#stain x you

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY XV. — MENOPHILIA

cw: Menophilia, Blood, Teasing, Blood Eating, Cunnilingus, Quirk Usage, Temporary Paralysis, Fem! Reader. 18+ Only!

author's note: This is for a good friend! I don't really write for Stain, so this will be one of the few times I do it! Enjoy!

word count: Approximately 1k. words.

“Ohh, just a little bit more to the side.” 

“No no, the other side.”

“Hmm, maybe you should have stayed where you were. Go back.”

“You’re a little too slow. Can you speed up?” 

“Hey, why are you stopping?” 

Chizome’s deadpan meets your eyes, any emotion or lust once curtaining his features are now smoke on the horizon. Mirth twinkles behind your smile. You casually ask,

“What’s with that look? It’s like you’re not enjoying yourself anymore.” 

A grumble rumbles deep within Chizome’s throat, head bobbing slightly from side to side while he scoffs. 

“Perhaps I didn’t enjoy the constant critique while trying to pleasure you.” 

He sounds frustrated, but the strum to his voice makes your toes curl and your fingers claw into the bed. There are faint traces of powdered blood smeared across his lips, chin, and the corners of his mouth. Spit and slobber are dribbling down his bottom lip, but he quickly swipes it up with his tongue and swallows. Chizome’s crimson eyes sparkle momentarily before they dull, closed in an instant. That makes you shift, and you coo.

“Aw, Chi’, I was only teasing you. It’s not every day I get to see you with my blood on your face, I couldn’t help myself~” 

Chizome’s eyes are wide and sliced back towards your frame whenever the lilt of your voice crescendos, punctuated by an obviously faux giggle. He squints, but then he snorts. 

“Well then, let me return the favor.” 

Before you even have the opportunity to open your mouth to ask for clarification—ice and iron seize your body, cold and stiff, and you suddenly can’t move. You attempt to blink, but you can’t even find the function within you. A hint of disappointment tinges your thoughts because, dammit, Chizome activated his Quirk on you again. Though, admittedly, maybe it’s only fair for how often you like to play and toy with him during intimate moments like these. He’s usually more receptive, but you’re guessing there’s some sort of affinity for blood that has him leaning on the side of genuine intimacy. Perhaps you start to feel the smallest slimmers of guilt, but Chizome’s suddenly smirking at you and wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Now I can do as I please.” 

Ohhh, ohh—Chizome, he, ohhh—he—!!

Chizome’s face is down between your thighs again, mouth to your cunt, splitting the seam of your lips. He laps his tongue against you, like a dog cleaning their paw, burying himself in as deeply as humanly possible. There are hums and gasps tucked away in the back of your mouth, attempting to force their way out of your hefty lungs, but your mouth remains closed and all you can do is relax back against the pillows and blankets. Electricity is curdling through your veins, sharp and biting baths that drown you, and you can barely think the longer Chizome hilts that long, long, long tongue through the velvet walls of your cunt. 

His tongue loops, spinning small circles inside. That dastardly appendage hits all of the right buttons, clicking and switching the heat and passion budding underneath the swell of your belly. You’re dizzy before you can comprehend it, and your breathing starts to lull. Chizome has always been so deft and clever, a filet knife that knows all of the right twists and turns to spread open flesh and meat. The blood seeps from your weeping cunt, trickling down the slit. Glaze and stickiness is painted all over your middle, and Chizome starts moaning into your cunt. 

You start to feel the effects of his Quirk wane the more focused he becomes to unravel your threads, so you flex your fingers and wrists before stretching them forward to gently clasp through those luscious midnight locks tickling your thighs. Chizome moans louder now, and that delicious sound sends a jolt up your spine that makes a gasp really escape. The lower end of your body slants into him, forming a weak ramp for Chizome to drag up and along. He reaches your desperate clit, a victim of neglect, and unites blood escaped to blood captive against the underside of your fatty hood. He sends his tongue spiraling into madness right where you need it, seemingly taking heed of your past instructions, and with the shackles of his Quirk cut clean off, you squirm and dance and mewl and plea like a bagged kitten begging for its freedom. 

Claws scrabbling, little teeth gnawing, tail end thrashing, red liquor smearing and leaving you intoxicated as it trickles from the spigot of your cunt, stills of Chizome’s sharp chin and sharper tongue drenched in your life’s essence, you feel yourself begin to boil and bubble and brew until, until it, until—

“Ch-Chizome! Chizome, I’m—ah, ahh, I’m—” 

Everything in you squeezed with delight. Everything, especially your swollen, juicy walls. Distantly, you could pick out something gooey expel from your aching hole, your orgasm having birthed a particularly large clot of ichor from your womb. Trying to warn of an unsightly splotch on your disheveled sheets, you fought against the speeding breaths and deadening whimpers rattling your lungs, begging, grasping. But it didn’t matter, not really, not with Chizome. His insatiable need for blood primed him to never let one single drop go to waste, Chizome’s head collapsed down to your hole, interrupting the nutritious blot and obscenely slurping it into his hungry mouth in a way that sent your head reeling. And he slowly whittled you down, little by little, spooling you back into the land of the living while he cleaned and licked your cunt. 

Your eyes were completely wasted, drunken blotches, struggling to even perceive anything—but Chizome’s mouth popped off with a nice squelching suction, those red eyes piercing you whenever he resurfaced. A small smile danced across your face whenever you saw your blood marking him, owning him, pouring down his crimson chin. Chizome looks stupidly obnoxious whenever he grins and begins licking himself clean. 

“Didn’t think you were going to feed me, sweetheart.” 

Instant embarrassment slaps you across the face. You jerk up, clenched together by your shoulders, and withdraw your hands from his bangs. 

“Chizome, what a great way to ruin such a beautiful moment.” 

He chuckles, letting his head rest against a thigh before he nuzzles his cheek into it.

“I feel like that just made it better. ‘Sides,” 

His eyes are flames whenever they meet yours, 

“I think I’m still hungry.” 

[daisies-daydreams]

Stain NSFW Headcanons

Warnings: Like...everything under the sun.

A/N: Time for 2 AM horny thoughts.

Side Note: The gif 👀😩

(Headcanons below the cut)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Sorry, but Stain's aftercare game is sorely lacking. He's more likely to kiss you before slipping out of bed and back into the dark night. You’d have to bring it up to him if you really want it. Stain would be a bit awkward with aftercare at first, but he'll get better with practice.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite body part on himself is his hands. Sure, he uses them to dispose of “fake” heroes, but he also sees it as a way of protecting you and innocents. His favorite body parts on you are your breasts and eyes. He loves to grab and knead your breasts when he has you writhing beneath him or riding on top of him. Stain adores eye contact while he’s fucking you senseless, because it gives him a sense of belonging and confidence.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Stain loves to cum on your breasts. He’ll jerk himself off sometimes, his thighs slotted against your upper arms, his long tongue lolling out of his parted lips as he paints his thick cum across your clavicle and tits. His favorite place to cum, though, is inside of you. He feels like he’s claiming you as his and his alone. There’s a lot of it, too, and he loves to shove it back inside when it leaks out of your fucked out, puckering hole.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Stain stole your dirty underwear when you two were first starting to get to know each other. For several weeks, he jerked himself off in his dingy apartment as he constantly inhaled the scent of your musk and lapped at your panties. Stain’s never cummed so hard in his entire life.

