#open petals (answered asks)

[hollypies]

Redrawing/remaking my HLVRAI flowercrown au!! Benrey and Gordon are up first!! (If anyone's curious you can go looking for my old flowercrown au stuff, just be noted its was made four years ago LOL and all the old info is completely irrelevant) click for better quality, tumblr killed it 💀

Up next, Tommy and Gman Coolatta!

In the old version of the plot for this au, it had a lot to do with it being a game and such. However over the years it's changed! No longer a game, instead the Rescas explosion seemed to have had a .. strange affect on Gordon, due to him being right next to it. At least, that's what they all believe at first.

[punkshort]

Have A Good Night

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Every week like clockwork, the same devastatingly handsome man comes into the grocery store where you work to buy flowers. It's not until he asks you out when you realize the flowers aren't for his wife or girlfriend.

Warnings: no outbreak AU, language, flirting, alcohol and food consumption, smut (18+ MDNI), protected piv sex, size kink, shy!joel, fluff, mutual pining, cringy/embarrassing crush interactions

WC: 7.9K

Written for @morallyinept's Flora & Fauna Challenge (masterlist here)

dividers by the one and only @saradika-graphics

It was never roses that he bought. That should have been your first clue.

Every Friday he came through your checkout lane with a beautiful flower arrangement. Sometimes it was lilies, sometimes it was daffodils, but never roses.

He hardly spared you a glance when he slid his card through the machine. Occasionally he would comment about the weather or how busy the store was, but he rarely ever made eye contact.

It wasn't unusual and it didn't offend you. Most customers had other things on their minds and they preferred to get in and out of the store as quickly as possible. But this particular customer, the one with dark hair and eyes, broad shoulders and patchy beard always caught your eye. It was the best part of your week. You never had the nerve to say anything to him, but your friend Andy noticed the way you always got nervous when you saw him standing in line, how your demeanor shifted and your hands shook just a little bit.

He's not wearing a ring, Andy pointed out one day as you counted your drawer. You rolled your eyes.

That doesn't mean anything, you replied. Why else would he be buying flowers?

Then one day, as you scanned your handsome stranger's flowers, you noticed a few of the daisies were wilting.

"Do you want to pick out a different bouquet?" you had mustered up the courage to ask. The store was quiet, no one was lined up behind him. There was a big football game that night and it kept most people at home.

His eyes snapped up to yours and he froze like a deer in the headlights. You raised your eyebrows, waiting for an answer while trying to think if you said something stupid to warrant such a delayed reaction. "A few of these flowers are already dying. See?" You tilted the bouquet in his direction so he could see the flowers with the petals that were turning brown.

"Oh," he finally said, then nodded his head. "Y-yeah, thanks. D'you mind if I just-" he jutted his thumb over his shoulder.

"It's no big deal, I'll wait."

He gave you a crooked grin and disappeared back into the store. The florist department wasn't far from the registers but it was enough time for Andy to lock eyes with you from customer service and give you a look. You rolled your eyes at him and turned back around just as the hot flower guy was returning with a new selection.

"Thanks," he said again once you handed him his receipt. He didn't make a move to leave.

"Don't mention it," you replied, feeling Andy's stupid grin burning into the back of your head the longer hot flower guy stood there.

"Have you worked here long?" he asked after a brief silence that was bordering on uncomfortable. You blinked, taken aback at the random question and tried to ignore your heart fluttering excitedly in your chest.

"Um, just over four years," you replied. His beautiful dark eyes drifted over your face as he nodded and swallowed before looking back down at his flowers.

"You work most Fridays?"

You could feel your cheeks warming up and you wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole. How can someone be embarrassed for being embarrassed? Jesus, you were such a mess.

"Yep," you said, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear and praying he didn't notice how flushed you were.

He rubbed the back of his neck and shifted his weight. If you weren't so absorbed in your own uneasiness you might have noticed he was acting just as uncomfortable as you.

When he opened his mouth to say something else, a middle aged woman pushed her cart up behind him and began to unload her groceries onto the belt. He glanced quickly over his shoulder and nervously swiped his palm over his mouth.

"Have a good night," he told you abruptly, and before you had a chance to reply he was halfway to the front door.

The following week was busier and you lost track of time. Typically, as your shift dragged on, you began to anticipate his arrival but on that particular day, you were distracted. Andy ended up having to help out on another register, it was so busy.

"You wanna come out with us tonight?" Andy asked you over his shoulder. He was closing down the extra register while you were finishing up with a young mom who had her hands full wrangling her toddler away from the candy.

"Uh, yeah, sure," you agreed absentmindedly, lifting the last paper bag into the cart. You tapped a key on your register so she could slide her card through the reader and looked over at Andy. "Where are you guys going?"

"Murray's," he replied immediately, his focus still on counting the coins in the drawer. You rolled your eyes and grinned.

"Why am I not surprised?"

It was well known Andy harbored a huge crush on a bartender there and he had been trying to work up the courage for months to ask for her number.

"Thank you, have a good night," you told the young woman, handing over her receipt with a smile. When you glanced up to greet your next customer, you felt your heart skip a beat when you were met with those dark brown eyes you had grown so enamored with.

"It must be later than I thought," you said, without even thinking twice. Surprise passed over his beautiful features as you scanned his flowers and then your nerves finally caught up with you. "I-I mean, you usually come in around the same time every week," you explained hurriedly. Andy was smirking at you from behind hot flower guy's broad shoulder and you made a mental note to punch him later.

"I didn't realize you noticed," he replied after he cleared his throat.

Oh, you idiot. You could tell you made him uncomfortable with your comment and you just prayed he didn't figure out you had been lusting after him all these months with the little observation you made.

"You always pick out the best flower arrangements, it's hard not to," Andy piped up. Relief flooded your veins for the save. Maybe you should rethink that punch. "Must be one lucky girl," he added with a mischievous wink in your direction before picking up the drawer and walking towards the office, leaving just the two of you with Andy's loaded comment hanging heavy in the air.

He took his time pulling his credit card out of his wallet, wracking his brain for something to say. His cheeks dusted with pink the longer he took to formulate a sentence.

"So... Murray's, huh?" he asked, cringing inwardly at the stupid question as he swiped his card.

You blinked, confused at the change in topic until it clicked. "Oh, yeah. He drags a bunch of us out after work sometimes because he's got a thing for a girl who works there." You gave the man behind hot flower guy a smile as he unloaded his groceries on the belt.

Your handsome stranger froze, his hand still holding the receipt midair while the gears turned in his head.

"So, you two aren't-"

"Oh, sorry, excuse me," the customer behind him mumbled when he accidentally bumped into him with his cart.

"Have a good night," you told him with a sweet smile, then quickly turned away, hoping your hair would hide your embarrassment.

"I am not playing darts with her! Don't you remember last time? She almost took my eye out!"

"Oh, shut the fuck up!" you laughed, shoving Courtney, another co-worker of yours, in the shoulder. There were only five of you that night, Courtney being the only other girl in your group, but you were fine with that. Over the past few years you all bonded over the shared trauma of nasty customers and terrible management to the point where you were like family, and nights where you blew off steam only brought you closer together.

"Anyone need anything? I'm heading up," Andy shouted over the live band.

"Didn't you just get a water a minute ago?" you teased, knowing full well he was looking for an excuse to talk to the bartender.

"What can I say? I'm thirsty," Andy replied with a smirk before pushing his way through the crowd to get to the bar.

"When the hell's he just gonna ask her out? We've been coming here for months," Courtney said, turning away from the bar to look at you. You took a sip from your mixed drink and shrugged.

"Probably for the best. You know if he makes things weird then we'll need to find a new spot to hang out."

She giggled and winced when the band began to sing Journey off-key. "God, these guys are... not it."

"I think it's the owner's way of making us drink more!" James shouted from across the table, the four of you dissolving into laughter. He had a good point because your drink was nearly empty.

"Why didn't you just have Andy get you one?" Courtney asked when you slid down from your barstool.

"If I did, there was, like, a one percent chance he would bring it back to me within the hour," you told her, nodding towards Andy setting up shop against the bar, his eyes trailing after the cute bartender.

It took several minutes but you were finally able to wedge yourself between other patrons and secure a refill of your drink, but when you turned around to walk back to your table you nearly ran right into someone's chest.

"Oh! Sorry, I - " your eyes widened when you tilted your head up to find those familiar brown eyes staring down at you. "It-it's you!" you finally said as the shock began to wear off. He gave you a lopsided grin and nodded.

"Joel," he offered, sticking his hand out. Joel. Joel. Joel. You rolled his name around in your head like a ping pong ball. It suited him.

You took his hand, his long fingers dwarfing yours. "I'm-"

Then he cut you off and said your name and once again, you struggled to keep the shock from your face. "Your nametag," he explained, letting your hand go and gesturing towards his own chest where a nametag would sit. "I remember."

"Yeah," you said breathlessly with a smile. You glanced around the room while people shoved past you to get to the bar. "What are you doing here?"

His smile faltered a bit and he rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't live too far. Had the night to myself so I came out with my brother. He's over there," Joel pointed to the opposite corner of the bar but it was impossible to see him through all the people.

"Oh, cool," you nodded and took a sip from your glass. His eyes drifted to your lips, getting lost in the way they puckered around the straw. "Do you guys come here a lot?"

He chuckled and dropped his chin shyly to his chest before shaking his head. "No, um," he cleared his throat and looked back up at you. "Was hopin' I would run into you, actually."

"Me?" you squeaked and your heart began to race. He nodded and grinned.

"Yeah. Wondered if maybe you'd-"

A huge, burly man who definitely had too much to drink shouldered past you, accidentally shoving you into Joel's chest. His arms immediately wrapped around your ribs to steady you and somehow you didn't spill anything on his clothes.

"God, I'm sorry," you mumbled, his scent making you dizzy. You always had a register between you. Never before had you been that close, noticing he smelled like he had just gotten out of the shower and it was instantly overwhelming.

"It's alright," he said, his arms still loosely wrapped around your midsection. "But I gotta get this out before I lose my nerve, darlin'."

Darlin'. Your brows furrowed and before you could reply, he spoke. "I wondered if you wanted to go out on a date sometime? Maybe a movie or somethin'? I know you work alotta nights but I -"

"You want to go out with me?" you asked in disbelief. He looked at you like you had two heads.

"'Course I do. Wasn't it obvious?" he could feel the heat creeping up his neck.

"No! I thought... nevermind, it doesn't matter," you told him, a smile pulling across your lips. "Yes, I would love to. God, if you only knew-" you stopped yourself by slapping your hand over your mouth and he quirked a playful eyebrow at you but he was too excited that you agreed to go out with him to ask you to finish your thought. He handed you his phone as you shakily typed in your number, hoping your trembling fingers didn't mess it up before giving it back to him.

"I'm gonna text you tomorrow, set somethin' up, yeah?" he asked and you nodded numbly, your mind reeling as you tried to process everything that was happening. He grinned and slid his phone back into his pocket. "Have a good night," he said, the familiar phrase making you smile before disappearing into the crowd.

"Um, who the hell was that?" Courtney questioned the second you arrived back at your table.

"I need a fucking shot first and then I'll tell you, holy shit," you said, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves with no success. She laughed and got you each tequila shots, then you spent the rest of the night telling her all about Joel the hot flower guy.

The next morning, you paid for your crimes. Your head throbbed and your mouth was dry as sand as you stumbled into your bathroom to scoop water from the faucet, desperately trying to quench your thirst. You weren't normally a huge drinker, but after your run-in with Joel, you were so nervous that you found yourself tossing back a few extra drinks than normal. Fortunately, you didn't work until late afternoon, so after you fumbled around your cupboards for some crackers, you fell back into bed. Your eyes widened when you saw a missed text from an unsaved number an hour ago.

Hey, it's Joel. It was great running into you last night. I was thinking we could go to dinner this week, if you're still up for it. What nights are you free?

"Shit," you muttered, running a hand anxiously through your hair. Now that you were sober, the prospect of seeing hot flower guy outside of work made you inexplicably nervous.

You must have typed out and deleted fifteen responses before going with I would love to! I'm free Sunday, Monday and Wednesday nights. Or we could do something after I get out of work, we close at nine.

Did you sound too desperate? You chewed on your fingernail as you read your sent text over and over, then shrugged and put your phone down. Too late now, anyway.

It took a while to get his response, but to be fair, you didn't reply to him for an hour.

I can make Sunday work.

Sunday? As in, tomorrow?

"Oh, fuck," you groaned, fully not expecting him to set something up so quickly. You needed time to mentally prepare, but of course you agreed, then quickly texted Courtney, begging for her help on what to wear and how to do your hair.

Yay!! We can talk about it at work tonight!

After you ironed out a time and restaurant with Joel, you popped two pain relievers and chugged some water, hoping to get rid of your hangover before work.

"Okay, so where's he taking you?" Courtney asked excitedly as you stocked cereal together.

"This Italian place on Westwood. Here, I looked it up," you said, pulling out your phone and showing her the menu. "Have you been there before? What do I wear?"

She squinted at your screen and shook her head. "I haven't been there but we can figure this out. It doesn't look that fancy, but you should probably wear a dress or skirt."

"Ooo, do you finally have yourself a date?" Andy asked from halfway down the aisle, clearly overhearing part of your conversation. "Hot flower guy is going to be so disappointed."

You laughed and pocketed your phone. "It's with hot flower guy," you said triumphantly. Andy's eyes bugged out of his head, confused, until you and Courtney explained what happened the night before when he was busy staring at the bartender.

"You should have told me last night! So I guess that means he really is single."

You paused and cocked your head to the side, realizing all of the sudden you still didn't know why he bought flowers every Friday.

"Uh, yeah, I guess so," you replied, turning your attention back to the cereal. Andy and Courtney exchanged worried glances behind your back.

"I'm sure he's not stupid enough to buy flowers from you for another woman every week and then ask you out," Courtney said, glaring at Andy. He cleared his throat and nodded.

"Y-yeah, I mean, maybe they're for a grave or something."

You both turned to him and gave him an incredulous look.

"Hey, I'm just trying to help," he said, throwing up his hands and walking away. You bit your lip and glanced at Courtney.

"Don't worry about it. There's tons of reasons why guys would buy flowers weekly... maybe he just likes to have fresh flowers in the house. Maybe they're for his mom!"

"Yeah, good point. I bet they're for his mom," you agreed, feeling a little better as you ripped open the next cardboard box full of cereal boxes.

When you woke on Sunday morning, you were already nervous. You could have sworn your heart was slamming in your chest from the moment you opened your eyes, already overthinking your date with Joel.

You spent the afternoon texting Courtney pictures of outfits you hauled out of your closet and tossed on your bed, then decided you needed to try them on for her to get the full effect. You were sitting on your bed, wearing a light blue sundress, the last outfit you had tried on as you gathered your pictures. Your thumb quickly tapped all of the photos of you modeling your options and typed out what one looks the best? then hit send.

As you were unzipping your dress and sliding it down your legs, you heard your phone ping from your bed. You hung up the dress and pulled your sweats back on before reaching for your phone, hesitating when you saw Joel's name pop up. You felt a pit in your stomach, worried that he came to his senses and was asking to cancel, so you sat down on the bed before sliding your thumb over the screen to open his text.

You look great in everything, but I really like the pink one.

Your palms instantly broke out into a sweat and you felt lightheaded.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no," you mumbled, scrolling up in your text chain before cursing and throwing yourself into your pillows to scream. In your rush to send your text, you accidentally sent the pictures to Joel instead of Courtney. You waited until you got your bearings and tried to convince yourself it wasn't really that bad, that it definitely could have been worse, before replying.

Ha, sorry. I meant to send those to a friend, but if you like the pink one, then I guess that answers my question

You stared down at your phone, anxiously waiting for his answer, which didn't take very long at all.

You could wear a paper sack and you would still look beautiful.

The grin that stretched across your face was massive. He was probably just sweet talking you and trying to make you feel better about making such a stupid mistake, but damn, it worked.

Looking forward to tonight :) you said in response, then bit your lip and flung yourself backwards on your bed. Your eyes drifted to the light pink dress hanging in your closet and you smiled.

As it turned out, the Italian restaurant was owned by Joel's brother, Tommy. You met the younger man at the host stand when you walked in the door. He had a huge grin plastered across his face and although you were an only child, you could still tell when someone was itching to tease their sibling. Tommy's eyes flickered back and forth between you and Joel, silently communicating with his brother as you introduced yourself. You managed to catch Joel shooting Tommy a warning glare before nervously resting his hand on your lower back and guiding you through the restaurant to an empty booth in the back.

"Have I told you how beautiful you look?" Joel asked, his dark eyes sparkling even under the dim mood lighting. You giggled and shyly looked down at your lap.

"A couple times."

Joel smiled warmly and leaned forward, his eyes trailing over the soft curves of your jaw and the way your plush lips stretched when he made you smile.

Before the food arrived, you learned a little more about him. He worked in construction, doing mostly residential but some commercial property work. He was trying to go into business for himself, which he told you was difficult but he already had years of experience and contacts in the area. He preferred to do most jobs himself or with as little help as possible because he only trusted his own work, but sometimes he did hire Tommy for a job to help his brother earn extra money.

"And in return, he lets me eat here for free," Joel finished, wiping the small smudge of red sauce from the corner of his mouth.

"That sounds like a win-win," you joked, and Joel chuckled.

"Tell me 'bout yourself. You said you been workin' at the store for four years?"

"Yeah," you nodded, pushing your empty plate to the side. "It's just meant to be temporary. I'm going to community college three days a week. Trying to get my degree so I can get a job with normal hours."

Joel hummed and leaned back in the booth. "What'dya wanna do?"

You shrugged. "I'm not sure, really. Hoping I figure that out as I go. I just know being a cashier for the rest of my life isn't for me, you know?"

"Yeah, sure," he agreed. "I could ask 'round if you want. Maybe some place is hirin' a receptionist or somethin'?"

"Oh, it's okay," you waved him off with a smile. "I appreciate it, though."

Afterwards, he took you for ice cream. You sat together outside the ice cream stand on a bench. The temperature outside was perfect and the place was mobbed. Kids ran around playing tag while other families gathered around picnic tables, laughing and telling each other about their days while you tried not to stare at Joel licking his ice cream and fantasizing about what that would look like between your legs.

"I wouldn't've pegged you for a strawberry girl," he said, nodding towards your rapidly melting ice cream.

"It reminds me of when I was a kid. My grandma liked to take me out for ice cream when she babysat me and strawberry was her favorite."

He smiled, listening to you talk about your family, getting a brief glimpse into your life, leaving him wanting more.

You thought everything was going so well. The date went perfectly. There wasn't as much awkwardness as you originally thought there would be and Joel was very easy to talk to. So when he dropped you off at your door and you invited him inside, you were surprised and somewhat hurt when he declined after a quick glance at his watch. He only kissed your cheek before telling you have a good night and backing out of your driveway, leaving you confused and a little self-conscious.

"He's probably just a gentleman," Courtney assured you the following day, "wants to take things slow and all that."

And you agreed. Once you had time to process everything, that seemed like exactly what it was, and you began to feel better.

But then Joel took you on a second date, and then a third, and he still hadn't tried to kiss you or make a move whatsoever.

"Maybe he's just rusty," Courtney offered after the fourth date and still finding yourself being shot down. "He wouldn't keep going out with you if he didn't like you."

Once again, Courtney made sense and you agreed he just liked to take things slower than you were used to.

But on your fifth date, where he took you to a baseball game, you misjudged the size of the beers they sold and you found yourself tipsier than you expected. Joel seemed really into the game but turned his focus on you whenever you searched for it, which, as the night wore on and the alcohol buzzed in your veins, became more and more frequent. You would ask him questions about how the game was played, even though your father watched baseball your whole life, just so you could listen to him talk. You looped your arm through his when the game was over and you both shuffled out of the stadium with a whole herd of drunk fans, back out into the parking lot. You tightly held onto his bicep, the feeling of his muscles under you fingertips more intoxicating than the beer, as he escorted you to his truck.

On the drive back to your place, you could feel your confidence building. Maybe he's just shy and doesn't know how to make a move. Maybe he just needs a clearer sign. Maybe he's waiting for you to make a move.

So, when he walked you to your door and he leaned in to kiss your cheek, you turned your face at the last second and locked your lips with his.

You could feel his surprise when your lips met. He froze and stopped breathing as he tried to figure out what to do, so you decided to make things easier for him and draped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and massaging your lips over his, urging him to reciprocate.

And finally, his hands flew up to your waist and tugged you against him. His mouth began to move and he crowded you up against your door. When your back made contact with the wood and his large palms squeezed gently at your hips, you moaned into his mouth. You had been dying for this for weeks and you would be damned it you were going to let it stop too soon.

Without even asking this time, you reached behind you and fumbled with your doorknob, twisting it blindly without breaking the kiss so you could both stumble inside. He kicked the door shut behind him, tongue licking at the seam of your lips while he brought one of his hands up to cup the back of your head. You granted him access, parting your lips and tangling your tongues together as he continued to walk you backwards. He opened his eyes and glanced around the dark living room quickly before pulling away and whispering one word: bedroom?

The way he said it made your knees weak and your heart flutter excitedly in your chest. You pulled him down for one more kiss before grabbing his hand and practically dragging him down the hall. About halfway to your room, his lips latched onto the crook of your neck and you slowed down, closing your eyes and twisting around in his arms so you could kiss him again. He pinned you against the wall with a groan, his thumb and forefinger clutching your jaw, prying it open so he could devour you. You hooked one leg over his hips and he let go of your jaw so he could grab the backs of your thighs and haul you off the ground.

You tugged at his hair impatiently, then gasped when he ground himself against your core, your body jolting in his arms and knocking a canvas print off the wall.

"Shit," he muttered, barely sparing the picture a glance before peeling you off the wall and carrying you towards your bedroom with your ankles hooked together at his lower back. You giggled against his mouth then squealed when he tossed you onto your bed. His hands glided underneath your dress and up your legs, slipping his fingers around the the waistband of your panties and tugging them down, pausing once he got to your knees. He blinked a few times like he was snapping out of a stupor and glanced up at you.

"Is this okay?"

"God, yes," you said, reaching behind you to tug at your zipper. You tried to shrug off your dress but his lips found yours and you quickly got distracted. You nibbled at his bottom lip while simultaneously tugging at the hem of his shirt, pushing it up over his soft stomach and stopping at his broad shoulders. He broke away just long enough to lean back and toss the shirt over his head and he was back on top of you before you could even drink him in.

You dragged your mouth over his chin, biting and nipping as you went. He groaned as you left open mouthed kisses across his jaw, his prickly beard tickling your tongue. "My dress," you whispered against his cheek before mouthing at the skin there, "take it off."

His palms slid over your shoulders, pushing the straps of your dress down while you wiggled a bit, helping move the fabric down your body. You arched your back so he could pull your dress all the way off, his breath getting caught in this throat when your nipples brushed against his bare chest.

He couldn't resist. When your dress was discarded on the floor, he sat back between your legs to admire your naked body, completely transfixed. Too much time had passed without him saying anything and you grew self-conscious, so you slowly began to cross your arms over your chest, but he stopped you.

"No," he rasped with a shake of his head. "You're so beautiful, just wanna look at you another minute."

Your cheeks flared with heat but you dropped your hands and gazed up at him, watching his eyes flicker excitedly over your body, memorizing every curve and freckle he could find. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a twitch in his pants and you glanced down at the outline of his cock through his jeans. You bit your lip and he followed your gaze, palming his erection briefly before undoing his pants.

"Oh," you whispered to yourself when you saw his cock spring free. He wrapped his hand around his thick shaft and glanced up at you as he crawled back up the mattress on his knees. "You're big," you added, unable to look away. He blushed but didn't reply. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed you, this time slower. You shuddered in anticipation when you felt the tip of his leaking cock brush against your pussy and he froze.

"Shit, wait," he grumbled, sitting back on his heels before reaching for his wallet, which was still stuffed inside his jeans. You figured out the problem and leaned over to your nightstand, fishing around in the drawer until you found a condom and held it out for him. He looked relieved when he saw the little foil square and tossed his wallet back onto the ground before ripping open the condom and rolling it on.

"Sorry. It's... been a while. Wasn't exactly prepared," he explained, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. The endearing confession just made you want him even more.

"It's okay, come here," you murmured, reaching your arms out for him. He grinned and fell down onto his elbows, kissing you slow and deep. When you felt him rest his tip at your entrance, you tensed up.

"Relax," he whispered in your ear. You slid your eyes shut and snaked your arms around his shoulders, gasping sharply when he pressed forward. When he sunk his teeth into your shoulder, your eyes rolled to the back of your head, the pain mixing with the pleasure in a way that made you dizzy.

"Oh, fuck, Joel," you whimpered when he bottomed out, your body stretching around his girth, the sting setting your nerves on fire.

He groaned against your neck and began to rock his hips steadily, making sure to not go too fast. He could tell you were still getting adjusted but it had just been so fucking long and he liked you so much, it was difficult to hold back. He could feel the sweat collecting between his shoulder blades as he focused all his energy on going slow, and when he felt your thighs relax around his waist and your back arch underneath him, he sighed with relief.

"More," you moaned, pressing your body against his, trying to get as close as possible. He growled and dipped his mouth down to capture one of your nipples, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud, releasing it with a wet pop and reveling in the sweet noises you made for him.

He wanted to tell you everything. He wanted to tell you how much he thought about you, how long he wanted to ask you out, how he wanted to know everything about you, how nervous you made him with just a simple glance. But he didn't say any of that. It had been so long since he had gone on a date that he wasn't even sure what women liked anymore. So he remained silent, focusing on not coming too soon while paying close attention to your cues, memorizing what you liked based on the breathy whines in his ear and the way your fingers clutched frantically at his hair. You, however, took his silence to mean he wasn't enjoying himself and you really, really didn't want that, so you pushed gently on his shoulder, drawing his attention.

"Let's switch," you murmured, and he gave you a quizzical look. "Why don't you lay back and let me do some of the work?" you explained, nipping playfully at his jaw.

When his head settled into your pillows, watching with heavy lidded eyes as you straddled him before catching his gaze and slowly sinking down, taking every inch of his cock with a low moan, he thought for sure it would be the death of him. You looked so beautiful all spread out and full of him that he had to squeeze his eyes shut so he wouldn't come just looking at you.

Then you started riding him and his eyes flew open, his chest heaving as he watched your tits bounce and your head tip back in ecstasy and he knew he was done for.

"Wait," he rasped, grabbing your waist and stilling your hips. You stopped, swollen lips parted as you panted for air and looked down at him.

"What's wrong?"

"N-nothin'," he stammered, taking a few deep breaths in before chuckling. "I'm just... I need a minute, is all."

You could see the red beginning to stain his cheeks and the look of embarrassment flicker across his face, melting your heart. Leaning down, you cupped his jaw and kissed him tenderly.

"Is that why you've been so quiet?" you asked softly, leaning back so you could look into his eyes but still holding his cheek in the palm of your hand. He nodded, his fingers gently wrapping around your wrist.

"I'm sorry. I haven't been with anyone in years and I've been tryin' to take things slow with you but I think all the buildup just made it worse." You grinned and took his other hand.

"Don't be sorry. I think it's hot," you whispered, pulling his free hand down between your bodies. He splayed his hand out across your lower abdomen and you took his thumb between your fingers, pulling it down so it made direct contact with your clit. You sucked in a sharp breath when you felt the pressure and a slow smile spread across his face when he realized what you were doing.

"Yeah? Why's it hot?" he asked, drawing slow circles over your clit and watching your jaw fall open and your eyes flutter shut. Both your hands dropped to his chest, holding yourself up.

"Because," you began, then bit your lip and moaned when he picked up the pace. "Because it's l-like you c-can't control yourself. Like y-you need me so badly, you can't hold back." You knew it sounded pathetic but you didn't care. His touch was intoxicating and you needed more.

