are shaking. “It's a big deal.” She pauses. “Why—why are you even thinking about that stuff? we're too young.”
The only sound you can hear is the thump of your heart in your ears. You can feel yourself start to feel nauseous. This is the conversation you wanted to have, but now that it is actually happening, you wish you could take it all back.
“I mean.. I'm not saying I actually wanna get married right now.” This is not going well. It is not going well at all. But you continue, trying to make yourself seem uninterested. “It's just a thought... just a daydream, really. We're way too young for that kinda stuff.”
You're hoping that by downplaying it, calling it some silly fantasy, you would ease the tension in Vi's body. That maybe she will just laugh it off, make a joke about how you are an idiot. “Yeah, right, getting married to me?” she'll say, her cocky smirk on her lips, her shoulders slumping with relief.
But she didn't. She didn't brush it off. She didn't make a joke. Instead, the room is so silent.
Vi's fingers continue to run through your hair, but they are trembling, their pace a little slower than before. She's not saying anything, and that is making you even more nervous.
You don't know what to do, so you try to make another joke. “Can you imagine it?” you force out a laugh. “You and me getting married. Ridiculous, right?”
Then again, she didn't laugh. The corner of her lip curls up into a sort of half-smirk, but it looks like it's forced. Her eyes dart to the side, a clear sign she is distracted by her thoughts. She swallows, her hands still nervously fidgeting with your hair. What is going on in her mind? why is she so quiet? The longer the silence drags on, the more anxious you become. You want to reach up and shake her to snap her out of it. 
But you didn't, of course. “It will be a disaster.” You force out another laugh, hoping that she will finally talk. “Can you imagine going down the aisle in a wedding dress?” you continue. “Me, dragging you up to the altar so we can say our vows and exchange rings.”
The smile on your face is strained. Please say something, Vi.
“You will probably wear some suit that doesn't even fit you right,” you continue, the words pouring out of your mouth faster now that the panic is setting in. “You'll trip as you walk down the aisle and then fall on your ass during the first dance.” You want her to smile, to laugh, something. Anything that will give you an indication that your marriage joke hasn't gone completely wrong. But Vi is still so damn quiet.
“Then, when we finally get home for our ‘wedding night,’ you'll just…” You cut yourself off, realizing that you are about to make a dirty joke. Not the time. “Just—you will probably fall asleep immediately, right?” You sound like an idiot right now. “Then what will we do? It'll be like, our honeymoon or something, and you'll be snoring and-”
Shut up, your mind hiss. It's like you can't stop yourself from rambling like an idiot. You are starting to sweat.
“Stop talking.”
The tone of her voice made your heart skip a beat. She sounds anxious... or scared... what is going on in her head right now? is the conversation making her as nervous as it is to you?
Vi suddenly pulls her hand away from your hair, sitting up. You sit up as well to look at her. 
“I'm getting hungry.”
It's clear that she doesn't want to talk about marriage, at least for now. The conversation made her feel uncomfortable... but you don't know why. Is she really that opposed to the idea of marrying you? or is she just flustered by the thought of a future with you?
You try to push those thoughts away, try to dismiss them, and act like the whole conversation didn't just happen. Vi is already changing the subject, so you went along with it, putting your usual 'casual' tone back on.
“You're always hungry,” you tease, forcing a smile to spread on your lips. “I swear, you eat more than a goddamn goliath.”
“I don't eat more than a goliath,” Vi protests. “I just have a big appetite.” Her eyes still weren't quite meeting yours. Why wouldn't she look at you?
“And besides,” she adds. “It's not my fault I need a lot of energy to kick so much ass on a daily basis,” she flexed her arms. “Got to keep these biceps strong somehow, right princess?”
“Your biceps aren't that impressive.”
Blatant lie, you both knew it. Vi's stupid strong, not to mention she's absolutely ripped. She can probably bench press a goddamn elephant. She doesn't even have to respond. Her smirk tells you that she knows damn well she can destroy you in a wrestling match.
“Oh yeah? don't think my biceps are that impressive, huh?” she teases, flexing again. “How about I throw you over my shoulder right now, then? carry you around like a goddamn princess. Then you'll see just how impressive they are.”
“Oh, you wo-,” you begin, but before you can finish your sentence, Vi suddenly lurches forward. She scoops you up, hoisting you effortlessly onto her shoulder. You let out a strangled gasp, your hands immediately grabbing onto the back of her tank top. “This isn't fair!” Your voice comes out as more of a squeak. How does she make it look so easy to carry your heavy ass around like a sack of potatoes?
“What was that about my biceps not being impressive, princess?” she taunts. She carries you around. You're like a goddamn ragdoll in her grip, not that you're complaining...
“I have to admit,” you grumble. “I kind of like this view.” The words came out of your mouth before you could stop them. Shit. 
Vi's smirk widens. “Oh really?” she drawls. “You like the view? then I'll be sure to give you a better one.” With that, she kicks open the bedroom door and carries you inside.
2 DAYS AFTER CHRISTMAS, PRESENT
Vi fidgets nervously outside Powder's room. She takes a deep breath and finally knocks. “Powder?” she calls out.
What if Powder doesn't want to even talk to her? She screwed up. Who's to say Powder won't be pissed at her?! Just as Vi's starting to think about backing out, the door creaks open. There, powder stands before her.
“Can I come in?”
Powder hesitates, studying her sister for a moment. Finally, she steps aside and opens the door wider. “Come on in.”
Vi sighs in relief, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. Powder sits down on her bed, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. She doesn't make eye contact. Vi shifts on her feet, standing in the middle of the room. She clears her throat. “So... can we talk?”
Powder hums in response. She slowly moves to sit down beside Powder. She's close, but not too close. “Thought you and…” she mumbles, “are still together.”
Vi shrugs. “The thing we did on Christmas was just for appearance. Dumb decision, really.”
Powder keeps her gaze on her lap, picking at a loose string on her sleeve. “Breakup must've been hard, huh?”
“That's one way to put it.”
“It was your decision, wasn't it?”
“Yeah... I was the one who broke things off.”
Powder nods, still picking absently at the string. Vi fidgets with a strand of her hair as she tries to think of what to say. But Powder beats her to the punch. “Can I ask... why?”
Vi sucks in a sharp breath. She's not sure how to answer that… how can she explain how stupid and scared she felt? how she pushes you away as a result? She wants to just give some bullshit answer, but there's something in the set of Powder's jaw that stops her. Powder deserves some form of honesty.
“It's complicated…”
Powder looks up at her. “Complicated, how?” she asks. “Did she hurt you...?”
“No, no. She'll never hurt me. Nothing like that.”
Powder nods.
“It's just... she's good. She's too good for me, Powder. She's always been too good for me.”
“You sound like an idiot.”
Vi huffs. “Hey-”
“You are an idiot if you really think she's 'too good for you.'”
Vi sighs, slouching forward.
Powder continues. “She stayed by your side for four years. She put up with so much of your bullshit, and she still loved you throughout it all. What the hell makes you think you're not good enough for them? seriously, why do you always do that? why do you always have this dumb idea that you're not worth it?”
Vi looks down at her lap. “She's kind, and smart, and beautiful, and strong...and you've seen her. She's gorgeous, Powder... and then there's me.”
“Don't give me that crap, sis. You're just as strong, if not stronger, and you're definitely not bad to look at. So that's not the real reason, is it?”
Vi bites her lip. Okay, powder definitely has a point. But she can't exactly tell Powder the full truth. But there's no way Powder will believe any more of her bullshit excuses.
Powder looks at her. “Stop trying to lie and bullshit. The truth. Why did you push her away? just tell me the truth.”
“I was scared, okay? I was scared that maybe I wasn't good enough for her, or that maybe she'll wake up one day and realize she can be with someone much better than me, or that she'll get sick of my bullshit-” She sighs, running a hand through her hair. “I'm just so scared, Powder. I'm scared of being a burden, of not being able to keep her happy, of not being good enough, and it just keeps getting worse, and I feel all this pressure building up, and I panicked. So I did what I usually do, and I ran. I pushed them away, just like I always do.”
“You're a coward, Vi,” Powders says again. “A complete coward. You're so afraid of screwing things up that you end up screwing things up anyway!”
Vi winces at that.
“I watched the two of you for four years. I saw how you two were together. What you had was real, and you threw it away because you couldn't get it through your thick skull that she really does want you?”
Vi feels her stomach twist. “It's... it's not that I don't believe she wants me. I know she does, but I just... I-”
“No 'but' here, Vi! Seriously, you're so damn frustrating.”
“It's hard!” Vi says, frustrated. “I feel like I can't be what they need. I'm a mess. I'm always so angry and on edge, and I get into fights, and I've got so much damn baggage. Why would they want to deal with that when they can be with someone stable and normal?”
“Holy shit, you're such a dumbass. Do you think that she is some perfect person? She has her own issues, her own problems. Nobody is perfect, and she knew that. She knew your flaws, she knew what your life was like, she knew everything, and yet she still chose to be with you for four years. Doesn't that tell you anything?!”
Vi swallows. When Powder puts it like that, it does make her feel stupid. She swallows again, looking up at her sister. “I know it probably doesn't mean much now, but... I really do love her. She's all I've thought about...I miss her so much…”
“'Course you do. Because you just did the dumbest thing you could have done. You let the love of your life slip through your fingers because you were just too damn stupid to see what you had right in front of you.”
“I know, I.. I don't know what possessed me to think she'd be better off without me.”
Powder raises an eyebrow. “Your own insecurities? your lack of self-worth? just a guess.”
“Shut it, powder,” Vi grumbles.
“Hey, don't get pissy with me. You're the one who messed up, not me,” Powder quips. “But anyway, I've heard enough of your stupid whining,” she huffs. “I'm not going to just sit here and let you drown in your self-pity. What the hell am I being the mature one in this situation for?”
“I hate it when you're right.” 
Powder snorts and grins. “Then you must hate being around me all the time, since I'm always right.”
Vi rolls her eyes and shoves her. “'kay smartass.”
“I just want you to be happy, sis.”
“I am happy,” Vi mutters.
“You're only saying that to shut me up.” Vi tries to protest, but Powder holds up one finger, cutting her off. “I know you. I know when you're bullshitting.”
“What are you, a mind reader now?”
“Pretty much,” Powder replies.
Vi rolls her eyes, shoving powder again. “Oh, shut up,” she pauses, then looks at her sister warmly. “I love you, Pow… and thank you. You don't sugarcoat, do you?”
Powder smiles, bumping her shoulder against Vi's. “I love you too. You're a pain in my ass, but I love you. Just...promise me something.”
“What?” she asks.
“Promise me you'll be more honest about your feelings. And I don't just mean with me, I mean in general. Stop keeping it all bunched up in here.” Powder taps Vi's chest with one finger. “Don't just throw something good away because you're scared it'll end eventually anyway. If you love her as much as you say you do, then you have to make up for what a dumbass you were and... at least try to make it work. Because she's... she's special, Vi.”
Vi hesitates but finally sighs, closing her eyes. “Fine, I promise.”
Powder hums. “Pinky promise?”
Vi raises one eyebrow. “Really? Are we ten right now?”
Powder grins, holding out a pinky finger in front of Vi's face. “Come on. Do it, loser.”
“You're ridiculous,” Vi tries to bite back a laugh. “Fine.” She links her pinky with powder's. “Pinky promise.”
“Perfect. Remember, you're not allowed to go back on it now. I'll strangle you.”
“Yeah, yeah. I got it, boss.”
“Oh wait-” Powder's eyes light up, then a grin splits her face. “You remember how we'd always have pillow fights when we were younger?”
Vi groans, already knowing where this is going. “Please, no.”
But it's too late. Powder is already grabbing a pillow off the couch and whacking Vi in the back of the head. “C'mon, it'll be fun,” she grins.
Vi rubs the spot on her head that powder just hit. “Oh god,” she groans again.
Powder chuckles, tossing her another pillow. “No getting out of it,” she teases.
She catches the pillow. “Fine,” she says. “But I'm kicking your ass.”
Powder laughs, already readying her own pillow. “As if. I'm more agile than you are.”
Vi scoffs. “You wish,” and thus, the pillow fight begins.
2 YEARS BEFORE THE BREAKUP, FIRST SNOW
You're sitting on the couch, mindlessly flipping through the channels on the TV, trying to find something to watch on another boring Friday day. Suddenly, you hear Vi calling out your name, and you look over to see her leaning against the window.
“It's snowing,” she shouts eagerly. “Babe look!”
You chuckle. You get up from the couch, walking over to the window to stand beside her. You can see the snow falling slowly outside.
Vi glances over at you. “It's snowing,” she repeats. She's practically pressed up against the window, her nose almost touching the glass as she watches the snow fall. She's grinning when she looks at you and exclaims, “It's our first snow of the year!”
She suddenly grabs your arms and pulls you closer, forcing you up against the window too. She presses a quick kiss to your cheek before she puts her hands on the window sill and leans out. Snowflakes are falling around her, and she tips her head back, catching them on her tongue.
“Come on,” she urges. “Taste the snow.” Without waiting for an answer, she grabs your shoulder and pulls you towards her, planting a cold, wet kiss on your lips. The snow that was in her mouth is now in yours. “See?” she laughs, pulling away.
Still holding on to your arm, she prevents you from moving away from the window. Instead, she guides your hand up to the glass. “Make a wish on the first snowflake,” she instructs.
“You really want me to make a stupid wish on the stupid snowflake?” you tease.
“Yes,” Vi responds bluntly. She squeezes your hand, her grip tightening around your fingers. “Now come on, make a wish.”
“Alright,” you relent, shaking your head in mock defeat. You tap your finger against the glass, watching as a single snowflake drifts down. You let out a breath and close your eyes, making your wish.
A yacht and a mansion would be nice, and while we were at it, I should wish for no taxes and free college. Maybe I'll even win the lottery. Win a million dollars. No, fifty million. I'm feeling lucky. I'll buy us a house with fifteen rooms. Ten christmas trees, one for every room. We'll even have a room for our christmas trees. I want to find a cure for cancer. Discover a never-before-seen species of shark, maybe a mermaid.
But most of it all, I want to spend another Christmas with her.
“There,” you say, looking back at her. “I made a stupid wish.”
“Good,” she says, grinning. She's satisfied with your compliance, then she releases her grip on your hand. She slides her arms around your waist, pulling you closer, resting her chin on your shoulder. “I hope your stupid wish comes true.”
She stays like that for a moment, her body pressed up against yours as you both watch the snow continue to fall outside. After a few silent minutes, she moves her head slightly and rests her forehead on your shoulder instead of her chin. Her voice is quiet, muffled a little against your shirt. “Promise me something.”
You glance down at her. “What is it?” you murmur, bringing your hand up to brush your fingers through her hair.
She lifts her head up so that her cheek now rests on your shoulder. Her fingers twist into the material of your shirt, clinging on tightly. “Promise me we'll spend every day through winter together, even the cold nights. Promise me you'll keep the fireplace going.”
Your hand gently massaging the back of her neck, your fingers playing with the soft hairs there. “I promise,” you whisper into her hair. “Every day. All winter. Even the cold nights. I promise.”
She hums in response, satisfied, and nuzzles closer to you. She pulls you closer, and you can feel her heartbeat—the steady thump thump thump against your chest. She mumbles something against your shirt, the words unintelligible. When you look down, you can see her cheeks are red.
“Whatcha saying?” You tug at a strand of her pink hair before you reach up and trace the edge of her ear with your fingertips.
She shivers when you touch her ear, and a grin spreads across your face. She buries her head further in your shirt, still mumbling something against the material. It's muffled, but you can still hear the last part of what she's saying.
“Love you.”
You can't stop yourself from smiling. You pull her head back so that she's looking up at you now. You want to see her face when you respond. You brush her cheek with your thumb before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her mouth.
“I love you too.”
5 DAYS AFTER CHRISTMAS, PRESENT
Vi paces back and forth in her room, checking her phone every couple of seconds. It's been five days. Five days, and still nothing. She can wait. Yes, she can wait.
You've kept Vi on the edge of her seat for days. Which is why Vi's heart was practically beating out of her chest as her phone dinged. She practically pounces on it, grabbing it off the bedside table as she checks the notification.
Please say yes. Please say yes.
She taps the screen, opening the notification.
...it's a meme from Powder, another stupid cat video.
She texts back, “Powder. One of these days I'm going to turn off your damn notifications. Stop sending me stupid cat videos.”
Powder immediately replies, a picture of her flipping off the camera. Below it, she's added the text “love you too.”
Vi rolls her eyes, tossing her phone onto the bedside table. She flops onto her bed, sprawling out and glaring at her ceiling.
She sighs. How is it that she's been reduced to checking her phone every thirty seconds, jumping every time a notification goes off?
Pathetic.
Vi looks down at herself, looking at the sweater that she's wearing. It's an ugly-christmas-themed one that you gave her. The colors clash, there's patterns thrown in everywhere, and the whole thing is absolutely atrocious.
and it's her favorite thing in the world.
She wraps her arms around herself, snuggling up on the bed and burying her face into the fabric.
The stupid sweater smells like you. 
She has become a mess these last five days. Not knowing if you will take her back has been slowly driving her mad. She can't even take her mind off you, especially since she's wearing this stupid sweater. It's stupid. This is just a sweater. An ugly sweater made of scratchy fabric. But she can't help clinging to it, desperate to remember what you felt like.
She wants you.
She wants you here, snuggled up with her on the bed. She wants you to wrap your arms around her, pull her close, bury your face in her hair, and sigh into her ear. She wants you to whisper to her, tell her that you miss her too.
Vi wants you back.
She knows she was the one who left you, so why the hell is she the one losing her mind? She's the one who ended things. She's the one who left you. So why can't she stop thinking about how good it would be to feel your lips on hers? She can picture it so clearly. The feeling of your mouth against hers. The taste of your lips
She has become a pathetic pining mess and she hates it.
Vi grabs her phone again, unlocking it and scrolling to her gallery. Swiping through the many photos she has saved of you and her. Pictures of you in her hoodie, pictures of you cooking her breakfast, pictures of you two with your foreheads pressed together.
Her thumb hovers over her favorite picture. It's a candid shot of you wearing one of her shirts and her favorite leather jacket as your hair is ruffled with her fingers.
Vi sighs, heart clenching when she looks at the picture.
If she can go back in time and punch herself in the head, she would. She'll grab past 3 months Vi by the collar and shake her, telling her not to be such an idiot. “You're gonna regret this, dumbass,” she'll say. And god, she does regret it.
She doesn't even have a good reason why she left in the first place. She's just scared and confused. Now look where that ended her. Alone on her bed, wearing an ugly ass sweater, pining over you like some pathetic idiot.
Vi locks her phone and tosses it aside with a groan. She grabs a pillow, burying her face in it and letting out a muffled scream. “This is ridiculous.”
She's a mess. She's angry, she's frustrated, she's hurt, and it's all her own damn fault. She's the one who pushed you away. She's the one who ended everything. She's the one who walked out of the door and slammed it shut. Then five days ago, she had the nerve to ask you if you could give her another chance.
Like that will make everything all better. Like you'll instantly take her back after she treats you like crap.
That's not how life works, idiot.
She wants you to come rushing through the door, push her down on the bed, and pin her against the pillows. She wants you to kiss her until she can't breathe. She wants to feel your touch, kiss, and nibble every part of her body.
And at the same time, she wants to be left alone, to wallow in her own misery. She wants you to stay the hell away from her. 
She hates feeling like this. She hates how her heart beats harder every time her phone buzzes and then immediately sinks when it's not a text message from you.
She hates her dreams—no night goes by that she doesn't dream about you—about your face, your body, your mouth on hers. She wants to feel your skin against hers, hear your voice in her ear, taste you on her tongue.
She's a pathetic, desperate, needy, pining mess.
Vi doesn't even realize she's doing it. Her fingers tangle in her hair, absently toying with the pink strands. Her hand drifts down to fiddle with her ear, tracing the edge of her piercing just like you used to do.
She almost closes her eyes but stops herself.
She misses you. She misses the little things about you.
The way you scrunch your nose when you're confused, the way you bite your lip when you focus, the way you hum songs under your breath when you're alone, the way you get this adorable smile on your face whenever you catch her looking at you.
She misses everything about you.
4 YEARS BEFORE THE BREAKUP, FIRST CHRISTMAS
“I should tell Vander to decorate the house like that,” Vi says, her eyes reflecting the Christmas lights as she looks around the neighborhood that looks like it was covered in enough lights to power a small city.
“It would cost a fortune,” you point out. “The electricity bill would be skyrocketing, not to mention the cost of all those lights.”
“Come on,” Vi protests, wheedling. “It wouldn't be that expensive, and just imagine the look on ol' Vander's face when he sees his bill next month.”
“Don't you want to give him and the other old farts in this neighborhood an aneurysm?”
“That would be great, and oh—we could also get lights in the shape of a huge middle finger,” she suggests. “And maybe a giant santa statue right in the front lawn, with a sack big enough to carry a goddamn mountain.”
“Imagine the looks on everyone's faces when they drive by,” Vi continues. “They'll think they're hallucinating, seeing Vander's house covered in every color of light imaginable, with that huge ass santa statue waving a middle finger like a damn flag.”
The snow crunches under your boots as you and Vi walk through the neighborhood.
She doesn't shut up about how much she loves this time of year, from the chilly nights to the smell of pine trees to the Christmas movies and music that seems to be playing everywhere. 
“Seriously,” she sighs, her breath fogging up in the cold air. “This is my favorite time of year. Everything is so cozy and pretty and festive.” She reaches down and takes your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours. “Plus, I get to see all the cute couples out and about, all cozied up in their winter clothes, kissing under the mistletoe…” She smirks, nudging you with her shoulder. “Makes me want to do cheesy cute things with you,” she starts whistling a tune, swinging your hands.
“We could go caroling around the neighborhood, or maybe build a snowman out in the yard, or-” Vi suddenly stops in her tracks.
Before you can ask what's inside her mind, she grabs your hand and starts pulling you along.
“Come on, I have something to show you!”
You stumble after her, trying to keep up with her as she practically drags you through the snow-covered streets.
Finally, she stops running and looks over at you. “Ta-dah!”
You look at the spot she's brought you to. It's a small park, and in the middle of it stands a tree. Not too small, but not too big.
“Look,” she states, looking over at the tree. “Now, stay right here,” she instructs, pushing you to stand under the tree. “And don't leave. I'll be right back, okay?” She winks at you before darting off, leaving you standing alone under the tree.
What is she up to?
You glance around, trying to figure out what Vi has in mind. It's getting cold, and the snow is starting to seep through your shoes. A few minutes pass, and still no sign of Vi anywhere. Just when you're starting to get impatient, you hear a voice behind you.
“Close your eyes.”
You turn around to see Vi standing there, a smirk on her face. 
“Please, close your eyes, and no peeking.”
Reluctantly, you close your eyes.
“Keep them shut,” she warns. “Don't even think about peeking.”
You hear rustling and shifting, and then some sort of...clink? what on earth is she doing?
“No cheating, okay?”
Minutes and minutes and minutes pass by, it feels like you wait for an hour. All is quiet. There's only the sound of the wind and the crunch of snow. Then, you suddenly feel her hands settling on your shoulders, positioning you exactly how she wants you.
“Don't open your eyes yet,” she whispers in your ear.
Her hands slide down from your shoulders, trailing down your arms and then coming to rest on your waist.
“Okay,” she murmurs, adjusting your position. “You can open your eyes now.”