(He still has the underwear at his apartment). 👀🤭

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I think he’d have little experience with how devoted he is to his mission. He might’ve had a few one-night stands, but that’s about it. It surprised Stain when he kept wanting to see you again and again, each time increasing with intensity and desire. He watched a little bit of porn when he was a teenager, too, so he’d know some basic things (and some not so basic things).

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary, or any position where you’re below him and he can still see your face twist in pleasure. Mating press would be a close second. There’s just something intoxicating about spreading your legs wide and folding you in half while he stuffs you with his cum over and over again. Cowgirl would have to be his third, since he gets to see your tits bounce and jiggle in front of his face as you slide up and down his thick cock.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Definitely serious. Stain might tease you a little, but sex is something he wants to savor for the majority of it.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He has a wild bush growing down there. Stain never saw it as necessary to groom himself, so it’s an untamed cluster of thick, black curls. (He might trim it up a bit if you ask him, though).

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Not very romantic (sorry). He’s more feral than anything, growling and snarling and manhandling you as he pumps his cock into you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Stain masturbated before he met you, though the frequency was pretty scarce. Now that he has you, though, his urge to jerk off is almost non-existent.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

I think Stain has a hidden praise kink, like if you were to say “You’re such a good boy”, he’d freeze while pounding you and just go 😳😶. Praising him will always give him a boost, since most of what he’s known in his life is rejection or neglect from other people.

Stain definitely has a bondage kink, too, and would be persistent with using his Quirk on you (only with your permission, though).

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

100% the bedroom. When he fucks you on the bed, he gets to watch as you unravel beneath him while he can view his cock plugging into your sweet pussy. He's fantasized about taking you from behind in a dark alley, though he's too well aware of the legal repercussions if both of you get caught.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Seeing you in tight-fitting clothing or randomly sitting in his lap. Also, small compliments or simple, lingering touches (poor thing is so touched starved 🥺).

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Shit/piss play is a big turn off for him. Pegging is also something he’s weary of and will refuse if you ask him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Holy fuck, does this man love giving you oral. The sweet taste of your juices is intoxicating to him, let alone the feeling of your walls writhing around his wet muscle. He’s got a big tongue, too, so you know he could easily fill you up and rub your clit at the same time.

As for receiving, he enjoys it just as much as giving. Stain’s a little bit on the longer side so it would take some getting used to. The moment your lips are wrapped around the head of his cock, Stain swears he’s going to cum right there and then.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Stain is usually pretty rough with you (it's so easy for him to get pussy drunk😩). However, if he's feeling more relaxed, he'll more likely than not take his time with you, drawing orgasm after orgasm out of you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are a norm with Stain, especially if he feels the need to release some pent up tension.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

Two words: knife play. He won’t do it if you’re uncomfortable, but given how many blades he’s packing, he's bound to bring it up eventually.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

This man’s stamina is through the fucking roof. Good luck trying to keep up with him, because even with his refractory period(s), he can go for a good four to five rounds, each lasting five to twenty minutes.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Stain doesn’t prefer to use toys. He wants to be the only one to make you cum. He actually gets pretty jealous if you choose to use a dildo/vibrator on yourself. 🤭

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Some teasing, and he's always smug when he does it.

“Hm? You’re already cumming? It hasn’t even been five minutes yet, doll”.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Stain’s not very loud. Maybe some grunting and growling. Even his teasing is said through low, husky whispers.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Stain has one small frenum piercing just below the head of his cock. He got it when he was drunk one night and just kept it, since it “matched his style”.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Stain has an average girth, but he’s hung like a horse. A good 8.5 inches with a bit of curve. His cock's a bit darker than the rest of his body and the tip turns a bright, cherry red when he's turned on. Uncut.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Somewhat higher than average. The man can go without it for long periods of time, though the consequence is making up for lost time (4-5 rounds, anyone?).

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Is fairly quick to fall asleep afterwards. He’s not much of a talker, but he’ll always feel a longing keep you close after a particularly long session.

____

Thank you for reading! ❤️

NSFW Alphabet Prompt By @the-coldest-goodbye

[chyarui]

A few of you guys were curious, so as promised, here’s a few of my takes on Kiffar marriage customs! Specifically the role of the qukuuf, hope you guys enjoy! (Once again, this was all inspired by fic Resilience on ao3, though the account is unfortunately orphaned)

Hope my handwriting doesn’t suck too much, and super open to hearing any ideas or questions you might have if I didn’t explain anything fully!

Also here’s a b/w version cause I’m a sucker for greyscale (and to make the qukuuf markings stand out more)

[iguessthisisanewobsession]

Just once I would like a Peter stuck in Gotham story where Tony gets dragged along with him for the ride.

Like they drop down and Tony is like

“Not an ideal situation, good news is we’re not dead. Bad news that looked like a one way trip for us. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Now we should focus on short turn goals: food, water and a place to stay, everything else can wait.”

I want Tony to be out there working his ass off from helping people with broken items then getting a job at wayne enterprises and starting a technology revolution in this dimension because he just can’t stand how out of date everything is and then running to pick up Peter from the rich kid school and the two of them trying to do reconnaissance and failing miserably.

Peter for his part is having a great time with school and his new vigilante gig.

Peter’s vigilante friends in school are worried about how bruised Peter looks sometimes and think that Tony is abusive before breaking in and just hearing Tony being a mother hen.

Then one breakout things are not looking too good and Spider-man just says

“Karen, activate Papa Protocol.”

And then like ten minutes later in comes Ironman with a bone to pick with the rouges.

Bruce doesn’t know if he loves Tony or hates him but his kids find him hilarious.

[zephyrchama]

Vampire MC part I - with Lucifer heads up - this is pretty suggestive

(intro can be found here)

"How long did you intend to keep me waiting?"

Though the lights were off and the room was dark, you could clearly see Lucifer sitting up in bed. His deep voice was deeper than usual, tinged with grogginess. You wavered by the doorway, unsure if you were still invited in. He sighed and leaned his head back against the headboard.

"I told you hours ago to come to me if you had any problems. Don't be so distant and get over here."

It lifted your spirits to slide under the blankets next to Lucifer. Already, you felt a little more normal. Everything was tinged with the scent of his usual cologne. His bed had so much space and you were content with just being in the same room, no longer alone, but the sleepy demon soon tugged you into his embrace. He sighed contentedly into your hair, settling his head into the pillows with an arm around you.

With his chest in front of your nose, his scent flooded your mind. Under the cologne there was a muskier, heartier smell that made your mouth go dry. Your breathing slowed, not out of exhaustion but hunger, and with each new breath it got harder and harder to fall asleep.

"Lucifer, are you awake?" you whispered.

"Mm." He emitted a barely audible low rumble but didn't actually seem awake. He never mentioned that sleep evaded him for the entire month you were away. You wondered if you could wait until morning.