"I can't," he admitted, his eyes glued to your face, taking pride in how good he made you feel. "I can't control myself. Wanted you for so long. Been thinkin' about this for months."

You gasped and your eyes snapped open, locking onto his. "Me, too. I never thought, shit, never thought you noticed me."

"Are you kiddin' me? I noticed you the first day." Now that the truth was out there, the words wouldn't stop coming. "You were wearin' a yellow shirt and I saw these perfect fuckin' tits when you bent over. Went home that night and-"

He stopped himself, wondering if he was going too far, but you dug your fingers into his chest and urged him to continue, desperately gasping for air as his thumb applied more pressure.

"Say it," you whispered. His cock pulsed angrily inside you, begging for release.

"Went home and fucked my fist thinkin' 'bout you."

You groaned loudly and leaned back, grabbing your breasts and playing with your nipples. "Fuck, I'm close, Joel."

"Yeah? Can you ride me, baby? Wanna come with you," he begged, his voice strained. Immediately, you resumed bouncing on his cock, letting go of your tits so you could brace yourself on his chest once again.

He watched in awe as you gasped and squeezed your eyes shut, stilling for just a moment, pulsing around his length as you came, his name and curses tumbling from your lips.

He couldn't hold back any longer.

He grabbed your hips with both hands and slammed up into you, grunting louder and louder each time. And it didn't take long. You had barely recovered from your own orgasm before he groaned, his eyes trained on where you were connected, thrusting as deep as he could go while his cock throbbed inside you.

"Fuck," he whispered, his head falling back limply onto your pillow. You slumped forward and buried your face against his neck, each of you trying to regulate your breathing.

"That was..." you began, trailing off when you realized your brain was still a pile of mush.

"Better than I ever imagined," Joel finished for you, wrapping his arms around your ribs.

Regrettably, he eventually pulled out, making you both wince. You rolled over onto your back and watched as he made his way to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. If you had any energy left, you might have shot off a quick text to Courtney, but you were barely coherent by the time he slipped back into your bed.

You didn't even need to ask if he was staying the night. He pulled you into his arms, his chest pressed up against your back when you fell asleep, completely at ease.

It could have been the beer or the sex, but you didn't hear his phone go off in the middle of the night. You didn't feel him slip his arm out from under you so he could answer the call in your living room, and you definitely didn't hear him quickly dress and leave.

It was finally Friday and you were moments away from calling off from work. The thought of facing him again made your stomach roll and your head swim.

You hadn't heard from Joel since he left in the middle of the night after you slept together, days ago. You foolishly texted and called him multiple times, but he never answered. Eventually, you got the message.

Countless hours were spent crying, then more were spent stalking around your place angrily, and a mixture of the two happened at work when either Courtney or Andy asked you about hot flower guy.

They eventually learned not to ask.

As badly as you wanted to call off, you dragged yourself into work. Andy offered to take over the registers so you could hide in the aisles stocking shelves during the hour Joel typically showed up, and you shamefully took him up on it. But when it was close to closing time and you made your way back to the front, Andy shrugged his shoulders.

"He never came."

You had a moment where you worried that something happened to him and you considered texting him just one more time, but when you got into your car that night and opened your text chain to a long list of unanswered texts, you changed your mind.

However, the next morning you awoke to a handful of texts from Joel. At first, your heart raced in your chest, but then your anger crept up and you had half a mind to just delete them. After you had some coffee and a chance to think clearly, your curiosity won and you opened the texts.

I'm so sorry

Something came up

Can you call me back?

Please let me explain

Your fingers hovered over your screen as you debated on what to say. Then you decided to leave the messages unanswered. At least for a little while. If he left you hanging for almost a week, he could wait a few hours, right?

What you didn't expect, however, was for him to show up at the store on a Saturday. He only ever came on Friday evenings. You were cashing out a customer, zoning out a bit, grateful for the distraction. When you reached for the receipt, your eyes locked with his and your pulse began to race. He was holding a bouquet of white roses and looking at you with a guilty expression. Your fingers froze around the paper momentarily until the little old lady in front of him cleared her throat and you blinked, snapping out of it and handing her the receipt with an apologetic smile.

"Hey," he said, but you kept your gaze trained down at the scanner.

"Hi."

Your hands shook as you scanned his flowers, doing your best to get the interaction over with as quickly as possible. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Andy at customer service notice Joel in line, watching from a distance in case you needed rescuing.

"You didn't respond to my texts," he said quietly. You shrugged.

"I've been busy," was all you said, tapping the button on the register for credit.

After he paid, you handed him his receipt and forced yourself to look at him. You could see in his eyes he looked exhausted and run down and despite how upset you were, you felt bad. But you felt even worse after he pocketed the receipt and handed you the flowers.

"They're for you."

"Oh," you said, surprised, as you looked down at the roses. "T-thank you."

Joel looked over his shoulder when a young couple began to unload their groceries on the belt. You panicked, not sure what to do or say, and then you felt a tap on your shoulder.

"Why don't you take your break?" Andy offered, "I'll cover."

You gave him a shaky smile, both of you knowing full well you already had your break. "Yeah, okay." Glancing over at Joel, you tilted your head towards the front door and he nodded.

"I'm so sorry I left without sayin' anythin'," he began when you sat down together on a bench outside the store. "There was an emergency and I had to go."

"You could have texted me or left a note," you said sadly, looking down at the flowers clutched in your hands.

"I know, and I was gonna, but my damn phone died and I was in the hospital for days. I was outta town, couldn't leave, I even wore the same clothes the whole time," he rubbed his face and sighed. "And once we got back home, I wanted to explain in person what happened."

"We?" you questioned. He dropped his chin to his chest and nodded solemnly.

"I have a daughter," he confessed, and your jaw dropped in surprise.

"W-what?" you whispered softly, "why didn't you tell me, Joel?"

His eyebrows pinched together, still avoiding your gaze.

"I don't know. In the past, women haven't exactly been thrilled findin' out I come with baggage and I guess I was bein' selfish." He finally looked up and you could see the pain behind his eyes. "I was tryin' to find the right way to tell you but I was so scared of losin' you."

You shook your head in disbelief. "It doesn't bother me at all that you have a daughter, Joel," you told him, "it bothers me that you lied."

He inched forward on the bench and put his hand on your knee. "I know. I'm so sorry. It was stupid. If you gimme another chance, I promise I'll never lie to you again."

Your chest tightened and you had to look away. He was so sincere, you could feel your resolve crumbling. After a moment, you dragged your eyes back up to him and you could swear he looked like he was on the verge of tears.

"Is she okay?"

He blinked rapidly for a moment, surprised by your question, then nodded.

"Yeah. She's okay now. She had appendicitis. She was with her mom last week. She lives an hour outside Austin and I just went right there from your place. Scared the shit outta me," he finished with a dry chuckle. Then something clicked.

"Your daughter..."

"Sarah."

"Sarah," you repeated. "The flowers you bought every week. Were they for her?"

He smiled shyly and nodded. "Yeah. She gets nervous goin' to her mom's still. The situation is a little rocky so I always get her flowers. Whether she's goin' there or comin' back. They make her smile," he said with a little shrug, and your heart melted.

"That's... that's really sweet," you said, looking down once again at the roses he bought you. He watched you closely for a moment then sat back on the bench, scratching his chin and trying to read your mind. Everything was out in the open now. He should have listened to Tommy and just told you the truth from the first date, but he couldn't remember the last time he ever felt so strongly about someone else before.

Just when he was about to leave, wanting to give you your space to think things over, you spoke again.

"So when are you free next?"

Joel exhaled in relief, then laughed. "Tomorrow?"

You bit your lip and nodded, then leaned forward and cupped his jaw, giving him a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"It's a date," you whispered before standing up. He watched you from the bench as you walked towards the front doors. At the last moment you turned around, the white roses clutched against your chest, and called out, "have a good night."

He grinned.

"Have a good night."

[fcthots]

You’re sitting on the couch of your shared apartment when Jason climbs in through the window, finally done with patrol. His entrance makes you look up from your phone. He reaches up and tugs his helmet off. His hair looks a little funny, but it also made him look good. He didn’t need the ego boost though. You can tell he had an eventful patrol by the smile on his face.

He walks towards you and drops his hand onto your arm. He lets it slide down until his hand rests on yours. He pulls your hand to his lips in greeting. “Hey, princess.” He squeezes your hand before giving it back to you.

“How was patrol?” You watch as he strips off his outer layers of gear. The display never gets old.

“Good.” He laughs. “But I have got to tell you what happened. Red Robin, Tim, smacked into Red Robin, the restaurant. It was completely by accident too. I begged Babs to get me the camera footage. She’s searching as we speak.”

You laugh at his enthusiasm and the way he laughed before he even finished the story. You ask him questions, he answers them. It continues until he goes to take his shower.

You turn back to your phone. This is where it all goes wrong, because you see a post that ruins your day. It reads, “the first time most men receive flowers is at their funeral.”

Evil. Illegal. Unacceptable. Had you really never given Jason flowers before? You swore you did but your memory came up empty. By the time you finished your existential flower crisis, Jason finished showering and called you to bed. He’s exhausted and falls asleep quickly. You, however, stay awake and plan. You will get the love of your life flowers. You will not let the first time he receives flowers to be at his funeral. You fall asleep trying to decide what flowers he would like best.

You wake up before him, getting up as gently as possible. If he wakes up with you, he’ll trap you for cuddles in his huge beefy inescapable arms, so you must be careful. You wouldn’t have been able to do it if you didn’t know Jason as well as you do.

You get ready as silently and as quickly as possible before sliding out the door. The nearest flower shop isn’t too far. You make it there and back in 30 minutes, and most of that time was spent deciding what flowers you wanted to get Jason.

You walk home with a bouquet of simple red roses with some baby’s breath sprinkled in. It’s wrapped in black paper with a read bow, a color combination you’re sure he’ll love.

You walk home a little slower, careful not to disturb the flowers cradled in your arms. The long walk leaves you to your thoughts. You wonder how Jason will react.

And then you get worried. What if he thinks it’s weird? Jason has never called you weird unaffectionately before, but what if this is what does it? Or, even worse, what if he pretends to like them but actually thinks it’s weird? You spiral a little and panic. You eventually walk head first into your door on muscle memory.

You make sure the flowers are okay before opening the door. You hide the bouquet behind your back. To your surprise, Jason is awake and in the kitchen. His morning voice greets you with a smile. “Did you just walk into the door?”

Your worry begins to fade and a smile crawls its way onto your face. “Shut up.”

He laughs and the sound makes you blush. You love him. “You did!”

“And to think I was out getting you a present.” You shake your head.

“You got me a present?” He looks a like an excited puppy.

“I got my loving boyfriend a present. Let me know if you see him.” You pretend as if you’re about to walk out.

Jason rushes over to you smiling. “Wait, no! He’s right here! Please! I want my present!”

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you thrust the flowers at him. He takes them from you, his smile softening. “Do you like them?”

He leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead. “What are these for? They’re beautiful. I love them.” You watch him feel the petals with a gentle smile that he can’t seem to help.

You tell him about the post you saw, and how you couldn’t let the first time he got flowers be at his funeral. He pauses. “Babe. I really love the flowers. Seriously. Best gift ever. But um. The first time I got flowers was at my funeral.” He watches your face.

You lift a hand and cover your mouth. “Oh my god.” He laughs and uses one had to hug to you to his chest.

“I really love the sentiment! It means a lot! I love them so much!” He smiles into your hair as you wrap your arms around him.

“That’s why I remember buying you flowers before but couldn’t remember giving them to you. I feel terrible.”

“Don’t. This was so sweet, seriously. If it wasn’t the ass crack of dawn, I would cry.”

You laugh. “It’s past noon.”

He huffs. “Same thing. We were up until like 4.”

“This is true,” you say. “I still feel so bad though. I can’t believe I forgot you had a funeral already.”

He laughs and you can feel it in his chest. “The idea was really sweet, princess. I love the flowers. You just made my day. Nay, my week.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, you running into the door really sealed the deal.”

You push on his chest. “I hate you.”

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Trinkets

Five presents Jason brought you back from his adventures and one you asked for. (+ one) ~1.2k words of fluff

Jason Todd brings you home gifts from his missions, which wouldn't be a problem, but he never really explains what they are.

The first time it happened, you had laughed at the green ring with a lantern symbol in the middle. It looked cheesy, like one of the fake ones you can buy from the superhero merch stores littered around malls and outlets.

You'd kissed his cheek in thanks, put it on your shelf, and never gave it a second thought.

At least you didn't, until a bright green glow woke you up from your sleep. You'd sat up immediately, jaw practically dropping to the sheets as the ring lifted itself off your shelf and flew out the window.

Jason barely budged, his arm still thrown over your waist. He let out yawn and cuddled closer before speaking, voice groggy and heavy, "Huh. Didn't think they noticed that one was gone."

"They," You half yell, voice pitching as you stare at his outline, hidden in the shadows of the room.

"The Guardians, babe," he yawns out, "They're in charge of the space cops. Just go back to sleep."

Naturally, you do not go back to sleep. You drag him to the kitchen, make tea, and demand he explains why a Green Lantern ring was in your apartment. (He's very happy to)

The second time it happens, you're much more wary of the gift he brings home. But to be fair, he can't really pass off an Amazonian steel sword as something he just picked up.

It doesn't take as much convincing as it should for you to let him mount it on your wall. But it's a sword! No one can blame you for thinking it looks cool in your living room.

It turns out keeping it around is pretty useful, because a few weeks later, your boyfriend crawls through your window, dressed head to toe in armor.

"Hey, doll," he drawls, "Can I borrow your sword?"

"Sure," You chirp back, more preoccupied with your book as he saunters over to the sword, "what for?"

"Artie's got confiscated, and we haven't gotten to steal it back yet," he supplies, stopping long enough to pull his helmet up and kiss your head.

"Oh, that sucks," You answer, offhandedly, "Give her and Bizzaro my love."

"You got it, babe," he chirps already halfway out your window.

He does bring your sword back, covered in green blood, but no worse for wear. It still looks great on your wall.

He brings you a box next. It's kind of ugly looking, but you thank him nonetheless.

"Be careful with it," he tells you as you flip it over in your hands, "It opens boom tubes."

You almost drop it, and if you hadn't already experienced the power ring, you would have shrieked at him. Instead, you manage to put it down very carefully and calmly ask, "It does what?"

"Open boom tubes," he answers, which clears absolutely nothing up, "I figured we could use it to country hop for our next date night. You know, dinner in Paris, drinks in Dubai, dessert in LA."

"Okay," You answer slowly, as if that makes complete sense.

It turns out, it does. Date night is lovely, and making out with your boyfriend on a random beach in Spain is very, very nice.

Batman waiting in your apartment to take back the boom box isn't so nice, though.

Jason tells you it was worth it. He's absolutely right.

The third thing Jason brings you is a plant. Flowers aren't a rare show of affection from him, but ones that move are.

"Uh, thank you, Jason," You start, prodding at the moving petals, they nuzzle your fingers the same way a kitten would, "But I don't know how to take care of these."

"Same way you take care of any other plant, water, fertilizer, nutrients, all that fun stuff," he says fondly, stroking a few of the petals.

"What if it gets sick," You ask, uncertain.

"We'll call Ivy," he says, unbothered.

"Right. Ivy. Poison Ivy. Who you know," You mumble, but the little plant is already worming its way into your heart. (You affectionately name it Daisy, for no other reason then it sways happily when you say that name)

The fourth thing Jason brings you makes you laugh because you know exactly what it is, "Jason, we can't keep this."

"Why not," he pleads, shaking the bright green quiver filled with arrows at you.

You giggled harder, smiling wide as you shake your head at him, "We don't even know what those do. Don't some of those explode?"

"So what," he huffs, practically pouting, "We can ask Roy. And it's not like I don't know my way around explosives."

"I guess so," You relent, trying to stifle your laughs as you inspect the bright green arrows, "How did you even get this?"

His eyes light up mischievously, "Do you really want to know?"

You stop short and narrow your eyes at him, "I would lose my plausible deniability."

"But you wanna know," he says, sly and playful.

You do. (It involves mutated chickens, tar, and one distracted Oliver Queen. You hang the quiver next to the sword)

Jason's getting ready to leave, bags packed and helmet lazy held under his arm, "Can I bring you back anything specific, doll" he asks, his free hand resting comfortably against your cheek, "Lasso of Truth? Maybe something with magic?"

You grin at him, leaning into his touch, "I actually do have something in mind."

"Oh," he prompts, eyes glinting with excitement.

"I want to complete my batarang collection."

He falters, "Your– what?"

"No one has," You exclaim, pulling away to showcase your collection, "I have Nightwings, Batgirls, Batmans, yours, of course, one of Robin's. But I'm missing Spoilers, Batwomans, Signals, and Red Robins."

He blinks at you, "That's– if that's what you want."

You giggle at how dumbfounded he looks, practically bouncing back over to him to kiss him, "Thank you, Jason."

He catches your waist and pulls you back in for another, longer kiss that leaves you both breathless and panting. His voice lowers, like it's a secret, "I'll bring you back some batarangs. See you in a few days?"

"See you in a few days," You echo, and he winks at you as he tugs on his helmet, leaving out your window.

Sure enough, you get your batarangs when he gets home. It takes some convincing, a few kisses that leave you senseless, but you get Jason to help you mount your batarang collection alongside the sword and quiver.

"I should get you a plasma rifle next," he drawls, admiring your growing wall of weapons.

"I think I'd fall over if I tried to shoot one of those," You point out, all smiles.

"I'll teach you," he tells you, hooking an arm around your waist to draw you closer.

Jason's a man of his word, and sure enough, he brings you home a plasma cannon after his next mission.

You only destroy most of the shooting range in the batcave when he lets you try it out.

[moyazaika]

“honey, i’m home!” except your husband is (slightly) homicidal ❤️

"hello, darling." your husband greets you so sweetly on the porch, a cloying smile plastered on his lips, and a mismatched bouquet of multicoloured daisies, valerians and dying hyacinths clutched in his hands, stained with crimson. "i'm home."

"and what sort of time do you call this, my love?" you return his smile with one of your own. there is something dark and deep in his shallow eyes as he watches you delicately reach for the beautiful, bloodied flowers. "it's well past midnight."

"sorry, sweetheart, i promise i tried to be back before dinner." the soft light of the moon above drapes him in an eerie, haunting glow; illuminating his beautiful features. his eyelashes form soft, dark shadows across his cheeks, looking like long, long scratches.

humming in response to his statement, you bring the mismatched bouquet of flowers closer to your chest, only barely grazing the petals painted in shades of vermillion with the tips of your fingers; a pleased little glint in your own gaze as you watch him, standing still in the doorframe, eyes closed.

"but you must know how hard it is," your husband’s gorgeous eyes flutter open, glittering with mirth. "to climb out of your own grave, right?"

a laugh spills past lips that stretch into a smile as you lean in and softly press a lingering kiss to his jaw. "oh, you absolute angel! if you think climbing out was hard—"

your husband reaches his hand out to gently wipe the blood from your own lips with the back of his bruised hand, raw, scraped knuckles brushing over your skin with a gentleness he reserves solely for you, as you let the flowers fall from your hands; the pretty petals he’d picked out for you curl in on themselves, as this time, his lips find yours first.

"—then you weren't there when i dug it."

his amusement comes in the sound of a deep, low laughter that has you pushing all the parts of your body you know he loves most right up and against him. he welcomes the feeling, greedy hands reaching out to grab you in all the right places; the facade of a gentler man all but forgotten with the way he looks down at you, like a man long starved.

“you could dig a thousand graves for me,” he confesses with a whisper, “and i’d still crawl out and find my way back home to you, my love.”

you roll your eyes, throw your arms over his shoulders and bat your lashes; you revel in the way he tenses at the sight, wonder whose blood is all over his handsome face and wandering hands tonight, before deciding you don’t quite care enough to ask.

instead, another question leaves your lips, and it’s definitely one he’s all too willing to answer, “oh, will you just kiss me already, you horrid man?”

and because your darling husband can never quite bring himself to say no to you; he’s all too happy to oblige.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Foxglove and Oleander.

Pairing: Yandere!Sukuna x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 6.0k

Commissioned by the very lovely @letstalktea.

TW: Heian Era AU, Wildly Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Blood + Violence, Deliberate Manipulation, Obsessive Behavior, and Implied Cannibalism.

Sukuna first arrived the night your chrysanthemums bloomed.

That was the only reason you weren’t in the temple when the fire reached it. Against your better judgement and the wishes of your superiors, you’d committed yourself to spending the night in the courtyard, carefully monitoring each delicate bud as they slowly unfurled and stained your garden with scattered blotches of bright, bleeding scarlet. In the morning, it would be your responsibility to gather each flower, dry their petals, and deliver them to the temple’s healers to use as medicinal herbs before you were allowed to get to your less seasonal chores, but tonight, the chrysanthemum belonged to you.

From your little corner of the courtyard, you watched as flames climbed the side of the side of the mountain, consuming the forest that surrounded your home before latching onto the servants’ barracks, then the outer sanctuaries, before finally reaching the main body of the temple. There were a few screams to accompany the fire’s first arrival, but they were quickly drowned out by the fire’s deafening roar, by the sound of buildings already mostly burnt away collapsing into themselves and putting their unfortunate occupants out of their misery. You could feel the heat, hear the others begin to flee, but it was only as the fire reached the peak of its gluttony that he emerged, entirely unscathed and painted with the blood of those you supposed you may have cared about, if you’d had more time. Sukuna, although you wouldn’t know to call him by that name, just yet.

It went without saying that he was hideous. Too many limbs, too many eyes, too many mouths – every part of him distorted with bulk and muscle and ink. His teeth struck you first, bared and glinting in the blinding firelight, then his clothing, the tattered and charred remains of what appeared to be a once fine kimono tied around his waist. He was carrying a spear, but he drove it into the ground as he stepped out of the inferno. There was something slung over his shoulder, too – a corpse, male and burnt beyond the point of recognizability – but that was abandoned just as thoughtlessly, left to rot on the outskirts of your garden. You were glad. Your chrysanthemums wouldn’t survive being crushed by such dead weight.

He didn’t notice you immediately. You stayed where you were, kneeling in the dirt, as he turned in either direction, taking in the devastation with a full-chested laugh. The noise was, in kinship with his appearance, unspeakably gruesome.  

Finally, he turned to face you, his eyes lighting up in spite of the stark shadows cast over his face. His spear was still within arm’s reach, but he made no attempt to retrieve it – holding out an open hand to you, instead. “Are you a monk or a maiden?” he asked, his voice more of a growl than anything proper, anything human. “I’ve already had my fill of the former, tonight.”

“A servant,” you answered, bowing your head by way of greeting. “I tend the gardens, among other things. Are you the one killing all the acolytes?”

“Among other things.” His tone had a mocking lilt, although he seemed far from vicious. You’d been warned about that, once, by someone very dear to you. You couldn’t remember the specifics, but the sentiment was still clear enough. ‘Do not fear the animal that bares its teeth, but the creature who lures you closer before it lunges’, or something like that. “I’m afraid I only have a taste for holy meat, tonight. Although, if you run, I’ll certainly take more enjoyment in striking you down.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but—”

“Lord,” he corrected. “Make that mistake again and it’ll be the last time I allow you the privilege of using your tongue.”

“My apologies, my lord.” Again, you bowed your head. “The high priest can be harsh with his discipline. My ankle is still healing, and I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to move quickly enough for either of us to get very much out of it.”

He grinned, and the fire raged on behind him. “Grovel, then. Perhaps, if you manage to please me, I’ll be merciful and kill you quickly.”

He was clearly a man (man? monster? beast?) of great ego. You pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to block out the taste of something harsh and acidic rising up from the back of your throat. “If it’s all the same to you,” you managed, eventually, sparing one last glance towards your chrysanthemums. They really were beautiful. You could only regret that you’d never get to see them in the light of day. “I’d really rather not. It seems like it be easier, to just… uh, let you get the job done, as it were.”

In his defense, his pride overshadowed his shock. That, or you simply weren’t the first person he’d met to pay your own life such little regard. “I’ve cut down braver men for bolder suggestions.”

“But you cut them down all the same.” You swallowed, dryly. It’d been a while since you’d last had anything to eat or drink – the better part of a day, at least – but you supposed you wouldn’t have to worry about that for much longer. “I’m sorry, my lord. I would try to run, but my ankle really does make things difficult.”

He regarded you for a moment, as yet another wing of the temple buckled under its own weight. You decided, as you stared back at him, that his eyes weren’t so terrible – the pair he was supposed to have, at least. Although currently narrowed and creased around the edges, they had a pleasant color, a unique shade of red that seemed to glow when it caught the firelight. At least one part of him was bearable to look at.

Finally, he broke the silence, his resonant voice taking on a more authoritative cadence. “Come.”

He didn’t extend a hand, or gesture for you to follow, only trekking onward – towards the temple’s gates, left open in the panic of the exodus.  Gingerly, weary of your injured ankle, you pushed yourself to your feet and hastened to his side. Sukuna only paid you glance by way of acknowledgement, but you didn’t mind. “Are you going to kill me in the woods, instead?”

“Uraume’s been asking for another set of hands.” You weren’t sure what he was talking about, but you nodded as if you understood entirely. He spared you a small, thoughtless smile, and you decided that he was also the type of man who often enjoyed the luxury of never being questioned. “If they don’t care for you, I’ll kill you wherever I wish.”

“Ah.” You passed under the temple gates by his side. Not long after that, you heard the great crash of stone into earth, and knew that those, too, had collapsed. “I hope it’s somewhere with lots of flowers. I’ve always wanted to die somewhere beautiful.”

His only answer was another, more lingering glance in your direction, a low bark of a laugh. Satisfied, you let the conversation lapse into silence and walked into the night by the side of a monster.

~

“How do you choose where to go?”

He didn’t respond, not immediately. Instead, one of his spare hands brought yet another grape to your lips, and with a pleased hum, you accepted it, savoring the sour tinge that accompanied the sweetness. From what you gathered, he preferred savory to sweetness, sweetness to bitterness, and bitterness to all other flavors that followed. He rarely ate anything that wasn’t the strange, ambiguous meat prepared by Uraume, his ever-smiling mastress of rituals, but the last village you’d passed through had a surplus of fruit. It’d seemed like a waste to let all of it rot, now that there was no one left to enjoy it.

It was strange – traveling with Sukuna and Uraume. They seemed to be on a pilgrimage of sorts, the destination unknown and the purpose one of endless carnage. Not that either of them expected you to participate in the devastation. No, as far as you could tell, you were regarded more as a servant, meant to be of aid to Sukuna when Uraume was otherwise occupied. Except, Uraume never seemed to be very occupied at all, and Sukuna very rarely needed aid, and you were often left in a position more akin to that of a pet than anything else – kept around predominantly because Sukuna found it entertaining to do so. Not that you minded. Pets were cherished and coddled. Pets never went hungry. Pets weren’t expected to be anything other than endearing and obedient, which wasn’t totally dissimilar to the things you were always expected to be, regardless of what you were supposed to call yourself.

Currently, you were taking shelter in an abandoned shrine not quite dilapidated enough to be considered unlivable, Uraume tending the hearth while Sukuna stared absent-mindedly at a map pilfered from the shine’s stockroom, the colored ink nearly too faded to read. You paid little mind to either of them – content enough to remain sprawled across Sukuna’s lap, one of his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. This was the first time you’d spoken in minutes, reluctant to break the comfortable silence. Sukuna didn’t seem to mind the sound of your voice, and you didn’t want that to change. “I don’t,” he admitted, eventually. He only spoke for himself, but it was given that you and Uraume would follow. “I go where I please. I only like to know that, when I arrive, there’ll be something worth my time waiting to receive me.”

