#Botan with a bun...

[purplecelestial-buddy]

As much as I wish for it I don't think I could be able to handle a Harusono story with a mostly female cast

[em1i2a3]

Crying Lightning

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolt!Lab Tech!Fem!Reader!

Summary: You have been studying a flower that Bucky brought back from one of his missions. When Bob comes to visit you in the labs to bring you lunch and messes with the unbloomed item you realize the sinister effects of it very quickly.

Warning: 18+ Minors DNI! Ahem…We got a sex pollen fic, so there is smut, and fluff afterwards, and aftercare as well. Reader and Bob are close, and both of them have feelings for one another but it has all gone unspoken…Until now at least lol. There is swearing too.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (…Y’all know what I’m gonna say. Wrap it up), Fingering, Oral Sex (fem! Receiving), Handjob, There’s a little bit of dominance from Bob/Sentry…And he talks you through it ahhahahahahah (oh god), Messy/Sensual Sex, There are like hints of primal energy sprinkled in here, but nothing too major, there’s mentioning of pheromones and stuff like that, Praise/Worship Kink, Spitting, Dirty Talk, Scratching, Some Choking (not rough), Cum eating, Aftercare.

Author’s Note: Woot Woot! We love a good sex pollen fic lol. Did I expect to be writing one? No. But I’ve always liked the concept and I’m so glad @mccinnamon-bun asked me to do this! Thank you <3, I really loved writing it! So so fun! Enjoy!

Word Count: 15,684

“I brought you something,” Bucky announced, stepping into your lab just as the doors slid open with their usual quiet hiss.

You didn’t look up right away. Perched cross-legged on the edge of your workbench, you were half-buried in mission reports that were a week overdue, scribbling notes with one hand and nursing a cold cup of coffee in the other. Your head snapped up, however, the second you heard the rustle of fabric and gear–a familiar sound you’d grown used to distinguishing in crowded hallways.

Bucky stood in the entryway, wind-tousled and still in partial tactical gear. The sleeves of his black shirt were pushed up to the elbows, revealing the flex of muscle and dull gleam of vibranium beneath. He had a look in his eye that was hard to read–half sheepish, half pleased with himself–and he was already fishing through one of the many compartments in his bag. He didn’t speak again until he pulled something out with a sort of slow care.

”Ta da.” You raised an eyebrow at him, seeing him pull something from his bag like it was a treasure he’d smuggled across enemy lines. You hopped off the bench with a soft thud and crossed the room toward him, curiosity instantly piqued–mostly because Bucky Barnes was not one to say ‘ta da’. Not unless he was hiding something behind that half-smirk of his.

Your eyes immediately caught sight of what he was holding.

The flower hadn’t bloomed yet, but even in its dormant state, it was breathtaking. The outer petals were tightly furled, each one smooth and iridescent like the type you would find on shells of certain mollusks–but it was shaded in a gradient you couldn’t quite place. They started as an inky, oil-slick blue at the base, then rippled out into smoky violets and blushing wine tones near the tips. Delicate veins shimmered faintly across the surface, catching the lab lights with a strange metallic luster, almost like the petals were dusted in powdered silver.

The stem curved gently, a deep green tinged with gold, and the leaves were narrow, slightly translucent, and lined with fine threads of coppery red. Even when it wasn’t fully bloomed, it had an energy to it. A heat, almost. As if it were responding to the proximity of warm skin and breath. You squinted at it.

”Bucky, if this is your idea of asking me out on a date, you really need to brush up on your courting skills.” He let out a sharp bark of laughter, head dropping forward briefly with a grin.

“Hey,” He said, handing the flower over to you carefully, “You’re the one who told me, if I saw anything weird, unknown, alien, or otherwise ‘botanically suspicious,’ I should bring you back a sample.” You gingerly accepted the stem, trying not to touch the tightly closed bud itself.

”Yeah, I meant specifiers, not some interstellar looking thing.” You shot back. He leaned against a nearby counter.

”Don’t say I never do anything for you.” He commented back. You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your mouth betrayed your fondness.

”You absolutely broke every rule of containment protocol by walking this thing straight into my lab, but…” You gave the top of the flower another slow once-over, still entranced, “Thanks for thinking of me.” You turned, crossing to your bench and plucking a clean beaker from the rack. You filled it with a few inches of distilled water, and set the flower inside, watching it float just enough to stay upright. The petals didn’t open, but they flexed slightly–like they were stretching, or drinking the water you had put the stem in.

”So,” You started, glancing over your shoulder to where Bucky was still leaning, “Where’d you find it?” You asked, watching him give you a small, casual shrug.

”There was a patch of them, right off the tree line. I spotted them on my way back to the quinjet. Figured I’d snatch one up before anyone else trampled it.” You hummed, turning your head away–not noticing the way his gaze lingered on the flower for a beat too long. You were too busy cataloguing the possibilities in your head. It was too vibrant to be terrestrial, but it wasn’t necessarily alien. Possibly hybridized. The energy you felt coming off of it could’ve been psychosomatic–but you weren’t one to write something off without running tests.

“And you’re sure no one else touched them?” You asked, looking back over at him to see if you can spot any of the tells he had when he was lying. His brow lifted toward you.

”I mean…I touched one obviously.” You gave him a pointed look, and he immediately held up both hands.

”Didn’t eat it. Didn’t stick it up my nose. I was the only one that touched anything. Scout’s honor.” You snorted, and shook your head.

”Alright, Barnes…I’ll bite. I’ll run some diagnostics. Spectrograph, chemical composition, basic pollen analysis when it blooms…All the sciencey things that you don’t understand, then I’ll get back to you.” He gave you a mock salute and pushed himself off the table he was leaning against, going toward the door.

”Just make sure you name it after me if it ends up trying to kill you.”

”Noted,” You called, “But if it ends up giving me superpowers instead, I’ll be naming it after myself.” He was still laughing as the door slid shut behind him. You turned back to the flower, now gently swirling in the water–its petals flexing once more, as if hearing your voice. You leaned in just a touch, and breathed in slightly.

You could’ve sworn it hadn’t smelled like anything before, but now…

Now it smelled faintly of summer rain, citrus, and the soft trace of jasmine. It was warm, soft, and inviting, like it was trying to beckon you to come closer to it. You straightened slowly, then reached blindly across the workbench for a spare sheet of scrap paper, grabbing the pen you had tucked behind your ear.

”Initial scent: None. Notable change after water exposure–New profile: humid, citrus notes, floral base (jasmine like). Unsettling–shift occurred in under two minutes.” You tapped the end of your pen lightly against your chin, your gaze never leaving the beaker. The flower was still half-closed, petals fluttering slightly in the water like they were breathing–like they were aware. The surface tension of the liquid shimmered faintly around the base of the stem, as though reacting to something within the plant.

You didn’t like that.

Flowers didn’t just change their chemical profile that fast. Not unless they were highly volatile. Not unless they were engineered.

A muscle tensed along your jaw.

You slid the note aside and moved quickly now, grabbing a glass containment dome from one of the side drawers–a heat-tempered cloche you typically used when running long-term decay tests on bio-samples. It wasn’t hermetically sealed, but it would be enough to contain most airborne particulates.

Just in case.

You placed it gently over the beaker and the flower with practiced care, watching as the edges sealed against the bench with a soft thunk. The scent dimmed immediatel-ybut didn’t vanish. It clung to the air like it had already soaked into the fibers of your clothes, your skin.

You took a step back, and another, suddenly aware of the way the heat of the room felt a degree too warm.

Your eyes narrowed. You made another note.

“Mild thermal increase noted (subjective). Investigate potential volatile compounds. Possible synthetic ancestry. Unknown reaction to water exposure–possible activation trigger?”

You stood still for a moment longer, arms crossed over your chest now, staring at the flower like it might start humming.

Then you exhaled through your nose, gave your head a small shake, and muttered, “Okay, mystery plant. Let’s see what you’re hiding.”

You turned on your heel and crossed to the far side of the lab, grabbing gloves, pipettes, and a test slide. You didn’t see the way the petals quivered beneath the glass dome. Or the way the center of the bud pulsed–slowly, rhythmically–as if something within it had begun to wake.

You were too busy prepping your tools.

You’d get your first sample from the outermost edge of the petal, where a small amount of condensation had begun to form–right where the flower had interacted with the water. It wasn’t much. Just enough to suggest a subtle chemical discharge. A secretion, maybe. Or pollen.

Your gloved fingers hovered just beside the dome.

You paused.

A thought scratched quietly at the back of your mind, the way instincts sometimes do when they’re not fully formed.

You didn’t ignore it.

You stepped back again.

Instead of removing the dome outright, you retrieved your small fume extractor arm—used mostly for soldering–and wheeled it over until its head hovered just above the cloche’s apex. You flicked the switch, and a soft hum filled the room as the extractor began to filter the air directly above the sample.

Another note:

“Smell is still detectable after containment. Strong. Possibly psychoactive. Proceeding with caution.”

Still, despite your wariness, you found yourself walking back toward the glass.

One more glance. Just to be sure.

The flower was still closed–but now its bud looked fuller. Like it had begun to swell. One of the petals had unfurled the tiniest bit. Barely a sliver.

But just enough for you to see a glint of gold pollen resting in the shadows of its center.

It shimmered like dust caught in a sunbeam.

You stared.

And then, carefully, you reached over to your comm unit and tapped the call button for your assistant team over in the biocontainment lab.

“Hey,” You said when the line clicked open, voice low. “I’ve got a…Weird one. Found by Barnes. It’s stable, but I want a second containment unit prepped in case things escalate.”

A pause on the line. Then:

“Escalate how?”

You glanced back at the flower. That scent. That impossible shimmer. You didn’t know yet.

“Just…Prep it,” You replied. “I’ll send over a sample in a few.”

And then you muted the line.

You looked down at the flower one more time.

It was no longer just beautiful.

It was waiting.

———————

It had been three days since Bucky dropped the flower off, and by this time it had bloomed. Not delicately, and certainly not in the way flowers usually did–with gradual graceful predictability. No. This thing had opened like it knew it was being watched and studied by you.

When you came down to your lab the morning after Bucky brought you the mysterious flower, the petals had fully unfurled–broad, sweeping things with a high-gloss sheen and hypnotic gradients that shifted from gold to scarlet to bruise-dark purple depending on the light. The stamen in its center now pulsed visibly, a slow inhale-exhale rhythm that made the entire structure look…Alive. The pollen shimmered every time it moved, a near-invisible cloud that never seemed to settle but floated in still air like it was defying gravity. Or logic.

You had kept it sealed tight under the reinforced cloche, and had the triple-filtered vents on and the entire section of the lab cordoned off with containment protocols. Your notes had doubled in size, and still, nothing definitive had come back from the biocontainment team. There were just vague updates telling you that they were behind on other specimens and that they would get around to it when they could.

So you worked around it. You monitored. You wrote. You catalogued symptoms–your own included, though they were still annoyingly ambiguous: mild temperature spikes, random surges of adrenaline, difficulty concentrating in bursts. But no rash, no lesions, no hallucinations. There was a kind of pressure, similar to urgency but just on the cusp of it, desire maybe–but for what, you had no clue. You had only inhaled a bit of the pollen and hadn’t been exposed since, so you didn’t dwell on it–not with your schedule stacked, and not with your own lab being as backed up as it was.

You were just rinsing a pipette when the door to the lab slid open with a soft hiss.

”H-Hey,” Came the voice you’d come to recognize more easily than your own thoughts lately. You didn’t need to look up to know that it was Bob, but you did anyways, just to catch a glimpse of him.

He was towering and soft-shouldered in a dark grey hoodie with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows, worn sweatpants hugging the curve of his hips, and his crown of light brown hair was in absolute disarray, like he had it tied up and decided to let the locks fall free in front of his face. He looked like someone who didn’t have the slightest clue what he did to people around him, and he truly didn’t know.

The plastic takeout bag in his hand swung gently as he stepped inside, smiling at you like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Brought y-you lunch.” Your stomach growled at the word lunch, and it echoed through the moment of silence that settled between you, which only made Bob’s grin stretch wider.

”Let me guess,” You started, pulling off your gloves and throwing them into the biohazard bin, “You timed this perfectly because you knew my stomach would start making monstrous noises, didn’t you?”He shrugged, with a small smirk on his face, setting the bag down on your cleared desk near one of your monitors.

”You skipped b-breakfast.” You held out a finger.

”No no…I postponed breakfast.” He shook his head.

”You always p-postpone breakfast,” He said, moving past you to pour you a cup of water from the cooler, his big hands making it look smaller than what it actually was, “And if I d-dont show up with something d-decent by 2 p.m, you would just end up inhaling the vending machine c-crackers and freeze-dried apple s-slices…Which is not s-sustainable i-in the slightest.” You couldn’t help but let out a laugh at his comments.

”Seems like someone has been watching me a bit too closely.” He turned and handed you the water, fingers brushing yours as he didn. His hands were boiling as usual, and it left the paper cup feeling warm from where his fingers had been holding it. His eyes lingered on your face a beat longer than necessary.

”I-I always watch you c-closely,” He said softly, like it slipped out before he could catch it. Immediately his eyes glanced down away from you, dropping to the floor for a second, before flicking away toward the cluttered end of your bench like he suddenly remembered a far more interesting smudge on the tile. His cheeks were red–not just a flush, not just a tinge, but a slow bloom of color climbing from the collar of his hoodie up to the tips of his ears.

You said nothing in response. Not because you didn’t notice–because you did. More because if you said anything, if you so much as looked at him with any kind of expression that acknowledged the truth buried in his voice, he might self-destruct on the spot. So instead, you took a slow sip of the water he handed you, letting the quiet hum of the lab fill the air between the both of you.

Then you turned on your heel toward the takeout bag.

”So what’s on the menu today, Chef Bob?” You asked lightly, pulling the plastic open and peeking inside, “Please tell me it’s not another one of your hot dog stir-fry’s.” He let out a groan.

”Listen…I-It was one time, I-I know nobody was a fan of it.” You grinned as you pulled out a tinfoil-wrapped container, unraveling it with careful fingers. A rich, savoury scent wafted up–soy and sesame and something sweet under it, like cane sugar with more of a freshness that was unexpected, “So what am I looking at?”

”Sticky rice, soy-glazed chicken, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, “T-There’s some grated g-granny smith apple in the glaze…C-Cause I didn’t have honey.” You raised your eyebrows.

”Pretty decent alternative.” You replied.

”Yeah,” He said, shoving his hands into his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them, “You know how S-Sentry gets with processed s-sugars in his system. Makes him a-all buzzy.” You let out a soft laugh.

”So this is officially Sentry-approved, then?”

“F-For the most part,” He mumbled, “I-I think you’re the real t-test though.” That made you pause, glancing up at him, still holding the half-unwrapped meal in your hands, finding his gaze had landed on you again. This time it held something quiet but vulnerable. Expectant, even. Like he really cared what you thought.

And that was the difference between Bob and everyone else–you knew he didn’t make things just to impress. He made them because it gave him joy to offer them. He brought you food not because he wanted credit–but because he worried you wouldn’t eat otherwise. He brought you books because he remembered which ones made your eyes light up. He let you take his blood every month without protest, even when the Sentry made his pulse unpredictable or his veins hard to find, because he trusted you with every part of him–even that. And because of those little things, you always made sure to praise him.

Even when he burned the eggs.

Even when the pasta came out overcooked.

Even when the hot dog stir-fry almost gave you heartburn.

You forked a bite of the rice and chicken, chewed, and let your eyes widen a bit as the warmth hit your tongue. “Okay. Wait. This is actually good.”

He blinked, caught between shock and a smile. “Y-you don’t have to lie.”

“I would lie,” You said, pointing at him with your fork. “But not this convincingly. This? Bob. It’s delicious.” He looked like he didn’t quite know what to do with the praise. He rocked back slightly on his heels, running a hand through his already-messy hair, trying to hide the shy little grin that was pulling at the corners of his mouth. You watched the way his fingers threaded through the strands, the way his forearms flexed under the soft stretch of the hoodie.

You took another bite and leaned against the counter beside him, letting out a hum of satisfaction.

“Y’know,” You said between chews, “If Val found out you were secretly good at this, she’d start expecting meals during debriefs.”

”She’d want a report first,” He said, playing along, “T-Then she’d make Walker taste it for poison.” The both of you laughed lightly. The silence that followed was companionable. Safe. You brushed your shoulder lightly against his as you leaned forward to set the food container down beside the monitor.

His body went still at the contact.

Not because he didn’t want it. But because he did. You knew that reaction well by now–the micro-freeze, the way he’d let the warmth of your hand or arm settle into him like he was still learning he could have it. That it was for him.

You let your arm linger against his for just a second longer.

Then you pulled back, slow and easy.

He looked at you from the side of his eye. His voice was low when he spoke.

”H-How’s the flower?” You glanced toward the containment dome instinctively. The petals shimmered under the harsh lab light, colors shifting in slow gradients like they were part of something fluid, something still breathing. It looked even larger today. Full-bodied. Restless.

“Still haven’t heard anything back from the biocontainment lab,” You said, turning back to Bob and picking up your fork again. “Apparently they’re still backed up from the Skrull fungus incident.”

His face pulled slightly. “God…D-Don’t remind me of t-that.” You nodded grimly.

“I won’t…But this?” You took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. “No movement. Just… opened. Big. Loudly. Like it knew I was looking at it.” Bob followed your glance as you continued to speak, “I breathed in a little bit of the pollen when I first got it–just a trace. It made me really warm. Flushed. But otherwise nothing dramatic. No side effects. No changes. So I think it was just my body reacting to whatever compound it’s putting off–probably a weird hybridization. Something experimental maybe.” Bob’s brow furrowed at this comment.

”You s-should’ve been wearing a m-mask.” You huffed a laugh, nudging your shoulder into his again.

”Please, I’m pretty sure I’ve been exposed to worse.”

“S-Sure,” He said quietly, his gaze fixed on you now, “B-But definitely not like this.” There was something layered in his voice—concern wrapped around protectiveness, softened by something you didn’t dare name.

You didn’t say anything to it. Just took another bite of the meal he made, let the flavor distract you from how closely he was watching you now. He shifted beside you, and you knew it was only a matter of time before–

“How’s the Golden God doing, by the way…Totally forgot to ask.” Bob rolled his eyes, “You know you’ve got bloodwork today, and I know how much he looks forward to that.” He grimaced.

”D-Darn…I f-forgot that was today.”

“You always forget,” You mumbled between bites, mockingly stern in tone, “Even though we’ve had the same schedule for, what–eight months?”

“Nine,” He corrected, “You count too?”

“Only because I have to track your blood chemistry, Bob.” He gave you a crooked smile, “Stick around,” You said waving your fork at him, “Let me finish this delicious lunch and I’ll get everything set up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave you a faux salute, backing off to give you space. You watched him for a moment out of the corner of your eye as he wandered slowly around the perimeter of the lab, hands in his pockets, shoulders soft beneath his hoodie.

Bob moved like someone who didn’t want to disturb anything. Not just the tools and data, but you–your space, your rhythm, your day. Even now, when he stopped in front of the containment dome, he didn’t lean close or peer in like most people would’ve. He just stood there, quietly watching.

The flower didn’t move. But the pulsing in its center seemed to slow, slightly. Steadying. As if recognizing something.

Bob tilted his head faintly.

But said nothing.

You finished your lunch in a few final bites, wiped your hands on a cloth, and pulled on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves.

“All right,” You called, walking over to the locked cabinet beside your centrifuge. “Time to sacrifice a little plasma for science.”

Bob grumbled playfully as he headed back toward the stool you always set aside for him during these sessions. “Sentry’s gonna make it d-difficult again. Last time you had to chase the vein for like five minutes.”

“Oh how could I forget,” You said playfully, drawing the phlebotomy kit from the drawer, “I’ve never met a God who’s afraid of needles. He flared your heart rate on purpose and kicked the adrenaline response. Your veins were literally jumping.” Bob winced at the memory and sighed.

”I-I don’t think he m-means to be a jerk a-about it.”

“No, he just is,” You turned with a teasing smile and raised your brow, “You listening in there Sentry, I called you a jerk.” A flicker of gold passed through Bob’s eyes, and his expression shifted just slightly. A pressure just beneath the surface of his calm exterior. You saw the way his jaw flexed. The way his breath caught on the edge of a heartbeat. It was gone just as fast as it appeared. You gestured to the stool.

”Alright, you know the drill.” Bob sighed and tugged his hoodie over his head with one hand, letting it fall across the nearby stool in a heap of worn fabric and static-charged threads.

Your breath caught for just a second–not that you’d ever admit it.

He was wearing a plain white t-shirt underneath. Simple, but it didn’t leave much to the imagination. The fabric clung in all the places that mattered: broad shoulders, a narrow waist, the gentle taper of his torso. His arms were sculpted, the muscle built from the serum and his own training he did on the side with Walker–solid biceps veined faintly beneath pale skin, his forearms thick and freckled with golden hairs. Even through the shirt, you could see the subtle rise of his chest when he breathed. His body wasn’t exaggerated or showy like some of the other enhanced agents. Bob’s strength was honest, clean and quiet. The kind that didn’t beg to be seen–just was. He sat on the stool, leaned slightly forward, and offered you his right arm without hesitation–palm up, wrist relaxed, fingers curling just slightly where they hung over the edge of your tray. As always, he was warm. Always a degree or two above everyone else. Like the Sentry lived just beneath the surface, pulsing against the skin.

You pulled your chair close and gently cradled his arm in one gloved hand, “You good?” He nodded, jaw ticking faintly.

”Sentry’s a-already getting stirred u-up.”

“I figured,” You murmured, swabbing the crook of his elbow with an alcohol pad, watching the way the fine blond hairs on his arm caught the light, “You twitched when I called him a jerk.” Bob exhaled a shallow breath, half-laugh, half-wince.

”Y-Yeah he–uh–didn’t like t-that.”

“Well, tell him to behave,” you said, voice softening as you spoke, instinctively adjusting your tone. You’d found, over time, that it wasn’t just what you said–but how. The Sentry didn’t respond well to authority. But he did respond to calm. To care. To you.

“I’m going to insert the needle now, okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” He said quietly, “Keep talking through the process, t-that would help.” You gave him a smile–genuine and soft.

“All right…Just a little pressure here…” You slipped the butterfly needle in with smooth, practiced hands, watching the dark blood flood into the first vial like a ribbon of garnet. He didn’t flinch. His fingers curled just slightly, but that was it. You could feel the tension in him, though–not fear, not even discomfort, really.

Just a heightened presence.

You always felt it when the Sentry was nearby. Like a third set of lungs had begun breathing somewhere in the room. Like the molecules in the air shifted their charge.

“I’m taking five tubes,” You said gently. “You’re doing fine. Your blood flow is nice and steady today.”

“Y-Yeah,” Bob said, watching you with his head slightly turned. His voice had dropped to something deeper. Thicker. “That’s because o-of you.”

You glanced up.

He blinked, quickly. “Your voice. It…I-It helps.” You kept working, carefully switching out the first full tube for the second, then the third, eyes flicking to him only briefly.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Or a cosmic honor. One of the two.” That got a smile out of him, even if it was small. The rest of the draw passed in familiar quiet–soft beeping from your equipment, the slow, gentle swirl of the containment fans, the hum of the overhead lights. His blood was warm in your hands. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you reached the fifth tube and carefully capped it.

You retracted the needle in one smooth motion, placing it in the sharps container before gently pressing a cotton ball to the puncture site.

“Pressure here, please.”

Bob complied, two fingers resting lightly over the spot. You retrieved a bandage, peeled it open, and pressed it into place over the cotton. Your hand lingered a second longer than it needed to. His skin was flushed warm beneath your glove. He smelled faintly of cedar and limes, probably from his shampoo. Then you leaned back in your chair and gave him a mock-serious look.

“So,” You said, cocking your head, “Does Sentry want a lollipop for his troubles?”Bob groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“D-Don’t get him riled up…” You laughed at the way his cheeks turned rosy again, as he attempted to hold back a smile, which failed.

”You sure?” You teased, “You don’t want me to pull out the glittery sticker chart?”

“W-We talked about this…He remembers t-things like that.” You both burst into soft laughter again, the kind that curled at the edges of your ribs and left everything just a little lighter.

And somewhere behind you, the flower twitched.

The petals shifted.

The pulse in its center matched his heartbeat.

But neither of you noticed.

——————

The next day, just after 2:00 p.m., the soft hiss of the lab doors made your head snap up again.

You were halfway through a long-winded notation on the flower’s latest chromatographic analysis when you heard the now-familiar rustle of footsteps and the unmistakable creak of someone cradling a takeout bag with too much care.

“Brought you lunch!” Bob announced.

He looked warm again–an oversized hoodie only blue this time, the same worn sweatpants from yesterday, and hair pulled back messily like he’d tied it in a rush. His free hand shoved deep into his pocket, but the other held a paper bag from a café you liked downtown. He wore the same small, crooked smile that made it difficult to think straight.

“Careful,” You warned playfully, turning in your seat to face him, “If you keep feeding me, I’ll start to expect this kind of treatment.”

Bob shrugged, walking in slow, casual steps toward your workstation. “M-might be worth it…Just to s-see you eat.”

You smiled at that–too caught up in the rare softness between you to notice the way the flower behind its containment dome had begun to stir.

Not much. Just a twitch of its outermost petals. A subtle change in the shimmer of its stamen. But you were facing Bob. You didn’t see the way it reacted to his voice.

“I-I got you the g-grain bowl you like. The one with roasted squash, the f-feta, that spicy vinaigrette you always try to recreate in your lab notebook–”

“I do not take vinaigrette notes in here,” You interjected, grinning.

Bob set the bag down gently on the corner of your cleared space shaking his head at you, glancing over at the dome just as the hum of your equipment shifted slightly. The air changed. Subtle, at first. Like something pressurizing behind glass.

He leaned over–only just–peering closer at the flower inside.

That was all it took.

The dome fogged instantly with a pale gold haze. Then–without warning–the containment glass shuddered with a sharp, pinging sound, like internal pressure had snapped a seal.

Then it ruptured.

The top of the cloche blew off with a muted pop, and a cloud of glittering golden dust erupted from the flower in a slow-motion burst. It expanded like fog, like breath in cold air–drifting, floating–straight into Bob’s face.

You froze for half a second. Then your instincts kicked in hard and fast.

“Shit—Bob!” You yelled, already leaping from your stool and hitting the emergency switch on the wall.

Red lights flashed as the isolation protocols kicked in. Vents slammed shut with a metallic clank, and the air filtration units hummed to life. Your console blinked through a security override as the lab sealed itself airtight. Your heart thudded in your chest like a drumbeat.

Bob had staggered back, coughing hard and pawing at his face, blinking rapidly. The golden dust coated his cheeks, his lashes, the curve of his nose, and clung to his stubble like cosmic pollen. It shimmered with a strange, otherworldly sheen–like it was alive, almost.

“Hey–hey–Bob, come here.” You grabbed him gently but firmly by the wrist, leading him toward the decontamination corner. “Don’t rub your eyes. Just come with me. You’re okay, just–just keep breathing.”

He nodded, still coughing, blinking fast. “I-it got in m-my face–feels like sand, b-but–s-sticky, maybe–” He stumbled slightly as you pushed the lever on the eyewash station.

“Lean in,” You ordered, voice steady. “Both hands on the sides. I’m gonna guide you.” You pressed the large silver button. The twin streams of water erupted instantly, and he hissed through clenched teeth as the cold hit. You steadied him, one hand braced on his lower back as he tilted forward.

”Keep blinking,” You instructed, “Get it flushed out. It’s probably just pollen but I can’t take chances, we still don’t know what that stuff is.”

“It’s–f-fine,” he said, spitting water out, breath hitching. “It doesn’t b-burn, just f-feels weird–” His voice was strained, breathless. You didn’t like the way his skin had started to pink at the edges, how the golden dust had clung even beneath his collar.

When the two-minute flush was over, you helped him lean back slowly, grabbing a towel from the stack nearby and pressing it gently to his face.

“We’re not done yet,” You said, pulling a second towel out and pressing it to the back of his neck. “Blow your nose. Three times. Then cough hard. I want that stuff out of your lungs if you inhaled any of it.”

He obeyed without protest, still coughing lightly between ragged breaths. The dust had left faint shimmer marks down the front of his hoodie, now slightly wet from the eyewash station. You reached over to the wall unit, flipped on the emergency fan array, and turned your console back toward manual override. The air slowly began to cycle through a localized carbon scrubbing system.

You turned back to him, grabbing a disposable cloth and wiping under his jaw, where a little gold still shimmered. His eyes were red-rimmed but clear. Breathing shallow, but not distressed.

You stepped back, hands braced on your hips, the overhead scrubbers humming louder now as the first cycle of filtered air began to push through the sealed lab.

