#and he . under the guise of trying to turn me back . gets himself turned too

[zoieru]

good morning / happy timezone cuties >///< (you are cute, this is non negotiable)

a new week !! new possibileries !! I'm in that strange limbo right now where I've just finished a large art piece and had a small break and now need to choose what to draw next !! It's both exciting and a bit disorienting lol, but the inspo will strike me 😌✍️

To bless your day, please enjoy some cat!zoie x cat!dazai ~ this is actually a sort of section of our story that ive thought of, genuinely being turned into cats for a few days - maybe i write it or explain it some time

[littlespoonevan]

and maybe, just maybe, i'll come home

some post-8x17 fic bc it got me thinking soft thoughts that were then further exacerbated by promise by ben howard (hence the title)

enjoy 💛

-

“Hey, scooch over.”

Eddie gives up the guise of trying to sleep and sits up in time to see Buck rounding the couch in the dark. He pulls his legs back just as Buck sits down on the cushion next to him.

“First he takes my house, now he’s taking my bed,” he grumbles – but it’s fond – as he rearranges himself, bracing his feet against the edge of the coffee table and yanking the blanket out from underneath Buck.

“S’my couch,” Buck quips back, taking the blanket from Eddie’s hands and draping it over both of them before he slouches a little in his seat.

It reminds Eddie of late nights at the firehouse when neither of them can sleep. The pang of longing at the thought is so fierce he clears his throat to force it away.

“Yeah, and it’s making me miss my couch. Yours isn’t as comfortable.”

Buck casts a sidelong glance in his direction, the silence stretching for a second too long until he says, “Yeah. I uh, I like your couch better too, honestly.”

It feels like he’s saying something else but Eddie isn’t going to pull on that thread. Instead he tips his head back against the back of the couch.

“It’s weird,” he says after a moment and Buck hums in askance.

“That you living here doesn’t feel weird,” he clarifies, picking his head back up again.

Buck’s expression doesn’t quite change but it almost seems like he’s holding his breath and Eddie feels like he has no choice but to continue.

“I don’t know…even though it’s all your stuff, I still feel like I’m-”

Home.

He doesn’t say it. Doesn’t finish the sentence because it feels too revealing. Buck looks like he knows what Eddie was going to say anyway.

Buck looks down, and away, and then back up again, the faintest smile at the corners of his mouth. “Tonight was good.”

It’s a subject change but not quite.

Sitting around the dinner table with Chris and Buck and Pepa. That felt like home too.

“Chris missed you,” Eddie shrugs. As if he didn’t lie in this same spot last night, stewing, until he’d called his son way past his bedtime and asked if he’d come back to LA for a little while to see Buck.

Chris has said yes before the words were even out of Eddie’s mouth and Eddie was booking him a flight as soon as he hung up the phone.

“I missed him too,” Buck says, pillow-soft as his shoulder pushes a little more firmly into Eddie’s. He’s playing with the edge of the blanket, where the hem is fraying just a bit.

And the thought is still itching away at the back of Eddie’s brain. If Chris would say yes to coming home just as easily. He doesn’t dare ask – too afraid of an answer he doesn’t want.

For now, he lets himself lean into Buck, arms overlapping and hips pressed together under the blanket.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie murmurs after a beat. He knows he’s effectively said it already but he doesn’t mind saying it again. Especially when it makes Buck look at him, eyes wide and vulnerable.

Buck breathes out a hushed, “Me too,” and then he’s moving, slouching even more to drop his head onto Eddie’s shoulder.

And it’s-

It’s different. Eddie knows he throws the selfish accusations at Buck but when it comes to this Buck rarely takes.

Eddie is usually the one to reach out, to get in Buck’s space, to find that same spot where the base of Buck’s throat meets his shoulder over and over again. Buck, who is so open with his affection, never asks for more than what he’s offered with Eddie.

That he’s asking at all now reminds Eddie what the root of all this is in the first place. It makes his heart twist inside his chest as he lifts his arm, dislodging Buck for just a second, until he can get his arm around him and pull him in more securely.

Buck’s breath is shaky against his neck and Eddie closes his eyes, turning to press his forehead against the crown of Buck’s head. Buck’s arm slides around his middle – hesitant at first and then in a vice-like lock.

“Can I make it about me for a sec?” Buck asks, the words half-muffled but still loud enough to make Eddie laugh.

He shakes his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. “Sure.”

“I don’t want you to leave.” As if to prove his point, his fingers twist where they’re gripping Eddie’s t-shirt. “Having you here- having both of you here…Feels like I can actually breathe for once.”

Keeping his eyes closed does nothing to stop them from stinging but Eddie tries anyway. His hand moves of its own accord, sliding from Buck’s shoulder and up so he can drag his fingers through Buck’s hair.

“Yeah,” he croaks. Rueful. Apologetic. “I don’t think I want to leave either.”

And it’s not a promise. It can’t be, not really. Not yet. Because he told Buck he refused to choose between him and Chris and he meant it but maybe-

Maybe it doesn’t have to be a choice.

Maybe it never really was.

Tonight, he lets himself sink into Buck’s warmth, lets their overlapping limbs hold him in place like a weighted blanket, lets himself feel something akin to peace for the first time in weeks.

He’ll hold onto home for home as long as he can.

[puppysuh]

I need another part of nerd!haechan PLEASE my life literally depends on it.

and so the haechan brainrot continues… WHEN WILL THIS TORTURE END i can’t stop thinkinh about himmmmuuhhhhhghhghhgghhhhh ★ part 1

network(s) : @neocity-net

it was honestly just supposed to be a harmless prank. go to his apartment under the guise of a tutoring session, see how much of a gross virgin loser he was and report back to your friends until the rumour of his dick cheese spread around campus faster than a common cold.

ridicule him. gain more popularity for yourself whilst subsequently ruining his already nonexistent reputation. use him as a cheap joke, something to have a laugh at over a couple of iced lattes with the girls.

anything but this.

when your friends ask you how it went, you try to lie through your teeth. “nothing special,” you say, staring at the froth gathered on the top of your drink. “the guy has a boner for math questions and league of legends, not actual sex. totally a waste of time.”

and that’s where the conversation ends, with your friends thinking the two of you didn’t kiss, didn’t even fuck because either he was too chicken or you lost interest quickly.

they couldn’t have been more wrong.

you ended up sleeping at his that night. when you woke up in the morning, dressed in nothing but one of his comic con t-shirts, you felt regret at what you did, or moreover, what you failed to do. whilst you were under the impression that he was a good for nothing loser, haechan had rocked your world the night prior, and you’re less worried about what you’re going to tell your friends, you’re more worried about how you’re going to stop yourself from becoming completely addicted to him.

nerd!haechan is even sexier when he’s just woken up. his hair is a mess, glasses askew as he moves around his kitchen with the same nerdy grace he does everything else, fixing himself a bowl of cereal as if he hadn’t fucked you seven ways to heaven the evening prior.

“you gonna get yourself something to eat? i’ve got cereal— well, i’ve got lucky charms or oatmeal. oatmeal’s a hassle and lucky charms might be too—” you groan, and he stops in his tracks. “what?”

he finally turns to you, and you feel as though you could almost faint. how didn’t you think he was this attractive before? “me and you. last night. you almost killed me. aren’t we gonna talk about it?”

he smiles, and it isn’t a cocky smile, it’s a nervous one, and his eyes are glued to the floor. “we can… and we can also talk about the whole passion project thing too. you never actually wanted to fuck me, did you?”

your heart pangs in your chest. you feel bad, so you walk towards him slowly before placing your hands on his shoulders. “i did. sure, the girls thought it would be funny, but…” your palm slides to his cheek, and you lift his gaze away from the ground. “i thought you were cute. kinda like… a teddy bear.”

“a teddy bear?” you nod. “sorry i didn’t live up to your expectations.”

you laugh quietly, and he smiles again, this time with a little more confidence. “i’m glad you didn’t. and i definitely wouldn’t mind going again.”

“you wouldn’t?”

“not in the slightest.”

suddenly, all idea of breakfast is abandoned, his bowl of lucky charms discarded and replaced with you sitting on his counter, legs spread as he kneels between them with his tongue buried in your cunt. your fingers card through his hair, urging him to tongue fuck you deeper, to rub his thumb on your clit faster.

“you were— fuck— you were a virgin before all of this. where the fuck did you learn to eat so good?”

“mostly porn.” the way he answers you so bluntly has your thighs squeezing around his head, neck tipping back and head pressing against his cabinet. he barely takes another breath before diving right back in, fingers joining his tongue as he teases your g spot with perfect precision. “didn’t know it would actually work.”

and it’s the way he keeps looking up at you, as if to beg for your approval. but you can hardly praise him, instead filling his kitchen with repeated moans as you hump your pussy desperately against his tongue. “gonna cum, don’t stop—”

you can feel his sly grin on your clit before he finally pushes open the dam, juices spilling down his chin as you cum on his tongue shamelessly. all that can be heard is your voice, whines filling the kitchen, along with the wet sounds of him dragging his tongue up and down the length of your pussy, nails digging into your thighs with a grip that could only spell possession.

the worst part is; you could go again. you would let him fuck you again and again, on his fingers, his tongue, his cock, and you would never be satisfied, and this guy was a virgin less than 24 hours ago. when he lifts himself off of his knees to kiss you, there’s nothing you want more than to go again, and when you finally leave his apartment, dressed in yesterdays clothes and hair a mess, you pull out your phone and scroll down to the unsaved contact buried at the bottom of your list.

you : same time tomorrow, freak?

unknown number : same time tomorrow, sweetheart.

a/n : started this blog less than a month ago and all i can talk about is him. can say i wouldn’t change that for the world 🙂‍↕️

[julymusings]

love in withdrawal

true that love in withdrawal was the weeping of me, that the sound of the saw must be known by the tree.

or; in the aftermath of that night, you're both wracked with regret, wishing it went differently. [3.3k]

jason todd x fem!reader; warnings from pt1 also apply; typical jason-angst (so ptsd, self-image/hatred, family issues, etc) + virgin!jason YOU ALR KNOW THE VIBESSSS😝😝😝👹👹 previous: you're good to me, baby

Jason Todd has tried very hard to be normal. At least, as normal as he can get. After returning to his home city and settling into his role as the Red Hood, crime lord and resident anti-hero of Gotham, he really did try. He went out with his 'coworkers' to have a good time. He spoke to his neighbors, hoping some friendship would stick. He went to a seedy bar with Roy and stuttered through some flirting with the girl who eye-fucked him from across the bar for fifteen minutes. With Roy’s encouragement (read: peer pressure), he followed her out to the alley behind the bar. He kissed her a little, tried to do what he was supposed to; put his hands on her waist, maintaining a respectable distance from too high or too low. But it felt…off, somehow. His heightened senses made the way she trailed one finger up and down the muscles of his arm feel prickly, the scars under his sleeve sensitive and itching at her touch. Her lips were too sticky with gloss, and its saccharine watermelon flavor lingered on his teeth for days. No matter how hard he scrubbed at them.