“So particular, my lord.” You felt something tap against your bottom lip, and opened your mouth to accept a perfectly sweet, perfectly ripe strawberry. “Tell me, then – what would please you?”

He seemed to think for a long moment. Finally, he asked, “What village were you born to?”

His intention went unspoken, but the implication was clear. Sukuna’s sole pastime was destruction, with the target of his ire being any person, town, or creature unfortunate enough to cross his path. Although you’d never seen him go out of his way to find prey before, you were sure willingly pointing him in the direction of vulnerable quarry would result in a predictable outcome.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know. Things like that can be so hard to remember,” you said, which wasn’t untrue. Your memory was a fickle thing – uncooperative on your best days and deliberately misleading on your worst. “You know, being a baby at the time and all.”

His fingers drummed thoughtfully against your side. “You must have family somewhere, servant.”

“Not necessarily.” You shut your eyes to stop yourself from squirming, sighing as you rested your head against his shoulder. “My parents abandoned me before I was old enough to learn their names. A scrap collector took me in some time after that, but he traveled quite often, and I lost track of him years ago.” You paused, shook your head. “Like I said, things like this can be difficult to remember. I’m sorry, my lord.”

There was a slight hum, a momentary lapse. Abruptly, you felt his hands shift to your waist, Sukuna repositioning your smaller form with all of the strength and all of the thought it might’ve taken an ordinary person to right a toppled-over doll. Your back came to rest against his chest as one of his spare hands cupped your chin, directing your attention towards the yellowed map. “Pick somewhere,” he muttered, his voice low and his lips close enough to ghost over the shell of your ear. “Anywhere. Before I pull your unhelpful little tongue out of your throat.”

“Of course, my lord.” Acquiesce came first, a real answer second. Your gaze fell to the map in front of you. It took a second, but you found what you were looking for quickly enough. “Here,” you said, pointing to an area north of your current location. “There’s a village in the eastern corner of this valley with a small population of young farmers and very little in the way of redeeming qualities. But, in the town square, there grows a cherry blossom tree tall enough to scrap against the belly of the sky with branches that stretch as far as the eye can seem. When it blooms, its petals are great enough in volume to carpet the surrounding acre in pink.” You straightened your back, decisively avoiding sinking back into his chest. “I… I wouldn’t mind visiting it again, if it would please my lord.”

It was a dangerous thing to do – showing your hand so plainly. You’d grown so used to keeping your cards tucked snuggly against your chest, even talking this openly felt as if you’d been stripped bare and put on exhibition in front of him.

But, if Sukuna realized that he was the audience to your performer, he neglected to acknowledge it. He only looked toward Uraume, who perked to attention immediately. They were good at that – pretending not to listen. Not as talented as you, of course, but good nonetheless. “We start traveling east tomorrow,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m adding another leg to our journey.”

His primary attention remained on them, but a few of his unblinking secondary eyes – repulsive in their lack of necessity – darted to you, watching for any signs of satisfaction, of pleasure. You only schooled your expression, retreating into your own mind to count the days until the cherry blossoms bloomed.

~

It took a surprising amount of time for you to catch Uraume in the act. Not overly long, but more time than you would’ve expected with them making no particular effort to hide the evidence of their ‘ritual preparation’ and you making no exceptional attempt to avoid finding out why their snow-white sleeves were so often stained red. If allowed to, you might’ve gone on living in the bliss of plausible deniability until your time with Sukuna and his chosen companionship came to an end, but he was not so kind, and there was little entertainment to be had in such a passive participant.

Still, you would’ve liked another week, another month, another season. You’d never cared for kitchens, but you cared for them least when they reeked of rotting meat.

The stench was almost worse than the sight – almost, but not quite. Then again, you were struggling to think of something worse than Uraume, all practiced tranquility and iced-over smiles, elbow-deep in the cavity a long dead middle-aged man, his body bare and spread over the stone countertop. You recognized him not by his face, but by his features – his wealth-fattened face, his uncalloused hands, the lack of definition to his legs that those who toiled could rarely afford to go without. He must’ve been the lord who owned the palace you currently found yourself residing in – a sprawling, decadent structure that it’d taken hours to clean after the massacre. Sukuna would survive wherever his whims lead, but he preferred to be comfortable. You didn’t mind. You preferred it when Sukuna was comfortable, too.

 It was clear they hadn’t been expecting you, either. Their dark eyes bored into you where you lingered in the doorway, a wicker basket on your hip and your robes still dusted with soil. Most of your day had been spent in the palace gardens. Its former caretaker had planted their shiso along the garden wall, where it would only receive partial sun in the best season – a common enough mistake, for how easy it was to mistake for basil, and a tricky one to correct. An experienced caretaker should’ve known better, but as the herbs were still alive while their keeper was very much not, you could consider their negligence repaid.

You made the first move –bowing at the waist by way of greeting. “Lord Sukuna asked me to fetch his tea,” you explained, as you straightened your back. You didn’t feel the need to mention that’d he’d sought you out in your gardens to do so. “I thought I’d bring you a few herbs in the same trip. My apologies, it wasn’t my intention to disturb you.”

The corner of their lips quirked downward. It wasn’t quite a frown, but it was the closest thing to one that you’d ever earned from them. You weren’t upset. Even glowering, they would’ve been breath-taking. “He wanted you to see my—” They paid a glance toward the dismembered lord, their arm still buried in his chest. “My preparations.”

“It would seem so.”

“And he wanted to know how you’d react. There’s a good chance he’ll ask me about this, later on.”

“I’d say it’s more of a certainty.”

“I’d understand it, if you wanted to leave. I know there are few ordinary humans who can stomach tasks so—” Another pause, this one longer than the first. Clearly, they were making an attempt to watch their tongue. “—needlessly visceral.”

“If I did try, how long would you give me before telling Sukuna?” This time, they choose to hold their tongue entirely, their slight frown deepening into a full-blown scowl. It took everything you had not to let your own satisfaction shine through.

Rather, you paid them another shallow bow before the threshold and setting down your basket on the nearest length of empty counter. “It’s mostly shiso, but I found some usable ginger and garlic, too, and a few stalks of parsley. Is there anything I can do to help?”

After a moment of consideration, Uraume shook their head. It only took a few minutes to make the tea you’d been sent to fetch, but they were minutes passed in silence, undisturbed save for the quiet chime of ceramic against ceramic. They didn’t start their own work again until you’d left the kitchen entirely, which you were thankful for. They’d been right. There were few humans with stomachs so strong as to withstand such grisly tasks, and you’d never counted yourself among them.

Sukuna had claimed the master’s chambers for himself, of course. You let yourself in without knocking, immediately finding Sukuna sprawled across the wonderfully ornate futon that dominated most of the floorspace. He smiled when he saw you, but his expression fell as soon as you returned the gesture.

He didn’t mention Uraume, or the kitchens, or the thick stench of iron-tinged blood that now seemed to fill every corner of the vast estate. You hummed as you poured his tea, and remained at his bedside as he took a long drink, followed shortly by an approving nod. You tried to make your escape quickly, already fantasizing about retreating back to your secluded garden, but Sukuna caught you before you could so much as turn towards the door. “Attend to what you must,” he started, his tone simultaneously dismissive and attention-seeking. “But return here, when you’re done. Bring your belongings, too – you won’t be going back to your bedroom again.”

You didn’t falter, but not for lack of reason to. You’d chosen your bedroom carefully, surveyed the better half of the residential wing before finding quarters that suited you. It was sparse by way of comforts and furniture, but the sole window looked over the mountainside, the landscape stretching on for miles upon miles without interruption. You would’ve been pressed to think of a finer view.

“As you wish.” And then, with a chirp of a laugh, “You know, we spend so much time with one another while traveling. I thought you would’ve taken our stationary periods as an excuse to get away from Uraume and I.”

“If I had a weaker will, maybe.” He reclined, let his head lull to the side, as if inviting you to counter, to protest – or worse, to step closer. “Why? Do you have something to say, servant?”

“Only how pleased I am to be of service to my lord.” You could’ve bowed, but decided against it. This time, when you took your leave, Sukuna was kind enough not to get in your way. Then again, he didn’t have a reason to.

He must’ve known that you were always going to come back.

~

“Who gave you permission to leave, servant?”

No one, but you’d hoped he wouldn’t notice until you were already gone. Stifling the urge to cringe, you turned on your heel and retreated back to the riverbank, not far from where Sukuna had left his robes, deliberately keeping your eyes on the ground. He rarely let you leave his side, but having you remain within eyeshot while he bathed was a newer development – and a tricker one to justify to yourself, at that. You were still allowed to remain more of a voyeur than a participant, but you weren’t naive enough to believe that he’d allow there to be such a great distance between you for much longer.

“I’m sorry, my lord.” Your eyes may have been downcast, but your voice was a light and as upbeat as ever. “I only hoped to catch Uraume before they finished. Servants have to bathe too, you know, and those of us with no limbs to spare can be rather hesitant to do so alone so deep into the forest.”

“Join me, then.”

Ah.

You should’ve been expecting that, honestly. You had no one but yourself to blame.

“My lord,” you managed with an airy laugh, feigning disbelief. “I’m just not sure if someone of my position should—”

Considering Sukuna’s size, he could move impressively fast. You’d only managed to take half a step back before you felt a hand curling around your wrist, pulling you off of the bank and into the river. You managed to take all of two stumbling steps forward before your foot caught on a slick river stone and you fell to your knees, ice-cold water immediately soaking through your thin robes. Sukuna made no effort to catch you, laughing as you tripped over yourself. He’d always seemed terrible to you, but you couldn’t remember the sound of his voice ever being so vile.

Biting back a sigh or some other, more telling show of displeasure, you started to push yourself to your feet, but stopped as soon as you felt Sukuna’s fist curl around your collar, another finding the back of your head. In a brief moment of blissful obliviousness, you thought he meant to help you – or, to restrain you and savor your humiliation for a few seconds longer, at the very worst. You almost thanked him, as little as your gratitude meant to Sukuna.

Then, your head was forced below the water, and you thought better of it.

It happened too suddenly to brace yourself. Your first reaction, operating purely out of instinct, was to open your mouth and try to breathe in – an idea as primal as it was unhelpful. Frigid water flooded into your mouth, your throat, liberating you from any amount of air you might’ve been able to hold onto and filling the now-vacant space with a chill that seemed to bite into your throat and leave everything it touched throbbing, numb. Your second was to thrash against Sukuna’s hold – which was, predictably, equally as useless. He was stronger than you could ever hope to be, than any real human being ever should be. Thick fingers threaded themselves into your hair, the hand holding the collar of your robes falling away only to find the nape of your neck, cementing your place at his mercy.

You tried to be rational, to exhale, to not panic, but something thick and solid seemed to be lodged at the base of your throat, and you couldn’t think about breathing without choking, and it was hard not to panic when you were hyper-aware that you were going to be drowned in some godforsaken river in some heartless forest at the hands of an unlovable monster. You were running out of air too quickly – you were supposed to have more time. He couldn’t have dragged you down any longer than a minute ago, but you could already feel an acute throbbing in your temples, make out dark spots dancing in the corners of your vision. Your body thrashed and stiffened in turns, but it was only when your form went limp in his hold that Sukuna jerked you back to the surface – hauling you back to the shore and letting you collapse onto the welcoming sand. He stood by, his grin the embodiment of mirth, as you hacked up acid-tinged water and blinked back tears, sucking in shallow breaths between coughing fits. Every inhale left your chest tense and aching, though, and every exhale felt like you were giving up something precious, something irreplaceable. You did your best to ignore the strain, to put it out of your mind. You had a feeling it would be some time before you could breathe painlessly again.

It took long, agonizing minutes for you to so much as begin to recover, but Sukuna remained by your side, waiting patiently. At some point, he lowered himself to your height – falling into a crouch and bringing a hand up to your back, rubbing circles into the apex of your spine as you coughed and clawed at the shore. He didn’t hum, or speak, or apologize, but you hadn’t expected him to. To initiate would be to taint what he sought so violently: your reaction. He wouldn’t do anything to spoil his prize, not so close to victory.

No, he wouldn’t dare.

The responsibility of denying him fell solely to you.

“My—”You tried to raise your head, to look at him, only to cut yourself off – another lungful of brackish water forcing its way past your lips before you could find your voice again. “My lord,” you managed, eventually. “If you’d like to bathe together, please give me a moment to undress, first. You know how long it can take cotton to dry.”

To his credit, his composure held. There was another throaty laugh, a sudden edge to his smile. “You should be more careful, songbird. One day, I’m going to eat you alive, and your last words to me are going to how glad you are to serve your master one last meal.”

“There would be no greater honor.” You managed an unsteady smile before dropping your head low, curling into yourself, and coughing up until your throat burnt and your rib cage seemed ready to burst. Sukuna only shook his head, taking you by the shoulders and leaning you against his chest, ensuring your stability before his attention shifted to your robes. With a surprising delicacy, he undid the sash bound around your waist, shrugging off your ruined yukata and carrying you back into the water. Your nails bit into his chest, but if he felt your involuntary resistance, it wasn’t enough to deter him.

Your body was lowered gingerly into one of the river’s shallower portions, and Sukuna kneeled behind you, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek. You shut your eyes, but you could still feel his thumb tracing idly over your cheek, his chest reverberating against your back as he all but purred in delight. “I could hear your heart racing as I pushed you under.” And then, with a feather-light kiss to the top of your head, “It’s a relief to know there’s at least one part of you I can trust to be honest with me.”

You didn’t answer – only smiling as you melted into his palm.

~

The cherry blossom tree was larger than you’d remembered.

The village that surrounded it had grown, too. That made sense – it’d been years since you last passed through this area, and such a lovely corner of the world was bound to attract merchants and traveling warriors and those who, like yourself, simply found themselves drawn to beautiful things. You’d been able to see its wonderous branches rising above the horizon days before you were supposed to reach the village, started catching sakura petals on the breeze while you were still hours away from the nearest scrap of civilization, and a small part of you died upon being told that you would have to wait until after sunrise for your reunion, until Sukuna had finished glutting himself on blood and death and misery. Not that you listened. Uraume was tasked with looking after you, but they weren’t difficult to slip away from. They seemed to be fond of you – or, at least, surprisingly sympathetic to their master’s newest pet. Either way, they let you go without much of a struggle.

An hour or so after midnight, you made your way through fleeing crowds, maneuvering around mounds of disembodied extremities and between flame-eaten farmhouses, still in the early stages of burning down. Wherever Sukuna went, the fire seemed to follow, so you tried to stay where the light seemed the dimmest, where the smoke seemed the thinnest, focused solely on finding your way to the center of town – to the cherry blossom. You couldn’t make out its silhouette against the pitch-black landscape, but you didn’t need to. You would’ve been able to find your way to it on instinct alone.

That being said, now that you stood before it, you found it hard to believe that you’d come to the right village, let alone the right tree.

You didn’t remember your cherry blossom looking quite so… absent.

It was as if some great and wrathful deity had broken your sakura off at the base and spirited its body away, leaving only a charred stump behind. There was evidence that there had been more, at some point – pale pink petals littering the ground, a rope fence that had to have once guarded more than desecrated remains – but the cherry blossom was gone, as the village built around it would be by sunrise. It was cruel, really, when you could put your own despair aside long enough to use such tame vernacular. It was monstrous.

Speaking of monsters – yours was quick to rear his ugly head.

He’d never looked more terrible. Ash tainted the pale color of his hair, blood and gore staining his chest, his face, his hands. As always, he carried no weapon, and as always, he was entirely uninjured, untouched save for the byproduct of the devastation he’d wrought. You watched him approach in your peripheral, bracing yourself a moment before four arms wrapped around your smaller body and pulled you into a stone-hard chest. You knew better than to attempt to resist Sukuna, but this might have been the first time you were tempted to try.

“Songbird,” he muttered, the petname salt to a fresh wound. If he was surprised, let alone angry that you’d snuck away from Uraume, your disobedience caused him no strife. “I come bearing gifts.”

The upper of his two left hands uncurled, revealing a long, stick-like object. A hairpin, you realized, after a moment, the prong of a fine dark mahogany. It boasted only a single ornament: a small, expertly made glass flower. A cherry blossom, to be more specific.

You’d never been quick to anger. For as long as you could remember, in fact, you’d never found yourself angered by much of anything before.

You tasted blood before you realized you were biting your tongue; swallowing back a scream, or howl, or some other unsightly noise. It took you longer than you would’ve liked to regain your composure, but Sukuna was preoccupied, his attention dedicated solely to burying his face in the crook of your neck, to clutching onto you so tightly, you had to wonder how he’d ever managed to let go. It’d been inane to ever compare yourself to a pet, to something so cherished. It’d been inane to ever believe you were anything more than the favored plaything of a drooling, overgrown mutt.

With trembling hands, you plucked the hairpin out of his palm and held it up appraisingly. When Sukuna raised his head, his pointed teeth still lingering against your throat, you did the only thing you could think to – smiling as you leaned into him. “It’s beautiful.” And then, with a sigh, “It’s only a shame to have missed the real thing.”

For all of Sukuna’s faults, you could only be thankful that pride was among them.

“You don’t have to worry.” A hand found your jaw, holding you in place as he pressed a kiss into your temple. “I had more than my fill before you arrived.”

As you watched the village burn in his arms, you thought only of the color of chrysanthemums and the taste of iron, heavy on your tongue.

~

Someone had told you, once, that all the loveliest flowers bloomed under moonlight.

You watched the sky as you waited – your eyes never leaving the sliver of it you could see through small, barred window built into the opposing wall. He’d taken you to another vacant temple, tonight, claimed the head priest’s chambers as his den, and you’d followed lovingly, never uttering so much as a word of complaint. You’d let him rest his head in your lap, raked your fingers through his hair, and brought a cask of sweet wine laced with bitter herbs to his lips whenever he threatened to stir. Eventually, his eyes eased shut, his pulse slowing and his expression dulling into something calm, something docile. If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve started to doubt that he was a monster at all.

You didn’t move, didn’t shift, didn’t make a run for the door. You only reached into your sleeve, fetching the cherry blossom hairpin he’d gifted you weeks ago, now, the hairpin you carried dutifully ever since. You waited for him to turn onto his side, revealing the unarmored half of his face, before aligning the pointed tip with his ear, raising it above your head, and plunging it—

You felt his fingers dig into your thigh, another hand latching onto your hip. Your back slammed into the stiff futon with enough force to knock the air out of your lungs – leaving you breathless and paralyzed in an instant. When you recovered enough to think, you found Sukuna above you, straddling your waist, a hand planted on either side of your head. He was breathing heavily, as if excited. You knew it was impossible, but you found yourself wishing that he’d find a way to regurgitate his own lungs and choke on them.

“My lord,” you started, each word measured. You were careful to keep your voice low, your smile perfectly saccharine. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

 His response was a manic smile, a bark of a laugh. “It’s too late to play innocent.” He lowered himself that much closer to you, his chest a hair’s width from making contact with yours. “How many times have you poisoned my wine, songbird?”

“Poisoned? Never.” You’d let go of your hairpin in the collision. Currently, it was lying against the wall to your right – just an inch or so out of your reach. There were other, more accessible weapons closer to you, but if you were going to kill Sukuna, you wanted it to be with that abomination. “If my lord is asking how many times I’ve treated his wine with herbs and spices, then twice. Once to see how he handled his drink, and tonight.”

You’d done him a disservice – writing him off as simply monstrous. He was more beast-like than anything, with his back arched and his talons dug into the bedding, with eyes so wide and so vibrant you believed, if only for a second, that he would manage to burn holes through your skull. “A day will come,” His anticipation was palpable. It was a wonder how such a glutton could ever sound so starved. “Where nothing will fall from you sweet lips but my praises, and I will know beyond the shadow of a doubt that you mean every last word.”

For once, you could only say what you meant. “I’d rather fucking die.”

There was a change to his animal posture, a glint of white teeth in moonlight, and then his mouth was crashing into yours – all fangs and tongue and intensity. Mindlessly, operating off of your own sort of base impulse, you reached out, your fingertips just barely brushing against the prong of your hairpin.

It was only as you curled your fist around it that you kissed him back, unable to suppress your grin.

[brokenmenswhore]

potions | regulus black

pairing: regulus black x fem!reader

summary: regulus invites his potions partner over to his family home to “help her practice”

warnings: DUBCON (MDNI 18+), choking, smut, rough sex

────── ☾ ──────

When Regulus invited you into his home to use his in-house potions lab, you were suspicious. Regulus always had a darkness to him, and as your potions partner, he was never cruel to you, but he wasn’t the type to make such a kind gesture.

You accepted, knowing you could really use the extra practice. Regulus was talented at potions, and you felt bad that you were barely any help in class. As strange as it may be, you figured some extra time would benefit you, and Regulus could teach you and thing or two, if he felt kind enough to do so.

“Come on in,” he said, gesturing you through the door.

You smiled as you followed him through the house, the lighting almost as dark as his all-black outfit.

“I keep my potions stuff in here,” he said, pushing open the door to his bedroom.

“In your bedroom?”

“Mhm,” he responded, completely nonchalant about the fact you were in his personal space, while you felt it was a little strange. You didn’t know him too well, though you were attracted to him, and now you were only a few feet away from his bed.

He walked over to the table. “You coming?”

You swallowed and approached him, looking at the large collection of jars and ingredients spread out on the table.

“Should we maybe let your parents know I’m here? That there’s someone else in the house?”

Regulus chuckled. “The only other person here is my brother.”

“Sirius is here?”

Regulus shot you a look. You and Sirius had a weird past- you hooked up a few times at parties, you caught feelings and he didn’t, and you never spoke again. It was all ancient history, but you still tried to avoid being around him at all costs.

“Why does it matter?” Regulus asked.

“It doesn’t,” you spoke in a small voice, drifting your attention to the table, “so? What first?”

“Figured we could maybe just make sure you’re set on ingredients,” Regulus said. Everything he said was so dry, low, and monotone, and it sometimes made conversation hard.

“I think I’m comfortable with the ingredients side of things,” you told him.

“You’re not.”

You furrowed your brow and looked at him. “Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am!” you fought, “I know my own skill levels, Regulus.”

“I don’t think you do.”

He was so nonchalant about everything, reorganizing ingredients and setting up potion recipes as he spoke, as if anything he said didn’t matter.

You sighed and gave up fighting it, letting him take control and decide where to go from here. There was no point in going back and forth on the same thing over and over again.

“How about we just start with Shrinking Solution?” Regulus asked.

“Fine by me,” you answered.

Regulus backed away from the table, watching you do nothing. You looked back at him. Did he expect you to just do it?

“Well?” he said, “make the potion.”

You sighed. Sometimes he was so annoying and condescending. You looked at the unlabeled recipe and removed 7 red rose petals from a case of singular petals.

You began to drop them one-by-one in the boiling water. You looked at Regulus, who nodded at you to keep going. “How difficult,” you said sarcastically.

Remus folded his arms in front of his chest, watching you carefully.

You added five drops of essence of violet, stirring counterclockwise exactly twelve times.

“I don’t remember shrinking solution having essence of violet,” you told Regulus.

“Are you claiming my recipes are wrong?”

“No, I’m just saying.” You sighed and continued with the recipe, counting out 4 cloves and prepping canary flight feathers.

He didn’t say a word, just watching you make the potion, until you had completed the instructions.

“I also don’t remember it being pink,” you pouted, looking confused at the pot.

“I could have sworn this potion had daisy roots somewhere-“

“Would you relax?” Regulus questioned.

“Something just feels off about it,” you said, inspecting the liquid.

“Does it smell right?” he asked.

You leaned in and sniffed. The potion smelt like lavender, vanilla, freshly cut grass, and all your favorite smells.

The smell maintained throughout the smoke that you breathed in, overtaking your senses and filling your lungs. “Fuck that smells good,” you giggled.

Regulus crept behind you as silently as he could. When you stood up, he was directly behind you, your back almost banging into his torso.

You spun around to meet his gaze. “Can I help you with something?” you asked.

“I don’t know, can you?”

Your eyes locked for a moment, and you were suddenly overtaken with adoration.

“I think I probably can,” you said, all logic going out the window as the potion took over your emotions, your focus completely on Regulus.

“Atta girl,” he tsked, gripping your waist as he looked down at you. “How you feelin’, pretty girl?”

You were overcome with intense emotion, but you fought to remain grounded in reality. “You motherfucker,” you said, letting Regulus know that you were aware he had you make the wrong potion. This was not Shrinking Solution, this was Amortentia.

“No idea what you’re referring to,” he said.

“You know,” you started, twirling his already wavy hair in your fingers, “you could have just asked if you wanted me.”

“Now could I?” he asked, intrigued and eager to hear you continue talking.

“Mhm.”

“I thought I wasn’t your type.”

“Why?”

“You slept with my brother, did you not?”

Your eyes widened a bit. “And you know that how?”

“He’s my brother,” he said, holding you closer to him, his tone finally lifting to a bit lighter of a place, “and I’ve been keeping tabs on you.”

You giggled. “Have not.”

“I have been,” he admitted, “had to make sure you weren’t fucking anyone who didn’t deserve you.”

“I haven’t been fucking anyone,” you told him honestly.

“I know.”

“You wanna know why?”

His gaze darkened.

You sighed, “the only person I’ve wanted to fuck is standing right in front of me.”

Regulus growled, gripping your waist even harder and pulling you even closer. “Then what did I do all this work for? Getting you over here, the Amortentia, you’re telling me I worked for it for nothing?”

“Maybe,” you giggled, amused at how much thought and planning went into getting you here. You weren’t obvious about your attraction to him, but it couldn’t be that hard to notice.

“I feel drunk on you,” you admitted.

Regulus smiled. You had never ever seen him smile before. You didn’t even know he was capable.

“You’re so pretty when you smile,” you said genuinely, a hand moving upward so you could run a thumb over his cheek.

He couldn’t help himself anymore, he crashed his lips onto yours. Your hand found it’s way to the back of his head, holding him closer. You whimpered into the kiss, desperation overtaking your body. You couldn’t help it, the scent of the potion was still filling the room, and you were consumed in Regulus.

“I want you,” you said in between kisses, eager to finally get what you wanted.

Regulus didn’t break the kiss or loosen his grip on your waist, but instead inched you closer and closer to the bed. You felt the back of your knees hit the mattress, and you jumped up, attempting to land on the mattress, but Regulus caught you, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

He leaned over you, your back touching the mattress as you kept your legs around Regulus. He remained standing, the small of your back at the edge of the side of the bed.

Regulus finally broke the kiss, running his hands all over your body and inspecting every single inch of you. “I’m gonna make you scream so loud that Sirius will realize what he’s missing.”

You couldn’t help it, you started laughing. Your heightened emotions won, and the more you tried to stay quiet, the more hysterical your laugh became.

Regulus slapped your thigh. “What the fuck is so funny?”

“You.”

“Shut up,” Regulus demanded, kissing you to distract you from the hysterics in your brain. You melted back into him, forgetting why you were even laughing in the first place.

You were still having too much fun to let him win so easy, and you liked watching him work for it. “Make me.”

Regulus cocked his head to the side. “What did you just say?”

A giggle threatened to leave your lips. “I said make me.”

A hand suddenly squeezed around your throat, not completely cutting off your breath, but stopping your giggling.

Regulus flashed you a wicked smile. “That seemed to work, didn’t it?”

“Y-yes,” you squeaked out.

Regulus moved a hand in between your bodies, cupping your heat from on top of your underwear. You inhaled sharply, desperate for any sort of friction.

Regulus tucked his fingers into the band of your underwear, collecting your wetness with his middle finger as he traced it in between your folds. A sigh of pleasure escapes your lips, and Regulus watched your face intently.

You thought he was going to continue on like this, slowly working you up until you were ready for him, but Regulus had other ideas. Without warning, he shoved two long fingers inside of you, his palm resting on your clit and circling, as his fingers pumped in and out of you.