Bob sat perched on the deacon bench, towel still clutched in his hands, his lashes dripping, cheeks damp, and glittered with flecks of gold the eyewash hadn’t quite cleared. He looked flushed–not sick, not distressed–just… warm. Lit from within, like something in him was beginning to glow. But you didn’t let yourself think about that.

Not yet.

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly, kneeling slightly so you were more at eye level with him, voice softening as you scanned his face for any irregularities. “Are you dizzy? Lightheaded? Anything weird?”

Bob blinked slowly, the water still dripping off the tips of his hair as he met your gaze.

“N-No…” He murmured, voice rough with lingering grit, “Just…Feel kinda like I s-snorted fairy dust.” He gave a weak little smile. “M-might be glowing in the dark now.”

You rolled your eyes and let out a half-relieved breath, giving him a playful–but firm–swat to the arm.

“This isn’t funny. You know we have to be in isolation for twenty-four hours now, right?”

Bob groaned, slumping back slightly against the bench. “Ugh. Great. Cool. L-love that.” You crossed your arms.

“We’re both trapped in here. With no way out. The lab is in full lockdown. Airlocked. Everything. Biocontainment protocol 9A.” He sighed, tilting his head toward you dramatically. “

It’s not like we don’t already spend the majority of our free time together or anything.” You narrowed your eyes.

“Don’t act like this is some cozy movie night. You almost got yourself pollinated into another dimension.” Your voice was softer now. More affectionate, more playful. Your gaze dropped briefly–to the faint shimmer still clinging to the edge of his collarbone–and that’s when you noticed it.

You looked down at yourself.

Tiny flecks of gold sparkled faintly across your sleeves, dusted across the dark wool of your sweater and even the collar of your lab coat. The stuff was finer than you thought–so fine you’d barely felt it settle.

“Shit.”

“What?” Bob asked, alarmed.

You pulled your lab coat off immediately, shrugging out of it and tossing it into the nearest biohazard bin. Your sweater followed next, leaving you in the tank top you had underneath–thin, breathable, already damp with nervous sweat. The cold air bit at your arms, but it was better than risking more exposure. You grabbed a clean disposable mask from the supply drawer and tugged it on.

“You got exposed?” Bob asked, sitting up straighter.

You gave him a wry look as you reached for a pair of gloves. “You think that cloud only wanted you?”

He flushed again and shifted where he sat. “S-Sorry…”

“Not your fault,” you said quickly. “You didn’t provoke it.”

Bob’s eyes slid to the corner of the lab where the flower still sat in its shattered dome, motionless now, but unmistakably altered–its petals twitching like cooling muscles, the last of the pollen still floating down like it hadn’t quite obeyed gravity yet.

You pointed to his hoodie.

“That’s gotta come off too.”

He blinked. “W-What?”

“Bob. Your hoodie is covered. You’re basically wearing a glitter bomb.”

“Oh…Right.” He looked down at himself and, reluctantly, peeled the hoodie off over his head, careful not to shake loose any more of the clinging dust. The fabric crackled softly as the static gave way. You moved forward with a biohazard bag already open and waiting.

“Drop it in,” you said, and he obeyed, his white T-shirt riding up slightly with the movement. You caught a glimpse of pale skin, faint golden freckles across his lower ribs, the subtle cut of his hip. You averted your eyes quickly, pretending not to notice.

But he noticed.

You didn’t speak for a beat.

Then:

“Okay,” you said, stepping back with the sealed bag in hand, “Contaminated clothing secured. Isolation timer has started. We’ve got twenty-four hours to kill and a potentially sentient flower that just gas-bombed the strongest man on Earth.”

Bob blinked at you, then gave the tiniest smirk.

“Th-this gonna be in the report?”

“Oh, absolutely,” You muttered, deadpan. “‘Subject A leaned into mysterious glowing flower. Subject B now has fairy glitter in her bra.’”

He laughed. Harder than you expected. The sound echoed softly in the sealed room and you let it hang there for a moment. Eventually his laughter faded, but the heat that was beginning to build in the lab didn’t.

It wasn’t just the tension between you anymore–it was physical. Palpable. You could feel it crawling along the inside of your spine like static. Your skin felt…Tight. Like your clothes were holding in too much warmth. Like the fabric of your tank top was suddenly too heavy in all the wrong places and far too light in others.

You shifted your weight from one leg to the other, hoping it would pass, but it didn’t.

Bob was still sitting on the bench, towel now draped loosely across his lap, chest rising and falling more steadily than before–but even from a few feet away, you could see the faint shine of sweat beginning to gather at the hollow of his throat.

You squinted slightly.

“Is it just me,” You said slowly, brushing a strand of hair off your neck, “Or is it…Hot in here?”

Bob lifted his head toward you, blinking slowly. His cheeks were still pink–flushed in that way people only got when they were either just out of a fever or just getting into something much more compromising.

“I-I thought it was just me,” He said, adjusting how he sat. “I figured the air filters w-weren’t moving much cool air yet. It’s… It’s an enclosed space, so…” He trailed off, eyes catching briefly on your arms, the exposed slope of your collarbone, and then darting away again, as if ashamed of the glance.

You nodded, trying to focus–but it was getting harder. Your tank top clung to the skin beneath your ribs like a second layer of sweat-dampened silk. You could feel the heat collecting at your lower back, a slow, stoked furnace of warmth that wasn’t just the room. Your breathing shifted slightly. Shallower.

There was a kind of pressure building behind your sternum. An ache–not painful, not sharp. Just…Present. Gnawing. Low in your belly. You cleared your throat.

“Do you feel weird?” You asked, keeping your voice as casual as you could. “Like… more than just warm? Any lightheadedness? Sensory changes?” Bob didn’t answer right away. His shoulders rolled back slowly, and his hand came up to drag across the back of his neck. You watched the way his palm moved over the sweat-damp strands of hair, the tension in his forearm, the way his biceps flexed just slightly under the tight stretch of cotton.

He wasn’t looking at you now. But his voice was quiet when he answered.

“M-My heart rate i-is up,” He admitted. “But I d-don’t feel sick. I just feel–” He stopped. Swallowed. Then: “Wound up. I-it’s like I’ve been waiting for something to happen and m-my body’s just trying to stay ahead of it.” You stared at him, hearing as he listed out the same symptoms you were feeling.

Then there was the ache again–twisting low and slow, enough to make you shift your thighs closer together without thinking. You noticed the way Bob’s eyes tracked the motion and immediately flicked away. His chest was rising faster now. His jaw clenched, breath audible through his nose. Something was happening. Something chemical, something hormonal. Something Induced.

You took a slow breath, then glanced at the ruined containment dome, the flower sitting quietly like nothing had happened. Its stamen pulsed gently, and the last wisps of pollen still hovered in the filtered air like gold-lit ghosts.

”You said it didn’t burn when the pollen hit…” You murmured, “Just felt weird…Right?” He nodded slowly, eyes flicking toward your face, then to your mouth, then away. You swallowed hard, wiping a bead of sweat off your forehead. ”How weird?”

Bob exhaled a shaky breath. His hands flexed against his thighs, fingers twitching.

“It just felt really…Light,” he rasped. “Like ash. N-Not like sand–softer. Barely even there. But now–” He trailed off, and when he looked at you, it was like being seen for the first time. His pupils were blown wide, only a thin ring of ocean-blue clinging to the edge. His voice lowered.

“Now I feel like my skin is on fire. L-Like I’m burning…And everything’s so damn sensitive. I c-can’t stop–” His voice cracked, “–I can’t stop looking at you.” Your breath caught. The ache between your legs deepened sharply, twisting upward through your belly like someone had plucked a string that now hummed through your bones. The realization slammed into you with full force. The heat. The ache. The scent. The shimmer. The reaction.

Fuck. You staggered backward from the bench slightly and slapped your hand down on the comm panel by the edge of your lab table, hitting the line for Bucky.

“Come on, come on, pick up–”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s voice crackled over the line. “What’s up?”

“Bucky,” You said, trying to steady your breathing. “Where exactly were you when you found that flower? Be specific. What were the surroundings?”

“I told you, it was near the tree line,” He answered, confused. “On the way back from the ridge. Why?”

“Was there anything else? Anything that stood out?”

There was a pause. Then, “Uh…There was kind of a–garden? Like, a bunch of them. Just a whole patch. Maybe fifty or sixty, I dunno, they were all clumped together.”Another pulse of heat ripped through your core, and you clenched your thighs, biting back a soft, involuntary groan. You half-collapsed, catching yourself on the table edge before sliding down the side of it, pressing your forehead into your forearm.

“Where were they, Bucky?” You grit out through clenched teeth. “Was there a lab? A compound? A goddamn marker on the ground–anything?”

“What? Y/N, I don’t–wait, there was a lab…But it wasn’t even close. Maybe two miles east of it. Looked abandoned. You think it’s connected?”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, voice rough, stomach clenching. Your vision was starting to blur around the edges. “That’s not wild growth, Buck. That’s a planted field. That was cultivated. You brought me a fucking bioweapon.”

There was silence.

Bob had shifted, and when you looked up, he was no longer on the bench. He had crouched behind one of the heavy lab tables on the far end of the room, head bowed, palms braced hard against the floor like he was praying—or like he was trying to hold himself together.

“I-it’s getting worse,” he called out, voice hoarse and echoing faintly off the tile. “I—I can feel it in my hands, my back—like I’m buzzing from the inside out. You need to go to another room, Y/N. Please. I don’t—I don’t know what’s going to happen—”

“There is no other room,” you snapped, clutching your own torso, fingers digging into your tank top like it could peel the sensation off your skin. “We’re sealed in. Remember? Isolation. Twenty-four hours.”

You turned back to the comm, swallowing back the pulse building low in your belly. “Bucky, something happened in that lab. This isn’t just a flower. It’s engineered—enhanced. There’s pheromone manipulation in the pollen. Maybe synthetic hormones. We both got exposed.”

“What kind of exposure?”

You hesitated.

Then you exhaled shakily, voice lowering. “The worst kind. I think it’s… I think it’s sex pollen, Bucky.”

A beat of stunned silence on the other end. Then:

“…You’re shitting me.”

“I wish I was,” you hissed, grinding the heel of your hand into your temple, heart pounding. “And unless I get a suppressant cocktail in the next thirty minutes, I’m going to lose it.”

“What about Bob?”

You turned your head just slightly toward where Bob was crouched, shaking. His knuckles had gone white.

“He’s already losing it,” You whispered.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing,” you said, too fast. “Just…We’re locked in for twenty-four hours. There’s nothing anyone can do. Just… Just keep the others out. Don’t let anyone near the door.”

There was a long pause. Then Bucky’s voice dropped.

“Y/N. What exactly happened in there?”

You clenched your jaw and gave the only answer you could.

“I’ll tell you if we survive it.” Then you hung up the comm, bracing your hands on your knees as the ache spread like wildfire across your thighs, your chest, the hollow between your hips. Everything was overstimulated–fabric too rough, air too dry, skin too tight.

And then there was Bob.

You looked up slowly, panting now, vision swimming with heat and color. You could barely see his face in the shadow of the bench, but you heard his voice.

“I-It’s in me,” he said quietly. “Whatever it is. I can feel it in m-my blood. My skin feels like it’s too small. I’m–I’m shaking. I c-can’t stop it.” His breath hitched, voice breaking apart. “I can smell you. I c-can hear your heart. I can feel every molecule in this goddamn r-room. God, what is this stuff?” You were already dragging yourself across the floor, crawling on hands and knees to the nearest storage cabinet, yanking open drawers for anything–anything–that might help regulate internal chemistry. You were half-crazed with heat, sweat dripping between your shoulder blades, your whole body lit up like it had been set on fire from the inside.

“Okay,” you muttered, teeth clenched. “We’re gonna–we’re gonna figure this out. Just don’t come near me, Bob. Not yet.”

You couldn’t see him now, but you heard the thick, wet swallow from where he hid behind the bench.

“I w-won’t,” He rasped. “But…If you don’t figure it out soon…” His voice was barely audible now. “…I d-don’t know if I’m gonna b-be able to stop myself.” The words weren’t loud. They weren’t cruel. But they hit you like a blow to the chest. A sharp pulse rippled through your core–your muscles tensed like a wire had snapped in your belly. The ache between your legs twisted again, hot and hungry, and a broken sound escaped your lips before you could stop it.

A whimper. Soft, shaken, and needy.

”Shut up,” You gasped, your voice hoarse with panic and arousal, hand bracing against the cabinet, “Just…Stop talking, Bob please…Your voice. Fuck sake.” Another wave of heat surged under your skin like a current of electricity. You curled slightly into yourself, arms trembling, every breath catching high in your throat.

“I–I’m sorry,” Bob groaned from across the room, his voice cracking with guilt and something far darker. You heard him shift, heard the thump of his back hit the cabinet behind him like he’d braced himself against it, like he couldn’t trust his limbs to obey. He let out a loud breath, shuddering.

”G-God, I’m–I’m sorry, I c-can’t even think straight–“ His voice broke on the last word, thick with restraint. You dragged open another drawer with shaking fingers, rummaging through cold metal and sterile pouches, tossing one after the other to the side. Glucose packs. Emergency syringes. No suppressants. No hormonal regulators. Nothing for this kind of exposure.

Your vision blurred as your stomach clenched again. You could feel sweat beading at the base of your spine, making your tank top stick like a second skin. You couldn’t stop panting. Couldn’t stop trembling.

”Fuck…” You hissed, almost on the brink of sob. You slammed the drawer shut with a metallic clang, the sound too loud, echoing in the sealed lab like it was mocking you. ”I can’t–I-I can’t find anything.” You wheezed, voice cracking. You braced your hands on the cold tile, heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your teeth.

The need was crawling over your skin like insects. Every breath was friction. Every shift of your body felt like dragging yourself through static. Your nipples were tight beneath your tank top, aching. You could feel your own pulse in places it didn’t belong.

“Shit–shit,” You whispered, eyes welling with frustrated tears. “Oh my god.”

Behind the bench, Bob made a low, strangled noise.

A grunt. Guttural. Desperate.

You couldn’t see him.

But you didn’t need to.

Because you could feel him.

You could feel the way the air changed when he moved. You could feel the ripple of heat that seemed to follow the sound of his voice. And worst of all–you could feel your body answering it.

Every cell in you was lit up with something heavy and humming. Something wild. Something designed.

You curled forward against the floor, pressing your forehead into your arm. You were panting now–wheezing, almos-trying to hold on. Trying not to cry.

You didn’t hear him crawl over, not until it was too late. Your breath was ragged, and your vision was swimming–and then warmth touched your arm. A large hand. Familiar. It closed over your bicep–but it lit your nerves on fire. You jerked away violently, scrambling back on instinct, collapsing onto your ass with a gasp. Your palm slammed against the tile and you skidded slightly, breath hitching as you spat out–

“Don’t touch me!” Your voice cracked, sharp and wet with panic. The motion made your spine arch, your tank top riding up slightly as your hip knocked into a rolling stool, the metal clattering away. Bob’s eyes widened in horror, hand halfway outstretched like it had betrayed him. He dropped to both knees in front of you instantly, not touching, but close enough for you to feel the warmth coming off his body like a wave.

“Y/N–” He breathed, his voice hoarse, chest heaving, “Y/N I-I feel it too, I p-promise. I feel everyth-ing” His hand hovered near your shoulder again, hesitant. Then, slowly, gently, he reached behind your neck, cradling it with a trembling touch. His fingers were hot against your skin, too hot. “Look at me. W-We’ll be okay. We’ll be o-okay.” You shook your head, lip quivering as the tears came faster now. Not the kind you could hide or blink away–these ones slid heavy and helpless down your cheeks, pooling at the corners of your mouth. You were trembling all over, shoulders shaking, thighs clenching without relief.

”I-I feel like I’m dying,” You whispered, voice raw, “Fuck, Bob it’s so painful.” He nodded once, his face contorting with shared agony, as his hand slipped from the back of your neck to your jaw, like he couldn’t decide whether to hold you or let go.

“I-I know,” He rasped, his other hand gripping his thigh so hard it shook, “I-I’m burning from the inside out. I can smell y-you…I can s-smell everything–“ You swallowed, chest rising in short, hard jerks. Because so could you.

His scent was all over the room now. Thick and devastating. It rolled over you in waves—heat-warmed cedarwood, sweat, and something deeper. Instinctual. Masculine. Not cologne. Not soap. Something completely and totally him. A biological beckoning, chemical and holy and blinding.

It made your thighs twitch and your breath break.

And your own scent…You could smell it, too. Like heat-glazed citrus and clean skin. Something golden and heavy, threaded with notes of sun-warmed vanilla and fresh-cut stems. Like the wild edge of spring. It filled your nostrils, clung to your skin, hung in the air between you like a dare.

Bob’s eyes fluttered, jaw clenching again. He let out a low grunt, like the effort of staying still was costing him something visceral. His voice cracked as he spoke.

“I-Isn’t there…a-any way we can stop this f-from getting worse?” You didn’t want to say it, you really didn’t. But the truth came out anyway, scraped and raw from your throat.

”Only if…” You swallowed. Your tongue felt too thick in your mouth, “Only if we have sex…” The words dropped like a stone.

Bob’s breath hitched so hard it almost sounded like a choke. His throat bobbed, and he blinked down at you, eyes wild and dilated, dark lashes damp with sweat and desperation.

There was a pause–long and shaking.

Then, softly:

“W-Would it be t-that bad if…If we did?”

You flinched. Just barely. The air stilled, vibrating between you. And then you shook your head slowly, tears welling again–not from heat this time, but from something deeper.

“I really didn’t want our first time together being l-like this.”

That stopped him cold. All the breath punched out of him in a single exhale. His lips parted, but nothing came out. His hand fell away from your jaw like it had been burned. His whole posture shifted–still close, but paralyzed with guilt.

You looked away.

Because if you looked at him now–if you looked into that face, flushed and desperate and filled with longing–you’d give in. Your breath hitched sharply—twice—before you folded forward on a gasp, one hand clutching your lower stomach like it might soothe the throbbing pulse building between your legs.

“God,” you choked out, voice breaking. “Oh my god, I—I can’t fucking take it.”

The ache had bloomed into something unbearable—wet and slick and throbbing through your core with every heartbeat. You were drenched, panties stuck to you, heat radiating off your skin like you were about to combust. Across from you, Bob made a strangled sound, his fists tight on his thighs, chest heaving as he forced shallow breaths through his nose—like if he didn’t, he might do something reckless.

“I c-can’t smell you,” He whispered, more to himself than to you. “I–I can’t smell you–I can’t–”

But he could. You both could. Your scent was everywhere–sweet and sharp and thick with want. It hung in the air between you like perfume, like bait, and you knew it was driving him mad.

You twitched again as another rush of slick gushed between your thighs and a broken moan slipped past your lips–soft, needy, involuntary. Your eyes squeezed shut as your hand pressed harder against your stomach, trying to contain it.

But it was useless.

“I can’t–fuck, I can’t take it–” You gasped, and before you could stop yourself, you were lunging forward.

You grabbed his face with both hands–hot, flushed skin beneath your palms–and crushed your mouth to his like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

It wasn’t a kiss.

It was a collision.

A mess of lips and teeth and spit.

You moaned into his mouth the second you felt him gasp beneath you–his lips parting wide in helpless surrender, his hands flying to your waist like magnets. The second he touched you, it was over. You melted into him, mouths sliding and sucking and devouring with sloppy, panting need.

Spit slicked your chin, his chin, your mouths, your skin. It dripped down between you as your lips broke and reconnected over and over in increasingly desperate, wet smacks. His tongue slid against yours, hungry and hot, and you whimpered into the kiss like your whole body was unraveling.

His hands squeezed your hips, hard–fingertips digging in, dragging you toward him roughly until your knees bumped his thighs and your chest hit his. You felt the tremble in him, felt the heat pouring off his body as he let out a low, feral grunt into your mouth, like he was trying to hold himself together and failing.

You pulled back just an inch, breath catching in your throat as a strand of spit still connected your lips, both of you panting so hard it echoed in the sealed lab.

“Fuck–” He gasped, chasing your mouth again, not even giving you time to respond before crashing back into the kiss, even hungrier this time. “You taste like–God–l-like sunlight–like h-honey–fuck, I can’t–can’t stop–”

“Don’t,” You moaned, sliding your tongue into his mouth again, letting it tangle with his, swallowing his sounds, his heat, his everything. “Don’t stop. Please. Don’t stop.” Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking at the damp curls as his hands roamed, gripping your waist so tightly it made you whine. He guided you into his lap without thinking, until your knees straddled his thighs and your body pressed flush to his. You could feel everything–the twitch of his erection beneath the thin fabric of his sweatpants, the way his breath hitched when your hips brushed his, the way his hands couldn’t stop moving–gripping, sliding, needing. Every inch of you was pressed tight to him, and he felt all of it. The heat. The wetness. The hunger.

”G-God…” He gasped, his head dropping to your shoulder for a split second, voice thick, “I c-can’t–can’t stop–need…Need something–“ And then his hands flexed, dragging you forward–against him. You cried out, the sound strangled and high as he rocked your hips into his, grinding you against the thick line of his cock through his sweatpants. The friction sent a lightning bolt through your core, and your whole body spasmed in response, clutching at his shoulders as the contact jolted through your nerves.

“Oh–God–” You moaned, tearing your mouth from his as your head tipped back, spine arching. “Oh fuck–do that again–” He didn’t even answer. Just groaned–loud, filthy–and rolled your hips again. Rougher. Harder. Enough that your soaked panties dragged hot and slick over the outline of him, soaking into the soft cotton of his clothes and yours.

You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders as your thighs trembled on either side of his lap. Your hands found his hair and tugged–hard–and he moaned so deeply it vibrated through your ribs. His mouth trailed down to your jaw, your throat, open-mouthed kisses dragging over sweat-slick skin. His tongue was everywhere–greedy and reverent–and then you felt him kiss the top of your chest, right along the edge of your tank top.

You were panting, shaking, drenched in sweat and arousal. You couldn’t stop grinding down against him now, couldn’t stop chasing that friction as you rolled your hips again and again, letting your swollen heat drag along his cock in slow, devastating passes. The pressure built fast, sharp and aching, pulsing low in your belly with every movement.

Bob’s mouth trembled where it kissed just below your collarbone. His fingers slipped up your sides, shaky but sure–and then they hooked under the thin straps of your tank top.

“P-Please–” He rasped, looking up at you like he was about to fall apart. “Can I—can I see you?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes. God, yes.”

He didn’t wait. He dragged the straps down your arms, kissing the slope of your shoulder as they slipped, one by one. Then he tugged the neckline down–slow, desperate–and bared your breasts to the heavy, sweat-damp air.

The second your nipples were exposed, he let out a groan–a sound so broken, it barely sounded human. His eyes glazed with worship, with hunger.

And then his mouth was on you.

He wrapped his lips around one tight, aching nipple and moaned–like he was dying for the taste of you. His tongue flicked, sucked, lapped, over and over, and you cried out, hips jerking uncontrollably in his lap as you rutted down against him.

“Oh my god–Bob–“ You gasped, fingers burying in his hair, yanking him closer, needier. “That–fuck–you’re so good…” He didn’t stop. If anything, he got more desperate. His tongue traced circles around your nipple, sucking it deeper into his mouth with each slow pull of his lips. One of his hands gripped your ass, guiding your hips faster against his erection, grinding you down until your whole body was quivering.

“Y-You’re so warm,” He panted between kisses. “So soft–God–“ And then he took the other nipple between his lips, just as eager, just as mindless. His tongue licked a long, slow stripe across the swell of your breast and you sobbed at the contact, your whole body arching into him. Bob groaned around your nipple one last time before pulling off with a wet pop, his mouth red and slick with spit. His eyes were blown wide, pupils so dilated there was barely any blue left–but there was something else swimming behind them too, something ancient, hungry, waiting to surface. His breath caught in his throat as he leaned in close, nudging your jaw with his nose, mouth grazing your cheek. Then suddenly–

He surged forward.

Your back hit the cold tile in one fluid motion, the breath punching out of your lungs as he guided you down with firm hands, mouth still dragging across your chest. The contrast between the icy floor and the furnace of your skin made you cry out softly, arching up into his touch.

“Bob–” You gasped, but your words cut off with a moan as his hands slipped low, gripping the waistband of your pants and underwear in one practiced motion.

“L-Lift your hips,” He instructed–voice rough and tight with restraint. You obeyed instantly, and he peeled both garments down your legs in a single fluid movement, baring you to the air, to him, to everything.

Your thighs quivered as the rush of cool air met the wet heat between them. You leaned up, grabbed the hem of your tank top, and tore it over your head. It hit the floor behind you just as Bob stripped off his shirt–his chest gleaming with sweat, muscles flexing, dusted with faint gold shimmer and a constellation of freckles across his collarbones.

You barely had a second to breathe before he dropped between your thighs again, mouth finding yours in a kiss so urgent and deep it knocked your head back against the tile. It was messier now–hotter, more desperate, his tongue fucking into your mouth with wild hunger.

Then he broke away just far enough to speak.

“I-I’m going to c-crawl on my fucking knees,” He growled, “And you’re gonna spread those thighs wider for me, and let me eat you until you come on my tongue.”You arched up with a moan, hips twitching off the floor. Your hands reached for him blindly, pulling at his shoulders as he trailed kisses down your throat, your chest, your ribs.

“I need you so fucking bad,” He whispered, his voice darker now–lower, smoother. The stutter was gone.

You blinked through the haze, the heat, the sweat clinging to your lashes–and that’s when you saw it. The eyes. Not Bob’s soft blue. Gold. Molten.

“Sentry,” You whispered, breath catching.

But you didn’t stop him.

You didn’t want to.

His teeth scraped gently along your stomach, sending electric pulses through your nerves, and then he kissed the inside of your hip bones like he was worshipping an altar.

“You smell so fucking sweet,” He murmured, nose dragging through the crease where your thigh met your core, voice reverent and filthy all at once. “I can’t wait to have a taste.” You sobbed his name as your thighs opened wider for him, your body obeying without question. He slid his hands beneath you, lifting your hips off the floor, draping your thighs over his shoulders–his palms spreading across your lower back to anchor you in place.

“Look at you,” He groaned, lips brushing against your soaked folds without yet tasting. “You’re drenched…You’re so fucking wet I can see it drip.”

Then he leaned in.

And licked a slow, devastating stripe up your center.

You choked on a scream. Your hips jerked hard against his mouth, and his arms tightened around your thighs, holding you down as his tongue moved again–sloppier this time. Messier. Hungrier. He licked into you like he was starving. Long, deep strokes. Quick flicks. Circles around your swollen clit that had you crying out his name.

“God, fuck–yes–”

You gripped his hair hard, yanking at the sweat-damp strands, and he groaned like he liked it–no, loved it. The vibration of the sound against your core made your whole body shake.

“You taste like summer, like heat, like stars.” He moaned. “Absolutely fucking sinful.” He pulled back only long enough to look at you, his mouth wet, chin dripping with slick.

“I can’t wait to make you come on my tongue,” He growled.

And then he dove back in.

Tongue sliding flat against your clit, then swirling, sucking it into his mouth with slow, rhythmic pulls that made your vision blur. You cried out, grinding into his face, your hands clutching his hair, your whole body vibrating with sensation.

“P-Please–” you whimpered, barely able to breathe, “Please don’t stop–”

He didn’t.

He licked and sucked and groaned like you were his favorite meal, like he could do this for hours. His hands gripped your ass, dragging you tighter to his mouth, keeping you from squirming away.

You were going to come.

It was building fast–tight and white-hot and burning like it had nowhere else to go. You were right on the edge when–

He slipped one thick finger inside you.

You let out a loud gasp. It wasn’t pain–it was too much. Too good. The stretch, the pressure, the way his mouth never stopped moving.

“That’s it,” He murmured against your clit. “Take my fingers…Just like that…You’re so tight, fuck…I’m imagining how you’re going to take me.”

You clenched around him, and he groaned again–louder this time–and slid a second finger in, stretching you open. His fingers curled up, rubbing slow, teasing strokes into that perfect, devastating spot. Your walls fluttered, your thighs trembled.

“Oh god, oh god–”

“Come for me,” He growled. “Right now. Let me feel you.”

And he sped up.

Fingers pumping hard, mouth sucking your clit with filthy precision. You sobbed his name, your back arched clean off the tile, and you shattered.

The orgasm ripped through you like fire, like lightning–your thighs locking around his head, your hands gripping his hair as you wailed through it.

He didn’t stop.

Not when you cried out.

Not when you begged.

He kept sucking, licking, fucking his fingers into you as your body convulsed.

Your body was still twitching when he pulled his fingers free–slick and trembling, your core fluttering from aftershocks as he slowly sat back on his heels.

His chin was soaked. His lips swollen. His eyes–those molten, god-touched eyes–burned down the length of your naked body like sunlight through stained glass.

“I should feel sated,” He murmured, voice too calm for the storm coiled in his chest. “I should be full from what I’ve just taken.”He leaned in. Slowly. Pressed one open-mouthed kiss to your thigh, then another–hot and reverent, just shy of your folds. His breath dragged over you, still sensitive, and it made you whimper.

“But I’m not,” He said low, his nose skimming up the inside of your leg as he worked his way toward your face. “I’m still starving.”

You were trying to breathe, but it wasn’t easy. Not with your pulse echoing in your throat, not with the ache between your legs still pulsing with the memory of his tongue, and certainly not with him looking at you like that.

“I’ve waited…So long to taste you.”

His voice was velvet heat–slick with need, rich with something that throbbed like want and worship tangled together.

He braced a hand on either side of your head as he crawled up over you, hair wild around his face, sweat glistening on the slopes of his shoulders and chest. The weight of him caged you in. It wasn’t heavy–it was all-consuming.

You reached up with a trembling hand and cupped his face. His skin was flushed, warm and slick, his jaw tight as though holding back something enormous.

“I can still feel you,” You whispered, voice raw. “On my mouth. On my thighs. Inside me.”

He smiled at that–but it wasn’t gentle.

It was hunger.

“You’ll feel me even more soon.”His hand found your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip, and his gaze flicked down–watching the way your mouth parted for him instinctively. He leaned in again, voice now a whisper of thunder against your cheek, “Imagine what it’s going to be like when I fuck you…” Your hips bucked helplessly beneath him, but he only smirked, catching them with a firm palm.

“Sentry,” You gasped, voice trembling as your thighs clenched under the weight of him, “P-Please. God—don’t you feel it too?!”

His nose brushed yours, breath hot against your cheek. He didn’t answer at first–just let that small, dangerous smile curl across his lips, teeth barely catching his lower lip before he released it.

“Of course I feel it,” He murmured, hips dragging downward, grinding his clothed cock into your slick heat. “It’s everywhere in me. In my chest, in my spine, my teeth.” His voice dropped to a darker pitch, and the gold in his eyes flared one last time before dimming. “I-I just know I’m going to get what I-I need…

Bob sat back on his knees between your spread thighs, hands sliding slow and sure down his stomach to the waistband of his sweatpants. “I-I already came once just from eating you out,” He confessed, voice timid now, “I t-think I have more in me…”

Then he tugged the sweatpants down.

Your breath stuttered in your throat.

His erection sprang free, flushed dark and glistening at the tip, already slick with the evidence of his earlier release. A thick bead of cum sat heavy at the crown, dripping slowly down the curve of his shaft, and your whole body twitched at the sight of it. The raw, shameless arousal surged in your belly like wildfire.

“Fuck–” You whispered, pupils blown wide.

He was beautiful. Veined and heavy and so hard it twitched with every breath. You couldn’t stop yourself. Your hand moved without thought–licking your palm once, slow and deliberate, before wrapping your fingers around him.

Bob groaned immediately–deep. His head dropped forward, curls swinging around his jaw, and his hips bucked into your touch as your hand slid down the length of him in a slow, sticky stroke. His cock throbbed in your grip. Hot. Pulsing.

“Mmmf–fuck,” He growled, the sound rattling against the walls. He dropped one hand down to your thigh to steady himself, the other bracing behind him as you worked him with your slick hand–up and down, tight and wet and slow, like you wanted to savor every second.

His breath came out in sharp pants, his face flushed, his eyes fluttering shut as your thumb rubbed just beneath the swollen head, gathering that leaking slick and spreading it over his cock.

“God, I didn’t even have to touch you and you came.” You whispered,

“That’s what y-you do to me,” he gasped, voice shaking. “I couldn’t help it—god, I couldn’t fucking help it—” He surged forward, kissing you hard, and you moaned against his mouth as his hips began to stutter forward, chasing the motion of your hand with every pass.

It was hot, the way he kissed you–messy. His mouth was open, panting against yours, lips dragging along your tongue, teeth grazing your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth with a wet pop. He moaned into you with every stroke of your hand, deep in his chest, growling like it hurt not to move faster.

He kissed like he was about to fall apart in your arms.

Like he wanted to ruin you and thank you at the same time.

And you could feel it–he was close again. Already.

“G-God–don’t stop–don’t stop–” he choked out, hips bucking into your grip, his cock twitching hard in your palm.

Then his mouth tore from yours with a ragged moan, his body going rigid as he came–again.

Thick ropes of cum spilled across your stomach in hot, wet spurts–slicking your skin, painting the swell of your belly in messy, sticky heat. Bob cried out, breath catching, his hand clutching your thigh hard enough to leave fingerprints as his hips jerked against your hand one last time.

You watched it all, feeling it dripping down your skin. You slowed your hand, and then looked up at him. His eyes were fluttered closed. His mouth hung open, panting raggedly. His cheeks were red and damp with sweat, hair curling against his temples in loose, disheveled strands.

And then–

You ran your fingers through the puddle of cum on your stomach.

Bob’s eyes snapped open.

He watched, transfixed, as you dragged two fingers slowly through the mess he left on you–slicking them up, glossy with white.

Then you brought them to your mouth.

And sucked them clean.

He groaned–low and guttural, more animal than man. He surged forward and kissed you, hard–his mouth hot and open, tongue licking into yours like he needed to taste what you’d just tasted.

And when he pulled back–just barely–he looked drunk. Starved. His voice was hoarse, reverent.

“W-We taste so g-good together,” He whispered.

You whimpered, eyes wide and glassy.

And then your voice broke.

“I need you inside me.”

His breath hitched sharply. His eyes searched your face like a prayer–like he needed to make sure this wasn’t just the pollen, wasn’t just chemical.

But your body told him everything he needed to know. The slick between your thighs. The tremble in your voice. The way your legs fell open without fear. He saw your hand reaching for him–trembling, open, desperate–and instead of just taking it, he kissed it.

One slow kiss to your palm. Then your wrist. Then each fingertip in turn, reverent and breath-warmed. His eyes didn’t leave yours, even when his lips brushed the soft pads of your fingers. It felt like something sacred.

“I-I’m yours, Y/N…” He whispered, his voice wrecked–hoarse and honeyed, lined with awe. “All yours.”

Your chest trembled. Not from the pollen. Not from the heat. From the weight of it–his words, his body, his need. You brought your other hand to his cheek, touching the sweat-slick curve of his face, thumb stroking over his flushed skin.

“You’re burning up,” You whispered.

“So are you,” He breathed back.

But the ache had shifted now. It was lower. Thicker. No longer frantic. Just heavy. Full. Demanding.

His lips met yours again–slow this time, almost trembling. Not chasing. Not crashing. Just pressing. Full and warm. Your mouths moved in sync, deeper with every pass, until he adjusted his weight above you, one forearm braced beside your head while the other hand snaked down to your thigh.

His fingers curled around the underside of it, tugging you closer until your legs wrapped around him again and your slick heat pressed against his length. He groaned into your mouth at the contact.

“G-God, Y/N,” He muttered, dragging his mouth down to your throat, kissing the line of your pulse. “You’re s-still dripping. I can feel it–so hot, so wet for me…”

His hand shifted, reaching between your bodies. He stroked himself once. Twice. The glide was obscene, slick with both your arousal and his release from before. He cursed low under his breath–voice strained with restraint–and guided the thick head of his erection to your entrance. Then–he paused, letting his forehead press to yours, his nose brushing yours as he whispered

“T-Tell me you want it.”

”I want you, Bob,” You breathed, “I’ve wanted you for so long…Please I want you inside me.” You begged, almost on the brink of tears just from the sheer anticipation that wracked through your body. He let out a long sigh and slid in, with such slowness you felt your whole body tense up.

You both gasped at the same time–loud, broken, raw. Your back arched and your thighs locked tighter around him as he pushed forward, inch by inch, stretching you wide with the thick, pulsing heat of him. He groaned above you, mouth falling open as your walls clenched around him, impossibly wet and tight.

“Oh–f-fuck…” He stuttered, his voice cracking like it couldn’t contain the feeling. “You feel…God…You feel like…Like e-everything.”

You whined under him, nails scraping lightly across his back. Every inch dragged through you like it was carved for you–hot, thick, filling. It was too much and not enough at once.

“You’re stretching me so good,” You gasped, voice shaking. “Bob–go slow–I wanna feel all of it.” He obeyed, hips moving with devastating care, sinking into you until he bottomed out, fully seated, buried to the hilt. The moan that left your mouth was guttural. His wasn’t any better. It came from deep in his chest–an animal sound, trembling and wrecked.

He stayed still inside you, just for a moment, just to feel everything, just to breathe.

Your chest rose beneath him in shuddering gasps, your nails pressing into the flex of his back as your hips trembled beneath the weight of him. He was deep–so deep it was hard to breathe–but it wasn’t painful. It was perfect. Like a lock clicking into place after too many years of holding the wrong key.

His forehead dropped to yours, your sweat-slick skin sticking where it touched, his breath ragged and hot against your cheek. His arms trembled faintly from the restraint, from the fire still licking through his blood, from the unholy grip of your body around him. His hands slid slowly from the curve of your thigh up to your waist, his thumbs brushing over your hips as if memorizing them. One hand trailed higher, tracing the line of your ribs, his touch light, soothing, trembling.

”You feel–“ He choked on the words, voice wrecked and shaking, “–Like…L-Like you were made for every inch of m-me.” Your fingers dug into his shoulders as your back arched slightly, hips shifting. The movement made him twitch deep inside you, and the sound he let out was hoarse and broken. Your lips brushed his, breath mingling.

“I need you to move,” you whispered. “Please, Bob. I need you to–”

He cut you off with a kiss.

Not desperate. Not wild. Just deep. Intentional. His lips dragged against yours in slow, soft strokes, his tongue slipping into your mouth like a secret. You kissed him back with a whimper, your hands cupping his face, fingers sliding into the damp curls at the base of his neck.

Then he started to move.

Slow at first.

A long, slow withdrawal that had your breath catching in your throat, followed by a deep, steady thrust that made you moan into his mouth. His hips rocked forward again, harder this time, but still slow. Still deliberate. Still savoring.

You felt every inch.

And he felt everything.

Your slick heat around him. The way your body welcomed him, tightened for him, trembled from the fullness. He moved like he wanted to stay inside you forever–long strokes that dragged through you with devastating patience, hips grinding at the end of each thrust like he wanted to feel the slick press of your clit against his skin.

He kissed you between thrusts–messy, wet kisses that dragged across your jaw, your cheek, your mouth again. His lips caught your whimpers. His tongue tasted your gasps. He moaned into your mouth when you clenched around him.

And then–

His hand slid up your chest, broad and warm, until his palm cupped the base of your throat. Not tight. Not forceful. Just there. Anchoring. Feeling the frantic flutter of your pulse beneath his fingers like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever touched.

“You’re burning,” He whispered, lips dragging across your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “S-So warm…So soft…So alive…”

His hips rolled again, slow but deep, pressing into you until your breath stuttered beneath his palm. Your body arched into him helplessly, your thighs wrapping tighter around his waist, your mouth parting on a moan that he caught with a kiss–hot, slick, and panting. He swallowed it greedily.

The pressure of his hand on your throat didn’t restrict. It grounded. Like he needed to feel your heartbeat just to believe this was real.

You whimpered, and he pulled back enough to look at you–his curls dripping sweat, his lips swollen and damp, and those eyes, half-lidded and molten gold at the edges.

“G-God, I could be inside you forever,” he rasped, voice trembling like the words themselves threatened to undo him. “I–I never want to l-leave this. Never wanna stop feeling you like this…”

Another thrust–this one deeper, grinding. Your head dropped back with a gasp.

“Bob–” You sobbed his name like it was the only word you remembered, your fingers twisting hard in his hair. He groaned, deep and wrecked, his hips stuttering slightly as you tugged, his body responding like you’d yanked something primal out of him. His mouth found yours again, frantic and hot, tongue flicking into your mouth with messy, desperate hunger.

Then he pulled back just enough to see your face–flushed, dewy with sweat, eyes glassy and wide.

“Y-You’re close again,” He murmured, like it was something holy. His hand still cradled your throat lightly, thumb stroking gently beneath your jaw as he pressed his forehead to yours, “I–I can feel it, you’re tightening every time I move–you’re doing so good for me Y/N.” You whimpered beneath him, your hands clutching at his back, at his shoulders, pulling him deeper, harder, anything–

“I’ve got you,” He whispered, rocking into you again, the friction slow and devastating. “Let go for me. Come around me. I wanna feel it. I wanna feel you fall apart.”

You moaned–high and soft and broken.

“That’s it,” he breathed, voice breaking. “Just like that. You’re doing so good—G-God–you’re so perfect.” Your thighs shook around his hips. His hand slid down from your throat to your chest, splaying wide over your sternum, as if he could feel the orgasm building beneath your ribs. His other hand slipped to your hip, holding you still as he gave one slow, deep thrust that hit the exact spot that made your vision blur.

Your mouth dropped open in a cry.

“Come for me,” He begged, hips rolling again, steady and relentless. “Please–I wanna feel you–let me feel you come around me–”

You shattered.

Your back arched off the floor, your breath catching in a series of sobbed gasps as the orgasm ripped through you. He kept moving, kept whispering praise through your climax, voice ragged with awe.

“That’s it…That’s it, Y/N…You’re so beautiful like this–“ You clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you on earth, your nails digging into his back, your body convulsing beneath him with every wave of pleasure. You could feel yourself pulsing around him, feel how it dragged a strangled moan out of his throat.

“I-I’m so close,” He gasped, his voice wrecked, his rhythm faltering. “W-Wanna fill you up–please–can I–?”

You nodded, breathless and trembling. “Yes–yes, please–I want it–give it to me–” With a broken groan, his hips jerked forward one last time–and he spilled inside you. His whole body shook as he came, burying his face in your neck, his arms wrapping around you like he needed to hold every part of you to survive it.

You could feel it–every throb, every pulse of warmth deep inside you. His moans, soft and shaking, buzzed against your throat as his breath caught in your skin.

He didn’t move for a long while.

Just stayed there–buried inside you, mouth warm against your neck, arms tight around your waist like he was anchoring himself to this moment, to the rhythm of your heart against his chest. His breath was still coming in short, shaken bursts, and yours wasn’t much better. You were both trembling a little–not from fear, not anymore–but from the rawness of what had just passed between you. Like your bodies hadn’t quite caught up to the aftermath of something so explosive, so full.

But the heat was different now.

It had shifted. Softened. Still warm. Still thick. But no longer blistering, no longer maddening. Just…Lingering.

Your hands slid slowly up his back, fingers tracing through the sweat that slicked his spine, dragging across the faint bumps of his vertebrae. He let out a soft, shaky sigh against your skin. Your fingertips wandered to his sides, palms smoothing gently over the curve of his ribs as if to say I’m here. Still here. I’m okay.

You tilted your head and pressed a kiss to his shoulder—soft, damp, reverent. His skin tasted like salt and breathless devotion.

Bob shifted then, his arms loosening around you as he lifted his head just slightly, enough to look down at you. His hair was a light brown mess, damp curls stuck to his temples, a few clinging to his cheeks. He blinked at you–slow, still dazed–but there was something clearer in his eyes now. Something tender. His hand dragged along your side, skimming your ribs, and he leaned down to kiss you again.

His lips moved against yours like he hadn’t quite gotten his fill–like maybe he never would. He kissed your mouth, then your jaw, then your neck, peppering slow, breathless kisses along the column of your throat. You giggled once–just a little–as his nose brushed the underside of your jaw, tickling your skin.

He pulled back just enough to blink down at you, lips wet and parted, chest still heaving.

”Y-You know I like you, right?” Your breath caught. Your fingers paused where they rested near the nape of his neck. His voice had cracked slightly on the word like, and you could tell he meant something so much more than that. Of course you knew his feelings for you, it was easy to spot, but hearing him say it aloud–even after the both of you just had the most carnal sex ever–still made you a bit breathless. You swallowed, then nodded–eyes searching his face, your heart fluttering in your throat.

“I like you too,” You whispered, your voice shaky and soft. “Always have…” Your cheeks burned, and not from residual heat. You traced a finger over the curve of his shoulder. “T-The circumstances right now are a bit c-crazy…But…Maybe after this…”You tried to continue, but your nerves tangled the words together.

He finished them for you.

“I-I’ll take you out,” He said, nodding once, as if promising both you and himself. “We…We can go to your favorite r-restaurant. And we can do this right…” He ducked his head a little, voice lowering to a smile. “W-Without the sex pollen.” You let out a laugh–helpless and bright–and leaned up to kiss him again. He grinned into it, just a little, and kissed you twice more, slower now, like sealing the agreement. When he finally pulled back, his thumb was brushing your cheekbone, his other hand still lazily tracing your hip.

His gaze dropped to your chest for a moment, then back to your eyes. “A-Are you still aching?” He asked gently.

You paused, body still humming with the memory of him, but no longer sharp with urgency. You shifted slightly, feeling the wet stickiness between your thighs, the throb finally quieting to something warm and dull.

“It’s dulled a little,” you admitted. “But I think we should wash up…”

He blinked, nodding. “R-Right. Yeah.”

You offered a small smile, brushing the sweat-slick hair from his forehead. “We’ve got that little makeshift shower unit in the corner storage. Emergency setup. I-I can activate it.”

He looked at you, eyes soft, one hand trailing lightly over your ribs again.

“I-I’ll come with you,” He murmured. “Just to m-make sure you’re okay.” His curls hung loose now, wild and slightly matted from where your fingers had yanked at them during your climax. The gold shimmer on his skin caught the low lab lights, making him glow faintly where he hovered above you.

“Aww,” you murmured, brushing a hand lazily over the sharp line of his jaw, “That’s sweet, Bob. Really. But we both know that’s not the reason you’re joining me.” Bob flushed immediately, lips twitching into a bashful grin.

“O-Okay,” He said quietly, nuzzling your cheek with the tip of his nose. “M-Maybe it isn’t…M-Maybe I just wanna wash you, and k-kiss you under the water…Until all this heat dies down inside me.” Your chest stuttered at that, heart tripping over itself. His voice was so soft, so wrecked, so full of you.

“Now that’s much better,” You whispered, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. He smiled into it, and you felt the way his arms curled tighter around your middle, the way his cock–still half-hard inside you–twitched slightly at the praise. He sighed, then slowly pulled out, both of you gasping a little at the drag of it. You shivered, and he was already reaching for a nearby towel to cover you while you sat up. His hand cradled the back of your head as you steadied yourself. Always gentle, even now.

You stretched your sore limbs and started for the far corner of the lab where the emergency hygiene setup was stored. Still naked, still glowing with post-orgasm daze, you knelt beside the console and started activating the emergency rinse station–a compact but functional retractable stall with hot water access, a single pressure-nozzle head, and sealed drainage for contamination containment. You flipped open the sanitation kit, pulling out the packet of unscented soap, a washcloth, and the emergency towels folded like paper bricks.

Bob padded over behind you, and you heard him laugh softly as you organized the supplies with shaky hands.

“What?” You said over your shoulder, arching an eyebrow.

He scratched the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “N-Nothing. Y-You just look really focused for someone who’s still naked and covered in glittery sex pollen.”

You snorted. “Yeah, well,” you murmured, standing and turning to face him, “Remind me to access the cameras in here later and delete the footage of what happened…”

Bob raised his brows. “You think there’s audio?”

You gave him a deadpan look. “Bob. We shouted at each other and cried out mid-orgasm while covered in science glitter. If there’s audio, we’re already blackmail material.”

His face turned scarlet.

“Y-You think they’ll–”

“I don’t think we want our sex tape leaking,” You interrupted, grinning wickedly as you flicked the shower head on. Warm water streamed out with a pleasant hiss, filling the space with a light mist and the sound of soft rainfall. You stepped under it first, pulling him gently in after you. The water hit your skin and instantly began washing away the gold flecks still clinging to your chest and thighs.

Bob’s hands found your waist again.

“…M-Maybe I’ll take a copy,” He mumbled.

You looked over your shoulder at him with mock exasperation. “You’ll have the real thing almost every night, Bob,” you said, voice low and teasing. “I don’t think you’ll need a copy.” His breath hitched–barely–and then you felt his mouth press to the back of your shoulder, his arms circling your waist from behind.

“I-Is that so?” He asked, lips trailing kisses up your damp neck.

You tilted your head back against him, smiling into the steam.

“Oh, it’s definitely so,” You said, reaching back to cup the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as the water cascaded around you both–cleansing your skin, but not your hunger.

[silknspice]

GOOD FOR THE HEART

country! vi x reader fluff, angst, smut (18+), slow(?)burn, wc. 13.6k

synopsis: an intimate bond forms between an ill farmer's daughter, desperate for a taste of the outside world, and the helpful part-timing cowgirl at the farm. OR vi wants you bad, and what better way to get to know you than sneak you around town?

content warnings: illness, NOT read over, foul language, smut so mdni/18+, fingering r!receiving, controlling parent, health worries, fainting, slight insecurity, emotional rollercoaster but a fun one!!

soundtrack: my girl (the temptations) | our love (curtis harding + jazmine sullivan) | | we’ll never have sex (leith ross) | pillow (malcolm todd) | close to you (carpenters) | not a lot, just forever (adrianne lenker) | cool about it (boygenius) |  pancakes for dinner (lizzy mcalpine)(this sounds sm like vi to me) | kiss me (sixpence none the richer) | i bet on losing dogs (mitski)  aftercare (listen post-fic): force of nature (lizzy mcalpine)

Vi could strip naked right here, right now. 

And with her well known spontaneous personality, she would. Especially under the hundred degree heat that preys upon her and forces the girl’s freckled skin to glisten. But a: she’s with her siblings (enough said), and b: she’s working outdoors at the Laurier’s farm. Meaning only a handful of yards away, tucked in that blue, yellow, and white idyllic house covered with blooming botanical life, stands Mr. Laurier’s orphic daughter.

That’s all Violet’s ever heard about you, from children playing on the street to adults roaming the town shops. Ever since her adoptive father suggested she take this summer job before she goes back to focusing on her college work. Ever since her siblings and family friend jumped to tag along after Mr. Laurier decided ‘the more the merrier’. 

All that’s been filling Violet Lane's ears is information about you, or, the lack thereof. How you’re always locked up in that big residence. How you used to roam the town just like any other little rascal until five years ago, at the age of thirteen, when something out of her knowledge occurred. How stunning you look in a sundress. She tried to block that one out. 

“Why is it that Mylo’s drivin’ the tractor and not me?” Powder complains, pulling her clenched hand from the bag of chicken feed and tossing it on the ground for the horde to gobble. 

“Last time you tried to drive something I started praying.” Ekko throws out. His bun shaped hair bobbles as he finally pulls that one stubborn carrot from the ground and places it in the basket. 

“Besides Pow,” Violet starts, lifting a heavy brown box onto her shoulder and cradling it with just one arm. “You’re doin’ fine taking care of the animals. Mylo would be scaring them to death.” The pink haired girl sighed out, looking around.

Her gaze landed on the decorated porch, and she pursued. Vi set the last of the boxes down with a soft grunt before straightening her back and lifting her arms, clasped at the fingers, over her head to get a well-deserved stretch. 

The worker’s completely regretting her chosen position as the door swings open, and she looks heaven right in the eyes. 

You stand there in a white lace sundress covered in a juicy red pattern of cherries, a smile sweet enough to give a sugar high plastered on your stunning face. Vi’s gaze flickers down to your feet covered by red country boots. Above those are your soft looking hands holding a gift basket. When she’s done examining you, her blue-gray eyes trail their way back to yours– and it’s like whiplash. Once again, she’s blinded by those pearly whites and the tasty perfume radiating off of you. God help me, is the only phrase filling her mind because damn you’re ethereal. 

“Hi there, cowgirl.” You’re going to send Vi into cardiac arrest with just your voice. Thankfully, she realizes she needs to respond, and quickly wipes the dopey grin (that she wasn’t aware she had) off of her face. 

It’s not like everything is peaches and cream on your end. The girl’s tight white t-shirt is grasping onto her glistening biceps, her pretty bright eyes and the freckles that decorate her nose make her look blessed by the sun, and seeing such a beautiful yet handsome woman in a cowboy hat is doing foreign things to your stomach. ‘Wow’, is all your wandering mind formulates.

“Hi there, miss Laurier,” she copies you in her lower voice, and you notice the slit on her lip as it curls up into a soft smirk. You shake your head at her words with a polite smile, insisting she call you by your name, which you offer up. She repeats it once perfectly, claiming it ‘rolls right off the tongue’, and you crack a smile. 

“My father informed me that you’re the new help around here for the summer, so I decided to bake somethin’ for the five of you.” You’re sticking out the basket, decorated with a pink bow on top, for Vi to take. She does and quickly takes a peek inside. Five snickerdoodle cookies and one large cherry pie. You do stay on theme, and so, it starts.

“Thank you, cherry.” she cracks a smile that sends a shock down your body, and gently tips her hat.

Fourteen searing days pass on that farm, days filled with laughter, hard work, and the smell of life from the surrounding plants. 

But not for you. 

For each of those fourteen days, for the past one thousand eight hundred and twenty-five days, you’ve sat sideways in your window with your back against one side and your legs propped up on the wood. You read, journaled, book pressed flowers (that you had to sneak out front to get), took much needed resting breaks, tended to your pet lamb Daisy, and watched Footloose. Your sock-covered feet subtly shuffled side to side as if you were mimicking their dance moves in your head. 

Vi watched as you sat there all those days in your open window. Half of your body out in the fresh air and half cooped back up inside like the past five years of your life. It was as if you yearned to experience life completely outside the window, but you couldn’t. And so, you completed your daily activities the furthest away you could get. 

Until your eighteenth birthday came along. 

“Lord, can you focus instead of stalking your ‘cherry’,” Ekko mimics the pinkett’s voice with the last two words, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. 

“Bet she wants to pop her cherry.” Mylo snickers at his own joke, earning a slap to the nape from Claggor.

“Last warning Mylo. Don’t talk about her like that.” she replies firmly, furrowed brows making a little scowl. 

Claggor shakes his head softly, letting the tension between his siblings diffuse before speaking. “You know, you should do something other than just stare at her all day. It’s getting sad.” 

“Like?” the cowgirl responds with crossed arms.

“Ask her to hang out, obviously.” Powder pipes up, petting a sheep as she prepares to guide it inside the barn. “She’s always lookin’ so lonely. Swear the only time she smiled this past week was when you complimented her on those blackberry muffins she baked us.” 

“You know she’s not supposed to come out, Laurier said so. Pretty sure that’s why she stays upstairs, can’t even come out on the porch when we’re here no more.” Violet huffs.

“You think he thinks we’re a bad influence on her?” Ekko ask in confusion. Because truth be told, no one knew why you stayed locked up in that bright house, like a princess trapped in a tower. People knew better than to ask your father, and of course, they couldn’t get to you. Maybe it was time for someone to be your knight in shining armor.

“Doesn’t matter, he’s not even here right now.” Mylo insists. 

So, after a long back and forth conversation of weighing the possibilities, Violet’s shoved over to the shrubs in front of your second story window. You notice her when she’s there (you’ve been sneaking glances at her every so often), shifting your position so that you can look down on her as she calls out your name.

“Afternoon, cowgirl,” you coo, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. 

“Hey there, angel,” she simply replies with that signature smile, and your hands clench the frame you’re leaning on a bit tighter. “We’re done with the chores for today.”

“Oh. Well, get home safely.” you hum, eyes dropping in what Vi hopes is discontent, because her next words will cheer you right up. 

“Actually, we’re not headed home just yet. The five of us are headed out into the woods over there for a little.. chat." The glowing sunlight illuminates her face as she nods her head to Mylo, who’s allowing the brown paper bag to peek out of his backpack and into your vision. Alcohol. “Would you wanna come with us? Won’t take up too much of your time, I promise.” she asks with a cool voice but a pounding, fearful heart. 

No.

Or at least, that’s what you were supposed to say. It’s what you’d normally say. As much as your ill heart ached to connect with others, as much as you wanted to venture out of your home, as much as this strawberry-haired helper made you want to explore new things you’d only ever seen in movies, your answer always had to be no. 

But, unbeknownst to the others, today was your birthday. You had cautiously lived another year, and instead of feeling fulfilled, you only wonder how many you have left. 

You wanted to live, not survive.

You stared in contemplation before backing up, shutting the window and rushing out of the girl’s sight. 

Vi dropped her head down to the shrubs in front of her. It’s over. She blew it. 

“You scared her!” Ekko teased, making the girl whip her head around to show an angry stare. But the displeased expression faded faster than it formed when the creaking of that back door met her ears, and Powder gasped in joy and disbelief. 

“Lead the way.”

The walk along the trail of the woods to a more secluded area with cut wood stumps as seats was anything but quiet. Powder was talking your ear off about everything mechanic she worked on, treating you like you were from the middle ages rather than just sheltered. Claggor and Mylo were leading, causing the group numerous wrong turns and unplanned ‘shortcuts’ (they’d gotten lost along the way). Vi walked with Ekko on her left, quietly pumping her up and giving her the confidence she’d need to ‘make her move’. 

But despite the various noises, she couldn’t hear anything. Because strolling to her right was you, the girl she’s been infatuated with since first glance. She’s trying to be discreet, examining the way your hair falls, your scent, the way you press your lips together in thought before answering a question. It took the platinum blonde boy next to her elbowing her side before she came back to the real world. 

“I call first sip,” Powder squeaks, to which Violet scoffs, making a quip about how she’s only sixteen and scolding anyone who attempts to offer her the bottle. The bluenette brings up the fact that the others aren’t even the legal drinking age either, but it’s shut down because ‘an adult is an adult’.

“We’ll bring a juice box for you next time.” Mylo smirks, taking a long drag from the bag before offering it out to you. 

Despite the soft urge, you shake your head, because you know your limits. Your heart’s limits. Despite the fact that you’re ignoring the sweatiness of your palms and feeble limbs. 

Mylo hums. “Two juice boxes, then.” 

“Mylo–” Vi scolds, finally coming out of her trance. 

But her anger is cut short at the sound of a hearty chuckle coming from your mouth. And it’s the first time Vi’s ever heard you laugh. Genuinely laugh. It’s enough to bring stars to her already-bright eyes.

The conversation continues as the sun and clouds pass by. Eventually, the others are in a heated debate about the best character in some film you’ve never heard of, leaving you and Violet to shyly shift your attention towards each other.

“I’m glad you came. I noticed you.. don’t get out much?” Her tone is the gentlest it’s ever been. 

“I’m glad you invited me.” You easily avert her indirect question. It eats you alive, the want to tell her everything about you. How you have a “bad heart” as your father gently put it, and now you live your days mundanely so as to not risk triggering anything fatal. But the desire to live just one day in normalcy is stronger, and so you change topics. 

“You have very big muscles. I like them. Is that why you do most of the lifting things rather than herding cattle and such, like other cowgirls?” 

Vi feels her cheeks get toasty at the compliment and your almost-awkward forwardness. But you can’t help it, you’ve hardly had conversations with anyone but your father the past few years, let alone a handsome girl so close in age. It doesn’t matter much though, because Vi loves it.

“Not a real cowgirl. I’m only good for lifting what others can’t.” She chuckles a bit. “I just happen to own a horse— and I wear the hat of course… maybe the belt’s a little cowgirl-like too, but that’s all.” 

You smirk because that makes her a cowgirl in your book, but you politely hum and say nothing. 

The girl shifts her position to turn towards you more, and you swear your heart stops when one of her manspread knees leans against your crossed ones and makes no attempt to move. She examines your behavior, and when she sees the ghost of a smile on your lips, she leans on her opened legs slightly to get more comfortable.

“So what do y’ do in that big house all day, angel? Must get lonely.” 

These nicknames are doing terribly good things to you. 

You hum. She’s completely correct, but the last thing you want is for her to pity you. “Bake a lot, shop in the catalogs, watch movies, write in my books.” You shrug. “Oh,  and I take care of my Daisy girl.” A smile graces your perfect lips. 

“That your dog? Never seen her around,” she asked with questioning brows.

“No,” you giggle, sending Vi into heaven. So beautiful. “It’s my lamb.”

A beat passes before she responds, a glint in her eye. “So I should be calling you Bo Peep?” she jokes. 

You laugh, knocking your knees against hers in playful scolding. Simple words, simple touches, a simple gathering that may be day to day life for anyone else in the town. But for you, this was the best thing to happen in years. 

“Daisy’s a sweet name, matches her sweetheart of an owner.” she compliments you, and you graze your hand over your heart because you can’t decipher why it’s speeding up. “We sound real rugged compared to you. Our dog’s name is Rusty. Powder ch–” 

“Hey!” 

A deep, raspy voice calls out from behind you. A few of you whip your heads around to see the source of the noise, whereas others stand out of shock as the man comes into your sight. “What are y’all doing on my property? Get over here!” He’s moving quickly towards the group, and Ekko’s the first to move his feet.

“Time to go,” Vi says hastily, standing. Without thinking, she takes your hands and pulls you to a stand. “You a good runner?” 

No. I don’t know. I haven’t had anywhere to run in years.

That’s what you should’ve said, but as stated earlier, a life of normalcy for today. And so, you lie.

“Sure– yes, yes.” 

Vi nods at that, tightening her grasp on one of your hands as she rushes to exit along with the others. Your hands stay intertwined as the pair of you dash through the greenery, avoiding unfriendly hanging branches, jumping over logs, and ducking under leaves. 

You’re terrified. The same glistening sweat that forms in your clammy hands makes another appearance on your forehead. A prickle crawls its way up your throat, and suddenly you’re hacking into your elbow as the cowgirl guides you close to her body while you near the edge of the woods. Your little red problem pounds against your chest as if it’s begging you to stop, to give up before it does, but you can’t.

The man moves quickly, but he’s no match for adolescents of the countryside. By the time you reach the fields of your farm, he’s nowhere to be found. 

Powder’s hollering and cheers of victory sound broken, doubling and distilled, coupled with a soft ringing sound and pressure around your head that only grows the longer you stand. The only thing you can hear clearly is your quick panting. That deep red blood is draining from your head and blazing heat is left in its place. 

A blurry and distant Violet comes into your impaired vision, and you feel the soft sensation of her cupping your face with worried hands. “Cherry?” 

Your mind’s swirling with thousands of sensations, and your terrified breaths grow increasingly shallow until you can’t fight to stay awake any longer, falling into the arms of Vi. There’s yelling, someone scooping you up into their protective arms, orders being thrown around as you’re rushed towards the house, then silence. Complete and utter silence. 

The female lead is on your screen twirling and rolling her hips with glee for the third time this week, and you wonder if you'll get a chance to dance like that.

It’d been three days since you fainted after running from the farmer down the trail, three days since you’ve seen Violet (or any of the farm helpers), and three days since you’ve felt that inexplicable warmth in the pit of your stomach. 

While you rendered unconscious, Vi and the others scrambled to get your limp body inside. They laid you out on your bed, arguing about whether or not to call for help, because they had no clue what was wrong with you.

Of course, you woke up a couple minutes later as you always do. You were confused and terrified, but strictly instructed to rest by the friends who promised they’d stay until your father arrived. Fatigued even more than normal, you complied.

When your father arrived home an hour later, he stumbled upon Powder placing an ice pack on your sleeping head, Claggor and Mylo pacing the room in worry, Ekko attempting to research what exactly would have caused your current state, and Violet looking sick to her stomach as she cradled your soft hands in her rough ones; praying to whoever’s up there that you’d be fine. 

Needless to say, once they’d confessed to leaving for the woods and running back (leaving out every bit alcohol related), he’d been beyond furious, placing you on total lockdown for recovery and demanding the helpers avoid the farm for a couple of days. After you’d gotten your medication in you and recovered after a full day of rest, he chewed you out too. ‘You know I’m just trying to keep you safe.’

But you didn’t want safe anymore, you wanted life. 

And Violet walked right through your front door. Literally.

The pinkette runs a hand through her fluffy hair before securing the cowboy hat back on her head. Her eyes are searching the house for the kitchen when they land on you, and a wave of relief washes over her.

“Hi, angel.” 

Your heart speeds up, and this time, you don’t need to question it. 

“Hi Violet,” you coo shyly, standing from your comfy position on the couch and making your way over to her, hands clasped behind your back. 

She wastes no time cradling your face in her calloused fingers, the pair of your soft breaths filling the silence as the girl looks over you, finishing her personal assessment before swiping a thumb across your cheek in gentle comfort. 

“I was so worried about you,” the whisper fell from her lips without shame. 

“I’m fine, really.” you speak in the same tone, leaning into her sweet hand.

“No, you’re not.” That catches you off guard. “When your father saw what happened he panicked, said something about your heart and thought you were…” she let your mind fill the blank with a glint of pain in her blue-gray eyes. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?” 

Your eyes drop to the floor, and before you have time to think about it, you speak. “I’m sick. The bad kind of sick that doesn’t just go away after a couple days.” you can’t look her in the eyes as you speak, just placing a finger to your chest. “I have a ‘bad heart’, as my father puts it. Don’t have a lot of energy, can’t do much without getting too overwhelmed, dizzy spells and such..” 

You expect to see a crack in Vi’s sweet eyes, a sign of distaste, of regret for caring about a broken girl, but her gaze only softens and a tender hand moves a piece of hair from your face. 

“That why you’re cooped up in here?” she asks, even though she knows the answer. You nod. 

It’s silent for some time, and the two of you enjoy the other’s presence in such a milestone moment. 

“I have somethin’ for the five of you,” you finally speak, pulling from her affectionate grasp. She nods, wiping the worry she feels in the pit of her stomach away so that she can be there for you. You stroll into the kitchen with the cowgirl behind you, opening and rummaging around the fridge as she takes a needed seat at the marble island. 

She looks over your attire. A big bright red sweater hangs off your shoulders that covers your shorts, and a white bow in your hair that brings a smile back to her face.

You turn back around, setting down a tiffany blue cupcake platter and perfectly made white-frosted cupcakes with a purple design in the middle. You then pull out some tupperware, transferring cupcakes into it as Vi speaks. 

“They’re Violets,” she says in surprise and you giggle, only nodding your head. 

Marry me she thinks, before coming up with something more plausible to say. “Is this what you’re studying in college? You're gonna be a chef or somethin’ angel?” 

You pause before barely shaking your head. “Not goin’ to college this year.. my father says I need a gap year before ‘making any big decisions’,” you scoff, because the truth is he just can’t let you go. “Worries me though. He won’t go out and buy me any textbooks or anything, I’m gonna go stupid.” you whine.

Vi presses her lips together, clearly sharing your discontent with the situation. 

“Well, I know you’ll do great when you go. There’s already a strong brain in that pretty head of yours,” she grins. 

A smile forms against your will as you look up at the girl. 

“You think I’m pretty, Violet?’ 

She responds quickly, like the words spilled out of her heart rather than being formulated in her head. “I think you’re gorgeous. Whoever’s up there took their time making you.” 

Comfortable silence ensues as the room’s filled with pounding hearts and warm faces of passion. Finally, you finish packing up Vi’s cupcakes and place the box in front of her. She thanks you, looking to the side in thought before an idea flickers across her face. 

The girl rises, lifting the hat from her head and leaning over the marble to place it atop your surprised head. She doesn’t wait for your reaction as she picks up the cupcake box and a wooden crate from the ground (what she should’ve been doing in the first place). “Keep that safe for me until tomorrow, cherry.” 

“But isn’t tomorrow your day off?” you ask, flicking the front of the hat so it’s above your eyes.

“Yeah. I’m coming to see you tomorrow.”

The sun couldn’t set and rise fast enough. 

You waited in so much anticipation that you woke up an hour earlier, practically shoved your father out of the house with his breakfast, and spent any extra time at a mirror fixing an out of place hair or switching your outfit for the fifth time. 

You don’t know why you do– why you care so much. But before you can think too hard on it, the sound of someone pulling into your driveway blesses your ears and there’s six soft knocks at the front door. 

And so it starts with you and Vi seated on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. Your backs lean against the lower portion of the soft matter, and Vi pulls out a book. Four books, to be exact. One for each core subject.

You furrowed your brows in confusion, looking from the pile of literature to the fluffy haired girl. 

“I was thinkin’ I'd bring some textbooks to you since you can’t get ‘em yourself. I’m in my second year now so I won’t be needin’ these ones anymore.” She somehow speaks with both suave confidence and warm-faced fear in unison. “We could make it a thing, y’know. Preparing for classes together.” 

“Yes!” You speak with starstruck orbs. 

Violet laughed with relief, because if she had to be completely honest, that wasn’t the only reason she was here. She didn’t need this time to prepare, maybe a quick refresh before the year started, but she definitely didn’t need to be studying during summer. But if it gave her a chance to connect with you, she’d study until her brain burst. 

The helpers’ off days were Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. So that’s when Violet would pack her books, hop in her truck, and haul ass to your farm. Each session was the same. You’d start out in comfortable silence reading your separate texts and answering questions or jotting notes down, then Violet would make a stupid joke about a picture in the book or get sidetracked by your bookshelf of dvds in front of her, and minutes later the room would be filled with fits of laughter, fuzzy brains, and your books completely discarded. 

“‘Dirty dancing’? Damn cherry, your father know you watch this stuff?” Vi grins, sliding the movie case back into its spot along the brown wooden shelf. 

“It’s not that kinda movie, Violet. It’s like.. set in the sixties.” you huff, holding back a smile at her playful words. The pinkette takes her seat next to you on the couch, manspread legs and a cunning smirk just inches away from your face.

“And what exactly is ‘one of those movies’, doll?” she teases.

You scoff.

“I’m sheltered, not stupid.” you play, a soft hand coming up to push against the girl’s arm. 

Something flickers across the pinkette’s face before suddenly, she’s on top of you. 

You’re pushed onto your back against the plush couch as pure muscle weighs above you, powerful hands swirl at your waist before your laughter fills her ears and your hand shoots out to grab at one of her arms. The pair of you struggle for power, pushing back and forth, twisting bodies, and yelling out competitive quips. 

Finally, you smush the palm of your hand against Violet’s face, momentarily stunning her before the stronger girl grabs both of your wrists and pins them right above your head. 

Soft panting and awestruck eyes decorate the both of you. The air is tighter, every inch of your body is suddenly aware of your positions, and no words are exchanged as you savor the feeling of her touch. God you feel weak, but you don’t know whether to place the reasoning on Violet or your heart. 

Violet’s about to lose it, because with the way your sweet eyes are trailing up her body to her face, her heart is clear. 

She wants– no, craves you. Bad. 

It’s quiet for a moment longer before Vi clears her throat, reluctantly letting go of your wrists while moving back to stand. 

“We deserve a study break.” the cowgirl hums, crouching and examining the lower levels of the bookshelf. 

“We haven’t even been studying,” you throw back and fix your skirt while sitting up. Vi finds the record she’s been searching for, pulls it from its sleeve, and adjusts the player.

“Okay smart ass, we deserve a break.” she grins and the stylus hits the circular item. 

A soft, sensual song makes its way through the air. It’s older, a woman singing softly about her lover’s perfection, and you warm at the thought of a special someone fantasizing about you to the tune. 

Vi stands in the middle of the spacious room, and when you don’t move she waves her arm. “C’mere.”

You stand (a little quicker than you should’ve), and make your way over. She wastes no time, gently moving one of your hands to her shoulder and intertwining fingers with your other. As for your free hand, she tenderly places it on your waist, looking for any discomfort in your face. All she’s met with is big eyes of wonder and god, she’s screwed. 

“Just follow my lead.” she’s speaking sensually under the music, thumb rubbing at your waist. 

“Oh please, I could dance circles around you.” you quip.

“I’m sure you could, doll. But it’s a slow dance, so we work together.” Your bodies move closer as she speaks, making you smile and lose the sassy attitude for a moment. Just a moment.

Angelic vocals encase the two of you. There are only sounds of that and gentle side steps before you speak once more. 

“Did you know it was my birthday?” You stare straight into her eyes.

“Wait, what?” 

“The day we went to the woods. Is that why you asked me to come? Because it was my birthday?” you tilt your head.

She blinks twice before huffing a laugh. “No, I didn’t know. This mean I made you faint and get in trouble with your pops as a present?” 

You smile to yourself at the coincidence, holding her hand a bit tighter. 

“Have you danced with someone like this before?” she asks.

You shake your head before pausing. “Well, once with my mother, but I was very little.” 

Vi’s eyes soften a bit more. “Is she..?” 

You nod. “It happened when I was eleven. She had the same problem as me, that’s why he’s so protective.” Your voice is soft as you refer to your father. “I understand him, I really do, but I’m just so tired of being separate from the world.”

The girl can only nod, the hand around your waist snakes around to your back and pulls closer until your bodies are almost plush against each other. 

“Thank you for trusting me with that,” she whispers. And suddenly, there’s soft giggles. You’re laughing because the tough, suave cowgirl you know can be such a sap. 

Your laughter dies down and you shake your head before placing it between the crook of Vi’s neck, softening into your sappy cowgirl. “Talk to me about something good,” you hum.

“I’m takin’ you out on a date Friday.” 

Your eyes widen and you pull your head back to look her in the eyes.

She stammers and mentally groans because you’re the only one who could ever make Violet Lane stammer. “Well– if you say yes.” 

No.

That’s what you’re supposed to say, and what you should say. Not because of your father’s influence, not for your safety, but because you’re afraid. Afraid of the trouble you could get Vi into, of dealing with the unknown, but most importantly you were afraid of hurting her. 

While you aren’t bedridden, your life is fragile, and the thought of being a burden to Vi was heavy and present. How long could she stand you until she got tired of your neediness? How long until she’s tired of hearing about all the things you can’t do? She’s spontaneous, reckless, fun, and you thought she deserves to end up with someone just like that. Someone you’re not. 

But right now, you want her, and she needs you, so you give her what you can. 

“Of course,” you agree with a genuine, toothy smile, and the pinkette sighs of relief. 

The song finally comes to a stop. 

For the first time, you’re glad your father works all day long, because there’s no way you could sneak someone as loud as Powder around your house. 

Her squeals of embarrassment and your laughter echo from the kitchen throughout every room of your home. Your canvases and paints are neglected as you point an accusatory finger at a message on her screen. A message from ‘Ekko <3’. 

“I knew it! The way you talk to each other– ‘Oh Ekko! You’re just so smart,’” you mock her, making the girl’s face change colors faster than you’ve ever seen. 

“I do not say things like that!” She yells back, making you giggle harder. “And we aren’t dating.” 

“Why not?” you whine. You clasp your hands as if a plea is about to fall from your lips when a ding rings throughout the room. You look down and gasp. A message from ‘Lux <3’. 

You pause, eyes flickering to the girl. “Do you have everyone saved with a heart?”

She shakes her head. 

“Just those two?”

She nods. 

“Oh, this is just like the movies!�� Your laughter repeats like a loop. The girl groans at you and moves her phone to the other end of the marble countertop. “I’m kidding– awhh, Powder!”

She shakes her head. “This conversation is all the way over.”

It takes a moment for your giggles to die down, and soon you’re nudging the bluenette’s shoulder with yours gently. “You’ll make the right decision, just don’t waste time overthinking it. Follow your heart.” 

She raises her eyebrows, picking up her paintbrush. “I could give you the same advice.” 

You scoff out a laugh, gaze landing on your taunting medications in the corner of a counter. “My heart is fighting itself. Wants two different things at once. Certainly can’t have both.” 

“Then follow your mental heart, not your physical one.” 

You pause, brows furrowing as you look at her with suspicious eyes. “Did Violet..” 

Powder shakes her head before you can finish. “No. She can keep a secret, especially for you. I connected the dots on my own,” she shrugs, swiping an electric blue line across the clean canvas. “Y’know, the meds, how protective your father is. Once, on one of your bad days, I looked through a window and saw you sitting down a third of the way up the stairs looking all dizzy and breathless. You fainting just tied it all together,” she hums. 

You burn holes into the ground with your utterly ashamed gaze.

“I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, but you should live the life you want rather than being trapped in one you yearn to escape. And you can count on that big baby to protect you.” You let out a little laugh, nodding at the younger girl’s sweet words. 

“Oh yeah, she wanted me to give you this. Dummy forgot it yesterday.” 

Powder sets the brush down and rummages around her tote bag that lays on the counter, pulling out a tiny black velvet box and handing it to you before turning back to her self-proclaimed masterpiece. 

Your heart swells in the best way possible, and you flick open the little clasp to reveal a thick golden ring with two red dots and a green leaf in the middle. It’s accompanied by a small white note with bright red writing.

‘Happy birthday, cherry.’

“I knew they were together!”

You stare out of the windows of Vi’s truck into the town square. Your gaze is fixed on Miss Medarda and Mister Talis, who are sitting suspiciously close to each other on a bench near one of the decorative fountains. 

Vi fixes her dark brown hat as a laugh escapes her. “No way, he’s always chatting up this guy– one of the professors at U.P.” Vi refers to her college, and it takes you a second to understand. 

“His hand was on her thigh, Violet. That was pure romance.” 

Vi pauses, seemingly focused on the road ahead, but the lightbulb look behind her eyes that appears makes you think otherwise. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll see who’s right.” she jokes after remembering she hadn’t responded. 

Vibrant sunlight hits almost every inch of the truck and illuminates the town that passes by as the pinkette turns down a road surrounded by greenery. You spin the gifted ring on your finger once, then twice, out of nervousness. It’d been years since you left your house for anything but the doctor’s, let alone a date. A thousand and one possibilities whirled through your mind, but were quickly flushed out at the sound of Vi’s voice. 

“I see you got your gift,” she smiles, eyes flicking away from the road down to your ring and back. “I like how it looks on you.” 

She was skilled at putting up a flirtatious and unbothered front, because on the inside you had her absolutely melting. Out of all ten options, you chose to secure her gift on your left ring finger. 

You’ll be the death of her, no doubt. 

“It’s perfect,” you look over to her with hearts in your eyes. “Thanks, cowgirl.” 

She nods, eyes flickering back down before she takes her right hand off of the wheel and down to thumb the end of your shorts. “I like these too, real damn pretty.” 

You giggle, and somehow the swarm of butterflies in your gut doubles in size, because instead of returning to the wheel, the girl’s hand is delicately placed onto your inner thigh. Her calloused hands gently cup your skin, and she’s grateful you can’t read minds because she’s terrified of your potential reaction.

You can’t fight the smile that crawls its way onto your warm face. The only thought that runs through your mind is how this is even better than the movies.

“Well I hope I’m dressed well enough for whatever we’re doing today. Wish you woulda told me.” You finally reply, softening under her touch. You swear you hear her let out a little sigh of relief. 

“That’d ruin the surprise. I’ve gotta wow you.” she sends you a wink and your laughter fills the car with joy. 

It doesn’t take long until you’re pulling into the driveway of Violet’s house. It’s beautiful, all brown and white with flowers out front that Powder planted herself, high school graduation yard signs, and fresh open space. Still, a panicked look sets on your face. 

“Wait, wait, Vander’s gonna see me– he’ll tell my dad,” you stammer.

Vi cuts the engine, gently taking a hold of your chin to redirect your gaze as she speaks reassuringly. “Hey, hey. He’s not here you worrywart, won’t be home until late tonight.” Your eyes soften and you sigh. “Besides,” she starts, “we’re going over there.” 

Just past the house is a matching white and brown barn-esque building. Stables.

“She’s so big!” you yell with awestruck eyes as Vi pulls the red roan out of the stables by the lead. “What’s her name? When’d you get her? Wow I’ve never seen one of these up close, mama was afraid of ‘em and my father doesn’t ride.” You speak at rapid fire making Violet snicker. 

“Slow down,” she instructs, standing between you and the hairy beauty. The girl takes your hand, placing it on the horse’s shoulder, giving you the okay to pet. “Her name’s Gunner, she was my fifteenth birthday present, and I can’t imagine your pops getting anywhere near a horse.” You playfully hit her with your unoccupied hand. 

“Gunner,” you whisper, “badass.” 

Vi chuckles, because swearing sounds so foreign to you.

“You ready?” She asks, slipping her black riding helmet on your head.

“Wait, what?”

“You think I brought you here just to stare at her?” she smirks, completely mesmerized by your face while tightening the straps of the protective gear. “We’ll go slow this time, I promise. Okay?” 

The promise of this happening again makes your heart flutter, and all of the gears in your brain stop spinning before you respond, “Okay.”

She helps you onto Gunner, patting the small of your back before hopping up right behind you. Her warm arms snake around your waist and grab hold of the reins in her hands. Her muscular front is smushed against your back, her head placed inches to the right of yours. 

“Now, gently squeeze his middle with your calves,” she instructs.

You obey, and the red roan begins its walk. It’s slow, peaceful, but such a new experience to you that a sweet gasp of surprise falls from your lips. 

The two of you sit in silence, appreciating the comfort of each others’ presence and warm golden light shining upon you as the beauty of nature captures you. In the green pasture of Vi’s fields, you feel like you’re breathing for the first time in five long years. 

Gunner simply walks for a few minutes as you point out pretty flowers that you pass and Violet mentally compiles a bouquet for you. Vi’s talking about her years as a kid in this field. When she’d lost (and found) her favorite toy bunny out here, or dared Mylo to walk through the vast field at the dead of night. Suddenly you’re begging to see some baby photos. 

It’s at this moment that everything’s easy. Vi’s admiring everything about you with eyes of love when–

Gunner’s neigh sounds like a shriek of terror when three birds zip past, spooking the roan into a 180 and bolt away before Vi can make it out of her trance. 

You yelp from the sudden change in speed, almost slipping off of the animal, but Vi’s there to keep you securely fastened against her as she takes control of it. Just as fast as it changed, Gunner’s speed slows to a stop. You can feel just how tense Vi is as she speaks. 

“Shit. I’m so sorry, doll. She gets spooked so easily and– god, I’m sorry for scarin’ you.”

It’s silent for a moment. The scariest moment of the pink haired girl’s life, because she can’t see your twinkling grin that spreads from ear to ear before you laugh. 

“That was so cool!” you beam, leaning forward to pat at the horse. “Not so badass though, huh?”

After a few more apologies and you repeatedly telling Vi that it was fine, you two decided it was best to turn in for the day. 

You sigh, sitting against the short wooden fence. “I wanna rest for a minute, that okay?” ‘I need to take a rest, I don’t have any energy’ is what you actually mean, but you choose not to worry her. 

She wastes no time plopping down onto the grass next to you, eyes raising to the baby blue sky. She gives you a few moments of silence, sneaking glances at your face every so often, before speaking. 

“Powder and Claggor were talking about how awesome it’d be if we took you to a Seraphine concert. Think you’d like her music a lot.” she hums, smiling to herself. 

“And one day, I'm gonna take you line dancing so we can settle our little debate once and for all.” Her grinning face is inches away from you and her overpowering scent of amber and musk ensues. 

“Oh really?” Your voice is soft as your head turns, looking Violet up and down with half-lidded eyes. “I think..” 

You quickly mount Vi’s lap, pushing the girl onto her back and pinning those muscular arms right beside her head with both of your hands. You’re both all giggles and grunts, and even though there’s no way you’d stand a chance against her in a real tussle, she lets you win. 

You lay there, one atop the other in a field of colors. The tension is so thick that not even a knife could cut it, and your grip softens when tender hands reach up to cup your face, a thumb stroking your cheek. The sun, her hands, her sparkling blue eyes, and the love radiating between the two of you has you all but melting. You’re leaning down, inching closer each second, and just before Vi’s dreams come true, you stop. 

You pull back with newly glossy eyes, dismounting the girl while whispering apologies that get lodged in your throat. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

You want nothing more than to connect your lips and hearts, but you were so afraid. How long until she resents you? How long until it’s over? You’d grown accustomed to heartaches, but never heartbreak.

But Violet craves you more than plants crave water, she needs you more than the Earth needs the sun. You just don’t know it. 

“Hey,” she whispers, sitting up and holding your chin as if routine. “Look at me, angel.” 

You comply with built up tears that threaten to stain your cheeks. 

“You don’t have to apologize for something like that,” she consoles, never looking away from your softened eyes. “We can go as slow or as fast as you want, okay?” 

You wipe your tears with the side of your hand, choking out your words. “I just– I don’t want to disappoint you.” I don’t want you to hate me once I’m gone. 

“Disappoint me?” She stiffles out a laugh. “You don’t know how bad I want you. But I’ll wait until the end of time if you ask me to, hell, I’d lasso the moon and bring it down if you wanted.”

That makes you sniffle and let out a breathy laugh, bringing Violet some relief. The girl slowly inches forward to make sure you’re completely okay with it before placing a warmhearted kiss to your forehead. It’s quick and simple, but causes an eruption of butterflies in your gut. Soon, your troubles are forgotten. 

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” 

“What’d I say about keeping this door open?” Vi raises a brow, leaning against the doorframe as she stares at an unbothered Powder who’s doing her mascara, and a flustered Ekko. 

“Must’ve been the wind.” Powder mutters.

“She wouldn’t listen!” He raises his hands in innocence from his position on a neon pink beanbag.

It’s silent before the three burst out in laughter, and Vi’s shaking her head as they catch their breath. 

“Hurry up though, we’re gonna be late to Laurier’s.” 

“Not today, Vi.” Vander’s voice bellows from behind her, making her turn her head with furrowed brows. “He gave the five of you a day off.” 

A smile graces Ekko’s lips and Powder is whooping in the back, but Vi’s lips drop into a subtle frown. 

“Awhh,” Powder coos, “poor Vi doesn’t get to see her girlfriend today, how ever will she live?” 

The teens snicker, but the pinkette notices the uneasy look on his face, the one where he has something to say but just can’t spit it out. “What?” 

The burly man runs a hand across his beard with a sigh. 

“His daughter.” The entire room pauses. “She's terribly ill today, bedridden. He’s staying home to watch over her so there’s no need for far–”

Vander doesn’t get to finish his explanation, because Vi’s pulling the keys from her pocket and rushing past him towards the front door. 

It takes almost running three red lights and a long, torturous talk with your father about being able to speak to you just for an hour, but at your bedroom door stands Vi, taking off her hat to look at you with big worried eyes. “Cherry,” she calls out. 

You feel absolutely horrendous. 

Your breaths are shallow, your ankles feel swollen beyond belief (you thanked god Violet couldn’t see them from under the blanket), and your eyelids weighed a thousand pounds, threatening to drop from fatigue. 

“What’s going on? What can I do?” she asks, wasting no time walking over to your pretty bed and taking a seat right next to you. 

You shake your pillow-elevated head, laying on your side to face her with a soft smile. “Can’t do anything, it’s just a bad day.” You reach a hand out to grab her calloused one and intertwine your fingers. “Just glad you’re here.”

“How’d you get past my father?” you whisper, relaxing into the soft matter.

Vi huffs out a laugh, readjusting to lay down as she speaks. “Convinced him that I’m extremely knowledgeable in this area because I’m studying to be in the medical field. So he thought it’d be fine if I watched over you while he feeds the cattle.” 

You giggle with a teasing look. “Oh yeah, what have you learned?” 

“Cherries are good for the heart,” she says all ‘matter of fact’ like. “They have potassium and antioxidants to reduce inflammation.” 

“I should be the one calling you cherry, then.” You hum. You don’t know how much it means to Vi to hear that she’s ‘good for you’.

It’s quiet again, and you spend time shamelessly looking over every inch of the girl’s face, landing on her powder-blue orbs. “You know, your children would have some beautiful eyes.” 

“And yours would be beautiful all around,” there’s not a trace of doubt in her voice. “What would you name them?” She asks and throws out silly names as you look around in thought, “Batman? Lice? Maddie?” 

“How is Maddie as bad as those names?” 

“I just don’t like it!”

Your giggles fill the room before you shake your intertwined hand. “Maybe either.. Josie or Clementine? They sound.. warm. Safe.” 

Vi nods, pulling you closer into her chest and draping an arm over you that cradles your back, “Josie it is.”

Your ears burn as you nuzzle into her. “And we’ll live in a big pretty house in the city, surrounded by noise and culture and life.” You wished so badly. 

“We?” Vi asks.

“Me, Josie… and you.” You look up at her with the last of your body’s strength. “If you’ll join us.” 

That spark in Violet’s stomach has grown to a full fire heating her body. Her dream girl’s lying in her arms, talking her ears off about their hypothetical future together, all while looking up at her with pupils blown wide as if she’s your knight in shining armor.

“Of course,” she agrees, “but we’ll have to bring Rusty and Gunner along.” 

You snicker with a nod. “Sounds perfect.” 

There’s a glint in the girl’s eyes as she trails her hand up your back to the soft skin of your face. “A pretty house, an adorable daughter, my rascal animals,” you let out a weak laugh, “and my pretty girl to share it all with.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Yours?” you tease.

“Yeah, mine.” 

She’s tracing meaningless patterns on your neck with one hand while tucking a piece of hair behind your ear with the other. And god, whatever this feeling is it’s too good, too sweet, too sensual. Your waiting lips are slightly agape in awe, and it doesn’t take long before Vi whispers, “Can I?” 

This time, ‘yes’ is the only word that pops into your brain and slips from your mouth as Vi’s lips crash into yours. 

Her lips are melting into yours with so much intensity that it’s hard to keep up. You let her take the lead while your scents, minds, and tongues mix together in a bundle of passion. Her grip around you never loosens. Fingers thread through your hair, and her slightly chapped lips dread leaving yours, because your kisses are the air she needs to breathe. 

A whine falls from you when she reluctantly pulls away from your sweet mouth, placing four chaste kisses on your cheeks, nose, and forehead. 

“You need to rest,” she coos, peppering your forehead with another (much needed) kiss, and keeping the close proximity as her arms wrap around you. There’s no argument, because the adrenaline rush from her kiss is wearing off and that wave of exhaustion snakes its way back. 

There you lay, bodies intertwined and souls tying as the sound of Vi’s healthy heartbeat lulls you to sleep. 

Once you’re out, you stay sound asleep as Vi hesitantly leaves your bed.

You stay sound asleep as she trots downstairs where your father places weights of guilt upon her, claiming he knows you two have been sneaking around, and it’s her fault you’re in this current state. 

You stay sound asleep as he demands she doesn’t return to the farm, permanently. 

With every inch of your worn down heart, you hate Violet Lane. 

And while deep down you know that’s not the slightest bit true, you still act like it. 

When you woke up the next day, the birds singing and a beaming face as you skipped downstairs to hug your father good morning, the last thing you expected was to hear the all too confusing news that Vi had quit. Along with the rest of her siblings and friend just an hour after. 

Unfortunately, you were none the wiser, and slowly sulked up the stairs and sank into your bed where you cried yourself back to sleep. 

For the first couple days, it didn’t make sense. The way she looked at you with those big puppy dog eyes, her tender care, the ways she spoke to and about you, it all seemed so real. It had to be real. 

On day three, you decided that acting was just one of her many skills. 

By day four, you had it figured out, or so you thought. Vi was a flirtatious asshole who wanted nothing more than some street credit for kissing the untouchable, locked up, sick princess right under her overbearing father’s nose. Coming to and believing such a conclusion felt like a stab in the side, and the knife only twisted when you factored in the fact that the others must’ve known about this, which is why they left alongside her. 

You thought you’d become accustomed to all of the heart pains in the world, but you were wrong.

Tears fell from your eyes like a waterfall until they grew dry, your baking pans yearned to be used but were shoved away into a cabinet, and what hurt the most was knowing your father was right for keeping you locked up all these years. You weren’t free, but you were safe. 

Finally, on day five, you’re engulfed by the plush matter of your couch when there’s six knocks at the door and someone’s calling out for you: “Cherry?” 

You scoff at her audacity. 

When you storm over and yank open the door with the meanest glare Vi’s ever seen from the prettiest girl she knows, you’re met with Ekko leaning against your white picket fence with his arms crossed, Powder standing next to him with a worried face, Claggor and Mylo relaxed against Vi’s bright red truck, and said truck-driver right in front of you looking absolutely sick. 

And you slam the door right in her backstabbing face.

“Seriously?” Vi huffs out, earning a stifled laugh and whistle from Mylo.

“Go away, Violet.” You yell through the door, voice the sternest she’s ever heard.

“Fuck no. What’s going on?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” you counter, back pressed against your barrier. “You got all that you wanted from me, and then you quit and disappear from my life. So why are you back, huh?” 

You’re lucky you’re packed with pent up anger, because tears are bubbling in the corners of your eyes and yelling is the only thing keeping them from spilling over.

“What?” the pinkette's completely taken aback, because she has no clue what you’re on about. 

“That’s not–” she sighs, lowering her voice before speaking. “I’ll never get enough of you. I’d take a thousand kisses and so, so much more if you’d let me, but that’s not why I see you, angel.”

Your eyes soften and hurt brows furrow because damn, she’s a good actress. 

“And I didn’t quit. That afternoon when you fell asleep, your old man practically dragged me out of your house and fired me. Said I caused your symptoms to worsen. I thought I’d lay low for a few days– and believe me when I say these were the hardest days of my life, but I didn’t want to get you in any trouble.” 

Your bottom lip is bitten red until you finally cave, creeping the door open just enough to show your face.

“You promise?” you ask, and Violet’s heart is aching. 

“Cross my heart.” she replies.

That’s all it takes for you to swing the door open and jump into her arms. She stumbles back in surprise before applying the same force, arms wrapping around your waist as she melts into yours cradling her neck. 

You’re sniffling, taking deep breaths before you speak. “Really thought you left me,” you croak out. 

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” she teases, placing a tender kiss on your forehead as you giggle and blink away tears. 

“Now go get changed, we’re going out,” a grin tugs at the corner of her lips when your happy eyes make contact with hers. You blink, an idea flashing across your face, before pulling her inside by the wrist, yelling “just a minute!” to the others, before hastily shutting the door. 

Violet’s eyes graze over every last atom of your body as your hips sway in front of her, babbling with Powder about who knows what, because she hasn’t been focused since you dragged her into your bedroom ‘innocently’ needing help with your outfit. 

She stood in your doorway curiously, thinking she’d only be there for a second, maybe you’d never been to a rodeo and needed advice. 

That was, until you paused at your walk in closet, a cheeky smirk on your lips that Vi desperately wanted to taste as you nod your head towards the bed. “Sit.” 

And she obeyed, manspread legs at the edge of your bed as you walk infront of her with a few items on white hangers. All frills, lace, denim skirts and shorts, and Vi’s reasonably concluded she died and went to heaven. 

“I could wear..” you shift the hangers around, “this with this skirt, or maybe these shorts and.. ooh, these boots match my panties.” You get a rise out of seeing the usually suave girl short circuit at the words that bless her ears. Definitely in heaven. 

But Vi came to the realization that she was, in fact, alive. Because her heart truly stopped beating when she helped you settle on your pieces, threw her a sugary sweet “thanks, Vi,” did a casual 180, and stuck your ass out to drag your skirt down painfully slow. 

Oh, those boots do match your panties. 

Now here you stand in a lacy red top, denim shorts that have her thanking god for your creation, and matching cherry red cowgirl boots that graced her eyes the first day you met. 

Neverending chatter fills your ears from other attendees, the overwhelming scent of kettle popcorn from a nearby booth stuffs your nostrils, and you see Ekko nudge at Vi, saying something that you can’t hear over the bluenette beside you talking your ear off about the stunning horses she sees. 

Suddenly, Vi’s walking up to you and smushing her hat onto your head with her famous smirk. “Keep it safe for me, doll?”

You nod mindlessly, a hand coming up to fix its position on your head. 

“Where ya goin’?” Powder calls out to the platinum blonde boy who’s ushering Vi to hurry up.

“Our annual face off,” he throws her a wink, and the girl’s rolling her eyes with a playful scoff. 

Before you can even ask, she’s locking arms with you and dragging you along to an even more crowded area. There’s various groups of people surrounding a blocked off area containing a big, black, circular inflatable mat. And directly in the middle is a mischievous brown mechanical bull. 

“Are they..” and your question is deemed useless when Ekko mounts the hairy machine, pumping his hands up in motion for the crowd to whoop and holler. Of course, they do. 

Ekko does good, to say the least.

One hand grips the bull while the other is thrown up into the air as the machine thrashes him and his white locs every which way. The intensity increases as it tauntingly speeds up, thrashing harder, and spinning recklessly. Finally, he’s bucked off, rolling to a stand and flashing his pearly whites as the crowd cheers.

A giggle falls from your mouth as your hip nudges Powder who’s in complete awe, and she warms in embarrassment. 

Vi and Ekko fake tension, sending joking competitive glares as they switch places. Now it’s the pink haired cowgirl that’s mounting the mechanical animal. 

You never thought you’d be admiring this sort of thing, but Violet’s never fails to twist your stomach in knots.

With a hand gripping the bull and the other resting on the back of her head, she bucks her hips back and forth to counter the thrashing machine. She’s focused, her sculpted muscles flexing as she holds on tight, but a cocky smile is plastered on her face with teeth biting down on her rosy lips. 

Surrounding girls (including yourself) are wooing at the sight. 

Vi makes it through the most chaotic shakes and spins as the bull finally comes to a controlled stop, and you’re cheering louder than you ever thought you could. 

“Woo! Hell yeah!” you cry out. The girl’s cheesing harder than ever when she hears your support, and the smile lasts all the way over to a fake booing Ekko who rolls his eyes and slips her a twenty dollar bill from his pocket. 

You and Powder unlock arms to move over to the riders. A chuckle of amusement spills from you, and you’re securing Violet’s hat back over her fluffy hair. “That was real impressive, cowgirl.” 

“Yeah?” she coos. 

“Yeah.” The atmosphere grows heavier, each of your eyes searching the other’s like there’s treasure to find. But your little staring contest as Claggor speaks. 

“Earth to lovebirds,” he hums politely. “You coming?” 

You’re quick to nod, but Vi gently holds your wrist, making you pause. “Actually, I wanted to show cherry around some more. Catch up later?” She asks, but she’s already pulling you away before Claggor nods in agreement and the group goes in the opposite direction as you. 

You speed up, feet coming into step with the girl who’s needily pulling you. Her silent prayers are answered when she spots a more secluded area behind a building and some fences. 

“Vi,” you snicker, cheeks warming in nervousness, “what are we doing?” 

She hums through half lidded orbs, hands finding their place on your hips and hastily pushing you against the wall that covers the two of you from the eyes of others. You’re looking up at her with the sweetest glint in your eyes and it’s driving her absolutely mad. 

“You said I was real impressive, right?” Her voice is smoother, breathier. 

Ohh.

You tilt your head, teeth chewing on your abused bottom lip before you mutter. “That’s right.. think you deserve a reward, huh?” 

“Exactly what I was thinkin’, sweetheart.” 

The newfound nickname is sending a shiver up your spine that transforms into a blazing warmth when Vi’s lips fit into yours like puzzle pieces. This time, messy limbs are thrown over each other. Your hand travels from her hands that are cradling your heated face, down to her abs (making her shiver as you scrape your nails across), to tangle in what pink locks aren’t captured by her hat. 

A strong hand makes its way around your waist, pulling you dangerously closer to rub against her body. God, she’s good at this.

“Vi..” you’re finally able to whisper as she trails kisses along your jaw and down to your neck. You can feel her smirk against the area where she peppers you with affection. 

And it’s perfect.

Not just the way she’s kissing you, or the fact that you’re kissing at all. It’s the environment, the feelings, the friendships that you’ve made with the others, the fact that for today, you’re living a normal life. It’s the fact that for a moment, you can cheer on your friends in a competition, you can lock arms with a friend and woo over others, you can get lost in passionate kisses with a girl and not have another care in the world. 

You wished it could stay this way forever. 

You lose all sense of shame, letting a soft grunt slip from your lips at the feeling of teeth and a ‘pop’ on your neck. It’s only a matter of seconds before both of your eyes widen and Vi’s pulling back with a crooked smile on her face. 

“Did you..” 

She wordlessly eyes the red-purple love bite forming on the back-side of your neck, just below your ear. 

“Violet!” you drag out with a whine, sending her into a soft fit of laughter. She feels guilty, but you’re just too cute. 

You have a love-hate relationship with the neon lights that are beaming throughout the spacious room that brings more noise than you’ve heard in the past five years– maybe more than your entire life. 

On one hand, the flashing colors are starting to give you a major headache. On the other, the red glow that decorates Violet’s face as she grins down at you has your insides doing summersaults. 

Nevermind. You love the lights. 

“C’mon y’all,” Powder calls out with a chipper expression. Ekko’s standing properly in line and his blue haired companion, who’s already freestyling, spins out of control and squeals up a storm. 

“You ready?” Vi’s words kiss your ear as she holds both of your hands, pulling you out to the dance floor. 

“Are you?” 

Your sass has her laughing, and she brings her tongue out to wet her bottom lip. “Follow my lead, cherry.” 

And for a few moments, you do. All of the surrounding crowd dances the same to the upbeat, fast-paced country song that pierces your ears, so you replicate Vi’s mixed steps and cute little head tilts with her hand on that chocolate hat. 

But then the song changes, it’s more passion filled and fiery. All it takes is Powder spinning out of line and shamelessly making her own moves before you’re formulating the steps in your head. From movies you watched religiously to mindlessly shuffling your own feet late at night, you danced for the little girl who longed to have fun, who longed to be free. 

You’re clicking the heels of your boots against the ground, moving your hips as fluid as water, and bringing your hands up just for them to slide down your sides with a heart-stopping smile tugging at your lips. 

Violet’s in awe, because her girl’s fearless and full of smiles, and she couldn’t be happier for you. 

And there’s no doubt in her mind that this is the only girl she’ll ever want, need, crave. 

She whistles, looking up and down with the most amused expression you’ve ever encountered. “Jesus, alright you win, doll.”

“Yeah?” The tease comes out a bit breathless, but you play it off as dancing too wildly.

You look at the pink haired beauty through thick lashes. Inching dangerously closer as you sway, Violet’s hands have a powerful hold on your soft waist. You stumble over your feet once, then twice, and she notices. 

“Slow down there cowgirl,” she chuckles, but her gaze is tender under the carefree mask. “You alright?”

It’s unbearably toasty in the room, and you feel two times hotter with each passing second. But you don’t want it to end, so you wave her off, throwing out an “I’m good!”

But you’re not, and it’s evident on your face when the small ‘headache’ turns to tight pressure smothering your scalp, and you’re losing your balance as you search for an exit. 

“I just need some air,” you mumble, turning your head. The room shifted under your feet, vision blurring in a haze. You took three measly steps forward, and on your fourth, you crumbled.

Your body gives out under you, and Vi’s right there to catch you when it does. Her arms snake around your waist to hold you up before she lifts you in her arms with big eyes and wavering lips. 

“Shit. Ekko, come here! Powder, go get Mylo and Claggor.” 

The five haul ass to Vi’s truck, the pinkette tossing her keys to Ekko as he and Mylo hop in the front. She, Claggor, and Powder take seats in the bed of the truck. When you finally come to, your back is laid against Vi’s worrisome chest, and you get the fresh air you were looking for from the speed Ekko’s driving to get you home. 

But when you pull into the driveway of your home, there’s already a car waiting for you, and there stands your father with his arms crossed and pure fury in his eyes. 

And you’re in so much fucking trouble. 

The others attempt to plead your case, in good ways and in bad, as the man scolds everyone in sight.

“Mister, we just went out to dance.” 

“She’s not a child you know, you can’t keep her cooped up here forever.”

“Please just understand.” 

Everything goes in one ear and out the other, because in the chaos silently sits you and Violet. You’re still breathless, and this headache is gonna last longer than you want it to, but you relax into the warmth of Vi for one last time. 

You pull back, ignoring the spike of pain that flashes across your brain, and turn to the girl with a tight lipped smile. “I’m sorry, you guys should just go.” 

She looks pained, like she wants to say something, she wants to help. But she nods, placing a chaste kiss to your temple just as you’re sliding out of the truck bed and over to your father. He hastily drags you inside while you bid farewell to your moping knights.

With every inch of your worn down heart, you love Violet Lane. 

And you’re not an idiot, you’re sure she loves you too. 

That’s what makes coming to a conclusion impossible on almost every level. 

Your physical heart says this is the most idiotic decision you’ve made in your entire life. You’ve had worse symptoms than normal, you’re putting yourself in danger in the name of ‘fun’, and the thought that’s lingering in the back of everyone’s mind is one you can’t ignore: just how long will you make it? 

Your mental heart says this is the best thing you’ve ever done. You’re happy, you’re in love, you have real friends, and you’re finally starting to see the point in living. Not just from a tv screen or the books your father supplies, but through your own eyes and experiences. And even though your father seemed overbearing, you know he’s afraid. He’s taken on all of the worry and stress so that you don’t have to. If you wanted something to change, you had to take the leap yourself. But you’re not sure you can.

There’s six knocks at the door, and you stay seated in your position on the couch. “It’s open,” you call out.

The clack of familiar boots enter the room, and a wave of musk and amber suffocate you when Vi walks past you to sit at your side. 

It’s silent. Not your comfortable, daydream filled state of silence that Vi could watch you in forever. It’s awkward, strangulating silence, and she can’t take it.

“Yesterday was..”

“...amazing.” “A mistake.” 

You speak at the same time, eyes flickering at each other's response. 

“What are you talking about?” Vi asks, setting her textbooks down. You don’t miss the newfound waver in the back of her voice. 

You don’t respond. You don’t want to go through with this conversation.

“..Is this about the hickey?” she flashes a strained smile, “I’m sorry if he saw it, doll. Reall–”

“This isn’t a joke, Violet.” you finally speak, eyes strictly trained down on your fiddling hands in your lap. The tears are bubbling at your eyelids and that itchy, sore feeling is crawling its way up your throat. 

“Then what is it about? You and your dad? Look, I can talk to him, I’ll make things right.” Her voice is increasingly wavered, desperate, scared. 

“Our–” you inhale a shaky breath, “– this, us, whatever we are is an inconvenience. An inconvenience to my father, an inconvenience to my health, an inconvenience to you.” Your voice breaks with the last word. “I’m a burden Violet, face it.”

You can’t see it with the tears blurring your vision, but Vi’s shaking her head in horror. “No. No, what are you going on about? You aren–” 

“God just face it, Vi. All you wanted was to love a girl and you got a defective one.” You spit the words out like they sting on your tongue. “Soon, you’ll be annoyed by everything I can’t do and bored of everything I can.” 

“Maybe we’re just not…” you can’t continue as silent tears transform into quiet little sobs. 

Vi’s heart aches as she kneels down on the floor in front of you, examining your now puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. She wants nothing more than to kiss the pain away, but first she has to fix that worrisome little mind of yours.

One hand intertwines with your anxious ones, and the other reaches up as rough fingers delicately hold your chin, a soft thumb rubs back and forth against your cheek. She whispers out your name with a voice that’s holding back sadness of her own. When you’re finally ready to look at her, she smiles delicately.

“You don’t know how bad I want you. But I’ll wait until the end of time if you ask me to. I’d lasso the moon and bring it down for you if you asked.” You recognize her sweet words from your first date, and you’re weakly melting into the palm of her hand that’s sliding to cup your face. 

“I meant it then, and I mean it now,” she whispers. “I will never be annoyed by what you can or can’t do– god, I'd sit here and talk to you about slugs all day everyday if that’s what you really wanted.” That has you scoffing, fighting back a smile at her silly words. 

“Love isn’t about the activities you can or can’t do, it’s about a connection, our connection, and what we do with it. So, you can get rid of me if this is all true and that’s what you really want, but I will never stop loving you.” She’s speaking so sweetly, and before she even finishes her sentence you’ve made up your mind. 

“You’re good for my heart, cherry.” 

Those are the last words she can get out before you’re throwing yourself forward and locking lips with the love of your life. 

It starts off slow, soft, an apology for the rollercoaster of emotions and blunder of nonsense you put yourselves through. Then, Vi’s hands are cupping your face and the back of your head while yours are thrown around her neck. It’s needier, sloppier, and her tongue slipping into your mouth shows it’s moved from an apology to ‘let me make you feel better’.

You hum into the kisses with pleasure, but you wanted more. Needed more. Without hesitation, you slip a hand under Vi’s tight t-shirt, running a hand up and down her abs.

The action sends a shiver down her spine, and you gasp in surprise when the sculpted girl wraps your legs around her waist and lifts you into her arms. 

You’re giggling as she walks up the stairs and into your bedroom. Your litter smooches down her jaw and to that neglected neck, mimicking what she’s done for you. Vi slips a hand under the back of your shirt, making you hum into her neck at the warmth. 

Pop.

A devilish grin graces your angelic face when you pull back, eyes flickering from Violet’s to the bruise on her neck. 

The girl grins, catching your mouth in a wet kiss. “You’re asking for more, y’know,” she warns, and her lustful eyes are turning your brain to mush.  

“Good. I want more. Need you all over me,” 

Your confident words are canceled out by a sweet gasp that leaves you when Vi bucks her hips. 

“You’ve gotta say it then,” she orders.

“Say.. what?” 

She chuckles. “Tell me what you want, baby.” 

You swear there’s a pool of slick in your underwear. 

“Want you to fuck me till I cum, please please please,” you beg, hiding in the crook of her neck.

“Fuck,” is all she can choke out, because she’s never wanted wanted a girl this fucking much. Your begging is all she needs to hear before she’s stripping you out of your top, unclasping your pretty bra with one hand, and flipping you over onto your back. 

You’re throwing your head back with a soft moan, running a hand through her pink strands while Vi latches onto one of your rock hard nipples. Her hand trails down your abdomen and to your pretty little skirt. The fabric slides down your legs and off your delicate ankles, and the girl’s gawking at your panties. 

“Vi, please please,” you moan in impatience. 

She lets out a cruel chuckle, fingertips pulling down the fabric that’s completely drenched by your arousal. 

Holy fuck. 

She’s moving faster now, pulling her shirt over her head, and you don’t have a chance to drool over her bare muscles as she sits against the headboard of the bed and pulls you back by your hips into her lap. 

Your back’s pressed against her chest, and she pulls your legs apart making cool air attacking your lips. One arm hooks under your knee and holds tight, making sure you stay perfectly spread for her. 

“Suck,” she whispers, and two of her calloused fingers are shoved in your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the nubs, letting drool pool around them as Vi looks down at you like she wants to ravish you. 

“Wanted to touch you like this for so long.”

Her fingers are dragging out of your mouth and down to your sensitive slit to your swollen clit. You’re already messily bucking your hips against her as she pushes soft circles against your bundle of nerves. 

She relishes in the way your eyes roll back before she decides she’s done being a tease, sinking her wet fingers into you three full knuckles deep. 

“Violet– holy fuck yesyesyes,” you whine, quickly closing your legs at the newfound pleasure. But Vi’s pulling them right back apart as she pumps into you faster.

She peppers kisses on your temple, whispering sweet nothings about how you’re ‘so damn pretty’ and she’s been dying to see your ‘fucked out face’. 

“Yeah, oh fuuck.” you squirm under her control, a knot of passion and pleasure building in your gut. 

“Yeah? Yeah, baby?” She speaks breathily. The way she’s mocking you and the depth her fingers are reaching is sending you right over the edge. Your toes curl while writhing pleasure shoots through your body, and all you can see is stars. 

“Fuck fuck, I’m– hah,” 

Vi’s shushing you softly, keeping her speed and strength as your cunt tightens around her fingers. 

Your moans are like angels blessing your ears as you cum, gushing on her skilled fingers. 

The only noises in the room are your exhausted pants, the slick of your cunt as Vi pulls her fingers out terribly slow, and the bed shifting under the absence and reappearance of pure muscle. 

Except this time, the pinkette’s knelt in front of the bed. 

She pulls you to the edge by the soft skin of your thighs, and piercing blue eyes joined by a warm pink tongue threaten to have you wheel-chair bound by morning. 

“Let me clean you up, angel.” 

Despite being near nothing but muscle, Vi’s bare body is incredibly comfortable. 

“And he made a giant splotch of paint on the wall with his ass.” 

You gasp, choking out a little giggle of shock as Vi tells you stories of her childhood, specifically all the stupid situations they got themselves into. The just-right bath water is engulfing your intertwined bodies. Vi’s fingers are threading through your hair as your head rests on her shoulder. Your body sits in between her legs, and your arms lazily drape around her waist. 

“How mad was Vander?” you ask.

“He just… laughed. I’ve never really seen him mad, just disappointed at times.” She shrugs. “He knows kids make stupid mistakes, learn, and grow.” 

You hum, nuzzling further into her. “I hope I’m that calm when I’m a mom,” 

You pause.

“If I’m a mom.” 

That strikes right through Violet’s swollen heart, and she shakes her head, holding you a little closer. 

“You’re gonna be perfect.” She reassures. “Josie.. Gunner.. Rusty, Daisy, and our big beautiful city house are going to be so lucky to have you. I’m so lucky to have you. Never gettin’ rid of me.

You smile against her skin, placing a loving kiss. 

“Even if it takes ages for my pops to understand?” you mutter. 

“I don’t care if it takes a millennium.” she states confidently, a tender kiss graces your forehead before she looks you in the eyes.

“I love you, cherry.” 

And this time, you’re done holding back.

“I love you, Violet.” 

Your fingers, hearts, and lips intertwined as you share your most passionate kiss yet, one of the many for years to come.

Five years, to be exact. 

And five years later, as the blood refuses to circulate throughout your body and your heart ceases to beat, you die in Violet's arms.

Through her sobs and shattered heart, she can only smile at the fact that all the way until your death, she helped you truly live.

silknspice

[heartsiebyul]

Hi! Another request, what about riddle, Leona, Floyd and Jamil reacting to you with your hair down for the first time? (Like the reader always wears it up in a bun and they've never seen it out of that style.) thank you! Have a good day! ❤️

જ⁀➴ Twisted Wonderland x reader!

Twisted Wonderland characters reacting to seeing you with your hair down for the very first time.

featuring — Riddle : Leona : Floyd : Jamil x reader.

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Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle had always admired how tidy and put-together you looked with your hair up in that neat bun. It suited the disciplined image he respected so much—clean, rule-abiding, efficient. So when he walked into the Heartslabyul common room and saw you sitting by the window with your hair cascading freely down your shoulders, for a second, he thought he had mistaken you for someone else. The way the sunlight hit your now-loose locks, casting warm highlights across them, made his throat go dry. His steps faltered, and his mouth opened slightly, uncharacteristically caught off guard.

“You... changed your hair,” he finally managed, voice quieter than usual. There was a slight pink dusting on his cheeks, which only deepened when you smiled sheepishly and said you wanted to let it breathe for once. He cleared his throat, trying to regain composure, but couldn’t help the way his eyes kept flicking back to your hair. “It’s—It’s quite charming. You should... do it more often.” Riddle fumbled with his words a little before sitting beside you with a huff, trying to focus on the book he brought. But every so often, he'd peek at you from the corner of his eye, heart racing just a bit faster than usual.

Leona Kingscholar

It wasn’t unusual for Leona to be napping somewhere around the botanical gardens, half-buried in cushions or surrounded by sunshine. But when he cracked open an eye and saw you walking toward him with your hair down for the first time, it was the first moment he looked actually awake—alert, even. He didn’t sit up, but his eyes followed you closely, trailing from your loose strands to the way they shifted in the breeze. A slow smirk curled across his lips. “Well, well… look who finally decided to stop hiding all that.”

You rolled your eyes, but he sat up just enough to prop his head on his hand, watching you with newfound intensity. “You’ve been wasting all that softness keeping it in a bun. What, trying not to distract people?” His voice was teasing, but the heat in his gaze said he meant every word. “It suits you. Makes you look... softer.” You caught the brief pause in his voice and the way his tail lazily flicked against the grass. When you moved to sit next to him, Leona didn’t hesitate to reach out and twirl a strand around his finger, murmuring, “Might have to make you wear it down more often—strictly for selfish reasons.”

Floyd Leech

The moment Floyd saw you with your hair down, his eyes widened, and a mischievous, toothy grin split across his face like you’d just turned into his new favorite toy. “Ooooh~ Shrimpy looks completely different today,” he crooned, practically bouncing over to you in the hallway. Before you could react, his hands were already in your hair, fingers sifting through it with wild curiosity and zero respect for personal space. “It’s so soft! I didn’t know you had this much hair. You were hiding this from me, weren’t you~?”

You sputtered in embarrassment, trying to dodge his hands, but Floyd just giggled, entirely too entertained. “I kinda like this look. You look like a sleepy jellyfish. All floaty and... squishy.” He grinned wider and leaned down, nose brushing your cheek as he whispered, “It’s dangerous, y’know? You look real snatchable like this.” He tugged gently on a lock of your hair before dancing away with a laugh, already plotting how to convince you to leave it down more often. “I’m gonna get bored if you keep it up all the time! Let it down more! I wanna play!”

Jamil Viper

Jamil had grown so used to your signature bun that it had become synonymous with your presence in his mind—always practical, always put-together. So when he walked into the Scarabia lounge and saw you reading quietly with your hair down, it stopped him cold. The familiar composure he usually wore slipped, just for a second. He didn’t say anything at first, choosing instead to lean against the doorway and just... observe. The way your hair framed your face, how it fell over your shoulders, the softness it added to your entire aura—it threw him off.

He finally stepped into the room and cleared his throat, trying not to show how you’d left him a little breathless. “Trying something new?” he asked casually, though his tone was more gentle than usual. When you looked up and smiled, he approached and knelt beside you, his fingers brushing against the ends of your hair. “It looks... unexpectedly beautiful.” His eyes held something softer, something reverent, as if he was seeing another side of you he hadn’t been allowed to until now. “You always looked nice,” he murmured, “but this... this is different. I like it.” And though he didn’t say it aloud, the change felt like a privilege—like you’d let down your guard, just a little, for him.

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[uchizana]

SPARK

synopsis: in a whirlwind romance, a seemingly perfect relationship is shattered when jealousy rears its head, revealing minjeong’s unsettling obsessions and igniting a battle for sanity between love and darkness.

pairing: toxic girlfriend! minjeong x girlfriend!fem reader

warning(s): fire (uhm yeah...), jealousy, manipulation, toxic relationship, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, victimhood, violence. (let me know if I missed something!!)

word count: 7,2k (i had to rewrite it because my docs hates me and for some reason deleted the file where i had the original work... anyways this version is very similar.)

aespa masterlist.

your relationship with minjeong was complicated.

at first, the world appeared pastel and soft, built on hues of affection and endless laughter. 

you remember the early days clearly — she was the kind of girlfriend who would take you out on dates every weekend,how she would surprise you with breathtaking bouquets, each more vibrant than the last. there were daisies, peonies, and delicate lilies, transforming corners of your home into a floral wonderland. your place started to resemble a botanical garden, petals spilling into every corner, their sweet scents blending with the memories of her laughter.

minjeong had a gift for warmth; there were times when she gazed at you as if you were a novel she could read forever, showering you with compliments that seemed to ebb and flow like the tides; “you look so beautiful today,” she would say, even on days when you hadn’t left the house or merely tied it into a messy bun. she would compliment you even when you forgot to fix your hair or wore an old hoodie. 

her sweet, simple gestures spoke volumes—kissing you on the knuckles, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, and watching you intently when you spoke like you were the only thing in the universe that mattered. sometimes, she’d slip her hands into your pockets while you two held hands, wanting to keep your fingers warm when you forgot your gloves in winter. everything felt right, perfect.

but then, like a sudden storm cloud obscuring a clear sky, everything shifted. the first crack in your fairy tale surfaced when life’s mundane obligations got in the way of love.  one fateful weekend, you had to make a choice — a subject looming over your head like a dark shadow. with an important exam creeping ever closer, you found yourself compelled to cancel your much-anticipated date night with her. the guilt settled heavily in your stomach as you dialed her number, knowing how much she’d been looking forward to it.

“hey minjeong, i’m really sorry…” you started, your palms sweaty around the phone. “i can’t make it this weekend. i need to study. it’s this exam, and—”

nerves consume you, leaving you speechless. there was a long pause on the line. you could practically hear the wheels turning in her mind.

“it’s okay,” she finally said, her voice tight. “don’t worry about it,” her voice chimed back, light yet edged with something you couldn’t pinpoint. “good luck with your studies.” 

there was an unsettling dissonance lurked beneath the surface, leading you to believe she was fighting back something more than disappointment.

“i'm really sorry, baby. i promise i'll make it up to you as soon as possible.” you assure her, feeling the guilt eating away at you and making you feel bad, even when you weren't doing anything wrong other than putting your studies first.

“i told you not to worry about it. i understand, it seems that right now your studies are more important than your girlfriend, i get it.”

you didn’t miss the subtleties in her tone; the tension that suggested she was biting back words that didn’t fit into her kind demeanor.

“anyways, i'll hang up right now. i'll leave you to study in peace.”

however, judging by her tone of voice, you’d swear she was tapping the inside of her cheek with her tongue to keep from blurting out what she was really thinking.

of course, that’s how it was. you used that weekend to study, but there were a couple of changes along the way. you ended up meeting at a friend’s house to study. she told you that she had knowledge of the subject since her sister was studying the same subjects at university and spent nights and nights studying, so inevitably your friend ended up listening to her sister study, whether she wanted to or not, memorizing more knowledge than she anticipated.

you were focused on studying, hair tied in a messy bun, books and notebooks scattered all over the table, along with pencils and empty coffee cups. your friend thought it was kind of funny to see you so focused on studying when most of the time you never studied for tests or even put a pencil down in class, so she had no better idea than to take a photo when you weren’t looking.

you were deep in the grasp of equations and theories when your friend, in a mischievous moment, snapped a photo of you. you had been so absorbed that you hadn’t sensed her reach for her phone.

as she clicked the shutter, the light captured you: hair a mess, scribbles sprawled across your notebook, a look of fierce concentration. unbeknownst to you, that seemingly harmless moment cascaded into something monumental. your friend, having the joys of social media at her fingertips, instantly uploaded it to her instagram stories, a lighthearted snapshot of you crushing it at studying.

minjeong was home, idly watching television, when her phone buzzed, instantly receiving the notification that your friend had made a post seconds ago. why she had notifications from your friends activated and how she managed to get updates in real-time? well, that was a secret better left unsaid. you knew that she followed your friends closely, but you never thought much of it. that was her way of staying connected, of knowing what you were up to, as if weaving a delicate thread between you, even from afar. but this thread snapped when she clicked on the notification.

within moments, minjeong sat frozen in her living room, her heart racing. she glanced at the photo on her phone: you, hair piled haphazardly, surrounded by crumpled papers and empty coffee cups, looking like you were about to conquer an academic mountain. but it wasn’t only that. in the background, through the window, she could see your friend's house, ryujin’s house. the instant flash of jealousy sparked inside her—a gut-wrenching twist of envy that she fought to suppress.

the blossoming rage was immediate and insatiable. she nearly smashed her phone against the wall, leaving it to dangle dangerously from her fingertips, all shatters and anger. seconds felt like hours as her mind raced, spiraling through anger and betrayal with dizzying speed. 

her hand trembled, tightening around the phone as she scanned the comments already popping up, friends praising your focus, others playfully teasing you. each word only fueled the fire in her chest. the image replayed in her mind, vivid and cruel, making her heart race. what had she allowed to slip while you studied with another girl—so effortlessly immersed in the comfort of your friendship while she was left behind?

minjeong felt a sudden jolt of irritation surge through her. the kind that ignited flames of a insane jealousy. the realization that you were spending time with someone else, not just anyone, but with someone who was so visibly present in your life. someone who had now become a part of this moment you were sharing without her. it felt like betrayal—the photos intended to capture your essence instead felt like reminders of her absence.

what did it mean that you were there, alone with her? had you been telling her the truth this whole time about studying together? or had you grown tired of her and her little quirks? it felt like betrayal, visceral and raw. how did her sister's extra study sessions become her own?

in a rise of frustration, she silenced her phone, the sound echoing like a decision reverberating through her thoughts. she tossed it onto the couch and stood there, still as a statue. the warmth of the living room seemed to suffocate her, and her mind whirled with conflicting emotions. without thinking, she grabbed her jacket from where it hung and impulsively marched out of her apartment, slamming the door behind her—her heart racing as the chill of the evening air surrounded her.

where are you going? the question echoed in her mind as she stepped onto the city streets, her breath misting before her in the winter chill. she didn’t know where to go; the cold wind cut through her, much like the realization of what she felt inside. she was filled with confusion, anger, and hurt, questions swirling around her like the fallen leaves.

what if you didn’t want her anymore? what if this was just the beginning of something spiraling out of control? the images of you studying with someone else, laughing and flirting, ignited feelings she hadn’t felt in a long time.

maybe she was overreacting? the right words swirled out of reach, tangled in the threads of her heart. she played back memories—each sweet moment together battling with the icy reality of this new picture, this betrayal. she questioned every second they had spent together, every revelation she had quietly harbored about her feelings for you. you—who were supposed to be her source of happiness, now felt like a threat, a source of pain.

your walk back home is peaceful. the cold breeze of early winter kisses your face, sending tiny shivers down your spine. luckily, you have your coat on, its fabric a comforting barrier against the chill wrapping around the city. 

the faint glow of street lamps illuminated the sidewalk, their lights flickering like distant stars against a darkening sky. the scent of fallen leaves mingles with the faint aroma of smoke from distant chimneys, creating a vivid tapestry of autumn giving way to winter. you found comfort in the rhythm of your footsteps, each echo resonating against the chill of the night air.

as you reached the entrance of the building where you lived, you noticed a profound silence enveloping the space. the usual sounds—the laughter of neighbors, the creaking of doors, the faint hum of life—are conspicuously absent.

normally, you would hear the hum of distant conversations, the clatter of heels on the tile floors, or the soft notes of music drifting from neighbors' open doors. but tonight, the only sound was the faint rustle of your coat as you shuffled inside.

a strange feeling settled over your shoulders, as if the air itself was holding its breath, the kind that prickles at the base of your neck, whispering that something isn't quite right and making you sense that something was amiss. 

you pause for a moment, scanning the darkened hallway, but sigh and shake it off. it’s late, after all; perhaps everyone is tucked away, hibernating in their cozy nests.

you pressed the button for the elevator, the ding echoing through the stillness. as it ascended, an unsettling sense of unease crept in. you can’t even hear the faint sounds of other apartments—the muffled TV shows, the soft laughter, and the rhythmic background of city life. even the elevator seemed to hold its breath, devoid of the usual creaks and groans. you wondered if everyone around you had decided to vanish, leaving you as the sole inhabitant of this quiet realm.

the ascent felt slower than usual, the stillness heightened by the lack of familiar sounds. the soft whir of the machinery felt almost alien in this quiet atmosphere. just when you start to feel anxious, the elevator dings, announcing your arrival at your floor, but you feel unnerved, looking forward to the ordinary chaos of your apartment.

stepping out onto your floor, you adjusted your scarf and made your way down the hallway. rummaging through your bag for your keys, your thoughts wandered to what you’d studied at ryujin’s place earlier. it had been a late session, fueled by coffee and late-night snacks, and a part of you regretted not sending a text to let Minjeong know.

just as you were about to lose yourself in that thought, you felt a sudden grip on your wrist. startled, your heart raced as the hallway light flickered on, illuminating the figure of minjeong standing there, her expression a mix of concern and frustration.

“where have you been?” minjeong’s voice pierced the silence, echoing off the walls. her expression was layered with concern and something deeper—something that sent a shiver down your spine. in an instant, the hallway light flickered on, casting a warm glow that seemed almost foreign amidst the encroaching shadows.

you turned, wide-eyed, the knot in your stomach tightening. “minjeong? what are you doing here? it’s late.”

she narrowed her eyes, and the tension in the air thickened. “i could ask you the same thing. why were you out so late?”

you took a breath, felt the familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through you. “i told you i would use this weekend to prepare for my exam, remember? ryujin offered to help me study.” you explained, exasperated. “i forgot to tell you that i was going to her house to study, i’m sorry. but we had a big exam coming up.” you could feel the frustration bubbling beneath your skin, but you tried to keep your voice calm.

minjeong’s frown deepened, her arms crossing over her chest. you could see the gears of her mind shifting, grappling with what you’d just said. yes, she knew you were with ryujin, but verbalizing it seemed to ignite something within her, bringing out the demon of jealousy.

“just studying?” she pressed, her tone laced with skepticism. “how late were you planning on staying?”

you opened your mouth to respond, but she wasn’t finished. “you could’ve at least texted me, you know. i was worried!”

you raised your hands in a gesture of surrender, trying to keep your voice even. “i’m really sorry; i lost track of time. but you know ryujin is just a friend. we were going over notes, that’s all!”

her voice trailed off, eyes narrowing as jealousy crept into her words. “you’re always with her.”

“it’s just study stuff, minjeong!” you insisted, somewhat defensively. “you know you’re the one i care about.”

her fingers dug into your wrist as she leaned closer, her face betraying a tempest of emotions. “i can’t help it! i just— i don’t like this feeling!”

“feeling what?” you replied, bewildered. the tension crackling between you was palpable, each word finding its mark like arrows in a target as you both circled each other like wary opponents. “i’ll always choose you, minjeong. i just really needed to study.”

huffily, she crosses her arms, her fingers pressing her coat into her skin as if it were a shield. “it’s not about studying! it’s about you being inconsiderate. you could’ve called,” she huffs dramatically.

you feel a wave of frustration surge through you, but you brace yourself against it. “minjeong, you didn’t have to worry. i’m safe, and besides, i didn’t realize it had gotten so late.” your attempt at reason is met with a silence that hangs heavy in the air, tension crackling between you like static.

“safe?” she scoffs incredulously, her eyes narrowing. “you’re out with some girl at her place! i don’t want to sound controlling, but why would you put yourself in that situation without telling me? you could at least consider my feelings.”

“minjeong…” you feel the energy drain from your voice. the conversation is taking an unexpected turn. she knows you well enough to trust you, doesn’t she? you reach out to touch her arm, but she flinches away, retreating into her own anxieties.

“just let me into the apartment,” you plead, desperate to talk this out in private. something inside you hopes that they won’t spiral further into an explosive confession of jealousy and insecurities.

yet she shakes her head resolutely. “not until you explain why i should trust you when you’re out with another girl,” she insists, the fight in her voice wavering but ultimately holding firm.

after much hesitation, you manage to soothe the atmosphere. “i have no feelings for ryujin. our relationship is just a friendship. you're the one i love.”

eventually, after tired back-and-forth, she mutters, “... fine. i’m sorry for overreacting, but i just can’t help worrying… it’s not like anyone really talks to me about these things.” her voice softens, and you recognize that vulnerability; she’s slipping into her victim role again.

you try holding her gaze, searching for the truth behind her words. “it’s okay; i get it. just try to trust me a little more, alright?”

ninjeong smiles hesitantly, but the shadows of her doubts linger in her eyes like a storm cloud threatening to break. you unlock the door and let her into your apartment, unsure of what the night will unfold. the warmth of the living space is inviting, but the tension of the moment casts a longer shadow than you anticipated.

unbeknownst to you, this moment was just the beginning of something that had rooted itself deep in your relationship with minjeong—a well-meaning storm, brewed from jealousy and care, that would spiral and churn in ways neither of you could predict. as she brushes past you into the living room, you reluctantly realize what lies ahead may be more challenging than you’d hoped for.

the argument felt small at first, a mere bump in the road of your otherwise blissful relationship with minjeong. but as the days wore on, it became apparent that the little fight had unlocked something within her, something dark and volatile. the initial infraction—her jealousy over a casual conversation you had with a mutual friend—had spiraled into an endless cycle of blame and resentment.

you still recall the way her eyes had narrowed as she listened, her lips pressed into a tight line. that soft laugh you loved so much had been replaced by a chilling silence. what used to be playfully teasing turned into a gaze that bore down on you, probing, analyzing, judging; it felt like the weight of her disappointment was crushing your chest. once sweet and affectionate, she transformed into someone you hardly recognized—her demeanor twisted, like a pretty piece of art slowly warping into a grotesque figure and you wondered if you even recognized the girl you had fallen in love with.

you found it hard to breathe the first time she turned that silence on you after the argument. sitting across from each other at a cafe, the usual warmth in her gaze had vanished, replaced by an unsettling intensity. you looked everywhere but into her eyes, tracing patterns in the wooden table with your fingers. you could feel her stare, piercing and relentless.

“do you think she likes you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, but laced with an edge that made your stomach churn.

“who?” you notice that minjeong's gaze is no longer meeting yours, but is directed elsewhere across the room. you follow her gaze, and you understand what she means; a few tables away is your friend yizhuo, having breakfast and chatting with a friend of hers.

you exhaled slowly, hoping calm would drown the anxiety rising in your chest.

“don’t play coy,” she snapped, her voice suddenly sharp. “you know exactly who i’m talking about. is it really that hard to be honest with me?”

the argument blossomed, each word a petal of bitterness, eventually curling into a thorny reality. you didn’t understand where all this jealousy came from, nor did you grasp why her feelings conveyed so much potency. minjeong used to be the gentle spirit, the one who found beauty in everything—even in the world of people. now, she was the tempest, and you were ensnared within it.

but that wasn’t the end; it was merely the first act in an ongoing tragedy. the discussions didn’t stop. they became a staple of your daily life, an unwanted rhythm that resonated through your days. one friday night, a group of friends decided to gather at a local bar. laughter echoed through the walls, familiar warmth wrapped around you like an old blanket, but not for minjeong.

"are you even listening to me?" she snapped one evening during the dinner with her friends, her voice slicing through the laughter surrounding you like a knife. you had been chatting and catching up with your friends, oblivious to the thundercloud brewing in her mind.

"of course, i am," you replied earnestly, but the damage was done. the disapproval etched across her face was enough to ruin the mood. moments later, she dragged you outside under the pretense of needing air, her grip on your arm like steel.

"what's wrong with you? you've been ignoring me ever since we got here.” she demanded, her voice low but frigid.

you sighed, your heart racing. "it was just a conversation. i didn't mean to upset you."

"you should know better," she hissed, her eyes flashing. “you and your friends always do this. you want to hurt me, don't you?”

the phrase was confusing; what in the world made her think you would ever want to hurt her? yet every rational thought fell away, and you found yourself backpedaling, desperate to soothe the storm brewing within her.

“minjeong, please. i value you and our time together. you know that,” you pleaded.

she just gives you one last look, walking back into the bar, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

you should have known she wouldn’t be willing to play nice. midway through the first round of drinks, you saw it—the familiar grimace twisting her features as she watched you engage in conversation with jimin, a longtime friend. you felt minjeong’s eyes digging into you like daggers, even as a lighthearted joke made jimin laugh. the sweet sound cut you off—no more jokes, no more laughter. as the night progressed and the alcohol flowed, minjeong's attitude simmered, eventually boiling over.

“can we leave?” she demanded, standing abruptly. Ignoring the pile of half-finished drinks and clinking glasses, she grabbed your wrist, her grip hard enough to bruise. you glanced around, trying to gauge the group's reactions, but most were busy enjoying the night. you caught jimin's concerned look—a silent plea for you to stay, but minjeong wouldn’t hear it.

“minjeong, can we just relax for a moment?” you attempted to reason with her, but the storm was too loud, and the chaos was all-consuming.

“no!” she yelled, the intensity of it drawing eyes toward your table. your heart sank; a familiar humiliation washed over you. together, you walked out into the harsh night, the cool air doing little to calm your rising anxiety.

“what the hell was that about?” you asked, your voice strained.

“why were you flirting with her? you were practically hanging off her every word!” minjeong's dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with an unhinged fury. it terrified you. ot wasn't the minjeong you fell in love with, but rather a version twisted by insecurities you couldn’t massage away.

“i wasn’t flirting!” you insisted. “you’re being unreasonable. everybody was just having fun!”

“fun for you, maybe,” she shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “i suppose it’s fun to watch you toy with someone else’s feelings.”

each syllable that slipped from her lips cut deeper than the last, practically shredding at your shared history. you tried to calm her down, stammering words of reassurance, but her only response was a silence so deafening it echoed.

from that point on, things escalated to new heights, a spiraling mess of fights that felt more reminiscent of a battle than the love you had once shared. just a few days later, at a small diner down the street, the situation hit a new low. as the waitress placed the tray on the table, you turned just in time to see her chuckling at something, probably because she thought it was adorable how you misread the name of your coffee when ordering earlier—a routine occurrence that had never bothered minjeong before. perhaps it was the way you returned the smile, or the lingering moment that stretched too long, but something snapped inside her.

the laughter was innocent; the exchange friendly. yet, to minjeong, it was tantamount to treachery.

“let’s go,” she said suddenly, her voice flat.

“what? but we just sat down!” you exclaimed, confusion mixing with exasperation. you detected the faintest tremble in her lips, a prelude to a full-blown tantrum.

“... did you say "but"? seriously?” she questioned, fury painting her voice. you barely had a chance to register the words before minjeong swept her arm across the table, sending the coffee cup crashing to the floor, splattering the waitress and staining the ground with bitterness.

“i’m so sorry!” you blurted, mortification flooding through you as you scrambled to your feet. the waitress stood stunned, and in that moment, your heart shattered into pieces. you apologized repeatedly while trying to help clean the mess, feeling Minjeong’s simmering rage heat the air around you.

“let’s just go,” she demanded, her eyes burning with fury as if challenging you to argue. but deep down, you were terrified of what she might do next. 

she stormed out, leaving you behind to pay for a meal that hadn’t touched your lips but felt heavier than any weight you had ever lifted. you left a generous tip, hoping to at least make amends for minjeong’s volatile behavior, but shame mixed with the taste of your muffled indignation as you left the café.

as you stepped out into the chilly evening air, the weight of it all crashed down on you. you briefly glanced back into the diner to catch a glimpse of minjeong. she stood there, a silhouette against the light, arms crossed, focused on something entirely beyond you. the realization crashed into you like a swift wave—you were lost in a relationship that had morphed into something toxic, a cycle of blame, punishment, and endless misunderstanding.

days of fighting would follow, each one leaving you increasingly drained. you learned to navigate carefully around her feelings, tiptoeing through conversations, wrestling with the fear of provoking another outburst. apologizing became a daily ritual, but it was a fool’s game, as though you were playing chess with a master who already knew all your moves.

nothing you did seemed to satisfy her, and every time you tried to stand your ground, she would employ that give-and-take tactic, leaving you scrambling to retrieve whatever ounce of affection you could salvage.

"you never understand what i need from you!" she'd cry, casting you a withering glare designed to pierce your heart.

you started dreading the moments you once cherished: evenings spent binge-watching shows, the casual strolls in the park, the intimate whispers shared in candle-lit corners of your favorite café. they all became tainted by her increasing paranoia and fury. in those moments, you didn’t catch a glimpse of the girl you fell for; instead, you stared back at a stranger who seemed to lose herself deeper in a well of insecurity with each fight.

what could you say to her to bridge the widening chasm? you wondered quietly if calling her out would work. but it always ended the same.

even in the stillness of your home, you could feel the shadows of her disappointment lurking. sometimes, as you lay in bed, you swore you could hear their whispers, taunting you to spur another confrontation. a ghost of the life you’d built together haunted your dreams, resurfacing in disorienting fragments where laughter hid behind walls built from distrust and rage.

to think, this all started with a simple argument. you sometimes daydreamed of how different your life could be without this turmoil, wondering nervously what life would look like if you weren't continuously tiptoeing around the storm that now defined your relationship with minjeong.

but in the end, naive hope lingered, refusing to extinguish despite the tempest that raged around you. you wanted to believe that one day, she would look at you with warmth restored, rather than that silent judgment that twisted her from within. you held on—because even through the tumult and the strife, there were threads of love that still remained, fragile and uncertain as they wove your lives together, if just for the moment.

the engine hums softly, a white noise glazed over with tension, as you sit in the passenger seat of minjeong’s car. the world outside the window is an endless parade of trees, stretching far enough to feel infinite, but you can’t look away from the gnawing uncertainty that festers in your chest. the conversation that should have been had weeks ago hovers between you, palpable and toxic. as the cityscape fades into desolation, the weight of your relationship stretches thin, hanging by a thread.

you take a deep breath, your chest constricting as you prepare yourself for what you know must be said. conversations about love and loss echo in your mind, gnawing at your resolve. when minjeong’s hand rests on your thigh, a gesture once sweet and comforting, it now feels nearly suffocating. the warmth dissipates under the coolness of your apprehension.

“minjeong, can we talk?” you finally utter, your voice catching slightly in your throat, sounding smaller than you intended.

“what’s up?” she replies, her gaze fixed on the road ahead, though her grip tightens around the wheel.

you hesitate, glancing out the side window at the rushing landscape, the deep green blurring past. “it’s just… i don’t feel that spark anymore,” you say, the words feeling like stones tumbling down a cliff. instantly, the air thickens with disbelief, and you can’t bear to meet her eyes, now glinting with uncertainty in the rearview mirror.

“what do you mean you don’t feel the spark?” she questions with an edge of panic, her tone shifting from casual to razor-sharp, slicing through the tension thickening in the car.

the argument spirals from there, each of you grappling for the upper hand, your voices rising dangerously. you can barely process the words spilling from your mouth as you try to articulate your truth. her eyes flicker with hurt and rage, and you can almost feel the hair on your arms standing on end, bristling under the weight of her indignation.

“there’s something fundamentally broken between us, minjeong! i don’t know who we are anymore!” you’re shouting now, and a rush of adrenaline floods your body.

“i can’t believe you think this is all my fault!” she fires back, her knuckles white against the steering wheel. the car swerves slightly, and you dig your heels into the ground, a jolt of panic coursing through you as the pavement blurs into a double line.

“just focus on driving!” you shout, but it’s too late. you hear her breath hitch, the silence that follows layered thick with unshed tears and suppressed rage. “minjeong, please—”

suddenly, without warning, she jerks the wheel to the side, bringing the car to a sudden stop on the desolate roadside. dust swirls around in the golden glow of late afternoon, the world stilled around you, as if holding its breath along with you.

“what did you just say?” she repeats, her voice trembling with disbelief. her expression morphs, the initial hurt twisting into something darker, and even more frightening.

the air thickens, and you realize you’ve stepped too far. you don’t even recognize the fury in her eyes as she unbuckles her seatbelt and throws the door open, storming out into the open air. your heart races as her figure becomes small against the vastness of the road.

“minjeong, wait!” you call after her, moving to open your own door, only to find you’re locked inside. panic sets in as the automatic locks click ominously, sealing you in with your spiraling thoughts. you pound your fists against the window, frustration clawing at you.

“minjeong!” you shout, trying to wrangle her attention, your voice quaking. she stumbles into your peripheral vision, her back toward you, shoulders taut. then, in an instant, she disappears. heart pounding, you swivel around, confusion spilling into fear.

that’s when you see it. the unmistakable sheen of liquid splattering against the windshield, an eerie reflection of your horror mirrored in the glass. the smell is pungent, and your heart drops as you grasp what is happening.

“minjeong, don’t!” you scream, desperation clawing at your throat, but she doesn't seem to hear you. she is lost to whatever abyss has consumed her; the girl you once knew has vanished.

the gasoline coats the car, pooling in strange little rivulets that trace the car’s contours as minjeong stands in front of you, lost in a trance. a match flickers in her fingers, its flame dancing dangerously close to your cloud of panic. she holds it delicately, her expression unreadable—caught between rage and an eerie calm.

“watch,” she whispers, her voice almost saccharine, but there’s an undertone that sends chills racing through you. “this will bring the spark back, i promise.”

in one quick motion, she tosses the match into the pool of gasoline. time slows; the world compresses into a singular moment of fate sealing itself. 

your heart pounds against your ribs as the flames erupt, turning the world outside into a hellish kaleidoscope of oranges and reds. minjeong’s eyes glimmer with a wildness, a furious passion that you had long thought was reserved for love. it was intoxicating, but now it feels more like poison. the air around you thickens with fumes, panic rising in your throat as you grasp the reality of your situation. she’s gone off the deep end, and you’re trapped inside her fiery cage.

you slam on the windows with both fists, the sound muffled and desperate. “minjeong! open the door!” your voice is panicked, twisting into a shout that echoes through the confines of the vehicle. at first, she appears unfazed, a haunting smirk dancing on her lips. the atmosphere is electric—dangerous and exhilarating—yet your thoughts betray you, reminding you of the dull ache that has settled between you like an invisible rift.

your heart races as the flames erupt, engulfing the car and devouring the serenity that had once swirled between you and minjeong. the acrid scent of smoke fills the small space, mingling with the gasoline that blankets every surface. you pound on the glass, your fists an echo of disbelief and desperation, but minjeong just stares at you, a wild light in her eyes—a far cry from the sweet girl you once held in your arms.

as the flames lick at the trunk and crawl toward the driver’s seat, the heat creeps in, threatening to suffocate you. but more than the heat, it is the sight of her, standing there like a goddess of vengeance, that haunts your mind. where did the girl you love go? the girl who would curl up on the couch with you, giggling at inside jokes, the one who held your hand tightly on late nights?

“minjeong! stop!” your voice is hoarse, but the urgency rings clear. fear gnaws at you, and instinct pushes you to escape. you claw at the doors, your fingers dancing over the locks, but they don't budge. locked. the word loops in your mind, almost too much to bear.

she takes a step back, hitting the pause button on the chaos she has ignited. with trembling hands, you watch her, searching for a glimmer of recognition in her features, something that would remind you of the girl who laughed at your silly jokes and filled your weekends with warmth. Instead, you see a stranger, one who stands poised at the edge of insanity, her smile a grotesque mask on her face.

“did you really think you could just push me aside so easily?” she sneers, the smile twisting into something ugly. “you think you can just extinguish what we had—what i feel?”

you open your mouth to respond, but your breath catches as the fire flickers and dances, threatening to reach through the windshield. the world outside is muted now, as though the encroaching flames siphon away all sound. “minjeong, i care about you! i didn’t mean it like that!” you lean forward, the moisture in your eyes blurring the edges of her silhouette.

“care about me?” she echoes mockingly, the words dripping like venom. “it’s too late for that!” Her laughter rings hollow, shrill against the ominous crackling of fire.

and suddenly, she lunges forward, banging on the glass with the same frantic fervor that fills your chest. “you don’t see it, do you? this is the spark! you killed it! you have no idea what you’ve lost!”

hot tears mingle with the smoke that begins to creep in. panic swells; you lean back against the seat, the metal frame hot against your skin. “please, minjeong! we can talk about this! We can fix it!”

but the light in her eyes dims further, replaced by an overlay of anguish. “fix it?” she whispers, so soft it barely pierces the roar of the flames. “you think you can put a band-aid on this? you’ve already broken what we had. you’ve turned your back on me.”

in that moment, it’s clear that every moment together, every late night and laughter shared, has unraveled into nothingness. you remember the smiles, the moments of tenderness, the nights spent plotting futures together. but now, those echoes fade into oblivion, shattered by this haunting betrayal you never intended.

as the flames crack and wax, throwing shadows across her glassy visage, you strain against the seatbelt, desperate, panicking at the thought of losing her—losing everything you once held dear. “im sorry!” an apology that feels paltry escapes your lips, barely serving to bridge the chasm that has formed between you.

and with a strength you couldn’t comprehend, she tears down the remainder of the emotional barriers between sanity and chaos. as you edge closer, weighed down by the fear that wraps around your throat like a vice, she crumbles. the match she holds wavers, and you catch a glimpse of your minjeong again—a fleeting shadow, a flashing whisper of the girl who loved you fiercely.

you can’t let her go back to this. “listen to me, please! i never wanted to hurt you! i—”

you try to think of ways to escape, but the navy blue interior surrounds you like the jaws of a beast, each lock holding you in place as if the car itself is complicit in this tragedy. “stop this, please!” you scream, voice breaking on the last word. “i didn’t mean it like that! we can talk!”

her gaze flickers, a brief moment of uncertainty flashing in her eyes. it almost seems she is weighing her options, wondering if the anger she feels is worth the girl standing inside the car. you find yourself holding your breath. 

but it’s too late. the flame dances gracefully from her fingertips, and she lets it go, a careless act that sends shockwaves of fear through you. time slows as you watch it fall, the world narrowing to the small, flickering flame that lands on the gasoline-soaked surface of the car. it ignites with an eager roar, consuming the air around you in an instant.

you recoil, bracing yourself against the back of the seat as the fire spreads, heat prickling your skin. the stench of burning gasoline fills your lungs, and the choking smoke twists and turns, curling toward you like a dark hand that wants to pull you into its depths.

“why?” you gasp, your voice a thin wisp of disbelief. is this truly the person you once adored, the one you held under the glow of a streetlight and whispered your dreams to? as the flames grow taller, licking hungrily at the roof, you realize just how far you have drifted from the joyous heights of your early love.

“why?” she mimics, voice eerily calm amidst the chaos of the roaring flames. “because you wanted the spark? you’ve taken everything! sweet moments, tender touches—they were all because of your idea of love! this is what it looks like when you strip away the façade!”

y ou take a deep breath and lean forward, desperate to connect with her again, to reach through the haze of madness and remind her of all that was good between you. “minjeong, please! this isn’t you! let’s just talk—”

your words hang suspended in the air, but she remains unmoved. you can see the resolve etched into her features, a tragic conviction that seems to make her larger than life even in the midst of this crisis. you brace for the worst, your heart thundering in your chest. her face, once the definition of warmth, is now a tempest of rage, pain, and heartbreak.

the very essence of your relationship burns behind her eyes, and there, in that harrowing moment, you fear you’re witnessing the end of everything you’d built together. “you wanted the spark, didn't you?” she shouts, voice cracking under pressure, blending anger and sorrow. “you think you’re just going to walk away from this? no more empty promises!”

you feel it then—the crushing weight of reality crashing down on you. you are two people who have lost sight of why you fell in love in the first place. you have become strangers anchored by memories, and it hurts just as much to acknowledge it as it does to see the fire grow around you.

“minjeong, please!” your eyes burn from the smoke, but there’s a flicker of something within you—an ember of hope. “we can fix this! i didn’t mean to hurt you! i still care about you, i—”

but all she hears is betrayal wrapped in weakness. “you care?” she laughs bitterly, wiping away a tear that trails down her cheek, mingling with the sweat of her panic. “is this what caring looks like?”

moments stretch on as you process her anguish; the flames haven’t just engulfed the vehicle, but they’re consuming the last bits of clarity in the conversation. she takes a step back from the car, eyes wide, the wildness giving way to uncertainty.

desperation drives you as you shout, “minjeong! open the door! we can talk!” you slam your palm against the windows, creating a rhythmic pattern of thuds, shouts blending into chaos.

she watches you through the flames now, the mad gleam returning to her eyes. “talk? do you really think we can talk? this is us now! this is what we were!” the flames illuminate her, making her look almost otherworldly, distorting the very features you once adored.

she watches you, and for a flicker of eternity, it feels like she might relent. the fire licks at the edges of the foam seats, and you can see the panic setting in her eyes, too, now. “you think it’s over?” minjeong asks, her voice barely rising above the roar of the heat. “it’s just beginning!”

she gives you one last look, then turns on her heel, walking away from the car, away from you, running away from the chaos she started.

and in that heartbeat, the flicker from her gaze changes—it morphs into a realization. the spark of love flares within her eyes, a tiny flame that could either save you or plunge you into darkness. what will it be, you wonder?

but will it reach you before the flames burn everything to ash? time is slipping, and you’re left battling a love you once cherished, now clawing at it with words that barely feel like enough.

as the heat intensifies and the situation ticks dangerously close to a breaking point, you wonder if love, once passionate, can be rekindled, or if it is destined to blaze out in a storm of fury and flames. would it matter if you escape if the love is lost in the inferno?

[forest-hashira]

Butterflies

i have no chill so yes i'm back with a new fic a week after the last one. idk how or why i'm like this so don't ask. this is my second entry for @threadbaresweater's "summertime (and the livin' is easy)" collab event! my chosen prompt for this one was geto + botanical gardens. this got away from me literally in the first sentence AHAHA.

read on ao3 | wc: ~1.8k | cw: gender neutral reader, first date, minor miscommunication, both suguru and reader are bashful as hell and have been crushing for a while, several types of bugs are mentioned towards the end, but i think that's everything!

When Suguru had invited you to visit the local botanical gardens with him, you’d accepted without much thought, assuming that all your other friends would be there, too. You’d all spent nearly every waking moment together since the weather had gotten warm enough and the days had gotten long enough to spend more time outside, so it seemed like a foregone conclusion that this was going to be another one of those days.

You were quite mistaken.

Suguru was standing alone outside the front gates waiting for you, and while he was usually the first person to arrive whenever you all got together, Shoko, Utahime, or Kento usually weren’t far behind and consistently arrived before you did, so you were a bit surprised.

“Is everyone else on their way?” you asked as you approached, one hand above your brows to block the sun from your eyes as you looked up at him; you’d forgotten your sunglasses, again, something Satoru teased you about constantly. Even with the small amount of shade your hand afforded you, you squinted a bit up at your friend. His hair was pulled fully up into a bun, a hairstyle he didn’t wear as frequently as he did when you were all in high school, but with a heatwave rolling through the area, you weren’t exactly surprised he wanted all that hair off his skin.

After a moment you realized the sun was creating a sort of halo around him. Like an angel, you thought to yourself. He’s certainly pretty enough to be one. The thought caught you off guard, and you hoped it wasn’t obvious that you’d grown flustered by your own thoughts; you didn’t need him finding out about the crush you’d been harboring on him since you were teenagers, especially when no one else was there to save you from yourself.

His brows pinched in confusion, and he cocked his head ever so slightly to the right. “What do you mean?” he asked. 

“Satoru and Shoko and everyone,” you said, now feeling a bit confused yourself. “Are they just running late? Usually at least Kento is waiting with you by the time I show up.”

A look of understanding crossed his face then, and his face visibly reddened. “Ah,” he sighed, looking away from you and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s uh. It’s just us, actually. Sorry, I thought you knew that when you accepted the invitation.” 

“...Oh,” you uttered intelligently, feeling your own face beginning to heat as well, and not just from the sun beating down on you. It never occurred to you that Suguru would want to spend any alone time with you, away from the group; not that you didn’t get along without everyone else – you definitely did, you were just usually around the rest of your friend group – but the occasion for one on one time hadn’t arisen since you’d been partnered for assignments in school.

“We don’t have to go in,” Suguru offered gently, meeting your gaze again. “We can pretend this never happened. Or we can see if anyone else wants to join, I know Satoru’s not doing anything today.” When all you did was blink dumbly up at him, he looked away again, staring down at his feet. “I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

That brought you back to yourself, and you shook your head vehemently. “No!” you burst out, then cringed at your own raised volume and squeaky voice. “I-I mean, no, you didn’t make me uncomfortable. We can still go in. I looked this place up when you invited me, and I really want to see their pollinator sanctuary.”

Suguru’s shoulders dropped in relief at your words, and his small smile returned almost instantly. “I’d like that.”

As he turned and headed towards the gates, you followed barely a half step behind. You started to pull out your wallet as you drew closer to the ticket booth, but Suguru stopped you.

“Don’t worry about it,” he told you. “I bought our tickets already.”

His words had your face burning yet again, and you looked away sheepishly. “Thanks.” You followed him up to the gates, pausing long enough for the gate attendant to scan the tickets Suguru had bought – he’d printed them out, so the employee didn’t have to try and scan his phone screen, which struck as so distinctly Suguru that it made your heart flutter, though you’d never admit that to another human being.

Tickets now scanned, the pair of you were free to explore the grounds at your own pace. Ever the planner, your friend led you over to the large standing map. “Do you want to start with the pollinators?” he asked. “Or would you rather save that for the grand finale?”

Taking a few moments to consider, you looked over the map; the grounds were bigger than you thought, and you knew with the sun beating down on you, it wouldn’t be long before you were tired of the heat and ready to go somewhere with cold drinks and air conditioning. “Let’s do that first,” you said after a bit. “I don’t wanna run the risk of missing them because they’re hiding from the heat.”

Suguru nodded easily in agreement with your words. “I think that sounds like a good idea,” he confirmed. When he reached up and started tracing a path on the map from the “YOU ARE HERE” sticker to the pollinator sanctuary, you couldn’t help but watch, his hand making the sections of the map look smaller than they actually were. 

“It looks like we need to go this way,” he said quietly, and though you couldn’t quite tell if he was speaking to you or just thinking aloud, his words were enough to bring you back to yourself. “The pollinators are near the back, but this section with the trees should be pretty shaded for the walk back. What do you think?”

He turned to face you then, head tilted ever so slightly as he waited to hear your answer, oblivious to the way you’d been ogling his hand. You blinked dumbly for a moment, processing his words as you did your best not to make a fool of yourself.

“That sounds good, yeah,” you agreed sheepishly. “This way, right?”

When he nodded, you turned and made your way down the path, Suguru at your side. He was right, the path he’d chosen was pretty well shaded from the sun, offering you a bit of relief as you walked. The pace you maintained was steady; you weren’t rushing by any means, but you were eager to see the pollinator sanctuary, so you were walking a little faster than you normally might have.

Birds chirped overhead, singing to each other as they hopped from branch to branch, and the sound made you smile; summer wasn’t necessarily your favorite of the seasons, but right now the pros were definitely outweighing the cons.

“Thank you,” the raven haired man said after a few minutes of comfortable silence, and you looked up at him in slight confusion.

“For what?”

“For agreeing to come here with me,” he said simply. Then, looking a little bashful again, he added, “And for not freaking out on me when I told you it was just us after you got here.”

“Oh,” you said quietly. “I was happy to accept your invitation. And I’d never freak out on you for something like that, y’know. You’re easy to be around, and if nobody else is here it means I actually get to appreciate your presence.”

“You make a good point. Satoru does tend to demand to be the center of attention when we’re all together, doesn’t he?” A soft smile painted his lips as he spoke, and his words made you giggle a bit.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “He does.” 

Conversation was easy after that, talking about everything and nothing all at the same time, but it felt so good to talk with him; to spend time with him without anyone else around, something you rarely got to do, and never felt like you could suggest yourself until now. Now, though, you were sure you’d be spending a lot more one on one time with your companion.

“Oh, what was it that Satoru was trying to explain the other day? He kept comparing it to digi…mon…” you trailed off mid sentence as you stepped out from under the trees, completely forgetting what you’d been saying as you saw the pollinator sanctuary unfolding before you. Your steps slowed, and you looked around with wide eyes, taking in the sight of all the insects flitting between the brightly colored flowers: the honey bees climbing out of blooms covered in pollen; hummingbird moths hovering as they sipped before zipping to the next flower; bumblebees droning through the air; butterflies flitting from plant to plant.

Suguru slowed to keep pace beside you, and unbeknownst to you, he was looking at you far more intently than anything else in the garden. He paused for a moment, letting you walk a bit ahead of him as he admired you. As he watched, a few butterflies flew closer, dancing around your head as they came to investigate the scent of your shampoo. You stilled, though your eyes were wide as you tried to watch what was happening above you. One by one, about half a dozen butterflies landed in your hair, almost forming a crown around your head, making you look like some sort of nature spirit.

“You’re beautiful,” Suguru blurted out, and the sudden compliment startled you a bit. You turned back to face him quickly enough that all the butterflies went fluttering off again, now that they knew you were not, in fact, a flower.

“Huh?”

“You’re beautiful,” he repeated, though a bit more bashfully this time. “I’ve always thought that, y’know? I just didn’t want to make things weird between us by telling you that.” He closed the distance between you as he spoke, and he offered you a sheepish little smile. “I hope it’s okay that I’m telling you now, though.”

“Yeah,” you murmured back, smiling just as bashfully in return. “That’s more than okay. You’re beautiful, too, actually. I’ve always thought that.”

A small laugh bubbled out of Suguru at your words, and his expression grew impossibly more fond. “I’m glad we’re on the same page about that, then,” he mused. He was quiet for a moment then, his dark eyes contemplative, before he leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek.

The touch surprised you, but it wasn’t unwelcome. You felt your face burn a bit more as he pulled away, but your smile only brightened as you looked up at him.

He smiled back just as brightly, and as he spoke again, he took your hand and laced your fingers together gently. “Do you want to keep going?” “Yes, I’d like that very much.”

taglist: @mitsuristoleme @kentohours @peachdues @ghost-1-y @witchbybirth

@marinnnnnnnnn @dr-runs-with-scissors @enchantedforest-network

divider by saradika-graphics

[yuurei20]

Twisted Wonderland Game vs. Novel, What is the Difference, Book 2, part 1/8

Using the game's book/chapter counting system to try to keep things from getting too confusing, as there are no chapters in the novel.

Game 2-1: The prefect has a dream.

Novel: Ace and Deuce help Grim and Yuuya repair Ramshackle Dorm. Yuuya is dreading the start of a new school week as students have been coming from other classrooms to stare at him. This conversation leads into the same dream from the game.

Game: The dream transitions to Ace, Deuce, Grim and the prefect at lunch.

Novel: Yuuya and Grim go to class where Yuuya is greeted by Ace and Deuce, but also by a Heartslabyul student. Since Riddle’s overblot, Heartslabyul students have been reaching out to him here and there.

Crewel announces the upcoming Spelldrive tournament, but Yuuya and Grim do not know what Spelldrive is.

Crewel, Ace and Deuce explain the rules of the game.

Crewel reveals that an old classmate of his from when he was a student at NRC is now a professional Spelldrive athlete.

Grim is uninterested until learning that it is televised worldwide. He becomes upset when told that Ramshackle could never qualify for the games, due to a lack of players.

A Diasomnia student starts mocking a Savanaclaw student for losing the games last year, and they argue.

After morning classes the prefect and Grim go to the cafeteria for lunch, with Grim still depressed about the Spelldrive tournament, as he wants people to see him on TV and say that he is cool.

Game: Grim cuts in line to get a menchi-katsu sandwich (grilled cheese on EN).

Novel: Grim steals a menchi-katsu sandwich (Yuuya was not there to control him). Ace and Deuce get a load of snacks from the bakery, as Yuuya is paying to thank them for helping with dorm repairs.

Novel/Game 2-2: Ruggie appears.

Novel Only: Yuuya greets Ruggie with “long time no see,” as, in the first novel, Ruggie rescued him and Deuce from a fight over eggs by fetching Leona, who called off the bullies from Savanaclaw (in the game the bullies are from Heartlsabyul).

Novel/Game: Ruggie trades a mini-an-bread (EN: a hotdog bun) with Grim for his sandwich.

Novel Only: Yuuya reflects how this might be his first time hearing of a Japanese food in this world, as the cafeteria and school store generally only carry food from America and England.

Novel/Game: Ruggie leaves, Grim is confused.

Novel Only: Grim tries to give chase but Deuce points out that there is suddenly a wall of Savanaclaw students around them. Grim is confused. They talk about Savanaclaw losing the Spelldrive match to Diasomnia last year.

Novel/Game: Ruggie brings the sandwich and some iced tea to Leona in the botanical gardens (the dialogue here is identical in several places).

Novel Only: There is more information provided in narration about Ruggie’s life pre-NRC, about why he stays so close to Leona, etc.

[moon-sky-sun-earth-ocean-stars]

Dargon prince writing prompts

I decided to do a post to ideas and prompts I have or recieved of the dragon prince, so people might decide to write them. Feel free to use them. It would be nice to get credit or message if you do use them but it's not necessary. If you have other ideas write me in the comments or in a message and I might add them to this list. If you do write a fic for one of this prompts and you'll send it to me I'll add a link to it in the post. The ideas are plot based and not shipping based and that the point of all the prompts.

Sunfire elves royal family

Rayla and Suroh meet again

Trenda and Pozili (because they both scholars skywing elves)

Runaan's thoughts when he sees Tiadrin and Lain in the coins

Eltha and Somma meet and talk about botanics or has a special botanic project together

Soren in camp Katolis

Terry coming out as trans

Astrid coming out as trans

Villads adventures

Why Darys was in Scumport (ideas: could be because he lost sunforge dagger, or maybe he was undercover, or he has a hobby of going to fighting pits, or he started to trade goods from the human kingdoms after the border was opened and that why he went to Scumport)

Rayla meets Tressal in Chasing Shadows

Viren coping with Lissa leaving

In the lore book of tales of xadia there are many short folk stories, each of them can be idea for a fanfic.

Lira and Somma in bun bun fire night in Silvergrove

[ekingston]

thanks for sharing your shape of soup tattoo design - i’m so in awe of your artistic talent and creativity, it’s -gorgeous-

thank YOU anon!! it’s been a fun distraction ❤️ and just to put it all in one place:

The space they walk into reminds Kara of her training room at the DEO’s old desert facility, only instead of kryptonite emitters and Alex’s mean right hook it has Rumi quotes lining the walls and a miniature zen garden.

“I’m so glad we’re doing this,” Lena says, ducking into a changing room toward the back and holding the door until Kara follows her inside. “I’m told we’ll feel amazing after. We— well. I — may be sore for a couple of days, but they say it’s worth every twinge.”

Kara is pretty sure Lena’s muscles will be suffering a lot less than Kara’s sanity when this morning’s tribulation is over with. She turns away with a polite touch of superspeed when Lena shrugs off her blazer and starts unbuttoning her shirt, only to come face to face with a poster depicting several medieval-looking torture techniques advertised as ‘Pilates Reformer exercises’.

“Oh my,” Lena mutters behind her, following Kara’s eyeline as she steps up close. Kara turns to her out of habit, and is faced with a mouthful of tank-topped Lena Luthor, pulling her hair into a bun. “Are we going to need a safeword for this?” she giggles nervously against Kara’s shoulder.

Even Kara’s solar-charged, superpowered heart isn’t strong enough to withstand the triple threat posed by Lena’s choice of words combined with the row of diamond piercings dotting the pink shell of her ear, and—at last—the near-religious revelation of the new tattoo inked onto her wrist.

Kara has given a, you know, friendly amount of thought to the design Lena might have chosen since she first spotted the bandage.

And yet reality continues to surprise.

“Your cello,” Kara husks, forgetting for a moment that Kara Danvers has no idea that Lena plays. Lena’s eyes are wide behind her glasses, confused. “Your tattoo,” Kara explains, struggling against the impulse to take Lena’s hand so she can get a closer look.

Lena lowers her arm and holds it out in front of her, welcoming Kara’s scrutiny. “Right,” she says. “Well. That, and a few other things.”

With Lena’s permission granted, Kara can’t stop herself from reaching out any longer. She brushes a gentle thumb along the edge of the achingly delicate geometric design that runs up the length of Lena’s forearm. The contrast of the black ink against her ghostly-pale skin is breathtaking. “This is a polar graph of Riemann’s Zeta function,” Kara recognizes, her voice lilting up with wonder. The tattoo hasn’t quite healed completely, small black clumps pressing up here and there under the pad of Kara’s thumb, but the healed lines are perfect, sharp and striking.

“It depicts one of the most important unsolved problems in pure mathematics.” Lena lets out an audible breath. “Kara,” she says, her brow now furrowed in what looks like an almost pained expression. “Why would you possibly know that?”

Kara stubbornly avoids Lena’s eyes along with her loaded question. “What’s the botanical part, over here?” she asks instead, her fingertips twitching against the tender underbelly of Lena’s wrist.

Lena shivers at the light touch. “Arnica Montana,” Lena breathes. “For healing from trauma.” Her throat clicks when she swallows. They’re standing so close now that Kara probably would have heard it even if she wasn’t an alien.

“Let’s not do this,” Kara blurts.

Lena recoils in alarm. “What?”

“Let’s do something else,” Kara decides, whirling her body back around to face the wall when she’s reminded of Lena’s state of undress. She’s one hundred percent sure she'll die if Lena takes off even one more item of clothing. “This whole thing looks, like, super painful,” she improvises, her eyes fixed on the poster depicting human bodies being stretched and contorted in ways decency prevents her from describing. “Why don’t we have breakfast at the Museum of Natural History instead?” she suggests, wincing when her intended tone tips from bright enthusiasm into outright mania. “We can check out their biodiversity exhibit after. Did you hear they added a section on exobiology?”

The Shape of Soup on ao3

[zalrb]

PLL Review 3x05 - As Per Anon Request (if that's still something you all want? idk)

Did you miss me? xoxo Sorry, wrong show: thought you get rid of me that easily? SURPRISE BITCHES - Z

Totally missed that New A almost killed Caleb's mother.

Wait, didn't Aria have short hair? That lasted, like, an episode.

So, no one in this small town, where there are two dead girls, a suicide, and a bunch of weird shit happening is going to look out their windows or open their doors when someone gets carted away in an ambulance?

The way Rosewood is so obviously a set is hilarious.

Jesus christ, can Lucas go away?

AND Paige?

It's so funny how all of the extras wear practical-ish (because flats are still, well, you know, flats) shoes but the mains and the supporting cast have to wear shoes like these

I know her eyebrows are aching. I know it.

It's funny how I'm seeing the way Shay acts now start to emerge in season 3.

She's still terrible.

"Em, Mona may not be the only person in Rosewood who owns a black hoodie!" LOL, she's got a point.

"Don't look" *Emily immediately looks*

This cafe just looks like Karen's cafe.

Everyone having crazy eyes today

but Spencer always had crazy eyes, she's the PLL original

"Every time you baby squirrel Ezra, you take away his nuts" she's a child. He is an adult. Good line, though.

"He just got an invitation to Ezra's birthday party." HE IS AN ADULT.

"Kevin said the birthday girl is set on a certain look" it's a cafe. It's not the Mikaelson ball.

LMAO putting on a clip-on tie for ~ tension ~ that's not how it works.

"I meant to toss it but I was afraid my mom would find it in the garbage." So toss it in a public trash can? Oh my god, TEEN if you're going to teen.

Wait, why is Harper who is not Harper still at this cafe if Emily isn't there? I thought she told him to hang out there so she could speak to him and then she just ... doesn't? She went home? WHY IS HE THERE THEN.

"See you tomorrow." "Must be great to say that and mean it." LMAO that is a WILD thing to say to someone who was blind. And why are there so many shots at her being or having been blind???

Harper has Spock ears.

Jenna gets all the boys and I'm not sure how or why. Nothing about her is particularly charismatic or charming. Every girl falling for Emily is kind of like, I get it I guess, she's like Serena, it's all the hair.

Hanna is just wearing regular clothes and everyone is like omg you look terrible. It's the best she's looked.

"Because Spencer! I'm too depressed to work a zipper, get over it!" Hanna, you seem FINE. You're like Elena when she was SO depressed over Damon and she was out here like

At least when Rory was trying her best not to wallow over Dean, you saw her actively try to avoid it.

Spencer looks like she owns a botanical shop

Giving Hanna short hair just makes her look her age i.e. 23/24

Ezra, do you even like her?

he is trying

to do this face

"OK, so, he's FINALLY chosen some flowers, which are hideous and tacky." I've said it before and I'll say it again, the dialogue on this show is very teen.

But these are details you tell Hanna, Spencer, not Emily.

I love how Emily is wearing gloves to handle the food but not a hairnet for her hair. It's in one but it's not even in a bun.

"Em, his mom is in a coma."

Every time I see Spencer, I just think of

Hanna, why would Emily know how her jacket ended up in a donation box?

"But I gotta say, she's pretty intriguing." IS SHE?

You put like a sip's worth of alcohol in your drink, Paige, why even bother.

Ezra, you're at a party for teenagers. Look at yourself. Then again, it isn't your first time.

"Oh, he's not in high school." No, he just taught it.

I like how Paige is basically Harry to Cho when she wasn't over Cedric dying like omgggg get OVER it alreadyyyyyyyy

Why.

I'm laughing so hard. This show is so bad at seamlessly entwining the romances. Like Spencer, you're BUSY.

"Did she sleep with her sunglasses on?" LOL Spencer, you know damn well, she wouldn't have done that blind either.

This episode has a serious lacking of Mona.

PAIGE gets hurt more than Aria?? PAIGE?

"Nate, would you mind getting some coffees" is rude af, Emily, YOU get the coffees and bring Hanna with you.

"Maybe Jenna wasn't the only person I saw that night." Go to the clairvoyant child. Like why even introduce him.

I know they're arguing right now but this is always his face

I am laughing so hard. Ezra pulling up on Lucas blocking Aria reminds me so much of Edward pulling up to save Bella. I hate them so much.

Paige, you drank from someone else's flask the entire night. Come on.

omgggggggg it's Lucassssssssssssssss.

Every episode should have Mona in it, idk.

[flowersandbirdsflyingfree]

may I request a fox and bun headcanon🥺👉🏻👈🏻

YES YOU MAY!

But why do just one? I’M SENDING PLENTY YOUR WAY

Fox and Bun (Primis)

One night, you both went to a restaurant date together. The same place had open mic night. What you hadn’t expected was for him to be brave enough to go up just as you were both ordering dessert. Edward dedicates a song to you, the song in question being The Way You Look Tonight by Frank Sinatra. He actually did an incredible job! It was a miracle he wasn’t shaky on stage. “Oh no, I was terrified. If I messed up even one note I would never forgive meinself! After all, you only deserve the best.”

Spring date at a botanical garden. The two of you walk about during mid-May to savor the abundance fragrance of sweet wisteria in the air. You sit by the Peonies and have a small picnic lunch. A butterfly gracefully lands on your shoulder and he takes a picture to remember it fondly. Another butterfly lands on Edward’s nose. It made him sneeze

He’s crafted you your own weapon. Just in the case the apocalypse was to happen again! It’s a Mark II Raygun with the name Julia engraved on the left side in silver cursive. He also has a resin necklace of a daisy with your name in it in case you weren’t going to like the gun

You know how you stress over Edward’s well being like him leaving the house without a coat on in late Autumn? If you did so much as cut your finger a little by mistake, he’d throw everything aside to take care of you. You WILL let him clean it with antiseptic and bandage it and kiss it better

I think he would be a good teacher. Not just gushing over miscellaneous science topics to you, but he would teach you German a little bit at a time. His goal is to have you fluent enough so you guys can flip between languages whenever. The look of fear on Dempsey’s face will be so satisfying!

He knows how it feels to be lonely. It feeds into his introversion at times. But when it happens to you, Edward will go to the ends of the Earth to bring you warmth. “Anyone would be a fool to put themselves in the position to lose you. I feel as you deserve better than I could ever give you. But there’s no one else who feels so right for me as you are. Julia, I promise to be the one who will do anything to help you remember this. It’s the absolute least you deserve. I love you.”

[theocannibalistic]

Aaaand NPC gala fits part 2!

ID: five digital drawings of original characters, described top to bottom and left to right. 1. Bluebell, a lanky firbolg woman with freckled pale blue furry skin, cow hooves and a cow tail, fluffy ears, brown eyes and long dark red hair in a braid crown at her hairline. She is wearing a cream gown embroidered with pink, lavender and white flowers and pale green vines. The dress has a plunging neckline that shows a white patch of fur on her chest. She also has pale green vine earrings and bracelets and flowers in her hair that match the dress. 2. Agnazar, an older elven person with black hair pulled into a bun with two long white strands that hang past her ears and end in lightning shapes. She is wearing big star earrings, purple goggles pushed up to her forehead, black boots and gloves, and an indigo coat with white buttons and trimming. She is holding a dark brown cane with a purple orb grip in her right hand. 3. Moxie, a broad tiefling orc with freckled seafoam green skin that blushes purple, asymmetrical upright horns, a long tail with a curly blond tip, brown eyes and fluffy pale blond hair shaved light brown at the sides of his head. He is wearing red dragon earrings, gold bracelets and gold rings on his horns, a red cape in the shape of dragon wings, a layered terra-cotta scale skirt, a purple tabard with a black dragon embroidered on it and dark teal leggings and brown boots. 4. Juniper, a wood elf woman with tan freckled skin that blushes green, dark forest green hair with braids and wrapped sections and brown eyes. She is wearing a green gown with three-quarters sleeves, a square neckline split at the center and bright green and blue botanical pattern on the skirt and sleeve hems. She also has a gold crown with five blunt spikes decorated with circular gems and a necklace with multi-colored beads and a stone pendant. 5. Sirocco, a young summer eladrin girl with a warm skintone, frilled pointed ears, orange yellow and red eyes reminiscent of targets and long pale blond hair with straight-across bangs. She is wearing a red gown with puff sleeves, a curlicue pattern and white gem at the heart-shaped neckline, full skirts and a pink tabard with white and yellow accents.

Player Characters NPCs Part 1 NPCs Part 2 (you are here)

[beastlyarcane]

@shimmerbeasts  ──  [  Random  Starter  ]

The feelings swirled within her. So close. SO CLOSE! Caitlyn had her scent, she had chased her down personally. She left behind all the enforcers, the noxians. Her mind had locked onto her target. The demonic laughter echoed in her ear. Ambessa’s words twisted within her mind. Justice? Vengeance? Both of the same. And yet she slipped through her fingers again.

Boots of heavy weight stomped against the ground, pacing back and forth. Her cape swirled behind her as she moved. She could undoubtedly burn the grass she was stomping on, if she had been on fire. ‘You’ll get her next time,’ Ambessa boasted confidently, and yet that snake of a woman continued to evade her grasp! She didn’t want next time the Sheriff demanded her vengeance now! Yet she was too smart of a trap, too cunning for a lure.

The crown upon her head grew too heavy so Caitlyn grabbed the golden object and threw it down on the ground and unhooked her cape to toss it overtop of it. Her claws pierced through her gloves and Caitlyn curled them into a fist. “AHHHHHHHHHHH” Her voice cracked out, a roaring scream as she bent over and released all her angered tension, ripping through her heart. Would anyone hear? Doubtful, she stood on the outskirts of eastern piltover, where the trees stood tall and the grass grew long. The botanical garden funded by the Kiramman’s laid to the north, which is why so much lush land existed.

She slammed her hands against the bark of the tree, unable to hear its voice or sense its magic. The animals no longer spoke to her, the fae had faded from sight. Perhaps they rejected her just as Caitlyn rejected herself. It only further made her focus on hunting Jinx. If she killed her, would it fix anything? Her mum would not come back, she would still not sense anyone; everything had left her. And yet, she could not let this go. The sheriff grabbed at the tethers of Caitlyn’s mind and shoved her back, allowing herself to absorb the rage and anger. “I’ll find her, if it takes years, I will find her!” The sheriff demanded through sharp teeth that ground together.

Her claws chipped at the tree, tearing off bark and wood. Against it, laid eight large gashes as she twisted around and glanced down at the cape and crown. The Prince could pick it up later, but the Sheriff needed to stay in place for now. “Damn Noxians are too slow and weighted. The Enforcers have no idea how to hunt her. I can only count on myself,” She dropped down onto a bench, reaching up and pulling her hair out of the bun and let it fall loose. No perfect picture of a leader, only the primal rage flowing, freeing in the presence of no one.

A brisk breeze blew through her hair with a chill against the air. The Kiramman lifted her head, sniffing the air as the shift of the wind pulled back in the opposite direction. A strange feeling permeated the air, causing Caitlyn to rise. A misty fog hovered over the ground and a frigid chill on the horizon. Despite being fully dressed in her uniform, the Snow leopard shivered.

Immediately, her hextech rifle landed in her hands and the sights popped up. Propped against her shoulders, the sheriff stood ready for what might appear. Another demon, like Evelyn? Or something from the arcane? Caitlyn didn’t know, but the foreign sensation set the vastayan’s fur on edge and she readied herself for what might show.

[deathblossomed]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 & 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒

@thuganomxcs : You're alive?! You're alive?!

NAME : Botan - STATUS : Missing - LAST SEEN : Yurei Investigation, formerly active yurei disappeared over a two month period. Cause unknown. [CASE FILE ATTACHED] Last seen by Urameshi Yusuke, leaving for work. NOTES : Foul play suspected. Ring and cell phone recovered. Oar missing. Energy signature untraceable. Soul File flagged. Any further information to be reported to Lord Koenma directly, case labeled as HIGH PRIORITY.

SHE FEELS HOLLOW, walking down the street. The glow of the moon overhead and the humid mist makes every step feel like a dream she can't wake up from. Nothing hurts and yet she's uncomfortable, like there's too much distance between her mind and body, a disconnect she can't quite focus on. Even the sound of her name feel foreign.

Botan, it's time to go home.

Even if there were humans on the street, they wouldn't be able to see her now. Walking like a ghost, dressed in a black kimono, her hair drawn into a pinned bun, not a strand out of place. The only difference is in her eyes, the warmth and vibrancy drained out, no longer magenta but something far less saturated, an icy heather left in it's wake.

It fits the far away stare, the strained effort it takes for her to knock on the front door. As soon as she entered the yard, the dogs were up, barking, tails wagging, whining when she pays them no heed. They're anxious to get closer but something is keeping them back, fear and uncertainty. The cats are up too, like they've sensed something. She can hear Moka yowling in the house, pacing at the front door. But when Yusuke opens the door, he freezes, his desperation turning to panic. He's hissing, ears flat, but not at Botan, at her shadow.

You're alive?!

Botan hears the words but doesn't understand. The way Yusuke looks at her, the way he lunges past her cat and embraces her, it makes her chest hurt. There are tears welling in her eyes but she can't speak. She's trying, screaming from inside her own mind. He's so warm and when she raises her arms, it's with the intention of hugging him, of holding him and never letting go.

But that's not what happens. Wordlessly, she puts her hands on either side of his face. "Sleep..." she whispers. Moka is trying to wedge between them, the dogs are barking, the other cats won't come closer. From Botan's hands, energy pulses. Her tears start to fall and painted symbols appear across her skin. From her palms, she starts to drain out Yusuke's ki. The expression in her eyes goes from ghostly to panicked, like she's fighting an army on her own. She opens her mouth and chokes but manages to get two words through before everything becomes dull again.

"Please fight..."

[missrosiesworld]

First Encounters

Pinocchio stepped into the tranquil expanse of Hotel Krat, a place that seemed to breathe with the essence of times gone by and yet thrummed with the energy of originality. After a brief but enlightening conversation with Eugénie, and the acquisition of his new legion arm, an intricate contraption named the puppet string, he found himself drawn to the courtyard she had mentioned, populated with silent dummies standing sentinel for practice.

As the evening waned, he meandered through the ornate halls of the Hotel, his gaze lingering on the paintings that adorned the walls, each a silent testament to the grandeur and mystery that seemed to be the very soul of Krat.

It was then that the faintest melody reached his ears, a gentle singing that seemed to weave through the air like a siren's call. Guided by a growing curiosity and the soft beacon of song, he followed the sound. The melody led him to an unexpected sight—a room that blurred the lines between a workshop and a greenhouse.

Inside, a symphony of mechanical wonders intermingled with vibrant greenery. Creeping vines entwined with softly whirring gears, and blossoming flowers shared space with ticking devices. It was a chamber where the natural world and the marvels of invention danced in harmony, a manifestation of a mind both wild and disciplined.

There, amidst the convergence of flora and mechanism, stood a young woman, her back turned to the doorway. She was a silhouette against the glow of warm lamplight, her posture poised and yet at ease among her creations. Her white hair, as pure and stark as alabaster, was expertly coiled into an elegant bun, strands artfully escaping to frame her face in a soft, luminescent halo under the lambent glow of workshop lanterns.

She was garbed in a Victorian-style dress, impeccably tailored to her slender frame, merging the era's fashion sensibilities with the utilitarian needs of her inventive work. The dress featured a fitted bodice, accented with brass buttons and small, gear-shaped adornments that subtly nodded to her profession. A skirt of ample fabric fell in elegant folds, allowing ease of movement amidst her botanical and mechanical menagerie.

As Pinocchio's heavier steps announced his presence, the singing ceased, and the woman turned, revealing a face that held a curious blend of focus and dreaminess. Her eyes were striking, painting her gaze with an almost ethereal light, yellow and blue flickering together in a captivating dance, a visual symphony of sun and sky. They were eyes that seemed to not only see the world but to truly behold its essence.

For a moment, Pinocchio stood motionless, caught in the gravity of this unexpected encounter, his mechanical heart ticking a fraction slower, as if to give him time to take in the vision before him. She was an enigma, a being that seemed as much a part of her surroundings as the ivy and the gears she worked with.

The young woman's gaze settled on the tall figure before her, an air of quiet stoicism surrounding him as he absorbed the sights of her and her workshop. From the sturdy boots that anchored him firmly to the ground to the dark hair that framed his face in gentle disarray, she noted the contrasts that made up his presence: strength and vulnerability, complexity and simplicity, all coalesced into one.

He stood a good half-foot taller, compelling her to tilt her head upward to meet his gaze. His face, though reserved, hinted at layers of unspoken emotion, freckles like a smattering of stardust against his skin—a subtle softness amidst the hard lines of his jaw and the cool, discerning look in his eyes.

She smiled gently, her expression one of both curiosity and kindness, as she set aside her latest creation—a delicate fusion of botanical and mechanical life that seemed to pulsate with quiet energy.

With graceful movements, she cleaned her hands with a cloth and approached the silent figure who seemed to be a puzzle waiting to be understood.

"Hello," she greeted, her voice carrying the warmth of genuine hospitality. "Geppetto has spoken of you. I'm pleased to finally meet you, Pinocchio. Welcome to Hotel Krat." Her smile widened in a gesture of genuine welcome.

She extended her hand, an offering of friendship and a bridge between two souls in a place that celebrated the extraordinary. "I'm Elara," she introduced herself, her eyes bright with the joy of new acquaintance.

Elara noticed the slight tilt of Pinocchio's head and the hesitant twitch of his fingers, an endearing sign of his cautious nature. Understanding his uncertainty, she offered a reassuring nod, her eyes communicating patience and empathy. Gently, she bridged the gap between them, carefully taking his hand in hers. Her touch was soft, guiding, showing him the trust and care within her gesture.

With a delicate but firm grasp, she shook his hand, mindful of his strength and the hesitancy that came with it. "Don't worry," she whispered with a kind smile, "I trust you."

Pinocchio's eyes locked with hers, a myriad of emotions swirling within the deep blue. In that simple exchange, a connection was forged, an unspoken understanding that here, he could explore the limits of his existence safely.

Pinocchio, his gaze still softly locked with Elara's, found a sense of ease in her presence. "It's a pleasure to meet you as well," he replied, his voice a calm murmur resonating with the newfound warmth she ignited within him. His stoic demeanor remained, but there was a glimmer of something more, a hint of connection that he wasn't accustomed to, but nonetheless welcomed.

As Elara's smile broadened and she gently released his hand, Pinocchio's attention naturally turned to his surroundings. The room was a fusion of nature and mechanics, a tangible representation of creativity and life intertwined. He observed the way mechanical limbs weaved through foliage, automata nestled amongst blooms, and the seamless integration of gears and greenery.

Elara watched him with a knowing look, her eyes following his every move with interest. "This is my workshop, where I blend the mechanical with the botanical," she began, her voice filled with a passion that mirrored the vibrancy of the room. "I create hybrid species, a symbiosis of plant life and machinery, each piece a living art form that defies conventional boundaries."

Her explanation was accompanied by a sweeping gesture that encompassed the entire room, her pride evident in her posture and the spark in her eyes. Pinocchio absorbed her words, each sentence painting a clearer picture of the genius before him. He was in the presence of an artist, a creator whose work was as much a part of her as the very air she breathed.

Elara moved with grace among her creations, her fingers brushing against a metallic leaf here, a blooming flower there. "They're more than just experiments; they're expressions of possibility," she continued, her eyes alight with the thrill of sharing her world. "And each one is unique, much like you and me."

Pinocchio felt a kinship with the lifeforms around him, an understanding of being something more than what was expected. Elara's work, much like his own existence, challenged the limits of what could be.

Elara's smile remained radiant as she turned her full attention back to Pinocchio, her eyes reflecting genuine warmth. "If you have any questions about Hotel Krat, need some guidance, or simply wish to have a friendly chat, you're more than welcome to come to me," she offered kindly. With a slight tilt of her head, she added, "If I'm not here in my workshop, my room is just in the back. And should you not find me there, I'm likely in the garden tending to its needs."

Pinocchio, taking in her words, glanced around once more, his mind momentarily traveling back to the courtyard filled with silent dummies. "Are you referring to the garden with the dummies?" he asked, his voice holding a tinge of curiosity about the mechanical dummies he had encountered earlier.

Elara's laughter was light, a melodic sound that seemed to blend seamlessly with the symphony of her living workspace. "No, not there," she chuckled, shaking her head slightly. "There is another garden, one that I care for. It's a bit more... alive, you could say."

Seeing a spark of interest in Pinocchio's eyes, she continued, "If you're interested, I'd be delighted to show you around sometime. It's quite different from the courtyard — it's a place where nature and my mechanical hybrids coexist in harmony."

Her offer hung in the air between them, an invitation that promised more than just a tour of another part of the hotel, but an opportunity for Pinocchio to step further into the world Elara so lovingly cultivated.

Pinocchio's stoic facade softened slightly, a glint of curiosity in his eyes that mirrored the spark in Elara's. "Yes," he replied, the word almost a whisper as he considered the prospect of a world crafted by such a skilled hand. "I would very much like to see this garden. Could we perhaps go now?"

Elara's face radiated delight and eagerness as Pinocchio expressed his wish to see the garden. "Absolutely, I'd love to show you," she replied with warmth, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. She reached out confidently, her touch gentle yet assured, as she took Pinocchio's hand in hers.

Leading him through the hotel, Elara moved with a confident grace, her steps unhurried yet purposeful. Pinocchio felt a comforting reassurance as Elara's hand enveloped his. As they progressed, the hotel's ambient noise gradually receded, giving way to a serene quietude as they neared the gardens.

Pinocchio's typically heavy, pronounced footsteps became lighter, echoing Elara's graceful pace. His blue eyes remained intently focused on Elara, captivated by her ease and elegance as she navigated the hotel's opulent interior. The combination of her poised demeanor and the gentle hold of her hand stirred a sense of comfort and curiosity within him.

As they entered the garden, the vibrant sounds of nature enveloped them. Birds chirped harmoniously, leaves whispered in the breeze, and the air hummed with the symphony of the natural world. Elara, aware of Pinocchio's attentive gaze, turned to him with a warm, welcoming smile. She guided him through the garden paths, enthusiastically pointing out various plants and flowers, each with its own story. The garden's rich tapestry of colors and textures captivated Pinocchio, its serene beauty a stark contrast to the more mechanical environment he knew.

In the midst of this natural splendor, Elara remained the focal point of Pinocchio's attention. Her presence was a peaceful anchor amidst the garden's vibrant life, a sense of tranquility that was both new and deeply comforting.

They soon arrived at the heart of the garden, Elara's treasured sanctuary. It was as enchanting as she described: a secluded alcove framed by ivy-clad walls, with a charming fountain at its heart, creating a tranquil atmosphere. The sun's rays filtered through the leaves, casting a mosaic of light and shadows, enhancing the magical aura of the place.

Elara gestured around them with a sense of pride and affection. "This is my special haven," she shared, her eyes reflecting her deep bond with this tranquil spot. She settled onto a quaint bench, patting the space beside her, inviting Pinocchio to join her. "You seem to have a real appreciation for the garden's beauty," she observed, her eyes meeting his. "It's not often that someone understands the subtle beauty of nature so well."

Elara's gaze lingered on Pinocchio, noting how the dappled sunlight added a gentle touch to his typically stoic features. She saw in him a unique blend of curiosity and awe, qualities she found deeply appealing. "I hope this place brings you the same sense of peace it brings me," she said hopefully, her voice filled with a genuine desire for him to find solace in this special corner of the world.

Pinocchio moved to sit beside Elara, the bench cool and welcoming under the shade of the ivy-clad walls. As he settled in, his senses were fully attuned to the symphony of the garden—the gentle gurgle of the fountain, the whisper of leaves, and the interplay of light and shadow that painted everything with a serene glow. He was especially drawn to the seamless integration of mechanical elements that lived in harmony with the natural flora.

Elara watched him, a soft smile playing on her lips, as his eyes traveled over her creations. She followed his gaze, pointing to a particularly intricate hybrid where vines curled around a delicately wrought metal trellis, its gears slowly turning to adjust the plant's exposure to the sunlight. "This one helps the roses get the perfect amount of light," she explained. "Each leaf and bloom are tended to with care."

Another device caught Pinocchio's attention—a series of small, metallic insects that buzzed softly, pollinating flowers with a precision that was both beautiful and practical. "And these," Elara continued, her voice carrying a note of pride, "are my pollinators. They ensure every flower thrives, even those that the bees tend to overlook."

Pinocchio observed the mechanical pollinators with a sense of wonder, his eyes following their delicate dance among the petals. For a moment, he remained silent, processing the harmonious blend of technology and nature before him. Then, with a measured tone, reflective of his stoic nature yet tinged with a newfound hint of wonder, he responded.

"This place, your creations... they speak of a deep understanding and respect for both worlds. It's... enlightening." Elara's eyes sparkled in response, touched by his observation. "I'm glad you see it that way, Pinocchio," she replied, her voice warm with sincerity. "I've always believed that nature and mechanics can enhance each other, creating something greater than the sum of their parts."

Elara gazed at Pinocchio with a gentle smile, her eyes twinkling with a mix of fondness and insight. "Like you, Pinocchio," she said softly.

Pinocchio's eyebrow arched inquisitively, a silent query etched on his face. Elara chuckled lightly at his expression. "I mean, you're a perfect example of the harmony between mechanics and something more... human. You're not just a collection of parts; there's something special about you."

Pinocchio absorbed her words, a faint trace of surprise flickering across his features. His mechanical heart, usually steady and unvarying, fluttered slightly, a sensation that was both unfamiliar and intriguing.

After a brief pause, during which Pinocchio seemed to contemplate her comparison, Elara shifted the conversation. "What do you plan to do next in your journey?" she asked, genuinely interested in his path.

Pinocchio's gaze drifted momentarily to the tranquil surroundings before returning to Elara. "I am heading to Elysion Boulevard in search of Geppetto," Pinocchio replied, his voice steady.

Elara felt a subtle tightness in her chest as she heard Pinocchio mention his intention to venture to Elysion Boulevard. She knew the area's reputation for danger, especially for humans, but she also recognized the extraordinary nature of Pinocchio. He was far more than just a puppet; there was something uniquely special about him.

"I'll show you to the door that leads to Elysion Boulevard," Elara offered, her voice steady despite the concern she felt.

Together, they left the serene garden, retracing their steps through the hotel. Elara led Pinocchio to the courtyard where the dummies stood, a silent audience to their journey. They approached the back of the courtyard, where ornate doors marked the threshold to the outside world and the path to Elysion Boulevard.

Upon reaching the doors, Elara momentarily paused, her hand reaching out to gently grasp Pinocchio's arm. "Please, be careful," she urged, her eyes reflecting a blend of worry and hopeful expectation. "And come back soon."

Pinocchio felt a subtle reaction in his springs at her touch, an unfamiliar yet tangible response to her kind words. He glanced down at her hand on his arm, then lifted his gaze to meet hers. "I promise I'll be safe," he responded, his tone still flat and stoic but underscored by a sense of earnestness. "And I'll come back."

Elara's face lit up with a soft, reassuring smile, a mix of relief and fondness shining through. She gave a gentle nod, slowly withdrawing her hand, watching as Pinocchio started to walk away.

Just as Pinocchio was about to disappear into the streets, he paused and turned back for a fleeting moment. Elara was still there, her hands tenderly placed over her heart, her eyes locked on him. When she noticed him looking back, she offered a gentle wave. Pinocchio returned the gesture, acknowledging her presence.

Turning away, Pinocchio felt an unfamiliar stirring within, placing a hand over his chest where his mechanical heart resided, responding to an inner shift. In that moment, a silent commitment was formed – a vow to safeguard Elara from the harsh realities of their world. As he strode down Elysion Boulevard, he silently pledged to do everything in his power to protect her, the one who saw him as more than a puppet, as someone truly special.

[daarkessentials1]

A Detailed Look at Cinnamon: Types, Benefits, and Cultural Importance

When we think of cinnamon, what usually comes to mind is its warm, sweet aroma and its role in making food taste delicious. But did you know that there’s more than one type of cinnamon — and that each type offers its own health perks and culinary uses?

An emerging organic spice brand from Jaipur is on a mission to make traditional Indian spices more accessible and better understood, starting with this fragrant favorite. In this article, we’ll take you through the key types of cinnamon, their origins, taste profiles, uses, and how they contribute to overall wellness.

Understanding the Varieties of Cinnamon

There are four major types of cinnamon commonly used around the world. While they might appear similar at first glance, their differences lie in taste, strength, and nutritional value.

Ceylon Cinnamon – The Purest Form

Where It’s From: Grown mainly in Sri Lanka

Taste and Texture: Light, subtly sweet, and mild in comparison to other varieties

Key Benefits:

Contains high levels of antioxidants

Supports heart function

Helps maintain balanced blood sugar levels

Noteworthy Feature: Known as “true cinnamon,” Ceylon is valued for its lower levels of coumarin, making it a safer choice for frequent consumption.

Cassia Cinnamon – The Widely Used Alternative

Origin Countries: Predominantly cultivated in China and Indonesia

Flavor Notes: Robust, slightly bitter, and more intense

Important to Know:

High in coumarin, which should be consumed in moderation

Commonly found in supermarkets and used in everyday cooking and baking

Saigon Cinnamon – The Potent Spice

Native To: Vietnam

Taste: Extremely aromatic, spicy, and bold

Best For: Recipes that require an intense cinnamon presence — think cinnamon buns, apple pies, or spiced lattes.

Korintje Cinnamon – The Subtle Performer

Country of Origin: Indonesia

Flavor Profile: Smooth, slightly sweet, and not too overpowering

Ideal Uses: A go-to option for commercial bakers and commonly included in spice blends

Cinnamon Names Across Indian Languages

Cinnamon, though universal in its appeal, has different names based on the region and language:

In Hindi: दालचीनी पाउडर (Dalchini Powder)

In Tamil: பட்டை தூள் (Pattai Thool)

This localization not only highlights its cultural roots but also helps consumers recognize the spice in their own linguistic context.

For a broader view on cinnamon’s cultural and botanical heritage, check out our related article on cinnamon's origin and regional variations.

Health Advantages of Incorporating Cinnamon Into Your Diet

More than just a culinary delight, cinnamon offers a host of health benefits supported by both traditional wisdom and modern research:

Strengthens Immunity: Thanks to its antioxidant properties

Regulates Glucose Levels: Supports better sugar metabolism, especially beneficial for those with type 2 diabetes

Promotes Digestive Comfort: Long used in home remedies to treat indigestion and bloating

Improves Circulation: Has heart-friendly qualities that reduce bad cholesterol and support healthy blood flow

Has Antimicrobial Properties: Naturally combats bacteria and inflammation

Final Thoughts: Choosing the Right Cinnamon for Your Lifestyle

Whether you’re adding a sprinkle to your coffee, brewing a traditional spiced tea, or baking holiday treats, cinnamon offers something for everyone. Knowing the differences between varieties like Ceylon, Cassia, Saigon, and Korintje can help you select the right type for your health needs and flavor preferences.

If you’re looking to buy authentic cinnamon directly sourced from organic farms, consider connecting with a Jaipur-based spice brand committed to purity, sustainability, and rich Indian heritage. Choosing the right spice starts with knowing where it comes from — and how it can elevate your health and taste experience.