Roy hadn’t let him live that down for months. His recounting of Jason leaving her in the bar when she invited him home, looking ‘scared shitless and fumbling hard’ was an exaggeration, but maybe not that far off. Looking back, he wasn’t sure what he expected; he could barely look his own family in the eye. How did he think he’d be able to keep it together around a pretty girl? He was quick to give up any hopes of being ‘normal’ after that.

He lived like that for a while; putting all his energy into keeping the city safe, working himself to the bone as the Red Hood so he wouldn’t have time to reflect on who he was as Jason. He fixed things with his family just enough to have a place to go every other weekend to “upgrade his gear.” When he stuck around long enough that it was ‘only convenient’ to stay for dinner, no one commented on it. He’d accepted that this was his life now.

He never meant for things to go this far with you. Honestly. He was just doing his job when he gave you a ride home after you sprained your ankle trying to fight off that mugger. When he had to hold your weight so you could walk up the stairs to your apartment, he was still just doing his job. And when you, still in shock and heart pumping with adrenaline, put your frantic energy into nervous ramblings and fretting over his bruises— making sure you were okay before he left was part of his job. But one visit to your apartment turned into two, and two turned into three, each under the guise of ‘checking on your ankle’ or ‘being on his route’. Somewhere along the line your arrangement came to be: he stopped by with wounds needing to be treated, you treated them, and then he’d leave. And if you wanted to make some small conversation, getting to know each other a little more with every visit, that was harmless. Seeking you out for the smallest injuries that he was fully capable of dealing with himself was harmless. Holding you in his arms while you clutched onto him for dear life and sobbed into his shirt, neglecting his knife wound for far too long in favor of wiping away your tears—

He never meant for things to go this far.

Two days after that night, Jason is still reeling. In hindsight, letting the slice on his arm sit in the open, stale air for as long as it did was not the best idea. Sewing it closed one-handed so as to relieve the burden from your shoulders, taking no care to sterilize the instruments that fell to the floor in his hurry to follow the alarm bells in his head that screamed go! Get out and go! was a horrible idea. Sure, having you kneeled in his lap, pressed against him for the better part of the thirty minutes he spent at your place wasn’t exactly a regret. But was it worth the round of antibiotics and week-long benching ordered by Bruce after he stumbled into the Batcave an hour ago, hastily stitched up by his own hand and running a fever? He can’t decide. Was it worth the consequence of his siblings taking turns covering the patrol route of his city sector during his absence? Definitely not.

Was it worth the sight of you looking up at him, watery-eyed with flushed cheeks and fluttering eyelashes accentuated by the shine of your tears? The feeling of your hand sliding over his chest?

Maybe.

Maybe he could use the time off, as pointed out by a sneering Timothy, considering he was so stupid as to let his wound fester to the point of infection. He’d be too distracted to give the city his full attention, anyway. He needs time to think. To lie down in his old bed, stare at the ceiling, and think about if he’ll ever see you again.

Tim’s comment earns him a smack to the back of the head from Dick, who promptly kicks Tim out of the room.

“How are you feeling?” Dick stands at Jason’s bedside, arms crossed in concern.

“Same as when you asked me five minutes ago.” Jason wheezes. His pit-enhanced immunity makes the infection symptoms much easier than they could have been, but Bruce still insisted on him staying the whole week for observation. With how much he’s grown since he last used it, his childhood room feels much smaller than he remembers.

“Yeah, but…” Dick narrows his eyes at Jason. His gaze flits to his arm, wrapped in fresh bandages with an ice pack pressed over the stitches. “How…are you?”

“The same as…before,” Jason says, mimicking his brother’s cadence.

Dick sighs, thinking over his next move. He walks to the door, closes it, and pulls Jason’s desk chair to the bedside and sits down.

Jason groans. “Do you really have to—”

“Just humor me,” Dick interrupts. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. He takes Jason’s silence as resignation. “Did something happen?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “I got stabbed, Dick.”

“Is that all?” There’s a lilt in Dick’s voice.

“What are you implying?” Jason shoots back, though his hoarse throat negates his attempt to sound intimidating.

“Nothing! I’m not implying anything!” Dick leans back in his chair, holding his palms up in surrender. “I’m just saying. You seem…bothered. By something.”

“Yeah, the stab wound.”

“Okay. Okay, fine.” Dick clears his throat. “If there’s nothing.” He stands, returning the chair to its place. As he’s leaving, though, his hand settled on the doorknob, he hears a rustle of fabric and turns back to Jason. He’s shifting around in his old bed, awkwardly pulling at the comforter and he moves to sit on the edge, staring hard at the red pattern of the blanket while opening and closing his mouth, battling with himself on whether or not he should speak. Dick waits, giving him the time to work it out.

“I think I…” Jason says finally, not looking up from his lap. “I messed up.” He looks very uncomfortable. If opening up wasn’t such a rare occurrence for him, Dick might have found humor in his brother’s embarrassment.

Dick lets go of the doorknob, but doesn’t dare move closer. He knows that Jason’s fight or flight instincts will take hold the second he feels too caged in. “Messed up how?” He asks, keeping his tone even and unemotional.

“With…someone.” Jason forces out the words, cheeks burning as bright as his bedspread. He still refuses to look at Dick, but at the surprised, choked-back sound he makes at the admission, Jason’s face snaps up to his. Dick is disguising his shock as a cough into his fist, but his wide eyes are unmistakable, even behind the curtain of thick hair falling over his eyes.

“That’s…uh…” Dick clears his throat again. Then again. “That’s great, Jason,” he says, at last regaining his composure.

“Is it?” Jason says, squinting at his brother.

“No, I mean—not that you—” Dick sighs, running a hand down his face and deciding to abandon that train of thought altogether. “What happened?”

“I sort of…left. Abruptly.” Jason rubs at the growing stubble on his jaw. “Like— like after…” He trails off, hoping Dick will get the idea.

Dick has to quiet the extremely loud sirens going off in his head when he (albeit incorrectly) has the realization that his baby brother, the one he still sees as four feet tall, swinging his little legs off the kitchen island and covered in cookie crumbs is, in fact, having sex. 

“Is it serious?” He asks through a stiff smile.

Jason, ever oblivious to the silent breakdown his brother is having at the door, is not sure if he’d describe what you two have as serious. He knows you fairly well, knows what you do from the nights you talk about what’s going on at work; what you like from the posters and trinkets you have hung up around your place. And yeah, you talk sometimes. He may not speak that much around you, and it’s usually just frustrated complaints about the other bats, but it’s certainly more than he speaks to most people outside his family. And he sees you more often than he does most people outside his family. And he feels more comfortable with you than—

“Jason,” Dick calls, pulling him from his thoughts. “Is it serious?” He asks again, though there’s a quirk in his brow that suggests he already knows the answer.

“I don’t know,” is what Jason settles on.

“When did this happen?”

“Uh, a few days ago?” Jason says, even though he knows that’s a lie. It was 45 hours and 26 minutes ago, to be precise, but he doesn’t say that. He’s not sure how it would be received.

“You can’t go back? Just try to apologize?”

He wants to see you again, but he can’t. Doing so in the first place only put you in danger, and he was an idiot for ignoring that. If the wrong person had seen the Red Hood making consistent visits to the same window of the same building? His stomach turns at the thought.

Jason can’t imagine you’d be welcoming, either, after the way he left two nights ago. He watched you splash your face with cool water, leaving him with a shaky, watery smile, then listened to you putter around the kitchen with the promise of tea for the both of you. He felt like an asshole, picturing you coming back to the bathroom with his mug in hand, only to be met with an empty room and scattered first aid supplies on the floor. He didn’t even leave through the living room, like he entered, because you were in the kitchen. He climbed out of your bedroom window, like a coward. In his haste, he left those bloodstains he promised he would clean.

“I’m not sure she wants to see me.” Jason says quietly.

Dick answers thoughtfully; “Did she tell you that, or are you just making assumptions?”

Jason sighs. “Shit.”

“But, actually,” Dick winces. “You do have to stay here for the whole week, so…”

Jason lets out a tired groan and drops his face into his palms.

“Maybe call her?” Dick offers. He gathers the conversation is over from the way Jason glares at him, and turns to leave. But when he’s halfway out the door, he turns back. “Hey, Jaybird?”

Jason lifts his chin.

“You’re, uh…using protection, right?”

Jason blinks. It’s now that he realizes what Dick thought he was talking about and it burns him, leaving his skin red-hot.

“Get the fuck out.”

“Look, I’m just trying to—” He cuts himself off with a yelp, leaping out of the doorway to dodge the projectile pillow thrown at his head.

Jason hears a ‘good talk’ from the end of the hall, but is too busy with brand new concerns about his situation with you. If he could call you, he would, but he doesn’t have your number. He could easily find it, but not while he’s confined to this bedroom; he’d need access to his gear at home. And with the entire manor breathing down his neck for the next week, there was no way he’d be able to sneak out. So he’d have to wait an entire week before coming to see you again.

Maybe showing up at your place two days after the ordeal would have you understandably hurt, but nine days? You were going to be pissed. You are pissed.

Not at the Red Hood. You’re mad at yourself for being so stupid as to break down in front of him. It’s no fucking wonder he ran out the first chance he got. You sobbed into his shirt like an idiot for who knows how long. You practically felt him up. You’re an idiot for not thinking that would make him uncomfortable. And now, he’s never coming back, and you can’t even blame him!

There’s a book on your coffee table with a bookmark near the end that’s been staring at you since that night. That night when you, more consumed with confusion than anything else, dumped two mugs of fresh tea in the sink and flopped down on the couch and…waited. For what, you had no idea. The cover art took up your entire field of vision while you lied to yourself, saying you weren’t stealing glances at the window, hoping for a certain body to appear in the frame.

In the days following, the book sat there, practically taunting you until you turned it face-down so the sight of the star-constellated cover would stop making your stomach twist over in nausea. Nausea at the memory of how eager you were to pick it up at the library mere days after he had mentioned it, how you buzzed with excitement, and maybe something deeper, when you came home at night ready to snuggle into the couch with a blanket and your favorite mug to read the next chapter.

I hate you so much, you had murmured into a nasty bruise on the back of his left shoulder one night, though you couldn’t stop the grin that broke through the words.

What did I do? He replied, turning to look at you over his shoulder. 

You never told me that would happen halfway through, you said, forcing a frown when you looked up at him.

He chuckled. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to spoil it for you.