Was that wooshing noise the sound of your own blood, or Lucifer's? All of these new senses were so foreign. You lifted your chin to graze your lips under his collarbone. The contact made your fangs ache. He felt warm. If you dragged your teeth over his soft skin, lightly nipping at the surface, could you continue to hold back?

The more you allowed yourself to do, the more you started slipping, lightly tracing your teeth over where you felt a vein could be and pressing the edges of your fangs into him. You wanted more. With a light moan, a grip on your hair began to tighten. Lucifer guided your head properly to his neck and murmured, "quit being a tease."

Starving, you lurched forward and gasped and properly sunk your teeth into the offered skin. Lucifer groaned quietly as you melted into his embrace. The closer you pressed against him, the easier it got to access your snack. He dug the tips of his nails into your scalp. The fresh, warm taste of Lucifer's blood trickling down your throat was more satisfying than any late night treat.

The two of you stayed like that. With a fully content stomach, your eyes grew heavy and you dozed off into your first comfortable sleep since the transformation.

Lucifer would make sure you didn't oversleep. He always emphasized that timing was important. He'd be sure to rouse you in the early hours of the morning, before anyone else was awake. He loomed over your resting form in the dark on his hands and knees, ready to take his compensation.

[cheesecakethots]

i’ve said this somewhere before but chrollo loves the power dynamic of you being entirely naked and him being fully dressed in his suit. drape yourself over his lap and against his chest while like this and he’ll find his usual solid composure weakening.

[juniemunie]

Made my own lil au version of these two. There's a story, just working out the kinks...

dunno if i can even tell it fully lmao, just enjoy the fluff

I'm asgore levels of bad at naming and nothing is coming to mind so it'll remain blank at the moment... (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

Some notes:

Ink has also taken up embroidery along with his sewing! He'll experiment on his scarf and other clothes.

Error's scarf and a lil bit of his pants (i shpuldve added it on his sleeves too... im too lazy) are actually just paint stains that coincidentally managed to look like a starry sky. He was pissed at first but he does like space effect so he keeps it.

[cielcius]

bakugou x reader; fluff

you’re relaxing on the couch one night after a long day. today was your date day with katsuki that usually comes at least once every two weeks, if not every week. snow is falling heavier than it did earlier that day and you accept a steaming cup in your hands from katsuki as he settles beside you.

you’re scrolling through the news on your phone until an article makes you stop, catching your full attention by the bold letters, titling:

SIGHTED: DYNAMIGHT AND HIS FAN-CLAIMED “ADORABLE” SPOUSE ON AN OUTING

you being his spouse, you click on the title in curiosity. “what’s that?” having caught a glimpse of his hero name, katsuki peeks over your shoulder curiously, raising an eyebrow at the published date of the article: just earlier today.

“jeez, these extras really don’t have anything else to do.” giving a light smack to katsuki’s chest, you feel him chuckle beside you as you read through the article, which didn’t provide much reading material. instead, it filled your screen with more pictures than words.

the two of you are displayed walking down a street, presumably on your way somewhere—and you were—but something rare had occurred: you had gotten lost. lo and behold, multiple pictures in the same angle show katsuki, one hand holding his phone, and the other dragging you at a small distance behind him.

suppose the kicker is you.

you, who practically waddled behind him in a big white puffer coat, a white scarf covering the lower half of your face, and a white hat to top it off. your hand in his is the only thing connecting the two of you and below the article, you catch multiple readers freshly commenting from just a minute ago.

adoration, mentions of being a walking marshmallow, and textual squealing in all caps is all that fills the comments. they adored you and your outfit that seems to have set a trend for the winter season. reading the last bit of the article, you smile at the last few words and squeal when katsuki tickles at your side, having forgotten that, he too, was reading.

“It seems Dynamight’s beloved spouse has become more popular among fans than the man himself… And I don’t blame them.”

[oddinary4bts]

Coffee Stain | jjk

☆summary: you grief, and it's the expression of your everlasting love for Jungkook.

☆pairings: Jungkook x reader

☆rating: 18+ (it deals with heavy themes)

☆genre: grief!au, angst

☆warnings: this is a grief!au so it's rough. jungkook died and reader tries to grieve him. lucid dream where she sees him and talks to him again, curses, a lot of crying

☆word count: 1.9k

☆a/n: this hurts. idk why i wrote it. i was sad watching a sad instagram reel and then this happened. i apologize, and i love y'all, and if you need to talk just reach out <3 i'm always here for you guys.

☆☆☆☆☆

            There’s been a coffee stain on the kitchen counter for weeks.

Staring at it, you can almost hear the laughter it brought forth then. A laughter of crinkling doe eyes, of a bunny grin and arms wrapping around your middle. It’s a hand clutching around your heart, like it used to clutch around your fingers.

It’s the ghost of bodies entwined that weren’t meant to be separated.

In the bathroom, his towel has started to smell like humidity instead of the body wash he used, the one he claimed was good for his hair too. A 3-in-1 combo thing, something you used to tease him constantly about. And though the smell is a sign that you need to clean the towel, you can’t bring yourself to do the laundry.

In fact, you can’t bring yourself to do any chores. You just let Bam out three times a day, and then you go back to bed. Back to a cold bed that was supposed to be an island of you and him.

Now it’s an island of your grief, of tear-stained pillows and sorrow-filled sheets.

The sun rises and sets every day, but time has stopped. Time stopped on a surprised rainy day when he didn’t come home.

And he’ll never come home again.

It burns. It burns like the pizza you put in the oven, thinking that maybe you’d eat for the first time in weeks. The smoke pricks your eyes, suffocates your lungs. You hope it’ll steal your breath like his breath was stolen, too.

A last exhale, one you weren’t there to share.

You open the windows to air the room, and late spring flows in. Chirping birds and a soft breeze surround you, and you feel sick to your stomach. Because he won’t experience any other season. His life ended on a rainy April day, forever altering yours in the process.

Bam watches you from where he’s lying down by the door, still waiting for him to come home. Indeed, he’d used to come home around this time every day, to whisk you in his arms and tell you he loves you. But not that day.

No, that day, you sat on the couch watching the raindrops chasing themselves on the window, your phone clutched in your hand because he’d been supposed to be home an hour ago. When the phone rang bringing the news, your life became quiet.

It’s been quiet since then.

Your friends come over in the evening, with food you try to eat. You remember evenings that you’d spend with them and him, laughing and playing games and doing everything that young people do.

Young people aren’t supposed to die. Or so you tell yourself as you follow the conversation, but never participate, like maybe he left with your voice too. Your friends don’t complain about it – they know how much he meant to you, how much you meant to him, too.

You wonder what he’d say if he were here tonight, and you think you wouldn’t be able to hear it. Not when you haven’t been able to listen to his last voice message again, even though it sits on your phone, a keepsake of your love gone too soon.

When your friends leave, they hug you tight, though it’s never as tight as he used to hold you. Because he was the only one to know how to hold your pieces together and tonight, like every night since then, they fall apart. They fall apart like dandelions in the wind, so easily blown away.

You go to bed, Bam with you, staring up at the ceiling, imagining that it is his body next to yours. That it is his soft snores you can hear, his gentle breaths dragging you to sleep hours after you lied down.

You wake up feeling different. The light shines differently, like it’s from another world. The apartment smells of bacon and coffee, and you furrow your brows. The bed is empty, yet warmth lingers in the sheets next to you.

You step out of bed, tiptoe on a floor that you know to be usually cold in the morning, yet today it’s warm. You’re wearing an oversized white t-shirt he usually wears, and you feel like you’re forgetting something, yet you can’t quite tell what.

You walk out of the bedroom, and Bam greets you like he always does in the morning after his walk, with his tag wagging so wildly it’s making his whole body shake from side to side. You laugh, petting him as he tries to jump on you so that he can lick your face, though he eventually abandons to trot to the kitchen instead.

You follow behind him, smiling at the sight of his naked back, as he cooks something on the stove.

“You woke up just in time,” he tells you, shooting you a quick glance over his shoulder.

His eyes are sad. A sorrow deeper than the ocean hides in his pupils, and you’d frown if you hadn’t missed him so much.

“What are you making?” you ask.

He motions to a bowl on the counter. “Pancakes. And bacon and coffee, too.” He glances at you again, like maybe you disappeared while he was looking at the pan on the stove. “You can pour yourself a cup of coffee while I get everything ready.”

You nod, smiling softly, before doing so, grabbing your favourite mug from the cupboard. You frown – wasn’t there supposed to be a chip in it? Yet the mug looks pristine, entirely new. You shrug it off, and then you pour the coffee, before pouring one for him too. You set them on the table and sit in your usual spot, looking out the window.

The sky outside is purple and bright, and you think you can see constellations dusting it.

You know. You’ve known since you woke up, but you don’t care.

You watch him as he finishes cooking, and then he carries the food over to the table. He sits next to you, in his favourite spot because he gets to see you and the TV at the same time. The TV is not on right now, and his attention is solely on you, like he’s drinking you in like you’ve been drinking him in.

“How did you sleep?” he asks.

His eyes are infinitely sad. It’s startling, and you can’t bear the weight they hold. So you focus on your food, while he sits there watching you.

“I slept okay,” you reply. “You?”

He chuckles. “I slept too much.” He sighs, and it’s heavier than the universe. “I’m always sleeping lately.”

You laugh, because what else are you supposed to do?

“You’re awake now,” you tease, and you pat his arm.

His skin is soft and warm, void of any scars.

“Only because you’re here,” he replies, and he smiles again as you meet his doe eyes. “Now eat.”

You obey, enjoying the taste of his food – he’s always made the best pancakes, and today is no different. You even think they’re better, though you reckon that would be impossible.

“You should make pancakes more often,” you say when you’re done eating. “I can’t remember the last time you made them.”

He chuckles, eyes crinkling at the corners, yet the depths remain eternally sorrowful. “I’ll make them again soon.”

You smile, pausing to admire him for a few seconds before you ask, “Should we go back to bed?”

“We’re not Sunday,” he teases.

You narrow your eyes. “It can be Sunday just this once.”

His giggles accompany you as he grabs your hand and pulls you to the bedroom, and soon you’re in bed again, laughing as he tickles you.

“Fuck, I missed your laugh,” he says, and you pout.

“I missed you,” you answer.

He nods, and the sadness invades all his features. “I know.” Bam appears, jumping on the bed to lie next to you while Jungkook kneels between your legs, hands still resting on your sides. “You’ve been taking good care of Bam?”

“Yes,” you say. “We’ve been taking a lot of walks.”

He grins like the sadness was never there, and then he turns towards the dog. “Aren’t you lucky?”

Bam rolls on his back as Jungkook starts petting him, and soon he’s rubbing the dog’s belly, cooing like he’s talking to a baby. It’s adorable, and you admire the view even though it hurts so deeply you think you might be dying.

When he’s done with the dog, he looks at you again, a soft smile gracing his lips. “What have you been up to?”

You sigh, and you pull on his arm until he’s lying with his head on your chest. “Nothing.”

“That sounds boring,” he teases, and you think you feel his tears wetting the shirt you’re wearing, though you don’t mention it.

“Hey, I’m just doing my best,” you reply, pinching his side.

He laughs. “I know.”

“How long until you have to go?” you ask.

He sighs, and he glances at the time on the night table. “Not long.”

You rub a hand on his back, your arms tightening around him. He looks up at you, and you meet his gaze, hoping to find an eternity in them.

“I wish you could stay,” you whisper.

“Me too.”

He kisses you then, his feather soft lips meeting yours for a short embrace of the love you share. Your heart settles in your chest, your ache momentarily forgotten, and you wish to get lost in him. Wish to stay here with him forever, but he inevitably pulls away from the kiss, looking over his shoulder.

“It’s time to go,” he says.

You nod, because you know. You feel it too, and so you force yourself to get up. He quickly puts a shirt on, and then you follow him to the door.

“Text me when you get to work?” you tell him, eyes filled with tears.

“I will.” He meets your gaze, his own eyes lined with silver. “Please be safe.”

You chuckle. “You be safe.”

“Always,” he says. He opens the door, looking outside, but he doesn’t move for a while.

“Should we hang out again soon?” you ask, hoping that it’ll make him stay.

He looks back at you. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

You nod, and he takes a step outside. He’s fading out of focus, yet you try to hold onto it, to keep him here with you. It’s like it works – he turns back around, and then rushes to you, wrapping his arm around your waist as he hides his face in your neck. But you’re losing him again – already, the apartment has faded away, and all that’s left is the purple sky with its infinity of stars.

“I love you,” you whisper as he, too, fades away.

In the vast expanse of nothing, you think you hear him saying it back. You reach for him, and you think you can see him again, see his smile, though he’s just a little too far for you to touch.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come home.”

You wake, the bleak light from the sun filtering through the blinds, and the sky proves to be the blue of sorrow again. Grief, the expression of your everlasting love, sits on your chest, and you can’t breathe.

“I love you,” you whisper through the pain, and you mean it, more than you’ve ever meant anything before.

After all, there’s been a coffee stain on the kitchen counter for weeks.

☆☆☆☆☆

if you need to talk please reach out, and also don't hesitate to scream at me for this bc idk wtf it is

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate

[go6jo]

dating rin and he barges in through the bathroom door while you’re filming your vogue beauty secrets night skincare routine video because he completely forgot about you mentioning it and thought you were getting ready for bed without him which upset him because it's something he looks forward to at the end of the day - gets home really late everyday and it's a ritual he gets to share with you, a moment to be intimate with you. so when he notices you're recording he just goes "oh." with the most deadpan look on his face, standing by the door apologizing and you very sweetly chuckle and tell him it's okay, with a kiss to his cheek, that you'll help him when you're done. you eventually decide to keep his cameo in the final cut, with his consent, even though you're usually very private dating each other because you thought that it couldn’t hurt to shine a light on your relationship. after all you were proud of him and it feels good to show him off every once in a while. (plus the public is used to his aggression on the field, to star athlete rin itoshi, his cold demeanour and foul mouth and this showed a different side to him, that he could be tame, too. docile.) gets a little embarassed when the video is posted and as soon as he leaves the frame you're telling the camera about how he likes it when you do your nightly routine together. and that his favourite part are the face masks.