Your body responded, back arching off the bed, a hand still around your throat. You squirmed a bit, unable to stay still from the sensation.

Regulus watched your chest rise and fall as your back arched and fell, his cock hardening as he watched what he did to you.

He curled his fingers, hitting that gummy sweet spot within you, causing your walls to convulse around his fingers. “That’s it, pretty girl,” he cooed, “come for me.”

His words undid you, the coil of tension within you breaking as you came on his fingers, whines and whimpers constantly filling the room as you calmed down from your high. He pulled his fingers out of you, never breaking eye contact as he sucked your juices off of them.

Once his fingers were licked clean, he unwrapped your legs from his waist, removing his hand from your throat.

“Stay,” he commanded as he untied his pants, pushing them, along with his underwear, down enough to free his hard and swollen cock.

You let out an audible gasp at the size.

“What? Too much for you?”

“How-“ you didn’t even know what to say, “how is that gonna fit in me?”

“I think you’ll be fine, pretty girl.”

Regulus held his palm in front of your mouth. “Spit.”

You did as he said, and he used your spit to wet his cock, lining up his tip with your entrance.

“You want this?” he asked.

“Yes, Reg,” you replied.

Regulus almost showed you mercy when he heard the nickname, it just sounded so pretty coming from you, but he still didn’t. “Beg for it.”

You nodded your head no in protest.

A hand grabbed your face, pushing your lips out and positioning your head so that you had no choice but to look him in the eye. “Beg. For. It.”

“P-please, Regulus I n-“

Regulus slapped your cheek, hard. You gasped at the pain, almost stunned that he did such a thing.

“Use that pretty little nickname you called me.”

“Please, Reg, I need it, p-please-“

Regulus shoved his length into you, a moan of his name leaving your lips.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Regulus growled, setting a steady pace as he pumped in and out of you. He tugged at the bottom of your dress. “Off.”

You did your best to pull your dress off without interrupting his pace, struggling for a minute but eventually succeeding. Regulus leaned in and bit at your bra strap, snapping it back onto your body. He kisses the top of your breasts, shoving your nipples out of the cups, his tongue immediately sucking on one of them.

“Fuck!” you cried out, the pleasure of his mouth on your breasts and his cock splitting you open, and the scent of the potion still filled your nose, almost feeling like too much.

“Louder,” he demanded, serious when he said he would make you scream so loud that Sirius could hear you.

“Fuck, Reg!” you screamed at the top of your lungs, his pace quickening as you did so.

“Good girl,” he praised.

He sucked a sweet spot on your neck, your head rolling to the side to give him even more access.

He was slamming into you, the bed squeaking as your body rocked back and forth. Your legs were weak as they fell off the side of the bed, but Regulus didn’t want the position to change. He grabbed both of your legs, positioning them over his shoulders and fucking into you even deeper.

You squeaked and whined, not even capable of any genuine moans anymore.

“You gonna come again, huh? All over my cock?” Regulus gasped out.

“Mhm.”

“Words, pretty girl.”

“Y- yes!” you squealed, your high hitting you again as you squeezed his cock, a groan leaving Regulus’s mouth as he fucked you while you came, pace never faltering as you attempted to come down from your high.

Regulus was still chasing his own, his lips enveloping yours in a heated kiss as he snapped his hips as fast as he could until he came inside of you, erratic breaths and sighs spilling into the kiss.

“Fuck,” he said, running his fingers through his hair that was sweat slicked and falling in front of his face.

“God, I needed that,” you said, attempting to catch your breath as Regulus laid down next to you.

Regulus didn’t respond, he just stared at the ceiling, calming himself down.

“Reg?” you asked.

“Mhm?”

“You didn’t bring me here just to fuck me and piss your brother off, right?” you asked.

Regulus turned to you. “Do you think that low of me?”

“No. I’m just curious,” you explained.

“No, I didn’t bring you here to piss my brother off,” he answered, “it’s just a massive, massive plus.” He rolled over the placed a kiss on your lips.

[khioneee]

𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐃.

simon makes weekly visits to your flower shop, leaving you curious about the person he’s mourning.

pairing. simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

word count. 4.2k

Every Tuesday, exactly at three in the afternoon—never a minute early, never a minute late—he walks into the shop. Simon always looks the same: tired and drained, pale skin stark against the bruised shadows under his eyes. The cracked red of his lips stands out like a wound, and the way he moves, slow and heavy, makes it seem like sorrow clings to him, weighing him down like an old coat that doesn’t quite fit. Among the bright flowers and soft light of the shop, he stands out like a dark cloud against a summer sky.

"Just a bouquet," he mutters, his voice rough, as though speaking is a struggle.

You grip the counter a little tighter, his presence unsettling yet familiar by now. "Any flowers in particular?" you ask, knowing what the answer will be.

"Doesn’t matter," he says, shaking his head. "Whatever works. I’m not staying long."

He avoids your gaze, as he always does, like looking at you would be too much. The question lingers at the edge of your tongue—Who are the flowers for? Why every week?—but you hold it back. The weight that surrounds him warns against prying too deep, like a thin layer of ice ready to crack.

Instead, you turn away and begin gathering the flowers. You choose yellow and orange roses, soft lilies, daisies, and carnations—delicate blooms that contrast with his rough edges. For some reason, the usual kraft paper wrap feels wrong today, so you arrange them in a small white basket instead.

He always drops more than enough money into the animal shelter’s donation bucket by the door, so you add a few extra roses—your own small gesture to a man who seems to be carrying too much on his back.

When you finish, you find him standing at the far end of the store, idly turning over small trinkets in his large hands. His fingers brush the edges of old picture frames and porcelain figurines, movements careful, almost reverent, like he’s touching something that once meant something.

You approach him quietly, the bouquet in hand. "Will you be back next week?" you ask softly as you hold the flowers out to him.

Your fingers brush his—just for a second—and it’s enough to make him freeze in place. His breath catches, and something shifts in him, like a fault line trembling just beneath the surface. His expression flickers, the tired vacancy in his eyes replaced by a sharp, aching sorrow.

"I… I shouldn’t be here," he mutters under his breath, as if he’s only now realizing it. His hand retreats from the bouquet, and for a moment, he stands there, lost, as though the ground beneath him has crumbled.

Before you can say anything, he takes a step back, stiff and disoriented, his shoulders weighed down by something unseen. "Sorry…" he mumbles, though you’re not sure who the apology is meant for.

Then, without another word, he turns and strides toward the door. The bells jingle softly as it swings open, letting in a gust of cold, rain-scented air. You watch as he disappears into the storm, swallowed by the rain, leaving only the faint scent of flowers—and the feeling that he’s carrying far more than anyone ever should.

You don’t see Simon for three long weeks. And when he returns, it’s not inside the shop—but at three in the morning, under the flickering glow of a streetlamp outside.

He stands there like a shadow—silent, worn, and distant, as if he exists somewhere far from this moment. His hood is pulled low over his unkempt hair, and his black jacket, torn across the chest, looks like it’s been through just as much as he has. One hand rests in the pocket of his jeans, the other dangles at his side, knuckles split and raw, as if he’s been fighting battles no one else can see.

At his feet lies a crushed rose, its petals scattered near the bushes where it must have fallen. And for a moment, you wonder if his heart lies there too—shattered and discarded among the ruins.

You step out into the quiet street, the cold biting your skin as you approach. Words linger on the tip of your tongue, but you’re not sure if anything you say will be enough. The silence between you is thick, oppressive, as if the night itself is holding its breath.

A distant siren wails through the empty streets, and a group of strangers staggers past, their drunken laughter too loud for the hour. One bumps into your shoulder, and the force sends you off-balance—straight into Simon.

He catches you easily, his grip steady and firm. But he doesn’t react. No flicker of emotion, no sound—just the same vacant stare, his gaze lost somewhere you can’t follow.

"Does any of this even matter?" His voice is low, frayed, and cold, as if it’s been left out too long, ready to snap.

You crouch down, gathering the crushed petals by his feet. "What do you mean?" you ask softly, trimming away the thorns with the small scissors always tucked in your work bag.

"Buying flowers for someone who’s gone…" He pauses, his words falling heavily from his lips. "What’s the point? They’ll never see them. They’ll never know they were meant for them."

The crack in his voice is small, but it slices through the night, sharp and raw. You know that kind of grief—the kind that lingers beneath the surface, waiting for a moment to break free.

"Maybe it’s not for them," you say gently. "Maybe it’s for… the ones left behind. Trying to find something beautiful in the loss."

For a moment, his gaze softens. Just slightly. Just enough for you to see the exhaustion hidden beneath the rough edges.

"Do you need a ride home?" you offer, voice careful, trying not to push too hard.

He shakes his head, glancing down the empty street, his expression slipping back into something unreadable. "I shouldn’t have come here," he mutters, raking a hand through his tangled hair, frustration bleeding into his tone.

"You called," you remind him quietly. "Don’t you remember?"

You must be insane, coming after a man this massive. When his call came, you answered without hesitation, not stopping to think how reckless it was to trust a customer you knew nothing about. Rationality had left you somewhere along the way.

“Such a savior you are.” A bitter laugh escapes him, more a sigh than sound. "You shouldn’t waste your kindness on someone like me."

After months of quiet visits and fleeting conversations, it’s hard to believe he was ever a stranger. You’ve learned the way he pulls away just before he opens up, the way sorrow clings to him like an old wound that refuses to heal.

Simon flicks open a lighter, the tiny flame flickering between his fingers. The cigarette at his lips glows faintly as he inhales, the smoke curling into the cold air.

"You shouldn’t try to save me," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "I’m already lost."

You don’t push him for answers, knowing he won’t give them. "I’ll call a cab," you say gently.

"Why?" His voice cracks, raw and tired. The cigarette trembles slightly between his fingers. "Why are you being kind to me?"

Your heart tightens with the weight of everything you can’t explain. There’s no logic to how you feel—no clear reason for the pull that keeps drawing you to him. All you know is that ever since Simon walked into your shop, something within you shifted, and the thought of letting him slip away now feels unbearable.

"I don’t have anywhere to go," he admits quietly, his voice breaking under the weight of the confession. "She’s gone. There’s no one left."

The way he says it. It’s not just a statement. It’s a confession, a truth too heavy to carry alone.

"Loving someone that much…" You search for the right words, careful not to tread too heavily. "It’s not something you just let go of. It stays with you because it mattered."

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze drifting toward the sky where the moon hides behind thick clouds. The weight of the night presses down on both of you, but you stand there with him, sharing the quiet until it feels just a little less overwhelming.

And this time, Simon doesn’t walk away.

Simon’s frame fills the entrance, broad and imposing, but the way he stands, rigid and hesitant, makes him seem smaller somehow—weighed down by something invisible yet heavy.

"Hi, Simon," you greet him gently, already sensing the weight he carries. "Visiting her grave today?"

For a moment, his expression flickers, as if your words pulled him back from somewhere far away. "Who—?" He catches himself, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Yeah… yeah, I am."

You nod, knowing better than to press. Some things are only said when the time is right. "Anything specific you’d like for the bouquet?"

He shakes his head, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Whatever you think is nice… something you’d like."

The simplicity of his words catches you off guard, unexpectedly personal. Your breath hitches, but you hide it behind a small smile. You step behind the counter and begin gathering flowers: soft pink roses, delicate white lilies, and sprigs of lavender. Something light, hopeful, but not too much—a bouquet that balances beauty and sorrow without overwhelming either.

The silence stretches between you. Not uncomfortable, but thick with things unsaid. You can feel his gaze following your hands, watching as you arrange the flowers with practiced care. You wonder what it must be like for him, visiting her grave week after week, carrying a grief that never really leaves.

"It can’t be easy, coming by this often," you say gently, your voice soft as you focus on the bouquet. "That must be hard."

He shifts slightly, his shoulders sagging under the weight of something invisible. "No… it’s not," he admits, his voice low and rough, as if the words scrape on the way out. "But it feels right. I’ll do anything to see her."

You pause, heart aching at the rawness in his voice. As you finish tying the bouquet with a soft ribbon, you hand it to him. "She must have been lucky to have you," you whisper. "If you’ve been giving her flowers this often."

Simon’s hand hovers over the bouquet for a second, the compliment hitting him deeper than you expected. He shakes his head slowly, a sad, bittersweet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Not as lucky as I was to have her," he murmurs, voice quiet but filled with something raw and unguarded.

For a moment, the world narrows to the two of you. His hand brushing against yours as he takes the bouquet, the warmth of his fingers a sharp contrast to the cold weight of his words.

"I'm sorry, by the way," he mutters, glancing down at the flowers, then back at you. "For disturbing you the other night."

His apology catches you off guard, not because it’s needed, but because it’s so unexpected coming from him.

"It’s alright," you say softly, offering a small smile. "You didn’t disturb me."

Simon gives you a subtle nod, as if the exchange carries more meaning than either of you will say aloud. Then, with the bouquet cradled gently in his hands, he turns toward the door.

The bell chimes softly as he steps out into the night, vanishing into the shadows beyond the streetlamp’s flickering glow. You stand there for a moment longer, heart heavy with something unnameable.

Simon’s presence was different today—darker, heavier. The quiet energy that usually followed him had given way to something more burdensome. His broad shoulders sagged as if carrying the world, and his gaze was distant, clouded with thoughts too deep to share.

You offered him a small smile, though you could feel the tension radiating from him. “Hey, Simon.”

He tried to return the gesture, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he muttered, voice thin and tired, like it barely crossed the space between you.

Concern stirred in your chest, tugging you away from the counter. “You seem… off today. Wanna get out of here for a bit?”

He blinked, surprised by the suggestion, but didn’t protest. Maybe he was too tired to refuse.

“Come on,” you said, grabbing your jacket from the hook by the door. “I’ve got a place I think you’ll like.”

The drive was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Simon sat beside you, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery, lost in thoughts he wasn’t ready to share. You didn’t press him. The hum of the tires on the road filled the silence, carrying the two of you away from the noise of town and into somewhere softer, quieter.

The sun hung low in the sky by the time you arrived, casting the field ahead of you in warm hues of gold and lavender. Wildflowers swayed gently beneath the breeze, stretching out toward the horizon as if they could touch the fading light.

Simon stepped out of the car slowly, his breath catching slightly as he took in the sight before him. The field seemed endless, open and free—a stark contrast to the burdens he carried.

You sat cross-legged among the flowers, and Simon followed, settling beside you with his arms draped over his knees, staring out at the horizon like he was searching for something lost in the past.

For a long time, neither of you spoke, the breeze carrying the scent of flowers and filling the silence between you. Eventually, Simon’s voice broke through, low and rough like a confession.

“It’s been a year… since she passed.”

The words were simple, but they carried the weight of deep, unrelenting grief. His gaze stayed fixed on the sunset, as if watching the sun disappear beneath the earth brought him closer to her.

“I’m sorry, Simon,” you whispered, wishing there was more you could offer him. “What was she like?”

At first, he stayed quiet, and you wondered if you had asked too much. But then, in a voice soft with nostalgia, he said, “A lot like you.”

The simplicity of the statement caught you off guard.

“How so?” you asked, glancing toward him.

A faint, bittersweet smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“She loved flowers,” he murmured. “Used to fill the apartment with them, even though I told her it was too much. She’d just laugh and say there was no such thing as too many flowers.”

You could see it clearly—a home bursting with blooms, her laughter filling every corner, her presence bringing life to everything she touched. Now, it made sense why he returned to your shop so often.

Hoping to ease the heaviness in the air, you plucked a dandelion from the ground and held it toward him with a playful grin.

“Make a wish.”

Simon eyed the dandelion, a tired chuckle slipping from his lips.

“Wishes don’t work like that,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Maybe not,” you said, twirling the stem between your fingers. “But it’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”

He huffed another quiet laugh, the sound brief but genuine.

“Any chance you got a whole field of these somewhere?”

You tilted your head in mock consideration. “Not yet,” you teased. “But we’ve got this one, and I’d say that’s a good start.”

He shakes his head lightly, but the corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly. It’s a small smile—barely there—but it’s something, and that’s enough for now.

After that quiet evening in the field of flowers, something shifted between you and Simon. His visits became longer, lingering beyond the brief exchanges of bouquets. What had once been fleeting moments stretched into hours—sometimes the entire day—as if your presence gave him a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in years.

But Simon didn’t just idle. He threw himself into the heavy work around the shop without a word. If there were heavy pots to lift or supplies to haul, Simon was already on it before you could even ask.

"I’ve got it," he would mutter whenever you tried to help, brushing you off with that quiet determination. He lifted bags of soil with ease, rearranged displays as if it was nothing, and hauled boxes of supplies like they weighed no more than feathers. He’d even repair things you hadn’t realized were broken—fixing wobbly shelves or leaky faucets without waiting to be asked.

He worked with an intensity that didn’t match the simplicity of the tasks, as if lifting heavy things or rearranging displays was more than just helping—it was his way of staying close to you. The repetition, the quiet rhythm of it, seemed to steady something deep inside him, keeping him grounded. If exhausting himself with work meant he could be near you a little longer, he’d do it without a second thought.

Some days, the two of you would talk as you worked side by side. You’d tell him the little frustrations of the shop—how the clippers were always dull, or how the ribbon spools always seemed to run out at the worst time. You’d walk him through the same explanations, over and over again, with the same quiet enthusiasm every time. And every time, Simon would listen. Closely. Intently. Like your words were something invaluable.

But the truth was, it wasn’t new to him.

He knew the rhythm of your voice, the way you moved effortlessly between tasks, your hands brushing over scissors, twine, and ribbons with ease. It was too familiar, a life he once knew—now distant, fragmented, slipping through his fingers.

And every time you smiled at him, he had to remind himself: She doesn’t remember. She doesn’t know me.

You weren’t the same woman who had once filled his life with flowers and light. The way you arranged bouquets, the way you laughed, the way you tilted your head when you talked—it was all a little different now. Not enough for most to notice, but to Simon, the subtle differences were glaring.

And still, the pull of familiarity was there, undeniable.

There were moments when he stood too close, lingering a little too long, as if searching your face for something lost to time. When the memories became too sharp, he’d force himself to remember: She’s not her. She’s not the same.

But the words didn’t stop the way his heart softened toward you.

The quiet comfort of your presence, the sound of your voice filling the shop like sunlight through the windows—he found himself craving it. If he could stay busy hauling heavy pots, rearranging shelves, or carrying supplies just to stay close, then that was what he would do.

You weren’t the same woman he’d lost. But in ways that scared him more than anything, you were becoming just as important.

“Here,” you said, holding the flower out to him.

Hyuck blinked, caught off guard. “For me?”

You nodded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah. It suits you.”

He stared at the rose in your hand, hesitant at first, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with it. But then, with a small, uncertain smile, he reached out and took it. His fingers brushed against yours in the exchange—soft, fleeting, but enough to make something stir quietly between you.

“Why a rose?” he asked, twirling the stem between his fingers.

You shrugged, tilting your head thoughtfully. “Because it’s beautiful, obviously.”

He gave a short laugh, the kind that carried both amusement and disbelief. “Did it remind you of me?”

“Maybe,” you teased, your grin widening. “Or maybe you just needed one. Ever think of that?”

He looked down at the rose in his hands, the smile lingering on his lips. For a moment, the usual shadows behind his eyes seemed to lift, replaced by something softer.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice quiet but sincere.

You leaned against the counter beside him, close enough that your shoulders nearly touched. “Roses are special, you know. They mean different things depending on who gives them.”

He glanced at you, curious. “And what does it mean when you give one to me?”

You smiled, the answer slipping out before you could stop it. “It means I want you to keep coming back.”

For a moment, Simon just looked at you, his expression unreadable. His breath hitched, and the weight of your words settled between you like the scent of roses on a warm breeze. Something flickered in his eyes, something that looked almost like recognition, but not quite.

He gave the rose a little twirl between his fingers before tucking it carefully into the pocket of his jacket, as if it were something precious.

"I’ll keep coming back," he whispered, the words low like a vow meant only for the two of you.

In that quiet moment, surrounded by flowers and the slow hum of the day, something shifted between you—something delicate, like the first petals of a rose unfurling under the warmth of spring. You felt it bloom, soft and new, even though you couldn’t fully name it.

But Simon knew.

Because as much as he tried to convince himself that you weren’t the same woman he had once loved—weren’t the same person who had filled his world with light—this moment, the way you smiled at him, felt like a memory he had been chasing for years.

And as he stood there, with a rose tucked safely in his jacket and the sound of your voice lingering in the air, he knew he was already lost to you—just as he had been once before.

And this time, no matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t sure he could let go.

So, Simon stayed—lifting, moving, fixing—working himself to the bone, not because the tasks needed doing, but because he needed this. Needed you. Even if you didn’t know who he was, even if you couldn’t remember the life you once shared, he remembered enough for both of you.

And being near you, no matter how different things were, was better than being without you at all.

The evening settled over the quiet town, the cool air thick with the scents of late autumn and flowers nearing the end of their bloom. Simon's steps dragged as he made his way toward your flower shop, exhaustion settling deep in his bones from weeks away on deployment. His body was used to this kind of weariness, but the heaviness in his chest, that was something else entirely.

Between his fingers, he toyed with the rose. The one you’d given him weeks ago, now dry and brittle, its once-vibrant petals curled and shriveled. He had carried it with him everywhere, like a lifeline, as if holding onto it might somehow keep him connected to you.

As he approached the familiar glow of the shop’s windows, Simon slowed. When he peered through the glass, he froze.

You were inside, dancing under the soft overhead lights—not alone, but with another man. His hands rested at your waist, and your smile was radiant, carefree in a way Simon hadn’t seen in what felt like a lifetime. Even through the glass, he could see the happiness in your face. Happiness that used to belong to the two of you.

The knot in his chest twisted painfully. He knew things had changed. People moved on, especially when left with no answers, no promises. But seeing you like this, with someone else, felt like a knife to the gut he wasn’t ready for.

He thought of the accident—the one that had shattered your life and stolen your memories. The memory was jagged and relentless, lodged in his mind like a blade he couldn’t pull out. He could still hear the screech of tires, the shatter of glass, and your voice, soft and afraid, just before everything went dark.

You had been with him that night. Trusted him. And he had failed. The guilt twisted in his chest, blooming like thorns, sharp and unforgiving. If he had been more careful, maybe you wouldn’t have ended up in that hospital bed, lost to the world. Lost to him.

Inside, the man twirled you effortlessly, your laughter filling the shop with warmth. To you, the accident, the hospital, and everything you shared with Simon had never happened. But for Simon, it was a moment he could never escape. A scar that bled every time he thought of it.

He remembered sitting at your bedside in the hospital, the sterile smell of antiseptic filling the room. Your body had been bruised and broken beneath the white sheets, and your mom’s sharp voice echoed in his mind.

“You prick yourself because you don’t know how to take care of flowers,” she had said, her words as cold as the machines keeping you alive.

Simon hadn’t argued because she was right. He didn’t know how to care for flowers—or for you, not without breaking something delicate in the process. He’d tried. God, he’d tried. But trying hadn’t been enough. And now, he stood outside your shop, watching you dance with someone else—watching you live a life where he no longer had a place.

If it were before—before the accident, before the memories slipped away—he might have begged for more time. A proper goodbye. Maybe even a lifetime spent loving you until the flowers grew over his grave, the weeds plucked away so only beauty remained.

But now, he stood outside, a ghost at the edge of your new beginning.

The worst part wasn’t seeing you in someone else’s arms. It was knowing that you had no idea what you once meant to him. That every time you’d asked, "Visiting someone special?" you never realized it was you—your memory—he was mourning.

You didn’t remember the nights when your fingers ran gently through his hair, quieting his restless thoughts. You didn’t remember the mornings tangled in bedsheets that smelled like the roses from your shop, or the lazy afternoons when you’d hold up dandelions with that teasing grin of yours.

"Make a wish, Si," you’d say, eyes bright with playful mischief.

And every time, he’d push the flower back toward you with a soft, knowing smile. "I don’t need to. I already have everything I need."

And back then, it had been true.

But now, standing outside your shop with the brittle rose clutched between his fingers, Simon realized just how much he had lost. Not just you, but the version of himself who once believed love could be enough.

He knelt slowly at the threshold, placing the dried rose among the wilted petals and fallen leaves scattered near the entrance. The petals cracked under his touch, their fragility mirroring the ache in his chest. He didn’t bother plucking the petals—didn’t need to play the old game of ‘she loves me, she loves me not.’ Love, he knew, didn’t need an answer. It just was, even if it went unremembered.

Through the window, he watched you again, the man spinning you under the soft light, your laughter carrying in a way that felt like a distant memory.

And despite the sharp ache in his heart, Simon smiled—a small, sad thing, but genuine.

He had loved you once. More deeply than words could ever express. He still did. Even if you didn’t remember. Even if you never would.

Maybe that had to be enough.

With a deep breath, Simon tucked his hands into his pockets and turned away from the shop, his boots heavy against the pavement as he walked into the night. Behind him, the dried rose rested among the dead petals and brittle leaves, marking the spot where he let you go—not because he wanted to, but because he had no other choice.

The cool night air wrapped around him as he walked down the empty street. He thought of those dandelion afternoons, how you used to hold the flowers up to him with a grin, urging him to make a wish.

And for the first time, Simon let himself wonder what he would wish for now, if given the chance. But deep down, he knew the truth. No wish could bring back the version of you who had once loved him.

With your laugh still lingering in his mind, Simon kept walking.

It wasn’t the ending he wanted, but it was the one he had.

And this time, he would learn to live with it.

[servicpop]

CAN SOMEONE BE MY ADRIEN RN 😭 !! Anyways, what if Adrien asked Y/N to their prom?! isn't that the cutest thing?! is up to you if you gonna make it nsfw! I REALLY NEED HIM !! 🥲 AHHHH (love your page! so glad I found it 🫶🏻)

had so little time cus of work so let me write up something quick !

NSFW ; fingering & overstim

"Who are you taking out to prom, Adrien?" It was a question Adrien never really thought about. The obvious answer was... you, so he had completely forgotten the fact that you two weren't exclusive, or public yet. "Dunno, might just skip it," Adrien shrugged, pushing himself off the cobble pavement and brushed off the dirt from his clothes. The guys just laughed, nudging him with their elbows and patting him on the back, typical Adrien, they all remarked. Now came the complicated part, actually asking you out and playing it off so you won't get found out.

He decided a few weeks before prom day to ask you out. It was a Saturday evening, you were in your room filling out some paperwork for the school. It was crazy how much of a burden the school dumped onto you just because you were the student president. Your phone buzzed on your table, causing you to flinch from the unexpected notification from Adrien.

Look outside ur window I got a surprise for u

It has become normal for Adrien to sneak in through your window. You didn't know how your parents would react to seeing someone like Adrien, and you sure didn't want to risk it so you never actually asked them if Adrien could come in. The chair creaked as it rolled, allowing you to get up and walk to your window. You peered through the glass to look down at your yard, seeing Adrien standing on the grass with flowers in his hand and a large cardboard cut out with poorly drawn glittery words that were practically ineligible from his handwriting. You could tell he used glue and threw glitter on it from the way the letters drooped and melted.

You turned away from the window and went back to work.

You had barely gotten back on your chair until you heard your window slam open and Adrien jump in. How did he get into your room on the 2nd floor? Who knows. A few petals scattered onto your floor and Adrien dropped the cardboard cutout onto the floor, striding to where you were standing. "I'm not leaving until I hear a yes," Adrien grinned, placing the bruised flowers onto your desk and wrapping his arms around your waist, hoisting you up into the air and placing you back down onto your bed.

You don't know how long he's been at it. He has you laying ontop of him, back to his chest and three fingers slowly pumping in and out of you. There was already white all over your abdomen from your previous orgasms. His left hand is working on your spent cock, rubbing the tip over and over again. His fingers are sodden with your pre-cum that continued to leak out your slit despite how many times you've cum. "Adrien— please I can't take anymore," Your whole body screams with pleasure but your mind is so blank you can't even think a full sentence.

"Not stopping till you say yes," Adrien cooed, rubbing circles along your cockhead that sent shivers down your spine. He knew exactly all the spots you're weak in and all the spots that would drive you insane. Your pride wouldn't let you say yes, how could he even attend prom with you without it being a huge give away to their relationship? But now, all you could think of was his calloused hands rubbing so sweetly at all your spots. His fingers squelched as they pushed deeper, pressing against your prostate once more.

"C'mon just tell me you'll go to prom will me, I'll work double shift to buy you a suit if you want—" "I'll go to prom with you." "I'll even rent a car— huh?" Adrien paused, instantly sitting up to look at your face. It took a moment of pause before a toothy smile spread across Adrien's face, "Really?" You barely nod, your body as so spent from Adrien's torture. Adrien slides his fingers out of you, and wraps his arms around your shoulders in a bear hug. He basically tackles you on your own bed, rolling you around with a hearty laugh, "Fuck I really thought you'd reject me," he smiled against your shoulder, pulling you to lay ontop of him again but now both your chests were brushing against eachother.

"Does this mean we're dating—" "No."

[surielstea]

Dancing With Fate

Original request.

Pairing: Nyx Archeron x Tamlin’s Daughter!Reader

Summary: While struggling with her relationship with her father, Reader goes to her first ball and stumbles upon a male she has never met, but feels a distinct connection to.

Warnings: slight angst with a parent, mostly fluff between Reader and Nyx

A.Note: I apologize for how long this took me to get out, I really struggled with how to format her back story but I ended up fairly happy with it, let me know if y’all want more of these two I’d be happy to write a few one shots of their dynamic as well as all the family drama since I’m such a sucker for the forbidden love trope ;)

6.4k word count.

"Can you do that again for me, my sweet?" my mother whispered, her voice trembling as she crouched down to my height. I watched her eyes fill with a glassy shine that I didn't understand. She reached out, her hands shaking as they wrapped around my small wrists. I blinked up at her, wide-eyed and oblivious, only feeling the warmth of her touch and the tremor of her fingers.

I balled my hands into tiny fists, scrunching my face with all the concentration I could muster. I wanted so badly to make her proud, to show her what I could do. I willed the claws beneath my skin to surface, squeezing my fists tighter until, with a soft tearing, they slid out, small and sharp, shining like new silver. Her breath caught, and her eyes went even wider as she stared at the claws that had split through my knuckles. A single tear slipped down her cheek, and I tilted my head, wondering why she was sad. I reached out, my claws joining the action as I moved, but she stumbled back, evading the sharp silver, her hand pressed over her mouth.

"What's wrong, Momma?" I asked, my voice tiny. I tried to reach for her cheek, to wipe the tear away like she'd done for me so many times, but she shook her head, forcing a small, shaky smile.

"Nothing, it's alright, my sweet," she whispered, her voice soft and a little broken. "I just... didn't think you'd be able to do this so soon." Her fingers lingered on my cheek, warm and tender. She looked at me like she was memorizing my face, like every part of me mattered.

I gave her a proud smile, lifting my hands. "Isn't it cool?" I grinned widely, my innocence unbroken. I had no idea what my claws really meant, or the sorrow that darkened her gaze as she watched me slash the air with them, filling the quiet night with soft, sharp swishes. She just sat there, quiet and sad, holding her own hands close to her chest as if they couldn't bear to let me go.

It was a late night, much too late for me to be awake. I clung tightly to my mother's hand as she led me through a garden filled with roses that gleamed under the moonlight. The flowers were tall and beautiful, and I wanted to reach out to touch them, but my mother's grip kept me close. She moved so fast, her cloak wrapped tightly around her, like she was hiding from something.

"Where are we going, Mom?" I asked in a small voice, but she didn't answer, her steps quickening as she pulled me along. The roses seemed to shiver in the breeze, their petals brushing against us as we passed, and the moon above us was high and cold, casting everything in a silver glow.

Ahead of us was a huge mansion, bigger than any house I'd ever seen. It loomed in the night, dark and quiet, like it was waiting for us. My mother slowed as we neared the porch, her breathing heavy as she crouched down in front of me, her face serious in a way that made my heart beat faster.

She pressed a folded piece of paper into my hands, her fingers cold and firm around mine. "We're going to play a game, okay?" she said, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Her fingers brushed my cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

I nodded eagerly, happy that she wanted to play. Games with Momma were always fun. She pointed to the paper, her hand gentle but urgent. "Whoever opens that door," she said, her voice steady but quiet, "you give them this paper, okay?" Her gaze held mine, as if she was trying to pour a message into me with her eyes. "And, my sweet," she paused, swallowing hard, "I'm going to hide now. And no matter what they ask you, you can't tell them I was with you. It's a big secret."

I blinked up at her, not fully understanding, but I nodded anyway, like a good girl. She reached out, her fingers lingering on my cheek again, her eyes shimmering with something I couldn't name. "I'll meet you at the window, okay?" Her voice cracked, and a tear slipped down her cheek. "It'll be fun, I promise."

I reached up to brush the tear away, but she was already rising. Before I could say anything else, she knocked on the tall doors, and with a last, lingering look, she turned and melted into the shadows. Just like that, she was gone.

Suddenly, the night felt enormous and empty, the shadows stretching out around me, dark and cold. The noises from the forest grew louder, like the trees and animals and everything hidden within the dark were whispering all around me. My heart pounded, and I almost wanted to cry out, to beg for her to come back and take me home. But before I could make a sound, the massive doors creaked open, casting a sliver of light onto the porch.

A man stood in the doorway, tall and fierce, with wild red hair and eyes that seemed to cut through the darkness. One of his eyes gleamed gold, like a piece of metal, and he looked down at me with a frown, his expression stern and sleepy. "Excuse me, Mister," I squeaked, trying to remember my mother's instructions.

His gaze softened just a bit as he took in my tiny figure. "And who might you be?" he asked, his voice rough but not unkind.

"I'm supposed to give this to you." I held up the paper, my hands trembling as I waited for him to take it. He knelt down, eyeing me carefully as he unfolded the note, his expression unreadable. I gave him a polite smile, remembering my mother's lessons, but his gaze flicked from the note back to me, his eyes narrowing.

"Where's your mother?" he asked, his voice soft but sharp.

I shrugged, fidgeting under his gaze. "I don't know," I whispered, my heart thudding in my chest.

"But she brought you here, didn't she?" he pressed, his gaze steady. I swallowed, unsure of how my mother would want me to answer. After a long, quiet moment, he sighed, opening the door wider. "Come inside. You shouldn't be out here alone."

I followed him into the mansion, the silence thick and heavy as he led me up a grand staircase. My shoes clicked against the cold, polished floor as we climbed up and up, stopping finally at a pair of wooden doors wrapped in ivy. I was too small to open them, so I just waited, feeling very small in the middle of the enormous hallway.

"Wait here a moment," he said, giving me a nod before stepping through the door. I looked around, mesmerized by the golden chandelier hanging above me, its glow casting strange, twisting shadows that moved as the lights flickered.

"I already told you I'm not in the mood to talk, Lucien." A deep, heavy voice sounded from beyond the door, and I jumped, hugging my cloak tighter around me.

"It's not that," Lucien replied, his tone shifting in a way that sounded unsure, even a little nervous. "You have a visitor."

The other voice was silent for a moment, and my stomach knotted up as I realized they were talking about me. "Tell them to leave," the man said finally, his tone cold and final.

Lucien sighed, and I heard the soft rustling of paper. The silence felt like it stretched forever, but then footsteps approached. The door swung open, and I looked up to see a tall man with golden hair, his eyes dark and sharp as they fell on me. I could tell by the way he looked at me that he wasn't used to children, that maybe he didn't know what to do with me.

But he crouched down slowly, his gaze softening just a bit as he held his hands up, like he wanted me to know he wasn't going to hurt me. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice low and gentle.

I told him, my voice a quiet whisper, but he nodded as if he'd heard every word. "Do you know who I am?" he asked, tilting his head, and I shook my head, looking down at my hands.

"I'm the High Lord of the Spring Court," he said softly, his tone proud but his eyes sad. My eyes widened, a little smile pulling at my lips. I'd heard of a High Lord in my mother's stories, someone powerful and magical.

"But, more importantly," he continued, his gaze searching my face, "I'm your father."

I blinked up at him, the words hanging in the air like they were something heavy, something I didn't yet understand. I wanted to ask him what it all meant, but all I could do was stare up at him, my fingers curling around the edge of my cloak, wishing I was safe in my mother's arms again.

———

Ever since that night, I've been confined to this estate on every special occasion, under the watchful eyes of my father's maids, lest I sneak away the moment I'm alone. Tonight, like many others, I'm left looking out the window of my bedroom—the same spot where I'd waited endlessly as a child, hoping my mother would come back for me.

But tonight was going to be different. I'd make sure of it.

I storm out of my room, my heels clicking with determined steps as I march down the hall. I swing open the doors to my father's study without knocking. He looks up from his papers, brow creased, clearly taken aback by my abrupt entrance.

"I'm going to the Dawn Court tonight," I say, my tone leaving no room for discussion.

"Absolutely not," he replies, shaking his head and dipping his quill back in the ink, dismissing me with the kind of finality he's used to exerting over me.

"All the courts are invited," I argue, stepping forward. "I'm obligated to go."

"No," he says again, his tone colder. "It's a high-profile ball. You're not ready."

I draw in a sharp breath, struggling to keep my temper in check. "Not ready? Father, I'm nineteen. If not now, then when?" This age had been difficult for him for some reason, I don't know why but ever since my birthday he's been acting strangely, started keeping me shut out and less involved—I may as well have just been imagining it or it was a coincidence it started happening after I turned nineteen, but once I got the thought in my head it was hard to get it out.

His expression hardens, his voice annoyingly calm. "Just, not now."

A chill spreads through my hands, and I have to resist the urge to bear the claws that hide beneath my skin. "I'm so tired of having every decision made for me," I say, pressing my palms to my temples as frustration wells up. "Of being treated like a prisoner in this house."

He stands, his temper fraying. "And I'm sick of you thinking you know best," His voice rises, echoing in the silence of the study. "You don't understand half of what's at stake."

"No, maybe I don't. But neither do you, apparently," I snap back. "Or maybe it's just that you're afraid to lose the only company you have left in this house. Is that it, Father?"

His hands ball into fists, metal-like claws gleaming from his knuckles. Mine slid out as well, a metallic gleam in the dim light.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he snarls, eyes darkening.

"Maybe I do," I bite back. "I hate this house." It came out as more of a confession than a retort, but his face falters, pain flickering through his eyes before he regains his composure.

"You don't mean that."

"I do," I insist, voice shaking with anger. "I hate this house, and I wish my mother never abandoned me here." The words are barely out of my mouth before I turn on my heel and stride out, slamming the door behind me so hard the walls shudder, my claws snagging on the wood of the door and scraping the paint off, revealing the bare, slightly rotted wood beneath. It felt like a metaphor, in a strange way.

I make my way to the garden, desperate for air. The night breeze is cool as I step out onto the deck, and I close the glass doors behind me a little more gently this time. Taking a few deep breaths, I walk along the garden path, letting the silence and cold soothe my frayed nerves. Winter's grip is finally loosening, and the garden is starting to come alive with buds and leaves. My favorite time of year.

I reach for one of the rosebuds, my claws retracting ever so slowly, my skin morphing over the hideous metal that gleamed in the moonlight. I forget the feeling of the power my father gifted me and remember the feeling and comforting warmth of my mother's power flickering beneath my fingertips. The flower blooms in my palm, reaching out toward me, and I smile faintly as I coax the other buds open along the path. Flower by flower my frustrating emotions ebb, and by the time I've reached the stone bench, my anger has cooled, replaced by something heavier, more complicated.

I sit, feeling the familiar weight of regret settle over me. I don't hate this house, not really. I hate the way I'm trapped in it.

The glass door opens, and I know without looking that it's him. My father takes a seat beside me on the bench, and I shift away, making it clear I'm not ready to forgive him just yet. We sit in silence, watching the newly-bloomed flowers sway in the night breeze. Finally, he sighs.

"You can go to the Dawn Court tonight," he says quietly.

I turn to him, my eyes wide with surprise.

He hesitates, looking down at his hands. "I'm..." He struggles around the word. "Sorry that you feel like you can't make your own choices," he mutters, his voice filled with a vulnerability I haven't heard ever before. "I'm trying to do better. And, you're right. I am afraid."

My heart softens, and the walls I've built up slowly crumble. "Afraid of what?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Of losing you, in turn losing everything." He looks up, his eyes—a shade of green I've always found comfort in—filled with an emotion that makes my heart ache.

Without thinking, I wrap my arms around him, and he pulls me close, his hand gently stroking my back. "I'm sorry, too," I murmur into his shoulder.

He shakes his head. "Don't be. You're my daughter. You're allowed to be angry with me." He pulls back to look at me. "Just promise me one thing," he says. "Promise you won't run away tonight."

I give him a small smile, the request so obscene that u couldn't help it. "I'll be perfect. Thank you, Father." I reassure.

He nods, satisfied, and rises from the bench. "We leave in an hour. You'd better start getting ready."

———

My dress is a soft lavender that hugs my waist and fans out into a beautiful, flowing skirt, the slit running up my thigh edged in delicate embroidered flowers. The open back crisscrosses with delicate ties, and the neckline is just low enough to be elegant without being too revealing. One of the maids has styled my hair in a half-up, half-down look, a few braided strands framing my face. For once, I feel exactly how I want to feel—elegant, feminine, and free.

I leave my bedroom and make my way down the hall to the marble staircase, where my father waits at the base. As I descend, his eyes widen, his mouth opening slightly as he takes in my appearance.

"Well?" I do a small spin, laughing at his awestruck expression.

He swallows, a proud smile slowly spreading across his face. "You look beautiful," he murmurs, pulling me into a hug.

I hug him back, letting him hold me close, and in that moment, it feels as if all the tension of our earlier argument melts away. We're just father and daughter again.

———

The Dawn Court ballroom is bathed in golden light, warm and inviting. I've barely stepped inside when a tall, dark-skinned man in white robes approaches, a halo of gold atop his head.

"And who is this lovely lady?" he asks, his voice rich with curiosity.

"My daughter," my father answers gruffly, his protective tone unmistakable.

The man blinks in surprise before offering a sheepish smile. "Ah, well then." He turns and makes a quick exit.

"Who was that?" I ask, amused by his reaction.

"High Lord of Day," my father mutters, a hint of irritation in his voice. "He has a reputation."

I raise an eyebrow, smiling as I unlink my arm from his. "Are all High Lords so... pretty?"

"Careful," he growls in warning.

A cheeky smile appears on my lips as I unhook my arm from his. "Only observations." I shrug. "I'm going to get a drink." I take a step away and he takes it with me. "Father, I'm only going to the refreshments table, not war. I'll be fine." I promise and he solicits a sigh.

"No wine." He demands and I shake my head in disbelief.

"Yes sir." I mock salute before spinning on my heel and walking across the ballroom, I make my way to the refreshment table and pour myself a glass from the fountain of cider, admiring the way the bubbles shimmer in the golden light. My father had said no wine but mentioned nothing about spiked cider. I take a long sip and begin to explore the ballroom, watching dancers swirl in gowns of blue and pink that mirror the sunset outside.

Lost in thought, I wander past an indoor garden filled with gardenias and evergreens. I couldn't help myself but slip inside, a few guests were inside, admiring the flowers just as I wished to do, so I deemed I was allowed to. I approached an arch of budded flowers, standing beneath the green vines that soon would be sprouted in color. I reached out, gently brushing a bud with my fingertips, watching as it blooms in reply.

"Your touch has improved since the last time I saw you," a familiar voice murmurs from behind me.

I turn, eyes lighting up as they land on a tan-skinned male with striking red hair. "Lucien!" I throw my arms around him, grinning.

He chuckles, pulling me into a warm hug. "You look stunning, little Fawn," he says, holding me at arm's length to take in my dress. "How did you manage to get out of the house?"

I smirk with a casual shrug. "Whipped out the claws."

He raises an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "Like father, like daughter." He mused and I chuckled, looking down at the flowers reaching towards me, asking for my attention again.

"You want to dance?" His hand comes to my shoulder and I shake my head.

"You go ahead, I think I'll need a few more glasses before I step foot on the dance floor." I scoff and he shakes his head.

"Nonsense, you're a terrific dancer." He bumps my shoulder.

"I'm okay uncle, really," I reassured and he clamped his lips shut.

"Okay, find me if you need me." He presses a kiss to my temple and I nod.

He saunters away towards a group of friends I didn't recognize and I continue exploring, sipping my champagne as I wander through the crowd.

My gaze is caught by a group of strangers dressed in dark clothing. There's a woman in deep maroon, a honey brunette who smiles at me softly, and beside her, a tall man wearing a black-jeweled crown. I study them curiously, trying to place who they might be.

Distracted, I accidentally walk straight into someone's chest.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," I stammer, stumbling back. I trip over my heels, but a pair of strong hands catches me, steadying me before I fall.

"You alright?" an unfamiliar voice asks, deep and soothing.

I look up—and up—and up—at a broad-shouldered man with rugged features and half of his shoulder-length hair tied back. He has a friendly, easy-going smile that immediately puts me at ease.

"Yeah, sorry," I mutter, flushing slightly.

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. "No need to apologize. I should have been watching where I was going. You'd think five centuries would be enough time to figure that out." He snorts, red siphons gleaming on his chest and hands.

I blink in surprise. "Five centuries?"

He grins, raising an eyebrow. "Hey, no need to make me sound ancient."

I laugh, feeling unexpectedly comfortable around him. "Right. Apologies again." I clamp my lips shut, embarrassed.

"Who's the lucky person that brought you here tonight?" He asks, sensing my embarrassment and switching the topic, shifting to face towards the crowd.

"Couldn't I have come on my own?" I counter, crossing my arms.

He laughs again. "Touché. But I'll bet that doesn't mean you'll be lacking for dance partners." He gestures to the dance floor.

"Maybe," I say with a smile, "but that depends on who asks."

"Well, I would, but my mate would probably have my head if I danced with anyone else," he says, feigning a solemn look.

"Pity," I replied playfully. "But it's alright—you don't seem all that familiar with your feet anyway."

He gasps, feigning insult. "Hey! I'll have you know I'm a world-class dancer!"

"Oh, really?" I raise an eyebrow. "Shame, then. You missed your chance."

He chuckles, backing away. "Well, it was nice talking to you—mystery lady."

"Likewise," I call after him with a smile, watching as he disappears into the crowd.

The music is lively, filling the ballroom with a vibrant energy as dancers swirl and laugh under the golden chandeliers. I sip the last of my cider, feeling a pleasant warmth spread through me. For the first time in ages, I feel, free. Maybe my father had been right to keep me close all these years; maybe I wasn't ready for this world of strangers and their sharp eyes. But as I watch the colors and movement around me, I know I wouldn't trade this feeling for anything.

Lost in my thoughts, I wander past the terrace doors and step outside, onto a balcony that overlooks a sprawling garden filled with glistening fountains and delicate white flowers. I take a deep breath, savoring the crisp night air, and let my fingers trace the cool stone railing wrapped in ivy.

Then I hear it—a quiet, amused hum from just behind me. I turn, startled, and my gaze falls on a young man leaning casually against the doorway, watching me with a slight, crooked smile.

He's tall, with jet-black hair that falls in tousled waves, and eyes that are strikingly, disarmingly blue. He wears a dark, impeccably tailored suit, with a midnight-blue shirt beneath, the top buttons undone enough to reveal tan skin beneath. There's an effortless elegance to him, a quiet confidence, like he belongs in every corner of this glittering world.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he says, stepping forward with a charming half-smile. "But I had to wonder what you were doing all by yourself out here. Parties like these are hardly tolerable alone."

I raise an eyebrow, feeling my cheeks warm under his gaze. "And yet here you are, all by yourself."

He chuckles, eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. "Fair, though technically, I'm not alone anymore, am I?"

I laugh, feeling my earlier irritation with my father melt away as I look at him. "I suppose not. Though I doubt you're here to keep me company."

He raises a hand in mock innocence. "You wound me. I've been nothing but kind since we met."

"Have we met?" I ask, tilting my head. "I think I would've remembered," I say with an angled head and something flickers in his sapphire gaze that I can't quite place.

He seems to consider this, tilting his head thoughtfully. "No, we haven't officially met," he concedes. "Which feels like a shame, honestly."

The corners of my mouth lift in a smile. "So, are you going to introduce yourself, or are we just going to continue being strangers?"

His eyes sparkle with something like amusement as he extends a hand. "Strangers sounds nice," I say flippantly, looking out at the Dawn Courts skyline, a sliver of the sun barely visible. This party was supposed to last until dawn, until the sun returned and the entire court could watch the outmatched sunrise of this court.

I wasn't ready to commit to making any friends, I had just gained my freedom, I wished to revel in it for a few moments longer, nameless was my way of doing it.

He laughs, a rich, genuine sound that makes my heart skip. "Alright, stranger," he says, leaning casually against the railing beside me. "What brings you out to the edge of the ballroom?"

"Some air," I reply with a shrug, looking out over the garden. "I hadn't expected to feel so claustrophobic."

He nods, understanding flickering in his eyes. "Parties can be exhausting. All the faces, all the names. It's nice to step away."

I glance at him. "You sound like you've been to one too many of these."

"Oh, you have no idea," he says with a grin. "I think I've been to so many I could navigate them in my sleep."

"And here I thought you looked like you were having fun," I tease.

"Maybe I'm a good actor," he says, his tone playful. "Or maybe I just needed a reason to enjoy it."

I roll my eyes, but I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. "Does that line actually work for you?"

"More often than you'd think," he says, laughing. "But since you're clearly immune to charm, let me try a different approach." He holds out a hand, bowing slightly. "Would you do me the honor of a dance, stranger?"

I hesitate, glancing back at the ballroom, but something about his easy smile, the spark of humor in his eyes, makes me want to take his hand. I place mine in his, letting him lead me closer.

The music inside changes as his lithe fingers make contact with my waist, shifting to a slower, softer melody. He adjusts my stance, guiding me with a gentleness that surprises me. There's a warmth in his gaze that makes my heart pound just a little faster as I look up at him.

"So, princess," he murmurs as we begin to move, his voice barely audible over the music echoing from inside. "Are you here with family? Or did you sneak away to attend the most boring ball of the season?"

I laugh, looking up at him with feigned offense. "Boring? I'll have you know I'm having a wonderful time."

"Are you?" he asks, eyes twinkling. "Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

"Maybe a little of both," I admit, a smile tugging at my lips. "And you? Do you always call balls like these boring?"

"Only when my mother's not here to overhear," he replies, grinning. "But tell me, how did you get here?"

I hesitate, wondering how much to tell him, but there's something about his gaze that makes it feel safe, to be honest. "My father brought me," I say, keeping it vague. "He doesn't let me out much."

"Really?" The stranger's eyebrows lift in surprise. "I would've pegged you for someone who went wherever they pleased."

"I'd like to think so," I reply, laughing. "But apparently, my father has other ideas."

He raises an eyebrow, curiosity in his eyes. "What does he think you'll do? Start a rebellion?"

"Maybe," I say with a shrug, a playful glint in my eyes. "He's probably right."

His laughter is warm, and he holds me a little closer as we spin across the marbled balcony floor. "Well, if you ever need a partner in crime, let me know. I'm an excellent accomplice."

I arch an eyebrow, smirking. "How do I know you're any good at sneaking out?"

He grins, leaning down until his voice is a soft murmur in my ear. "Trust me, princess. You don't survive my family without learning how to slip away now and then."

I glance up, meeting his gaze, intrigued by the way his words hold a hidden depth, a story he's not telling. "Your family sounds, interesting."

"That's one way to put it," he says with a chuckle, eyes flickering with a momentary shadow. But it's gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his easy charm. "Let's just say they have certain expectations."

"Well, then maybe we have more in common than I thought," I say, softening.

"Seems that way," he murmurs, his voice softening too. There's a gentleness in his gaze now, and I feel his hands hold me just a little more securely as if he's anchoring me.

We dance like this, quietly, for a few moments, simply enjoying the music and each other's company. He spins me once, drawing a soft laugh from me, and when he pulls me back, I'm closer than I realized, his breath warm on my cheek.

"Do you think we'd have met otherwise?" he asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I blink, a little caught off guard by the question. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Fate has a funny way of working, doesn't it?" He's still holding me close, his gaze warm and thoughtful, and I feel the world fade away a little as we look at each other.

"It does," I reply, almost breathless, my heart pounding in my chest.

He's quiet for a moment, his eyes glimmering with something I couldn't place. "I hope—I hope fate lets us meet again."

For a moment, I forget about the ballroom, about my father's rules, about everything except him. I don't know who he is, or why he's here, but something about him feels achingly familiar, like we're old friends, like I've known him in some other life.

When the music fades, he slowly lets me go, and I feel the loss of his warmth, his presence. He steps back, bowing with a playful, courtly gesture.

I scoff a laugh and give my best attempt at a curtsy. "You're a natural," He muses as the music dies down and I sidle closer to the balcony, eager to look out at the world beyond that I had never witnessed before.

The balcony feels almost timeless as we stand there, his presence beside me grounding in a way I hadn't expected. We talk as if there are no constraints, just the night around us, a quiet space carved out in the world. His words flow easily, a mix of humor and teasing, sometimes dipping into moments of gentleness that make my chest tighten.

I can't help but keep stealing glances at him, trying to memorize the sharp line of his jaw and the warm, playful gleam in his eyes. And every time I meet that gaze, I feel the strange, unshakable familiarity tugging at me—a whisper in the back of my mind that insists I know him, that maybe I've known him far longer than this one night. But I can't let myself get swept away in that feeling. Not yet.

We talk for hours about anything and everything, I tell him about the flowers below us, and what they symbolize, and in return, he tells me of the stars in the sky, the constellations, and each of their names.

We talked about things that I never voiced before, but there was a steady comfort in his presence that made me feel like I could confess even my deepest mistakes and he'd nod with understanding in his eyes, not a flicker of judgment.

We didn't go into the ballroom the entire night, had taken up the small seating area that curved around the side of the building I hadn't noticed before.

"So, princess," he says, smirking as he leans his back into his chair, arms folded in a lazy, practiced ease, "if you weren't here, what kind of trouble would you be getting yourself into?"

I think for a moment, letting my fingers graze the ivy-covered stone. "Trouble? I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I'm sure you don't." He smirks, an amused glint in his eyes. "I pegged you for the rebellious type the moment I set eyes on you." He goes on.

I shrug, glancing out over the shadowed garden below. "Well, clearly you don't know me very well," I reply in a snarky tone, my lips curling into a teasing smile. "Perhaps I'm a perfectly obedient daughter who follows all the rules."

His laugh is low and rich, sending a pleasant shiver through me. "Now, I find that hard to believe," he murmurs, tilting his head to meet my gaze. "A wildflower like you, growing in a gilded cage? No, I think you're meant to be out there—" he gestures to the dark mountains beyond the garden, "—living on your own terms."

My cheeks warm under his gaze, but I lift my chin. "And you? What about you, oh wise stranger? Surely you're not the type to follow anyone's rules but your own."

"Oh, I'd follow them," he says, his voice dropping to a playful murmur, "if you were the one making them."

I feel my face flush at his words, but I can't resist matching his grin. "Be careful what you wish for. I'd hate to ruin that roguish charm with a few boundaries."

"Boundaries?" He raises an eyebrow, laughing. "I don't believe you’re the kind of girl to put them in place, life's far more interesting without them, don't you think?" He cocks his head in an all too demeaning fashion, as if he knows me better than to even suggest such a thing. I can’t help but smile at the familiarity, of being truly seen and known, it was foreign, but welcomed. “More than you know,” I reply, a softer atmosphere taking over with the tenderness in my voice.