Through the amusement there was a lull in your usual rhythm. He did not need to ask which part of the book you were complaining about. He knows, knows you well enough to understand that you would be angry, reading about a budding, hopeful love that’s marred by the revelation that the boy and the girl will not make it. That their love was doomed from the start because, inevitably, he will have to leave her, and he has known the entire time that he would have to leave. That he loved her with one foot out the door.

You turned him around, ready to focus on the small abrasion at his temple when he asks, forgive me?

Fine, I guess so, you said, standing on your toes to get closer to his head.

That night replayed in your mind too often. The way he moved a ghost of an inch closer to lean into your fingers. The smell that was purely him in the grime and sweat in his hair when you pushed it back from his forehead, hoping he wouldn’t notice the extra second you lingered, fingers threaded into those streaks of white. You always wondered if they would feel different than the rest of his hair. They didn’t. They were just as soft. You wondered if anyone else knew that. You hoped not; no one else needed to know him the way you did.

(No one needed to know that you revisited that night with such frequency, either, in the middle of the night hidden under layers of blankets and darkness with nothing but your hands and imagination. You’d take that to the grave.)

Perhaps, deep down, there was a small part of you that wished he would turn up at your window again, this time armed with reasonings and apologies.

There was an emergency.

My team needed me.

I didn’t want to leave.

But after five days of radio silence, there’s not much you can do except take the hint.

You go about your normal routine, trying your hardest to push him out of your mind. Things at work are steady, your position intact and safe from usurping coworkers. You resign yourself to a fate of friends with questionable compassion, grateful to have any at all, and call up your best friend to smooth things over. She accepts, moving on to squeal about her boyfriend’s friend that she’s been dying to set you up with. You reluctantly agree to a double date somewhere down the line, but start preparing excuses and illnesses in the back of your mind.

Ten days after that night, that book is one week past its due date when you muster up the will to take it back to the Gotham Public Library.

(So maybe you still held out a small flicker of hope. What matters now is that you’re here, ready to return it and blow out that flame.)

There’s one person ahead of you when you fall into line at the front desk. He makes easy conversation with the librarian while she scans his library card; judging by the waves he garners from other passing staff, he must be popular around here.

“Thanks again, you’re the best,” he says, taking the book she hands him.

“Oh, of course,” the librarian gushes, a faint rouge coloring her face. “You let me know how you like that one.”

“I will.”

He turns around, halting suddenly to stop himself from walking into you. You mutter out an apology, ready to move past him, but he stares at you, saying nothing. His large hand tightens its grip on an old and worn book. The ends of jet black strands peek out from under a red beanie and he searches you with wide, teal eyes, mouth agape like he wants to speak. He’s looking at you like he’s been looking for you for ages, and he can’t believe you’re here.

“Hi,” he says, sounding a little breathless.

“Hi.” You clutch your book tighter against your chest, not knowing what to make of this man. It draws his eyes lower and he sees the title.

“Hi,” he says again. Then; “I— I was wondering. About that book.” He nods toward it. “I’m, uh, thinking about reading it. What did you think?”

“Oh,” you exhale. “I actually never finished it. Sorry.”

“Oh,” he echoes. His face falls, but only for a moment, before returning to a neutral expression. “Okay, sorry.”

He brushes past, leaving you addled in his wake, but also next in line. The librarian flashes you a glare when the book is scanned in as one week late. Sheepishly, you pay the fine and watch as it gets rolled away on a re-shelf cart, the last of your connections to the Red Hood rolling along with it.

It would be another two months before you saw him again.

remember after the last part when i said "ignore how his open would is just sitting there marinating"? well i figured out how to amend that👍 idk why i feel like this is so short i tried to write more but yk how it is the story goes the way it wants to i am but the messenger. i've been experiencing mad writer's block this past couple of weeks please pray for me🙏🙏🙏

listen to the inspo song!!!

[slttygeto]

pairing: college student! suguru x college student!fem! reader

genre: nsfw

there was something undeniably vulnerable about sex. despite hook ups being a thing, the concept of stripping naked for someone whom you don’t know enough about beside their name was either exciting for some, and a nightmare for others.

now, you weren’t one to say no for a one night stand—you had your fair share of fun as a stressed college student looking for an outlet to the gut wrenching anxiety that ate up at your bones like a worm. you weren’t one to deny that it gave you some self confidence, but this was different.

college student! suguru had his eye on you for the longest time before finally approaching you at one of the parties he was hosting. tall, long dark hair tied in a bun and an outfit that screamed ‘I don’t even try to look good, but here we are’. the man seemed to be amused at the side eye you gave him as he sat next to you on the couch.

“not a fan of parties?”

“that would explain why I am here, right?” your sarcastic response doesn’t throw him off, he could sense that you had a sarcastic side to you the moment he saw you stare him down like that. but despite your attitude, suguru continues to talk to you.

“I’ve seen you a couple of times. you’re always dancing but I’ve never seen you leave with anyone,” he doesn’t realize the creepy connotation behind his words, only sees your face turn into one of amusement before the tip of his ears start to heat up.

“why? do you want me to leave with someone?” you are now leaning with your elbow on your lap, the action bringing a lot of attention to your bare legs and suguru can’t help but let his eyes wander.

because he finds you attractive. way too fucking attractive.

and you can’t deny that the man talking to you right now was the closest thing to the reincarnation of a god.

college student! suguru has a certain way with words. you don’t know how he convinced you to go up to his room but you do it anyway. at first, it was under the guise of “let me show you all of my books about engineering since you asked what my major is” but now that you were sitting on his soft bed, and he was sitting on his chair facing you, the tension was growing thick.

“you look comfortable,” he muses, and you have to hold back from squeezing your thighs at the sight of him looking so…relaxed.

he was leaning against his chair with his legs spread, drawing a lot of attention towards his groin. whilst he wasn’t hard, you could still tell that he was definitely impressive down there.

“your bed is comfortable,” you reply whilst patting the mattress. “smells good too.”

he leans forward, eyes analyzing you like a hawk. “oh you like it?”

“mhm,” you lick your lips while maintaining eye contact. you refuse to be the one to look away first, or to show him that you were slightly intimidated by him. by how large he was, how much confidence he was exuding, the lustful stare—you could feel yourself melting.

college student! suguru is bigger than anyone you’ve ever taken. it’s ridiculous really—not only was he attractive, but he was also big and knew how to use it. you don’t expect him to bring you to an orgasm so soon, but he does and he’s proud.

“theeeere we go,” he pulls out his dick with a proud laugh, smacking your clit a couple of times as you whimper and attempt to shut your legs. “nasty girl thought she wouldn’t get fucked, huh?”

you obviously give no response, and that seems to amuse suguru even more. he wraps a hand around your neck, pushing you deeper into his mattress.

“did I fuck the words out of your brain?” you hold onto his arm, nails digging into his skin as you shake your head.

“no?”

“no,” you choke out, wrapping both legs around his waist as you pull him in. “I can still think—I can think properly right now.”

he slowly sinks himself back in, enjoying the way your jaw goes slack and you try your best to keep your eyes open and analyzing his face.

suguru leans down, breathing against your mouth. “how about now?”

“n—no.” you say through gritted teeth, clenching your pussy around his cock. you watch as his nostrils flare up, and he drops his head on your shoulder when you try to buck up into him. “why, do you give up?”

the squeal that erupts from the back of your throat surprises you, your hand shoots down to grab his hand as he pinches your clit.

“let’s fix that attitude, brat.”

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[tobiosbbyghorl]

Ripped and Ready ( For You) | psh | 2

part 1

Sunghoon’s hand stayed tucked in yours as you slipped out of the supply room, flushed and trying your best not to look like you just devoured your boyfriend like a snack.

Which, to be fair, you almost did.

The shirt still clung to his torso. The “Ripped and Ready” lettering was a damn taunt, now slightly wrinkled from where you’d fisted it earlier.

And as he bent down to help Jay with the mic cords, the girls across the gym squealed again.

You smiled sweetly. Let them look.

You didn’t miss the glances. The whispers. The not-so-subtle giggles from the girls who definitely noticed how stupidly hot your boyfriend looked today.

Normally, you were chill. You liked keeping your relationship private—not because you were hiding it, but because he liked it that way. He didn’t want attention. Didn’t know how to handle being noticed, let alone being thirsted after.

But today?

Today he needed a reminder.

So when he leaned down to get the speaker cables from the stage box, you gently tugged him behind the curtain under the guise of helping.

“Something wrong?” he whispered, blinking as you pressed your body close to his.

“Just fixing something,” you said innocently—and pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss just under his jaw, right where the black shirt’s collar dipped low.

You lingered. Let your tongue flick. Then sucked, hard enough to leave a soft, blooming red mark that would sit just above the shirt line.

He jolted a little. “Y/N—!”

You smiled and gently pulled away. “Now it’s perfect.”

He blushed deeply, brushing his fingers over the spot.

You pecked his cheek. “Go back out there, handsome.”

And he did—quietly flustered, lips pink and slightly swollen, face flushed, with your mark visible every time he turned his head.

You watched from across the gym, sipping a cold drink with Sunoo.

“Did you…” he narrowed his eyes. “Is that a hickey?”

You smirked.

Sunoo shrieked. “You animal!”

Sunghoon, across the room, noticed the staring and quickly tugged at his shirt, shyly covering the mark. But it was too late—the girls definitely noticed now.

That’s when he texted you.

hoon: can we leave early

hoon: please

hoon: my ears are burning

hoon: and so is… other stuff

You bit your lip and texted back.

you: My place or yours?

hoon: mine. mom’s out tonight.

hoon: come ruin me

You nearly choked on your drink.

⸻

Sunghoon’s Room – Later That Night

The second the door clicked behind you, he turned, eyes already a little hazy, nervous energy buzzing under his skin.

“You’re mean,” he murmured, but he wasn’t mad. Not at all.

“You loved it,” you teased, slipping your arms around his waist, fingers curling under the hem of that cursed shirt. “You liked everyone knowing who you belong to.”

He didn’t answer—just leaned forward and kissed you, deep and messy, like he’d been holding it in all day.

And maybe he had.

You backed him toward his bed, hands slipping under the shirt, palms finally, finally gliding over his warm, firm skin. He sucked in a breath when you touched his abs, like it tickled—but when you dragged your nails down slowly, he whimpered softly.

“Off,” you whispered.

He obeyed instantly.

The shirt hit the floor, and you took a moment to just look. His chest, his arms, his flushed skin—the shyest boy in school, half-naked and panting in front of you, all lean muscle and bashful eyes.

“You’re so hot,” you murmured, kissing down his neck to that hickey, licking over it again just to make him squirm. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

“I… I think I’m starting to get it,” he whispered, hands twitching at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you assured, gently guiding him back to the bed. “Just lie down for me, baby.”