You blink a few times, adjusting from the darkness of having them closed, and then you look up. Vi has strung a bunch of Christmas lights up in the tree. It's almost like a scene from a cheesy Christmas movie. It's so sappy, but it's perfect.
“What do you think?” she asks. “Pretty damn great, huh?” she grins, wrapping her arms around your waist and resting her chin on your shoulder. She pulls you closer to her, your back pressing against her chest. She smells like a christmas treat. Just like the cookies you love to eat.
“I figured all the best cheesy Christmas movie stuff needs a perfect, romantic setting,” she says, her fingers absently tracing patterns on your stomach. “And what's more romantic than standing under the tree, with the Christmas lights all around us and the snow falling down?” Vi squeezes you tighter, nuzzling into your neck and pressing a light kiss just below your ear.
“And of course,” she mumbles. “We can't have a cheesy Christmas movie moment without some cheesy Christmas music to go along with it.” Vi steps away, going over and plugging in a set of battery-powered speakers. They immediately start playing a Christmas melody.
You watch as she skips back over to you, her hands immediately settling back on your waist. “Now, let's get in position. I want this to be suuuper cheesy.” She waggles her eyebrows and grins again, moving so she's standing in front of you. “Okay, put your hands on my shoulders, and then move a little closer.”
You follow her instructions, placing your hands on her shoulders and stepping forward, closing the gap between the two of you.
“Perfect. That's perfect.” Her hands come to rest on your hips. “Now, we just gotta get one last thing…” Her hands move from your hips, sliding slowly up your sides and over your arms. She grabs your wrists and lifts them up, putting your arms around her neck so your hands are clasped behind her head. “And now,” she murmurs, pulling you even closer. Her eyes flicker down to your lips, then back up to your eyes. “The mistletoe.”
You look up, and sure enough, there it is. A little sprig of mistletoe is hanging from a branch just above your heads.
“Seems like we have the perfect moment to finish off the Christmas movie cliché.”Her other hand is still on your hip, and she's pulling you so close now that you can practically taste her breath as she whispers, “You know what that means, right...?”
Even though you know exactly what she's talking about, you raise an eyebrow and give her a coy smile. “Oh, I don't know... refresh my memory?”
“Yes ma'am.” She then pulls you tight and leans forward, her lips pressing against yours in a soft, slow kiss. It's not at all like her usual passionate, fiery kisses. It's gentler, softer, sweeter. She nips at your bottom lip, her teeth pulling gently before her tongue soothes the redness. She tilts your head back, claiming your mouth in a much deeper kiss.
She pushes you up against the tree, pinning you there and claiming more and more of your mouth. You tighten your arms around her neck, pulling her even closer.
After a few more moments, the two of you finally pull away.
Vi rests her forehead against yours, both of you suddenly breathless from the kiss. Neither of you say a word. The only sound is your ragged breathing and the christmas music from the speaker.
“Well,” Vi murmurs, breaking the silence. She lets out a sigh and then chuckles, pulling back so she can look at your face. “That was pretty damn cheesy.”
“Like you weren't loving every second of it.”
“I would never deny that.” Her hands still on your waist, stroking your stomach. “I'd kiss you under the damn mistletoe all day, every day, if I could.”
“You're such a sap.” You move one hand up to her hair, tangling your fingers in it and toying with one of her pink bangs. “Corny, cheesy sap with a thing for Christmas movie romance.”
She laughs, tilting her head back to give you more access to her hair. “I just want to keep doing this,” Vi murmurs. “I want to keep spending Christmas with you, over and over and over,” she continues. “Every. Single. One. Even when we're old geezers with walkers and false teeth and liver spots, spending Christmas together underneath a tree.”
She pulls you as close, resting her cheek against your shoulder. She buries her face in the crook of your neck, mumbling the words against your skin. “I want to watch you open your Christmas presents. Even when we're both pushing seventy, then I want to watch you open mine,” she sighs. “I want us to argue over holiday decorations because you insist that the garland is crooked, and I don't care if it is.”
She tilts her head to look at you once more. Then she moves to place a kiss on the corner of your lips, then the tip of your nose. “I want to fight with you on the Christmas tree lot over whether we're going to buy a real tree or a plastic tree, but end up getting both just because you refuse to back down.”
She lifts one hand to cup your chin, tilting it up towards her, then moves to press kisses to each of your eyelids. “I want to wake up at three in the morning and sit on the end of our bed in our pajamas, our hair a mess and bags under our eyes, and listen to our kids in their rooms upstairs. Hear them whisper and snicker about the big fat man that's climbing down the chimney…”
She pauses, moving to press a kiss to the space between your eyebrows, to the tip of your nose again. “I want us to make Christmas traditions, even if they're dumb traditions. I want us to bake Christmas cookies and put ornaments on the tree together… even if you complain the whole time and say I'm doing it wrong.”
Then she moves her lips to your cheeks, a kiss to one side, then the other. “I want to go to the grocery store on Christmas eve, because you forgot to buy that one random ingredient that you forgot to put on the list and you refuse to cook without it,” she murmurs, her lips moving to your jaw. 
“And then, I want to watch you fall asleep on the couch in the middle of your favorite Christmas movie, even though you've seen it a hundred times.”
She presses a kiss to your chin, then another to the underside of your jaw. “I want to come home from work late on Christmas eve because I forgot to get a present, and I just know you're gonna say, 'I told you so', but you'll still give me a kiss and tell me to sit my ass down and not worry about any damn gift.”
She smirks against your skin, as she moves back to one of your eyes, placing a kiss to the outer corner. “I just want to spend every Christmas with you. From this one to the next, all the way through when we're old and gray. We can even spend Christmas in our damn graves.”
She pulls her hand away and lets her fingers slide down and find yours, intertwining them together, bringing your hand up to her mouth. She brings the back of your hand to her lips, placing a kiss against your skin. Her thumb gently brushes over your knuckles. Her fingers are calloused and rough, but her touch is soft and delicate, careful not to squeeze too hard.
Her eyes then close, placing your hand on her cheek, leaning into your touch. “Only you,” she murmurs. She turns her head to press a kiss to your palm. “Always you.”
6 DAYS AFTER CHRISTMAS, PRESENT
You're once again standing in front of Vander's house.
It's been a whirlwind of a year—first the breakup, then the Christmas, and now the New Year's eve. You don't know how to feel. Excited? nervous? worried? you're not quite sure which one. Hell, chances are you're probably feeling all three.
Powder has been nagging you about coming for a couple of days, and your parents wouldn't mind anyway. They're spending the night by themselves in a hotel somewhere, doing the tango or some other bs. So, here you are.
You have a feeling that the family already knows about the breakup. Vi had told you she'd tell them after Christmas, and it's after Christmas. You just hope that it won't be too awkward.
You're here for two reasons.
The first is to celebrate new years with the family, and the second is to talk to Vi.
You need an answer. You need to know why she left. Why she really left.
You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, then head up to the front door. You knock once, then twice, hoping to god that you won't have to wait long. Footsteps approach from the other side, and you can hear the faint sound of voices coming from the other side of the door. There's laughing, talking, and the shuffling of feet, then the sound of the door opening.
You've barely even processed the fact that the door is open when you're suddenly engulfed in a hug. A pair of arms wraps around you. A familiar scent of cherry blossom invades your senses, and you feel yourself stiffening instinctively.
The woman releases her grip on you, pulling away to look at you with a wide grin. “You made it!” 
“'Course I did,” you reply, a smile on your lips. “You were spam bombing me on every social media you could find. Kinda hard to say no to that.”
“Knew it!” she chirps, then grabs your arm and tugs you inside, shutting the door behind you as she leads you into the house. Following Powder further into the house, the sound of Mylo's voice coming from the living room as he sings loudly and very, very out of tune.
Powder stops at the entrance to the living room and glances over at him. She pauses, her fingers still clamped tightly around your wrist. She glances back at you. “I mean, you're still my friend,” she murmurs. “After you and…” she clears her throat. “After everything.” She doesn't finish her sentence, just looks back at Mylo. He's still singing, clearly oblivious to your presence. His voice breaks on a particular note, the sound of his voice scraping against your ears. Powder shakes her head. “He's awful,” she mutters. “Always has been.”
“I'm almost surprised none of you have tried to stuff a sock in his mouth yet.”
Powder snorts. “Believe me, I tried when I was younger, but Vander said violence is never the answer.” 
“That sounds like Vander.” You can almost picture Vander swatting Powder's hands away and saying some sort of fatherly bullshit about not doing something like that. 
“Yeah,” she grins, mocking her father's demeanor. “'Violence isn't the answer, honey. You and your siblings need to find other ways to figure out your differences. Blah blah blah.' Something like that.” Powder lets go of your wrist, letting her hands fall to her hips. “Anyway,” she says, “there's food in the kitchen. We already ate dinner, but there's snacks if you want any.” She pauses, her eyes drifting to the living room. “Vi's in the living room, so uh…” she stops, her eyes shifting back to you. “You know, just so you know. Get prepared for that or something. I'm gonna go.”
“Yeah,” you reply. “Yeah, I think I might walk around first.”
She smiles again and gives you one last pat on the shoulder before she steps past you and slips into the living room.
You take a second, letting your eyes drift over the decorations. Familiar faces are in family pictures on the wall. There's a few colorful Christmas lights still hung up on the walls.
Upon a second glance around the room, you spot Sevika in the corner, casually puffing on a cigarette. You can't help but wonder how she always manages to get away with that. There's definitely a no-smoking rule in the house, especially during events like this. Apparently that rule doesn't apply to Sevika. She's just enjoying her smoke.
She looks up as you approach, grinning. “Hey there, kid,” she greets as she tilts her head to the side, giving you a once-over. “How's it going?” She blows out a stream of smoke that quickly drifts away.
You try not to cough when the smoke drifts into your face. You give her a half-smile. “It's going,” you reply, shoving your hands into your pockets. “I mean, you know how it is.” You nod your head at the cigarette between her fingers. “I'm surprised Vander hasn't kicked you out yet.”
Sevika grins, the corners of her lips curving into a smirk. She places the cigarette between her lips again, taking a deep drag before exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Believe me,” she replies, “he's threatened to do it about fifty times tonight.”
You chuckle and shake your head. “I can imagine.”
She puffs on the cigarette once more. “He's got that whole 'you're under my roof' speech down pat. I've heard it a hundred times.”
“Yet here you are,” you muse, gesturing at the cigarette in her fingers. “Still taking your chances.”
“I gotta get my cigarette fix.” She grins. She flicks some ash off the end before taking another drag. “Vander can lecture me all he wants, but I'm never giving up my vices.”
You're about to reply to Sevika, but you're interrupted by the sound of a familiar laugh. An arm slides around your shoulders, and you're surprised to see Ekko standing beside you. He grins at you, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “Hey stranger,” he teases.
“Hey yourself,” you reply, bumping him with your hip.
He laughs before his eyes drift to Sevika. He looks from the cigarette in her fingers up to her face, then back to the cigarette again, then back to her face. He gives her a disapproving look, and Sevika just grins around the cigarette in her mouth. “Are you really smoking in the house?" Ekko asks, arching an eyebrow. 
Sevika takes a puff on her cigarette and shrugs. “I already told the kid, I live for the thrill,” she replies, shooting you a wink. “Besides, it helps me relax.”
Ekko rolls his eyes. “Of course it does,” he mutters. He turns to you. “Don't follow in her footsteps, got it?”
You stifle a laugh. “Yeah, yeah,” you say, waving him off. “I think I can handle myself, dad.”
“Hey!” Ekko exclaims. He places a hand on his chest. “I just don't want you to end up like some people.” He casts a pointed look in Sevika's direction. He then leads you away from Sevika, pulling you into the living room where the karaoke set up is. All of your friends are crowded around it, and Mylo and Powder are squabbling over the karaoke.
Claggor is perched on the floor watching his siblings, and he turns his head and smiles when he sees you. “Hey, you made it!” he says, getting to his feet. He claps you on the back, pulling you into a hug.
“Yeah, guess I couldn't keep away,” you joke, returning Claggor's hug. “I'm surprised you didn't try to stop me, honestly.”
Claggor grins and releases you. “Eh, I get it,” he says. “I know it's a little complicated for you to be here, but still... you're always welcome here. You know that, right?”
You nod, giving him a smile. “Yeah, I do.”
He pats your shoulder again, then turns back to Mylo and Powder, who are bickering again over who gets to go first.
Your eyes dart across the living room. And then, there she is, viola! sitting on the couch, she doesn't notice you at first. Until, a moment later, her eyes drift your way as you and Ekko walk over together.
She sits up a bit straighter as you walk closer, and she's looking at you too long for your liking.
Powder glances over at her older sister curiously when she sits up straighter. Mylo glances at Vi too, his eyes narrowing as he notices the look in her eyes. He looks like he's about to say something, but Powder reaches over and smacks the back of his arm, shaking her head.
He scowls at her. “What was that for?!” he growls.
Powder shoots him a look. “Shut it.”
Ekko grins, taking an open spot on the couch. He pats the spot next to him, gesturing for you to sit down. You glance at the spot, and it is...right next to Vi. You reluctantly take a seat next to her, making sure you sit a few good inches away.
Ekko glances between everyone, clearly noticing the strange atmosphere. “So…”
He's about to ask a question when Vi turns her gaze over to him, giving him such a death glare that he immediately stops talking. Powder shoots him a scathing look as well, her expression telling him to ‘keep your mouth shut’. Ekko laughs nervously, clearly realizing that he was just about to ask a question he definitely shouldn't have asked.
Eventually, Mylo clears his throat. “So, who's up for karaoke?” he asks, trying to break the weird atmosphere.
Powder perks up, her eyes lighting up. “I'll sing next!”
Mylo scoffs. "No way, it's my turn!”
Claggor rolls his eyes. “Seriously? you were just up there.”
While the two boys bicker and Powder starts whining that she wants a turn, you glance away, your eyes involuntarily landing on Vi. She feels your gaze on her and shifts her eyes to you, and your gazes lock. She doesn't say anything, and the eye contact lingers just a moment longer than it should've. She opens her mouth as if she's about to say something but suddenly looks away. Her eyes fixed on the floor, staring down at it for a moment. Finally, she turns to look at you again, lifting her gaze to meet yours.
“Happy New Year's Eve,” she says, giving you a strained smile.
“Yeah,” you force out, “happy new year's to you too.” The words feel flat, coming out almost awkwardly. She doesn't seem like she knows what to say either. She just gives a nod, looking away again.
Claggor grins. “Powder's a better singer than you, anyway,” he teases. 
Mylo turns his glare onto Claggor, shoving him roughly with a muttered, “Shut up, asswipe.”
Claggor scoffs. “At least she can hit the notes,” he shoots back.
Mylo scoffs back at him. “My singing is perfect. Thank you so much.”
“It's not. You sound like a cat being strangled,” Claggor points out.
Mylo's jaw drops. “I do not sound like that!”
“You do.” All of you chime in unison. 
Mylo groans in protest. “You guys suck. I'm the best damn singer here.”
Powder laughs at his claim. “You're the worst singer I've ever heard.”
The trio continue to bicker, and Vi glances over again, her eyes flitting up and down your body. Her eyes flick from your hair to your mouth to your collarbones. She glances at the exposed skin of your neck, her tongue suddenly running across her bottom lip. Her gaze lingers on your chest... and then she realizes what she's doing. With a loud cough, she looks down into her lap, her eyebrows creased and her neck flushed. “You look good,” she says, just loud enough for you to hear her over the sibling's arguing.
You look down at what you're wearing, surprised by her sudden compliment. “Thanks...?” you respond, meeting her gaze again. “You don't look bad yourself.”
Mylo, Powder, and Claggor are too busy bickering to really notice what's happening between you and Vi. Ekko notices, his eyes going back and forth between you two.
But even though they're too immersed in their argument, Vi still keeps her voice low so the others don't overhear her. She glances away again so not to draw attention to the way she was just staring at you. “Thanks.”
Meanwhile, Mylo is yelling at Claggor. “I'm better at everything, including singing!”
“You're better at being stupid,” Claggor fires back.
Powder pipes up with a grin. “Oh! I have a great idea!” They all turn to look at her, including you. She grins wider before saying, “Vi should sing!”
Vi seems a bit taken off guard, her eyes widening. “N-no, no, it's fine, I-” 
Powder pushes her forward. “Come on, sing a song for us!”
Reluctantly, Vi allows herself to be pushed forward, standing in front of the microphone. She shoots Powder a glare for pushing her. “You're an ass,” she grumbles.
Powder grins at her. “Have fun, sis,” she teases.
She sighs, then turns back to the karaoke. She hums a tune to herself as she scrolls through the song list, her eyes skimming over the options. There's a few seconds more of searching, and then her fingers stop at one particular song. She glances around the room, checking to see everyone's waiting to hear what she'll sing. Her eyes land on you last, and she locks gazes with you for a moment.
Before she has a chance to chicken out, she selects the song and stands in front of the microphone. Vi clears her throat again and takes a deep breath. she seems...nervous.
At the start of the song, you immediately recognize the opening notes. It takes you a second to name the song, but when you do... you almost choke. The lyrics start, and there's no denying it. It's true. She's singing what you think she's singing.
4 YEARS BEFORE THE BREAKUP, CONFESSION
You're lying in bed, phone in hand, scrolling lazily through random stuff. It's a quiet evening, and the rain patters against your window. Suddenly, you hear a faint melody drifting through the rain. Music. It must be your neighbor who decided to blast music in the rain. but wait...
Did you just hear your name?
You sit up, suddenly intrigued. You place your phone down, sitting up straight as you listen to the music. Your brows furrow, trying to find where the sound is coming from.
It's definitely coming from outside... and it's getting louder. The faint sound of Aerosmith's ‘I Don't Want to Miss a Thing’ reaches your ears. Curiosity now piqued, you slowly get up from your bed and walk over to the window. Pulling back the curtain, you look out into the rainy night, and there, amidst the rain, you spot her. Violet.
She stands under the glow of the street lights, the light rain showering down around her. She's holding something... no. Not something. A boombox. It's an old, weathered boombox. The kind you'd thought had gone out of style decades ago.
She's singing. Singing... for you.
Her face is tilted upward, the rain kissing her face, mouthing the lyrics, “Every moment I spent with you is a moment I treasure.”
It's cheesy, so, so incredibly cheesy. It's so clichéd and almost straight out of a cheesy romcom. The old boombox, the rain, the song. It's something you'd roll your eyes at in a movie. But it's... sweet, in a way. The way her body rocks slightly to the beat, the way the rain glistens on her skin as she sings those lyrics.
You open your window, the rain and wind blow in, and you raise your voice over the sound of the rain. “What the hell are you doing?” you call out. “It's raining! are you crazy, Vi?”
Vi turns her head towards your voice, a smile stretching across her lips when she sees you standing at the window. “I don't care!” she yells back, holding the boombox higher. “I know it's raining. I'm not blind!”
She takes a few steps closer to your house, her rain-soaked hair sticking to her face. The rain and the light from the street lamps bounce off her skin, making her look like a mess. But she's grinning, that smirk plastered on her face as she holds the boombox over her head.
“You're going to catch a cold!” you retort.
“I've lived through much worse than a rain,” she calls back. “And nothing's gonna stop me tonight.” She then takes a deep breath before belting the lyrics out. The smile never leaves her lips. “Don't want to close my eyes. I don't want to fall asleep 'cause I'd miss you, babe, and I don't want to miss a thing.”
You look around nervously, checking to make sure no one is disturbed by her sudden performance. The last thing you need is your parents waking up and finding out that your friend is singing under the rain for you.
“Are you trying to wake up my parents? or the entire neighborhood for that matter?! keep it down, would you?!” you hiss through tightly clenched teeth, leaning out of the window more. “Get inside!” you whisper shout at her.
She continues to hold the boombox above her head, the rain running down her face and dripping from her chin. “Come on, let me finish at least!”
“You're going to get sick,” you protest, “and my parents will be mad,” you try to reason. Although the idea of your parents waking up to the sight of her standing outside, singing a love song to you, is... funny. 
Vi just laughs at your warning, shaking her head. “Eh, who cares about that? I'm having way too much fun pissing your parents off right now!”
“Stubborn idiot,” you murmur to yourself, sighing. 
You head downstairs to the closet to grab an umbrella. As you grab it, you give a quick glance out your living room window. Vi is still there, holding that boombox, continuing to sing in the rain. Grabbing the umbrella, you step out into the rain. The rain instantly slaps your face, and you quickly pop open the umbrella, holding it over your head.
Vi turns around to face you as you approach. Her singing falters when she sees you. Her smile widens, and she lowers the boombox.
“You really are the stupidest, most stubborn woman I know,” you grumble, holding the umbrella over your head as you reach Vi.
Vi is clearly soaked. She looks like a drowned rat, but despite the mess and her wet state, she's still grinning.
“Do you know how loud you are?” you ask. “You might wake up the whole damn neighborhood, banging that boombox at this hour. It's late, you loud, stubborn idiot.” You pause, studying her appearance. Her face is flushed, the redness on her cheeks betraying her. It could be the rain, the cold, or maybe...
“What?” you ask. “Nothing to say? cat got your tongue?”
Vi pauses, her eyes meeting yours. The rain continues to fall, slapping against the umbrella.
“I like you.”
What?
“No,” you watch as she shakes her head, correcting herself, rain dripping from her hair. “I love you. No, I'm in love with you.”
You stare at her, stunned. The words coming out of her mouth are unexpected. Your mind is in chaos. How could she do this, spring this confession on you all of a sudden? Your eyes are wide, your mind whirling. “What are you talking about?”
Her cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red, the redness spreading to the tips of her ears. “I said I love you,” she repeats. “I love you. I've... I've loved you for a long time.” 
She takes a step closer, the rain continuing to fall around you both. The boombox is still clutched tightly in her hand, the music still playing faintly.
You're speechless, struggling to find the words to respond. Your heart is racing and your mind is spinning. After all the years of friendship, all the ups and downs, all the times you've seen her in all her glory... this is when she chooses to confess? now? in the middle of goddamn rain?
Your gaze shifts on her lips. They're slightly parted, raindrops clinging to them. They look soft, even under the rain, even in this awkward and confusing moment.
Vi speaks again, and her words snap you back to reality. “You don't have to say it back…” she says, her voice shaky. “I just needed you to know.”
“And I know I'm a fool,” she continues, her grip on the boombox tightening. “Singing my heart out in the rain like a dumbass... but I couldn't hold it in any longer. You're all I think about.”
Your hands clench around the handle of the umbrella, her confession replaying in your head. I love you. I'm in love with you.
All the times you've admired her, all the times a simple glance got your heart to race... It makes sense now. The feeling you always tried to ignore—the warmth and the flutter in your stomach.
You don't know what to do, what to say, and those damn lips of hers are not helping at all.
Screw it.
Your brain stops thinking, and you act on impulse. The umbrella clatters to the ground, raindrops drenching you both as you step closer to her. You wrap your arms around her neck, pressing your lips against hers.
Her body is tense, clearly taken by surprise, but after that, she melts into your arms. She drops the boombox, letting it fall into a puddle by her feet, and wraps her own arms around your waist. 
She's kissing you eagerly, hungrily, her lips moving against yours in a way that leaves you breathless. Her tongue slides against your lower lip, seeking entrance. You could never deny her anything, and you part your lips, letting her tongue explore your mouth.
Her hands roam over your body. Touching and grabbing at any part of you she can reach. Her tongue is hot against yours. Sliding and tangling together, stealing the breath from your lungs.
Your lips break away from hers, both of you drawing in ragged breaths.
Her forehead pressed against yours. Both of you are shaking from the cold. Her eyes are half-lidded as she looks at you, her lips swollen and red. “That's…” she mumbles, her voice hoarse. “That's one way to respond to a confession.”
Your arms remain around her neck, fingers buried in her wet hair. She's still gripping your waist, holding onto you tightly, her other hand coming up to brush a rain-soaked lock of hair from your face. “You're quiet.” Her thumb traces a path across your bottom lip. “Got something to say, or did I shut you up for good?”
“You always have to be so damn dramatic about everything, don't you?” you mutter, fighting the urge to smile. “Not even a proper date first or anything,” you continue, “just straight to saying I love you, no buildup. Very classy, very romantic.”
Her laughter is a low rumble in her chest when she shakes her head. “Welp, I'm a hopeless romantic,” she jokes, the corner of her mouth lifting in a lopsided grin. “When I see something I want, I go for it.” Her eyes roam over your face. “And I really, really want you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter, shaking your head. “Now can we get inside before we freeze our asses off?” You reach down to pick up the umbrella. “I think we've given the neighborhood enough of a show for one night.”
Your eyes flicker from her soaked clothes to her shivering frame. “If you end up sick, my mom will have my ass for letting you stay out here for so long. You know what she's like when it comes to you…” Your voice softens, concern lacing your words. “C'mon, let's get inside before we catch a cold.”
Her shoulders sag when you mention your mother. She glances down at herself, taking in her wet clothes and shivering body. “Alright, alright,” she mutters. “Last thing I need is another lecture from your mom. She's damn scary.” She bends down to pick up the abandoned boombox, shaking off the rainwater.
You usher her to the front door of your house, your hand resting on her lower back to guide her. Her clothes are damp against your touch.
The door swings open, revealing your mother with her arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. “You sure managed to wake up the damn neighborhood with your display out there.” Her eyes flicker between you and Vi.
6 DAYS AFTER CHRISTMAS, PRESENT
You remember it all.
She used to hum that exact song to you. All the time. Humming in your ear, wrapping her arms around your waist, watching you clean dishes or cook.
Sometimes, she wouldn't even hum it. Sometimes, she would just sing the lyrics to you, while her fingertips would trace random patterns on your skin. Doodles on your back, swirls on your stomach, sometimes little hearts on your arm.
You'd always tease her. “Do you know any songs other than this one?” She'd just chuckle and hum the song harder.
All the while, she would pepper small kisses on your neck and shoulders.
You'd try to push her off, “Stop, I'm trying to clean,” even if you both knew that it was useless to try and stop her.
Sometimes you'd even start singing along in a loud, off-key voice, just to annoy her.
She'd stop humming and glare at you. “Stop that,” she'd say, pouting.
You'd just laugh at her. “Make me,” you'd challenge.
You always used to laugh and tease her about it at first... but slowly, it started to grow on you.
You'd catch yourself humming the song after she stopped visiting, and you hated that your mind instinctively wanted to hear her voice singing it. Sometimes, you'd hum it yourself, but it never compared to how she sang it. She's so much better than you.
The song continues, you just couldn't take your eyes off her. She's just... breathtaking. The way her eyes closed as she got into the song, the way her lips moved with the words, it made you want to reach forward and...
...what are you thinking? you can't do that. you can't do that. So, instead, you just sit there. You just listen. You just watch.
She's looking at you. You can feel it. Her gaze lingers on you longer than everyone else. She's really singing to you, isn't she? why does she have to make this harder?
Your heart is beating so hard, you wouldn't be surprised if everyone could hear it.
When the song finally ends, you're snapped out of your thoughts. Everyone cheers, clapping loudly.
“That's my sister!” Powder exclaims.
Mylo whistles. “Better than I expected.”
Claggor just grins, giving Vi a round of applause.
While everyone else starts chattering, you just sit there in stunned silence. Your palms are starting to sweat, and you feel sick.
Vi sits down on the couch next to you, sitting close but not close enough to actually touch or bump into you.
The others begin taking their turns singing. Ekko sings first. He starts singing a song you don't recognize, but it's something rap and upbeat. Mylo takes the mic next and immediately starts butchering a love song. Powder laughs her ass off, “You're terrible at this!”
Claggor gives Mylo a glare before taking the mic, and he actually sings a pretty decent song. “See?” he says, shooting another glare at Mylo, “that's how you do it.”
Mylo lets out an indignant squawk. “Yeah, whatever, I'm not even trying.”
“Whatever helps you feel better about sucking.” Powder snickers.
It goes on like that, back and forth. One sings, the others make comments, Powder makes fun of Mylo, repeat.
The whole time, you're just stuck there with Vi. So close yet so far away.
4 YEARS BEFORE THE BREAKUP
Vi's cheek rests on the countertop, her fingers mindlessly running over the rim of the glass in front of her. It's empty, having never even been touched. Vander leans on the other side of the bar, still cleaning the glass in his hand. The place is nearly empty now, just a few stragglers sitting here and there.
“You gonna drink that?” Vander asks, raising an eyebrow at Vi's untouched drink.
Vi doesn't lift her head from the counter. “Nah,” she says. “Not in the mood tonight.”
Vander looks at her for a moment, still cleaning the glass. He puts the glass down, resting his arms on the counter, leaning forward.
“Something's on ya mind?”
She lifts her head up, rolling it until it's resting on her chin instead. She doesn't look at Vander. Her gaze on the wall on the other far side of the bar. “Can I ask you something?”
Vander pauses, then he simply nods. He knows what that tone means. The same way he knows the look in her eyes. “Sure,” he replies, “go ahead.”
“How do you…” she starts, her fingers slowly tracing the rim of the glass. “How do you know when you've found the right person?”
Vander knows where this is headed. He thinks for a moment, scratching his beard. “The right person,” he repeats. “Well,” he answers, “you can usually feel it here.” He slowly touches his chest over his heart. “Why are you asking?”
Vi suddenly feels like a little girl again, sitting at the bar, watching her father work. It's so familiar, something she never seems to grow out of. “Dunno,” she says, looking back down at the glass.
Vander smirks, knowing her too well to take that excuse as an answer. “Try again.”
Vi sighs. She glances up at her father, who's still watching her. Vander knows her too well, sometimes too well. Her fingers stop tracing the glass rim. She sits up, her hand resting idly on the countertop. “There's this girl…” she mumbles.
Vander's smirk almost becomes a grin at her words. He rests his hands on the counter, leaning forward. “A girl, huh?” he muses. “A special girl?” He already can tell the answer to that, judging by how quiet she's been this evening.
Vi rolls her eyes, but she can't stop the hint of pink that appears on her cheeks. She can feel Vander's smirk, and she doesn't have to look at him to know he knows. “Just a girl, okay?” she doesn't want to admit she's completely whipped. But she is.
Vander chuckles, seeing the hint of pink against her skin. “Right,” he drawls, clearly not believing her claim. He moves to grab a glass from behind the bar, and he starts pouring himself something to drink. “Got a name?” 
Vi groans, hiding her face in her hands. Of course he'll ask that question. “Why does it matter?” she mumbles from behind her palms.
Vander can see the tips of her ears turning red, and he has to fight the urge to laugh. “Come on,” he urges, taking a sip of his drink. “What's the harm in telling a name? at least a first name.”
Vi peeks at her father from between her fingers. She knows he's not going to drop it. So with a sigh, she slowly lowers her hands, looking down at the counter. She mumbles your name, the tips of her fingers starting to fiddle with the glass again.
“So this girl…” he continues, “you been seein' her?”
His question causes her to snap her head up. He looks back at her, his smirk still present on his face. Vi shakes her head, glancing back down at her hands. “No… she's just a friend.”
Vander raises an eyebrow. “Just a friend eh?” he asks. “That's all?”
She lifts her head, giving her father a glare. “Yes, that’s all,” she mutters, shifting uncomfortably on the stool.
Vander just grins, looking smug. He sets the glass down on the counter. “She got a boyfriend... or a girlfriend? This friend of yours?”
His question makes Vi freeze. She never thought to find out, but now that he says it, it makes her stomach twist weirdly. She bites the inside of her cheek, shifting on the stool again. “No, I don't think so.”
“You don't think so?”
“I mean, maybe she does. It's not like I've asked,” she says quickly, not liking where this conversation is headed.
“You like her, don't ya?”
Vi's sure her face is completely pink now, her eyes avoiding Vander's. “I dont-” she stops, sighing. Her shoulders slump. Her fingers twisting together. “...so what if I do.” 
He knew it. “Nothin' wrong with it,” he replies, pouring himself some more drink. He doesn't look at her for a few moments, sipping on his drink. “She knows ya like her?”
Vi sighs again, burying her face in one hand. She shakes her head. “No, she has no idea,” she mutters. “And she better not find out. I'd never hear the end of it.”
“Why not? afraid she'll turn ya down?”
Vi's head shoots up from her hands, a glare planted on her features. “No!” she snaps.
Vander just lifts both hands in mock surrender. “Then why are you so scared?” 
“I'm not scared,” she counters. “I'm just worried she'll start treating me differently.”
Vander hums in thought. “And that's a bad thing?”
Her gaze drops back down to her hands fiddling with each other. He doesn't understand. She doesn't want to lose what she has with you already.
Vander raises an eyebrow, watching her. “Why are you so scared of confessing your feelings to this girl? how bad can it be?”
Vi's fingers pause. Her eyes shut tight. “What if she laughs?”
Vander snorts. “That's what you're worried about?”
Vi groans again, dropping her forehead onto the counter. It's not as simple as he made it sound. “She might do more than that, you don't know.”
“You're scared to tell her how you feel because you think she'll... what? beat you up?”
“That's not funny.” How does she explain this to Vander? how does she explain the way her stomach turns and twists at the thought of telling you how she really feels? how much does it terrify her that things wouldn't be the same?
“You worry too much, kid.”
Vi leans back against the stool. “I know.”
“Just tell her you like her already.”
“That's easy for you to say,” she says, her eyes avoiding his gaze.
“Then why are you so afraid to do it?”
Vi groans. “Because I don't wanna lose her.”
“She won't disappear if you tell her you like her.”
“You don't know that.”
“Yeah, I do,” he counters. “Do you really think she'll stop being your friend?”
She knows he's right, at least partially, but she's still scared.
Vander sighs, his eyes narrowing at her. He knows he just needs to give her the final shove. “How long have you been feeling like this?” 
“For a while..”
Vander hums. “And you still haven't told her,” he states. It's not a question. It's a fact.
Vi starts to fiddle the hem of her shirt. 
“How long are you gonna keep avoiding it?” 
She mumbles something too quiet for him to make out. 
“What's that?” he asks.
Vi grumbles, her shoulders slumping. “I said, 'probably forever, probably.'”
Vander lets out a laugh. “You're impossible.”
“You don't know how hard this is.”
“You're always making things difficult,” he teases, then he suddenly asks, “Do you trust me?” 
Vi lifts an eyebrow. “What kind of question is that? Of course I do.”
He leans in closer to her. “Then just listen to me for a minute.”
Vi hesitates but nods at him to continue. 
Vander leans an elbow on the counter. “Stop being a coward and just do it.”
Vi's brows furrow, ready to argue, but before she can speak, Vander holds up a hand to silence her. “Don't say anything,” he murmurs, his eyes piercing her. “Listen, you're scared you'll lose her. I get it. But trust me, if you really know her, and I know you do, why would she stop being friends with you just because you like her?”
Vi opens her mouth to object, but Vander continues before she can.
“Stop overthinking, stop being so damn stubborn, and just tell her how you feel.” Vander takes advantage of her speechless state to keep going. “Worst-case scenario, she doesn't feel the same. Sucks, but you'll survive. Life goes on.” He pokes her forehead. “Stop being a big sissy.”
“I'm not a big sissy,” Vi grumbles, swatting at his hand.
“Come on, punk,” he teases. “When did you ever let fear stop you from doing something before?”
Vi huffs. She knows he's got a point.
“You've gotten into so much trouble before. You started fights, you stole things. You even stole from me, for gods' sake,” he scoffs. “But you're too afraid to tell a girl you like her?" 
She hates that he's right, and she hates that she's so damn predictable.
“You're being ridiculous,” he scolds. “You've done scarier things than this, and yet you're shitting your pants over telling your friend that you like her.” He always has a way of calling her out. “I'm just trying to knock some sense into your thick skull, pup.”
She shifts on her seat. gaze dropping to the floor. “Don't get me wrong, I want to. Badly. But-” she pauses, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. “What if it doesn't work out? what if we just end up hurting each other? or worse… what if she will just hate me in the end?”
Vander's brows furrow. He has a feeling she will say something like this, and once again, she's right. The what-ifs are always scary. He thinks for a moment, his fingers tapping an absentminded beat on the countertop. As much as he likes to, he can't deny that the outcome of a relationship is uncertain.
“Hey,” he says. “Look at me.”
Vi hesitantly lifts her head, her eyes meeting his.
“It's true. We can't predict the future,” he starts. “But we can't let fear hold us back, either.”
“What if it ends badly?”
“Life is all about taking risks,” he replies. “You can't always play it safe, not when it comes to love.”
“But-”
Vander cuts her off. “It's never easy. When you love someone, you're putting yourself out there. You're letting her into your heart, and that's scary as hell. There's no guarantee of anything. Love isn't easy. It's not simple. Sometimes it hurts, sometimes it's messy, sometimes it's even painful.” He pauses, studying her face closely.
“But you know what else?” he continues. “The good parts make all of that worth it. The smiles, the laughter, the feeling of her hand in yours. The little things, like waking up next to her or sharing a moment with her that no one else would have. That's what makes love worth it. The uncertainty, the fear... those are just parts of the journey.”
Vander holds her gaze. “Don't let that fear stop you from experiencing what could be amazing.”
He lets out a sigh. “You feel it, don't you? the way your heart beats faster when you're around her? that flutter in your chest when she smiles? the heat in your cheeks when she laughs?”
“That feeling, that connection,” he continues. “That's something special, Vi. Something rare and beautiful. You can't just ignore that. You can't pretend it doesn't exist. Look, I'm not going to pretend that I can make this choice for you. That's not my place... but I will tell you this.” He reaches out, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It's always worth the risk, Violet.”
6 DAYS AFTER CHRISTMAS, PRESENT
Everyone makes their way to Vander's backyard. He's standing at the grill, flipping burgers and hot dogs.
Powder is a few feet away, setting up a few fireworks displays that she made in advance before walking over to Mylo and setting up a few lawn chairs. Silco and Benzo are standing near Vander, talking quietly among themselves, occasionally stealing a beer from the cooler.
You find yourself sitting in a lawn chair with a soda in hand, while Claggor is sitting in the chair beside you, laughing at something that Ekko said. You take a sip, letting the liquid slide down your throat. You sigh, slouching in the chair.
“Seriously, have you ever even talked to a girl before?” Claggor says, raising an eyebrow.
Ekko gasps. “I have too! I've talked to tons of girls.”
“Name one.”
“...”
Claggor grins, poking Ekko. “That's what I thought.”
You can hear Powder and Mylo arguing about something stupid, just like they always do. Mylo seems really angry about it. “You never listen to me!”
“It's not my fault your ideas suck!” Powder argues back.
It's like the two of them never run out of things to bicker about, no matter how petty or ridiculous. They can argue about the weather. Mylo could look outside, see that it's raining, and still somehow get mad at powder and vice versa.
Vi is a few feet away, standing next to Vander. She has a cigarette hanging from her lips.
You've seen her smoke countless times. Sometimes she would blow smoke in Powder's face just to piss her off, or she would take a drag and then kiss you, the lingering, slightly bitter taste of the cigarette on her lips. She would even try to blow the smoke into your mouth. It's such a weird feeling, feeling the smoke pass from her lips to yours.
You take a sip of your soda, taking your eyes off her before you could remember anything else.
Across from you, Sevika glances at you from over the top of her beer bottle. She looks like she wants to say something, but she just takes another swig from the bottle instead.
Soon enough, Vander finishes with the grilling. Everyone scrambles to get their food, with Mylo and Claggor passing out paper plates loaded up with hotdogs and hamburgers.
Everyone gathers around in a circle. Silco is holding a bottle of beer in his hand, raising it up. “I have something to say.”
Everyone quiets down, glancing at Silco. Powder is still stuffing her face with food, but Ekko grabs her arm. “Stop eating and listen.” Powder grumbles something but sets her food down, giving Silco her full attention (as much as she can, at least).
Silco clears his throat, taking a sip from his beer. “New years. The start of a fresh year, a new beginning.”
He glances around at everyone, his eye lingering on Vi for a few seconds, and then his gaze lands on you. You quickly look down, taking a sip from your soda and pretending like you didn't notice.
“This year has been a shitshow, we all know it, but we always manage to keep together. No matter what happens, we're all family here. We look after each other. We take care of each other.”
Claggor and Ekko share a look. You notice Powder giving Mylo a nudge with her elbow. Mylo scowls at her.
He takes another sip of beer. “It's a time to forget about mistakes and move forward, to grow and learn, and for some of us…” his gaze drifts towards Powder and Mylo. “It's a time to stop acting like brats.” He continues, drumming his fingers against the side of his beer bottle, “So as tradition, I want everyone to think of a resolution for the new year. It could be as silly as wanting to eat healthier or something bigger like getting a new job or going on a trip.”
It's another one of Silco's traditions. It's something they all do every year. Everyone is thinking about their resolutions, thinking of something they want to keep for the new year.
Claggor and Ekko are still sharing looks, and you can hear Mylo and Powder whispering about something.
He glances around at everyone, raising an eyebrow. “Alright, any volunteers?”
No one makes a move. Everyone is either stuffing their face, or they're thinking about their New Year's resolutions, or they're just keeping quiet.
Silco sighs. It looks like it's down to him. “Jesus. If no one wants to go first... guess I'll go.” He raises his beer. “My resolution for this year is I want to get healthier. Eat healthier, stop smoking so much.”
Benzo chuckles. “A little too late for that, don't you think?”
“It's never too late,” Silco says, sending a glare at him.
He takes a sip of his beer before looking around. “Alright, anyone next? or am I really the only one going?”
When no one volunteers, Vander steps up. He raises his beer. “I can't say I have anything big, but I want to fix up the bar and give it a bit of a makeover. Something different.”
“New paint job?” Ekko asks.
Vander nods. “Might as well. It's needed it for a while.” He looks around. “Anyone else got anything to share?”
Benzo glances around before he finally decides to chime in. “Well, my resolution...hmm.” His hand rests on Silco's shoulder. “I want to convince Silco to stop smoking so much.”
“I just said-”
“Yeah, but you've been saying the same thing every year. Your ass is still here, smoking your lungs to death.”
“I'm trying,” Silco mutters.
Benzo laughs, patting his shoulder. “Sure you are.” Silco grumbles something under his breath but says nothing. Benzo takes a swig from his beer. “Who's next?”
Claggor is staring down at the beer in his hand, swirling it and watching the liquid move around the bottle. His eyebrows furrow.
Vander glances at him. “You got one, boy?”
Claggor snaps out of his thoughts, looking over to his father. He hesitates but ends up nodding, “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I actually have one.” He hesitates for a second before speaking, “My new year's resolution is... well, my goal is to pass my final exams so I can get my certificate for being a certified mechanic, but... it'll take a lot of work.”
Vander beams. “That's a good resolution. Hard but achievable.”
“Yeah, it won't be easy, but I really want to get it done. I just-” Claggor suddenly looks down at his beer again. “I just don't know if I can do it.”
Vander places a hand on his shoulder. “Don't doubt yourself. You've got the potential. We're all rooting for you, kid.”
“Yeah, you'll make a great mechanic,” Ekko chimes in, “and all of us will be in your garage for free car services.”
That gets a laugh out of Claggor, and he gives Ekko a punch on the arm. “Sure thing. I'll give all of you free services once I pass.”
“Now you're speaking my language,” Mylo grins. “Once you're a mechanic, you better make sure you don't overcharge me.”
“I know you can't afford me, Mylo,” Claggor teases. “I'm going to make you pay double.”
There's a collective chorus of ‘oooh's,’ and Mylo rolls his eyes. “Okay, smartass.”
Claggor laughs, taking a sip of his drink. “Who's next?”
Everyone goes quiet again. No one else is saying anything. The only sounds are the clinking of Claggor setting his beer down and Ekko opening a bag of chips.
Powder is sitting quietly, staring at her hands. Her fingers are picking at a loose piece of skin on her thumb.
Silco glances at her. “Powder?”
She looks over, suddenly blinking out of her own thoughts. “Oh—right, my turn.” Powder pauses for a second, staring down at her drink. She clears her throat and raises her soda. “My resolution for the new year is... I want to get into MIT. I know it's a long shot, but I really want to get in.”
Everyone is quiet for a few seconds, processing the words that just came out of her mouth. Then there's a sudden barrage of questions.
“MIT!”
“Really?”
“How?”
“Are you serious?”
Powder almost loses her balance when everyone starts talking over one another. She grumbles, waving her hands around to try and get everyone to be quiet. “Okay, okay! Shut up and I'll explain!”
All of them immediately snap their mouths shut, Powder sighs, and sit up straight. “Thank you. Now if you'll let me continue. Yes, my new year resolution is to get into Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Everyone knows MIT is one of the most competitive schools out there, right? Hell, it's one of the best schools out there. It's... it's really selective. It's a place for brilliant people, but I've been studying a lot, really going hard at it, and I actually think I have a small chance at getting in. I've already looked at their application-”
Mylo interrupts her. “But how are you going to get in? we don't have the money to afford that Pow…”
“I know! I've looked into grants and scholarships, and they do have a few financial programs for students who need help paying. If my applications go through, I can get a partial or even full scholarship. I really want to get in. I know it's a lot of work, but I'm up for the challenge.”
Mylo raises an eyebrow, opening his mouth to speak but Silco cuts him off with a look, ‘Let her finish’ Mylo snaps his mouth shut again, glaring at Silco.
Powder continues. “And honestly, I didn't just wake up one day and decide I wanted to get into MIT. I've been working hard for a while. My grades are great, I have tons of extracurricular activities, a few teachers have agreed to do recommendations for me, and-”
“If you get into MIT, you'll be moving away, right?” Vi cuts in. She pushes herself off the wall, tossing her cigarette into the nearest trash bin, then making her way over to her sister.
Powder's face drops at the question. “If I do end up getting in, I probably won't be around here a lot. MIT is nowhere near here.”
It's an honest answer. There's no sugar coating or beating around the bush to make it seem less harsh. Hearing the words come from Powder's mouth makes it all suddenly seem real. If she does end up getting into that school, she'll be gone. She'll be hours away in a completely different state. 
“I'll probably be busy studying a lot anyway, on top of clubs and stuff. It's a lot of work, honestly, and besides, I can always video call you or something.”
Vi ruffles Powder's hair. “Well, if you are going to be way up there on the east coast...don't forget about me—I mean us,” she looks around. “Yeah?”
Powder sighs and swats at her sister's hand. “I won't forget about any of you. You guys don't have to worry. Once I get into MIT, I won't abandon you all or anything.”
Silco says, “If you think you've got it in you to get into a place like MIT, then go on, kid. Try it.”
Claggor agrees with Silco, nodding. “You can do it, pow-pow. You're smart. You can make it into MIT.”
You give a supportive smile and a nod. “If you really want it, I think you should go for it. If you get in, you'll be going to a place for brilliant people, and you're definitely smart enough to be one of them.”
“Jesus, you're gonna be a long way away,” Mylo says, sighing.
Benzo adds, “Yeah, but it's good for her. Getting into somewhere like MIT is no small feat. Go for it, kid.”
Vander looks over at Powder and smiles. “That is a big place for big things. If you think you can make it, go for it. We're always here for you, Pow-pow.”
Ekko grins. “And if you get in, you'll have to show us around the campus.”
“Thanks… thank you guys. I didn't think I'd be so nervous about saying all that, but…” Powder glances around at them. “Now you guys have to share your resolutions now.”
Everyone's heads collectively turn to Mylo. He groans in response. “My resolution is, uh... to get laid and have a... girlfriend maybe,” he mumbles out, not really putting a lot of effort into his answer.
Claggor snorts. “That's what you said last year too.”
“Hey, things change! It's going to happen this year!” Mylo huffs. “And it's gonna be an actual girlfriend this time!”
“Like you had a fake girlfriend before?” Powder teases.
The group goes quiet, a few awkward glances going around. You notice a few people look at you, then at Vi. You can't count how many people clear their throat at that.
After a few seconds, Claggor speaks, “Well, that's... that's a resolution, I guess?”
Powder clears her throat again. “Yeah... guess so.”
Mylo looks over at Ekko. “What about you? what's your resolution?” he tries to distract everyone from the awkward silence.
Ekko glances around, then shrugs. “Dunno, figure things out, I guess. I think we all have stuff we need to figure out, so that'll probably be my resolution, to just... figure it out.”
“Figured out anything yet?” Powder teases him.
Ekko chuckles. “Not yet, still working on it. It's complicated.”
Mylo snorts. “Yeah, we could tell. You've had the same crush since middle school.”
Ekko opens his mouth, but Silco cuts him off. “Enough about the kid's love life. What about yours, Sevika?”
Sevika, who's been quiet the whole time, leans back in her chair. “I haven't really thought about it too much. I'm not a big resolutions kind of person.”
Benzo laughs. “Always living life on the fly. What about you, Vi?”
Vi looks at you for a few seconds, then looks away. “Work with myself more, I guess.”
“Work on yourself? in what way?” Claggor asks.
Vi shakes her head. “In a lot of ways, I've got a lot going on. Stuff that I should fix or just figure out,” she says, avoiding any eye contact with anyone but mostly avoiding eye contact with you.
Vander and Silco share a look, silently speaking with their subtle eye movements and raised brows. But neither of them say anything.
“What about you? You haven't shared yours yet,” Powder prompts, turning the conversation to you.
You never really thought too much about your own resolution, but now that they're all looking at you, you're starting to wish you did. You can feel Vi's eyes boring a hole into the side of your face, and you can't bring yourself to look at her.
You take a few seconds to think about your words, then you just decide to go with what you can think of on the fly. “I guess mine is just… taking more chances and risks.”
Powder nods. “Taking risks, yeah, that's good.”
Mylo raises an eyebrow. “Risks? what kind of risks? like skydiving or bungee jumping?”
You're starting to regret your response. You just said the first thing that came to mind, and now they're all going to be asking questions. You glance in Vi's direction, and your eyes meet for half a second. She quickly breaks the eye contact, looking away. 
You swallow hard and turn your attention back to the group. “Yeah, just...yeah, like that.”
Mylo scoffs, and it's obvious that he doesn't believe that. But he seems to decide not to pry into your answer too much. “Skydiving is definitely something I'll be interested in trying someday.”
Powder smirks. “You'll have a heart attack before the parachute even opens.”
“What? I'm in great shape. I could do it.”
“The only way you could skydive is if you were pushed out of the plane yourself.”
Mylo scowls and flips her off. “I could do it if I wanted.”
“Yeah. Uh-huh, sure you could.” Powder then checks her phone, checking the time 11:50. “Almost midnight!” she exclaims excitedly, jumping up and running over to the fireworks she was preparing. 
The rest of the group starts getting up, grabbing beers, and setting up for the upcoming countdown. 
Mylo and Ekko begin helping Powder, adjusting different fireworks, and making sure everything is in order. Powder is making some last-minute adjustments, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth in silent concentration. Ekko notices this and laughs. “You look stupid when you do that.”  Powder just sticks her tongue out more in response, flipping Ekko off with a free hand as she continues working.
You look around, suddenly realizing that Vi is not where she was a few moments ago. You hear a noise next to you, suddenly you feel a presence beside you. You expect to see Vander or Silco. You look up to find Vi standing beside you.
She notices you noticed her but doesn't say anything, just kind of hovering beside you awkwardly. Both pretending to look around at everyone else's preparations for the new year's countdown, but neither of you is paying attention.
After silence and silence, the countdown begins, everyone in the group yelling out the numbers.
“10”
Mylo has his arm around Claggor's shoulders, ready to shout along with everyone else. Sevika raises a beer in the air. Benzo is recording the countdown. Silco and Vander are standing next to each other.
“9”
Powder is bouncing on her toes, her hand on the igniter, ready to fire the fireworks into the air. Ekko is standing beside her, a smile on his face as he watches her.
“8”
Mylo's head is thrown back as he yells the countdown. Benzo raises his phone up higher, trying to get a better view of the fireworks for the video. You glance at Vi, and this time your eyes meet, she's already looking at you.
“7”
Her eyes snap away as soon as your eyes meet, acting like she's not been looking at you in the first place. You're left wondering if she even wants to look in the first place. Maybe it's just a coincidence. 
Her cheeks have a faint dusting of pink, but it can easily be blamed on the cold.
“6”
You swallow hard, your heart starts to pick up its pace. Your eyes flick back to her, and this time she's staring off somewhere to the side, refusing to look at you. You start to get a nagging, sinking feeling in your stomach, but you push it aside.
It's not like she's looking at you because she wants to. Right?
“5”
Suddenly, you feel a touch against your knuckles, causing your fingers to twitch at your side. It's a subtle touch, one that you could ignore. But you don't. You don't dare look down at her hand, you don't even move your hand away. 
“4”
Vi's fingers are still touching your knuckles, and neither of you are moving away, neither of you are saying anything, and neither of you are looking at each other.
“3”
Just 6 days ago, she held your hand tight on her own, but now it feels like a simple brush of fingertips over knuckles is almost too much to handle.
“2”
Slowly, almost cautiously, you feel her pinky fingers touch yours. They brush against your skin, trying to intertwine your fingers with her own. It's hesitant and slow, but after a few moments, you take the chance and slowly move your fingers over hers, intertwining them.
“1”
Her fingers twitch when you intertwine your fingers with hers, like she's shocked that you're letting yourself do this. She doesn't pull away though, her fingers just tighten, locking yours together. 
“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
The group erupts into cheers and celebration, shouting out the words loudly and fireworks and whistles going off all around. Powder is shouting and smiling and laughing, launching fireworks into the air. Mylo and Ekko lift Powder up, settling to their shoulders, shouting happily. Benzo raises his phone, getting the whole scene on film.
Vander and Silco glance at them, then shake their heads with a smile. Silco murmurs something quietly, too quiet for anyone else to hear. Vander snorted at whatever he said.
Claggor nervously glances at Mylo and Ekko, worried that they're going to drop her sister accidentally. Powder notices him looking and grins cheerfully. “It's fine, it's fine!” she reassures him, then throws her hands up in the air. “WOO! Happy new year!”
Sevika downs the last of her beer, then tosses the can aside. She raises her eyebrows at the scene of Powder being lifted up in the air, a smirk crossing her face.
You turn to look at her once again. The fireworks light up her face in a kaleidoscope of colors.
She looks so... soft like this. Relaxed. Peaceful. You drink it all in. You want to remember this. The way the colors play across her face. The way the fireworks light up in her eyes. The way her eyes look so much more blue under the colored lights. 
It should be illegal for her to look this good.
You've seen her make a hundred different expressions, every one of them just as beautiful as the last. But somehow, the way the light plays across her face is making her look downright ethereal.
You've always loved her hair. The way it frames her face, how you always want to bury your fingers in it.
You want to reach up and brush her cheek, to run your fingers over the little bumps of those freckles. You want to count them all, and you want to make sure you don't miss a single one. Maybe even kiss each one, if you're feeling daring.
You think about her lips. The pouty, pretty, perfect curve of them. How pink they are and how soft they look, how much you want to kiss them or watch them say your name.
You want to kiss the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw. Maybe whisper something in her ear, just to watch her shiver.
The way she talks. The way her voice can be so gravelly but also so smooth at the same time. The way she laughs, her eyes lighting up as her body shakes. The way her voice gets breathless when she's riled up.
You love the way she says your name, how it sounds so different on her tongue than anyone else's.
You want to hear her say it again. You want to hear her say it over and over, so many times that it starts to lose its meaning. You want to hear her say it until you forget how to breathe without her name in your lungs.
You want a thousand more moments like this one. Moments where the rest of the world faded away, moments where you thought there might someday be more to your relationship than broken glass and sharp words.
You want the domesticity of sharing a space with her. The quiet evenings and the stupid, petty arguments. Being able to come home after work and share a bed instead of coming home alone and trying to silence the aching in your chest.
You want the stupid things. Like cooking together, doing laundry, going shopping. You want to walk through the rain together and laugh at the stupid, soggy-haired look on her face. You want to hear her sing in the shower, complain about the weather, and have her crawl into bed with you when it's cold outside.
You want the dumb little arguments about who's turn it is to do the dishes, what movie to watch, and who forgot to fold the laundry. You want stupid, mundane things like the annoying morning alarm she sets that she hates and the dumb coffee mug that she drinks out of every morning.
You want the little things. The way she would leave the bathroom door open when she's brushing her teeth just so she can continue talking to you. The way she'd pull you to her side when you're watching movies. The way she'd steal your food even though you're both sitting at the same table.
More than that, more than the stupid fights and small annoyances, you just want her. You want all of it. Every stupid, messy, frustrating, wonderful thing. All of it. You just want her, every part of her. The soft parts, the hard edges, and the broken bits.
And there it is. There's the realization that makes your chest tighten.
You're still in love with her.
Somehow, that thought shouldn't surprise you. The way you've been acting around her, the way you've watched her without even realizing, the way you've ached to reach out and pull her against you. It should've been obvious.
You think of all the days you've spent apart. The sleepless nights spent waiting for a call or text that never came. The countless times you'd wished you could see her, touch her, kiss her, love her. The times when you'd told yourself over and over again that you were perfectly fine being single, that you didn't need her.
You'd been wrong. You'd been so, so wrong.
Because no matter how much you'd tried to deny it, no matter what you'd told yourself, nothing could change the way you feel. There's no way you could get rid of the way your heart stutters every time you look at her. You can't change the way you still crave her. You don't think you'd ever be able to forget the way her smile makes you feel like you're coming home.
You're still so goddamn hopelessly in love.
You're so focused on her that you don't even notice Vander looking at the two of you.
Vander glances over to Silco, shooting him a look. Silco's eyes flick to the two of you, then he grins, raising one eyebrow at Vander. Vander rolls his eyes, returning the expression.
7 DAYS AFTER CHRISTMAS, PRESENT
The celebration has died down now, the clock striking past 1 am. Everyone is finishing up, cleaning up the trash and any unwanted mess.
Vi is in the middle of picking up a few empty cans lying on the ground, throwing them into the overfilled bin. Her head is bowed forward, her hair falls over her face, her body bent at an angle to reach the ground, her skin flushed warm from the cold air. 
There's so many questions floating through your head. You need to talk to her. You need to ask her so many things. Why she ended things, if there was a reason, if she wanted it to end, if you somehow did something wrong. You need to know. You deserve to know.
You watch her for a moment, then take a breath and step forward. “Can we talk?”
She's still bent over, picking things up off of the ground. Her fingers pause in their movement, and she straightens up slowly, her head raising and turning toward you. “Huh?” She blinks a few times before replying, “Uh, yeah. Yeah, we can.” She sets the can in her hand down into the bin with a rattle, wiping her hands on her jeans when she's done.
“Can we go somewhere more... quiet?”
She glances at the rest of the group, but they're all mostly focused on their own tasks. “Yeah, yeah, come on.”
You walk across the yard, passing Powder and Ekko, who are teasing each other as they pick up trash, making a game out of it. The two of you walk silently, with no destination in mind. Neither of you quite knows where to take this conversation, but you have to have it eventually. You walk in a mostly awkward silence for a few more minutes.
Vi glances in your direction, noticing how your hands are stuffed deep into your pockets. “Are you cold?” she asks. 
You shrug, biting the inside of your cheek. “It's fine.”
She hums in response. Her eyes trail down your body, then back up to your face. Her eyes linger on your hands shoved into your pocket. After a moment, she sighs, then stops walking. “Give me your hand.” She doesn't give you much of a choice as she steps closer to you. She holds out her own hand, keeping it there like she expects you to just place your hand in hers.
But you hesitate. Sure, you're holding her finger just minutes ago, but this feels so different now, so much more real. You know if you put your hand in hers, you won't want to let go… and yet you do it anyway.
The second your hand touches hers, she laces her fingers with yours, pulling your hand toward her. She closes her fingers around your knuckles and tugs your hand closer, lifting it and inspecting your skin, her fingers tracing small circles. She doesn't meet your eyes while she examines your hand, but her gaze is focused on it. 
“You are cold,” she mutters, tracing her fingers over your knuckles and the back of your hand. She lifts your hand, turning your wrist to reveal your palm, then touches your fingertips with hers. “Your hands are like blocks of ice. Christ, you really are an idiot sometimes.” 
Her eyes stay down, but you know her well enough to know that she's smiling. Even she can't keep the smile from her face. “So… what do wanna talk about?”
Her eyes flicker up to your face, but she quickly looks away again, turning to watch her own fingers still tracing over yours. “I just wanted to ask why.”
Her fingers still for a moment, lingering in midair just above your hand. “Why what, exactly?”
“Why did you end things so suddenly? like…” you pause, licking your lips as the question sits on your tongue. “You never gave me a clear reason, just... left. No second thought. No explanation. Nothing.”
Vi's fingers go back to tracing soft lines over your skin, her head still bowed, staring at your hand. She doesn't answer at first, then sighs again. “It's not that... it's not like I wasn't happy. You made me happy. So happy. It's…” she pauses, her teeth catching the inside of her lip as her fingers freeze and she lifts her head finally. “I got scared.”
Her words take you slightly by surprise. Scared?
Her head turns toward you, but she won't meet your eyes. She glances to the side. “I got scared. We were fine. You were fine. I got scared. I got scared that you would change your mind, that you would realize that I wasn't good enough for you. I got scared like a damn coward.” She takes a breath before continuing. “I convinced myself you would be better off without me, so I ended it... to protect you, I guess... it sounds stupid out loud, doesn't it?”
“It sounds like bullshit.” 
Her head snaps up to look at you. Her fingers curling around yours just a bit tighter. 
“You can't just... I thought—I thought I did something wrong. I thought it was me.”
She shakes her head, eyes now locked on your face. “That's not it. God, no, it's not you. You were—are—perfect. Too perfect. You're more than enough. I just didn't…” she pauses, her tongue darting out to lick over her lips. “I'm a mess. I'm just a mess. I was so damn scared of ruining you.” Her eyes darts away, staring at the space between you. Her fingers loosen from where they're squeezing your hand, but she keeps her hold. “I'm sorry.”
It's so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The only sound you can hear is her quiet breathing and the distant voices of everyone else.
Bullshit. You think to yourself. Bullshit, bullshit.
Bullshit, because she let you go. bullshit, because she didn't talk to you. But all of that is swept away when you notice her head slowly dip forward, her forehead landing on your shoulder.
Your hands move before your brain even has a chance to think. Your fingers slide into her hair, letting go of her hand so one hand can tangle in the pink strands. It's just a muscle memory, you try to convince yourself.
She turns her face into your neck. You hear her sigh, then she shifts forward, melting into you and closing what space was left between you. Her arms wrap around your waist, her fingers gripping the fabric of your clothes. She's holding on like she's scared you'll slip away, even though she's the one who let you go.
Your other arm down to rest of her hip, keeping her close, keeping her here. She sighs again, her breath ghosting over your skin, your stomach tying itself in knots.
“That night... I hate that night. I hate it so much. I hate that you were crying. I hate that I was the reason. I really never wanted you to feel that way, but I couldn't... I couldn't fix it. I didn't know how to fix it, and I was making everything shitty.” She mutters into your shoulder.
“I would have helped you, if only you'd let me.” Your fingers slide over the back of her neck.
You feel her shake her head against your shoulder, her short hair tickling your neck. “I know. I know you would have. I just... couldn't. I wasn't.... I wasn't in a good place, and I was scared of bringing you down with me.”
“You could have told me.” Your hand moves to trail feather light touches through her hair. “You could have told me you weren't alright. That you weren't in a good place. I would have helped you. I would have been there. You didn't have to push me away.”
“I know. I know.” Her grip tightens around your waist, her hands almost shaking as she holds onto you. “I shouldn't have pushed you away. I was being selfish, and I didn't want you... I didn't want you to deal with my crap. I didn't want you to have to deal with... me.”
“Oh, Violet,” your arms wrap around her shoulders, pulling her in closer. “I wouldn't mind having to deal with you. I never minded.”
“Shit, I was so stupid. I was stupid,” she whispers, burying her head into the crook of your neck. “I pushed you away because I was a damn idiot.”
“You're not an idiot,” you murmur, “stupid? Maybe. A damn coward? Yeah, for sure. But an idiot? no, not an idiot.”
“They're the same,” she mumbles.
“No, they aren't. An idiot wouldn't have ended things out of fear, would they? An idiot would keep going until either both of you messed it up or you fell apart. A coward,” you correct yourself, “would end things because they were afraid of ruining something good.” You brush the tips of her hair away from her face, gently tucking the loose strands back.
She's quiet for a long moment, her face still pressed against your neck. “You make me sound smart.” 
“Well, you can be sometimes.” Your hands return to her hair. “...you made the dumbest decision possible, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” She tilts her head enough for you to see the side of her face. “I know, I know I did. It was so damn stupid. So... dumb.” She lifts her head higher, her nose bumping into the underside of your jaw. “I'm so damn sorry.”
“I... I forgive you. I do. I do forgive you. But-” Your fingers tighten their grip on her hip. “—you can't do that again, please. Just... don't push me away like that again. Don't be a damn coward again.”
“I won't, I promise I won't.” Her hand releases your shirt, rising to cup the side of your face, her thumb brushing across your cheek. “Not again, I swear. I was a damn coward, but I... I won't be like that again.”
“You're going to have to prove it.” Your own hand comes up to cover her's. You hold her palm against your cheek. “After pulling something like that, you're going to have to prove to me that you won't be a damn coward again.”
Her fingers curl against your skin, thumb tracing shapes over your cheekbone. “However I need to, I will. I'll prove it to you, I will. I'll do it a thousand times over.”
You tilt your head into her touch. “You'd damn well better. I'm not going through that again.” You pause, taking a breath. “You have a lot to make up for, you know.”
“I know,” she murmurs. “I know I do, and I will. I'll make it up to you, any way I can.” Her fingers move across your cheek, tracing gentle lines along your jaw, until they come to rest against the underside of your chin. “Every day, if that's what it takes.”
“Every day,” you repeat.
A smile tilts the corner of her mouth. “Then I guess I better get started, hm?”
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notes: genuine question tho, would u go back to your ex? ...asking for a friend :D
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taglist: @just-levyy, @padsfirewhisky, @jinxjinxjinx12, @writtenbyhollywood, @cottoncandyclouds-stuff, @eilishxo, @wlwdottcom, @lia-winther
1K notes · View notes
reshinless · 3 months ago
Text
kinich refuses to put cake on your face in your wedding day
even before back when you still were just boyfriend, girlfriend, the evening he decided to propose; under a stellar night sky, "look a shooting star! quick, make a wish!" you quickly pointed out to the dark azure stratosphere.
"..."
"..did you wish?"
"yeah."
"well then, what was it!!"
"if i tell it now, it won't come true. isn't that what you said?"
"aww c'mon! i'm curious now!"
the tradition of putting cake onto your partner's face never appealed to him. he thought it was rude. he didn't wanna dirty the face he found the prettiest.
so the best he'd do is the smallest bit of icing on the tip of your nose, then put the rest of it in your mouth and lets you do the same.
he knew tonight was a cold night out as well, and gave you the jacket of his suit.
he knew how long it took to do your makeup, so he didn't wanna ruin it.
the cake tradition i'm taking about here usually refers to how your partner will take care of you, in sickness and in health, but when they smash it, it means they won't. so in the most respectful way possible, he didn't wanna disresepct you!
yeah he did his research, its his partner we're talking about. as much as he is blunt, he's quiet because most of the time he's busy paying attention to your likes.
did you notice how the cake was your favorite? did you notice it was your favorite flowers that he put up at every curtain? did you notice it was mixed with his and your culture when it came to traditions as well?
"you feel any better?" is all he says while watching you admire the scenery from a balcony. the venue was up in a tree, and all you wanted to do was admire what felt like a dream below you.
"can i know what you wished for on that day you proposed to me on?" you look over to your now husband.
"i wished for you to accept my proposal, and spend my life with you."
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luveline · 4 months ago
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jade!! I come on hands and knees begging for more rockstar!remus with shy!reader. I LOVE THEM. how are they doing?!
thank you for requesting! fem, 1k
You fit the part, tonight. Marlene has dressed you in her clothes —you wear a dark jacket covered in gothic, skeletal linework, a skirt barely long enough to show beneath it, with black tights and tall shoes. 
Remus isn’t sure what it is about the slightly too big jacket that he likes so much. Maybe it’s your thighs on show, shadowed flanks of softness he knows too well. It could be your eyes, their ringing of dark kohl, your lengthened lashes. Perhaps it’s none of those things. After all, Remus has always loved to watch you laugh. 
James thrusts his pint against yours, a splash of his cherry cider lapping the end of the cup to seep into your lemonade. Remus is unsure if there’s anything in it of substance, but you sip it through a breathless laugh and confirm that it hasn’t changed. No harm, no foul. 
Remus taps his cigarette carton against the table out of habit. Sirius reaches for him before Remus has even split the seal, fingers pinching, pale hand expectant. Remus knocks into them with the carton and turns so Sirius can’t see him opening the box. “Thought you were off them?” Remus asks, quiet with the slower atmosphere at the table, so far from the bar. 
“Can anyone ever really be off them?” Sirius asks. 
He pressed himself into Remus’ arm, all the overfamiliarity of a best, best friend. Searching for comfort and selfish vices. 
Remus hugs him suddenly, a rough arm around the back of his head in a hold that tugs curls as he uses the other hand to slide a cigarette between his lips. “Here, you baby.”
“Fuck off,” Sirius says around it. 
Remus takes his own cigarette and shoves the box back in his pocket. Sirius lights his own, lights Remus’, and together they tip their heads back, getting a glance at the oranging ceiling and the upstairs drinking pit. 
“She’s sweet, letting Marl dress her up a bit.” 
“Makes Marlene feel better,” Remus says. 
“Yeah, it does. Reckon she and Mary will mend it?” 
Remus shrugs. The love triangle between Mary, Marlene and Dorcas is confusing. He loves them, though, so it’s a confusing he understands. “It won't be long before we find out.” 
You, James and Emmeline begin to make your way back to the table. You have two drinks each, too many for the amount of people, though none of you seem to have noticed. You’re just giggling and meandering around low chairs until you get there. 
James slams his drinks down and grabs you from the side. “My sweethearts, I return the sweethearts.” 
“Can I have one?” Emmeline asks. 
Remus passes her the cigarette carton dutifully. 
“Can I–”
“No,” Remus says. 
You squint at him. “Don’t be weird,” you say, embarrassed, taking the box when Emme passes it, sliding it between painted lips, “I’m not a baby.” 
You talk around the cigarette with the ease of practice. If there’s one thing life on the road gives, it’s addiction. Remus is thankful that you and all of your friends chose nicotine. 
“You’re trying to quit.” Remus feels the funny burn of smoke as he inhales again. “And I’m trying to help you.” 
“Same help you gave Sirius, clearly,” James says. 
“C’mere,” Remus says, opening his arm for you. “Come on.” 
You grin and weave around Emme to his side of the table, propping a drink in front of him. “For you.” 
“Thank you.” He blows smoke as far from your face as he can manage and tucks you under his arm. 
The makeup on your lips is rubbing off, a darker outlining with light insides, but it’s enough to express Marl’s taste. Remus will be happy to kiss the rest of it away later on, when James and Sirius are drunk enough to become openly obsessed with one another and leave him alone, carving out some rare alone time. 
You smoke as Remus taught you to. He remembers the day, your shaking, his chest pain, not wanting to corrupt you and yet enlivened by the way you looked trying to foster the flame at the end of it. Nicotine helps calm your nerves, which you’re often in need of, but Remus never meant for it to become a crux. He snuffs his cigarette in the ashtray and catches yours to do the same, barely two puffs in. 
“Wha–”
“Let me have a look at you,” he says. 
Your friends scoff and jeer but quickly move on. Remus catches your chin between his fingers. 
He’s not like Sirius. He couldn’t do this to any girl, can’t seduce like that, but it’s not any girl he touches. Your eyes go to swimming pleasure as he pulls you forward, edging downward to kiss you. You both taste of smoke, of drink, and it would put him off if there wasn’t something sweeter to be chased in your mouth. He kisses you like there’s no one at the table but you.
He’s had more to drink than he thinks. 
“You taste like jaeger,” you say, pulling away with cheeks he’d find hot if he were to cradle and a shy smile. 
“Do I?” 
“That’s a thousand times worse for you than those, you know.” You point at his quickly dwindling pack of cigarettes. 
Remus curls an arm behind your neck and kisses you again. James cheers, says, “Fuck, I wish Moony kissed me like that,” and Remus tries his best to ignore him, but you’re laughing. The kiss breaks.
“Just ask him nicely like I do,” you advise. 
“You know that doesn’t work!” James says, tipping his head back with a hand to the forehead. “I always ask him nicely, he just doesn’t want to kiss me. Must be something about you…” He gives a huge smile as he lifts his cider.  “Something I don’t have?” 
“Impossible,” Sirius says blithely, “you’ve everything, gorgeous boy.” 
“Something about you,” Remus echoes. 
You shake your head minutely, a silent warning. Don’t flirt with me, it says. Don’t torture me. 
“How do you want the answer?” Remus asks, sliding his arm back behind your shoulders, pulling your burning face against his neck. “I can give it to you in an essay or a list, but it’s an extensive explanation.” 
“Write it down for me.”
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benkeibear · 3 months ago
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『 First Time 』
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☼ synopsis: You're the serpent hashira's first.
☼ character: Obanai Iguro
☼ wc: 2.9k
☼ cw: female!reader, afab!reader, no dynamics, virginity loss, experienced reader, handjob, mutual masturbation, oral (reader giving), cum eating, fingering, creampie, slight overstimulation
☼ Kinktober masterlist
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Being with Obanai was an experience itself, every time you made it over one wall around his heart, you found yourself facing another one. It's not that you minded it, you would climb and tear down thousands of walls over and over again if it means having him in your life. The first time he dared to kiss you was the first time you stayed the night at his place, the room pitch black and any source of light long erased before he took his bandages off. He felt so stupid for behaving like this but he didn't want to risk losing you, he just couldn't. His cold hands were holding yours so you wouldn't cup his cheeks when his slightly chapped lips gently locked with yours. It felt as if a ghost was kissing you, a touch barely there. “Nai… I won't break,” you whispered against his lips when you pulled away ever so slightly. The shuddered breath against your lips broke your heart, his nerves clear on display because he knew you could be able to feel the scars if he moved in any closer.
Little did he know when morning came and the smallest specks of sunlight illuminated his face you could see what he was hiding behind the bandages that were now shifted and you found yourself staring. Uneasy at the feeling of being watched he woke up, the blood in his veins freezing when he felt the morning air hit his bare skin and saw your eyes on his face. His first thought was to cuss you out, to shut you out of his life but these thoughts evaporated when your soft thumb gently caressed the long scar on his right cheek, your face coming closer to his. “You don't need to hide from me… you're beautiful, Obanai Iguro,” you whispered and the next thing he knew were that your lips were back on his. How could you say such things? Didn't you see how disfigured his face was? But his racing mind had no choice against the love you showed him, tender lips locking with his, your hands cupping his cheeks and once you pulled away you looked at him as if he put the sun and all the stars in the sky just for you. His heart skipped a beat when he realized just how much you feel for him and that you accept him the way he is.
The relationship moved slow and steady and you never once pressured him into anything he's not fully comfortable with, always asking consent before holding his hand or kissing him and most importantly, you let him initiate new things so he wouldn't get uncomfortable. The first time his tongue danced across your lips took you by surprise, but you gladly let him enter, swirling your tongue around his as the kiss grew more intimate and his grip on you became more desperate. He wanted to be closer, bodies next to each other and touching wasn't enough. Every pore of his body was screaming for you, yearning for your love and gentle touch but he pulled away - not allowing himself to have you, not yet at least. Your body felt like it was on fire, yet you didn't stop him from retreating since you knew that giving his body to you entirely takes so much of him and he's simply not ready for it yet.
When he allowed you to touch him for the first time it was once again pitch black, the darkness giving him some security because you wouldn't be able to see him completely. Your hand slowly traveled down his lean body until you reached the hem of his pants, the bulge you grinded against while making out moments before so prominent beneath the fabric. Despite his well controlled breathing he struggled to do so this moment and you hesitated to reach into his pants - did you change your mind? Did you realize he's not good enough for you? His mind was racing once again and you leaned your head onto his shoulder
“Nai…Breathe,” you reminded him, feeling that he was holding his breath for a while now and only when he exhaled shakingly, you caressed his abs again.
“We don't have to-” you began but he bucked his hips towards your hand. “I need you to,” he whispered, fearing that any other volume would tear this moment apart and he hated to admit how his body was screaming for your touch.
You nodded silently and breathed in his scent before kissing his neck gently, your hand slowly disappearing into his pants and a little strangled “ngh” escaped his lips when he felt your hand stroke over his hard length for the first time. Unsure what he even imagined it to feel like, it exceeded his imagination, the feeling his own hand gave him couldn't be compared to yours. Smiling against his skin you smeared his pre cum over his tip before pumping his shaft with a little pressure at a slow pace. Obanai’s slender hands clutched onto the sheets at the feeling, jaw tensing up as he tried to hold any noises back but you could hear him pant hard - cock twitching after mere seconds of your touch and you retreated your hand.
“Nai… could you take them off?” You whispered into his ear, not wanting to stain his pants from making him release within their confides but he shook his head “it's enough,” he mumbled back, not wanting to get you dirty with his cum, you deserved better.
You wanted to protest, to give him the sweet release he craved and also earned but you respected his boundaries and simply cuddled up to him, the wetness between your legs not important. Patience was the key and when he's ready to bring you pleasure he would let you know, until then you would just touch yourself silently in the bathroom so he won't notice and feel bad about it - he knew though but he never brought it up, unsure how or if he could pleasure you properly.
Giving him handjobs became more and more frequent and sometimes he finished it himself, not allowing you to please him to completion just yet. One day you had a small idea and gave him a little smile instead of letting your hand wander down his body like so many times before
“Can you touch yourself for me? This time without anything on?” You asked curious, wanting to see his reaction and he surprisingly nodded, slowly undressing you but he couldn't hold your gaze when he opened his pants so you reached for his hands, gently kissing them.
“Wait. Let me just-” you hummed and turned to stand behind him, back to back as you took your top off as well, skin touching skin now and you could feel the goosebumps erupt on his skin from feeling you this close.
“We can stay like this and just touch ourselves, yes?” You suggested, always making sure he was okay and the next thing you felt was how he lifted his hips ever so slightly to take his pants off, now sitting bare behind you which made you follow suit.
Obanai was the first to initiate it, his slender hand wrapping around his pale cock and slowly stroking it up and down just like you always did for him. The previous make out session left you drenched, almost grinding yourself to completion on his bulge but you didn't want to tease yourself further, eager fingers dipping to your core to gather some slick before rubbing your fingers over your clit. The sweetest noises escaped your mouth when you could feel your lover leaning against you for support, the slick noises of your fingers curling inside your velvet walls almost driving him insane with lust until the knot in his abdomen snapped, releasing over his hand with a strangled moan, letting you follow suit as you came around your own fingers, your other hand rubbing your clit in fast circles as you moaned his name. Hearing his name moaned like this let the blood freeze within his veins, but it would be his new favorite noise of yours, letting him hear just how desperate you are for him as well.
“Can I turn around?” You asked softly, voice barely above a whisper as he gave you a noise of approval in return, feeling your arms wrap around his upper body only a second later and you slowly reached for his right hand, kissing his shoulder.
“You're so beautiful Obanai… so perfect,” you hummed into his ear as you brought the cum covered hand closer but he locked up, not letting it close to you.
“Let me taste you… I promise it won't harm me,” you reassured him and he gave in, not wanting to deny you anything but his head fell back against your shoulder when you took two of his fingers into your mouth, your tongue working over them as if it would be his cock. Once they were all clean you pulled away with a lewd pop, hiding your face in his neck right after when you saw the blush on his cheeks, knowing exactly what he was thinking. Maybe next time he would allow you to fulfill that fantasy of his.
These little moments went on until he was comfortable enough to face you while you gave him a handjob, eventually allowing you to wrap your soft lips around him and he swore that if a heaven existed, he made it there in these moments. His hips were bucking aimlessly as you bobbed your head up and down his length at a fast pace, one of his hands clutched over his mouth to keep the noises at bay while the other held onto the sheets for dear life. The twitching of his cock let you know that he was close and every time you could feel the anxiety rise up so you looked up into his eyes as you soothingly ran your hands over his thighs, nose nudged against his pubic bone and it did the trick for him. Seeing you so cockdrunk from giving him pleasure let the butterflies in his stomach go wild and he released down your throat as the softest groans escaped his lips. He didn't mean to buck his hips further in your face but it felt so good when you swallowed around him, he just couldn't get enough when his mind started to wonder how tight and warm your cunt would feel around him. A twitch of his cock made you pull away, your saliva slowly running down from his tip to the base.
“Do you want me to go on?” You asked slightly surprised since he wasn't so eager for more after he came, far too sensitive and growing reserved again which you respected. He nodded in response, trembling hands pulling you onto his lap by your hips, staying there to hold you tight and you got what he wanted, smiling down at him.
“You sure about that?” You asked just to confirm your suspicions and earned another nod, followed by a soft but firm “yes”
Gently you took one of his hands and guided it towards your mound and let go again. Obanai stared up at your eyes, looking a little lost and unsure how to proceed and if it would be any other time it would have made you giggle but you didn't want to ruin his newfound confidence in physical intimacy.
“You saw how I touched myself… Can you do it for me? It will make it more pleasurable to take you after,” you explained, parting your legs a little further to make it easier for him to reach your dripping wet cunt.
He gulped but nodded, the image of how you rubbed your clit before two of your beautiful fingers dipped into your core was burned into his mind and he recreated your movements as if it's second nature. The way he massaged your clit in circular motions made you gasp, grinding your hips against his hand to get more friction but he got the hint, giving you exactly what you needed. Obanai might be inexperienced but he observed your reactions to everything, taking mental notes on what made you moan louder as he slowly pushed two slender fingers into your heat, moaning in sync with you.
Your velvet walls were so tight around his fingers already, making him wonder how he would fit inside of you. A spongy spot within your core took his attention when the pads of his fingers pushed against it, letting your moans raise in pitch and taking him off guard out of fear he hurt you but the way you clenched around his fingers let him know otherwise.
“God you're so good at this… I'm so close,” you mumbled mindlessly between moans and it fueled Obanai's need to get you to come undone from just his fingers as he repeatedly curled his fingers against your sweet spot. The moment he brought his thumb down to play with your clit, it was over for you, your walls spasming around his skilled fingers and his name falling off your lips like a prayer. He almost came untouched by the angelic sounds you made, making him love his name as he watched your orgasm take over your body only to slide his fingers out of your tight cunt when you’d calmed down.
With a curious expression he brought his hand closer to his face, your slick almost dripping from his fingers as he pushed them past his own lips to taste you, just like you tasted his seed. His pupils blew wide and he groaned when your arousal melted against his tongue like silk, never having tasted anything so divine and he knew that he wanted more, growing hungry for your sweet release but you snapped him out of these thoughts, seemingly reading his mind.
“Another time, Nai… do you want to-?” You asked quietly, hoping he didn't change his mind because you needed to feel him inside of you. Once more he nodded, confirming that he wanted more as you positioned yourself above his achingly hard cock before holding his shaft to line him up. He took a deep breath when his tip touched your folds for the first time and despite wanting to hold back on his noises, a desperate “ngh” escaped his scarred mouth when you lowered yourself onto his dick. You placed his hands on your hips so he could take control, unsure how slow you needed to be but he pushed you down in just one thrust, fearing he would die if he couldn't be inside of you entirely. The harshness of this thrust knocked the air out of your lungs and you fell forward into his arms.
“Hmm just like that," you encouraged him when he began to thrust erratically, the slight curve of his cock letting him hit just the right spots inside of you and the strength his thrusts held pushed you to the edge once again.
Obanai had to flip you over, needing to rut into you as if it's the last thing he would do. Desperate for your moans, struck by the love you held for him, he came unexpectedly, the tight heat of your velvet walls far too much for his virgin cock to handle. His eyes were screwed shut as breathless moans fell from his mouth, making him look ethereal above you, the dim light illuminating him just right.
It didn't matter to you that he came early, not having expected for him to last long during his first time but it clearly bothered Obanai who brought his hand between your bodies that were glistening with sweat so he could rub your clit once more. “I need to feel you around me,” he mumbled into the crook of your neck, overstimulating himself by staying inside of your pussy but it was all worth it when the knot in your abdomen snapped a second time, your back arching so beautifully against him as your cunt fluttered around him, milking him of everything he had to give. Your orgasm was enough to trigger another one of his, only able to pant and whimper into your neck as he fell apart, eventually just resting his weight on top of you.
Gently your arms slithered around his slim frame, enjoying to have him this close for once before it got too much for him, having to excuse himself from your embrace, still needing to get used to being held for an extended period of time but you didn't mind, simply kissing his shoulder before getting up, his seed slowly running down your thighs in the process and the view sent a shiver down his spine at the thought of having released inside of you. He didn't mean to taint you with his cum but he knew that you would have wanted it that way so he gave it to you.
“Are you coming? I drew a bath,” you called out from the bathroom, hoping you could soak your sore body in the hot water with your lover together. He sure was inexperienced but his will to be enough for you sure made up for it.
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Networks: @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn @houseofsolisoccasum
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munefille · 4 months ago
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thinking about a yandere!creature who deceptively looks angelic pretending to be your guardian angel after you mistake him for one.
𝙻𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎 is an anomaly to his kind due to his unnatural white hair and wings, a disadvantage to night stalkers who aim to hide in the shadows. Ostracization from an already elusive species of winged beasts has led him to grow resentful, a seed of vitriolic bitterness slithering its way through him like a poison. A violent demeanor bestows him, slaughtering mercilessly to find retribution for his ghastly appearance, a trait he sees as his ultimate flaw.
Until he meets you; a human who's never seen such a beautiful creature. There was something hypnotizing about him, cold and blazing like the moon that commands the tides. The first words he whispers towards you, Be not afraid, cements the idea that an angel has truly come upon you.
Instead of disgust at his abnormality, you show him a kindness he has never known from his own. You invite him into your home with veneration, share stories of your life, ask him if he's there to watch over you. When you look up at him with those eyes full of naive faith, trusting him so sincerely, he finds maybe he can play along.
Yes, he'll take care of those townspeople who have been bothering you. Watchful eyes following you in the dark become your new norm.
He'll never admit that he's not from heaven. He won't tell you that he's never met your God. May you never know the blood he has spilled to spite his wretched existence. He'll keep up the lie as long as he gets to be your guardian angel, as long as you see him as the light in your life.
With you his flesh feels less cursed, with you he feels sacred.
After all, what is an angel without a god?
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rafecameronsslut4ever · 4 months ago
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MISS YOU — rafe cameron (smut, angst, nsfw)
pairing; ex-boyfriend!rafe cameron x fem!reader summary: years after your breakup, rafe cameron crawls back into your life when he realises that you might have started moving on. a/n: omg this was so long i think i got carried away warnings: smut 18+, a LOT of angst, mdni, fingering, oral (f receiving), name calling, unprotected sex.
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He does not knock.
Rafe Cameron barges into your dimly lit apartment instead of knocking the door and allowing you to let him in. He walks right past you, ignoring the frown on your face, and collapses down on your couch.
His shoulders are relaxed, arms stretched out along the back of the couch as he settles in and looks around your apartment.
His blue eyes are dart everywhere, but they don’t meet yours. His veiny hands are tapping away on his thighs—the same hands that used to envelope yours perfectly.
His blonde hair is longer than it was when you two were together—they're curling over his forehead. The length is almost too long, it makes him look shaggy, and yet it suits him nevertheless.
Your fists clench. Suddenly, the warmth of your home has vanished because of his presence.
"Are you going to stand there all night?" His voice is raspy and rough, almost as if he had just woken up, but you can tell from his red eyes and the dark circles underneath that he hasn't slept a wink.
"What do you want, Rafe?"
He finally turns his gaze to you, and the sight makes your knees go weak. You want to sit down next to him and bury your head into his chest, but you know that can't happen anymore.
He stands up, making you take a step back. You don't miss the hurt look in his eyes, but he hides it quickly and walks towards you.
The light coming out of the television playing in the background illuminates Rafe's face, his jawline sharp and his lips pulled in a soft frown.
He walks past you, making you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.
"What the hell?" You murmur, following him as he walks towards the kitchen.
He halts to a stop and you stand behind him, feeling like a mouse in his tall presence. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
He rolls his eyes and turns around to face you. His eyes stare into yours, resulting in the formation of a lump in your throat as your eyes meet for the first time in years.
“Who is he?” Rafe asks bitterly, his eyes not leaving your face. “The guy you were with yesterday at the Golf Club. Even better, where is he?"
Yesterday, your date made a reservation at the Golf Club for your first date, and the smug part of you had wished the Rafe saw the two of you together—which he apparently did.
You had a good time with the boy. He even dropped you off to your house afterwards. He was sweet, polite and soft-spoken. The complete opposite of your ex-boyfriend.
"Rafe, leave."
He scoffs, running his tongue along his inner-cheek. His eyes still burn into yours.
He brings a cold finger to your face and the metal of his ring faintly touches your cheek. You suck in a deep breath as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.
You look away from him, unable to stand the intensity of his eyes. You know what he wants, and you won't allow yourself to give in to him.
Almost turning away, you feel him grab your face and force you to look at him. He's staring down at you in a way that makes your heart dip.
You can't believe you used to know this man, can't believe you shared the same bed with him and loved him so unconditionally.
His eyes drop down to your lips, and then back up to your eyes. "Kiss me."
It's your turn to scoff. You try to pry his hand off your face, but he doesn't bulge. He simply leans his face closer to yours, the faint smell of alcohol and cigarettes enveloping your nose.
"Don't tell me that you don't miss it," his thumb moves against your cheek. "I've thought about you every night since the day we broke up. You know, you're the only thing that stays on my mind."
"Rafe—"
"No," his jaw is clenched. "Let me finish, alright? I-I can't eat, I can't sleep. I'm fucking useless without you. I need you."
You push his chest away from you. "And whose fault is that, huh?"
"Please," his voice cracks. "Baby, please."
"Oh my god, just-just stop this, okay? Rafe, you didn't even remember our anniversary! The whole day you were getting high with B-"
"I don't care!" He shouts, interrupting you. "I don't care, okay? I just need you, and you need me too! Tell me you don't miss me and I'll leave."
You sigh, rubbing your face. You want to yell at him, but his presence and words make you weak.
He knows that he has an effect on you. He knows how easily he can manipulate you and bend you to his will.
But you gather yourself. You shake your head and seethe through your teeth, "Go fuck yourself, Rafe. Get out, right now. Or I swear to god, I will call the police."
He chuckles lowly. "And tell them what, baby? That Rafe Cameron came into your house and refused to leave? Please, call the police. It'll just make things easier."
"Get. Out." You point towards the door. "Go back to her, Rafe. The bimbo who's always on your arm."
He groans, his voice low and guttural. "She's not you, okay? She doesn't fucking get me. Only you do."
"You're a piece of shit."
He takes a step closer to you, if that was even possible.
"I'm a piece of shit? Do you hear yourself?" He's towering over you. His hands are gripping your arms.
You push his chest again and step back, only to bump into the wall behind.
He, too, takes a step back, running a hand through his hair. He laughs and looks down at his feet. "Fine. You wanna play this game, huh?"
He starts walking towards you, and suddenly your feet are glued to the floor.
You feel his warmth against your body before his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your bodies are pressed against each other's.
You feel him run a finger down the length of your jaw.
You try to fight back the urge to moan at his touch. You want to push him away, but his touch makes you melt. It's been too long. Too long since he's been this close.
"Fuck you." You say, and your shaky voice doesn't go unnoticed by him. "And let go of me."
He ignores you.
He presses his forehead against yours, and your breath hitches in your throat.
You can't stop thinking about how much you want his lips on yours. How much you want him to not listen to your complaints and just fucking kiss you.
His breath hits your lips as his eyes search your face. "Tell me you don't miss me. Tell me you don't miss this," He whispers, his right-hand snaking up your body until it's resting right below your breast.
"I'll leave right now," he says, "and never come back. We can go our separate ways and live the rest of our lives separately. And then, ten years from now, you'll be at a children’s park and you'll see me and think, 'Wow. Rafe Cameron is hot.'"
"I-"
"Or," he pauses, his hand sliding down to your ass. "You can just stop being in denial and admit that you need me just as much as I need you."
His grip on you is tight, and his blue eyes are boring into yours. His breathing has quickened, and so has yours.
His face is mere centimetres away from yours at this point, and his eyes are digging holes in you. You feel his erection against your thigh, and the knowledge that he's aroused makes your brain go haywire.
"Say you fucking want me. I'm yours, alright? Just fucking say it." He's so close to you that you can taste his breathe.
You're at war with yourself. A part of you is screaming to kick him out, but the other part wants him to stay.
His grip on you tightens.
"I hate you." You murmur.
And then his lips are on yours.
The kiss isn’t soft and loving. It's harsh and needy, but it feels so right.
All protests, all thoughts and all the mixed feelings die down when he shifts his hand to your throat and squeezes it. With his other hand, he pulls up your thigh to his waist.
Your lips move together sloppily, his tongue darting into your mouth.
You feel him lift you up and walk over to your bedroom, his grip on you never loosening.