"So, what does someone like you dream of seeing?"

It's a simple enough question, but I find myself hesitating, surprised by how much I want to answer, how easy it feels to open up to him. "I want to see everything," I admit, my voice almost a whisper. "Every corner of the world. The mountains, the seas. I want to taste the air in different places and feel the ground under my feet where no one else has walked. I want to be free."

It's more than I've ever shared with anyone, especially someone who doesn't even know my name. I swallow, feeling suddenly vulnerable, but when I glance at him, his gaze is warm, and understanding. As if he knows exactly what I mean.

"I think freedom suits you," he says softly like he's revealing a secret. "It's in your eyes—the way they look past this place, like you're already somewhere else entirely."

His words send a shiver through me, and for a moment, I can't find any words at all. So instead, I look away, watching as the sky shifts from deep indigo to a paler shade, hinting at the dawn. "Maybe one day I'll get to see it all," I say, more to myself than to him.

"I have a feeling you will." His voice is quiet, almost wistful, and I glance back to find him watching me with that same, unsettling familiarity, as if he, too, feels this strange pull between us.

We fall into an easy silence after that, leaning against the railing side by side as the stars start to fade. Occasionally, he says something that makes me laugh, and I find myself telling him things I'd never tell anyone else—about the books I love, the dreams I've buried, the way I crave a life that's different from the one set out for me.

He listens, really listens, his attention never wavering. And in return, he shares pieces of himself, though I sense he's careful, holding back just as much as I am. He speaks of a family that has expectations, a life lived beneath a weight that isn't always visible. I don't pry, but I nod, letting him know I understand.

The sky lightens, a faint glow spreading over the horizon, and I can't help but feel a pang of regret as the world around us starts to wake.

"You know," he murmurs, his voice low, "I think this might be one of the best conversations I've ever had."

I laugh softly, though my heart aches a little at the thought of this night ending. "You don't get many opportunities to talk with strangers on balconies?"

"Not like this," he says, glancing down at me, his expression unreadable. "Not with someone like you."

There's something so earnest in his gaze that I feel my resolve waver. I want to tell him who I am, to share every piece of myself, but a part of me resists, clinging to this fleeting anonymity.

"Thank you," I say softly, and I mean it more than he could ever know.

"For what?" he asks, his tone warm.

"For reminding me that people can be kind. That they can listen." I smile up at him, feeling a strange mixture of sadness and hope. "I think I needed that."

The first light of dawn glimmers on the horizon, casting a soft glow over the garden. Slowly, he reaches out, taking my hand in his, his touch warm and steady. I feel his thumb brush gently over my knuckles, and it sends a wave of warmth through me, a silent promise in his touch.

"Maybe one day," he says softly, his voice barely a whisper, "we'll meet again. Maybe fate will give us that."

I can't bring myself to say anything, so I simply nod, letting myself savor the feel of his hand in mine for just a moment longer.

As the first rays of sunlight touch the garden below, he releases my hand, stepping back with a soft smile. He gives me one last, lingering look before turning, disappearing through the terrace doors and back into the world from which he came.

I stay there, watching as the light fills the sky, feeling like I've lost something precious and found something rare all at once.

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[lovebugism]

shy! reader request: eddie & reader having their first sleepover? reader bein all cautious about her actions and if it’s ok and eddie seeing this just lifts up the blankets to the bed to welcome her in to snuggle :)

love love love this request! hope you enjoy :D — eddie tries to make his shy!gf feel at home in his trailer (fluff, new relationship hijinks, 2k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Despite what people say, Eddie Munson does not drive like a maniac.

Correction— Eddie Munson doesn’t drive like a maniac when there’s a pretty girl in his van.

Even though you’re pretty much the first girl to be in his van period (and even though you wouldn’t consider yourself all that pretty), you’re glad to be an exception to the rule. Your panoply of anxieties couldn’t have handled anything more than the passably steady car ride from Benny’s Burgers to Forest Hills.

You don’t mean to let out a sigh of relief when he parks in his driveway.

Eddie grins and unlatches his seatbelt with a soft click at the same time you do. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asks with eyes just as wild as his hair.

You shake your head with your lips pursed to the side, then peer at him from beneath your lashes. “After everything Steve said, I was expecting a lot worse,” you confess. And even though you duck away from him, Eddie can still see the small smile on your petaled mouth. Just as quiet as you are.

“Well, one, don’t listen to anything Steve says, okay? Like, ever,” Eddie cajoles lightheartedly. “And two, I don’t drive crazy when I have precious cargo sitting next to me, alright? Stevie’s just jealous ‘cause I think you’re prettier than he is.”

Your nose scrunches as you try to worm your way out of his compliment. “So you think Steve’s pretty?” you tease, already knowing the answer.

He scoffs. “Totally! Just not pretty like you. And don’t tell him I said that either— It’ll just go to his hair.”

The incorrect turn of phrase makes you giggle.

He turns his knees towards the door and curls his fingers around the latch. “Wait for me a second, will ya?” you hear him mumble before he hops to the ground. He slams the door shut behind him and rounds the hood on his way to you — sneakers crunching against the gravel, momentarily aglow with yellow headlights.

He’d done this before at the diner. You wait patiently for his arrival like you did then, even though you feel a bit silly doing so. You’re more than capable of getting out yourself, but Eddie always insists. 

He opens the passenger side door for you with a tightlipped, lopsided grin and holds his free hand out towards you. His fingers are larger and much warmer than yours as they wrap around your palm to guide you out. 

The van isn’t that high up off the ground, really. He just likes to hold your hand.

You don’t mind it, though. You’ll take any opportunity to hold him back.

He leads you up the driveway and inside the trailer with his hand entwined with yours. “Wayne’s not here?” you murmur when you’re finally inside, noticing how quiet and empty the place is. 

Though maybe empty’s not the right word. The place is filled with stuff — old furniture, a collection of mugs, and various other necessities. Not a mess, just an organized chaos of miscellaneous clutter. It feels like a home. Like a place that’s been lived in.

“No. He’s at work. Graveyard shift,” Eddie answers, tossing his keys onto the coffee table with a high-pitched clack. 

He starts to shrug off his leather jacket and notices how squirrelly you seem, all skittish with your face twisted with a distant worry. Your neck twitches softly, head tilting once to the side and back up again. Your quiet concern becomes his own.

His brows raise, hidden beneath his curly bangs, as he slides the fabric down his tattooed arms. “Is that okay?” he wonders, eyes wide and twinkling with apprehension.

“Yeah!” you answer, louder and quicker than you mean to. You’re obviously overcompensating, but you shrug it off anyway. You smile sweetly at him, even though it wavers at the edges, and tilt your cheek to your shoulder. “I was just— It was just a question.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“‘Cause it’s okay if you don’t wanna stay the night,” Eddie assures you, giving you an out so you don’t have to make one yourself. “It’s whatever, you know? Give me the word, and I’ll take you back home. I’ll just spend the night all alone… In an empty trailer… In bed all by myself…”

His quiet smirk widens to a broader beam when he nears you. His pale hands curl around your arms, the faded bats below his thumb sitting neatly outside your elbow. 

He’s joking, of course. Well, not about the taking you home part, but about all the rest of it. 

He thinks he’d die if he ever made you feel anything less than totally safe. Dying would feel easier, at least. He’d never make you feel bad about being anxious, or coerce you into hiding your feelings for his sake. He cares about you far too much for any of that.

So his tense heart rests a bit when you smile.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, quiet but still sincere. 

The boy brightens all at once. Excited in such an innocent, boyish way. “So I get to kiss you all night long?” he wonders in a disbelieving murmur.

“Only if you want,” you answer with burning cheeks and clammy hands.

“Well, I do want… I want very much…”

He kisses you then, until your lungs run out of air. Standing together in the middle of his living room, lit by so many yellow lamps, with the croaking of frogs and the chittering of crickets sounding in the navy blue night.

He pulls away sometime after. Maybe a second. Maybe an eon or more. He recovers from being so ardently kissed much quicker than you do and guides you down the short hallway to the single bedroom. You still feel the imprint of his mouth against yours, like he’s still there. 

Your lips tingle with longing, grieving the lack of him.

You still make him turn around before you change, though.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he teases from the very center of his mattress, right before turning onto his stomach and shoving his face into the pillow.

“It’s different,” you murmur, mostly to yourself, as you slide the sleeves of your dress down your shoulders. The fabric falls to the carpeted floor in a puddle at your feet. You make quick work of redressing, as though there were some kinda time limit to what you had asked of him.

“I know,” he replies, muffled into the cushion his cheek is smushed against. “You’re still pretty, though.”

“You can’t even see me,” you argue and slide a pair of frilly sleep shorts over your thighs.

“I’d still think you were pretty even if I never saw you again.”

“Jeez,” you laugh, shoving your head through the neckline of a band-tee older than you are.

“…That sounded kinda morbid, huh?”

You giggle again. This time because his voice is still smothered into the pillow, stifled and utterly faint. “Just a little,” you answer.

“Well, it was supposed to be a compliment.”

“I know. You can turn around now.”

Eddie lifts his wild head and peeks at you over his shoulder, one eye squinted shut just in case he heard you wrong.

You’re less dressed up than before, but still as pretty as you were ten minutes ago. 

The subtle domesticity of seeing you in pajamas makes his chest ache. It’s like doing laundry or making a shopping list — something so utterly mundane that’s so strikingly tender.

“Pretty,” Eddie mumbles some moments later, when his brain forgets every word but that one.

“Shut up.”

Your hands wring together as you idle at his bedside, like you need some kinda invitation to come closer. Your head tilts again, a gentle swaying of your head that seems almost involuntary.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Eddie wonders with a soft pink, inquisitive grin. 

‘Cause this isn’t the first time you’ve done it. You did it earlier, when you first walked in, and a couple times at the dinner. Like when you catch him staring or after he’s complimented you. It’s almost like you have some genuine aversion to his affection.

“Doing what?” you murmur, all innocent.

Eddie swings his legs off the side of the mattress, socked feet melting into the carpet. His parted thighs are enough of an invitation as you settle intently between them. 

“That thing with your neck,” he answers when he’s fully upright. “The uh…” He replicates it for you, drops his cheek to his shoulder and brings it back up again. He doubts he looks nearly as cute as you do doing it.

You get so self-aware that your stomach starts to ache. “I don’t know,” you answer through the frog in your throat. “I do that sometimes, I guess— When I get nervous. I can’t really help it.”

“Nervous?” Eddie echoes, face twisted with sudden anguish. His hands reach for your wringing ones. He musters a shaking smile up at you. “Babe— Why are you nervous?”

You dig your bare feet into the carpet, shifting your weight and ducking your gaze like a nervous child. “‘Cause I haven’t slept over before. And I don’t really know what to… do. Like, what if I snore really loud? Or drool a lot? What if I accidentally punch you in my sleep or something?”

Eddie doesn’t mean to laugh in the face of your genuine worries, but it spills out before he can stop it. It’s so like you to stress yourself sick over something that’s about as likely to happen as getting struck by lightning.

“I’d probably like you more, honestly,” he answers, giving your clammy hands a gentle squeeze. His nose scrunches until the edges of his eyes crinkle. “You’re too perfect. You need something to humble you.”

“Don’t be nice to me, I’m being serious.”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I can sleep on the couch. Or on the floor or something—”

“It’s your house, Eds.”

“Well, I’m not making you sleep on the couch, and especially not on the floor. Even if I was that big of an asshole, I think Uncle Wayne would kill me.” He grows suddenly serious a second later. Still smiling, but with something more earnest in his eyes. “But… I do think we’d be more comfortable, you know, in a bed. Together.”

He’s right, but it doesn’t mean you’re happy about it. Not because you don’t want to sleep in the same bed as him, but because you’re too anxious to let yourself enjoy a good thing.

“I’m just bad at sleepovers, I think,” you confess in a tiny voice, like that fact isn’t utterly obvious now. “Like, one time, I was at a friend’s house in middle school, and I used a poster as a blanket ‘cause I was too scared to ask for a real one.”

Eddie’s smile widens. The rose petal expression blooms so large it makes his cheeks hurt. 

“Of course, you did,” the boy says with a shake of his head, frizzy curls swaying around the outsides of his jaw. “You’re so damn cute, you know that?”

You make a vague, grumbly noise of disdain right before Eddie wraps you in his arms. He pulls you softly down until you’re sitting on his jean-clad thighs, then buries his face into your shoulder. You smell like the soap you showered with and the burgers you ate and the perfume you put on just for him.

Eddie presses his lips there, to your collarbone, where the neckline of your shirt has dipped slightly down. He lingers there for a moment, then pulls away with a soft smack.

“I promise to make this the best damn sleepover you’ve ever had in your life,” he promises, muffled from where his nose is smushed into your neck.

“Yeah?” you mumble into the curls tickling your chin.

He nods, still pressed against you. “And I promise to tuck you in before bed so you don’t have to go using my posters as blankets, either.”

You push him away with a half-hearted hand. His boyish laughter paints the tiny bedroom golden. He pulls you back a second later, and you melt into him without thinking twice.

[shotmrmiller]

Valentine's day with Pathetic!Simon

You should've known Johnny had been serious when he talked to you that morning.

"LT's never had anyone to gift fer Valentine's. Just...let him give ye the flowers 'n accept the chocolates, aye?"

Simon stood in front of you, pinning you in place with his beady gaze, a bouquet of red roses in his clenched fist.

The ends of them look torn. You really hope he didn't just rip these off of someone's front yard.

He interrupts your inner musings by forcefully presenting them to you— velvet petals brushing your lips, causing you to jerk your head back slightly.

Allllrighty then.

Tenderly, you raise your hands and grab them— encircling the base of the rose just above his hold.

"Thank you for these, Simon. They're very beautiful," you croon. His delivery might be awkward, but you truly are grateful for them. Every individual rose is pristine, colours vibrant, stems strong and firm— not a brown petal nor wilted leaf in sight.

They're perfect.

Until your fingers are pricked by something pointed.

What?

You let go quickly and turn your hands up to inspect them. Sure enough, there's blood beading up on some of your fingertips, and the soft flesh of your palms.

And you grab Simon's wrist to lift the bouquet to eye level.

Thorns.

They're everywhere, and Simon's knuckles are white from how tight he's holding the roses.

"Jesus! Simon! You've got to be kidding me! Put them down!" As you let him go, you quickly spin around to fetch your first aid kit, but a forceful grip on your shoulder stops you in your tracks and spins you right back around.

"Just get a vase for them," he rumbles.

In disbelief, you protest, "What? No! You need—" but he swiftly interrupts you, his grip on your shoulder tightening marginally.

"What I need is f'you to get a vase." His firm response is resolute.

"O-okay, I...I er, got a few under the sink." With a silent stride, Simon stays close behind you, his hand that had touched your shoulder now curling around the back of your neck— only letting go when you reach for the sink base.

Placing it on the countertop, you ask him if he would now put them down.

"No. Fill it with water."

Simon nods when you do as he says, then drops them inside the vase— and you can't look away as red furls inside the once-clear water, turning it pink.

He clears his throat, catching your attention, and when you turn to face him, Simon's handing you something else.

It's a flattened snickers bar. You can see caramel peeking out from one corner, and the wrapper is streaked with some of his blood.

Delicately, you grab it with your thumb and index by the sticky edges and place it on a paper towel.

"How did you know that snickers are my favorite?" Simon doesn't answer, only looks at you unnervingly expectantly.

Right. Let him give me the flowers and chocolate.

"Thank you so much for all of this, Simon. Happy Valentine's Day."

He lets out a deep sigh (of relief?) and opens long arms. You walk up to him, wrap your arms around his waist— the side of your head flat on his broad chest— and let out an undignified squawk when you feel your spine pop as he returns the hug.

You blatantly ignore the bulge firmly pressing itself into the soft flesh of your lower stomach, and definitely don't think about how large it feels.

"Happy Valentine's Day, pet."

Later, Johnny laughs so hard that he cries when he sees the rust-colored streaks of blood on the Snickers wrapper.

"Simon's an intense man, what can ah say?"

[domesticandlovingmonsters]

M!Naga x F!Reader (NSFW)

Themes/Warnings: Nsfw, breeding/oviposition, aphrodisiac themes, monster x reader, fantasy world, mute monster Words: 4.5k Notes:  Hi Hi! Here is this month's free story! A quick tangle with a Naga. Hope you enjoy!

The front wooden door creaked softly as you pushed it open. The soft chime of the bell that hung over the entrance echoed through the shop like a lullaby. It was a much needed relief from the hustle and bustle of the city outside. 

One you traversed through all morning to drop off Isiah’s order. 

“Isiah?” You called towards the back of the store. Where a set of red curtains separated the front of the shop, with many shelves and tables of goods, from the rest of the establishment. 

You heard a returning chime, similar to the bell above the door but much deeper in tone. An answer from the shop owner who was no doubt busy and was signaling to give him a second. 

You decided to wander the store while you waited. Keeping your pack of herbs and roots securely on your back so you don't accidentally knock over anything. 

You browsed the many potions and elixirs that looked both delicious and mesmerizing as they swirled in their small bottles. 

Then moved on to the table of baked goods. Some of which still had a trail of steam wafting off of them. A fresh batch of brownies that smelled absolutely wonderful caught your eye immediately. 

Your stomach gave a hard reminder that you forgot to eat breakfast this morning. 

The sound of rustling curtains brought your attention from the mouth-watering display to the store owner as he slithered out between the silk linings. 

He wore loose veil’s of purple silks and velvet today. So thin in fact that you got a very easy opportunity to gawk at his broad chest; two thick plates of silver scales that melted into the deep navy blue of his serpentine tail. His dark human complexion split apart with his too wide smile as you hurried over to the counter. His hands folded smoothly over each other in Sign before he eagerly plucked open the pack and peered inside. 

“A successful harvest?” He had asked. And you nodded, allowing him to start pulling out various leafy bundles and thick dirt covered roots. 

“It was. Spring has apparently come early this year. I managed to get some of the things that weren’t on your priority list.” You pointed out the leather pouch of flower petals and seeds. Which made the spines along Isiah’s tail quiver excitedly. 

His hands were a blur with his response. “You treat me like royalty, (y/n). You will be compensated, of course.” 

You nodded and waited by the counter as Isiah dipped back behind the curtain, disappearing from sight. 

While you were waiting, a couple wandered into the store. They browsed briefly but seemed to already know what they were buying. Taking their time to browse any new stock but immediately take a few vials from a shelf that passed. Seeming to know the place well. 

They lined up behind you, talking idly until Isiah returned. His smile was welcoming when he spotted his two new customers. And he placed down a pouch of coins in front of you before Signing a question to the couple. 

“The usual?” He asked with a mischievous glint to his sharp gaze. 

“Of course. Why change what works?” The first customer chuckled and fished out some coins to pass into Isiah’s waiting hand. Once the coins were counted, Isaiah leaned over and pulled back the red curtains for the couple to pass through. 

They continued to chat as they disappeared into the back of the shop. But their voices were silenced when the curtain fell back into place. 

“It’s good to see business wasn’t damaged by that review article.” You said, matching your teasing words with an equally joking smile. 

Isiah rolled his eyes, flashing you his fangs in a silent hiss as he feigned anger. His hands spoke his reply. 

“To be honest, that article has increased my revenue. My loyal customers now make reservations weeks in advance so they have a spot amongst all the new bloods.” 

Isiah pushed the pouch of coins closer to you across the counter. “I doubled what I usually pay you since you brought me back so much. But I do have a request, if you’re free today.” 

“A request?” You asked, picking up the swollen bag of money to throw into your pack. “If you’re sending me back out to the wilds, I have a few more stops I need to make before I can go.” 

Isiah’s hands waved away your words and then he gestured for you to follow him through the curtains. 

You trailed along behind him. Thanking him as he held the curtains aside for you before continuing down the warmly lit hallway. 

Looking at the shop from outside, a passerbyer would never imagine the sheer size of the establishment within. The front store was big enough to have its shelving and still have plenty of space for a large sum of customers. 

But the back? It felt like you were walking the corridors of a fancy hotel three times the size of the shop outfront.

You passed seating areas with plush couches and soft rugs spread out beside roaring fires. 

Other areas included pools of crystalline water, bordered by beautiful gardens and mossy carpets. There was a bar beside a tile floor with many tables, perfectly illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight. 

The scents of the meals being cooked for customers made your stomach twist with jealousy, as you watched a throuple share a large thick crusted pizza between them. 

“You’ve redecorated.” You said, suddenly coming to the realization that some of the gardens were more lush than usual. And the extra marble pillars hadn’t been there last time. Each with beautiful carvings of scaled tails curling around the thick white beams. 

Isiah smiled broadly, very proudly Signing, “Like I said, business has been good since that article.” 

He led you past the restaurant and the pools to a staff only area. Where the delicious smells of cooked meals turned sickly sweet with an undertone of bitterness that plagued your nose. 

You politely tried not to shiver as the scent of Isiah’s mixtures coiled with your senses. 

You focused on Isiah’s hands as he explained his request, “I have a new concoction I wanted you to try.” He said, pausing to remove a vial from a crystal casing by the door. “They are strong and we have tested it on hybrids and monster kinds already; but not humans. It is safe for you to digest, I made sure of it. But the strength of its effect is unknown.” 

Isiah offered you the vial and you took it very carefully. The vial was made from very thin glass and it felt like you’d crack it just by touching it. 

You popped the corked lid and sniffed it. That sweet smell that filled the room tripled inside your nose and your mouth nearly watered. 

It was a usual reaction from sniffing anything that had Isiah’s venom imbued in it. But this was like you sucked on the most delicious lolly ever, and your skin rippled with goosebumps from the warm sensation that flooded your mind. 

You shivered and quickly placed the small lid back into place on the vial. “That is definitely strong.” You said with a laugh. Still feeling like someone had tickled along your sides, filling you with a blissful tingling. “What was the effect on the monsters?” 

Isiah’s smile was wicked and playful. His hands were slow as he translated in a teasing manner. “It sent a number of them into a rut that lasted many hours. Some are still here enjoying themselves.” 

You gawked up at the naga in front of you. 

Isiah was highly adept at making potions and goods that heightened everything and anything to do with pleasure. Using his venom, which was already a strong aphrodisiac among his kind, to cook and bake and brew all manner of edible contents.

The last substance you tested for him sent you into a lovely high of desire that you shared with a number of other testers. It had been a wonderful experience that had lasted the entire night. And left you feeling bubbly days after. 

However, in all your time working with Isiah or being around his establishment, you have never heard of his goods sending creatures into ruts. 

“Isn’t that dangerous?” You asked. And Isiah shrugged. 

“Only if their partners are unprepared. But I have many happy customers because of this. I only need to ensure that it isn’t going to comatose my human patrons.” 

You knew he was joking when he used the word ‘comatose”. His glistening eyes told you as much. But if this twisted a natural need into a burning desire to a monster, you seriously doubted you’d be making your other stops anytime soon. 

“I think I deserve a little break.” You said. “How do you want me to test it? Do I just drink it? Or do you want me to find someone to share this with?” 

Isiah’s deep gaze sharpened and your entire body heated up under his heavy stare. 

His hands Signed quickly as he leaned forward, his claws trailing over your cheek as he finished his question. “I was hoping I could share this with you. If you’d have me?” 

You smiled, ignoring the growing flustered heat that crawled its way up your neck and into your cheeks as Isiah’s long fingers continued to scrape carefully down your throat. His touch barely left a red mark but his talons left your skin tingling. “Your business will be ok without you?” You asked. And Isiah made a noise in the back of his throat that would have been a hissing chuckle if his voice hadn’t been taken from him. 

“My workers know what they’re doing. And they’ve been ordered to leave me for the rest of the day if you were to accept my offer.” 

You nodded again and Isiah gestured for you to follow him once more. 

He led you out of the cooking room and up some stairs to a room hidden behind a gilded set of doors. 

You knew this as Isiah’s office and had only been here once, when you first came here with herbs to trade for coins nearly at the start of his business career. 

You remember growing incredibly flustered when you noticed his office had, not only a desk and couches set for meetings; but also a large circle bed built into the floor. It was so large fifty people could probably lay in it, tangling themselves together, with ease. 

But now, you were growing more and more excited as Isiah took your hand and tugged you towards the nest of pillows and blankets. When you stood on the lip of the bed, Isiah coiled his tail around your legs, turning to face you and plucked the vial from your hands. 

Without taking his eyes off of you, he uncorked the glass container and pressed it tenderly against your lips. 

You grinned and obediently opened your mouth. To which Isiah tilted the glass vial up and the syrupy liquid pooled onto your tongue. 

The flavor was indescribable. A mixture of sweet honey and bitter dark chocolate. You eagerly swallowed the contents and as it traveled down your throat and settled in your stomach, you felt a fiery warmth begin to spread through you. 

Pins and needles prickled the tips of your fingers and you sighed as the familiar blissful sensation rushed through you. 

It was very instantaneous, your reaction. And you heard Isiah’s spines vibrate with delight.

So caught up in the enraptured feeling, you almost missed Isiah’s hands moving in front of you. Asking a question. “How do you feel?” 

You smiled and ran your hands along Isiah’s shoulders. The texture of his silks felt so good against your palms. And the rolling muscles beneath his scales had your thighs pinching closer together. 

Isiah shadowed your touches with his own. His large hands smoothed down along your sides. Carefully scraping his talons against any bare skin he found. 

It made your body shiver pleasantly.

“I feel like you’ve just wrapped me up in a warm blanket and put a vibrator between my legs.” It was a vulgar explanation but it’s exactly what you were feeling. 

Isiah’s smile looked almost triumphant as he slid his hands up along your sides and wound his arms around your middle. Pulling you closer, you eagerly fell into his embrace as he slowly twisted so you were lying beneath him on the mattress. 

His tail nudged your thighs apart and you pushed up against him as he settled between your legs. 

Isiah didn’t need to Sign to tease you. His wide smile, showing the tips of his fangs between his lips, said it all. 

Your fists tangled themselves in his silks as your breathing grew heavier. Not from lack of breath, but definitely from the need that was clawing at your restraint. 

“Don’t give me that look. Your venom already drives me insane. This is…by the Gods…please touch me, Isiah.” 

You felt the hiss vibrate through him as Isiah purred contently with your words. His hand snaked between you and you saw stars as your eyes squeezed close with the contact. 

Even with your clothes still on, that small amount of friction sent sparks to every inch of your body. 

You gasped as Isiah’s tongue swept along your throat. You felt the pinpricks of his fangs scratch against your skin and the sensation had your lungs emptying with a moan. 

Isiah rewarded the sound with a rather rushed circular motion between your legs. His fingers pressed deliciously hard against the bundle of nerves that screamed for attention. 

You couldn’t take it anymore. 

You needed to be naked and you needed his scales against your skin. Every inch of you needed his touch or else you were going to go mad. 

Your hands felt clumsy and slow as you tore off the layers from your travels. Isiah grinned down at you, unhelpful as he continued to rub and roll his palm against your core. You moaned and tried to wriggle away from him just enough to pull your pants away, but the damn naga trapped you beneath him with a single hand wrapping around your throat. 

Your eyes widened and your whole body burst with that fiery desire as Isiah shook his head down at you. His hold was strong but careful. Allowing you to breath and twist in his grasp, but you couldn’t pull away. Not even if you wanted to. 

Then his lips moved slowly and so deliberately that you caught every sweet syllable of the word; “Slowly”, and his gaze dipped low enough to point at your pants that were unbuttoned and your belt removed. 

You nodded and tortuously slowly, started to slide your legs out of your trousers. Isiah leaned back enough to watch your thighs become bare, displaying your folds as his tail returned to settle between your now naked legs. 