[konigsblog]

kidnapped!reader falling head over heels for kidnapper!könig, only for him to come back with hickeys along his nape.

[frickingnerd]

yandere stain

pairing: akaguro chizome / stain x gn!reader

tags: overprotective yandere, stalker!stain, emilinating / murdering rivals, established relationship, obsessed/lovestruck!stain

stain is an overprotective yandere, with the only goal to keep his beloved darling safe!

he doesn't care which lengths he has to go for to keep you safe, even killing people is okay for him!

his morals are clearly warped and he genuinely believes that everything he does is good, so he can't understand why you wouldn't think so too!

all the bad things, as you call them, he does to keep you safe are justified!

even before he approached you, stain had been stalking you for quite a while

he had to learn more about you, had to find out who your friends and enemies were, so he could keep you safe from them!

only when he knew all the potential threats in your life did he approach you

at first, you weren't even aware how messed up he was, believing him to be a vigilante who only did good

but when he began to eliminate people close to you, people he called threats to you and him, did you realize that he wasn't the person you thought he was

but at that point, it was already too late

you had already told him you loved him, had already been dating him and stain wouldn't forget that!

he was certain that you still loved him now and that whenever you claimed you didn't, it was because of someone else!

and so he kept eliminating those threats, to make sure nobody would get between you two again…

[tang3r1n]

cute idea but hero!chizome grappling with a hopeless crush on all might’s daughter figure (jus a chick he took under his wing izuku style)

like UGH. he’s such an old-school gentleman FUCK. he sends flower bouquets with your favorite flowers and like a 4 page letter with the most beautiful and eloquent language used to talk about how in love he is, and he talks like he’s fucking dying. exhibit a;

“i would lay myself at your alter, goddess, my insides laid out for your tasting, your pleasure— please eat of my flesh, consume me whole and let me feel accomplished as a simple, filling meal for you.

oh i beg of you, let my soul forever intertwine with yours, let me feels the silk of your skin, the heat of your breathe, plunge your hand into my heart and cherish it. sink your teeth into my neck and devour me.

i yearn for you, lovely thing. warmly, obsessively, lovingly, carnally, i can only hope you pity my foolish desires— my insane ramblings of fanatic and desperate attempts to gain your affections. please, please by the grace of all that is just and fair, let me worship you. let me treat you as you want to be.

i pray to no god but that of your body, of your mind, of your soul. there is no religion outside of your teachings, my muse. your word is my law, my written oath, music in the grand hall, the rain, the air, the existence of love. i would sooner accept death and the failure of my life’s work than to even acknowledge the existence of beauty that shines brighter than yours.

i beg of you, let my lowly hands hold you, let my soiled and ugly form touch and feel you, let me court you, my fair woman.

let me love you.”

omfg and he’s so petty. randoms in the street and fellow heroes flirting with you? he’s sighing and scoffing dramatically before completing dissecting their speech patterns, body posture, heroing skills, physical appearance, literally anything he can to make them leave you two alone

i feel like he doesn’t care abt how he looks (i mean duh no nose.) but the second you mention liking muscles he’s suddenly finding excuses to flex and stretch around you non stop, he’s doubling up his workout routine and bulking like a MOTHER FUCKER to see if you’re staring yet.

AAAHHH idk i just love chizome and need him insanely badly.

[bread-is-my-life]

Everyone is saying how soft they are in my last post and I was giggling so much until I remembered that I drew this but never posted

I'M SO SORRY STAIN I DON'T REMEMBER WHERE I GOT THIS IDEA BAHHAhzhgxhdhshshHAHAHSHDHF

"yapper x listener! <3" The listener is TIRED (⁠゜⁠ロ⁠゜ )

[kaiquesnest]

With that- please, don't feel afraid to request anything!

I primarily prefer to focus on people like Hawks and other pro heroes and villains (Like Mirko! Or Dabi, Toga, Twice, Spinner, Compress, Stain, Shigiraki, etc!), but I have no problem doing others as well (Such as Class 1-A and Class 1-B)

My asks are always open, and I do promise to get them answered as quickly as I can!

Take care <3

PS: Anything with smut in it will have the appropriate tagging- but also #Kaique NSFW- so if you're a minor on this blog, or uncomfortable with sexual topics, please block the tag

[biteofcherry]

Sweet and stained

Sweet and stained

soft dark Nick Fowler x female reader

a Hades/Persephone inspired AU set in modern times, with an implied mafia background

summary: You live in the sun and blooms, under your mother's protective wing (or is it cage?). When Nick Fowler strolls into your life, he brings a wave of thrilling fresh with the darkness that follows him.

warnings: soft!dark Nick Fowler; sort of dub-con; kidnapping; manipulation; light corruption kink; mentioned breeding kink; a bit of smutty scenes included;

Author's Note: This is a trope that won the poll for my birthday celebration story. Honestly, the way I imagined this fic at first is completely different from how it turned out. Less sharp than my usual style and more of a gloomy, start-of-the-autumn poetics. Still, I hope you'll enjoy!

You never knew black could shimmer so brilliantly, even though you saw its various shades in petals of unique flowers. The night sky’s ink was dotted with sparkling dust, too, after all. Yet it was only now that you noticed the luminosity of dark, as your head tilted back on the softest pillows and your gaze roamed the supple garlands of the black canopy.

Dark interior, which scared you the first time you took a step inside, now engulfed you in heady warmth. Like a sip of spicy hot chocolate, so rich and thick it coats your tongue and fills your belly with a bitter bite to its general sweetness.

There’s more spice than sweetness to your captor, but you began realizing he remained the only one to treat you with softness. As if he truly cared.

Perhaps he did? 

Maybe the charm and patience he showed you at the beginning were as true as the ruthless possessiveness with which he bound you to him. 

You had years to find that out. Decades at his side, to unravel the scary mystery that was Nick Fowler.

Your husband.

His face above you, as he sat beside your sweaty, spent body, shone a serene glow. His eyes a shade of clear lake, with monsters luring in the depths. 

You still feared him, but Nick gave you enough proof that he wouldn’t hurt you. 

Even if his plan for you was weaved out of nefarious intentions. 

He set aside the glass of water which he brought to your lips a moment ago, soothing your throat that dried out from how much you screamed for him. 

It’s for the best that you couldn’t speak at the moment, your breath still ragged; since you didn’t know what you’d say to him after all the debauched things he did to you. Post sex pillow talk was never your forte, but it was even more awkward after willingly spreading your legs for a man who ripped you from your life as one plucked a flower from the ground.  

Silently, you watched Nick once again pick a crystal bowl from the nightstand, a shiny barrow of pomegranate seeds peeking above the rim. 

He devoured some moments before he indulged in your dripping pussy.  