He let you push him back onto the mattress, propping himself up on his elbows, watching you with parted lips as you climbed over him.

He gasped when you ground down lightly, your clothed core brushing his growing bulge.

“Y/N,” he breathed. “Feels—ngh—feels so good.”

“I haven’t even started yet,” you whispered, kissing down his chest, taking your time.

He whimpered your name when you bit lightly over his ribs, licking afterward. His thighs twitched when your hands spread them open further.

You tugged off his pants slowly, dragging them down along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, flushed and leaking, twitching at the cool air and your gaze.

He blushed so hard you could see it down his chest.

You leaned forward and kissed his inner thigh. “Still okay, baby?”

He nodded furiously. “Please… just—want you. So bad.”

You smiled and rewarded him by wrapping your hand gently around his length, stroking slow.

He bit his lip, gasping, eyes fluttering.

When you finally took him in your mouth, he choked on a moan—one hand flying to your hair, the other fisting the sheets as his thighs trembled.

You didn’t rush.

You licked up the shaft, circled the head, and took him in slowly, letting his whimpers guide you.

When his hips bucked a little, you held him down with a hand on his stomach and hummed around him.

That nearly broke him.

“Gonna—ngh—Y/N, I’m gonna—!”

You pulled off just in time, stroking him while he trembled. “Wanna come inside me instead?”

He looked like you just offered him the heavens.

You climbed into his lap, rolling your hips over him once, slowly—watching his lashes flutter.

Then you sank down—inch by inch—taking him all the way until you were seated, full, and his hands were gripping your waist like he’d fall apart without you.

His mouth dropped open. “Oh my god—”

You rolled your hips once, and he nearly sobbed.

“You okay?”

He nodded quickly. “Too good. Too good. Please don’t stop.”

You didn’t.

You moved slow at first, letting him feel everything—his hands worshipping every part of you they could reach. You felt perfect to him. Better than perfect.

He kept whispering things—soft praises, broken moans, your name like a prayer.

And when you leaned down to kiss him, he held you close, one arm wrapping fully around your back like he never wanted to let go.

“Mine,” you whispered against his lips.

“Yours,” he breathed. “Only ever yours.”

When he came, it was with a soft cry into your neck, body shaking as you held him through it.

You followed shortly after, overwhelmed by the way he felt, the way he loved you without saying it, the way he let you ruin him with just a look.

⸻

Later, wrapped in his blanket, shirtless and dazed, he kissed your shoulder and whispered, “I’ll never wear that shirt again.”

You laughed, poking his cheek. “Not even for me?”

He grinned. “Maybe. But next time… you’re the one wearing something dangerous.”

You smirked, running your fingers through his messy hair. “Deal.”

⸻

You weren’t sure what woke you up first—the soft stream of sunlight peeking through the curtains, or the weight wrapped around your middle.

“Mmph… don’t move.”

Sunghoon’s voice was groggy, low, and still tangled in sleep. He was pressed to your back, arms locked tightly around your waist, face buried against your shoulder.

You smiled lazily and turned slightly, just enough to face him.

His hair was messy, lips swollen, eyes only half-open—and he looked so content, nuzzling into your chest like he was charging back to full power off your warmth.

“You okay?” you whispered, brushing some hair off his forehead.

“Yeah,” he murmured, kissing your collarbone absentmindedly. “Tired. Happy.”

You kissed his cheek. “We should get up soon. I promised Sunoo I’d help pack up the booths this morning.”

Sunghoon groaned dramatically. “No. We live here now. In bed. Forever.”

You laughed. “Babe…”

“I mean it,” he mumbled, holding you tighter. “I’ll give you anything. Just don’t leave me for cold pancakes and gym cleanup.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Okay, clingy.”

He cracked an eye open and smirked, leaning forward to kiss you—slow and sweet and very good-morning.

You melted a little.

He pulled away with a sleepy grin. “You taste like my toothpaste.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Did you brush after?”

He looked suspiciously smug. “Maybe. Wanted to be kissable in case you woke up first.”

You were about to tease him more when—

Knock knock knock.

You both froze.

“Sunghoon? Are you up? I brought breakfast!” his mom called sweetly from the hallway.

Your eyes widened, but Sunghoon just blinked calmly.

You whispered, “Oh my god—did she come in?!”

“She has a key,” he whispered back, yawning. “Relax, we’re dressed.”

You were, thank god—one of his oversized sweatshirts on you, and Sunghoon in joggers and a tee you swore was inside out.

He got up and shuffled to the door barefoot, cracking it open just enough to peek out.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, sweetie,” she said warmly. “I saw Y/N’s shoes—she’s here, right?”

“Yeah. She’s still sleeping.”

You leaned into view from the bed, smiling sheepishly. “Morning, Mrs. Park.”

Her face lit up. “There’s my favorite girl! I brought you both croissants and strawberry milk. Want me to heat them?”

You sat up, tugging the covers modestly over your legs. “You’re the best, really.”

“Aw, stop it. You kids behave. I’m going to garden. Breakfast is on the counter!”

Sunghoon closed the door and leaned his forehead against it.

“She definitely knows,” he muttered.

“She definitely loves me,” you corrected, and he turned with a reluctant smile.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes soft as he walked back toward you, “I do too.”

You blinked. “You love me?”

He stopped.

His cheeks turned pink immediately, but he didn’t back down. “…Yeah. I do.”

You pulled him back into bed and kissed him until neither of you needed croissants to feel full.

©️tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rjssierjrie @firstclassjaylee @morganaawriterr @rikifever @daisyintherainsposts @kkamismom12 @pocketzlocket @semi-wife @soona-huh

[thescarletfang]

I can’t stop thinking about the blurb you wrote with an enemies to lovers with robby and a brick wall. The prospect alone is giving me life.

This one's for you, anon. Hope it hits!!!! Apologies if the ending feels a bit rushed!

dr robby x f!reader

!! 3.4k, enemies-to-lovers, smut, fingering, sexual act in public, unspecified age gap, power dynamics, anger, idk????? lil fluff at the end 18+ MDNI. i'm sure there are typos, i'll likely re-read and edit ~*EVENTUALLY*~

For interested parties - this is the blurb referenced.

"Hey."

You ignore his voice despite knowing it's just going to piss him off further. You slam your locker shut, trying to steady your breathing.

"I'm officially off the clock," you practically hiss, refusing to turn around as you zip up your bag and try to stop shaking. He's got you so riled up -- as always -- and you just want to leave this fucking hospital and get home.

"I don't fuckin' care," Robby growls from behind you. "Look at me when I'm talking to you."

The blood boils inside of your body. You whip around, eyes narrowing at your attending. He's looking down at you, metaphorically as well as physically, arms crossed over his way too fucking broad chest.

"Really?" You scoff. "You're talking to me like I'm a fucking child?"

Robby's eyes narrow. "You want me to talk to you like an adult? Then you start acting like one."

Your ears ring with rage and you can feel your face growing hot. "How dare you---"

Robby's eyes flash. "Need I remind you that I am your attending? You are still my resident---"

You close your eyes, thumping your head against the row of lockers. "Jesus Christ---"

"And you directly disobeyed me. You went behind my back without consulting me, like you're fucking supposed to do."

Your eyes prick and it pisses you off. You will not let Robby make you cry.

"I did what I had to do to save a life," you say lowly, your voice thinner than you want it to be.

"You undermined me," Robby says, his voice laced with fury. "In front of an intern, no less. You have absolutely no fuckin' respect for authority, you’re constantly looking for rules to break under the guise of being flexible, and you don’t fuckin’ listen.”

Robby’s chest is rising and falling a little faster than before he started this spiel of vitriol in your direction. You want to scream. You want to hit something. 

But you’re so tired you can barely see straight, and if you’re being honest with yourself, getting reamed out by Robby feels like absolute shit.

You hate that you stare down at your feet instead of meeting his eyes. 

“It was a cardiac tamponade,” you grit out. “He was going to die. I did what I had to do and now he’s in cardiology’s hands, I don’t see–”

Robby shakes his head, hooking his fingers behind his neck in that way he always does. “No, you don’t see. You never fucking see, do you?”

It stings like a slap. You finally look at him and he’s just staring at you with something so close to hate that you wish you’d never stepped foot in PTMC three years ago at the start of your residency. You may be a senior resident now, but Robby clearly feels like you don’t measure up. 

Neither of you say anything for a moment. You look away. “You gonna write me up?”

Robby shrugs. “Yeah, maybe I should. I always let you off the hook because—” he cuts himself off. You whip your eyes to him, feel your pulse increase.

“Because what?”

Robby winces, messing up his hair. “Forget it.” You wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. His big, stupid brown eyes look at you and you hate how you can see every emotion flicker through them as he rubs his beard. The clearest of emotions?

Anger.

“This will not happen again, got it?” His voice is sharp; raspy and worn, but commanding. You have to physically restrain yourself from snapping at him or recoiling. You just nod, silent.

Robby glares at you one more time before turning and walking away. 

It takes you five minutes to regain your composure before you finally leave. 

Your hands tremble the entire drive home.

* * * 

You don’t speak to Robby for the rest of the week, unless it’s absolutely necessary. You avoid him like it’s your job, sticking close to Collins and McKay for almost all of your cases. You offer him clipped, short sentences that only contain the vital medical information needed. If his eyes linger on you longer than necessary, a frown pinched between his eyes, you don’t see it. 

You are done with Dr. fucking Robinavitch.

The two of you have always butted heads. It started out polite enough, and you’ve always respected him. But he’s so damn bull-headed all of the time, and stubborn, and his temper hangs on such a short fuse. You’re working under the worst conditions at the best of times, and you just cannot keep it together around him.

Robby — Dr. Robby — knows how to get under your skin. 

You refuse to examine the feeling further. You refuse to admit that yes, he’s stupidly handsome and competent and he is the greatest doctor you’ve ever worked with. 

But the man is a mess and like, fifteen years older than you and he needs to get in therapy yesterday. 

So, you ignore him this week and you pretend not to feel his eyes drilling a hole in the back of your head every time you walk by him. He’ll never apologize for the way he spoke to you and you’ll never apologize for undercutting him because you saved a human life. 

You eventually get so desperate to stay away from Robby that you beg to switch to night shift for a bit, and Abbot is so thrilled about the extra support he immediately puts in a request for the schedule change. 

You see Robby when he’s leaving for the day and you’re arriving for your first night shift. He has his backpack swung over one shoulder, sunglasses hanging on his scrubs, and you immediately beeline for the lockers. You can feel Robby’s gaze on you and then you hear his heavy footsteps. You occupy yourself with putting your things away and ignoring him. 

“You wanna tell me why you’re on the schedule for nights for the rest of the month?” Robby’s voice is low behind you. It’s like gravel and you need to stay away. 

You don’t answer, just close your locker and mess with the combination. 

Finally, you turn to him and he’s…he’s watching you like he can see through you and your layers of self-preservation. 

He looks exhausted and frayed to the edges but you force yourself not to care. 

“Abbot needed help,” you tell him coldly, shrugging and moving around him. He easily falls into step beside you. Damn his long legs. 

“Bullshit,” he says easily. You stop walking and whirl on him. 

“Why the hell do you care?” You try to keep your voice even but you’re failing. You’re failing at everything these days, but you really don’t need Dana’s curious look from where she’s packing up for the night at the nurse’s station. 

Robby rubs his beard and you see his patience (which isn’t there on the best days) wearing thin. “You should’ve run the schedule change by me.”

“Fucking hell!” Your voice rudely pitches up an octave without your consent. “You’re really giving me shit for this now too? Do I do anything right in your eyes? I get that you fucking hate me, but—”

Robby takes a step back, like your words physically pushed him. “What? I don’t–I don’t hate you—” You start walking again, determined to get out of this man’s orbit. “Just fuckin’—hey, hold on—-”

Ellis rushes past you, claps you on the shoulder. “T-5's going septic. Gotta run a central line, let’s go.” 

You glance briefly to Robby, who’s looking at you with a guarded expression that you’re tempted to label wounded but you don’t have time to analyze a 53-year-old man’s inability to communicate with you properly. 

You look at Ellis and nod. “Let’s go.”

You leave Robby staring after you and you refuse to think of him (or his stupid big, sad, brown eyes) for the rest of the night.

* * * 

The bar is warm but your belly is warmer as you sip your second glass of wine. It’s a testament to how loved Shen is and how the Pittfest mass casualty event truly bonded you all together almost a year ago that so many PTMC folks are here celebrating his birthday at a dirty, dingy dive bar.

Not everyone can be here – of course – but you take a shot with Samira and Cassie, you tease Whitaker, you catch up with Mateo and Mel, you trade barbs with Walsh and you laugh at a sarcastic quip Abbot makes out of the corner of his mouth. 

For the first time in a month, you feel light. You feel happy.

You’ve also been able to avoid Robby for the entire evening, and that’s a win in your book. 

He mostly sticks with Abbot, the two old heads sipping whisky on stools like a couple of highwaymen. 

You do not notice how good Robby looks out of scrubs. And you certainly do not notice how when you walked into the bar, his eyes raked over your little dress like he was a man starved and you were a cool drink. Because if you noticed both of these things, that would mean that there is something between you that isn’t anger or annoyance. You recall what Samira had said to you a few months ago while you split a bottle of red together on her couch. 

“All tension is sexual tension, you know. I see the way he looks at you when you’re both tearing each other’s heads off!” She’d waggled her eyebrows. “Maybe you need to tear other things off.” A pause. “Like clothes. I was referencing tearing off clothes.”

You’d burst out laughing, tipsy with your friend but now you can’t help but think maybe there’s some truth to that ridiculous statement. 

No, you tell yourself, lifting your drink again to your lips and trying to zero in on what sweet Whitaker is saying to you and Victoria. No. 

Robby hates you.

Robby does not feel anything toward you.  

Robby—Robby is staring at you and you can see it over Whitaker’s shoulder and it makes you feel insane. Jack’s saying something to him and Robby is nodding like he’s listening, but his eyes keep flicking back to you, keep looking at you and you feel claustrophobic all of a sudden.

You need some air.

Desperately. 

You mumble an excuse to Whitaker and Victoria, down the remainder of your wine and place the glass on the bar counter. You assure Samira you’re okay, just need some air when you pass her and she looks worried but your legs keep moving and you don’t breathe easily until you’re outside in the cool evening air. 

You take in a lungful, letting the door swing shut behind you and you meander to the far side of the bar. You lean against the brick wall, trying to understand why your heart is racing. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear — you feel insane wearing it down, as it’s always tied back for your shifts — and try to calm down.

He was just looking at you.

It means nothing.

He hates you—

“You okay?”

Your eyes fly open and you turn your head to watch Robby walk around the corner, hands in his pockets. He has the audacity to look concerned and it throws you out of sorts. 

“I’m fine,” you mutter, running your hands over your dress. Robby’s eyes watch the motion for a second, like it’s involuntary, and you feel a hot coil spring loose in your stomach. 

He raises an eyebrow, stops right in front of you. You’re still leaning against the wall and you wish you could just disappear from this moment. 

“Really.” Robby doesn’t ask it but instead says it like he knows you’re lying. “Cuz usually people who are ‘fine’ don’t dart out of a birthday party the way you just did.”

You stare at him and the fact that he even noticed has your head spinning. You try to deflect. 

“Didn’t realize you were watching me so closely, Robinavitch.”

Robby barks out a humorless laugh. “Oh, we’re back to Robinavitch now?”

You stare at this frustrating man and resist the urge to pull your hair out. 

“It’s really impossible for me to win with you, isn’t it?”

He squints at you like you’re an idiot. “For you to win with me? You’re joking, right?” He rubs his beard — his tell — and looks away for a moment. “You fucking switched shifts because of me.” 

You gape at him and wait for his eyes to come back to you before you speak. “You don’t want to work with me! Why do you even care? I was doing you a favor—”

“Whoah, whoah—hold on.” Robby takes inhales through his nose. “Where is all this coming from? You accuse me of hating you the other day, and now you say I don’t want to work with you—-”

You cannot take any more of this. “You ride me harder than any other fucking resident! You don’t—you don’t believe in me—”

You’re breathing heavily and Robby stares at you, a mystified look flitting over his face.

“Is that what you think?” he asks, his voice with its typical rasp filling all of your senses. He takes a step closer. “How can you think I don’t believe in you? You’re my best resident.”

Your eyes grow wide as you try to comprehend his words. “But—but you’re always—mad at me.” You finish the sentence lamely. 

“Yeah because you’re fuckin’ infuriating,” Robby grinds out, his jaw flexing once. “And I know how much you’re capable of, everything you can do, if you’d just fucking trust me.” 

He’s closer now, somehow inched just a breath’s distance from you and you look up at him. You feel unrooted, you feel like everything is swimming around you. 

“But you—you hate me!” It’s a feeble last attempt at defense and Robby—Robby actually growls. 

“Would you stop fucking saying that?” He rubs a hand down his face, like he’s so tired—

“But—-” 

Robby groans and something inside him snaps. He mutters, “fuckin’ Christ,” before he puts his large hands in your hair and pulls you to him, his lips crashing with yours.

Robby is—-Robby is kissing you.

Your attending has his hands buried in your hair and he’s pressing his body back into yours and your back hits the brick wall and he’s—his lips.

You gasp into the kiss and a second later he pulls back, guilt flashing across his face. 

“Oh fuck,” he says quickly. He’s flushing red and about to step back. “I’m sorry, that was completely inappropriate—”

You don’t let him finish his sentence. With a fistful of his shirt, you pull him back to you and press your lips to his. 

This time there’s no hesitancy on your part. You trace your tongue on his bottom lip and he opens for you and moans into your mouth as his hands land on your waist, pushing you back against the wall.

The kiss is messy; Robby licks into your mouth like he was always meant to do it and you your hands slide into his hair and one of his hands grabs a palmful of your ass and you whimper into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he says into your kiss and he sounds so wrecked. You can feel yourself soaking your panties as Robby’s other hand — the one not dimpling the flesh of your ass through your dress — skates down your leg and hitches it around his waist. 

He sloppily moves away from your mouth to your jawline and then your neck and through the haze of lust you remember you’re in public, you’re outside a shitty bar and all of your coworkers are inside, but when Robby grinds his fucking hard cock against your core you actually die little. 

“Robby,” you whine and he grunts, grinding again against you and his lips trail back to yours. They swallow your sounds and your hands grip his hair and you feel delirious. 

“You drive me insane,” Robby groans, his voice destroyed and you’re gasping for air when you feel a hand dip under your dress.

You're throbbing between your legs and you look at Robby through your lashes. “Touch me,” you whisper and Robby lets out a disbelieving laugh, his head knocking against your collarbone as his right hand trails along the seam of your panties. 

You’ve never wanted someone so badly.

When a large finger sweeps aside your underwear and swipes through your soaking slit, you both let out moans in tandem. 

“Jesus, baby,” Robby says, pulling back and looking at you with heavily lidded eyes. He looks wrecked. His hair is askew and his neck is flushed and his lips are kiss-bitten. “You gonna let me fuck you with my fingers agaisnt this wall?”

“You can fuck me with more than your fingers against this wall,” you tell him brokenly and Robby looks like the words cause him physical pain. He gently eases his finger into you, the glide delicious and you throw your head back, baring your throat to him. He licks up your jugular, until he finds your mouth. You don’t kiss —- you’re just…you’re fucking panting into each other’s mouths. 

“I’m not fucking you for the first time against a dirty wall,” he says, and you lick his tongue. His eyes roll to the back of his head as he slips another finger into you and you bite his lower lip, dragging it out.

“No?” you ask, because right now all you can think about is Robby fucking you against this wall. 

Robby looks at you and his eyes are clear when he says, “No. I’m gonna have you come all over my fingers, then we’re gonna go say bye to everyone. Then, I’m gonna take you home and fuck you in my bed.”

Your eyes go wide and before you can answer, Robby starts fucking you with his fingers in earnest. He glides them in and out, and his thumb finds your clit. 

“Oh my god,” you moan, head thrown back again. Robby finds a home in your neck, sucking on a pulse point. “Robby!”

“God you feel so good,” he mumbles, voice muffled by your throat. “You make such pretty noises, baby. Wanna feel you come on me.” 

He curls his fingers just right and you’re there, you’re going to fucking come so quickly.

“I’m there, I’m right there,” you whine, your voice high-pitched. “Need your cock, Robby, need you to fill me up—”

Robby growls, covering your mouth with his as he strums just right. 

He pulls away from your lips just enough to whisper, "Come right now and you can ride me all night, baby.” 

You shatter. 

“Yes—yes! Fuck, fuck, Robby—yes, yes!” The words spill from your lips as you ride your boss’s fingers against a brick wall.  Your orgasm slices through you, barreling you over and over and over. 

Robby fucks you through it with his fingers, brokenly rasping, "Good fuckin' girl. That's right, take what you need, fuck."

You’ve never come so hard in your life. 

You open your eyes and Robby — fingers still buried in your pussy — is looking at you with glassy eyes like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

You grin lazily at him, bones loose from your orgasm. “That is…not the direction I thought my night was going in.”

Robby huffs out a laugh and slowly removes his fingers. You hiss at the feeling, still fluttering around him. He looks down at you, but this time you’re ready to meet this eyes.

Something real flits across his face then, and with his other hand he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. He cradles your face and you lean against his palm. 

“I could never hate you,” he says softly, and his eyes match his voice and it’s just—it’s so good. 

“No?” 

He leans his forehead against yours and you feel whole in that momet. 

You feel…strong. 

Robby looks into your eyes and you have this insane feeling that everything is going to be okay. 

“No,” he says, his lips hovering over yours. “Not when I’ve wanted you for so long.” He pauses. “I’m sorry. For just…everything.”

“I’m sorry too,” you tell him, because it’s true. 

He pulls back, grinning boyishly. “That mean you wanna be the one to tell Shen we’re leaving his birthday early?”

You laugh and his eyes crinkle at the corners. “That’s all you, old man."

***

look, these two will need therapy to establish healthy communication skills lol but hey it's fanfic baby

[scoutswritingcorner]

Hey sugar~

Can we get some NSFW of either alsstor on his rut? Or reader on theirs~? And "helping eachothrr"

The One Who Cried Deer

Alastor x GN!Reader

TW:ITS 18+!! MINORS GET OUTTA HERE- cockwarming, biting, ruts, Reader is implied to have animalistic traits as well, scratching, semi-public sex.

-🦌 First off, let’s just get say this. Alastor does not like affection, especially of the sexual nature.

-🦌 But when it comes to you, he’s more cuddly and protective. It’s more of a he’s trying to show off, everytime he does he immediately looks over at you and puffs his chest out like an exotic bird.

-🦌 When his rut does get more into the territory of sexual intimacy, he does not hold back. Especially when yours does line up with his once in a blue moon.

-🦌 He won’t let you around anyone during those times and if you are around people he will drag you away and glare at the other poor soul around. Sometimes he spouts out curses and threats.

You sat at the bar slowly drinking some whiskey Husk had given you before he had to go fetch some more from the back. Leaving the almost empty bottle with you just in case you wanted the rest of it. The familiar feeling of static pricking at your skin made something inside of you set aflame. A warm feeling racing from your neck to your cheek as a clawed hand moved to wrap around your waist, fingertips threatening to dig into your hip. Practically pressing his body against yours, “My Love, I need to see you..privately.” He purred into your ear, leaning down to kiss at your neck. You placed the cup onto the bar counter getting up and not making eye contact with Husk who had finally come back holding two boxes full of different booze, Alastor gave him a glare which made the old tomcat flinch and avert his gaze. Husk sighed and turned his back on the display, he was too sober for this.

-🦌 His favorite thing to do while bending you over is mark your neck with bites and hickeys as his nails dig into your hips or sides leaving even more bloodied marks that he gets to happily lick up later.

-🦌 While he doesn’t mean to hurt you, he hates thinking that his own hands would hurt his partner like he hurts others that piss him off. It’s when he’s so far into his rut that he forgets himself and has the mindset of constantly breeding you all night. It’s his animalistic side he promises.

-🦌 He especially loves it when he makes you moan out his name or squeal between your moans and gasps. It just makes him much more eager to get those noises out of your mouth.

Holding your hips as he pounded his cock into you from behind as your hands gripped the back of the couch. Knuckles turning white as you keep yourself up for him, legs shaking as you keep them from buckling under your weight. Mouth hanging wide open as you moan out his name, feeling him push his cock deep into you. His teeth digging into your shoulder as he growls and grunts against you, blood escaping past his lips. Arms starting to shake from the position he had held you in as you squeal for him, body shaking as you feel how his thrusts falter for a second. “More..make more sounds for me, Darling.” He snarled out wrapping his arms around your waist, your blood coating his clawed hands.

-🦌 When he can’t pull you away from work or away from people for too long. He either pulls you into a closet and takes you in there or makes you cockwarm him until you snap and beg him to take you both somewhere private under the guise you weren’t feeling too well.

-🦌 Don’t get me started when you do decide to cockwarm him too, he’s gripping your hips like his life depended on it just to keep you down on his lap. He won’t pay much attention to you but will allow you to cover his face and neck in kisses if you want. 

-🦌 But don’t you worry, when he’s in his rut like this he won’t take long to break especially when you start to move your hips against him. Slowly at first to not rouse suspicion but then going faster until you're practically riding him and keeping his hands off of you. 

Alastor gasped out sending a half hearted glare up at you, tears in his eyes as you bounced down against his cock. Hands cupping his face as you kiss him carefully moans leaving your lips, his hands wrapped around your thighs as his tongue eagerly pushes into your mouth. In a flash your back pressed against your mattress as he started to thrust his cock deep into you, hands above your head as he listened to your loud moans of his name between his deep grunts and moans. His belt buckle clinking against his legs as he tugged you closer to him, claws digging into your wrists as he leaned his head down to mark your neck up to make sure everyone knew who was making you feel so good.

-🦌 Once his ruts or your rut wears off, the everloving gentleman your lover is, he runs you a bath. He won’t ever get into it with you, something he made very clear but he will help wash your hair or massage your shoulders. Once out of the bath, he will patch up any scratches you had gotten. He wants you to keep the bite marks uncovered but he will disinfect them for you.

-🦌 He won’t talk about his rut or your rut as it’s something he doesn’t like to talk about. He won’t stop you from talking about it but if he hears you breathe a word about how needy he was, he will deny it until you drop it and then you’ll be in bigger trouble. But if you respect his wishes and not breathe a word he’ll be a little more thankful. Either way he brings you to a nice dinner a night later to thank you for helping him out.

-🦌 All in all if your respectful to him and his wishes, he will return the favor tenfold especially during and after his rut. He appreciates you more than you know and more than he lets on.

[strayingawayy]

series: love me two times

businessman minho! x former one night stand reader (and soon to be spouse)

chapter 2: trending naked

read introduction here

chapter 1

word count: 2500 words

WARNINGS: strong language, sexual content, emotional manipulation, toxic family dynamics, power imbalances, alcohol use, eventual gun violence, blood and injury, blackmail, surveillance, themes of control, secrecy, betrayal, repression, psychological tension under the guise of romance, dubious business dealings, manipulation via arranged marriage, and consistent, unapologetically bad decision making from most, if not all, characters involved. british humour. in case you all pussy out from that.

A/N: after a month of banging my head, here's chapter 2. i'm not that proud to present it but i sincerely hope you all enjoy it. to a certain extent atleast.

playlist.

─── Some things weren’t meant to be seen.

Not by cameras. Not by friends. Certainly not by the entire world before breakfast. Some truths weren’t meant to come out, not this fast, not like this, and definitely not with a scandal trending in thirty countries.

And some mornings…

Well, some mornings arrive like a car crash in slow motion—silent, bloody, and impossible to stop. This was one of those mornings.

And by nightfall, it wouldn’t be the only thing that had exploded.

Because the scandal was just foreplay.

Minho doesn’t give too many fucks. That, perhaps, is exactly why the media can’t get enough of him. His reputation for ignoring paparazzi—walking past flashbulbs like they were beneath him, brushing off scandal like lint from his shoulders—only fuels the curated image the world has built for him: rich, cold, handsome.

The kind of man who never apologises, never chases, never looks back.

A man with cufflinks that cost more than most people’s rent and a gaze sharp enough to file lawsuits.

He never fails to live up to the version people have conjured of him: an aloof enigma who seems to have stepped straight out of a bloody Wattpad story with a dark past, a tailored coat, and a five-star attitude. Ice in his veins. Designer cologne on his skin. The untouchable heir to a corporate empire.

Which is why it was, in fact, utterly unacceptable that he had woken up to find himself trending worldwide.

Naked.

Trending naked.

His bed, once a haven of order and pristine thread counts, was now a battlefield of duvet limbs and existential panic. And just as he stirred—blissfully unaware that his dignity had been annihilated in high definition—his bedroom door was kicked open with the force of a raid.

“BLOODY HELL, MINHO, WAKE UP, YOU ABSOLUTE WEAPON!”

Three things happened in rapid succession.

First: his brain registered Han Jisung’s voice at an inhumane decibel level.

Second: his eyes opened to the sight of said menace launching himself bodily onto the bed.

Third: he was being shaken so violently he momentarily forgot his own name.

“YOU’RE ON THE NEWS,” Jisung screamed, as though this were the beginning of a film and not, as it would turn out, the single most embarrassing day of Minho’s entire existence. As though the evening of the engagement wasn't enough.

Minho groaned, shoving weakly at Jisung’s hyperactive limbs. “So? I’m always on the news.”

Jisung’s eyes went white with incredulity. “NOT LIKE THIS.”

As if summoned by the very chaos vibrating through the room, Changbin barrelled in behind him, phone clutched in hand, screen already aglow with doom.

And there it was.

The headline that would haunt Minho for the rest of his natural life, and potentially a few reincarnations after that:

LEE MINHO & FIANCÉ(E)’S PRIVATE MOMENT LEAKED — SCANDAL OR SECRET LOVE STORY?

Minho blinked. “...Private moment?”

Jisung, ever helpful, snatched the phone from Changbin with the reflexes of a pickpocket (we’re going to ignore his experience in this regard) and began scrolling like a man possessed.

“The media’s trying to be classy about it,” he muttered, squinting at the article, “but, mate, it’s a full-blown sex tape.”

“That’s not possible,” Minho said, more to the universe than anyone in the room.

Changbin inhaled slowly, as if preparing to deliver last rites. “Oh, but it is.”

Jisung tapped ‘play’.

And there.

There.

On the screen: Minho. You. A luxury hotel bed with gold-accented sheets. Your leg hiked over his shoulder like a Cirque du Soleil audition. The unmistakable cadence of debauchery. There was a brief moment of hope—it could be someone else, blurry or cropped footage—

But no.

There was his face, though not evidently visible but definitely his. His body. His hair slightly mussed in that aesthetically criminal way. And then—just to ensure he’d never sleep again—audio.

“Oh my God,” Minho breathed, horror pooling behind his eyes like storm clouds.

Changbin nudged him, eyes still on the screen. “Bro, you gripped the headboard.”

Han let out a noise so ungodly it might’ve summoned spirits. “Nah, why did Y/N tell you to shut up and you actually did?”

Minho’s hand shot out, slamming the phone screen-down against the mattress like it would do him any good. “I am going to pass away.”

But alas. The gods of disgrace were only just getting started.

Because the next moment?

Jisung—bright, chipper, and holding a remote like a harbinger of doom—turned on the television.

And there, in crisp HD on national news, was a panel of analysts dissecting Minho’s thrusting technique.

“So, if you pause at 1:15, we see Minho taking the lead.”

“Briefly.”

“Right, so that’s where you can see the power shift. Minho thinks he’s leading, but actually Y/N takes control.”

“Fascinating power dynamic. Wonder if that’ll affect the company in the future. And at 2:03, we see a rare moment of desperation—”

“And a rare moment of his perky arse—”

Minho buried his face in his hands. “This is not happening.”

“This is the best day of my life,” Jisung corrected, practically vibrating with mirth.

And just when Minho thought he’d reached the peak of his humiliation—

The door slammed open.

You.

You looked like a mythological fury: hair askew, eyes burning with a fury that could level cities, your phone clutched so tightly it was a miracle it hadn’t shattered under the force of your wrath.

Minho had faced hostile shareholders. Ruthless competitors. Once, even a death threat from a rival conglomerate.

He had never been this afraid.

“YOU,” you spat, striding towards him like a vengeance incarnate.

“Me,” Minho squeaked.

You hurled your phone at him—a Samsung-shaped missile of fury. He only just managed to catch it before it smacked him between the eyes.

The screen?

A live press conference.

“We are deeply concerned by this invasion of privacy—”

“Yes, but let’s focus on the real issue. What does this mean for Lee Corp’s reputation?”

“More importantly, what does it mean for his stamina?”

Minho launched the phone across the room like it was cursed.

Han and Changbin were now weeping on the bed with laughter, occasionally slapping the duvet for oxygen. Like that would help.

“FIX THIS,” you snarled, stepping closer.

Minho gulped. “Okay. But, um, how?”

You were incandescent.

“I don’t know, Minho, maybe by explaining why THE WHOLE WORLD JUST WATCHED ME DOMINATE YOU IN A FIVE-STAR HOTEL?”

Jisung wheezed.

Changbin slid off the bed entirely.

Minho inhaled a dust bunny from the mattress and promptly choked on his own spit.

“First of all,” he croaked, his ears practically glowing, “I would not say ‘dominate’—”

You grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it. Full force. Righteous and deserved.

“THIS ISN’T FUNNY.”

He held up both hands. “You’re right. Not funny. Very serious.”

You exhaled sharply, pacing now like a tiger in a cage.

“This is huge,” you muttered, half to yourself. “My career? Ruined. My name? Dragged through the mud. My family? Calling me to ask if I’ve ‘forsaken God’—”

Minho blinked. “Okay, that’s dramatic.”

You stopped dead, eyes wide.

“DRAMATIC? MINHO, I HAD TO BLOCK MY AUNT ON FACEBOOK BECAUSE SHE CALLED ME A JEZEBEL.”

A beat.

“…What century is she living in?”

“FOCUS.”

Minho sighed, dragging his fingers through his hair.

And for the first time since this entire trainwreck had begun, he really looked at you.

Your arms were folded tightly across your chest, jaw clenched so hard it trembled. Your breathing was uneven. And underneath the righteous fury, the fire, the rage—

He saw it.

Humiliation.

Fear.

This wasn’t just a scandal to you. This was your life. Your reputation. Your family.

Your safety.

Minho straightened, cleared his throat and managed to muster enough courage to find his voice.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quieter now. Calmer. “We’ll fix this.”

You laughed—a bitter, brittle thing. “And how do you plan on doing that?”

Minho’s jaw locked.

He didn’t know.

Not yet.

But whoever had leaked that footage? Whoever had thought they could reduce you to gossip and grainy pixels? Humiliate you and smear your life across the tabloids like it was theatre?

They had made the single worst mistake of their lives.

And Lee Minho was going to make sure they regretted it.

•━━━━━━━━━━━•

Twenty minutes later, however, Minho was sitting in his office, head in his hands, while his PR team screamed at each other like contestants on a reality show.

“Do we deny?”

“We can’t deny! It’s him! We can literally see his face!”

“Okay, but how do we spin this?”

“Maybe say it was deepfake technology?”

“Oh, so AI Minho was out here breaking beds now?”

“WE NEED AN OFFICIAL STATEMENT!”

Minho groaned. “Jesus Christ, can everyone just—”

“Shut up?” one intern offered, ducking as a binder went flying across the room.

The office was a warzone. Papers. Coffee cups. Screaming. Someone crying softly in the corner. Possibly the Head of Crisis Communications. Hard to tell through the chaos.

Minho sat slumped at the conference table like a cursed prince in a kingdom of flaming paperwork, flanked by twelve PR specialists and zero solutions.

He hadn’t even had coffee.

“The stock’s dipped five percent in the last hour,” a voice piped up from the end of the table.

“Five?” another gasped.

“Six,” corrected a third, refreshing a graph with trembling fingers.

Minho exhaled through his nose. “So what I’m hearing is: we’re all doing really well.”

“I have a plan,” said a voice.

Silence.

All heads turned.

It was Felix.

Felix, in his immaculate blazer and pixel-perfect skin, who—until this very moment—had been watching from the window like a gothic Victorian ghost. Now, he stepped forward, chin raised, golden hair gleaming like divine retribution.

“You’re not going to like it,” he added, with the kind of grim solemnity usually reserved for war generals.

Minho gestured weakly. “Let’s hear it.”

Felix tapped his phone. The smart TV blinked to life.

LEE MINHO: THE MAN BEHIND THE HEADBOARD. A Love Story.

Minho said, “No.”

“Listen,” Felix said. “We lean in. We make it a love story. A passionate, uncontrollable, deeply consensual love story between two people thrown into an arranged engagement who—oh no!—accidentally fell into bed before marriage.”

“You are insane.”

“I’m a visionary, hyung.”

Jisung burst into the room. “It’s not insane. It’s working.”

“What?”

“Your ship tag is trending. #MinYN. There’s already a Tumblr fic called Cuffed By Fate and it’s got 4200 likes. Wish people reblogged more these days though.”

“In one hour?”

“Internet moves fast," Jisung supplies with a shrug, cheeks stuffed with grapes he had managed to grab in the midst of this chaos.

Changbin followed in, tablet in hand. “You’re not going to like this either—but your dad called.”

Minho sat up. “What?”

“He says this whole ‘sex tape’ thing? It’s good for business.”

Everyone stared.

“The engagement was polling terribly. Now people think it’s romantic. Reckless. There’s a petition for you two to star in a K-drama.”

Minho leaned back slowly.

“I want everyone out.”

They scrambled. PR scattered. Jisung took three pastries and saluted on the way out.

Only Minho, Chan, and Felix remained.

“I want to know who leaked it.”

Felix nodded, smile gone and work mode locked in as he adjusted his glasses. “We’re tracing the footage. CCTV. Remote access. Not an accident.”

“Who the fuck has that kind of access?” Minho’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

Chan’s arms folded, and for a heartbeat the room held its breath. Then, in a low, careful tone: “Someone high up. Someone close. Possibly… family.”

Minho felt the walls tilt. His mind raced—replaying every meeting, every forced smile, every curt nod exchanged with your father. Protection. Control. The words echoed in his skull.

Had the engagement ever been about safeguarding you—or about cementing ownership?

He pictured the hidden CCTV feed, the silent transmission, the deliberate timing. This wasn’t an accident. It was precision.

Minho’s chair scraped back as he stood. His pulse hammered in his ears. “Where are they?”

Chan hesitated. “Left with their father’s driver.”

“Willingly?” Minho’s question trembled on the edge of accusation.

Silence stretched. Then: “I’m not sure.”

Gears turned in Minho’s mind. Someone orchestrated this. Someone who knew every code, every security hole, every blind spot. Someone trusted. Someone inside.

He tugged on his coat, fingers brushing the gun at his hip. Outside, the city pulsed with oblivious life. But here—right here—Minho understood the stakes had just become lethal.

He stepped toward the door. His jaw clenched.

He only wished he knew the true target.

...

taglist: @imfoive @jisunggy @hyunebunx @peskybirdysya @rockstarkkami @knowbites @mischievousleeknow @thepoeticpurplepotato @artemesiareads @valreifang @alisonyus @jisuperboard @8minho @robinnotgood24 @sarahfirecrystals-blog @lmnhx @maskedcrawford @bluesoobinnie @butterflydemons @pinkpunkdynamite @stickymusictale @lazymfblog @krssliu @halesandy @vcordova1460 @gnusihcom @cutecucumberkimberly @coldcraftmusiclight @superwholockiancrackhead @starfishblobblob @privatespotyk @thingsiwannaseelater @loveunt0ld @showingmafandomlove @2minpov @hantaechan @skyinkpop-blog @helpijustgothere @herejusttemporary @kpopenthusiast143 @miyaluvvsyou @shuuporanglinos @abbiestearsricochet @pixie-felix @loxgirl2004 @met30c1ty @feelikecinderella @uhhhhhokay @moon0fthenight @cashtonsbetch

[rosesnr0t]

Can I request Platonic and regular Yandere Dark Cacao Cookie head cannons? Asking before I send an official request for him.

-❄💗🖋

Yandere Dark Cacao Cookie Headcanons

Platonic

Dark Cacao doesn’t “love” easily, but once he sees you as his, there’s no turning back. Whether you’re his adopted child, a young knight he trains, or someone he feels responsible for… his protectiveness eventually becomes suffocating.

He’ll cut you off from others under the guise of protecting you from the world’s cruelty. “Trust is a blade,” he tells you, “and I won’t see you bleed because you gave it too freely.”

Friends, lovers, or even fellow Cookies who try to get too close may be exiled, “discharged,” or warned. He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t threaten. He just says things like:

“Your presence brings Y/n Cookie distress. Leave. And do not return.”

 …and people listen.

If you insist on leaving the palace or standing on your own, he’ll start personally training you in combat, resilience, strategy… not for your freedom, but so he can control the terms of it.

He refers to you as “my ward,” “my kin,” “my honor.” 

He’ll never say “I love you,” but if someone disrespects or harms you, they’ll be gone before the sun rises.

If you try to leave him entirely, he may not even stop you at first. But he will send scouts to follow you. He always knows where you are. He always brings you back. One way or another.

ೃ ✦ ✧ ∗ ❥ ҉

Romantic/Regular

He rarely speaks of his feelings. But the way he watches you, the way he positions himself between you and every danger, and the way his hand tightens on his sword hilt whenever someone touches you… it’s clear. You are his final weakness. His most sacred vow. His obsession. He will not let you go. Ever.

He believes love is a battle. A war. A duty. His “romance” is intense, unwavering, and obsessive. Not flowers and poems—oaths and bloodshed.

You’re rarely alone. He won’t say he’s keeping watch, but there’s always a shadow following you in silence.

He doesn’t show jealousy the usual way—he won’t whine or plead. He just eliminates competition. If someone tries to woo you, you’ll find them mysteriously reassigned to the farthest corner of the kingdom. Or quietly disappear. He’ll never admit it was him. But if you confront him:

“Would you rather I let them disgrace you with false intentions? I did    what I must. For you.”

His love feels like being locked in a fortress. Safe. Shielded. But unable to breathe. He’ll say things like:

“You should not walk the garden alone. Come. I will accompany you.”

“They’re not worthy of your company. Stay with me tonight.”

You’ll want to argue—but his tone is never angry. It’s calm. Rational. Firm. And you can’t shake the feeling that if you disobey… something will happen.

If you ever try to leave him? If you ever say you don’t love him? His whole world shatters… inwardly. He won’t hurt you—but he might imprison you under “house arrest.” Or stage a tragic event that forces you to “need” him again.

And if it comes down to it... he'll choose your safety over your freedom. Every time.

[starwovenkiss]

goodnight n go

You continue your daily tradition of calling Kyle while he's away for deployment. A/N: this man has unfortunately taken up too much real estate in my brain and at this point, the only solution is to write it out. <3

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ♡ ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─ ─ ⋅

The dial tone rings, and you count the seconds until he answers. Thirty-two today, nine quicker than yesterday.

“‘Ello love.” A murmured drawl crackles through, and you smile, turning over into the pillow directly next to you. You take a deep inhale, savoring the fact that Kyle’s body wash still lingers. You know you have another week before it fades completely. “It’s a bit late for you to call me. I thought you would’ve been asleep by now.”

“I was,” you giggle, “but I had a dream about you.”

“A dream, eh? And what was this dream about?” You roll your eyes at the shift of tone, knowing that if he were here, he would get a smack in the face with his pillow for the innuendo. And your heart tightens, wishing for a moment that he was lying right next to you instead of 5,000 miles away in some war-torn country.

“Our first date,” you hear his chuckle, smiling at your memory. You close your eyes, painting a picture of the freckles that litter his nose, the whiskey color of his eyes, and his flat curls after lying in bed all night. Your fingers reach out, feeling cold sheets rather than the warmth of where his hand should be.

“Tell me about it,” he asks smoothly.

“You should know, you were there,” you laugh.

“I still wanna hear.”

“Well, you were late.”

“Only by 15 minutes. You’ve been way later than that!”

“It was our first date!” you giggle. “And you were wearing flip-flops!”

“I didn’t know I needed to dress up,” he groans. “We were best friends! We had hung out by ourselves all the time.”

“Kyle, we grew up together. You would think I would’ve taught you how to impress a girl on a first date by the time you were 25 years old!” you laugh incredulously, and you hear his laugh back. 

The window creaks slightly as an evening breeze passes through, open to combat the summer heatwave in England. You smile fondly. It had been sweltering the day the two of you met. You were running down the street, chasing the ice cream truck, and were short a few pence for an ice lolly. Only seconds away from putting it back, when Kyle, a boy with sunburned cheeks and grass stains on his knees, stepped in without hesitation. He handed over his allowance and just grinned when you tried to protest. You shared it with him, of course, and from that moment on, the two of you were inseparable.

It wasn’t until he turned sixteen that something shifted. His voice dropped. His limbs stretched. His back straightened like he was growing into a version of himself the rest of the world hadn’t seen yet. Gone was the scrawny boy who still secretly collected trading cards and snuck over to yours to watch rom-coms under the guise of “movie night.”

And you weren’t the only one who noticed. Girls started paying attention, laughing loudly at his jokes, twirling their hair around their fingers. You told yourself the jealousy was just a habit. That it only hurt because you’d gotten used to having all of him. 

It wasn't until after his first deployment that the fear of losing him completely led you to reckon with the love you had been trying not to name since you two met.

“I’m pretty lucky that you gave me a second chance then.” Kyle’s smile laces every word, and you shuffle closer to his side of the bed as if you can will him closer to you by moving into the space he normally occupies.

“Well, you brought me flowers!”

“Lilies. Your favorite.” And almost instinctively, your gaze catches the vase of lilies on your nightstand, delivered the day Kyle left for deployment. Your brows knit as a petal falls, the dying buds serving as a marker for how long Kyle’s been gone.

He hears the pause, and always Kyle seems attuned to the shift in your emotions even through a phone call, so when he suggests “tell me more,” you follow. 

“At least the restaurant you picked was nice.” The cafe was only a short walk from your apartments, perfect for Kyle to show up grinning ear to ear at your apartment door, holding a bouquet of lilies. You had spent the entire morning on the phone with your friend, worried that you were making the wrong decision, and that would be the end of you and Kyle. That everything would be weird and awkward with this new romantic subtext in your friendship. But when you looked down and met eyes with a pair of thong flip-flops, you couldn’t help but laugh in relief that Kyle would always be Kyle.

“I miss you,” You whisper. He’s quiet for a beat too long, and the absence of his voice feels like a weight in your chest. You briefly wonder if you overstepped. It’s not easy, you knew that before you even started dating Kyle, comforting him as ex-girlfriends couldn’t handle the strain of not seeing him for months and months. Yet you could’ve never imagined yourself in the same position of wanting more from a man who could only give so much.

“I miss you more,” he whispers back, voice hoarse with longing.

You're quiet, and you can almost see Kyle’s frown before you hear it in the next words that leave his mouth.

“You’ll call me tomorrow, yeah?”

“Of course. I love you,” You whisper, barely audible over the rustle of the sheets as you shift beneath the sheets.

“I love you always. Now get some rest. I’ll be here until you fall asleep.” You set your phone beside you, eyes fluttering close at the gentle hum of Kyle’s chatter. 

Forty-eight minutes tonight, seven longer than yesterday.

[syluslnd]

what if sylus secretly sniffing panties and gets caught 👁️👁️

him sniffing your panties

₊˚⊹ ᰔ ⋆˚✿˖°. ༘⋆𝜗𝜚⊹₊｡ꕤ˚

Sylus had been coming over to your place more often lately. At first, it was under the guise of “hanging out” or “needing a break from work” but you’d started to notice the way his crimson eyes lingered on you a little too long or how his smirk seemed to soften whenever you laughed. Still, he never said anything outright—typical Sylus, always keeping you guessing.

Today was no different. He’d shown up unannounced, leaning casually against your doorframe with that infuriatingly charming grin. “Miss me?” he’d asked, brushing past you before you could even answer. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips.

After some small talk, you decided to grab him a glass of water. “Make yourself at home” you said, heading to the kitchen. When you returned, you paused at the doorway, a mischievous idea forming in your mind. You’d sneak up on him and catch him off guard for once. Silently, you tiptoed into the room, holding back a laugh.

But what you saw stopped you in your tracks.

Sylus was crouched on the floor, surrounded by a pile of your clothes that had been haphazardly tossed onto a chair earlier. In his hands was one of your panties and he was holding it up to his face, his eyes closed as he inhaled deeply. The sight made your heart skip a beat, and your cheeks instantly burned. You must’ve made a sound—a gasp, a breath, something because his eyes snapped open, and he turned to look at you.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, slowly, a sly grin spread across his face. He didn’t even try to hide what he’d been doing. Instead, he tilted his head, his voice low and teasing. “How long are you going to stand there staring at me, hm?”

You froze, your face growing even hotter. “I—I wasn’t staring!” you stammered, clutching the glass of water like a lifeline.

Sylus stood up gracefully, still holding your underwear . He took a step closer, his smirk widening. “Oh? Then what would you call it? Admiring the view?” He gestured to himself with mock modesty and you couldn’t help but laugh despite your embarrassment.

“You’re impossible” you muttered, setting the glass down on the nearest surface.

He closed the distance between you, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “and yet, here you are, letting me into your home again and again. Almost like you enjoy my company.” He held up the pantie, his grin turning devilish. “Or maybe you just like leaving your scent everywhere for me to find.”

You swatted at him but he caught your wrist effortlessly, pulling you closer. His crimson eyes sparkled with amusement and you could feel the warmth of his breath as he leaned in. “Admit it” he murmured. “You like having me around.”

You opened your mouth to protest but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you found yourself smiling, your heart racing as his teasing gaze held yours. “Maybe I do” you admitted softly.

Sylus’s smirk softened into something almost tender. “Good” he said, releasing your wrist but staying close.

[shizuturnspages]

curious what your thoughts are on venti, diluc and kaeya as yanderes? gotta show some love to the older genshin guys, and diluc still remains one of my fav characters in general!!

Diluc is literally my favourite character in Genshin, and I'm a Kaeya main. So this request is perfect for me

Yandere Venti

❥ Venti’s songs are famous across Mondstadt, but when he’s got his eyes on you, those songs are for you alone. He’ll weave subtle hints into his lyrics, making you feel like every note, every word, is about you. It’s intoxicating, but it’s also a trap—he’ll make you feel like you’re the center of his world, until you start craving that attention. And when you realize just how tangled you’ve become? Too fucking late. His melodies are like chains, binding you to him under the guise of love.

❥ Venti knows how to use his charm to keep you close. He’ll be there to cheer you up, lifting your spirits whenever you feel down, and he’ll make you think you’re the one choosing to stay with him. But it’s all calculated as hell—he’ll play the role of the carefree friend, the comforting presence, the one who always knows what you need. Before you know it, you’re completely dependent on him, and he’s got you right where he wants you.

❥ Venti is the god of freedom, but he doesn’t like sharing. If he feels like you’re getting too close to someone else, he’ll turn that charming nature into something far more dangerous. He’ll start showing up everywhere you go, interrupting conversations, casually pulling you away from anyone who seems interested in you. He’ll laugh it off, make it seem like it’s all a joke, but there’s a dark edge to his jealousy that you can’t ignore. He’s free as the wind, but when it comes to you? He’s possessive as hell.

❥ Venti might use his soft, gentle side to keep you close, making you feel like he’s the only one who understands you. He’ll make you laugh, comfort you, play songs that touch your soul. But when he’s alone with you, that softness shifts into something darker. He’ll hold you close, telling you in a soft, almost loving tone that you don’t need anyone else, that he’s the only one who’ll ever care for you the way he does. It’s terrifyingly intimate, like he’s casting a spell that binds you to him.

❥ Venti’s not shy about using his Anemo powers to keep you close. If you try to leave, he’ll summon a gust of wind to “guide” you back to him, all with that sweet, knowing smile on his face. He’ll play it off as a joke, of course, but there’s a gleam in his eye that says he means every word. You’re his favorite melody, and he’s not about to let anyone else steal the song. Once Venti’s claimed you, you’re bound to him, just like a note in one of his eternal, unbreakable ballads.

Yandere Kaeya

❥ Kaeya’s damn good at drawing people in with his charm, and he’ll use every ounce of it to keep you close. He knows exactly how to make you feel like you’re the only person in the room, like he’s completely captivated by you. But his charm isn’t innocent—he’ll say exactly what you want to hear, making you feel like you’re special, while subtly isolating you from everyone else. By the time you realize just how deeply he’s woven himself into your life, it’s too damn late.

❥ Kaeya’s smooth as hell, but he’s not immune to jealousy. If he sees someone else getting close to you, he won’t cause a scene—he’s far too clever for that. