#maybe i should get pink streaks though

[getosugurusbangs]

was unseriously pondering the idea of dying my hair hot pink then realized that i’d have ness’s hair once it grows out and got humbled real quick.

[honeydjarin]

Hmmmm think I’m going to dye my hair again

[moe-broey]

Man I don't even go to Genshin anymore but I see people redesigning that new glasses girl with the blonde mullet and pink gradient and getting rid of her pink gradient like. Do you hate me specifically. Do you hate love and fun

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

dbf!Jake with a little bit of grey in his hair I'm 🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵 I don't know why that gets me but it does

you understand!!! you get it!!!! I swear this has fueled hours of my daydreams about him, I'm incredibly hyped to share those haha

jake refers to himself in third person once in this, and even though every time i read or write that i have to think about caesar and immediately hate it, jake would absolutely 100% do it so.

top gun masterlist | top gun blurbs

It's late as you stumble through Jake's doorway, your keys clanging against the wall and your shoes thumping to the floor. You can hear the tv playing in the living room, shouts and cheers that have you guessing he's watching a sports game.

You tread through the hallway and knock softly on the doorframe, a bit unnecessarily because Jake's head is long turned to you.

"Hey there", you greet, and you can do nothing at all against the smile tugging at your lips.

"Hey there", Jake echoes, at least an octave deeper than you. His eyes rake down your body - you're still in your work clothes, which is unusual. "D'you want a drink, darling?"

With a sigh, you push off the doorframe and pad over to the couch. Jake puts his beer bottle down on the table.

"No, I'm good. I don't need a drink", you mutter, letting yourself drop right onto his lap. He's freed his hands for a reason after all. "I just need you."

One of your palms steadies against his chest, the other brushes down his jaw, fingertips dragging circles against his skin - against his stubble, it's been a few days since he's shaved (and that truly is your favourite look on him) - as his arms wrap around your waist and pull you tightly to him.

"I'm here", he says with a smile.

"Yeah", you breathe, smiling right back at him. God, he turns your insides into mush. "I know."

He holds you close and settles back against the couch, his eyes focused on yours, content to have you on his lap, to have your hands on him. You can feel him relax by the second as your fingertips trail up and down his face - his jaw, his cheek, disappearing into his hair.

Suddenly, you still.

"Jake", you breathe and swallow hard. "Are you going grey?"

"What?", he mutters, his arms loosening from around you to grab for your thighs instead.

"You're going grey", you repeat, and pray you don't sound half as stunned as you feel. "Baby, you've got a grey streak."

Jake's hands tighten on you. If there was any way, any way at all, to look away from the strand of grey you'd spotted in his hair, you would - but you can't. You can't. There's absolutely no way you can drag your eyes off.

He's going grey. Your boyfriend is going grey.

"If you joke about how old I am now, I'll call your father", he mutters, but there's less joke in his tone than there should be. It takes you a second to realise why.

He's worried.

He's worried you're understanding just how old he is, that it's somehow bothering you, that it's turning you off.

The problem you are having is about the opposite.

Jake's grey streak doesn't turn you off. It turns you on.

You don't know why. You can't explain to yourself why. You don't really want to, either, because you're sure that's just going to end up being some fucked up psychology deep dive. It doesn't matter anyway. What matters is the way your legs clamp tightly around his, the way your fingers fist his shirt.

"Jake", you whisper, finally managing to drag your eyes away from his hair and to look back at him instead. He truly does seem worried - it's just hard to concentrate on that when you feel tingly and hot all of a sudden. But something in his expression changes the very moment you glance at him anyway. You think you can guess why.

You've never been all that good at hiding your emotions. And Jake had read you like an open book from the very beginning on.

Maybe your eyes are glazed over or half-lidded or something, maybe your cheeks are dusted pink, maybe your pupils are blown wide - you'd have to check a mirror to be sure, but you know that there must be something, something he sees that has him raising his eyebrows, that has a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You're into this", he says, almost as though he can't really believe it.

You bite down on your lip and your eyes flicker back up to the grey in his hair.

"And what if I am, old man?", you mumble, playing at his age after all, trying to get at least a bit of leverage back, even though you already know you'll lose it just as quickly again.

Jake proves you right almost immediately - you can't even comprehend how fast he's turned you around, got your back pushed against the couch and your chest pressed to his.

"You like your old man", he mutters, his breath tickling your skin as you try to calm your racing pulse. Your old man, fuck. That shouldn't make your heart stutter the way it does. "And his grey streak too."

[lust4life01]

hi! can i req a makeup sex fic with det loki? maybe after he upsets reader or something? thank yousm 💋❤️

Hello my love!!💘 absolutely loving this request, thank youuu <3

Crying while I’m cumin.

Warnings: Slight angst, possessive Loki, fighting, smut, oral fem receiving, penetrating sex, makeup sex. 18+!!

Pairing: David Loki x f/reader

——————————— ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹🍒——————————

The light in your bathroom flickered as you stood in front of the mirror, mascara running down your face as your red eyes focused on yourself. Starring, hoping to find something in the piercing reflection. Snapping out of it, you sniffed and ran your fingers through your hair, maybe trying to make yourself look better as a way to feel better. The overwhelming feeling of anger and fragility pulsing through your chest.

Loki had gotten home in a foul mood today, work had clearly taken it’s toll on him. So when you met him at the door dressed up nicely with your hair and makeup done, clutch in hand, his brows immediately furrowed whilst displaying a face of irritation and distaste. After the day he has he just wanted you to himself. He wanted you to sit against his chest whilst he let out his frustration, but here you were clearly ready for a night of mayhem, without him. At some dinner where he wouldn’t be present as other guys eyes stuck to you like glue. God why were other people taking up your time in this moment and not him?

You greeted him sweetly at the door, looking like a star. “Hey baby! How was work?”

With a face full of confusion and his thick brows knitted, he ignored you and immediately started to scan his eyes up and down you.

“What’s with, this?” he asked, his voice monotone as he motioned his hands up and down your body.

When you explained you were off to grab a drink with a colleague he practically exploded.

He started berating you about how you could have asked him if you could go, which filled you with an unexpected rage. If you were completely honest, you didn’t really want to go anyway. It was your friend who had begged you to come along. However, now that Loki had started to demand you ask for permission and had raised his voice with possession possessing him, the sheer audacity of him made you wanted to jump out of the window and be there as quickly as you could. You argued that you were a grown fucking woman and no one, not even him, was gonna dictate your life. Inevitability this led to huge row from your defensive outraged state and his tired possessive character.

And that’s how you ended up locked in the dim bathroom with just the sound of your sniffles and the taste of your salty tears grazing your plump pink lip. Now, you actually really didn’t want to go out. Your makeup was now smudged and you would have just been a buzz kill. As you sat and the toilet and texted your colleagues that you couldn’t make it, with some bullshit excuse of getting your period and wanted to stay in bed, you heard two light taps on the bathroom door.

A drained but soft and guilty voice followed.

“(Y,n) Baby I-. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being such a jackass, of course you can go out whenever you want. I don’t know I-.” He took a big defeated sigh before he continued.

“I just had a really shitty day and I wanted to be with you, I guess. Not that that excuses raising my voice at you. Fuck, baby I’m so sorry.” His voice shifts into a softer more genuine tone as he continues, almost like he’s on the verge of tears himself “please. open the door, yeah?”

You sit up from the toilet lid and gently walk over to the door, placing your hands on the knob, debating whether you should unlock it. Tired of fighting and crying you just wanted it to be over.

A streak of rage still flowed through you though, but the overwhelming sadness and need for comfort took over you. As the sounds of the lock and knob being moved filled the silence of your response, Loki immediately stood up from his crouched position.

As the door swung open, you stood peering down at you feet, whilst his larger frame stood before you, almost instantly his eyes checked yours. Seeing the smudged makeup and the obvious signs that you had been crying made his stomach ache with guilty. Like he was looking at a lost puppy he had just chucked on the side of the road in a cardboard box as the rain melted it away.

The warm feeling of two big palms clutching your face, which was also red and warm from the previous passionate tears, could be felt immediately as the door opened.

“Fuck. Baby, I’m so so fucking sorry. (Y,n) can you look at me, please?” His face was so fixated on yours, desperately searching for an ounce of forgiveness on your face.

The red puffy eyes smudged with makeup finally made the way to his sympathetic guilty eyes. “Look, it’s fine David. I should have at least told you before you got home, and I kinda didn’t really want to go anyway.”

Those words that fell from your sullen tired voice, both stung and gave Loki a sense of relief. The dreaded fear of being responsible for ruining your night was present, yet also now he could have you all to himself.

“Are you sure baby? You look so pretty, and I was just being an ass.” His eyes desperately scanned yours, yearning for forgiveness.

You touched your forehead to his whilst simultaneously nodding your head. The closest became amplified when Loki’s lips slowly moved down to yours, which reciprocated his kiss.

The pair of your intertwined lips grew stronger, passion taking over as you got a small head rush. Loki hands supported you as he lifted you onto his waist, carrying you down to the bedroom.

As soon as your head hit the pillow, Loki was on top of you. The secure feeling of his lips gracing yours came first and the soft cussioned kisses along your collar bone and chest shortly followed. The only sound in the room was your heavy breathing and the sound of Lokis lips meeting your soft skin. There was a comfortable silent. A silence that spoke so loud, it amplified the comfort and forgiveness that hung around as your two bodies collided.

Loki slowly took off your heals, letting them drop off the end of the bed and pulled down your pretty dress as his eyes failed to leave yours. His eyes searched yours for permission, which they quickly found as you pierced your plump lip and nodded your head lightly.

Once all of your clothes had been discarded, Loki continued to pepper sorry kisses along your stomach and the top of yours thighs, occasionally lightly groaning to highlight his admiration for you.

Through a quiet whimper you practically begged Loki to get on with it, the small touches becoming torturous “David, please.”

That was all you had to say to have him inbetween your thighs. Loki pressed a kiss to your clit before his tongue made its way through your folds. He made sure to take his time and to make sure there wasn’t an ounce of pleasure you hadn’t received. As his touched swirled around your clit your hole pulsated. You whined out, desperate to feel him inside of you.

Loki could feel the tightness of his roots being pulled stronger as you moaned lightly above him. The urge to just be inside you grew stronger, he yearned to be so close to you.

“You want me inside you baby?” His tongue was back on your clit before you could even answer.

Through a desperate whine you complied with his request. “Yes. Please David, need to feel you.”

As soon as he heard your answer he collected your wetness along his raging hard on before resting in front of your entrance.

Taking your hand in his big palm and kissing your neck passionately, he slowly entered you. The stretch of him was so delicious, the fullness he made you feel made your heart pound. Just as his lips made their way to the spot on your neck just below your ear, he started to thrust into you so the intensity of your pleasure was easily accessible to his ears.

His thrust became harder and deeper, the extent of your close proximity only created more passion. He took the time to worship your chest, licking and sucking on your nipples as his thrust continued, until you beckoned him up to your own lips. This intimacy he so desperately craved was what led to your fight, so he was going to the fullest extent to maximise your mural pleasure. As euphoric moans slipping into his mouth from yours he could tell you were close.

The sensation of two large fingers circulating your clit nearly sent you to heaven. Your chest heaved as he continued his deep thrusts and put pressure on your clit, which eventually ended with your head thrown back, chants of his name, and the feeling of your pussy gushing around him. There were tears in your eyes as you came, quickly followed by groans from David as he also came hard. His hot cum rested inside of you as he panted in front of your face.

The dark room now filled with the sounds of shallow breathing as you both came down from your orgasms. Grabbing his jaw, you brought your lips together again until he gently pulled out from you as you let out a small hiss from the loss of contact.

Rolling over to the space on the bed next you, he pulled you into his arms tightly. Skin to skin.

He kissed your head and muttered “I love you. I’m sorry.”

You whispered into his ear “I love you too. I’m also sorry.”

A moment of comfortable silence passed until you spoke once again.

“So, your day. You want to talk about it?”

Loki had never been much of a talker. He’s more of a guy who bottles shit up or drinks some strong whiskey as a cure for the awful day. Until he met you. You emphasised the importance of talking stuff out, and he knew how much it went to you when he let you in.

Letting a small sigh he gently stroked your head. “Yeah. Okay.”

——————————————————————————-

Ahhh hope you enjoy!! This was kinda rushed and not proof read but very fun to write 💘🙈

[quibbs126]

So a couple of days ago, I decided “you know what? I might as well try my hand at human designs for the Cookies”. Granted I only did the bust because I’m lazy. But yeah that’s what this is

And in addition to that because I thought it’d be fun, I gave myself a rule that the characters can only have natural skin, hair and eye colors, unless their character would make relative sense to have dyed hair or colored contacts, as you can see with Princess and Wildberry

I drew Dark Choco and Dark Cacao first since they’re my hyperfixations, they should be the first ones I draw. And then I drew the Hollyberry family because with their pink and blue hair, I thought it’d be fun to try and change them. But after I finished them, I didn’t know who else to put nor did I have a lot of room, so I just left it at them

I’m just gonna list random things about the designs now

I’m not entirely sure where Dark Choco and Cacao’s streaks come from, but I couldn’t just get rid of them. For Dark Choco, I’d say either dye or stress, and for Dark Cacao, either stress or age (though given he’s had them streaks since a young age, stress is probably the more likely option)

I gave Dark Cacao grey eyes, but maybe I should have gone with black instead. Probably more realistic. And for that matter dark eyes probably would have been the better option for Wildberry too. Hm

I admit, I probably should have gone with a lighter red for Hollyberry, Royal Berry and Princess’s hair, but I gave them that shade since I thought Hollyberry would look good with dark red hair

I really didn’t want to draw Hollyberry’s hair, it was a pain. I’d much rather draw it down, but the updo is more accurate to her, so eh

Royal Berry looks like a barber to me

I made Jungleberry and Tiger Lily’s hair black because I feel like it’s a thing for blue to be a substitute for black, like in older movies and such, so I did it the other way around, and also it wouldn’t make sense for either of them to have dyed hair

This was my first time drawing Jungleberry and I quite liked drawing her

Drawing Princess here was what finally got me to understand just what her hairstyle is supposed to be. I know I’ve seen it before, I think in Berserk, but I don’t remember who had it so I can’t show you a picture of what I mean. But I get how her hair works now

Speaking of her hair, I admit, I took liberties with making her hair curly, especially since no one else in her family has visibly curly hair, but to be honest I think I did that because I have dark red coily hair that’s also curly. So I was probably just taking reference from myself. I also share dark brown eyes, but I have no trace of her melanin, I am very pale

I made the red/pink eyes brown since I figured those were the closest colors and a good translation, but I ran into a problem when I realized Jungleberry already has brown eyes. So just shh there, ignore it

I don’t know how dreads work I apologize

In my head Wildberry dyes his hair red because that’s Hollyberry’s hair color, hence why it’s red and not pink

And I think that’s about it. I’ll probably do more of these since this was fun, but I don’t know when or who I’ll do next

[rosanna-writer]

Knuckles Bruised Like Violets (1/1)

Summary: Love blooms at the garden expo when Elain witnesses a handsome stranger pick a fight with Tamlin. Pairing: Elriel Warnings: None Rating: General Audiences Word Count: ~1.2k

Read on AO3 or under the readmore!

Elain had known they'd cross paths again. She was a florist. He owned a nursery. Running into her sister's ex at some industry event was bound to happen before long.

But even if she'd been able to see the future, Elain would never have guessed that Tamlin would be bold enough to buy a bouquet for his new girlfriend from his ex-fiancée's sister, a few short weeks after they'd called the wedding off.

To make it worse, the new girl was there with him, too. Briar—Elain only remembered her name because Nesta had scoffed it at Feyre during a much-needed girls' night ("Really? Were her parents naming a baby or a rabbit?"). Elain wouldn't forget, not when the eldest Archeron's mean streak had actually made her baby sister crack a smile.

From behind the cash register, Elain tried not to vomit at the sight of Tamlin making eyes at Briar the way he used to do with Feyre. They were browsing what was left of the flower arrangements for sale, and this late on the last day of the expo, there wasn't much. Especially not at Elain's booth. Her arrangements were by far the loveliest, selling out every year she'd been a vendor. If Elain had to guess, Tamlin had only mustered the courage to show his face in her corner of the convention center because he'd wanted to impress Briar with the best roses available.

If she hated conflict a bit less, Elain would have been looking forward to telling him she refused to make the sale.

Instead, dread was already blooming in the pit of her stomach. The whole thing would be horribly uncomfortable, and she wouldn't put it past Tamlin to raise his voice—or spin the narrative and make her look petty in front of other colleagues.

But the dread lessened just a bit when the most beautiful man Elain had ever seen stopped at her booth. He was intently studying the very last bunch of pink roses, and Elain let herself appreciate his classically handsome features, shiny close-cropped black hair, and the cut of the cobalt t-shirt that showed off the powerful muscles of his arms.

She supposed if he caught her staring, she'd just say she was trying to read the word emblazoned on his chest—Rosehall, if she wasn't mistaken. Perhaps another vendor, then. She could ask about it, strike up a conversation, maybe get his number.

Assuming, of course, that Tamlin didn't decide to ruin her day.

It seemed likely that that he would—her sister's ex was already reaching for the bouquet the stranger had been eyeing. Elain steeled herself for an uncomfortable conversation.

The stranger snatched the bouquet before Tamlin had a chance to. The pair exchanged a few tense words that Elain couldn't quite hear over the noise of the crowded garden expo, though she made out the words "here first" and "for my mother."

One sweet smile and a well-timed offer to ring up the purchase would diffuse the tension if Elain pointedly directed them at the stranger. She meant to do it. Really, she did.

But the man's fist had already collided with Tamlin's jaw.

He punched like an expert, with brutal, ruthless economy of movement even as he cradled the bouquet of roses like a sleeping baby in his other arm. Elain should have called for security, but she was too entranced to do anything but stay rooted to the spot.

Tamlin wound up to hit back, but Briar was already cupping his uninjured cheek and fussing. He let his fist drop uselessly to the side, and she led him away as she murmured something about finding an ice pack.

Perhaps that should have been Elain's cue to call security. But she found herself smiling and saying, "I can ring you up if you're finished browsing."

At the sound of her voice, the man turned, his eyes going wide in pure shock. He must not have realized she'd been watching the entire time.

He stepped closer, careful not to crush any of the petals as he handed her the bouquet to scan. "I'm sorry about that," he said.

His voice was midnight-dark, and Elain tried not to shiver as she wondered what it would sound like saying her name. "Don't be," she said brightly. "You saved me the trouble of telling him to leave."

"Has he been giving you problems?"

Elain had the sneaking suspicion that if she said yes, he'd offer to take care of it permanently.

"My sister broke off her engagement to him just a few weeks ago."

The man went still, and there was something preternatural about it, as if he were one the dangerous faeries of myth, something far too otherworldly for a Sunday afternoon in a too-bright event complex full of vendors hawking hedge shears and patio furniture. "You're Feyre's sister?"

Names have power. The thought came to her unbidden, the only fragment from a long-forgotten story that was still rattling around in her brain. A warning. Elain said nothing, just shook her head as if to clear it.

The man wasn't a faerie. Just…strangely magnetic. And hot.

Perhaps he'd realized the sudden outburst of violence—even if it had been directed at someone she hated—might have frightened her. He softened his expression and politely held out a hand. "I'm Azriel. Rhys's brother."

Right. Rhysand—the new boyfriend that they hadn't met yet but Nesta had immediately decided was sketchy. The newfound awareness that she might run into Azriel again jolted her back to reality, and Elain regained her manners and shook his hand.

His skin was rough against hers. Not from callouses, like the hands of hundreds of other gardeners Elain had greeted over the years, but from scars. Out of politeness, she pretended not to notice, as tempted as she was to run her fingers along them slowly.

"I'm Elain. It's very nice to meet you."

"You too," he said, sliding his card into the reader. After a beat of silence, he added, "Feyre sent me, by the way. I mentioned I was getting flowers for my mother's birthday, and she said her sister was the best florist in the business."

Thank God for her younger sister; Elain decided she'd thank Feyre by making sure not to mention to Nesta that the mysterious Rhysand had already introduced Feyre to his family.

If all the customers Feyre sent her way were like Azriel, Elain certainly wasn't about to discourage her.

"Did you find everything to your liking?" she said, fluttering her lashes to make sure it was clear she wasn't only talking about the flowers.

"It's perfect."

The receipt printed, and Elain grabbed a pen and jotted her phone number down before sliding the paper across the counter. Azriel's brows flicked up.

"In case Tamlin presses charges and you need a witness to swear you didn't put a hand on him." There were probably security cameras somewhere, but a few seconds of grainy video wouldn't be more convincing than Elain Archeron's doe eyes.

"And if it doesn't get to that point?"

She smiled. "You can still give me a call anyway."

Before Azriel left, he saved the number to his phone—a wordless promise. Elain sold the last of her arrangements with a newfound spring in her step.

[iamthecomet]

mometttttt

can we get some fluffy phantom swiss??

feeling sad and wanting some comfort 🥺

maybe trans phantom dealing with painful cramps and swiss being there and being the amazing boyfriend he is and comforting phantom through the cramps?

Of course, Chase! I'm sorry that you're feeling sad. I hope this helps. Sending you lots of hugs too.

Just under 1k words of Trans!Aeon/Swiss. SFW. Just mentions of period cramps. ♥

Aeon wakes up in agony. Pain lancing through his belly, down his thighs, through his back. He curls in on himself. Knees drawing up tight to his chest. He wraps his arms around them, holds on tight as the wave of pain intensifies. Digs it’s claws in. 

It’s so early. The sun is barely up. Streaking pink into the hotel room. Aeon had hoped for a day to sleep in. For the opportunity to luxuriate in bed next to Swiss on an off day. Peace. Comfort. 

He should have known better than to hope for anything. 

He breathes a little easier as the pain eases. He doesn’t loosen his grip on his legs though. He knows it’ll be back before long, it always is. He thinks about stumbling to the bathroom–at least to make sure he hasn’t made a mess of himself. But it feels impossible. More work than his aching limbs can handle. 

He lays there for awhile, listening to Swiss’ soft snores. Feeling the warmth of him radiating from the other side of the bed. He opens his eyes and looks around the pre-dawn hotel room. Shadowy, still a mess from when they fell into bed last night. Half-eaten room service near the door. Their bags thrown on the other side of the room. Aeon thinks about the medicine stuffed in there. Some tea Mountain made for him that always seems to help. 

He makes a plan. If he’s fast enough he can at least get to the bathroom and grab the tea before the next cramp hits. He can probably just rip the bag open with his teeth and eat the contents right? That will do the same thing? The idea of waiting for hot water from the weird coffee machine is impossible. Besides he barely knows how to work them on a good day. 

Humans really do make everything needlessly complicated. 

He could ask Swiss, but the multighoul is sleeping so soundly next to him, he doesn’t want to disturb him. They’ve been traveling so much, barely sleeping. Aeon doesn’t want to be the reason Swiss doesn’t get enough sleep. 

He starts to push himself up, to uncurl. He gets as far as straightening his legs and pushing the blanket off before it hits him again. He swears he feels it in his bones. Dull insistent fire crawling through his body. He bites his lip until he tastes blood and even that isn’t enough to bury his whimper. 

He bites down on his tail to try to muffle it, but Swiss wakes up anyway. Making a low groggy noise, confused as he rolls towards Aeon’s body. Curled up tight on the edge of the bed. Swiss’ hand is warm and broad on his back. A grounding weight. Swiss eases himself up, folds himself over Aeons’ body to look at him. 

“Bug? You ok?” 

Aeon looks up at him, Swiss’ eyes are sleep lined, barely open. But his dark brows are twisted in concern. The hand is on his hip now, heavy. Solid. Aeon swallows, he intends to nod, to tell Swiss to go back to sleep. But his body betrays him, he shakes his head. 

“Cramps,” he mumbles in explanation. He doesn’t want Swiss to worry–there’s really nothing to worry about. He’s fine. 

He crumples beneath another cramp. Tears pricking at his eyes. He turns enough that he can cling to Swiss. Now that he’s here and awake, Aeon can’t do anything else. He buries his face in Swiss’ chest and inhales the smell of him. Sweat and weed and sandlewood. He closes his eyes tight and tries not to cry as Swiss pulls him close, cradles Aeon’s little body against his. 

Swiss kisses him between his horns, runs a comforting hand up and down his spine. Tangles the other in his hair, runs his fingers through it. He scratches at Aeon’s scalp until Aeon’s body goes lax as the cramp ebbs. 

“What can I do?” Swiss asks, lips brushing over the curve of Aeon’s horn. 

“The tea Mountain made me.” 

“Where is it, baby?” 

“Front pocket of my bag.” 

Swiss untangles himself from Aeon. Aeon lays back on the bed, flat on his back. Tears burning against his cheeks. He hears Swiss rifling around in his bag. Hears the water run. Hears Swiss messing with that weird coffee maker. 

“I hate this,” Aeon says softly. 

“I know.” 

“Just wanted to sleep in with you,” Aeon mumbles, voice cracking. 

The coffee maker hisses, Aeon hears it spit water out into the styrofoam cup. Swiss is back right away. Helping Aeon sit up and pressing the overly hot cup into his hand. The smell of the tea alone makes something in Aeon’s back loosen. 

He sips at it–it’s too hot but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t want to wait any longer. 

“We can still sleep in,” Swiss promises. Leaning over to kiss Aeon’s temple. “Sleep all day if you want.” 

Swiss curls one big arm around Aeon’s waist, pulls him close. The little ghoul leans against him. Eyes closing against another cramp. Swiss takes the cup from him so Aeon doesn’t spill. He presses his lips to the side of Aeon’s head, holds him close as the pain ravages him. 

When it’s done, Swiss hands the cup back to him. “Drink up so we can go back to sleep.” 

“I–” Aeon looks away, lilac blush coloring his cheeks. “I think I should take a shower first..” 

Swiss shrugs, buries his nose in Aeon’s hair and inhales. “Fine. Shower first. Sleep after. All day. No excuses.” 

Aeon turns his head to catch his lips on Swiss. It’s chaste, as easy as breathing. “Too good to me,” Aeon mumbles as he brings the cup back up to his mouth. Swiss grins down at him. “No such thing.” 

[booksndpoetry]

Chapter One: Meet-Cute

a/n: This was not the fic I was hoping to publish and I don't know what this is (it's a mess). I might make more if you encourage me.

wc: 2.4k words

pairing: art mogul! Hyunjin X writer! Reader

tags: friends to ??, reconciliation, use of cheesy epithets, me trying to write slow burn.

genre: a pinch of angst, fluff

triggers/warnings: Whatever this is, it is not good. Read at your own risk.

m.list

Ten.

No, not Ten from NCT.

Just ten more minutes until you could excuse yourself for the evening and it wouldn’t seem suspicious.

You take in deep breaths and try not to make eye contact with anyone lest they try to make conversation with you. You were deliberately dressed discreetly for the same purpose too. Baggy jeans, vulcanized sneakers, a white shirt with a logo you’ve never bothered to investigate, and a pin on your braided hair. You were sure you looked like you didn’t belong, and you felt it too.

Being a bestselling author has its perks, your editor had told you, her voice tinged with something like awe when your book sales had skyrocketed. You thought it meant that more people would leave you alone to write. Though, to your dismay, it meant events held at ridiculously expensive hotels, with overpriced champagne and people at every corner trying to please you so they got a favour out of you.

It should be pretty obvious in your behaviour that you hate these events. You weren’t even a good actor. Although, knowing your agent, she probably set you up to meet your next best sponsor or another journalist who would try to get an interview with you.

The more you thought, the more you tensed up. Checking your watch for the umpteenth time that evening, you let out a ragged breath. Eight more minutes until your freedom.

Or maybe not, you think when you see Frank, the editor-in-chief for [famous magazine name] making his way towards you. Frank was known to be relentless with his requests and you were cemented about the fact with your experience in his studio.

“Hello Miss, how’ve you been doing since I last saw you?”

You hold your hands behind your back, not fooled by his polite façade.

“Good. How about you Mr. Frank?”

“Good, good.” He nods his head, more to himself than you. “Great weather today, innit?”

The sky was pretty magnificent today. The event was being held on one of the top floors of a famous hotel, and the large glass windows were set perfectly to watch the sky. The sky was a cerulean blue, with streaks of pink and orange, like the trails were smeared by the tiny fingers of a child, bold and [synonym for pretty] in their forms.

“Truly.”

He chuckles again, “Always a person of a few words, Miss ‘Name’. Although, can I hear them?” There it was, the unspoken request. He would once again wear you down trying to convince you to spare some time for an interview and a magazine shoot, and you would have to refuse again. You hated refusing, as much as you had to do it, and you didn’t like people who took no for an answer.

You simply take a step back, as if a physical distance would help you say the words easier.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Frank. I have an impending project and I don’t want to distract myself. Maybe next time.” You offer him a weak smile, trying not to let your grimace show. You were bad at this.

He simply waves you off, expression more sombre than it had been seconds ago, and your heart drops. You had disappointed him. You seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

Unable to stand being there any longer, you rush past the faceless bodies, feeling the need to go away, to run away somewhere.

You go down the elevator and text your agent.

<<Attendance: done.

You silence the device and pocket it, finally reaching the lobby of the hotel. You swear not to stay in the damn hotel for any second longer, but the universe gives you another reason.

Luckily, it’s in the form of someone familiar. Unluckily, it belonged to your best friend you hadn’t seen in seven years.

Hwang Hyunjin.

You trip in the middle of the lobby.

Hyunjin hadn’t known what to expect that evening. He had been offered an invitation, just like any other month. He was unsure about whether he had to attend the event. After all, he had a business to run. But after one of his clients had finished the meeting early, some deal about an upcoming art exhibition place, he was having second thoughts. But some part of him had insisted on his attendance, as he’d heard that one of his favourite artists would be coming, and that’s how he found himself at the entrance of the skyscraper.

What he absolutely did not expect was to see you, standing right in front of him. Until you tripped, and he couldn’t help his laughter.

You quickly get up and pretend to inspect your shoes for any indication of dust. Damn five-star hotels and their extremely slippery granite floors. For what purpose were they made so smooth and shiny? For one to see their reflection when they faceplanted there?

Hyunjin’s still laughing lightly when he comes near you.

“You okay?” he asks, concerned. You hear his voice, and it is still the same smooth tone, albeit deeper. You missed that voice. But the way he speaks, polite yet guarded, you think that maybe he doesn’t recognize you.

“You haven’t changed one bit. Still tripping down flat surfaces, Miss Writer?”

And he proves your assumption wrong. You frown at how easily he can annoy you with just the sight of his stupid face, handsome or not.

Your lips straighten themselves into a thin line, and he remembers why he’d teased you countless times when you were younger. You were adorable when you attempted to look angry, like a tiger cub trying to sulk. He smiles, eyes taking you in again.

“You haven’t changed either. You laughed at me when I fell!”

That wasn’t true. He had changed, in more ways than one. Time had carved him beautifully, with elegant lines and soft beauty, evident on his face. And he was no longer Hyun, your best friend. He was Hwang Hyunjin, the rising art mogul, and founder of the famous ‘Hwang Designers.’ The man sought after by rich men and women alike.

The laugh he’d been subduing comes out in full force once again at the memory, and he clutches his jacket. For a moment, he’s your Hyunjin again.

You hit him on the shoulder, and he stops laughing.

“I haven’t seen you for seven years and this is how you greet me?”

He sobers up quickly. He knew he had to apologize, sooner or later. He decides to do it now.

“Ice cream?” he asks.

“Butter-scotch and Strawberry?”

“Yes. It’ll be just like old times.”

“Deal.”

When the both of you walk out the set of doors, you don’t look back at the gigantic building and to your surprise, neither does he.

The both of you stumble into his car, a spacious Audi, and he puts the car in reverse. It reminds you of the countless things you’ve missed. Like the first time he learnt how to drive. It saddens you a little, and he notices.

“The nearest dessert place is pretty far. You sure about this?” He wanted to make sure he wasn’t intruding on your schedule.

“I’m sure, Hyun. Now, let’s go.” You punctuate your statement with impatient slaps on the centre console. He chuckles, starting the car.

Once on the road, he thinks back on your words earlier. You had called him Hyun, after such a long time. He’d been called a lot of things, but he thought this epithet was something he wanted to keep being called. It’s a physical entity of your friendship, showing how it is still intact. And he feels like he’s sixteen again, sitting with you on your rooftop, as your shoulders brush. Like nothing has changed.

He drives past trucks and numerous cars, taking turns until the roads are empty.

You roll the windows down, and let the wind flow between your tresses.

The cool air feels heavenly against your burning skin. You close your eyes just as a strong gust of wind blows. You lean against the rails of the windows. It felt like freedom, like being alive at last.

Hyunjin watches you intently, eyes flickering between you and the road. It had been so long since he’d seen you, and he physically could not keep his eyes off you. He still remembers the mole above your left eye, the numerous dimples on your cheeks and the little bump on your nose bridge. He’s dreamt about it every day you’ve been apart, to be honest, but now was not the time.

Driving through empty highways at night was not how he envisioned his reunion with you, but there you were.

“Do you want to go somewhere in particular?” he asks you, voice soft, in that same tone he used to talk to you.

“Just keep driving, please” you swallow thickly. You didn’t want to return to your reality, not yet.

He nods once, then “Shall I take you somewhere? You’ll like it, I promise. Unless you don’t want to.”

You hesitate, then “Okay. I trust that you won’t get rid of me.”

He rolls his eyes, “Come on, ----- you should know me better than that. I would’ve done it already if I wanted to.”

You huff, “And here I thought you wouldn’t even dream of it.”

He just smirks and shifts the gear, speeding up.

“Slow down, I don’t want to die yet.”

He side-eyes you, “I’m not getting you killed, darling” He slows down anyway.

You feel yourself flushing because of that word. This was new. The Hyunjin you knew always called you silly names, but not this. This was different, mature. The tone of his voice was suddenly deeper.

No, no.

This was Hyunjin you were talking about.

He was your friend years ago, and you have yet to determine what he is to you. You will not be having such thoughts. Shaking your head, you lean back in your seat, when he stops the car. He’s brought you to the spot near the bridge, overlooking the river reflecting the city lights. You get out of the car and he leans against the hood with you, simply watching the scene before you.

It’s beautiful, the vast cityscape, stretching along the length of the river. The flashing lights dance over the waterbody like stars twinkling over the Milky Way. It feels so grandiose. But, you know that despite it looking so enigmatic, it is not so glamorous in reality. And the sudden weight of the expectations of others weighs down on you, all at once.

The distress must have shown on your face, because he stands in front of you, holding your face like he used to do when you were upset.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

He’s wiping your face, and you realize you’ve been crying.

“Nothing.”

“You know you can tell me anything.”

“I thought I could, until you went away to another corner of the world, leaving me behind.”

He flinches a little at the words. It’s true, he did leave you behind. It’s time he owns up to it.

“I’m sorry, ----. We were going to be far apart, and you and I were still young. I’m thankful for our friendship, but I thought that we could leave it behind. To revisit it one day, if we wanted to. I didn’t want to burden you with a friendship so pressing with its demands just to keep it alive. I thought I gave you a choice. Nonetheless, I’m sorry I didn’t contact you. I wanted to, but each year held me back when you’d gone years without speaking to me. But I believed I was still your friend,” he bends down and holds your hand. “I thought we’d survive despite not a single word being exchanged between us. And I know I’m right. But please be upset, I don’t like you being upset with me.”

You hold his hand, fingers curling around his wrist.

“I’m not mad at you, I understand. Maybe not then, but I do now.”

You give him a genuine smile, and his heart soars.

“So now, you’re back to being my best friend, no takebacks. Or I’ll knock you out.”

“Woah, ease up there. It’s been barely five seconds since we’ve made up and you’re already threatening me?”

“Like I said, I’ll knock you out.”

He immediately moves away from you, hands positioned in a poor imitation of some jiujitsu pose you know he has no idea about.

And you laugh, a childish sound coming from your mouth. He sees you, head thrown back and he feels his lips curling upwards.

You stay there for what feels like hours, catching up. He teases you and you threaten him, and he makes you laugh. You forget the ice cream. It feels just like old times.

When it gets darker, Hyunjin drops you off at your home after saving your number, with promises to meet you tomorrow. You wave him off, beaming.

Later, you stumble into bed with a heavy heart, sad that the evening had ended so soon. You know you won’t get any sleep, and yet you try. When you finally feel like you’re dozing off, your phone vibrates with a notification. Cursing whoever decided to message you without your permission (how dare they, when you were just about to fall asleep?) you unlock it to see a message from an unknown number.

>>>See you tomorrow, Miss Writer.

You smile and type something to send him too.

<<<See you tomorrow, Mr. Hwang.

And he’s the one who’s kicking his feet when he receives your message.

Labels: @straykidsland

© booksndpoetry 2024. All rights reserved. Please do not plagiarise, translate, repost or steal my works in any way. All idols used in this piece are just inspiration to characters. They do not reflect the real people in any way.

[eseongsubs]

wait ur so good at this, what r ur thoughts on sub hoon

First of all thank you so much, you are so kind 😭❤️ and secondly, thank you for asking because I have some thoughts on this I’ve been wanting to share!

It feels like there is little representation of Sunghoon being comfortable with his partner. The most introverted people tend to become outspoken and goofy and maybe even weird when they get comfortable. In theory, Sunghoon is not an exception to the introvert intimacy rule.

I see Sunghoon as a goofy sub, but not in the way of taking intimacy unserious. Rather, he feels anxious and unsure what to say. He flusters himself by making a pun when you’re threading your fingers through his own and making his body all hot.

Sexually though, I would really like to restrain him with my hands. Too much uncoordinated proximity might be less his style, whereas intentional touches can bring him that warmth under his skin that makes him feel wanted. He likes to be fun, and you should kiss him all over while you play with him to tease him out of his shell. The more he loosens up around you, the more he’ll initiate physical contact. His go-to move is playing with your fingertips, inspecting your nails between the pads of his fingers and glancing up at you with those trademark puppy eyes that every Sunghoon Stan knows and loves.

He can be a little bratty, but I believe all subs can have something that makes them be a little bad; just one action or phrase that might make them tick. It’s part of getting to know one another, and Sunghoon is no exception to this rule either.

However, this part here is where his bad boy streak comes in. He is such a beggar, and he can make anyone swoon with that princely face. He knows that too, and will use that to his advantage. He wields his cringey puns and catchphrases and pink lips and round black eyes to suck you into his trap. My imagination believes it would be so cute if that was part of the thrill for him — you wanting him so much that a little tilt of his head can make you crack and give him everything he wants. It certainly makes him feel attractive, and it encourages him to be bolder.

[lovebugism]

hm maybe for blurb you mentioned, some nervous reader about a storm/ reader being shy about having storm insecurities w/Steve?? it’s storming pretty bad where I am so that’s what made me think of it lol

hi, lovely! i also have a pretty bad fear of storms so this is a very self-indulgent fic hahah tw for mentions of parental abuse, not heavily described — the one where steve protects you from a big, bad storm (hurt/comfort, 1.7k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

You’ve always been scared of storms. Maybe thunder most of all.

Thunder was loud, and it shook the walls whenever there was enough force behind it. Sort of like the voices of your parents when they were upset — which they were pretty often. At you, most of the time. 

You hear a crash! rumble in a black sky, and it makes you feel like a child again. You usually did whenever you were frightened. And being a child again was more terrifying than any storm.

Steve knows you hate when the weather gets bad. 

Not because you’ve ever told him as much, but because you shake whenever it rains too hard, trembling like a leaf on one of the trees outside. You tense when it thunders, squeeze your eyes shut when it lightnings.

He doesn’t know how much it really terrifies you — he can’t because you don’t let him see it — but he knows the fear is there.

It’s why it hurts him so bad to leave you when the sky grows dark. 

Gray clouds hang heavy, and the smell of rain swirls in the whipping wind. The wet, earthy scent is so potent that it seeps in through your closed window. Thunder rolls softly in the distance — the promise of a soon storm. 

Steve doesn’t want to leave, but he knows he has to. He opens at Family Video tomorrow morning, and he doesn’t have any clothes at your place. You live pretty far away from town, too. He’d have to wake up before sunrise to swing by his house to get ready. 

You know this. So for his sake and yours, you pretend you’re not as scared as you really feel.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” Steve presses.

He stands just over you, right beside the bed you’re curled up on. He shoves his feet into his already-tied sneakers and looks for any reason not to leave. He peers down at you with glittering honey eyes that swim with concern, bushy brows pinched in a puppy-like worry. 

You muster a wavering smile up at him, half of your face shoved into your pillow. “I’m okay, Stevie. I know you need to go.”

“But I can stay if you—”

“I’m fine,” you assure in a dramatic drawl. “You should go before it gets bad, okay? I don’t want you driving in the rain.”

You meant it. The last bit mostly, though maybe not the first one as much.

You’re just scared of being a burden. It was your fear that made you a bad daughter. You don’t want Steve to hate you the same way your parents did. 

“Okay...” Steve concedes, though his distantly perturbed look only slightly ebbs. “I’ll call you when I get home, yeah? I’ll stay on the phone with you all night. Won’t even make fun of you for snoring, either.”

He says it just to make you smile.

You do, but just barely.

“Okay,” you hum quietly, almost inaudibly, in response.

Steve bends at the waist to press a kiss to your mouth. He rests a wide palm on your arm as you lift your head from the pillow to meet him halfway. Your lips lock with his pink ones in a chaste kiss goodbye. 

Thunder rumbles overhead — a loud clap that shakes the walls of your bedroom.

Steve knew it was coming. He saw the lightning streak purple in the sky just before he kissed you, so it doesn’t scare him as much as it does you. He feels you jolt against his mouth when you tense at the sudden boom. It feels like he’s holding a rock in his hand.

He pulls away from you a few inches, gazing upon your scrunched face and squeezed-shut eyes with his own look of distant horror. His honey-colored stare floods with concern all over again.

His hand on your arm clutches you more intently, a warm reminder that he’s there — much closer than the wretched thunder.

“You okay, babe?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” you promise though the words sound stiff in your mouth. You haven’t relaxed yet. Or opened your eyes. You’re scared of what you’ll see when you do — Steve’s worried face or your mother’s angry one.

“Are you sure?” he presses like he always does. 

He knows many of your responses are automated, like you’ve been coded to shrug him off along with all the fears you keep hidden. It takes a bit of prying for you to be honest sometimes. You can’t open up unless you’re really sure he wants you to.

“Yeah,” you nod, then huff. The sigh tumbles from your mouth in a trembling exhale — distant laughter mixed with distant terror. “That was just… That was really loud.”

“Yeah. It was, huh?”

“I’m good, okay? I’m sorry, I—” You cut yourself off when you open your eyes, finding Steve toeing off the sneakers he only just shoved on. Your brows furrow as your gaze flits up to his. “What are you doing?”

The boy clicks his mouth against his teeth. His sock-clad feet melt into your carpeted floor. “I think I’m gonna stay, actually. As long as you don’t wanna kick me out, that is—”

“No, don’t,” you whine. Not because you don’t want him to stay (because, truth be told, you were praying that he would), but you don’t want him to feel like he has to. “It’s just gonna make you late to work tomorrow.”

Steve shrugs. “Screw work. I don’t care.”

“No, Steve!” you protest. You scooch over to make room for him on your bed, anyway. His larger frame takes up the majority of your mattress. You curl into him despite your fussing. Your legs entwine with his fuzzier ones, your cold feet knocking with his sock-clad toes. You melt into him while you complain, “You can go, okay? I’m fine! Really!”

“Too late,” he dissents as he bounces his shoulder, slightly jostling your cheek resting there. “I’m already comfortable.”

You sigh and tuck your face into his chest. His musky cologne clings desperately to his cotton t-shirt — vanilla and rose and sandalwood. Your left-hand curls into the fabric as you clutch onto him. 

“I just don’t wanna you to think I’m a baby or something,” you confess and rub your burning cheek against his clothed chest. “You don’t have to stay—”

“Stop,” Steve coos. His chest rumbles with the softly spoken word as his fingers rise to your hair. The tips of them massage gently at your scalp. “It’s okay, babe. I promise. I don’t think you’re a baby for being scared of storms, okay?”

“You don’t?” you murmur with a soft pout scrunching your features.

“No way,” he scoffs, the answer obvious to him. “I mean, it’s actually a pretty normal thing to be scared about, babe.”

Your heart stops for a moment — just a blink of a second that makes you feel like you can’t breathe. Your fears have never been validated before now. You were never taken seriously, only punished. They called you weak for letting something so insignificant have so much control over you. 

It made it almost impossible for you to take yourself and your problems seriously. You eventually ended up punishing yourself for them — just like your parents did. All those words they spat at you turned into thoughts that lingered like dark shadows in the back of your head. 

Steve’s turning all that into sunlight, and he doesn’t even know it.

Your chin brushes against the fabric of his shirt when you turn to look at him. You’ve got a slight furrow to your brows that he meets with a lopsided smile. The boy sits propped up against your pillows, his hair wild and his eyes soft.

“You think so?” you murmur.

“Oh. Totally,” he snorts in a laugh. He tilts his head to his shoulder as his brows shoot up. “I mean, it’s more normal than having a deathly fear of quicksand.”

Your brows pinch further. The frown between them deepens when your face contorts in confusion. “Are you implying you’re scared of quicksand?” you mutter with a curious inflection.

His eyes widen at your lack of understanding. “Babe. There is nothing more terrifying than drowning in the ground, okay? And, like, once you’re in it, there’s no getting out! You’re totally stuck!”

You purse your lips to hide the wide smile threatening to take over. Your giggle gets trapped in your throat.

Steve keeps on rambling — one hand cradling the back of your head as the other flails wildly in explanation. “Sometimes, I’ll have these nightmares where I’m, like, getting home from work or something, and I step out of my car, and I’m like, ‘who the hell replaced my driveway with quicksand?’”

Your previously concealed laugh sputters from your mouth like rays of sunshine.

“Don’t laugh!” Steve chuckles, feigning offense, though his soft touch on you never wavers. “I’m being serious!”

“I know you are,” you hum affectionately. “That’s why it’s so funny.”

“Rude,” he grouses with a playful pout. The corners of his pretty pink lips turn downwards, and his bushy brows pinch softly together. Despite his dreadfully sculpted features, he’s still so soft — like a puppy or melted ice cream. You can’t help but take awe in him.

You rise from where you lay against his chest, shifting against your mattress until your face is level with his. The two of you share a single pillow despite its impracticality — noses inches apart, breaths entwining, eyes crossing at the proximity.

You keep one hand beneath your head as your other rises to his face. The scruff of his jaw tickles your fingers as your thumb brushes the warm apple of his cheek. His honeyed gaze dances between both of yours, sparkling with an adoration you don’t feel deserving of. 

“I’m sorry,” you concede with pretty eyes and a gentle smile. “I promise to protect you from any quicksand we happen to stumble upon.”

“And I promise to protect you from all the storms,” he swears with a similar softness that makes you melt.

His eyes turn golden when he smiles at you — the exact color of sunshine. You bask in the flaxen rays, safe and warm. You forget to be scared of the rain.

[immortalmsmoon]

Could I get pls Ren Amamiya x fem!reader, who has problems with hanahaki? (It is a disease in which flowers grow in the lungs of the person you love, and you cough up flower petals and blood in one.)

I'm counting on you, I like your blog very much!!

Hanahaki

A/N: PLEASE I LOVE THIS?? I am so excited to post this this was so fun UGHHGGHH THANK YOU SO MUCH! Also i will be referring to Joker as Ren Amamiya in this one, hope that's ok!!

Ren Amamiya x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Blood, Descriptions of Pain, a little sad, angst, mentions of heart break.

If i missed anything, please let me know!

Wordcount: 1,696

It was a beautiful day, truly, the sky a stunning shade of blue and the clouds fluffy pieces of cotton drifting in the wind. the sun had just begun to set, streaks of pink and orange and pale purple mixing in the the blue that would slowly soften, only to deepen once the moon rose.

The sky was pretty and all, but there was one thing that really stood out to you.

He looked so pretty, the pretty colours of the sky dancing off his glasses and pale skin, and he looked just ethereal. his hair, messy as ever, framed his face so nicely, and that charming smile was out as he spoke to your friends.

you had fallen behind the group a bit, but that didn't matter to you, not when you could look at Ren from where you were without being met with suspicious eyes.

You had liked him for what felt like forever, even though it had been just about a year. you had never said anything though. Not when he made it clear to his closest friends- You, Ryuji, and Yusuke,- that he heart only beat for Ann. it hurt more than it should have, to know that all you were to him was a Friend. But you supposed that was better than being nothing to him.

Your friends called to you from there places ahead of you, and you hurried over to stand by Ren.

"pretty, isn't it?" he murmured to you, Butterflies dancing in your stomach as he leaned down to you to ask the question. all you could do was nod your head in response.

The night ended after you and your friends watched the sun set, and you all hurried to quickly catch the last train before midnight. You and Ren were the last two of your group on the train, and you joked and giggled from your seats in the back of the train, showing each other meme's from your phones, and funny Tweets.

the train ride was short, and soon you were parting ways, waving to him from your door step as he walked off to Leblanc. You stayed on your front step until he was out of sight, and stood there even after he was gone, wondering, if maybe in another universe the two of you could be together, be more than friends. You were quick to shake your head. you had thought these thoughts before, and it only ended with you in a messy heap of blankets and tears.

in the light of the moon you sat on your bed, your face stained with tears. You knew this would happen from the moment you stood out on your front step. your head throbbed as you sucked in a breath, attempting to calm your breathing. something about the pain in your head was different, and it stirred a nauseating feeling into your stomach, and you were quick to stand up, which you quickly regretted.

you placed a hand on your head as you slowly made your way to the bathroom. Could it be the flu? maybe...but you felt fine just hours ago! you navigated through your dark house to your bathroom, and just as you passed the threshold of the door, you felt as if something had stuck to your throat.

you coughed, and felt little movement of whatever had wedged its self into it. you coughed a couple more times, and then finally you felt whatever it was in your mouth. it felt weird. smooth. soft. you spit it out into your sink.

Flower petals.

you had heard of this before. Hanahaki, a disease that sparked from unrequited love. Your thoughts traveled to Ren, his smile, his voice, his hair, and a pain found its way to your chest, right above your lungs. You coughed again, the stinging in your throat almost unbearable.

A dream. This had to be a dream.

Tears found there way down your cheeks, and you took in a sharp breath. You felt an anxious pang in your gut, and a saddend cloud fogged your head. You had known Ren didn't feel the same as you, and you had tried to live in ignorance, and force it from your mind. you spent your days pretending, wishing, that what the two of you had was more than friendship, even if he had explicitly told thats all it was.

A dream. You would go to sleep, and everything would be fine, right?

you ventured to your room, stumbling through the dark, but taking care to not wake up the rest of your family.

Weeks passed and it only got worse as time stretched on. The flower petals started to appear in a higher quantity, and with the flower petals came thorns and leaves. Your throat was sore, the white petals stained red from the blood that the thorns had drawn. Sometimes in the middle of the night, you sat in your bathroom coughing and crying, from the pain of a broken heart, and the stinging of your raw throat.

Today you were supposed to meet everyone. You didn't want to go, your throat so sore talking felt like a chore, but you did anyways.

Leblanc, the cafe Ren lived in was where you all met. It was nice, a rustic looking cafe with a warm and inviting enviroment. You hadn't seen everyone in weeks, you had been taking days off school, saying you were sick, or skipping because you couldn't bear to see Ren.

As you sat at the booth, sipping your drink, Ren slid in beside you.

"It's been a while, hasn't it? i've missed my best friend" he said, tossing you a teasing wink. A pang went through your heart, and you blinked hard, nodding your head, humming in response. You felt a heaviness in your chest as well, and you chose to ignore it. You took another sip of your coffee.

"So....I've been thinking...About Ann."

You felt your stomach drop, your chest tightening.

"I might ask her out"

You felt your chest tighten even more. He continued to speak, and you pretended to listen. Your chest continued to tighten....maybe it wasn't tightening because of what he said. You felt a pressure in your throat, a far to farmiliar. You coughed, covering your mouth, and stood up in an instant. Ren stood up beside you, his mouth moving, but you couldn't hear anything he was saying. Your ears were ringing, your throat sore, as you coughed in an attempt to push out the flowers crushing your lunges.

Chaos had erupted within Leblanc, your group of friends rushing to you, patting your back soothingly, and asking if you were ok. Ren had tried to rub your back, urging you to cough, but it had only made it worse and so you pushed him off. Having finally made it to the washroom, you slamed the door behind you and crahsed to the floor, hacking into the toilet. The petals in your throat felt thicker, sticker, and clung to the inside of your throat more than the other ones had. you continued to cough, feeling it sticking and slicing your throat. you coughed harder, some of your friends trying knocking on the door trying to see if you were ok. you ignored them, focusing more on coughing up the petals. You should have known this would happen. Being with Ren, Being near Ren, hearing his voice, everything about him hurt you, and in the end, it had only made this condition of yours worse.

You finally managed to cough it up. You could feel it in your mouth, scraping along your tongue and the roof of your mouth. a Flower. A full flower. Not just petals. You panted as you held it in your hand, staring at the flower, covered in your fresh blood. The knocking on the door and the calling of voices through it grew louder, and you opened your mouth to respond, but your throat had been scratched so much you didn't think you could speak. blood soaked petals clunge to your cheeks, blood dripping from your mouth and onto your lap.

The door burst open, you friends freaking out at your state. Ann came closer, her hand outstretched, but you moved away from her touch, the blood covered flower curshed in your hand, which caught her eye. her face filled with panic as she finally took in your full state, and let out a cry as she saw the blood coming from your face. you pushed yourself into the corner of the bathroom, dropping the flower, and wipping the blood from your face. it wasn't long before an ambulance was called.

Your doctor told you about it, well elaborated on what you already knew. You would cough up flower petals, more and more until it became a full flower. eventually, it would kill you. that was, unless you got it surgically removed. It seemed like the best option, but as usual, there was a price that must be payed. You would forget ever loving him. You would forget ever loving the glow of his eyes in the sun, and the softness of hands. you would forget loving the deepness of his voice, and the brightness of his laugh. It brought tears to your eyes. you had beat yourself up over loving countless times, but never, not once, did you ever want to forget the feeling of loving him.

But maybe it was for the better, Right? To let go, to move on. Maybe it would be better for you, maybe you would grow into a new person. It was a daunting feeling. You weren't sure if you were ready to let go, to face whatever you would have to without him.

People used to tell you that "Where flowers bloom, so does hope". it was something you mother said frequently, actually. you had lived by it for so long, clinging to the saying, telling yourself that if you lived your life by the day you would bloom too, and that hope and happiness would find its way to you.

You weren't so sure you believed that anymore.

[spitdrunken]

notes: noncon / VERY dubious consent, aphrodisiac potion nonsense

rollo made a mishap during potions class. 

...or so you’ve heard. apparently, he’s straggling around campus, completely oblivious to his surroundings and ignoring anyone who tries to help him. after someone heard him muttering your name on repeat, they decided to request your assistance. when they lead you to the place he was before though, he’s nowhere to be found. 

you end up finding him on your own, alone, having somehow stumbled his way up to one of the lower levels of the belltower. he’s sitting on the floor, hat crooked on his head. his eyes stare into nothing, but his mouth is moving without stopping for even a single moment. you step forward, and the floor creaks. rollo jolts and looks up.

the change is immediate. 

a smile spreads over his face. it’s so wide and without restraint that it looks wrong on his face, a complete disconnect from the rollo you know. he gets to his feet, stumbling and nearly falling back onto his knees. as you rush over to help him and try to get him up, he decides to crash all of his weight against you instead, dragging you to the floor with him. he’s breathing heavily, and mumbling your name on repeat. 

“i finally... finally found you...”

you quickly realise that having rollo on top of you right now is very, very unfortunate. his face is deeply flushed, his irises having morphed from a deep green to a light pink. he wraps both of his arms around you, tightly, presses his face into the crook of your neck, and inhales.

he tries to grind against you, and though you realise what he’s doing, you can’t really feel his cock through the thick layers of his uniform. the metal bell on his chest presses cold and heavy against you. rollo starts to whine in frustration, and you can feel warm tears drip down against your throat. he’s trembling all over, twitching, feverish. suffering. 

maybe you should… 

“rollo, um,” you try to keep your voice steady, secure. at the sound of your voice, he presses his face even closer to your skin. “i’ll… i can help. but you’ll need to let go of me first. can you do that?” his hips don’t stop moving for even a moment. “please? i promise it’ll feel better.” 

that seems to do the trick. rollo doesn’t really move, but he loosens his hold on you to the extent you can gently wrap an arm around him and flip him over. you shift your position until you’re above him on your hands and knees, looking down at him. rollo is a sight to behold. his cheeks are streaked with tears, pupils blown wide and eyes hazy. you run your hand over his forehead. his skin is feverish and slick with sweat.

he reaches for your wrist, and you let him grab it. rollo mumbles something incoherent, before pressing his face against your palm. he presses a kiss to your hand, lingering there for a moment… and then he starts to lick. you try to jolt your hand away on instinct, but his grip only turns crushing. for his sake, you hope he doesn’t remember this encounter. instead of admiring him in his current state, you guess you must fulfill your promise.

you fiddle with his clothes, but don’t manage to get your hand underneath his underwear before he’s desperately grinding against you. with a loud keen, his body seizes, and a wet patch forms underneath your hand. that took less effort than you anticipated. you look up at rollo. you’re expecting the pink to have faded from his eyes, for his expression to have gone slack. 

instead, you only glimpse a glint of eyes that are practically glowing, then sloppy, open-mouthed kisses smother your face. he’s panting even harder, groping and touching without rhyme or reason. touching simply because he can, pure self indulgence. he’s out of it, you tell yourself, it’s not his fault, he is, he is— 

rollo pulls back and smiles wide. “my turn.”