The very touch of his cool scales against your core had your hips rolling desperately. He grinned and pushed harder against you, his hand still firmly around your throat while his other palm squeezed and molded your breath between his fingers. 

You whimpered. Actually whimpered! As the subtle roll of his scales gave you the friction that you wanted. It wasn’t scratching that itch by any means but it was enough to have your head rolling back and your hips feverishly grinding against him. 

You felt Isiah shift and the cool scales were replaced by something thicker. You smiled and reached for him, eagerly gliding your hands down the largest of Isiah’s two cocks. 

His eyes fluttered closed as you gripped him and immediately started to rub him. Your pussy wetted the base of his length while your hands fondled and massaged the round head. 

Pearlescent precum started to bead at the tip and you licked your lips, imagining his weight on your tongue. 

But as much as you wanted to taste him, you needed him inside you twice as much. 

Isiah’s cock was very human-like. But only in shape, with the rounded head and the soft sheath that protected the tip. The rest was all naga. To the deep, almost black color that melted into silver at the head, to the massive size that had your core clenching with just the idea of him stretching you. You could feel the soft ridges along the underside and when you tilted your hips just right, you could catch that textured side along your clit. 

Isiah’s hips began to roll in rhythm with your frenzied thrusts. 

His eyes were half closed, lost in the sensation of your hands pleasuring him brutally as you worked him to full length. 

The second cock had not revealed itself yet. Which in the back of your mind, was strange. Both cocks were used for different things. But they were always both present when a naga was getting intimate.

The smallest was commonly used for pleasure, being the most sensitive part of the naga.

The larger of the two was always used for breeding. 

It was how certain male species of naga would lay their eggs. While others produced sperm, you knew Isiah’s species instead produced soft, pliable eggs. They were only ever fertilized when the second cock would be used after the largest. 

You didn’t know however, if this was something Isiah intended to do. And the thought of him stuffing you with his cock and then breeding you, had your mind turning into putty and your moans becoming louder.

The whispering of Isiah’s spines vibrating told you he enjoyed the sound. And Isiah moved so you were crushed beneath him as he started feverishly fucking himself between your thighs. 

Your moans turned into breathless cries as the ridges along his cock rolled along your clit over and over. 

You buried your face into the crook of his neck, kissing and biting the soft flesh between his scales as he gasped and hissed above you. Taking his own pleasure while you desperately tried to keep up with his heated pace. 

“Isiah, please!” Your begging plea was matched by your hands scrambling to move him in a way that gave you space to realign yourselves. 

Your bed partner nodded, panting as his tail twisted to maneuver himself so your hips no longer touched, but the rounded tip of his cock pressed against your entrance. 

The first second of pressure had you squeezing your eyes shut. So ready was your body, that it welcomed Isiah with a warm, very wet entrance for him to slide into. 

But after the first inch, your body tensed and Isiah’s spines shivered with displeasure as he forced himself to slow and properly stretch you. 

His hands were wrapped around your hips, his claws left red dents in your skin as your hips rolled in tandem to stuff Isiah’s girth between your legs. 

He was taking too long. You could take him, you knew it. He just wasn’t at the right angle. 

You managed to regain control of your body long enough that you somehow forced Isiah onto his back. 

The naga definitely let you do it and his wide smirk only fueled your need as you mounted him. Driving your knees into the mattress on either side of his hips as you wrapped your hand around his length and angled it towards your core. 

And like the smug male he was, Isiah relaxed into the pillows and let you work yourself into a frenzy. His hands found soft places on your body to pinch and squeeze while you panted and rolled your hips down on top of him. 

Immediately, the tip slipped inside and you braced your hands on his chest, murmuring soft nothings in between moans as you kept penetrating yourself on him. 

Isiah’s eyes watched every sway of your hips as you took him. His eyes occasionally rolled closed when you sunk fast down on him or squeezed in a way that sent pleasure shooting through his body. 

But his gaze was glued to you. Locked on the beautiful display of heated need that had you taking his full length and seating yourself around him. Only when your ass sat flat against his hips did Isiah move. 

He sat up so fast you were almost knock back. But his hands wrapped around your waist and held you securely against him. 

His lips found yours in a heated kiss. One that had his fangs nicking against your lower lip and his forked tongue swept hungrily against your inner cheeks. 

And then his hands started to set a rhythm. 

Bouncing you slowly, intending to test if you could take him. But you whined and shoved his hands away. Planting your hands on his chest and instead lifting your hips away from him until only the tip of his cock was still inside, and then slamming down with a slick sound of skin slapping scale. 

The friction had you seeing stars and white flashed through your eyes as you continued to ride Isiah hard and fast enough that your thighs immediately started to burn. 

Isiah writhed beneath you. Hands locking onto your waist once more as he looked up at you with dark, hungry eyes. 

His grin was wicked. Seeming pleased to see your mouth hanging open, eyes hooded and your body lost to the sensation of being so overly stuffed your belly bulged everytime you came down. 

Then his thumb nudged against your clit and your sounds twisted, becoming louder and desperate. You clutched his wrist, unsure whether to throw his hand away or lock it against you as he rolled the pad of his finger against the fiery clutch of nerves. 

You didn’t get time to decide. 

Not long after his fingers worked you over, you felt him begin to swell inside you. His rhythm, one he smoothly kept up with you, faltered and his tail writhed behind you like a piece of string on the wind.

You heard his spines vibrate and then lock down against his scales and Isiah’s head rolled back with a silent cry as his climax rushed through him. 

His hands, locked on your waist, held you tight against his hips as he rutted up into you. You were rocked harshly above him, but unable to move an inch as he spilled inside you. 

You felt his warm seed flood you, but then something thicker began to stretch you. You gasped and squirmed, but Isiah was stronger. Keeping you firmly in place as his first egg seated itself inside you. 

His rapid pace pushed the egg deeper and deeper until you felt it snugly rest against your cervix. The foreign feeling was like a cooling agent to the fire in your stomach. 

That desire still raged but a sense of contentment spread through your mind as well. 

“Is there more?” You asked Isiah. Your voice felt like sandpaper against your throat. How long have the two of you been fucking? You felt sweat along your brow and back and your thighs burned to the point you weren’t sure if you could move them anymore. 

Isiah smirked and suddenly you were on your back again. And Isiah spread your legs to the point you gasped, and continued to pound into you. 

He couldn’t fit all the way this time. Not with the first egg inside you. But the friction and new angle had you both panting again in minutes. And you cried out as his cock swelled with his second finish, laying another egg that he kept fucking deeper and deeper until you felt it slide against the first. 

The fog started to lift from your mind. You could make out the shadows that were now cast along the floors of the office from the windows. The once blue sky outside was now pooling with oranges and pinks. 

A sunset. 

But Isiah’s rough kiss scattered the sudden shock with a new sense of need. 

Again and again, Isiah pounded into you. Soon your voice was lost to you, leaving only loud pants and squeaky moans as he penetrated your overly sensitive pussy until his eggs were sweetly embraced between your walls. 

By the fifth egg, even Isiah was exhausted. He nuzzled your neck and the spines along his tail shivered softly as he curled around you. His cock still buried as far as it could, lazily stroking himself as he reveled in his own overstimulation. 

You were a mess. Unable to think and slipped in and out of a blissful slumber while Isiah used you. 

It was only until you felt him slide out of you, leaving a great gaping emptiness, did your mind finally come back to you. 

And you reached for him as his tail slid around you. Coiling your body against the thick, cool muscle against your very warm body. 

Isiah nuzzles against your back as he moves up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he settles amongst the coils of his tail. 

He then lifts his hands enough that you can see the question he Signs. 

“Is it any good?” You don’t have to look at him to sense the teasing smirk. He damn well knows it’s good. But you indulge him regardless of how scratchy your voice sounds. 

“I blinked and suddenly it was the afternoon.” You mumbled with a laugh. You shifted to get more comfortable and your sensitive walls sent flames of heat through your body as the eggs inside you shifted as well. You touched your stomach and turned your head enough to look over at Isiah. “So, what do I do with these eggs?” 

Isiah’s hands moved lazily in front of you as he snuggled more deeply into the pillows, exhausted. “You are safe with them inside you. I’m sorry I didn’t ask permission first. The scent of your heightened lust sent me spiraling. And I also have a small kink with breeding, so I lost control. I will remove them after a quick nap.”

“You’re fine. I’ve never been…bred like this before.” You admitted. Also laying your head amongst the mountain of pillows. 

You peel open your eyes when you felt Isiah’s arms moving again. 

“Do you enjoy it?” He asked. 

“Yes.” You said. Not at all ashamed to share this with Isiah. “I enjoy all manner of being used like this. I’ve just never had a Naga male do it to me.” 

“Glad to be the first.” His hands said playfully. Which you rolled your eyes at. “But it was very sexy to see you take over. I’ll happily fill you with eggs again if you ride me like that again.” 

“It’s a deal then.” You managed to mumbled before you lost the fight against sleep and were pulled into a warm, sweet sleep, nestled against Isiah’s tail.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[elixirfromthestars]

Usual

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Florist!Reader

Summary: Bucky keeps to his usual routine every week. On Mondays, it includes you.

Word Count: ~700

Warning(s): none. fluffy goodness <3 established nickname ⟶ tulip

a/n: This Bucky has been swimming in my head for a while, so this little drabble came out as a result. Hope you enjoyed reading! Feedback is always appreciated 🤍 Also I'm hosting a little writing challenge if you want to check it out. 🤍

the whole collection ♡

The bells above your shop door chimed a short melody as it opened. The steady thud of heavy boots followed suit. You turn to face the entrance with your usual welcoming demeanor. 

It was Monday. He always comes on Monday. 

“ Hey, Bucky. Here for the usual?” You ask like clockwork, already knowing the answer. 

“ ‘Course, Tulip,” he replies, smiling at you with that usual twinkle in his eyes. The one that only shows up when he talks to you. You can’t help the way your heart skips a beat when he uses that nickname he gave you months ago. 

“ Coming right up,” you respond, turning to the small shelves behind the counter. The ones lined up with your homemade jams and honeys. Every Monday he buys three of each to serve at his bar in a mix of different snack dishes. 

His favorite happens to be the one he named after you—Tulip’s Sweet Special.  

Bucky strolls over to the flowers that align the walls adjacent to the front counter. Rows upon rows of an array of colors and different-sized petals. A rainbow of the prettiest blooms nature has to offer. 

Meanwhile, you’re putting the mason jars of sweet spreads in a small wicker basket. Glancing at him briefly to stare at his side profile and the way he looks at the flowers intently. Almost as if waiting for them to speak to him. 

You wonder what flowers he’ll choose today. 

You don’t have to wonder for long as he walks over to the counter with a bouquet of white and pink daises, adorned with a touch of lavender. You look at them with a knowing smile on your face. The rugged biker almost looks comical—in the sweetest way—with the bouquet in hand. 

“ Will that be all?” You ask him, motioning to the flowers and the goods in the basket. Bucky nods, lightly scratching at the stubble on his face,“ That’s all, Tulip. And I’ll get ya that basket of yours later. Forgot it back at the bar,” he mentions the basket he borrowed a week ago to transport last week’s items on his bike. 

Of course, he forgot it. He always does. 

“ No need. I’ll just come by the bar later and get it,” you say to him—this little forgetful exchange an excuse to see each other again. It's about the fifth time you’ve done this little rendezvous in the last two months. 

Bucky grins in a way that would make any woman swoon,“ I’ll be waitin’ on ya then.” You can’t help the warmth that finds its way to your face. 

You ring him up, and as you’re getting his change ready he places the flowers in the empty vase on the counter. The one you leave for whatever flowers he buys for you that week. You look at them and the way he delicately places them inside, with a tender care you were one of a handful of people who’s ever seen him dawn. The action envelopes you with a doting affection.

“ Thank you for the flowers, Bucky,” you say with a soft sincerity. No matter how many times he buys you flowers the action still causes your heart to flutter.

“ No need for the thanks—or the change,” he says, lightly closing your fingers around the change in your hand with his calloused one. The slight touch is electric and it makes you both yearn for more. 

You give him that look. That usual look that says you’re doing this again and he replies with a look that conveys hell yeah I am.

You know better than to argue with that look. 

“ Come spend it at my bar later instead,” he suggests shrugging nonchalantly—but his eyes and grin reflect everything but nonchalance. There’s a deep rooted sentiment there that is desperate to be freed and brought to the surface.

You hum, pretending to think about it,“ Alright, deal.” Bucky responds to your agreement by giving you a pleased nod.

Bucky grabs the basket of goods. The rough exterior of his hands contrasted with the gentle almost tender way he held the basket. He was always delicate and careful with anything that belonged to you.

The basket looked so much smaller when he held it. 

Bucky sends you a farewell wink,“ See ya later, Tulip,” and then he turns to leave with a small wave of his hand.

“ See you later, Bucky,” you reply before leaning on the counter, hands resting in your palms. You watch him walk back out to his motorcycle with a longing stare. 

When he was out of sight, you listened intently to the revving of his engine bike, anticipating the day you two would go past the usual.

Until then you’d cherish this routine affair.

[explicit-tae]

V-Day Special

You ask your ex - who you're still close with - if he's willing to come on your cam-show for a valentine's day special.

Word Count: 5.838

Warning: live sex, smut, degradation kink, dacryphilia, impact play, spit kink, overstimulation, breath play, impregnation kink, nipple piercings, sextoys, fingering, dirty talking, squirting, voyeruism, slapping, edging, oral sex, unprotected sex, creampie,

@whipwhoops @darkuni63 @seokjinkismet @bloodline1632

Valentine's Day Masterlist

You knock on the door, arms crossed. The cool air slices through your skin as you await for Taehyung to answer.

There’s nerves bubbling through you - you haven’t done anything with Taehyung in so long. You were surprised when he agreed to your request.

Being a camgirl wasn’t easy work, but it was rewarding. You’ve been doing so for a while now and have gained a following. You had regulars, and sometimes you’d do requests - some weird stuff, but never anything too weird that you couldn’t do.

Today, however, you had to spice things up. You were always alone in your room when you did your shows, always fucking yourself and never truly had a partner.

Today was Valentine’s day, and Valentine’s day was all about having a partner.

Again, you were surprised when Taehyung agreed. You and he dated about two years prior and things didn’t end sour and you and he remained friends. You could come to him for anything - he often lend an ear when you needed to talk and gave advice. Even if he didn’t agree, you would hope he would send someone your way.

“I’ll do it.” Taehyung had said - much to your shock - with such a cool, nonchalant attitude. “We can go to my house and do it for a change of scenery.” You had offered wearing masks, but he insisted that it was fine - another shocking statement.

Taehyung swings the door open, a wide smile on his face. “Y/N, hello.” he opens the door wider and steps aside for you to enter.

“Hey, Tae.” you say, jumping into the warm home with a sigh of relief. “You look nice.”

“As do you.” Taehyung responds. “Somehow, I sense you’re wearing lingerie under that long trench coat.” he says teasingly, eyes roaming your figure.

Your body flushes and slowly, you nod. “We have business to attend to. Had to come prepared.” you give a curt grin. 

“Indeed we do.” Taehyung licks his lips. “I’ve set up the laptop and everything already.”

You nod your head. The day prior, Taehyung had insisted on you giving him your equipment so he can set it up perfectly.

“I also decorated my room for the occasion.”

You already know the layout of Taehyung’s home and you scoff at his words as you walk towards his bedroom. “Decorated how?”

“You’ll see.” Taehyung’s voice is giddy as he follows you to his bedroom. You only snicker and venture towards his bedroom.

Taehyung has you open the door, and your eyes widen as you do. “Tae, you’re always so dramatic…” you sigh, but your body flushes at the sight. 

“It’s a V-Day special,” Taehying places his hands on your shoulders. “we have to go all out.”

Taehyung uses your words against you - you had said it to him back when you asked if he was willing to be on camera with you.

Taehyung had decorated his room and it’s only now that you realize how large it truly was. His bed sits in the middle of the room, bed made neatly. There’s balloons - red, pink, white and even a few heart shaped ones, littering the ceiling. On the far right of his room is your equipment that you’ve given him - but only now did you realize he had a ring light and you want to shake your head at how dramatic he truly was. 

“Rose petals?” you turn to face him with a laugh. “How much time did you put into this?”

And money, you want to ask, but Taehyung would never tell you. There’s rose petals leading from the door of his bedroom all the way to his bed.

“A few hours. Jimin helped me.” Taehyung admits, a light tint to his cheeks. Jimin had teased him about putting so much effort for an ex-lover - now friend - for a show, but it wasn’t like you and he weren’t friends. He was willing to help you with whatever you asked. 

“Gotta set the mood, don’t we?” Taehyung murmurs, closing his bedroom door. “How about you start setting up while I light the candles?”

“Candles?” you shake your head. “Tae-”

“Y/N, baby. All out, remember?” Taehyung winks, then ventures through his room and to his closet. He pulls out a small box and turns towards you. “Confession?” he asks and slowly you nod. It’s something you and he would ask when there was something that needed to be confessed and the other promised not to be upset - it started when you accidentally ruined one of his favorite pairs of designer shoes. “I subscribed to you a few months ago.”

Taehyung watches as your eyes widen slightly. “Oh, really?” you ask, a slight nerve in your voice.

Taehyung nods. “When you told me you were camming, I was curious. I finally caved a few months back.” he admits. “Does that bother you?”

You're hot at the idea of Taehyung watching you. It didn’t bother you as much as you thought it would. Taehyung and you’ve been intimate before back when you two dated - but that was years ago. Now it made sense that he’d agree to be with you again, you think. 

“N-No.” you stutter, cursing mentally at yourself. You muster a strained scoff. “I do a lot of…stuff on there.”

Taehyung licks his lips. “I know.” he murmurs. “I was going to take that secret to the grave with me.”

Taehyung grasps the box - a medium sized black box - and makes his way towards his bed. 

You swallow, Taehyung’s words ringing through your mind. You grab your phone and begin to notify your subscribers of your live cameshow in the next five minutes.

“What made you tell me?” you ask Taehyung. He was halfway through lighting the candles when you finally decided to speak up. 

Taehyung glances at you. “You seem nervous.” he responds. “As if you’ve had second thoughts about this. Are you?”

Your palms feel sweaty and you bite your lip. 

You were nervous. You have been fucking yourself for so long that being with another man was different - and this wasn’t just another man, but an ex that was now a close friend. 

“No.” you tell Taehyung honestly. “I am nervous though.”

“Why?” Taehyung snorts. He’s now setting the candles around his room and it flickers beautifully. “It’s just me.”

“I know but…we haven’t done anything in so long.” you murmur, your nerves causing you to glance away from him. “...I wasn’t sure if you still…feel attractive towards me.”

Taehyung sets down the last candle and turns towards you. “And that’s why I told you that I subscribed.” he says - and that was his point. “I think we should go over some things before we start, yeah?”

You nod.

Taehyung makes his way around his room. He dims his light low so that the candles are illuminating the majority of it. He then makes his way past you and to the ring light, again, dimming it so there’s just enough light towards his bed for the viewers to see perfectly. 

“Now, is there anything you want to do specifically?”

“I should be asking you that.” you scoff. “This is your first time.”

Taehyung stands directly in front of you. His hand places below your chin and he gently lifts it so he has a good look in your eyes. 

“There’s a lot I want to do.” Taehyung says, voice dropping and it shocks you. The reaction shoots straight to your core. 

You inhale. “You’ve seen everything I do already.”

Taehyung chuckles. He cups your cheek, thumb rubbing along your lips. “That’s true,” he admits. “I’m an Ultimate member.”

Your eyes widen. “Tae!” you hiss, hot sensation running through your body. 

There were only a dozen Ultimate members - they paid the most and had complete access to you. They could message you personally through the phone (a second phone you acquired just for them). You allowed one on one time, acting out fantasies they desired. They got private videos and pictures that the others didn’t - sometimes it didn’t have to be sexual. 

“What?” Taehyung asks. “Too much?” The last thing he wanted was to make you uncomfortable.

“N-No.” you say, but it’s not convincing. “Ultimate is just…a lot of money monthly.”

Taehyung snorts. “I’ve been paying for it, haven’t I?” he shrugs his shoulders. “It’s okay. I like supporting you.”

You sigh, nodding your head slowly. Licking your lips, you giggle. “This feels like a fuck-a-fan event.”

Taehyung chuckles along with you. “How lucky I am.”

“So,” you begin. “what do you want to do? Have you ever requested content from me?”

You try to think of what Taehyung’s name would be since there were only a few Ultimate members. 

Taheyung shakes his head. “I haven’t.” But there were times he wanted to, but there was still the thought in the back of his head telling him that this was wrong - but it was never enough to get him to unsubscribe. 

“Then we’ll do what you want.” you smile at him, so cutely. So innocently.

Taehyung groans lowly. “I don’t think so.”

Your smile lowers. “Why not?” Taehyung scoffs - because there’s things he wanted to do to you that would probably scare you away. “I’m your friend, Y/N. But I’m still a man. I don’t want to expose you to my perverse mind.”

Taehyung drops his hand from your cheek.

“It’s a V-Day special.” you shrug. “I trust you. We’ve had sex-”

“Years ago.” Taehyung interrupts. “And that was casual sex. Nothing too perverted-”

“Do you want me to pee on you?” you snicker jokingly. You couldn’t think of anything too perverted and obscene that would have Taehyung hesitant. “I don’t think anything is as perverted as that.”

Taehyung licks his lips to stop himself from laughing at your words. “I’ll tell you what I want to do to you and you’ll just tell me if it’s okay or not.”

You nod your head. You realized, even after all this time, that you hadn’t taken off the coat. “Where do you want me to put this?” you ask, going to remove the long coat.

Taehyung swallows at your smooth skin in his view, the lingerie fitting the theme. It’s red and doesn’t hide much, the sheer lace showcasing your pierced nipples. It’s crotchless, he notes, and perfect - he doesn’t want you out of the lingerie just yet.

“I’ll take it.” Taehyung murmurs, grasping your coat and taking it towards his closet to hang it up. He needs a moment to breathe - there’s a twitch in his sweats that he has to calm down. “Okay.”

“Okay.” you nod your head, waiting for him to continue. 

“Champagne?”

You scoff in disbelief once more. “Tae…”

“V-Day special, Y/N.” Taehyung walks on the other side of his bed towards his bedside table. How you hadn’t noticed the bottle of champagne with two glasses is beyond you. He manages to pop it open, not caring if a bit spilled, and poured one for you and him. 

You grasp the champagne and smile, clicking your glass with his and take a sip.

“I want to lick the champagne off your skin.” Taehyung says, testing the waters - it isn’t something he actually thought about doing, but he wanted to test your reaction.

You choke slightly at his sudden words, but you nod. “Sure.” you swallow. “Anything else?”

Taehyung tilts his head. “...Overstimulation?”

You nod your head slowly. “I’m sure we can do that.” you agree. “Can I request one?” “Of course.”

“I want you to hit me.”

Taehyung stiffens. “Excuse me?”

You laugh. “Well, don’t knock me out.” you exclaim. “But slapping me is what I want. As long as I’m in the mood, a little pain shouldn’t hurt.” Taehyung has such pretty and large hands that you couldn’t not take the opportunity.

Taehyung swallows but nods. “I want to have control.”

“Want me to call you Sir?” you smirk. “Yes, sir. I like that.”

“You’re enjoying this more than I thought you would.” Taehyung hums, satisfied that he hasn’t had you running yet. “I think we should have a safeword. I don’t want to get too caught up in it and hurt you.”

“Oh,” you knit your brows. “You’re one of those.”

Taehyung raises a brow. “One of what?” 

“A dom.” you shrug. “Not that surprising. But okay, we can have a safeword. How about…” you rack your brain for something - anything. “...red squirrel?”

Taehyung blinks. “Red squirrel it is.”

“And if I can’t speak, I’ll shake my head aggressively.”

“Aggressive head shaking.” Taehyung nods. “I have a toy in that box I’d like to use on you.”

Your eyes fall to the medium sized box from early and you raise your brows.

“It’s only a vibrator.” Taehyung’s cheeks tint. “It’s um…actually from your wishlist.”

Your eyes widen once more. Taehyung was an Ultimate member and they also had access to your wishlist from various stores - even outside of sex. One member had gotten you an expensive water filter you wanted simply because you made him cum the hardest he’s had in months. 

“The rabbit one?!”

Taehyung nods. “Ugh,” you hang your head. “I love you so much.” you sigh dramatically, a tingly feeling coursing through your body at the thought of Taehyung using that on you. 

Taehyung gives a boxy grin. “A love confession already? I haven’t even made you cum yet.”

“Shut up.” you roll your eyes. “Anything else, sir?”

Taehyung licks his lips. “Just use your safeword if I do anything you don’t like.” he murmurs.

“Yes, sir.” you nod, smiling playfully. “I have to start now.”

You venture towards the laptop and make it towards the site. There were a few hundred people waiting already, the chatbox going crazy. “I told them I had a Valentine’s Day surprise.” you say to Taehyung. “They’re wondering what’s going to happen.”

You start the live, smiling into the camera as you read a few comments. “Hi, guys.” you say sweetly, your camgirl persona coming on.

Taehyung watches from afar as you speak to the viewers, walking backwards towards his bed. “I told you all I had a surprise.” your eyes glance to Taehyung. “I thought today we should switch things up,”

You watch from afar as the comments begin to rise as Taehyung enters the frame and you’ll make sure to go back to read them once everything is done. 

“I see you all are excited to see him.” you smile up at Taehyung. “He says he’s not shy to be seen.”

“Of course not.” Taehyung says, a soft grin on his lips. You know there’s girls that watch you, as well - they’d have to be excited to see Taehyung, if not see, then hear him. You release a breath. 

Taehyung lifts your chin and leans down to capture your lips. His fingers are gripping your chin now to get you in place, your lips moving along with his.

Taehyung breaks the kiss first, but proceeds to peck your lips a few times. You’re clenching around nothing, you note, anticipating for what's next to come. 

“I bet if I touch your pussy right now, you’ll be soaked.”

Taehyung catches you off guard, but you’re enjoying the switch. Your friends eyes are dark and filled with lust and you’re sure yours are, as well. 

“I am.” you widen your legs for him (and the camera) to see. 

Taehyung’s hand unclenches your chin to slide ever so slowly down your body. The crotchless lingerie made it easier for him to feel - and feel he did. It’s been so long, the both of you think.

Taehyung grunts at how wet you truly are, his long fingers rubbing along your clit.

“How long have you been this wet?” Taehyung questions, plopping his fingers inside his mouth to taste you.

You bite your lip at the sight, swallowing the moan in your throat. “For a while now.” you admit, especially since he mentioned the vibrator he’s bought for you. 

Taehyung dips onto the bed behind you. “Let’s show everyone how slutty you are.” he says, a swift hand wrapping around your neck to press yourself against his chest. “Not like they already don’t know.”

Taehyung’s free hand dips between your legs and slaps your thighs apart. He then proceeds to rub your clit aggressively, not bothering to prep you for anything  - after all, the safeword was there for a reason.

Your stomach churns and a loud yelp releases from your mouth. You’re sopping wet, squelching echoing around the room. 

“Does it feel good?” Taehyung questions - he knows it does. You’re moaning against him, legs widening with each rub of his fingers. 

You nod your head with a lip bite.

“Use your words.” Taehyung hisses, the hand gripping your neck slaps you suddenly, a throbbing pain against your cheek. 

“Y-Yes, sir.” you quip far too quickly, lust filling through you and shoot straight to your core. 

Taehyung likes the willingness in your actions to please him.

“Good girl.” Taehyung offers you a quick kiss to your forehead, his finger inching closer to your entrance. “You fuck yourself all the time…” Taehyung enters his fingers inside of you, long fingers reaching deep. “...and yet, you’re still so tight.”

Taehyung plunges his fingers inside of you, reaching farther than you ever thought imaginable. He was never like this prior and you pondered if he was truly holding back when you and he had sex. 