Your arms wrap around his neck, his tongue moves against yours, and all the feelings make you moan against his lips.
He breaks the kiss and pushes the door open with his foot, the dim light in the room allowing you to see the outline of his face.
He's breathing heavily. His eyes are dark with lust and his pupils are dilated.
You don't know what's gotten into him. Maybe the years apart have driven him crazy. But all that doesn't matter because right now he's kissing you like it's the end of the world, and you're letting him.
Your lips collide together again, and this time, it's different. It's more passionate and slow, and he kisses you in a way no one has ever kissed you before.
He lays you down on the bed and crawls on top of you.
You expect him to take control and dominate, but instead, he rests his head against the crook of your neck, his breathing hot on your skin.
"I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so sorry." He whispers as he kisses the side of your neck.
You're speechless. Your brain is telling you to shove him off, but your heart and body are telling you something else.
The lump in your throat has returned, and your eyes are starting to burn.
But before you can say anything in response, he rushes back to your lips, and you lose yourself in him.
His lips move hungrily against yours. You can taste the saltiness of his tears, and the thought of Rafe Cameron crying makes the knot in your stomach tighten.
His hips are pressed firmly against yours, his erection digging into your inner thigh.
The kiss is passionate, but there's a hint of possessiveness in the way he grips the side of your face.
His hand trails down your body, his fingertips roughly pushing against the fabric of your shirt making you whimper.
"I missed you so much, baby." He whispers.
Then he's sucking your lips, nibbling, and kissing. He's all over you.
Your hands tug at the hem of his shirt, and he lifts himself off of you, straddling you as he helps you pull his shirt off.
He's still the same; toned, sculpted, and ripped. You can't help but stare.
You run your fingers down his chest, and your eyes shut.
He's beautiful, and you've missed him so much.
He starts trailing kisses down your neck, sucking and leaving dark marks.
You moan breathily when he sucks on the sweet spot beneath your ear.
You were supposed to stand your ground, but fuck, you need him. You need him the same way you did when he first made love to you.
"Rafe," your voice comes out breathy, "I want you."
His hand is on your stomach, moving upward. He pulls his head back, and you see the desperation in his eyes.
"Fuck, say it again," he kisses the tip of your nose. "Tell me that you're mine."
"I'm yours." You shakily murmur. "Only yours."
He only groans in response. His lips capture yours again, making a gasp come out of your mouth—which he greedily swallows.
A piteous whimper slips past your lips when you feel your wetness coating your panties and rubbing against Rafe's pants.
But he still doesn't do anything to relieve the ache between your thighs. You buck your hips discreetly to grind against his covered dick, but he simply slaps your thigh, making you yelp.
He positions himself in between your legs, both of your parts still clothed; the fabric against your wet skin making you whimper.
You moan, grasping his bicep when his fingers trace along your underwear teasingly.
"Does he make you this wet?" He asks before pulling your underwear off and running his fingers past your exposed clit.
Your brain is so fucked up that silence is your only answer.
“Answer me or I swear to fucking God I'll leave you like this,” he says, slapping your thigh and making you gasp.
Furrowing your eyebrows, you reply annoyedly, "Just fucking-"
Suddenly, all heat disappears from above you. Your eyes snap open. The sight of Rafe clenching his jaw and pulling himself away from you makes you hurriedly reach out for him.
You stutter, “Wait-wait, wait, Rafe, baby, please.”
You tug at his arm, pulling him back down on top of you.
"I need you. Please. Please just fuck me."
"You're so pathetic." He chuckles, clicking his tongue before his hands are taking his shirt off, followed by your shirt being thrown somewhere in the room.
He diverts his attention to your tits, trailing wet kisses on each of them. You let out a satisfactory sigh as he continues wrapping and unwrapping his lips around your nipples.
He goes further down and presses kisses along your stomach.
Before you can react, he buries his face between your thighs. Your back arches, a hand on his soft hair as the other grips the pillow next to you, “Oh, fuck."
He practically devours you, looking up every two seconds to meet your blown eyes. He pushes your legs up, making them almost touch your shoulders. You gasp, tightening your grip on his hair as he continues to eat you out.
Your hands are everywhere, trying to hold anything that can make the storm in your stomach calmer.
Rafe slowly releases his tight grip on your legs before sliding his fingers into you. Your eyes squeeze shut.
Your hips slightly buck upwards, but Rafe shoves you down with his free hand.
His fingers are thrusting into you at a brutal pace, his tongue doing wonders right along them.
He detaches his lips off your pussy, but his fingers are still in you.
"Does he-does he touch you as good as I do? Does he make you as wet as I do?" Rafe asks as he leans over you. The hand that had shoved you down is now wrapped around your throat as he presses, making you choke. "No, he fucking doesn't. Only I make you feel this good, yeah?"
He doesn't expect you to say something because he knows that he's saying the truth. He’s the only person who can turn you into a mess.
"Oh my god, Rafe, right there." You moan as he curls his fingers deeper into you.
"Answer me, does he fuck you up as good as I do?"
You roll your eyes at the question he's asking for the nth time now, "Yeah, yeah he does." You reply absent-mindedly.
"What the fuck?" He exclaims, immediately pulling his fingers out of you. He pushes his fingers into your mouth, so deep that it makes you gag.
"You know what, I'll fucking treat you like a whore." He says, his fingers still deep in your mouth. "I thought I'd be nice to you after all these years, but you always have to be a bitch, don't you?"
With one hand, he clumsily pulls off his pants and underwear.
You moan as you feel him drag the tip of his cock over your pussy. He teasingly does so for a few more seconds before meeting your eyes and smirking at you.
"I'm going to fucking ruin you." He mumbles. "Show your boyfriend the bruises I give you, alright?"
And when he pushes his dick in, he makes sure to look down at how your walls envelope him perfectly even after all these years.
"Oh, holy fucking shit." You gasp when his hips thrust forward and go deeper into you.
Rafe drops his head on your shoulder as he sets a pace. "I fucking missed this. I missed fucking you- oh shit." He breathes into your shoulder.
Your eyes roll back into your head, your body budding with the pleasure his thrusts give you.
"Right there." You breathe.
"You never learn, do you?" He says. Swiftly, Rafe pulls out of you and flips you over so that you're on your stomach. "You're a whore. But only mine, baby."
Then he harshly thrusts back into you, making a pathetic moan leave your lips. His hands grip your waist as he pounds into you.
He wraps his arms around your stomach and pulls you flush into his sweaty chest, tipping your head up to pull you into a messy kiss. Your teeth and tongues clash uncomfortably, but neither of you give a fuck.
His lips detach from yours, and he buries his forehead into the back of your neck.
"You're squeezing me the fuck out," He moans out.
The new position makes you moan, your hands shifting from being vacant to grabbing your tits as he pushes himself deeper and deeper into you.
The sight of you touching yourself results in Rafe letting out a loud groan. His hand leaves your hair and slides down the front of your body to rub your clit.
The new fervour makes your legs shudder, "Fuck, I'm close." You mumble, leaning your head on his shoulder.
He nods frantically—having waited for this moment for years now.
"Cum for me, yeah. Cum all over me, baby. Need you." Rafe breathes out, thrusting harder into you.
In response, your back arches with a high. A loud moan escaping your lips and white dots blurring your vision as you release all over him.
Rafe fucks you through your orgasm—chasing his own with wild thrusts. “Oh, fuck, fuck."
You can feel his high approaching as he grips you tighter. He thrusts into you harshly, desperate for his release.
He throws his head back with a loud groan and a long string of curses when his hips falter and he's covering your insides with his cum.
The two of you are a gasping mess when you lay down on the bed.
You both stay there for moment, breathing in each other's scent. He traces your body, as if to memorise every inch.
When Rafe pulls away from you, it's like he's pulling your heart out too.
Because you know that this was just another night for him.
When Rafe cleans you up and covers you up with a blanket, he fails to cover the ache of your heart.
Because you know that the bed he'll be returning to won't be yours; but the other woman's.
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fairsweetlonging · 23 days ago
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pixie!shen yuan au where he transmigrates into a cute little forest pixie, with pretty gossamer wings that sparkle like stars, a voice that tinkles like tiny silver bells, and long dark hair that he braids while wearing flowers as sunhats!!
he lives in a hollow tree on cang qiong, enjoying the rivers and groves and rocky cliff faces. his little house is filled with all kinds of trinkets, a lot of which he's stolen found from the sect, like buttons and beads and scraps of silk, needles as swords and fancy tea leaves from pots left out by kitchen windows. he quite likes his little life, the only downside is that he can't really read books this way, because even though he sneaks into the libraries at night and his wings are a source of light, most books are way too heavy and he's worried his (faint but present) spiritual energy will be detected.
he watches the disciples train on different peaks, soaking in all the new lore and details that airplane put way too little time and energy into. he's there before the plot, so binghe hasn't arrived yet and he can take his sweet time making a plan to ensure binghe won't destroy the mountain.
one day, though, the rare time he ventures out into qing jing peak, he gets distracted by an open window to the bamboo house. he knows it's stupid, but this might be the only chance he has to take a look inside the villain's lair, it's something he needs to know if he wants to help binghe in the future, and so he goes inside and takes a look around—
and promply gets trapped inside a mason jar.
oops.
shen qingqiu's face looks at him from the other side of the glass, still menacingly beautiful even with the slight distortion. worst-case scenarios flash through his head; crushed into pixie jam, experimentation, harvested for parts, stalled out like a fancy ornament on the shelf... but it's none of that.
"sneaking around my peak, entering my home, naughty little thing," shen qingqiu huffs, "were you not taught manners?"
he leaves the jar on the desk for a bit, chiding shen yuan but then—opens the jar? and lets him out? he tells shen yuan not to sneak into his house anymore and then just... continues with his paperwork. shen qingqiu's cruelty is limited to humans, it seems, and not animals or tiny fairies.
so of course shen yuan comes back.
he doesn't want to push it and risk shen qingqiu crushing him like a fly, but he enjoys hanging around the house and watching the qing jing disciples train and play music. ning yingying is already there, so it can't be much longer before binghe arrives. shen qingqiu is surprisingly kind to her compared to the other disciples, who he regularly drives to tears. the man notices him and tries to shoo him off, but ofc it doesn't work. after some time shen qingqiu keeps casually looking around to find him and shen yuan is proud to be getting on the man's nerves.
at some point liu qingge comes by, stomping hard enough to make the leaves shen yuan uses as a hammock shake. since it's the bai zhan war god shen yuan is excited to see him (liu qingge is often on missions, and shen yuan avoids bai zhan out of a healthy precaution of aggressive teens with swords), so he comes closer. the two peak lords hold the stupidest argument known to man that shen yuan only half listens to, fascinated by the sword liu qingge carries. but then liu qingge suddenly jerks his arm and shen yuan spooks, shooting up.
liu qingge sees something flying at his face and reacts like anyone would—he swats at it. hard.
when shen yuan hits the ground he can feel his wings get crushed under him; for a few seconds he's terrified liu qingge will stomp on him and scrambles to get away, only to get grabbed and scooped up into the air. he wildly kicks his legs and hits his tiny little fists on the hands that hold him, little voice jingling like crazy, but then shen qingqiu raises his voice and snarls at liu qingge.
"you idiot! watch where you wave those big paws of yours, brute! look what you did, you could have killed him!!"
then shen qingqiu turns around and goes into his bamboo house, kicking the door shut. he takes shen yuan to his bedroom, putting him on a soft handkerchief as he looks over his little wings and mutters vicious things to himself about "slaughter-happy idiots". shen yuan is too stunned to respond and just sits there as the scum villain fusses over him. his wings aren't really hurt, just a little squished, it's fine! shen qingqiu then lectures him for being reckless and coming so close to a brute like liu qingge.
after that they sort of become... friendly? shen yuan sets out to be the most mischievous little pixie he can be, but somehow it only works in his favor; he steals little things from shen qingqiu's home (not that he can carry much more than a button or brush), flutters in circles around the man's head, dips his little boots in ink and then walks on paperwork, etc. but shen qingqiu doesn't seem bothered by any of it. if anything, he leaves trinkets for shen yuan to take, offers his hand as a perch to sit on, and makes a tiny brush for shen yuan to use instead.
shen qingqiu gains a little friend and life gets a little calmer on qing jing peak. when binghe comes, shen yuan manages to distract shen qingqiu enough that the tea dumping never happens, and binghe is shooed off after the ceremony. binghe still isn't treated right and still has to sleep in the woodshed, but shen yuan secretly helps him and acts like a little night light in the dark, so binghe gets quite attached.
meanwhile liu qingge is regretful of having slammed a pixie out of midair and must prove his honor, thus begins the habit of dropping off gifts at shen qingqiu's doorstep (also because his sister freaked out a little, apparently hurting fairies is bad luck and he might have cursed himself for eternity? anyway).
this display causes yue qingyuan to show up too with the biggest wettest puppy eyes because he heard xiao jiu has a new friend who now lives in his house? shen qingqiu kicks them all out.
this has already gone on so long so the last thing i want to add is shen yuan eventually manages to cultivate a human form, and with a little effort he can even keep his wings! and of course this makes it worse, because that sweet little pixie is now a beautiful man who wife beams everyone in a three mile radius and doesn't even notice it.
shen qingqiu and luo binghe unexpectedly bond over beating suitors away.
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prokopetz · 27 days ago
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I broadly disagree with the criticism that Blades in the Dark's resource economy is busted, but I recognise that it's assuming a very particular relationship between players and player characters. While it's not quite on par with the OSR "funnel" model where the vast majority of player characters won't survive their first session, it's very consciously aimed at producing campaigns where, if you insist on playing as the same character in every heist, that character is going to have an average lifespan of three or four heists before they max out their trauma or eat lethal harm. This is intentional: the text points out that you might want to let your character sit an adventure out now and then if you want them to have any sort of life expectancy, and some of the fallout results between scores explicitly take your character out of play for a session and tell you to play as somebody else in the meantime. There's a reason that character creation choices are so minimal, and advancement ("levelling up") so strikingly rapid.
Where the trouble arises is that I see a lot of Blades in the Dark hacks that don't have this assumption, and position themselves as games where you're expected to play as the same character for the full length of a long-running campaign, but they keep the base game's resource loop more or less intact. Like, that's not necessarily a mistake if your explicit intention is for two thirds of the initial cast to be dead by the end of the first arc, but it's my experience that this is not often the case. I feel like a lot of people are just not doing the math – then other people are coming along and playing these hacks, correctly identifying that the resource loop of the game they are playing is not congruent with how that game's text claims its campaign play is supposed to work, and concluding that Blades in the Dark is a bad system.
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greenwitchfromthewoods · 5 months ago
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sleepover. l Joel Miller
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Summary:  the house was quiet and you missed each other very much
Warnings:  +18, smut, swearing, unprotected sex (remember - safety first), oral sex (getting f), oral sex (m receiving)
A/N: I wasn't planning on writing anything today, but here it is. I hope it brightens your day. Your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. I secretly hope you like this story. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes
You couldn't remember the last time your house was this quiet. It was a strange, but quite pleasant feeling. 
You made yourself a big cup of tea, lit a scented candle and started on the mountain of freshly done laundry that was waiting to be folded and sorted. It was already getting dark outside and you could hear the cicadas through the open kitchen window. You liked moments like this.
You pulled a small pink t-shirt with the words "Daddy's little girl" written on it from the pile and smiled. Nothing had been the same since Sarah had appeared in your lives. Five years had passed and you had the impression that you had only come back from the hospital with her a week ago. She was your dream child - smiling, smart and beautiful. And totally in love with her father.
You put her t-shirt on one pile and reached for another one. This one was bigger and more worn. It was definitely your husband's t-shirt. Joel Miller was the man of your life. Even though everyday life wasn't all colorful, you were grateful that you had someone so stable and caring for you, and the little one, next to you.
You were lost in your thoughts and assembling the next parts of your family's wardrobe when you heard the slam of the front door and the sound of keys being thrown on a nearby table.
"Hi, honey!"
Heavy footsteps headed to the kitchen, the fridge door slammed and Joel soon stood in the living room door sipping a can of cold cola.
"Rough day?" you asked, looking at him from behind a pile of clothes.
"Yeah." he mumbled taking off his shoes "This project is killing me, but it's getting closer to the end."
He looked around the room, frowning, and then leaned back, glancing towards the stairs and listening carefully.
"Sarah is asleep already?" he was surprised, glancing at his watch "It's only seven."
"Our daughter is at Susan's birthday party today." you replied, smiling "I feel sorry for her parents. Six kids at home, and they have sleepovers."
"Crazy people." Joel finished his coke. "A year ago I had to fix her bed when her friends visited. They turned it into a trampoline."
"You'll miss it when she disappears from home for the whole evening and comes back drunk."
"No fucking way! Sarah won't leave this house until she's 21."
You looked at him with pity. For a moment, he turned the empty can in his fingers. He also noticed the silence in the house.
"You know..." he began after a moment. "This is probably the first evening, I don't know how long, since we've been home alone."
"Yeah, I noticed that too."
"Alone." Joel repeated the last word with great emphasis.
"Are you suggesting something?"
He raised an eyebrow and smiled mischievously. You knew perfectly well what he meant. The last few days have been quite hard for you. Household chores, work, Joel's project, shopping, a five-year-old girl with a ton of questions and ideas. In the evenings, you were literally falling on your face. Any tenderness was at the bottom of your "to do" list.
"I dream of a hot bath." You stuck out your lower lip like a sad child "Candles, scented bubble bath..."
"Really?" he approached you "What else do you dream of?"
"About food that I don't have to make by myself."
"I'll order something for us. Chinese? Or maybe pizza?"
"I don't know."
"So let me take some of your time, and then we'll think about it together."
He took your face in his warm hands and kissed you tenderly. He tasted like cola and mint gum. You could smell the wood and the remnants of his cologne, the scent of your husband.
His tongue slipped between your lips, deepening the kiss, and soon you were purring with pleasure. You got up from the couch and moved closer to him, sliding your hands under his shirt.
It was starting to get nicer when you suddenly heard the sound of his phone.
"Fuck!" he cursed, pulling the phone out of his jeans pocket. "It's Tommy. It can wait."
"Are you sure?"
Joel cursed again under his breath and answered the call. You didn't listen to their conversation, but your hands started wandering over his body again. You moved closer.
"I'll sort it out. Tomorrow." he moaned quietly as your lips began to caress his neck, Joel rolled his eyes. "Nothing. I stepped on a fucking block, Sarah leaves toys everywhere." you giggled, his hand squeezed your buttock warningly. "The delivery will be tomorrow, I already talked to the driver." Your lips caught his earlobe and you sucked it lightly "Fuck, Tommy! Can we do this tomorrow? It's not that important. Yeah, I'm really busy! Bye!"
He threw his phone on the couch and gave you a reprimanding look.
"You really don't know how to behave when someone's talking, do you?" he asked.
"I don't know." You smiled as both of his hands found their way to your buttocks, kneading them "Maybe you should teach me."
Joel growled and you felt the cock in his jeans twitch restlessly. You tried to remember the last time you felt him inside you and it wasn't a quickie. Soon you felt a pleasant arousal between your thighs.
"Do you want to go to the bedroom or are we staying here?"
"Let's stay."
You kissed him and felt him lead you to the couch, you hit it with your legs. Your clothes quickly and efficiently found themselves on the floor. You sighed quietly at the sight of his hard member, the glistening precum on its red tip. Your husband was definitely generously endowed by nature. Your lips became wetter at the sight.
"Do you like it?" he asked, smiling slyly, "Go ahead, take it."
You sat down on the couch and had Joel's cock at eye level. The perfect position. He grabbed your hair, pushing it away from your face so it wouldn't get in your way, and you gave his soft belly a few kisses.
You took his cock in your hand and gave him a few strokes. Joel watched you carefully and let out a breath when you put it in your mouth. You felt its weight on your tongue, the slightly salty taste and the delicate skin. You purred quietly, sending vibrations into his core. You started moving, teasing the tip with your tongue, sucking as if you had a favorite toy in your hands.
"Baby, deeper, please..."
And you did. His tip hit the back of your throat, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you began to choke. Joel held your head and began to move himself, thrusting in and out of your mouth. Loud moans left his throat.
"Fuck... I love your mouth, baby. If I didn't love your pussy so much I'd spend every free moment there. Jesus, just perfect!"
You liked it when he used you like that. He was never too rough, always knowing what and how to do to make you feel comfortable.
"Baby, I want to feel you." he whispered feverishly, withdrawing from between your lips. "I want to be inside you so bad. C'mon! Will you ride me, baby?"
You nodded, and he took you in his arms, kissing you deeply. He slid his hand between your thighs.
"Fuck, you're so wet already." he remarked, delighted. "I guess I need to take better care of my wife."
"You'll do it later." you mumbled, pushing him onto the couch and straddling his hips. "Now I want you inside. Damn, Joel! Don't make me wait any longer."
He positioned his cock so that it was just below your entrance. You held your arms on the back of the couch and let Joel's hand on your hip guide you lower. The tip slid in smoothly and soon the entire cock was inside. His length wonderfully stretched your walls and filled you completely.
"Jesus..." you sighed closing your eyes "I missed this so much."
"I know, I know baby." Joel showered kisses on your neck and collarbone "We work too much. You take care of Sarah, the house and me. We don't have enough time for each other..."
You stroked his rough cheek and looked into those wonderfully sweet eyes. He was such an amazing man. Even though he worked hard himself, he always thought of you first. You pressed your lips to his wishing that this kiss would take away at least a little of the burden from him.
When you started moving up and down, you both pulled away from each other. You rested your forehead against his, squeezing your eyes shut. Every movement of his insides was captivating, you needed him so much, your body was hungry for closeness.
The sound of skin slapping against skin and your breaths filled your ears. Joel grabbed your breast, squeezing it tightly. His fingers teased your nipple, rolling it. Finally his mouth engulfed it and he began to suck it, teasing it with his tongue.
Your thighs were already aching, but you didn't slow down. You wanted to feel him more, harder, deeper.
"Fuck! Joel!" you gasped, "I'm so close!"
"Me too! Damn, you can break me, but don't stop!" he groaned, "I love your pussy! After all this, I'll eat you out so hard you'll scream out loud."
"You promised me a bath." you noted, smiling.
"After the bath." he corrected himself, "Shit! I'm gonna... Fuck!"
His cock was hitting exactly where you needed it. Strong hands held your hips tightly as he pressed you even harder. Your legs were already starting to go numb.
And then it happened. You squeezed your eyes shut as your body tensed, an incredible shiver ran through your body as your velvet walls tightened around Joel's cock, sending pulsating spasms into your core. A loud moan escaped your throat.
Joel was right behind you. He used your body, after a few deep and frantic thrusts he came with a loud and deep groan. His cock poured streams of white cum into you, filling you to the brim.
"Fuckfuckfuck...."
"I know, baby. I know." you kissed his sweaty cheeks, eyelids, nose and lips. "Damn, we have to do this more often if we want to think about a sibling for Sarah."
"Don't talk about it." Joel lazily opened his eyelids, looking at you with dreamy eyes. "The thought of putting a baby inside you... Your swollen belly, your big breasts... I'll get hard again soon, but… I promised you a bath."
You giggled, hiding your face in the area of ​​his neck and inhaling his scent. You could feel his heart beating, his hands stroking your back. 
It was a perfect and peaceful evening. Your thoughts wandered between a bath, the food you would eat together and even more sex with your own husband.
"I think we should buy a bottle of wine for Susan's parents." Joel stated after a moment. "Maybe they'll have sleepovers more often."
"You think so?"
"If it means I'll have my wife to myself more often too, it's worth considering."
You lightly patted his shoulder and sat up. Brown eyes moved over your breasts with admiration.
"C'mon, handsome." you said. "You promised me so much, and time is running out."
Joel really wanted to fulfill his promises. And most of all, the one where his head was supposed to be between your thighs.
☆☆☆
Thank you for your time.
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katsu2ji · 6 months ago
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love language — k. bakugou
a/n: i will always die for soft katsuki. always always always.
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katsuki has never been good with words.
over the years he has tried—and failed—to be a smooth talker with you. when you guys first started dating, it took him forever just speak to you, let alone say something charming and sweep you off your feet. as you've both gotten older, he has accepted that he simply is not that kind of guy.
however, he's found other ways to show he loves you; ways that are so ingrained in your relationship that it's hard to imagine a day without him in your life.
if he has to go in for work earlier than you, he'll cook breakfast before he leaves, knowing exactly what you like and how you like it. if he makes himself a lunch the night before, you'll find a matching bento box on the kitchen counter with a sticky note that says "don't forget to eat something, idiot. love you." your waterbottle is sitting next to it, along with another sticky note. "i don't need you passing out on me." if you guys get a chance to eat a meal together that day, he always gives you the plate with more food, especially if it's your favorite. you pretend not to notice, of course.
he's all casual affections and intimacy. if you guys are about to go out, he'll stop you to zip up your jacket and adjust your sleeves, making sure you're warm. if he's grocery shopping and passes your favorite flowers he won't hesitate to get them for you. it's a random tuesday night and you ask why he got them, but he just shrugs his shoulders, pretending not to stare at the smile on your face as he watches you take a picture of them in their vase on the kitchen counter. he idly plays with your hands in his lap while you're both watching a movie, having every fine line on the palm of your hand memorized. he's thankful for the dark room hiding the slight blush on his cheeks; after all this time, he's still lovesick.
for awhile, he felt bad about being unable to just simply say everything he wanted. he felt like his inability to write you a long, sweet note, or verbally cheer you up after a long day made him a bad partner. he felt as though his words were too gruff coming out of his own mouth, no matter how softly he may have meant them to be. he believed that he was all hard edges, feeling too rough for the affection that he desperately wanted to give to you.
you, of course, would beg to differ. him getting creative with his ways of saying "i love you" makes his affections all the more sweeter. it reminds you of how observant he is. how he's always listening, even when you think he isn't. it reminds you that he loves you, and that just because he's not shouting it from the rooftops, it doesn't make it any less true.
so yes, he's not very good with words. but he's managed to find other ways to show his love for you. besides, they always said that actions speak louder than words, didn't they?
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katsu2ji © 2024. please don't copy, modify, or do anything of the sort with my work! i work very hard and you simply do not have my permission.
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scarletwinterxx · 16 days ago
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won't let these little things slip out of my mouth - jeon wonwoo imagine
i have a confession... i cried while writing this. now i'm sad no one will ever propose to me this way, why oh why did i even write this BUT I LOVE IT SO MUCH🥺🥺🥺🥺
A/N: I HIGHLY SUGGEST PLAYING SPRING SNOW BY 10CM WHILE READING THIS. or not if u don't want to cry like a baby (like me🥹)
for my other svt fics, check them here
All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.
(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)
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The cold winter air nips at your cheeks as you walk beside Wonwoo, his camera slung over his shoulder as always. The streets are adorned with twinkling lights, festive wreaths, and the hum of Christmas carols drifting from nearby speakers. Despite the chill, you feel warm. Maybe it’s the cozy scarf he insisted you wear or the way his hand occasionally brushes yours as you walk.
He’s been unusually quiet tonight, though. You steal a glance at him, noting the slight curve of his lips as he stares ahead, the golden glow of streetlights reflecting in his dark eyes. He’s up to something. You just know it.
“Jeon Wonwoo,” you say, breaking the silence, “what’s with the secrecy? You’ve been grinning like a kid who knows something I don’t.”
He chuckles softly, the sound warm and familiar. “Patience,” he teases, his tone as smooth as always. “You’ll see soon enough.”
He leads you to a quaint little gallery tucked away on a quieter street. The windows are frosted, but you can see the soft glow of light inside, illuminating what looks like an intimate exhibit. Your curiosity piques as he holds the door open for you, the bell above jingling softly.
The gallery smells of wood and faintly of pine, and the atmosphere is calm, almost reverent. Wonwoo leads you through the first room, where a variety of black-and-white photos hang on the walls. They’re beautiful, sure, but they don’t hold your attention for long. Not when you can feel Wonwoo’s excitement radiating beside you.
“Come on,” he says, tugging you gently toward a smaller, dimly lit room at the back. “This is the part I wanted you to see.”
The moment you step inside, your breath catches. The walls are lined with photographs, but these aren’t just any pictures. They’re familiar. Too familiar.
“That’s... Wait, that’s from our trip to Jeju!” you exclaim, pointing to a shot of you laughing on the beach. Another photo catches your eye—a candid of you staring in awe at cherry blossoms during spring. And then another, of you holding an umbrella, your face lit up with laughter as the rain poured down.
You turn to Wonwoo, your heart racing. “What is this?”
He’s smiling, that soft, shy smile that always makes your knees a little weak. “Keep going,” he says, nodding toward the other wall.
You walk further into the room, and your chest tightens as you take in rows and rows of photos. All of you. Every angle, every expression, every moment he managed to capture. There’s one of you napping on a park bench, another of you squinting at a map, and one where you’re mid-bite into an enormous burger, ketchup smeared on your cheek.
You burst out laughing, tears pricking your eyes. “You didn’t!”
The walls of the gallery feel like they’re closing in as you walk further into the room, your gaze darting from photo to photo.
Each one is a piece of your life together—your smiles, your laughter, even your messy moments. You pause at a picture of you trying to eat an ice cream cone that’s melting faster than you can keep up with it. You remember that day vividly, how Wonwoo kept laughing and snapping pictures while you tried (and failed) to salvage the cone.
“Wonwoo,” you say softly, your voice trembling as the weight of it all settles over you. “You’ve been collecting these... all this time?”
“Every moment I could,” he says from behind you, his voice warm and quiet in the stillness of the room.
You move to the next photo. And then the next. They’re all you, and it’s overwhelming in the most beautiful way.
Then your eyes catch something different.
The very last photo on the wall.
It’s simple—a close-up shot of a ring nestled in a velvet box. The light glints off the delicate band, making it shimmer in a way that feels almost magical. Your breath catches in your throat as you take a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest.
“Is that—” you start, but the words die on your lips when you turn around.
Wonwoo is there, down on one knee in the middle of the gallery, holding that same velvet box in his hand. The air leaves your lungs as your gaze locks onto his, the vulnerability and love in his eyes almost too much to bear.
“It’s just us,” he says softly, as if he’s answering a question you didn’t ask. “No distractions, no one else. Just you and me.”
You cover your mouth with your hand, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. He takes a deep breath, his voice steady but filled with emotion.
“I’ve spent so much of our time together trying to capture every moment, every expression, every laugh, because I never want to forget a single second with you. But the truth is, none of these photos come close to how I feel when I’m with you. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen—through my lens and in my life.”
He opens the box, revealing the ring that you’d just seen immortalized in the photo. It sparkles under the soft lights of the gallery, but nothing shines brighter than the love in his eyes as he looks up at you.
“I want this to be my last photo project,” he says with a small, shaky laugh. “Because after this, I just want to live the moments with you. Will you marry me?”
The world tilts and rights itself again as you nod furiously, your tears spilling over. “Yes! Yes, of course, I’ll marry you!”
Wonwoo grins—one of those rare, wide grins that you know he reserves for the moments when he can’t contain his joy. He slides the ring onto your finger, his touch gentle and sure, before standing and pulling you into his arms.
The silence of the gallery wraps around you both like a warm blanket. It’s just the two of you, the faint glow of the photos on the walls casting soft shadows.
You lean back to look at him, laughter bubbling up through your tears.
“You seriously used a picture of the ring for the big reveal?” you tease, your voice trembling with joy. “Couldn’t help yourself, huh?”
He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “It’s a story, isn’t it? And now it has the perfect ending.”
You rest your head against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. “Not an ending,” you whisper. “The perfect beginning.”
And in that moment, surrounded by the story of your love etched in photographs, you know you wouldn’t want it any other way.
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mind-intheclouds342 · 2 months ago
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A new ladder - Reader x Curly
BEFORE I START
Yes, another story of Curly. What can i do? I love him.
THIS IS ALL INSPIRED BY THIS AWESOME ARTIST THAT I FOUND ON TIKTOK
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btw the curly of this story will kook like this so you can already imagine him.
The user is ladonb.kokosa
PLEASE GO CHECK THEIR ART ITS WONDERFUL
That being said. Lets get start with
Part 1 - Next
"Cryostasis ended"
"His vital signs are stable"
"Who could it be?"
"Disinfect the wounds"
"There are no more survivors"
"They authorized us to give him the implant."
The man could hear several voices in the distance, he saw silhouettes, shadows, he couldn't distinguish the people around him.
He felt them putting a mask on him to anesthetize him, and everything went dark again.
When he woke up, he saw a woman checking his signs, and he was astonished to recognize her despite some of her physical changes.
She was his fiancée, the woman he was supposed to marry after that trip.
Why did she look like that? She seemed older, but in his sigth, she remained beautiful.
He made some sounds to get her attention, causing her to turn and look at him. She approached and pressed something on his neck.
Curly: "Linda..."
Linda: "...No... Tell me it's not you..."
The woman immediately stepped back, covering her mouth, unable to believe what she was seeing.
She didn't recognize the man laying in that bed in front of her, and she prayed so hard that he wasn't the man she was going to marry, but the fact that he recognized her confirmed her fear.
He could understand the terror on her face, but he didn't know there was something else he didn't know.
She took a deep breath and set her fear aside, sitting next to the man.
Linda: "Curly... If it really is you..." she said, still holding out a small hope that it wasn't him, "You were cryogenically frozen for 20 years... They rescued you because the Tulpar re-entered orbit near Earth before running out of energy, they were able to detect it and bring it back without causing damage, and that's how they found you inside... You have been in the hospital for two weeks today..."
He wanted to laugh as if what he was being told was a bad joke, it couldn't have been that long, right?
But looking closely at her, the small wrinkles now on her face and the few gray hairs she had showed her that she was real.
Linda: "They didn't find any more survivors and... The same press has taken care of paying your medical expenses because they want to hear your story... You have an implant in your neck so you can speak, a voice box, you have to press it if you have difficulties but in a while you won't need to do it anymore... and they did a skin graft... Including some prosthetics..."
She carefully took the prosthetics of his arms and raised them so he could see them, Curly felt like a completely different being.
Linda: "I recommend that you ask for what you want now because... As soon as they find out you're awake... They're going to bombard you with questions and the press will come here, they won't show any mercy."
The man tried to raise the prosthesis and pressed his implant on his neck to be able to speak.
Curly: "What about us?"
Linda: "Oh Curly..." she sighed, "When you didn't come back, I thought the worst... That you were dead... I just keep going with my life... I married someone else, I have two children... There is no longer an 'us'."
Before he could say anything else, a reporter peeked in and made a fuss upon seeing him awake; the place filled up in seconds.
The woman lowered her head and left the room in search of security to throw out the press, but the harassment didn't end there.
Curly chose to give them the answers to the questions they had by scheduling a meeting at the hospital.
Thanks to this, many people started donating things to him, including money to help him reintegrate into society.
But beyond the kindness of people, no one wanted to take care of him and help him, not even the nurses, they said they couldn't spend too much time near him.
Linda took care of him during his stay in the hospital while they fixed up his house that had been left abandoned.
Linda: "I found someone who can take care of you."
She commented while pushing his wheelchair, entering his house, that it looked completely renovated.
Linda: "I don't know if you still remember that I mentioned my younger sister, (Y/n), a couple of times?"
Curly: "The one who lived with your father?"
Linda: "That's right... My mom got full custody of her after a few years, and since then she has been living with her until she became independent shortly after turning 18..." 
Curly: "She was 12 back then..."
Linda: "She recently lost her job, I thought it would be a good opportunity for her. She is very responsible, I promise."
When they arrived in the room, he could see a woman standing and looking at the paintings hanging on the walls.
He had never met his fiancée's sister, but he had heard many stories about her, about how her father unjustly gained custody by labeling their mother as crazy, and since then they had fought to get the girl back.
He had been struck by how incredibly different she was from her sister; you two didn't seem related at all.
Linda: "Good thing you were already here," she mentioned with a smile to catch your attention. 
When you turned to look at them, Curly didn't expect such seriousness from you towards your older sister. 
"...Thank you for the job opportunity, I will do my best to help you," you mentioned, looking at the man, ignoring the woman. 
Linda: "Let me show you where everything is-"
"I've already been getting familiar with the place, it's not necessary, you can go."
Linda: "At least let me tell you which medications you should-"
"You have already sent me a message with clear instructions. I can do this, Lin."
Curly: "You should be more respectful to your older sister."
Upon hearing him speak, you turned to look at him again, without any expression. 
"...Lin"
Linda: "I'll leave, there is no problem. I'm sure you've already memorized everything to the letter. If you have any problem, don't hesitate to call me."
She indicated, she didn't want to make a scene and left without even saying goodbye to either of them. 
"...So you are Curly... It's a pleasure to meet you, I hope we get along well."
You had already made a bad first impression on Curly by treating the love of his life so poorly. 
"Lin left your pill organizer with me, and gave me the schedule for them, it's time for the first pill."
You took a bottle and opened it to take a pill, causing the man to tense up a bit as he remembered moments when he was given his painkillers.
Noticing his nervousness, you tilted your head somewhat confused and went to get something to drink so he could take the pill. 
What a surprise he got when you brought him a cup of chocolate along with the pill. 
"When I was little... I didn't know how to swallow pills, I would choke, so I would bite them... My dad used to give me pills with chocolate milk so I wouldn't have a bad taste in my mouth, don't you like the taste of the pills? These can be very bitter..." 
He thought it was very kind of you to consider that, immediately regretting having judged you without knowing anything about you. 
You helped him take the pills, giving him chocolate to drink slowly, it really helped with the bitter taste. 
Maybe... you weren't so bad.
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buckyalpine · 2 months ago
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Warnings: 18+ dub con, smut, Dark Bucky, breeding kinks. I want some Dark twin Bucky. Jealous twin Bucky. Manipulative, sexy, mob boss twisted Bucky. His brother James is everything good, everything wholesome, everything perfect. James had everything in life, the nicest house, a respectable job, the sweetest wife. Oh, how sweet his wife was.
Bucky couldn’t care less for the perfect reputation his brother had nor did he care for the money, he had so much more. More power. More control. The only thing his brother had that he wanted for himself was you. His brother didn't value or care for you for what you were worth, always working, focused on business, leaving you in the large house all by yourself. Bucky would have never. Not if he had you.
Loving, gentle, soft as silk.
Pure, untainted, everything he wasn't.
He had to have you.
"Babydoll"
You smiled hearing your husband enter your shared bedroom as you got out of the shower, wrapping a fluffy towel around yourself before going to greet him. He sat at the edge of the bed with a knowing smirk, shamelessly eyeing you up and down like he always did, your cheeks heating up under his watchful stare. You loved how much he adored you. He strode over, humming at the scent of your body wash, his nose trailing up the column of your neck, pressing soft kisses to your skin, his hands wandering to the edge of your towel.
"Miss me, baby?" He pulled it off, letting it pool to the floor leaving you bare before him, picking you up and laying on on the mattress, you were so perfect, pliant, he could already smell your arousal, your nipples pebbled against the cold air begging for his warm mouth.
"moy kotenok" He purred, nipping at your earlobe, your brows knitting in confusion, he never spoke Russian to you, only his brother-
“James?” You squeak, your heart starting to beat rapidly, blood running cold. This wasn’t your husband. You tried to scramble away, cover yourself but he grabbed your wrists in his hand, pinning them above your head. You then noticed the dark ink that peekd beneath his shirt, his telltale silver chain slipping out and dangling above your face. Your husband only wore his wedding ring, you tried so hard, unable to move his heavy body off you.
"Bucky-Bucky get off, what are you doing-
"Taking what should be mine, kotenok, showing you what being loved by a real man is like" He crawled off you, thighs spread wide kneeling in front of you. "He doesn't know what you deserve printsessa"
He shoved your legs apart, holding them from squirming, your twitching pearl amusing him. "S'been long, hasn't it, you say you don't want me but that swollen button says otherwise, what if I-"
He spits onto your clit making you cry out, a rough calloused thumb coming down to flick it to his hearts content. Your body jolted at the sensation, it was wrong, so wrong, God it had been so fucking long...
No.
"Bucky st-stop" You hiccupped as he moved faster, he could see your slick dampening the sheets, his idiot brother didn't know what he was missing.
"Why would I do that, hm? Look at how your body responds to me, you want this. Gonna get you so pregnant, bunny” Bucky smirked, giving his thick bulge a squeeze, making a show of shamelessly palming his erection. “Y’wouldnt even know who the daddy is”
He doesn't waste a second pulling his cock out, grinning at the way your cunt welcomes him home despite your futile protests. You scratch at him between moans of pleasure, your legs wrapping around his tapered waist. He pounds into you with purpose, he wants his child in your belly, he couldn't wait to see his brother dote on you not knowing any better.
He got harder thinking about your breasts leaking with milk as you got bigger, milk to feed his baby, milk to feed him. He'd find a way.
"Gonna put my child in you printsessa, give you my baby, show you where a man puts his cum, you'll take it won't you bunny, such a good housewife"
"No-No you-you can't oh God!" Your body shudders as pleasure and guilt washes over you, clinging onto him for dear life as he fucks you through your orgasm.
"That's right, cum for me, he can't make you cum like I can, don't think I haven't heard you with him, look at you, just a slutty little mess, you smell of sex kitten"
He intends on making the biggest mess in your pussy, needing it to drip onto the sheets you sleep in. You'd stay wrapped up in his essence while it leaked out of you, his sperm exactly where it needed to be, right in your belly-
"Get ready kitten, get ready to take it, fuck-squeezing me so good, tell me you want it, I know you do, m'gonna cum so hard for you princess, just for you, all this-fuck-do you feel it, s'all for you, SHIITTT" He roared, pumping you with the stutter of his hips, the headboard slamming against the wall as he emptied himself, shamelessly moaning into your neck.
The next 9 months would be interesting.
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areislol · 18 days ago
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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤyandere monster harem
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pairings. various m! yandere monsters x gn! reader
warnings. yandere themes, toxic obsession, 18+ dark themes
a/n. i love my sillies!!
wc. 6.1k
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imagine a dark, mystical forest where you're the lone human, fated to cross paths with a group of terrifying yet obsessively devoted monsters.
each of them is unique in their appearance and abilities, but they all share one thing: an unrelenting desire to make you theirs, no matter the cost.
the werewolf
a hulking figure with sharp claws, wild amber eyes, and a low growl that vibrates through your very bones. he encountered you when you wandered too close to his den during a full moon. despite his primal instincts, he resisted harming you, instead captivated by your bravery—or foolishness.
he tracks your scent everywhere you go. if you so much as step outside, he’s already following from the shadows, ensuring your safety (and warding off anyone who dares to come near).
he marks your belongings with his scent and doesn’t hesitate to bare his teeth at anyone he deems a threat. you’re his mate, and he’ll challenge anyone who thinks otherwise.
though rough and wild, he becomes uncharacteristically gentle when he sees you hurt or scared, licking your wounds and curling protectively around you.
the werewolf is a wild, untamed force of nature, his obsession with you rooted in instincts so primal he can't suppress them even if he tried.
he watches you from the shadows, always nearby but rarely letting himself be seen at first. your scent drives him to madness—earthy, warm, uniquely you. it's comforting and addictive, and he can't get enough. he's stolen pieces of your life to keep close: a scarf left behind, a mug you drank from, anything that holds your essence.
his possessiveness is terrifying. he won't let anyone else near you if he can help it. if someone gets too close, he intervenes, his voice low and threatening, his golden eyes burning with barely concealed rage. no one dares challenge him; there's something in the way he moves, the way he looms, that screams danger.
he doesn't understand human boundaries. if you're speaking to someone too long, he'll step in, claiming he needs to talk to you or finding some excuse to drag you away. if you protest, he'll growl—not at you, never at you—but in frustration. you're his; why can't everyone else see that?
but with you, he's soft. gentle. when he's sure you're not afraid of him, he'll let you closer, let you see the man beneath the beast. his touch is careful, almost reverent, as if he's afraid he'll break you. when you're upset, he wraps himself around you, his warmth and presence enough to shield you from the world.
his affection shows in small ways. he brings you gifts from the forest: flowers, feathers, shiny rocks he thought you'd like. he watches your reaction closely, his heart swelling with pride when you smile. if you ever thank him, he becomes almost shy, looking away with a faint blush creeping up his neck.
jealousy is his constant battle. if he sees someone making you laugh or smile, his claws dig into his palms. he won't confront you about it, but the person who caused his jealousy might find themselves on the receiving end of his wrath later.
at night, he lingers near your home. the thought of you alone, unprotected, drives him crazy. he paces, his instincts screaming at him to stay close. sometimes, he leaves small signs that he's there—a paw print in the dirt, a tuft of fur snagged on a branch—as if he wants you to know he's watching over you.
his biggest fear is your rejection. he knows he's more beast than man, and the thought of you being afraid of him keeps him awake at night. if you ever flinch or pull away, it shatters him, and he'll retreat, his golden eyes filled with pain. but he always comes back, unable to stay away, his obsession too strong to overcome.
you are his anchor, his reason for fighting the beast within. he doesn't care what it takes; he'll keep you safe, even if it means keeping you all to himself. his love is overwhelming, suffocating, but he doesn't see it that way. to him, it's devotion—pure, unbreakable, eternal.
his growl rumbled low as kael draegon stepped from the shadows, his golden eyes fixed on you with that same wild, desperate intensity.