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Thought something funny, that Crewel daughter sort of meet Lilia and kid silver once when she was a kid, and he's the reason why she scared of just fireflies because he try to kidnapped her to be his son bride ( as faes do have a habit to sometimes steal children)

Reason to be in the forest? Helping grandpa gathering elderberries for natural dyes

And he would’ve gotten away with it too if it weren’t for that helicopter father of yours!

Seriously though Crewel’s aware that where your grandparents like to hang out are rumored to have fae-inhabited woods

He has nothing against them 

But he’d be dead five times over if he didn’t leave you with precautions 

Not just for fae but for any creature that should become enamored with his beautiful babygirl

“You have your magic warding pendant?”

“Yes Papa.”

“And your ‘find-home’ bracelet?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“And you know that you can release the dogs-”

“Yes!”

“And when you want them to attack?”

“Fass!”

“To come to you?”

“Hier!” 

“And if they bark what does that mean?”

“That I must return back home as quickly and as safely as possible!”

“Good girl.”

The dogs you get sent with are a literal pack of spots ranging from five to seven dalmations

That orbit around you as you play in nature

Spotting fireflies in broad daylight isn’t necessarily bad and neither is this encounter

…from your point of view

It isn’t bizarre that you meet a child in the forest 

After all you're a magnet for other children anyway

So finding a playmate in a shorter boy with white hair and sleepy eyes are all in a day’s work for you

No concern whatsoever

Now the child? Adult? With pink streaks in his hair that's inching closer to you 

Now that is 

And the dogs will all come closer to you 

no ones going to attack 

Not until he tries to put a light subservient spell on you so you willingly follow him deeper as he carries a sleeping Silver away

But the moment your pendant pings the dogs go off

One latching onto your bracelet purposefully pressing the button another picking you up by your scruff and the others defensively barking and growling

And post-haste Crewel is teleporting from the school or work in order to make sure your okay

It's going to take a lot of convincing to leave you with your grandparents again

And imagine meeting him again at NRC

Silver doesn’t remember Lilia does

“My my isn’t this the hand of fate?”

Maybe this time he won’t have to kidnap you to get a wife for his son

But now that he has loads of time to study your most avid guard dog

He’s sure to be successful this time around

“Isn’t this delightful? Us two, fathers of our own bonding over potions.”

“You’re not going to be her in-law. Not as long as I’m here.”

“Hehe sure sure.”

[omniblades-and-stars]

The Way

Part i. | Part ii. | Part iii.

i.

It starts out simple enough. Respect, admiration, builds brick by little brick.

It's in the way she reaches to shake his hand with a wide grin on her face. "I'll take all the help I can get, Detective Vakarian," she says as they walk out of Dr. Michel's Clinic.

"No problems working with a turian?" He asks.

She brushes vibrant, copper toned hair behind her ear and says, "Not at all. Am I supposed to have a problem working with turians?" As though she's been hiding under a rock since she was born. As though she doesn't know how tense turian-human diplomacy can be at times still. He soon learns that she knows, she just thinks it's very stupid to hold onto grudges from a war she had no part in. She probably has a point.

She always has a point, he learns.

"No … uh, I mean … no." He also soon learns that she has a way of making him trip on his tongue.

It's in the way she leads, always from the front. She is confident, she issues commands with careful consideration. She's slow to reach for her gun, but Spirits, when she does … Well, he's glad he's not on the receiving end.

He's going to have to go to the range and get some practice in. Something about seeing her handle a gun ignites the competitive streak in him. He wants to make sure he's a better shot than her.

Or maybe he just wants to be better because of her.

It's in the way she can be so boastful without being arrogant. She calls herself a biotic bomb. At first, he thinks that smirk as she says it is cocky, and it is. But then he sees her in action. With biotics like that, she doesn't even need a gun. He knows the smirk isn't cocky, it's knowing.

She's earned being cocky, the way she wields the forces of physics themselves. How the air shifts around her body just before she ignites brilliant indigo. The sudden change in air pressure around them as she reaches out to pull an enemy towards them takes his breath away.

Or maybe it's just her that does that.

It's in the way she has time to listen to everyone. She takes time to stop and help mediate petty arguments between strangers, or promise to help people who should probably be asking someone with less saving-the-galaxy on their shoulders. He doesn't understand how she has the patience for it, though, no one has ever accused him of being patient.

And she makes the time to come and check in regularly with the whole crew. Including him. "Shepard, need me for something?"

She playfully pounds the side of her fist against the Mako a couple of times, "Just checking in. What're you doing to the old girl?"

"Adjusting the shock absorbers in the suspension. You really pulled a number on this thing."

That goofy grin of hers spreads across her face, widening her cheeks, and brightening the whole cargo bay. He just knows she's about to make a bad joke. She loves bad jokes. "I like to ride 'em hard and put 'em away wet, Vakarian."

He's not familiar with that particular human idiom, but it sounds like he should be blushing. He's glad turians don't blush as obviously as humans, but he is all warm in the neck. "Help a clueless alien out, what does that mean?" He manages to force his mouth into talking while his brain races to get caught up.

"Only that I'm rough on my gear. Leave it absolutely wrecked when I'm done with it," she says with raised eyebrows and glinting, mischievous, green eyes. He doesn't think she's talking about her gear. Her gear is always immaculate. She laughs at herself so hard she snorts. Which only makes her laugh harder. "Well, don't fuck her up, Vakarian," she says once she gathers her wits again.

"I think that's your job," he quips, earning the surprisingly sharp point of her elbow in his carapace, but she's still smiling as she walks away.

He likes it when she smiles. How it creases in her eyes and she bares her blunt teeth. How it's always accompanied by the darkening pink on her cheeks and nose.

It's in the way she turns fear and terror into something to conquer, not hide from, and the way she doesn't pretend not to be scared. The ground beneath the Mako rocks, and if it weren't for the horrendous, earth-shattering shrieking preceding the explosion of dirt and rock as the thresher maw bursts from beneath, he could pretend it is just a localized earthquake.

"Shit!" She shouts and her hands clench around the steering controls on the Mako. Her eyes dart around, wide and full of anxiety before they stop on him. "Vakarian, trade with me. Keep that thing chasing us. I'm going to send this mother fucker to hell, for Toombs!"

By the end of the fight, she's laughing. The kind of manic, breathless laughter that follows an adrenaline packed close call. She slumps in the gunner's seat, panting. She's smiling, but he can see the shine of tears staining her cheeks. She doesn't try to hide that she's crying.

He finds out who Toombs is a few weeks later. She thought he was dead.

He understands now why she needed to be the gunner. Now, every time they feel that tell-tale rumble, they trade spots without a word. And they laugh together as they narrowly avoid slaughter by horrible, alien worm-monster. Wrex is the only other one who laughs when they do this. The others are usually plastered to their jump seats, pale and nauseous looking as Garrus whips the Mako around, gunning those forward boosters like their lives depend on it.

They definitely do.

Huh, she sure takes him with her on her ground team a lot.

It’s in the way she shows mercy, or tries to, anyways. It kind of drives him crazy, but he respects her for it.

“And so he dies anyway, what was the point of that?”

She holsters her gun and turns, wrapping her hand around his forearm. “It’s on us to try to do the good thing. We can’t control how people like Saleon’ll react to it, but we still have to try. That’s what matters.” She’s looking up at him with somber, tired eyes.

“Yeah … I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, Commander,” he says as her words tumble through his mind, slowly taking root.

“I’m nothing special, Garrus. I put my pants on one leg at a time, just like everyone else.”

She’s wrong about that, about not being special. He’s pretty certain that she puts her pants on one leg at a time. Well, actually, he’s never thought about how she puts her pants on … until now.

He thinks it’s suddenly gotten very hot in there.

It’s in the way she manages to almost always stay positive, even in the face of near constant setbacks. How she reassures everyone, and they believe it, that they’ve got this. “We’ve got him on the run, Garrus. We keep fucking up his plans, we’re going to catch up any day now.” She cocks a teasing eyebrow, “His ship may be scary and look like some horrible squid-finger thing, but mine’s faster. He doesn’t have racing stripes like we do.”

“Racing stripes?”

She bumps her shoulder into him with a laugh, “Yeah, we paint stripes on our racing cars. Makes ‘em go faster.”

That can’t be serious, can it? Sometimes, he really doesn’t understand human humor. She’s watching him trying to calculate, figure out how in the world what she said makes any sense. He can see the slow creep of her smile widening before she bursts into laughter.

“Come on, Vakarian! Where’s your sense of whimsy?”

It’s his turn to laugh. “A turian with whimsy? I may be a bad turian, but I think whimsy might be too far, even for me.”

“Ah, but I did get stuck with the one turian who thinks he’s funny, huh?”

He nudges her back, as they stand side by side, staring at the damage she’s done to the Mako most recently. “You think I’m funny too. Don’t pretend you don’t love my jokes. I hear you laughing.”

She snorts, “Yeah right, those are pity laughs, Vakarian.” She’s blushing. He likes it when she blushes. It spreads like a wildfire, hot on her freckled cheeks, all the way down to her neck.

He wonders how far it goes past that.

He tries to tell her something … but he stumbles on his own words, because for the life of him, he can’t figure out what he means to say. So instead he just says, “Commander, I wanted to thank you.”

“What for, Garrus?” she asks as she looks up at him with those rosy red cheeks and sparkling green eyes.

He panics, because he can’t get his brain to piece a coherent thought together, and because his mouth ran away without him again and he doesn’t remember where he was going to go with this. “For everything,” he says rather lamely. It’s not even enough to convey the gratitude he feels. And it definitely isn't what he means to say.

Why does she make him so nervous?

It’s in the way she handles losing one of her soldiers. “I’m sorry, Kaidan,” she says, gripping the rails on the bridge so tight, she might find a way to bend the space age alloy with her bare hands. “I’m here, keep talking to me.” She stays on the commlink until everything goes to static. He can tell she feels the loss deep in her bones, with the way her shoulders sag, and her jaw clenches. A soldier’s duty is to be willing to die for their military, but she doesn’t throw her people away like cannon fodder.

He’s there when the Council grounds the ship, and she breaks. Her gear locker slams shut right before she drops against it. She slides to the deck, curling over her knees, and she weeps so deeply, he can feel it full in his own chest. “It meant nothing if we can’t stop Saren, if the Reapers come,” she chokes out bitterly.

He crouches in front of her, resting his hand on her back. He can feel the quake in her shoulders, the hitching sobs in her lungs. “We’re going to stop them, Shepard. We’ll figure it out, together.”

They stay like that until she catches her breath and she looks up to him. Her face is red, blotchy, cheeks wet with tears, and some horrible clear goop she calls snot is coming out of her nose. And he doesn’t care. He thinks that he can feel their shared world shift. It feels like she sees him as an equal, not just some underling or subordinate, to let him see her like this.

It feels like maybe she always felt that way about him.

“You’re right. We can’t give up.” She wipes her nose on the sleeve of her fatigues before taking a deep, shaking breath. “Let’s send that Reaper motherfucker to hell, Vakarian. Together.”

“Together.”

It’s in the way she’s victorious. She has Saren cornered and desperate. And somehow, despite everything, she offers him a hand up. Tells him that he can find redemption, that he doesn’t have to be a puppet. Saren doesn’t believe that he can be saved, but it matters that she tried.

Even if the fight after is a horror show. On the list of things Garrus thought he would ever do, having a showdown with the reanimated, robotic shell of a former Spectre was nowhere on it. Wasn’t on anyone’s list, he suspects.

And then it happens. In the midst of one victory, the worst kind of complication rises up. She’s clenching her jaw again as she makes a decision that should not be hers to make. And he doesn’t understand it.

But he respects the hell out of her for it.

The people who say humanity just take and take have clearly never met someone like Commander Shepard. Or her compatriots in the Alliance Navy.

Perhaps they both gave too much, he thinks. But there’s not enough time to dwell on it as pieces of Sovereign fall into the Council Chambers. They make a valiant effort to run from the destruction, but they get pinned down by rubble.

Just as he resigns himself to being stuck beneath some part of the Presidium that definitely should not be on the ground for the remainder of his soon to be short life, light peaks through, and the relieved countenance of Captain David Anderson appears with a hand outstretched.

But where is Shepard? Anderson just shakes his head, looks grim, he doesn’t know.

And then she leaps on top of some warped support beams with her fists on her hips. She’s got that mischievous little smile on her lips.

Because she’s “power posing” (a word for this ridiculous show of muscles and stature that she’s putting on right now.) He half expects her to say something about how they’re all invited to the gun show.

But then the energetic dip into whimsy passes, and she just looks relieved. She hugs everyone there like she was sure they were all dead. They can take a breath. It’s not over, not really. But there’s time to plan, to prepare. Time to grieve the losses later.

He doesn’t understand what he’s feeling about her then, or after. Sure as he is that it’s just pride in a job well done, relief that a friend and comrade lived through such a terrifying battle, and comfort in the knowledge that even if they can’t serve on the same ship anymore, they’ll keep in touch.

Until it happens.

It’s in the way the news robs him of every sense he’s got. It feels like he’s been plunged underwater. His vision is blurry, he can’t breath, can’t hear, and it feels like he’s struggling through a current just to stay standing.

He replays the news video again just to make sure he heard right. And again.

And again.

He knows now what he wanted to say. Knows what he should’ve seen, in the way she made his neck warm, the way her bad jokes (and mostly the bubbling laughter that went with them) brightened up a room. In the way she looked at him and said, “Together.”

It’s in the way he feels off-balance, like nothing in the world will ever be right again.

It’s in the way it gets harder and harder to bear how quickly the Council, and even her own military, want to brush everything under the rug. How they want to pretend there’s nothing to worry about, nothing to prepare for. Sure, she was a hero, but also, she was kind of crazy, right?

It’s means nothing if they can’t stop the Reapers.

It’s in the way he feels like he can’t make a difference from the false safety of the Citadel. How police work just feels like a farce, and maybe it’s always felt like that to him, but it’s even worse now.

It’s in the way he just wants to make her proud. He just wants to take some evil out of the universe while he still can, wants to help people in the only way he really knows how. He doesn’t mean to become a leader, not really, but that’s what it takes. He has an example of leadership to follow, even if she’s not alive to see it in action.

It’s in the way, in the quiet moments when he’s alone, that he chuckles. “Archangel,” he mutters to himself. It makes him laugh because he knows for a fact that if she were still around, she’d ride his ass for that one for days. Maybe for the rest of his life.

He can see it, her hands on her hips as she laughs deep in her belly. “Archangel, really, Garrus? You sound like one of Joker’s comic book characters. You got a costume to go with the name? I’ll commission you some wings. You want feathers or like some robotic, metal situation?”

He wishes she were still here to make fun of him.

It’s in the way he grieves.

It’s in the way he misses her. Thinks he hears her calling his name sometimes. And when he does, it makes the pain surge again and again.

He wonders if it’ll ever feel less like he lost a part of himself too.

It’s in the way he thinks it never will

[sentientgolfball]

Mushy May: Cuteness Aggression

Gonna be real I wasn't planning on doing mushy may because school and writing challenges scare me buuuuuut I was suddenly struck with the mood so here it is :3 Shoutout to @forlorn-crows for the prompts

Can't promise I'll do all the days, but I do have a sweet little Phantrora thing in the works

Word Count: 843

Pairing: Cirtom

Cirrus is going to lose her mind. 

It had been a slow day for her, finishing all of her chores bright and early to have the rest of the day to relax. She had come back to the den around lunchtime, curling up in her nest with lemonade and a strawberry and cream sandwich. She had thrown back her blinds and soaked up the spring sun while continuing a book Mountain had recommended to her. It was nice, peaceful. She hadn’t realized how much time had passed until a sweet scent wafted into her room, catching her attention. 

She had marked her place in her book, pausing in the middle of a paragraph to scent the air, trying to see if she could place the smell. Someone was definitely making some form of pastry in the kitchenette. She stood, cracked her back with a groan and decided to go scope it out. Maybe she’d be able to get a little taste before the rest of the pack returned. 

She assumed she’d walk out there to see Cumulus with flour streaked across her face, brow furrowed as she tried to read and understand what the recipe was telling her. If not her then definitely Swiss would be there shaking his ass to whatever music would be blasting in his headphones while he carefully measures everything out. What she saw when she turned the corner though was so much sweeter than anything she could’ve imagined. 

Phantom is standing with their hands on their hips, head cocked slightly to the right as they stare at the binder with all the pack recipes. There’s a smudge of batter on their cheek and to top it all off they have a cute, pink little apron tied tight around their body. When the timer dings their ears perk up, tail twitching back and forth, and that cute, easy smile returns to their face. Cirrus is going to scream as she watches Phantom carefully take the cinnamon rolls out the oven, cheering quietly to themselves when they see they didn’t deflate. 

When Phantom finally turns, noticing Cirrus standing in the hallway, they shriek. They clutch their chest and take a few deep, steadying breaths. 

“Shit Cir you scared the fuck out of me” they huff a laugh. 

Hearing their voice breaks her spell of paralysis. She smiles wide and soft, walking over to join them in the kitchen. 

“Whatcha doing love bug?” 

“Making cinnamon rolls” they say as they filter around the kitchen, preparing a piping bag to frost the pastries. 

“Any particular reason?” She asks. 

“Dew’s summoning day is coming up yea? I know he likes it when Swiss makes these so I wanted to try it” a small blush creeps onto their face as they give their reasoning. 

Oh, she can barely stand it. The sheepish little way their ears flick, the focus on their face as they frost each individual roll, that fucking apron. She’s losing her mind and all they’re doing is baking. She just wants to squeeze them and shake them and kiss them silly. 

“Tada! They just need to finish cooling and they’ll be done! What do you think Cir?” They turn back towards her, a wide grin plastered to their face. 

She can’t help herself. 

She crowds them back up against the counter, caging them in with her arms. They squeak with the suddenness of it, eyebrows shooting up as they stare at her. Cirrus just laughs and peppers their face in little kisses, nipping playful at their ear. They smell like brown sugar and cinnamon, sweet. They giggle and purr with each press of Cirrus’ lips and her heart just aches. 

“You are the cutest, sweetest fucking thing love bug.” 

“Cirrrr stoooop you can’t just say that” they whine but the smile never leaves their face. 

“Why not?”

Kiss.

“I think I should be allowed to compliment you..”

Kiss.

“Whenever..”

Kiss.

“I want.”

Kiss.

“Especially when it turns you into a little pile of ghoul mush.”

Kiss. 

They’re practically glowing, deep purple blush on the tips of their ears and spilling from their cheeks to their neck. A little bolt of quintessence ripples across their Lichtenberg figure scars and Cirrus laughs. She presses a kiss to their lips, smiling when the sound of their tail beating against the counter reaches her ears. When they part, Phantom grins and kisses the tip of her nose. 

“If you help me clean up I’ll let you have some. These were just a test batch anyway.” 

She swipes the smudge of batter off their face and licks it from her thumb. She chirps when the sweetness hits her, feathers ruffling for a moment before settling back down. 

“Oh, that’s good. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

She places one last big kiss on their cheek with an over-exaggerated ‘mwah’ before stepping back, giving them room to move. 

“Hey, quick question?” 

“Hm?” 

“Where’d you get the apron?” 

“Oh! Cumulus said I could borrow it.” 

Cirrus nods with a hum, “ask her if you can keep it.”