Regardless, you’re a moaning mess, no longer trying to hold anything back. Your eyes watch with satisfaction how deep his fingers are inside of you, the palm of his hand slapping against your clit aggressively as he strives to drive even deeper.

“Ah, there she is.” Taehyung chuckles darkly when his fingers hit a sweet spot that has your thighs quivering and moaning louder. “You know what I never see? You squirting. Let’s change that, baby.”

You aren’t sure you can squirt - you never felt like you had it in you. However, Taehyung did. He was determined, fingers hitting your spot aggressively, your clit being pleasuring with his palm as he does so for added pleasure. Your eyes begin to flutter close, your moans filling the room even louder.

“I know you can do it, baby. Let go.” Taehyung slaps your cheek again. He never knew you enjoyed being hit - something he wished he knew while the two of you dated.

And you do, juices spilling out rapidly and only when Taehyung removes his finger does it splash entirely onto the ground, so loud and messily that you stiffen in his grasp.

You were going to apologize, completely disregarding the live cam show you were on, but Taehyung silences you with his lips.

“Now let’s see how many times you can squirt for the viewers.” Taehyung speaks, removing himself from behind you to go towards the black box. He shows the camera him opening the box to reveal the vibrator. “Bought it new just for her.”

You lick your lips with anticipation as Taehyung steps closer to you. He turns it on, and the buzzing sound is so loud and aggressive - just what you wanted. 

Taehyung toys with you at first, pressing it against your thighs and slowly coming closer to you. “Look how slutty she is.” Taehyung turns towards the camera and laughs. “Clenching around nothing. She can’t wait to be stuffed.”

You make a disappointed sigh when Taehyung teasingly turns off the vibrator just as he presses it against your clit. He was such a tease that you’re positive your viewers would want him back.

“I want to hear you beg.” Taehyung’s demeanor changes entirely, the smile he sported now gone. “I allowed you to cum once already, beg for another.”

“Please let me cum.” You say, not up for any games Taehyung wanted to play. 

Taehyung snarls. Again, his hand is swift and a slap sounds across your face. You moan at the stinging feeling in your face.

“And here I thought you were a good girl.” Taehyung shakes his head. “But you’re nothing but a whore, right?”

“Yes, sir.” you squeak, lust filled eyes looking at Taehyung. “Please make me cum, Tae-.”

Another slap sounds on your cheek and you’re sure that you can cum just like this - the look upon Taehyung’s face and the dominance he’s instilling into you brings you great pleasure.

“S-Sir. Please make me cum, sir.” you beg. “I’ll be good.”

Taehyung hums. “Will you?”

You nod your head with wide, pleading eyes. 

“Let’s see.”

Taehyung doesn’t plan on ever giving you grace. He turns on the vibrator and it causes shockwaves to run through you. But, as if that wasn’t enough, he enters it inside of you, the rabbit ears pressed firmly against your clit as he thrusts.

Taehyung licks his lips, hooded eyes watching you closely. It’s as if the switch turned off and he was a whole different person and he’s experiencing this from outside his body.

Taehyung plunges the toy in and out of you, the vibrations sending shock waves through you. Your pussy’s glistening, the candle lights illuminating it to the camera perfectly.

“So wet and dirty.” Taehyung’s chuckles, but licks his lips. He wants to taste you, knowing you’d taste divine. “Right, baby?”

You nod your head, a moan bubbling out of you. “Yes, s-sir.”

Taehyung groans - such a submissive little thing. He couldn’t wait until he could fuck even more submission into you. Taehyung was a patient man, however.

Taehyung removes the toy from inside of you, cackling at the sight of your pussy clenching and unclenching. “You’re just begging to be stuffed baby.”

You’re panting at the loss of pleasure, back slightly arching. You bite your lip, eyes blinking rapidly as they meet Taehyung. You never wanted to mount someone as much as you did right now. 

“Thank you, sir.” you say, your eyes staring right into Taehyungs. Your voice is so soft and meek - so willing. Taehyung only smirks at you.

“You’re so full of shit, baby.” Taehyung says, placing the vibrating toy back inside of you. The rabbit ears press firmly against your clit.

“F-Fuuuuuck….” your legs widened for more, quivering with pleasure. Instead of Taehyung thrusting it in and out of you, he keeps it firmly inside of you, thrusting only deeper and deeper, the vibrations shuddering straight through your core.

“Such a pretty pussy you have, baby. So wet and filthy.” Taehyung’s voice only sends you more over the edge - his voice so deep and sultry. “All for me, right, baby?”

You nod your head frantically. “Yes, sir.”

“So obedient.”

Taehyung thrusts the toy in and out of  you, the vibrating rabbit ears hitting your clit with every thrust inside and he does it just to tease you. Taehyung moves to the side slightly, his eyes turning towards the camera with a satisfied smirk. “Such a pretty little whore. She pretends to be so sweet and loving…but deep down, she just wants to be dominated.”

Taehyung turns back to you, a boxy grin on his lips. It didn’t reach his eyes. No, his eyes were so dark and filled with lust. “Isn’t that right, baby?”

“Yes, sir.” you nod, eyes breaking away from Taehyung’s intense ones.

Taehyung hovered above you, his mouth opening to spit directly onto your wet clit. 

You yelp loudly when your stomach stings, Taehyung having slapped you. He does so again and again and again - slapping your thighs, your breast to your face. Your skin is throbbing with the amount of times he struck you, but yet you cannot be upset. The pain feels good against your skin.

“My pretty little whore.”

Taehyung removes the toy from inside of you to slap it against your clit harshly, your juices flowing out of you so beautifully. 

Taehyung continues to tap the toy against your clit teasingly and now you’re twitching, eyes fluttering open and close.

“Please, sir…” you beg Taehyung, widening your legs even more. “Please let me cum.”

“Aww…” Taehyung’s free hand slaps your cheek again, the slap echoing in the large room. You moan deeply, and Taehyung only slaps you again. “...such a submissive little whore.”

“Please, sir.” you plead with him - to give you whatever. His slaps brought you great pleasure as the toy did. 

Taehyung grips your hair and yanks you forward, pressing you against him like before. “Look at the camera.” Taehyung hisses, his hand - so beautiful and large - slaps against your cheek before.

Your eyes look towards your laptop, the comments coming in fast. You’re unsure how many viewers you had, but you’re positive that they’re increasing as the stream goes on. 

Taehyung hooks his arm beneath your right thigh to keep you in place, your leg hiking up to your chest. “Let’s see how much the whore can cum.”

The toy vibrates so loud that your stomach churns with anticipation as Taehyung edges it closer to you. He doesn’t tease you any longer. He presses it firmly against your clit and then dips it inside of you. 

“Ah-” your moans are interrupted by Taehyung. He snatches your head, placing his large hand over your lips and nose. 

“No talking. Just focus on cumming, whore.” Taehyung hisses. “Look at the camera.”

Taehyung fucks the toy inside of you deeply, his hand on your lips never moving. Your eyes begin to blur, feeling the moisture of your tears coming. The toy is so deep inside of you, hitting your g-spot harshly. Your chest heaves for air, but Taehyung is adamant on not giving you any.

You don’t complain - as sick as it sounds. Anything you did for yourself during your cam shows could never compare to how Taehyung was doing it - you couldn’t wait to go back and watch it, glad that you decided to record this session.

Taehyung is hyper aware right now, even if he does appear to be far gone in his dominant act. He’s waiting for you to shake your head aggressively so he’d stop - but you never do. Your could no longer keep your eyes open and watch the camera as he fucks you - your eyelids are fluttering as he does so. Your toes are curling and he just knows you’re going to cum the hardest you’ve ever had.

Your moans are muffled - more like choked - down in your throat. Your chest heaves for oxygen, but all you can think about is the pleasure building up deep in your core, as does Taehyung. He removes the toy from inside of you just as you’re cumming, your juices spilling all over his bedsheets.

You inhale deeply when your lips and nose are released, the oxygen feeling like an added reward. Your heart is beating outside your chest so rapidly that you’re positive it was going to explode.

“Get on your knees. I’m not done with you just yet.”

Your break is short lived as Taehyung’s hand is already gripping your hair. He yanks you off of his bed entirely and you fall onto your knees. Your eyes stare up at him - so slutty and dumb looking, he thinks, and so beautifully submissive. 

You lick your lips as Taehyung’s free hand releases his cock - already erect just for you to suck. Your mouth opens to take him in, but Taehyung slaps you away.

“You whore,” Taehyung hisses. “I didn’t say you could suck it just yet.” he spits. 

“Please, sir. Please let me-”

Taehyung presses the tip of his cock inside your mouth. “Shut up.” he scoffs, thrusting himself against your wet tongue. “Look at how desperate she is for a cock. I guess those dildos you fuck yourself with just isn’t enough.”

You hum with satisfaction with having Taehyung’s cock inside of you. His grip in your hair is tighter and he keeps you in place. He goes deeper into your mouth, fully intending on fucking it - and you had every intentions of doing so. 

“So slutty.” Taehyung hisses - so slutty and good for him. You’re taking his cock fully now, allowing him to be as rough as he wants. He knows you could take him in your throat, he’s watched you throat-fuck yourself with countless dildos (as requested by a few members).

Your thighs clench together when Taehyung slaps you yet again and you open your mouth wider. Your vision is blurry once more, tears streaming down your face rapidly, but Taehyung doesn’t stop fucking you. No, your tears aren’t going to phase him and the only way he’d stop is if you gave him the signal.

But like before, you never do. Instead, you look up at Taehyung with those eyes - eyes filled with beautiful tears and lust. You wanted him to treat you like a whore off the street. You like the aggression - his cock in your throat, one hand in your hair to keep you in place while the other slaps your cheek harder and harder each time. 

“Where should I cum, whore?” Taehyung groans. “Your face? Or should I cum in your throat.”

Your response is muffled, never truly intending on responding to him. 

“Your throat?” Taehyung asks, slapping your cheek for a response.

You hum, nodding your head slightly. Your hand grasps his outer thigh to bring him closer to you.

Taehyung groans - such a whore you truly were.

“No,” Taehyung releases his cock from your mouth. You cough, saliva connecting from his cock to your lips. “I’m not cumming anywhere but in your pussy.”

“Y-Yes, sir.” is all you respond with - and it’s the response Taehyung expects.

Another slap sounds on your cheek. It throbs with the amount of times Taehyung has done so, but you don’t care. “Get on the bed.” he commands. “Ass up.”

You comply far too quickly, the thought of being stuffed by him has you wetter than you’ve ever imagined. You never knew Taehyung could be like this - sex while you two dated wasn’t like this. But then again, maybe he was scared that he’d scare you away.

Quite the opposite.

You yelp when your head is shoved into the mattress and your legs are forced apart. Taehyung is beyond you, his tip rubbing along your folds. “She’s so wet.” Taehyung tells the viewers, a slight shudder going through his body. “The type of wet you don’t pull out of.”

Taehyung enters you with one thrust that has you gasping. Taehyung breaks character for a moment, twitching and shuddering at being inside of you. You hear a low “fuck” from behind you that boosts your ego.

Taehyung doesn’t waste time, however, and he begins to fuck you with everything he had. Every frustration he’s dealt throughout the week with is evident in his thrusts. His eyes are focused on the way your ass bounces off of him, a creamy white ring around his cock.

“Feels…so good…” you gasp between words and thrusts, opening your legs even wider if it meant you could have more of Taehyung. 

“Yeah?” Taehyung scoffs smugly. He releases his grip on your hair to wrap it around your neck. He hoists you up from the bed. “Pussy still tight even after I fucked you with the toy.”

The semi-new position has Taehyung hitting your g-spot with each thrust.

“You’re clenching your pussy as if you don’t want me to stop.” Taehyung chuckles darkly.

“I don’t.” you admit - because damn could Taehyung fuck good. Was it always this good or was he truly holding back when the two of you dated?

Taehyung groans animalistically. A hand grasps your clit and begins to rub the sensitive bud between his large fingers. “I missed your pussy so much.”

There it was, the switch dimming. Taehyung’s voice is lower, as if speaking to you and you only - not the audience watching. 

“Missed your cock, too.” your head leans against him, a long whimper sliding through your lips. You were going to cum again if Taehyung didn’t stop his assault on your clit. “I love the way you fuck me, Tae.”

It’s clear now that you two were forgetting about the camera and the audience watching. It was becoming intimate, you choosing to use his name - but Taehyung didn’t care. The sound of his name coming from your sweet lips - so needily and filled with passion - has a shiver running up his spine. 

“Should’ve asked me sooner.” Taehyung grunts, his cock twitching inside of you. “Wouldn’ve fucked you so good.”

“I know.” you respond desperately. “You…can fuck me whenever you want…” you’re cumming. You try to stop Taehyung by grabbing his wrist, but he doesn’t allow you to. He continues to aggressively rub along your clit until your juices are flowing out once more - his sheets were going to be completely soaked, but he didn’t mind. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Taehyung pushes you back against the mattress, still deciding to torture you by rubbing your clit even harder. He thrusts so deep and sloppy, your words getting to him. “Gonna cum in you, baby. I always thought about getting you pregnant.”

You’re so fucked out of it that Taehyung’s words don’t faze you - you even recall the times he told you how he wanted a big family. The breeding kink he was clearly exhibiting was understandable; expected either.

Taehyung swallows, closing his eyes to imagine how you’d look with child - so round and glowing, breast enlarged with milk for the child. “Oh, fuck…” he gasps, cumming right inside of you - so much that it begins to flow out of you and down your thighs.

“You don’t have to pay me, Y/N.”

“But…the views tripled!” you try everything in your power to show Taehyung how much money you and he made for the cam show. “You’re the reason why.”

Hours had gone by and you remained at Taehyung's home. He had been the one to stop the stream - after several rounds - as you were exhausted.

“I’m not taking your money, Y/N. It’ll just go back to you anyways.”

You sigh, forgetting that Taehyung was an ultimate subscriber. 

“So,” Taehyung begins. “do we need to have the awkward conversation now or later?”

You closed your laptop and turned towards Taehyung fully. “What do you want to do?”

“What do you want to do?” Taehyung reverses the question back at you. He would be fine with whatever you chose - casual sex or the rough kind. Even if this was a one time thing, he would respect it. 

You glance away when you grow hot under his gaze.

“I want to do it again.” you murmur. “Even if it’s not for anyone else to see.”

Taehyung licks his lips. “I’d like that, too.” he says softly. “So…does that make us friends with benefits?”

You shrug your shoulders. You didn’t need to have a label on whatever you and Taehyung were doing. You cared for him just as he cared for you - and after he fucked you so good, there was no going back to just friends. 

Taehyung hums. “My little whore.” he says jokingly, just to get a rise out of you. He grasps your hand in his own and presses a single kiss on it. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

[onlygarden]

[my precious little petal] - yang jungwon

genre: smut

description: sub jungwon, unprotected sex, orgasm denial, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, oral sex (male receiving), tiny bit of biting. jungwon is cute and whiny hehe

a/n: this fic is my reaction to those mirror pics jungwon posted a few days ago in that tanktop....... i suffered so much after seeing that and i finally put most of my thoughts into words heheh. also, i think this answers a few of the requests i received, so i hope you all thoroughly enjoy this : ]

divider: @dollywons <3

jungwon feels like his body is being enveloped in a pool of silk, each of his senses and nerve endings being stroked so gently, slowly, and smoothly. each and every goosebump underneath his skin is being lured from sleep, with such delicacy, rising eagerly towards the perpetrator of his pleasure; you, the only woman who could ever reduce him to such a desperate little trembling petal. his eyes swelled with adoration, amazement, and delirium as he helplessly watches each of your movements. 

your clothed hips settle flush against jungwon’s, his hardening cock throbbing immediately upon contact. a wispy gasp escapes jungwon’s mouth, the pleasured air flying from his lips involuntarily. his hands reflexively fly towards your hips, as if there were magnets attached to them. 

“look at me baby,” your voice interrupts him from his daze of anticipation and fascination, and he obediently tears his eyes from your hips to meet your fond gaze. 

you lean towards him, his eyes slowly closing as you draw closer, and you revel in the feeling of his velvety lips against yours. they truly felt like a flower petal.

you slide your tongue into his mouth, swirling and gliding it along his, enjoying the way his breathing quickened beneath you. when you begin languidly grinding your hips against him, jungwon bucks up into you on impulse; he could never dream of having control over the way his body reacted to you. jungwon’s nails dig into your hips, his breathing traveling in and out of his nose quicker by the second as your movements continued. 

you pull away from his lips, opening your eyes to soak in his expression. his lips were so swollen and pouty, and his eyelids drooped from the heaviness of the pleasure you showered him in. “noona..” he breathes out. 

“what is it, baby?” you ask him, smirking, trailing your finger along his exposed collarbone in the tank top he wore. the tank top that got him into the position he’s in now.  

“i need you….” he tells you, craving so much more than what you’re doing to him now, but still enjoying every second of it. 

“just be patient, baby,” you respond. but for jungwon, patience is the most difficult skill to master when you’re on top of him. 

you still the movement of your hips, shifting slightly to place kisses along his jaw and down his neck. he’s breathing heavy, his hands coming up to grip onto your shoulders as you suck on the space between his neck and shoulder. your tongue slides up jungwon’s neck until you reach his earlobe, flicking against it to gauge his reaction. he shivers, whining so breathily, making you want to completely devour him. 

“lean up a little bit baby,” you direct him, and his body obliges before his mind even registers your words.  

you grab the hem of his shirt, sliding it up and pulling it over his head. jungwon lifts his arms to allow you to undress him, his body eager to lay bare before you. 

once his body relaxes again, you lick along his collarbone, biting a piece of the skin that rested upon it gently. a startled, breathy ‘ah’ leaves jungwons lips at your sudden intrusion on his skin. 

you begin to kiss down the space between his broad chest, traveling down to his toned, slim stomach. unable to resist the urge again, your tongue darts out to glide along the lovely skin on his stomach. jungwon whines, further igniting the desire within you, as you delight in the sensation of his muscles twitching and quivering beneath your slick tongue. 

kissing along the waistline of his sweatpants, you intend to prolong the inevitable action of sliding his pants down for as long as possible, wanting to drive the already quivering jungwon into a pitiful frenzy. 

“b-baby, please,” he begs. he’s so flustered, his breathing refusing to settle down. 

“please what, baby? what is it that you need?” you know exactly what he needs, but you cannot allow the gratification of the words tumbling from his mouth to pass you by. 

jungwon’s cheeks are dusted with a subtle pink, his bottom lip sliding underneath his teeth as he opens his mouth to answer you. “your mouth.. baby. please i need your mouth so bad..” he answers, and his imaginary resolve is brutally shattered; not that he would ever even pretend to resist you. 

“of course, baby, you’re so cute,” you tell him, his face heating up further from the praise you bestow onto him. it was such an innocent word, and you always used it to describe him, but the way you tossed the word out under such obscene circumstances made him lose the breath in his lungs.

you place your index fingers underneath his waistband, skimming beneath his pants until they land on either side of his hips. he’s still breathing so heavily, finding more difficulty in withstanding your teasing for much longer. answering his pleas, you pull his sweatpants down, and his hips lift slightly to allow you to remove them completely. 

his cock meets your wicked eyes, and your stomach is set ablaze at the way he strains against the confines of his boxers. you notice a darkened patch, pleasantly satisfied by his aching need for you making itself known in the way his precum caused dampness to spread along his boxers. 

you plant your tongue flat against the damp spot, and his cock jolts at the delicious contact. your mouth waters as you register the salty taste of his precious essence. 

jungwon whines again, sounding so strained and breathy that you just couldn’t wait to pour an abundance of immense pleasure onto him any longer. 

you curl your fingers underneath his boxers, slowly dragging them down and tossing them aside. jungwon’s cock was always such a pretty sight to admire; he was extended upwards, fully sprung for you, the arousing light you provided always guiding him to bloom freely.

his cock jumped ardently in anticipation as you wrap your hand around his shaft. his breathing gains volume as you leisurely lick the underside of his cock, resulting in more precum gushing from his slit. jungwon gasps unabashedly at the sensation of your tongue against him. 

you fully envelop his beautiful, pleading cock into your mouth, your lips wrapping around him and your nose brushing against the skin of his lower stomach as your throat constricts around his tip. jungwon’s breathing comes in short, shallow pants as you begin to massage the underside of him with your tongue. impulse electrifies him and his hips jolt upwards, the warmth and slipperiness of your mouth gaining full control of his movements. 

you keep your lips wrapped around him, still sucking gently as you pull your mouth off his length slowly. your mouth was already watering for the ravishing sight before you, and you gather saliva on your tongue before spitting onto his tip, allowing it to combine filthily with his precum, and watching patiently as it rolled down the side of his length. jungwon whines impatiently, and you simply look up at him, smirking. 

you decide to tease him further, the enjoyment you gained from his squirming body and pleading expression never fading. you gather more saliva on your tongue, opening your mouth and rolling your tongue out, allowing the saliva to glide down and drip onto his tip. 

jungwon can hardly withstand the sight and the sensation, his cock throbbing and his body shuddering as he attempted to prevent his sanity from bursting at the seams. 

“hah, n-noona, please!” he breathes out, moans seeping through his words.

noona. you’re certain he’s unaware just how feverish your body feels whenever that word tumbles out of his mouth. 

you begin stroking his cock, spreading the mixture of saliva and precum along him, quickening your pace faintly as his breath hitches and he cries out to you softly. his hands reach out to dig into your shoulders, pathetically scratching at your back and tugging at the shirt you wore. good god, the sight of him behaving this way was driving you absolutely insane. he was so needy, so helpless, and so pitiful, clinging onto you as if you were his source of life.

your mouth engulfs him again, and he moans with each breath he takes as you begin to bob along his length at a steady pace. after gliding your mouth all the way down the expanse of his cock and allowing him to make contact with the back of your throat, you pulled your mouth back up sucking him with just enough tenacity. you continue your actions until his moans increase in volume, sounding notably strained, and his fingers thread into you hair. 

“ah, fuck! noona, i’m close, i’m-” jungwon’s eyes snap open as you snatch the ecstasy of your mouth away from him, leaving him reeling and viciously pent up. “b-baby! keep going, please!” he begs, his hands moving to your shirt to tug at it, exasperation and frustration leaking through his words. he begins bucking up against your cheek, beyond the realm of desperation for your touch. you simply smirk at him, receiving the exact reaction you were hoping for.

“i like making you wait, baby,” you tell him calmly, and his cock twitches hard at your words and your sinful expression. 

jungwon gasps as your mouth takes him in again. you waste no time in quickening your pace, your hand and mouth rhythmically moving along his cock, and your idle hand moving to fondle his balls. 

“oh god, oh fuck!” jungwon moans, babbling and stuttering out half sentences as you submerge his fragile little senses in so much pleasure. 

your tongue swirls around his tip, your movements unfaltering as jungwon nears his climax once more.    

“n-noona! don’t stop, so close!” jungwon announces hurriedly, the moans which left him nearly making his words incoherent. 

your pace quickens, and jungwon’s body responds as his hips buck towards you uncontrollably, his cum beginning to spill into your mouth. jungwon is writhing as intense pleasure courses through every imaginable crevice of his body, his eyebrows drawing inward as noisy, stuttered moans leave his mouth.

your movements slow down, and you stroke him gently as his mind and body struggle to regain composure from the orgasm you gave him. you swallow every drop of his cum, leaning back down to lick his cock clean of the cum that leaked out of your mouth when he came so plentifully. 

jungwon’s eyes squeeze shut at the sensation. he’s writhing, his hips jerking upwards as his body becomes so sensitive that the lightest touch from you sends tremors of unbearable pleasure throughout his body. 

you gaze at him, smiling subtly and fondly, admiring the way his chest rises rapidly as he attempts to regain control of his breathing, the way his face is notably flushed and a bit sweaty, and the way his cock still twitches from the pleasure he received. 

you lift your body off of him, standing up to remove your clothing. jungwon’s exhausted eyes examine each subtle movement of your body, his face and neck beginning to heat up in anticipation. 

jungwon’s body is still attempting to recover from your tongue work when you return to his lap, settling your silky cunt onto his length. 

“n-no more, please! can’t take it,” he manages to say, much to your surprise, as he bites onto his bottom lip. his eyes shine with a plead for you to stop, simultaneously begging you to continue since he never wants this moment with you to end. 

you lean closer to him, stroking his flushed cheek with your thumb. “baby, you’re not even crying yet, i know you can take more,” you tell him, entertained by his pleas. 

you place your lips on his, shoving your tongue into his mouth again, indulging in his weary response to your kiss. you begin grinding your hips along his length, spreading your essence along him, feeling him grow completely stiff beneath you once more. 

jungwon cries into your mouth, his hands twitching as if he desired to grab onto your hips, but he’s already so spent from your previous actions that he’s unable to will them to leave his sides. 

you pull back, swallowing the feeble breaths and whimpers that left jungwon’s mouth, and begin to line his precious, aching cock up with your entrance. 

jungwon’s drained body lay readily beneath you, an endless spring for you to indulge in.

you sink down onto him, engulfing him in your drenched pussy, flooding his cock with a wet warmth that he can never grow accustomed to. you were surrounding him, overwhelming him, but he absolutely loved to drown within your lavish fountain. 

“oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” choked, breathy moans leave jungwon’s mouth, and he’s not sure his body is able to comprehend how good you’re making him feel in this moment. 

you begin gliding along him, moving your hips up and down lusciously, and jungwon’s senses start to blur as you stimulate him far outside of the range of his limitations.

“you’re doing good, baby..” you tell him, finding the way he’s trying so hard to hold himself together endlessly endearing. 

you cannot ignore the pleasure he brings you, his perfect cock filling you up so well, sliding against spots inside of you that you could never hope to reach without him. he sends your body to such unimaginable heights by simply laying back and allowing you to use him, and you’re utterly astonished by him. 

“n-noona, you feel so fucking good..!” he babbles, finally willing his hands to fall limply onto your hips, swimming in a pit of incomprehensible bliss, god you were just heaven to him.

you speed your hips up, eager to send jungwon soaring to staggering heights of rapture and delight.

“p-please! please! i need to-” he announces, tears beginning to pool above his eyelid, waiting patiently to fall. he can hardly bear to form coherent thoughts as the sensation of your pussy sends him to a state of wild hysterics. his climax is approaching him hastily, and he knows he can’t hold out any longer.

“let go, baby, don’t hold it in,” you assure him, feeling your own orgasm as it prepares to crash into you. 

jungwon’s mouth falls open and he trembles violently, sobbing as he writhes under the intense pleasure of his orgasm. the initial silence as his orgasm hits him is shattered by a series of loud moans erupting from his mouth so delectably. 

his hips buck into you beyond his authority as he continues to spill into you, and he musters the strength to squeeze onto your hips, his hands latching onto them in a nonverbal plea. 

you continue to move your hips, gliding along him as you seek your climax, circling your clit as it finally sweeps over you with fervor. you moan loudly and shakily, your legs trembling a bit as you slow down, eventually bringing yourself to a complete stop.

you lean down, placing an affectionate kiss onto jungwon’s plump lips, bringing your hands up to wipe his fallen tears away. you place kisses over his entire face, wanting to shower him in bounds of tender adoration after wearing his body out.

“you did well, baby. you were so cute, you know?” you tell him, smoothing a few damp strands of hair out of his face, wanting nothing obstructing such a breathtaking view. 

he simply smiles tiredly at you, telling you to ‘stop it,’ making you giggle.

“i love you,” you say, continuing to smile fondly at him, squishing his face with your hand momentarily. 

“i love you, baby,” he returns effortlessly, his eyes holding more appreciation and love for you than they can even handle. he runs his hands along your back, the only movement his body can manage after your delightful torture. jungwon makes it so clear that he’s completely content and at ease with you.