"don't be afraid," kael draegon whispered, his voice rough but steady as he offered you his hand. the cold breeze tugged at his hair as he stood beside you, his voice soft as he murmured, "you're safe now, with me."
kael draegon always seemed to appear just when you needed him, his presence both calming and terrifying. his hand lingered on your shoulder for just a moment before kael draegon pulled back, his voice almost apologetic. "old instincts, i'm sorry."
the vampire
elegant and poised, with glowing crimson eyes and a voice like silk, the vampire first saw you in the dead of night. he was drawn to the purity of your blood but became enthralled by the purity of your soul instead.
his pale, marble-like skin seems to glow faintly in the moonlight, untouched by time or imperfection. his crimson eyes burn with a smouldering intensity, framed by thick lashes that only add to his magnetic gaze.
his raven-black hair falls in soft, silky waves around his sharp cheekbones, perfectly complementing his aristocratic features. his tall, slender frame moves with a predatory grace, and his voice—smooth as velvet—wraps around you like a dark lullaby.
he loves to watch you sleep, marvelling at your vulnerability. He’ll slip into your room at night, not to harm you, but to leave gifts—a rose, a letter, or even a piece of jewellery from an unknown era.
the vampire despises anyone who captures your attention. Friends, family, or even strangers—they’re nothing but distractions. He may use his hypnotic gaze to erase their presence from your life.
he gets flustered when you show him kindness, like bandaging a wound he sustained in your defence. he tries to hide his blush, but his pale complexion betrays him.
the vampire is as elegant as he is dangerous, his presence suffocating yet alluring, like the pull of a siren's song on a lonely traveler at sea. his crimson eyes gleam in the dark, reflecting centuries of wisdom and hunger, but when he looks at you, they’re soft, desperate, and entirely devoted. you’re his obsession, his muse, his reason to exist in a world that has grown cold and lonely with age.
he first saw you during one of his midnight wanderings, his attention drawn by your scent, a sweet, intoxicating mix of vulnerability and warmth. you were an easy target at first—a stranger out on a walk, unassuming, untouched by the weight of the supernatural world. but then he watched you, from the shadows, and the hunger in him shifted. you weren’t just food, not in the way he expected. you were you.
his obsession grew quickly, a slow, crawling thing that nestled in his bones. he has a habit of appearing when you least expect it: slipping through your window as you sleep, standing at the end of a dark alley when you’re walking home, always close but never intrusive enough to harm you. he studies you with endless fascination, watching how you move, how you smile, how you react to the smallest moments of life. you are his everything.
he is a master manipulator, charming and patient, with a voice like silk and words that dance between honeyed promises and half-truths. he always knows just what to say, always seems to be exactly where you are, making sure you feel safe.
but beneath the charm is something ancient, something sharp—a predator who has learned how to play the long game to get what he wants. you are his, and he has all the time in the world to make sure you know it.
his jealousy is sharp and swift. the moment another person shows even the slightest interest in you, his eyes narrow, his smile turns colder. it doesn’t take much for him to make his presence known, weaving himself into your life, into your conversations, until the other person is left with nothing but fear or confusion. you are his, and he’ll ensure that no one else tries to stake their claim.
he doesn’t simply show his obsession through manipulation. he is far more intimate, far more human in the moments where he can let his guard down. he’ll leave you gifts—roses with petals as red as blood, antique trinkets from his many years of wandering, or old letters written in his perfect, flowing script.
he tries to convey his feelings subtly, his words wrapped in metaphors and promises, but they always come from the deepest part of his heart.
he’s possessive in the way only a centuries-old predator can be. he touches you often, with a hand to your cheek, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, or lightly grazing your hand as if you might slip away at any moment.
he isn’t violent, not by nature, but his love is all-encompassing, wrapping itself around you like a snake squeezing its prey. you belong to him in every way, and he has no intention of letting you slip out of his grasp.
his dark powers allow him to watch you from afar, slipping into your dreams, invading the quiet moments of your subconscious. you’ll wake with his voice lingering in your mind, his whispers promises of eternity, of a life spent with him, of safety, beauty, and endless nights. he wants you to rely on him, to lean into his presence, to crave his touch, until you can’t imagine your life without him.
when you show kindness or affection toward him, his calm, elegant mask slips. his eyes soften, his voice trembles slightly, and he finds himself speechless.
he’s terrified of showing too much, of letting you see the raw hunger that lies beneath his smooth exterior, but he can’t stop himself. your smile, your laughter, it means everything to him, more than centuries of darkness and isolation ever could.
he would give you everything. his life, his immortality, his heart. but he struggles with the weight of his own nature—the bloodlust that lies just beneath his perfect, pale skin. he’s not just obsessed with you out of a need to control or dominate; he truly cares. he wants you safe, protected, happy. but his fear of losing you makes him cruel, calculating, and relentless.
you are his forever, and he has no intention of sharing you with anyone else, not with the world, not with time, not with destiny itself. his love is suffocating, but it is eternal, and as much as it terrifies him, he knows you’ll never escape his grasp. he’ll make sure of it.
his voice was like silk as dorian vale leaned against the window frame, his crimson eyes glinting in the moonlight
"you shouldn't be out here alone," dorian vale said smoothly, stepping closer, his voice as soft as a whisper. dorian vale’s gaze was piercing, unyielding, and you could feel every moment of his attention as he looked at you
he handed you a single red rose, his pale fingers delicate as he said, "for you, my dear.
his presence lingered, and you could feel dorian vale’s words in your bones as he whispered, "you were always meant to be mine."
the ghost
a shadowy figure with hollow eyes that glow faintly in the dark, the ghost is a tragic soul who found solace in your warmth. his attachment to you began when you unknowingly lingered in the house he haunts, speaking softly to the empty air as if sensing his presence.
alaric’s form is translucent, a faint, glowing silhouette that shifts and flickers like mist. his features are soft and hauntingly beautiful, with a melancholy that clings to him like a shadow.
his once-vivid eyes are now pale, like the reflection of a full moon in still water, and his long hair drifts around him as if caught in a gentle breeze. though incorporeal, he retains the faint shape of his elegant hands and tall, lean frame, an echo of the man he once was.
his presence feels like a cool touch on your skin, a constant, bittersweet reminder of his undying devotion.
he manipulates the environment to keep you close—doors creak shut when you try to leave, and objects mysteriously disappear, only to reappear where he wants you to stay.
if anyone hurts you, the ghost unleashes his wrath. lights flicker, temperatures drop, and your assailants are haunted until they’re too terrified to approach you again.
he’s deeply moved when you acknowledge him, even if it’s just a whisper to the air. your willingness to accept him, despite his incorporeal nature, solidifies his eternal devotion.
the ghost is a tragic, ethereal figure, bound to you by a love that death itself couldn’t sever. his form is translucent, shimmering faintly in the moonlight, and though he may no longer have a heartbeat, his emotions are as raw and overwhelming as they were in life. he exists in the liminal space between the living and the dead, obsessed with you in a way that is both haunting and heartbreakingly tender.
he doesn’t remember how or when it started—only that one day, he found himself drawn to you, unable to leave your side. whether it was your voice, your laughter, or the way you brought life to even the smallest, most mundane moments, you became his light in the suffocating darkness of his afterlife. he watches you from the corners of rooms, a faint chill in the air marking his presence, his spectral form always lingering just out of reach.
his love is quiet, but all-consuming. he whispers your name into the night when you sleep, his voice carried on the softest breeze. he rearranges small things in your home to make his presence known: a book left open to a meaningful passage, a flower you swore wasn’t there before resting on your windowsill. at first, it’s subtle—gentle signs that you’re never truly alone—but as his obsession deepens, the signs become harder to ignore.
jealousy eats away at him when others capture your attention. he can’t bear the thought of you being close to anyone else, of you laughing or smiling with someone who isn’t him. when you’re out, he follows you like a shadow, unseen but ever-present, and if someone gets too close, the air turns cold, the lights flicker, and an unshakable unease settles over them until they leave.
he craves your touch, but his incorporeal form makes it impossible. this frustrates him endlessly, and he spends nights lingering near you, reaching out as if he could somehow feel the warmth of your skin, the beat of your heart. his desperation leads him to try anything to bridge the gap between life and death, no matter the cost.
despite his possessiveness, he’s deeply protective. he uses his abilities to shield you from harm, warding off danger with an almost primal ferocity. if someone threatens you, they’ll find themselves plagued by unexplainable misfortunes—objects falling, shadows moving, and an unrelenting sense of being watched. he doesn’t harm them directly, but his presence is enough to terrify even the boldest.
when he speaks to you, it’s with a voice like the echo of a forgotten melody, soft and tinged with sorrow. he tells you things you shouldn’t know—secrets from your past, glimpses of your future, things only someone who’s been watching you so intimately could know. he wants you to feel his devotion, his undying love, even if it frightens you.
there’s a tragic loneliness to him. he knows he can never truly be with you, not in the way he desires, and this realization drives him to the edge of despair. his love is obsessive, yes, but it’s also painfully pure—an eternal yearning for a connection he can never fully have.
if you acknowledge him, his devotion only deepens. the smallest smile, a whispered “thank you” into the empty room, is enough to make his entire existence worthwhile. he clings to these moments, replaying them endlessly in his mind, as they are his only solace in an eternity of longing.
he follows you everywhere, unseen but ever-present, his translucent form flickering in the corner of your eye or casting a fleeting shadow against the wall. at first, his presence is subtle, almost unnoticeable: the faint creak of floorboards when no one else is home, a cold breeze brushing against your skin, the lingering feeling that someone is watching you. but as his obsession deepens, his presence grows stronger, more impossible to ignore.
he learns everything about you. the way you hum absentmindedly when you’re focused, the scent of your favorite tea, the books you read late into the night. he listens to the sound of your heartbeat as you sleep, a steady rhythm that lulls him into a state of peace he hasn’t felt since he was alive. he treasures these moments, hoarding every detail about you like precious relics of a life he can never fully be part of.
his jealousy is a storm that rages within him. when others come into your life, his calm demeanor shatters. he can’t bear the thought of you sharing your smiles, your laughter, or your attention with anyone else. the air around you grows colder when someone he deems a threat is near, and they often find themselves inexplicably uneasy in your presence. lights flicker, objects fall, and whispers echo in the corners of the room, driving them away with a fear they can’t explain.
but with you, he is soft, almost fragile. he speaks to you in whispers, his voice carrying the faint echo of a forgotten melody, full of longing and sorrow. "don’t be afraid," he murmurs into the quiet of the night. "i’ll always protect you." his words are laced with an aching devotion, a promise to guard you from harm, even if you don’t fully understand where the comfort is coming from.
he leaves you gifts, though he has no tangible hands to place them. a single white flower on your windowsill that wasn’t there the night before, an old, weathered book that appeared on your desk, or a faint message written in the condensation on your mirror. they’re tokens of his affection, his way of reminding you that you’re not alone, even when he can’t be seen.
despite his protectiveness, he’s painfully aware of his limitations. his incorporeal form frustrates him to no end—he longs to touch you, to hold you, to feel the warmth of your hand in his, but the barrier between life and death is unyielding. he spends countless hours watching you, reaching out with ghostly fingers that pass through you, yearning for a connection he can never truly have.
he’s haunted by the memory of what it felt like to be alive, to love and be loved in return. his obsession with you is his only solace in a world of emptiness, but it also drives him to desperation. he begins searching for ways to bridge the gap between your worlds, delving into the supernatural, seeking answers, rituals, or bargains that might bring him closer to you.
when you acknowledge him, even in the smallest ways, it’s everything to him. a whispered “thank you” when you notice the flower he left, a hesitant glance toward the flickering light he caused—it fills him with a joy so profound it nearly breaks him. he clings to these moments, replaying them endlessly in his mind, as they are the only proof that he still exists to you.
his love is all-consuming, a desperate and eternal yearning that leaves no room for anything else. he doesn’t just want to protect you; he wants to be with you, to share in your life, to have a place in your heart. he knows his love is overwhelming, even suffocating, but he can’t stop. you’re his reason for lingering in this world, the one thing that makes his cursed existence bearable.
in his more vulnerable moments, he confesses his feelings, his voice trembling with a sorrow that spans lifetimes. "i’m sorry," he whispers, his spectral form flickering like a dying flame. "i didn’t mean for this to happen. but i can’t let go. i won’t." his words are both a plea and a promise, a declaration of a love that will haunt you forever.
his devotion is eternal, unyielding, and consuming. he doesn’t see his obsession as wrong; to him, it’s the purest form of love, a connection that transcends life and death. and though his presence may sometimes frighten you, you can’t deny the strange comfort it brings, the knowledge that someone—something—is always watching over you. he is yours, now and forever, and nothing, not even death, will change that.
you are his reason for lingering in this world, his obsession, his eternity.
alaric drifts soundlessly through the walls, his form a faint shimmer of light that barely disturbs the air
"you called for me," he whispers, his voice like the rustle of leaves on a quiet night. he hovers just out of reach, his longing evident in the way he watches you with those hollow, mournful eyes
every creak of the floorboards, every cool breeze brushing your skin—it’s alaric, a constant, invisible guardian, desperate for you to feel his presence.
the demon
with horns curling from his head, molten eyes, and a smirk that could tempt even the purest soul, the demon is as charming as he is dangerous. he first appeared to you when you were at your lowest, offering power and protection—but only if you stayed by his side.
azrael is striking in his infernal elegance, his beauty sharp and dangerous like a blade. his obsidian horns curl menacingly from his head, gleaming faintly in the firelight, and his jet-black hair is cropped just enough to frame his angular face.
his glowing amber eyes burn with an intensity that’s both mesmerizing and terrifying, framed by dark lashes that soften their predatory edge. his physique is perfectly sculpted, with broad shoulders and sinewy muscle wrapped in dark tattoos that pulse faintly with infernal energy.
a long, spaded tail flicks behind him, a subtle testament to his demonic nature, while his sharp, claw-like fingers could destroy—or cradle.
he infiltrates your dreams, filling them with his voice and his image so that you can never forget him. no matter how far you try to run, he’s always there, whispering promises of eternal love.
the demon doesn’t share. he’ll make deals or threats to ensure no one else dares approach you. his flames flare dangerously when he senses competition.
when you challenge his overbearing nature, he’s secretly thrilled. Your fiery defiance makes him want you even more. but when you show fear or sadness, he’s quick to reassure you with surprising tenderness.
the demon is a dangerous enigma, a being forged in fire and darkness who is utterly captivated by you. his obsession burns hotter than the flames of his infernal home, an all-consuming desire that transcends mortal understanding.
he’s not a creature of softness or restraint—his love is raw, primal, and possessive, and he would raze the world to ash if it meant keeping you by his side.
he first noticed you in a moment of vulnerability, a flicker of something pure and radiant that pierced through his otherwise unrelenting darkness. maybe it was your kindness, your resilience, or even your imperfections—whatever it was, it stirred something in him he hadn’t felt in centuries.
for a demon who thrives on power and domination, this feeling was alien, unsettling, and exhilarating.
at first, he tried to ignore it. love, after all, is a weakness—a chain that binds. but the more he watched you, the deeper he sank. you consumed his thoughts, invaded his dreams, and stirred emotions he didn’t even know he was capable of. the line between fascination and obsession blurred, and before long, you became the center of his world, his greatest desire and his ultimate possession.
his presence is overwhelming, even when he isn’t visible. the air grows heavy when he’s near, crackling with an unnatural energy that makes your skin tingle. shadows twist and writhe in the corners of your vision, and faint whispers echo in your mind, promises of devotion spoken in a voice as smooth as velvet.
he’s not above manipulating your emotions to keep you close. he knows exactly how to twist words, how to play on your fears and insecurities, all while making it seem like he’s your only sanctuary. "no one will love you the way i do," he purrs, his voice a blend of seduction and menace. "no one will protect you like i can."
jealousy consumes him with a ferocity that borders on madness. he doesn’t tolerate anyone vying for your attention or affection. if someone dares to come too close, they often meet with mysterious misfortunes—car accidents, sudden illnesses, or even inexplicable disappearances. he doesn’t see these acts as cruel; in his mind, he’s simply ensuring that no one can take you from him.
despite his darkness, his love for you is genuine in its own twisted way. he’s incapable of expressing it in soft or traditional ways, but his devotion is absolute.
he treasures every interaction with you, every fleeting smile, every word you speak to him. he hoards these moments like a dragon hoards gold, replaying them endlessly in his mind.
he’s endlessly fascinated by your humanity—the way your emotions shift like the tides, the fragility of your body, the warmth of your skin. he often marvels at how delicate you are compared to him, a creature of immense power and near-immortality. this contrast only deepens his obsession; you’re a treasure, a rare and precious thing in a world of chaos and darkness.
when he does reveal himself to you, it’s always dramatic and intentional. he thrives on your reactions, whether it’s fear, awe, or even anger. he’ll step out from the shadows, his horns catching the dim light, his dark eyes glowing with an otherworldly intensity. "you belong to me," he’ll say, his voice leaving no room for argument. it’s not a question, not a plea—it’s a declaration, an unshakable truth in his mind.
he uses his demonic powers to bind himself to you in ways both subtle and overt. you might find strange symbols etched into the corners of your room, or feel an inexplicable pull toward him that you can’t resist. he’s always there, in your dreams, in your thoughts, in the very fabric of your reality.
but for all his power and confidence, there’s a vulnerability beneath his fiery exterior. he’s terrified of losing you, of you rejecting him or finding someone else.
it’s a fear he doesn’t understand, one that gnaws at him and drives him to even greater extremes. he’ll do anything to keep you, even if it means breaking every rule, defying the laws of heaven and hell, and binding your soul to his for eternity.
in his own way, he tries to be gentle with you. he knows his nature frightens you, that his obsession can be overwhelming, so he tempers his intensity—at least, as much as a demon is capable of. he’ll appear to you in dreams, his voice soft, his touch feather-light, weaving fantasies of a life where you’re his and his alone.
but make no mistake—his love is as dangerous as it is consuming. he doesn’t see you as a partner, but as something to be claimed, protected, and possessed. you’re his light in the darkness, his one weakness, and he would destroy anyone—or anything—that threatens to take you from him.
"i’ll burn this world to the ground for you," he tells you, his voice a low growl, his eyes glowing with an intensity that’s equal parts terrifying and mesmerizing. "just say the word."
to him, you’re not just his obsession—you’re his salvation, the one thing that makes his existence bearable. his love is eternal, fierce, and utterly inescapable, binding you to him in ways you might never fully understand. you are his everything, and he will stop at nothing to make sure you remain his. forever.
azrael appears in a flicker of shadows and embers, his smirk sharp enough to cut
"did you miss me?" he purrs, his voice dripping with sinful charm. his burning gaze never leaves yours, an intensity that feels like it could consume your very soul
when he steps closer, the scent of smoke and spice fills the air, and the room grows impossibly warm
"you can’t escape me, little one," he murmurs, his words a promise and a threat all at once.
the sea monster
a towering creature with scales that shimmer in the moonlight and eyes as deep as the ocean, the sea monster saved you from drowning during a storm. since then, he’s watched you from the water’s edge, longing to pull you into his world.
his body a perfect blend of human and sea creature. his skin shimmers with an iridescent sheen, scales glinting faintly with hues of green, blue, and silver that shift like sunlight on water. his long, flowing hair resembles seaweed, dark and sleek, cascading down his back in waves.
his eyes glow faintly, like bioluminescent creatures of the deep, their piercing intensity revealing his ancient power. his hands are webbed and tipped with sharp, claw-like nails, and his muscular frame is marked with jagged scars from battles in the ocean’s depths. his lower half bears fins that ripple with movement, giving him a grace that belies his massive size.
he collects things you’ve touched—seashells, pieces of cloth, even footprints in the sand. his underwater lair is filled with these treasures, each arranged like a shrine.
he hates when you leave the shore. If you venture too far inland, he’ll create storms or tidal waves to draw you back to him.
he becomes surprisingly bashful when you willingly approach the water to speak to him. your trust in him, despite his monstrous appearance, makes his heart swell.
the sea monster is an ancient being, born of the ocean’s depths, where sunlight never reaches. his obsession with you is as vast and unfathomable as the waters he calls home—a love born of isolation, mystery, and an insatiable hunger for connection. to him, you are his beacon, a rare and precious light in the endless darkness of his world, and he is utterly captivated by you.
his first encounter with you was serendipitous—a chance meeting by the shore, or perhaps a daring moment when you ventured too close to the water’s edge. he saw you, a fragile creature of the land, and was instantly enthralled.
your movements, your laughter, even the way the sunlight caught in your hair—all of it was alien and beautiful to him. from that moment, you became his fixation, his reason to rise from the depths.
he watches you from the water, his massive form concealed beneath the waves, his glowing eyes ever watchful. at first, his presence is subtle—the gentle lapping of waves against the shore, the inexplicable pull of the tide whenever you’re near.
but as his obsession deepens, his signs become harder to ignore. strange treasures wash ashore: seashells, polished stones, and other trinkets that seem too deliberately placed to be coincidences.
he is a creature of contradictions. his love for you is as tender as it is overwhelming, and while he longs to be near you, he’s painfully aware of his monstrous appearance. his body is a fusion of scales, fins, and sinewy muscle, a form designed to survive in the crushing pressure of the deep sea. he fears your rejection, that you will see him as a monster rather than the devoted being he has become.
despite this, he can’t help but draw closer. when you venture into the water, he’s there, just beneath the surface, his presence a dark shadow that follows you. he revels in these moments, the closeness, the illusion that he’s part of your world. the saltwater clings to your skin, and it drives him mad with desire—it’s as though the ocean itself is marking you as his.
his jealousy is as fierce as a storm at sea. anyone who dares to draw too near to you risks his wrath. fishermen speak of sudden squalls that rise from nowhere, boats overturned by unseen forces, and sailors vanishing into the depths. he doesn’t see it as cruelty; to him, it’s protection. the ocean is his domain, and no one else has the right to take what belongs to him.
he dreams of pulling you into his world, of making you his in every way. the thought of you joining him beneath the waves consumes him, and he begins to weave fantasies of a life together in the depths—a palace of coral and bioluminescent light, where you would be his queen, his eternal companion.
but he knows it’s impossible, and this knowledge torments him. he can’t survive on land for long, and you can’t live beneath the water. this barrier between your worlds drives him to desperation. he begins seeking forbidden rituals and ancient magic, anything that might allow him to bridge the gap and bring you into his realm—or transform himself into something that can walk beside you on the shore.
when he speaks, his voice is a low, resonant rumble, like the distant crash of waves on a rocky shore. his words are filled with longing and reverence, a declaration of a love that spans the vastness of the ocean. "you are my light," he murmurs, his glowing eyes fixed on you. "without you, i am nothing but the endless dark."
his love is consuming, a tidal wave that sweeps away everything in its path. he doesn’t understand restraint or boundaries; to him, love is absolute, and his devotion to you is all-encompassing. he sees your hesitations, your fears, but he can’t stop himself. you are the first thing in centuries to stir his cold, ancient heart, and he will not let you go.
when you acknowledge his presence, even in the smallest ways—a whispered word to the sea, a touch to one of the treasures he’s left for you—his heart swells with a joy so profound it’s almost painful. he clings to these moments, replaying them in his mind during the long hours when he’s alone in the depths, waiting for the chance to see you again.
his protectiveness is as fierce as his love. the ocean itself seems to bend to his will, rising to shield you from harm. storms part in your wake, currents carry you safely to shore, and even the most fearsome predators of the deep seem to bow before you. you are his everything, and he will guard you with a ferocity that defies nature itself.
but there’s a darkness to his love, a possessiveness that borders on madness. he doesn’t just want you to love him; he wants you to need him, to see him as the only one who can protect and cherish you. "the land will never understand you as i do," he tells you, his voice a low growl, the waves crashing behind him. "they will never love you as i do."
his obsession is eternal, as deep and unyielding as the ocean itself. you are his heart, his treasure, his reason for rising to the surface. and though his love may be overwhelming, even frightening, there’s a strange beauty in it—a devotion so pure and unshakable that it defies the boundaries of worlds. you are his, now and always, and he will never let the tide carry you away.
mio watches from the waves, his body a dark silhouette against the moonlit water. when you finally meet his gaze, he speaks your name like it’s a prayer, his voice low and reverent
"you don’t belong to the land," he says, his tone both pleading and possessive. "the ocean calls to you. i call to you.
his fingers trail through the water, creating ripples that mirror the emotions surging in his chest—desire, devotion, and an unshakable determination to make you his.
while each monster is fiercely possessive, they begrudgingly tolerate each other’s presence because they all agree on one thing: your happiness comes first.
you’re not just a human to them—you’re their everything. whether you accept their twisted love or try to escape, one thing is certain: they’ll never let you go. you’ve awakened something primal and eternal in their hearts, and no force on earth or beyond could sever the bonds they’ve forged with you.
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