Seeds glistened ruby richness on Nick’s fingers as he brought them to your lips; his own mouth stained with the juice. He left traces of the red sweetness on your thighs and mound, mixing pomegranate flavor with your combined spend. 

Your lips wrapped around his digits as he spilled fruity grains on your tongue. One of your hands rested on your belly, just below your navel. 

Nick has repeatedly filled you with seeds that night, not only those of a pomegranate. 

It made you tremble. His intent was clear; not only shown in relentless, deep thrusts, but dark and dirty words whispered into your ear. 

Your body shouldn’t react so eagerly to his plans, arching and spasming in whorish acceptance as he ordered you to take it; as he fucked you through one climax into another, telling you of his heir swelling in your womb. 

Disgust should have filled you, instead of arousal. Because as much as you believed Nick was going to dote on you, his owning of your body in every sense was driven by revenge. 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

With the wide rim of the sunhat on your head limiting your view and your focus on the pots dancing away from you (the wind that day was wickedly playful, knocking over the smaller pots every time you righted them), you weren’t paying much attention to your surroundings. 

People walked past, some gleefully talking about plants, others arguing on what was or wasn’t needed in their garden. On a sunny day like that, Demeter Gardens had as many customers as a fun fair on weekends. 

The staff was really busy on days like this, doubling their efforts, because it was usually when your mother chose to grace the place with her radiant presence - radiant to the customers, an absolute harpy to her workers. 

There were many traits you admired about your mother. The most inspiring was the fact she was a barely out of teens single mother who managed to raise you and start a business that flourished into a state known brand. 

She had her faults, too. Like the high expectations and harsh tongue when someone didn’t meet her standards.

It went both for her employees and her daughter. 

Working with plants soothed you, so at least your future as the heiress to the empire your mother wanted you to take over didn’t look as grim. Even if some evenings you cried into a pillow, because it wasn’t what you dreamt of at all.

Growing under her wing, you didn’t get much of a chance to explore what exactly you could dream of, what called out to you, but you simply knew that running a gardening business wasn’t it. 

You never dared to tell your mother that. Enough times have you suffered her cruel words, snide remarks regarding anything that strayed even a step away from her grand plans. Demeter had ambition rivaling many moguls and she poured it onto you as well. The only praise you got was when you won any sort of competition, or mentioned business plans. 

Your mother may have only spiteful words to say about your absent father, but she possessed the same self-centered core as him. Rotten and unkind. 

How plants flourished under her hands, you had no idea. 

Though she didn’t spend much time with them anymore, leaving it to people who really liked working with plants. You liked the peace and quiet it offered, which is why you spent almost every day at the gardening center. 

“Excuse me?” A smooth male voice startled you.

Not only with how sudden and close it was, but also because it was so unusual in a place mostly filled with cheery, loudly speaking families or couples. 

You turned your head, pulling the rim of your sunhat up with your dirty fingers, so you could see the person better. 

Your gaze met a pair of blue eyes, with a silvery gray swirl in them, that chilled you like an autumn rain pattering on your skin. A shadow of stubble along a chiseled jaw, which would feel under your fingertips like frosty needles of the first hoarse coating November leaves. Subtle, pink lips curved in a smile, but its charm didn’t fully cover the sharp threat of teeth that could sink in ‘till blood spilled like in spooky nightmares of autumnal season.

This man looked like the stillness of dying nature, engulfed in fog and chilling to the bones. A dark spirit amongst the lush greenery and blooming life that stretched all around. 

And yet he was more beautiful than any man you ever laid eyes on. 

“Yes?” You swallowed nervously, mostly to wet your suddenly dry throat. “Can I help you?”

“I’m sure you can,” he said softly, his voice a brush of cool silk. 

“See, I usually hire garden designers to take care of any greenery around my business buildings, but the one at my actual home? I wanted to work on it myself.”

“Understandable.” You smiled at him. “Having your own garden is a personal thing. Working on it helps you connect with the place that will be your oasis.”

“The problem is, I quickly realized I have zero idea what I’m doing. But I’m a stubborn bastard, who’s still adamant on chasing what he set his eyes on.” He sighed dramatically, making you laugh.

“Anyway-” he shook his head- “I’m Nick. Please, help me out?” 

You gave him your name, taking his hand when he outstretched it. His fingers were calloused, though it’s the cool brush of metal of his rings that sent tiny spikes of sensation through you. 

“What exactly do you need my help with, Nick?” You took off your sunhat and squinted slightly as the sunlight soaked your vision. 

“My tastes are… unique.” You knew he spoke about aesthetic preferences, but couldn’t help hearing the double meaning behind it. Especially with the sensual flick of his tongue over his bottom lip.

“I’m mostly out the whole day,” Nick continued explaining, “coming home only in the evening. Which is when I wish to spend most time in the garden. To relax and enjoy its secret beauty.”

“You want night bloomers.” You guessed, grinning ear to ear.

Flowers blooming in the evening and through the night were one of your favorites. There was something about them that called out to you. Perhaps the fact they were overlooked under the radiant sun, hiding their secret beauty to flourish in shadows, when no one could judge them. 

There was also the aura of mystery about them, pairing so well with your fondness for gloomy and gothic stories. 

“See? I knew I was asking the right person for help.” Nick mirrored your smile; his made you a little weak in the knees. 

“You have to get the Moonflower, of course.” You moved and gestured for Nick to follow you, as you led him to the far end of the center. 

“I have to?” Nick chuckled, matching your step to walk beside you rather than behind you. 

Shoulder to shoulder with him, you suddenly realized he was taller than at first sight. Much warmer than what his dark aura suggested, too. And his scent was a toe-curling reminder of spicy mulled wine sipped by the fireplace.

“Yes!” You nodded, brushing your fingertips along the plants you passed on your way. “Moonflower is my favorite. It’s similar to the morning glory. You won’t see its full beauty now, but I assure you it never disappoints.”

When you finally reached the corner with potted plants - from smallest to those quite grown already - Nick bent over to examine it closely. He gently trailed the heart-shaped leaves, then plucked the yellow card attached to one of the thin stems. 

“Moonflower, or moon vine,” he read aloud, “is a night-blooming morning glory that opens in the evening and stays full until morning.”

Nick straightened and turned to you, gaze slowly dragging up your body. When his eyes met yours, there was a glint of something cold and dangerous in them. As if for a split of a second you saw a flash of instrumental triumph.

“Opens in the evening and stays full until morning,” he repeated the words, his voice dropping an octave and filling your belly with unexpected heat. “I like it already.” 

“Uh, well-” you squeezed the rim of the sunhat in your grasp- “Yes, see, I told you. You’ll like it even more when it blooms in your garden.”

“I know I will.” Nick affirmed solemnly. 

Something about his gaze, or perhaps it was the set of his jaw, quickened your pulse with a warning that his intent was more than just a harmless flirting. There was this tinge of danger about him, fizzing on the tip of your tongue with a spicy aftertaste. 

If you licked his skin, the cold darkness may swallow you, but everything inside you would set aflame. 

Apprehension tingled inside your chest, like wind chimes’ pearly tune that lured with their woeful longing. Reason whispered to take a step back, but feet moved forward on their own, drawn to the inner flame that may as well be straight from hell. 

It was hard to break eye contact with Nick, but you feared if you didn’t look away he’d mesmerize you into selling your soul. And your body. Body which awoke with yearning to have his fingertips trail along your skin the same way he touched the plants.

Somehow you managed to turn away. The sun’s warmth returned to your cheeks, caressing your face with soothing lightness the second you stepped away from Nick’s gloomy aura.

“You should also get night blooming Jasmine. It smells so sweet.” You rambled about plants, clutching onto the topic like it was a lifebuoy keeping you afloat from sinking into fascinating, but scary depths that were Nick’s eyes. 

“And Angel’s Trumpets!” With your presentation, excitement returned. 

You were helping create something personal, something so very unique. However Nick chose to use your advice, you had a blissful sense of creating something yourself. A garden that may as well be yours, since it catered to your aesthetic and needs as well. 

Nick ordered so many of the plants you listed that not only did you run out of stock, but had to set up a delivery from another center. You weren’t sure how big Nick’s garden was, but considering the amount of plants it had to be a king-sized land. 

The thought of roaming it in the late evening, with dusk hiding hues of purple and gold in a shroud of ink black, and moonlit petals opening up for the life of creatures of the night; it made your heart yearn.

You’d love to wander through that garden. 

For someone who ran a gardening empire, your mother kept you both locked in a metal and glass skyscraper, in a two-floor penthouse with (amazing, but contained) view of the city. 

It was a cage. 

As you watched Nick walk away after he paid in advance for the order, though he took with him some chilling sense of danger, you envied his freedom to simply walk away from the sun and the blooms. 

Many would be jealous of you, you were aware of that. Living among lush greenery and constant sun seemed wonderful. It was to an extent. But this pristine, spring and summer only land, didn’t allow difference. There was no real room for unusual, dark undertones of wicked hearts that would love to have wild mushrooms spread over their lawn instead of snobby hydrangeas. 

When a cooling cloud shielded you from the scorching sun, coming along with Nick as he returned the next week, you felt like breathing freely for the first time since he walked away. 

This time he asked for fruit trees which he wanted to scatter among other types. The idea immediately struck you as unique, making your heart jump. 

Most of the time people divided their gardens - strict lines and areas for vegetables, separating them from decorative flowers. Mixing them up seemed chaotic, but so wonderful. What a surprise to walk through gemstone garlands of wisteria to find juicy peaches at arm’s reach. Or to tread through ferns and moonflowers to discover gooseberry bushes hidden amongst them. 

When Nick came on a third week, your excitement at his presence and news of his garden overpowered any sense of reason that kept you at a certain distance with him. 

And when he mentioned that keeping a routine and being at the center on the same day, same hour every week could be dangerous. 

“Someone could watch you, learn your schedule and plan how to steal you, Moonflower.” 

Having Nick call you Moonflower - the word rolling out on his tongue in a hum of wind, chilling to the bone, but igniting that deep-soul yearning - stirred feelings that overpowered the warning. 

Or maybe you started living for that rush of thrill Nick’s shadow elicited. The only spot of darkness allowed in your life. Enriching it thus. 

Still, fear resurfaced with tentacles of cold wrapping around you and plucking you from the sunny spot in broad daylight as you trotted to work the week after. On the same day as usual, with a bounce to your step as thirst for Nick’s brand of addictive flavor parched your throat. 

The car was black; a polished, obsidian arrowhead spearing the sheet of morning light. The engine’s sound more the growl of a prowling beast than the roar of an unhinged monster. 

Despite the speed, it stopped gracefully at the curb, cutting off your route. Nick’s silhouette stunned you as he exited the car; the blue-green depth of his eyes darker than when he walked along with you through blooming alleys. 

A smile didn’t have a chance to spread on your lips when his hand covered your mouth, the other arm wrapping around you. 

You screamed when he dragged you inside the car, but calloused fingers stifled the sound effectively. Wet tinkle of your cries reverberated against the metal of the rings adorning Nick’s fingers. 

Pleading eyes, so full of unanswered questions and fear, didn’t cut through the veil of composure. One had no chance begging their life out of death’s grip and Nick’s hold on you was a finality set in stone, as if the grim reaper came to harvest your soul to lead it to undying gardens for the rest of eternity. 

“No need for tears, Moonflower.” Nick took his hand from your mouth as the car sped away.

His touch traveled down your shaking arm, harsh fingers delivering surprisingly comforting caress. He took your hand in his and brough your palm to his mouth, kissing softly each knuckle. 

“I’ll make you a queen and treat you as such. No harm will ever be done to you.” 

“You kidnapped me,” you pointed out, voice quiet and quivering, though you bravely held his gaze. “That’s quite harmful.” 

“It’s only a means to avoid meddling of forces that would otherwise keep you away from me.” Nick rested his head back against the seat. “From what I found out about you, they’ve quashed you enough.”

“You know nothing about me, or my life!” You huffed, squirming back into the corner, your back against the side door.

You were never a physical fighter and Nick made no move to grip or hurt you other than pulling you into the car, so you didn’t attack him. You also doubted you had much of a chance of earning anything beside exhaustion and bruises. 

It was pitiful to admit, but you never fought anything or anyone beside the dragons in your head. The rebellion and storm were caged within your chest, mind full of words you wanted to scream at your mother, your father, the whole world. But you never did it. Never felt secure enough in your strength to cut those ties. 

“I know you’re dedicated and smart, finished on top of your class, gaining a degree that you never wanted to have in the first place.” Nick replied calmly.

His unperturbed composure was as much soothing as resonating with your usual behavior. Though you sensed that his limits weren’t pushable. If it came to it, his retaliation to being crossed would be severe. Lethal even. 

You envied that power. 

You wanted that power.

“You have passion for creativity and you are a fucking brilliant survivor.” Those words were spoken with admiration; a brilliant foam lighting up the sea storm of Nick’s irises. 

“You don’t love gardening as a business. I doubt you’re even interested in actual gardening work. But you see and love plants, their uniqueness, the details of them. You like their beauty, even the unusual ones. You’re an artist, Moonflower.”

Your heart burst with an intermixture of colorful emotion - a hail of fireworks against the black depth that is your caged life. 

“Artists should never be shackled into expectations.” 

“Yet you took me, because you expect something from it,” you retorted bitterly. 

“I expect nothing beyond you being by my side.” Nick’s fingers circled one of your wrists, thumb pressing against your pulse. “And strengthening the power of my empire.” 

“And how am I supposed to do that?” There was nothing of value that you could give him. Did he hope for a dowry and connections from your father? 

“Just by being with me.” He shifted, crowding you against your little safety corner. “Coming home to you would sweeten every hard day, knowing that I ripped something most precious from the one who took everything from my family.”

Comforting spices of his scent conflicted with the shadows he shrouded you in, painting a picture of a fairy tale that’s twisted enough that it shouldn’t be enjoyable. Yet struggling against the thorny veins of Nick’s plan seemed to have the opposite effect, pushing you further into forests of unknown thrills. 

“So I’m a vengeance plan?” You’d prefer it if your voice didn’t betray the disappointment, but it was too late to take back that undertone now. 

“Vengeance doesn’t mean burning the world down. That’s too simple and holds no ongoing effect.” Nick’s mouth curved in a scythe of dangerously alluring smirk, his eyes darkening. “Phoenixes rise from the ashes of burnt kingdoms. I rose from it.”

“My type of vengeance is to flourish on the fertile fields of my enemy’s broken ambitions.”

You believed Nick’s every word - that he had the resilience and endurance to build himself from whatever ruin his opponents left him with. It honed him, like hell fire does an indestructible blade. 

Many would use that lethal edge to cut the throats of all enemies. But Nick’s revenge wasn’t to bring short term pain and wipe out the others, he wanted them to drown in their suffering, to stretch it out plucking petal after petal of their lush empires. 

“You, Moonflower-” he skimmed his fingers along your arm and up the column of your throat- “are my prosperity. My core to thrive.”

“Binding you to me and allowing you to bloom into a woman you always wished to be, whatever form that may take,” Nick loosely curled his fingers around your neck, “will make me happy for I know you’re a brilliant gem. But I won’t hide that it will also crush the rotten heart of my enemy.”

“Seeing you at my side, growing along me and with me-” something about that particular choice of words unfurled heat in your core, like the time he mentioned flowers staying full-

“-will keep the flame of anger and pain consuming her daily.”

“Her?” you suddenly blinked, moving your legs slightly to alleviate the pressure that uncomfortably grazed your folds. 

“My mother?” You stared at Nick in bewilderment. “She’s your enemy?” 

Nick chuckled, though you weren’t sure if it was at your astonishment or the squirmy movement of your body which he noticed. He leaned closer still, knees brushing against yours. Where the fabric of your summer dress rolled up on your thighs, the fine fabric of his suit pants grazed your skin. 

“Your mother may present herself as the survivor against all odds and she is very determined, I’ll give her that. She also became heartless in her need to improve her life and show the world she doesn’t need help, ripping the fortune of others to build herself.” 

“She stole from you?” There wasn’t much shock in your response. After all, you knew the backstage face of the gardening queen; the truth behind the sunny smile of the nature-loving new age goddess. 

“From my family.” Nick gritted his teeth at the mention. “They took her pregnant under their roof, taught her family secrets of maintaining lush flowers. I was barely four when you were growing in her belly, but I remember her always slapping my hand away when I wanted to touch it, to feel a tiny baby miracle kicking.”

He didn’t say it, but you began to understand the part of possessiveness. The touch he didn’t withdraw an inch once he was able to reach for you freely. Something he was denied, now he ripped it away for himself. 

“First she stole the knowledge, then farms and fields.” Nick continued, his voice heavy with ice cold anger. “Came with fancy lawyers and bulldozers, chasing my family away from the scrap of land and the mounds of soil that my grandparents brought from Romania.”

You remembered one time your mother mentioned something about the secret being in the soil, a harpy reflection to her smile when she did. 

“My mother’s heart couldn’t take it. My father fled to Romania, finding the only solace in a small square of land where he grew a new hybrid of flowers. Named it after my mother.” 

Nick paused for a moment, his eyes boring into yours. A few breaths and the rage surpassed, leaving the lull of oceanic waves in his eyes. They rocked you as you held his gaze; your body attuning to the pulse of crackling fireplace on a dead cold autumn night that was Nick’s aura. 

“I’m not a gardener myself,” Nick shrugged, easing his free hand up your leg. “But I know how to plow through hard and high grounds. I’ve made myself a different kind of empire, though I always remained respectful of nature and plants, as my parents did.” 

You didn’t even feel him grip you any harder, yet somehow Nick managed to switch your positions in a blink of an eye - pulling you onto his lap. 

One of his hands remained at your throat, thumb gently stroking up and down along your pulsing vein. 

“You’ll be my queen. You’ll give me heirs.” It wasn’t a proposition, but a declaration of decision set in stone. “I’ll give you the freedom and power you so desperately crave.”

“What do you know of my cravings?” You hoped to challenge his confidence, to fight against the tendrils of magnetic pull that weaved around your limbs. 

“I know you turned my way like a plant does seeking the sun,” Nick’s hand slid beneath your dress. “Keeping so close, coming even closer each time, like an addict hopes to lick a single fleck of whatever gets him high.” 

Cool rings pressed into your skin, spiking your heart rate into a paradoxical pasodoble between desire and trepidation. Just like the nights you used your own fingers to the image of Nick fucking you in the night garden. 

“I know each time you thought I was coming to visit, you wore a shorter dress.” His fingers on your thigh inched further up. “This one today? If I met you inside the gardening center and you’d bend over to show me moss arrangements, I’d get a peek of your ass.” 

He did get that peek. 

When he bent you over his bed that night. After having you sign your name on all the legally (illegally too, undoubtedly) binding documents as a paid, stoic-faced registrar officiated your wedding. The ink was deep red, as blood that one spills for the devil. 

Red was also the wine Nick brought to your lips in a crystal glass. The rich, thick taste of it was a bland mist compared to the burning magma of Nick’s lips against yours, molting away the taste of your previous life as he sealed your contract. 

One hand on the nape of your neck, holding you in place as he fed you his sinful tongue, the other buried beneath your sundress. Firm, relentless fingers eliciting tangy, warm rain from between your thighs; watering the soil of the garden filled with plants that you picked. That you loved and Nick provided for you. 

He made you mark the land as yours, as he marked you as his. Your voice an enchanted cry of spell that was Nick’s name. 

Then he took you to the bedroom - the heart of the underworld kingdom. 

Though the dark interior sent a ripple of unease down your spine at first; it was like stepping into a cold, mountain stream after days of hiking in blinding sun. Then the jewel undertones of onyx and cuprite engulfed you. Shimmering black curtains of the canopy parted its wings for you, as Nick led you to the bed. 

You never strayed from dirt, but it only stained your hands and clothes as you worked with soil. The dirt spilling from Nick’s mouth as he took you seemed to twist your body into inhuman arches of pleasure, reshaping your mind so it became greedy for the sizzling impulses his filthy words elicited.

Tightest cunt.

Delicious hole. 

Breedable pussy.

Mine.

Tears trickled down your cheeks - a salty passage from a girly life of obedient silence into empowered if dark womanhood. Briny dew altered into shy sweetness as your moans stretched, tears turning into those of overwhelming pleasure. 

Nick showered you with it. With his tongue and fingers; with his cock that filled you with girth and the precious spent he cursed to take root in your womb. 

He led you like a queen, just like he promised, once you were able to stand on your trembling legs after hours of being both worshiped and owned. A silk robe in a color of a red so dark it might as well be woven from arterial blood floated around your frame as Nick took you into the garden. 

His fingers intertwined with yours. His pace adjusted to yours, not once rushing or slowing you down. 

Focused on admiring the beauty of silvery moonflowers and creamy bells of Angel’s Trumpets, you didn’t notice Nick’s eyes were only on you.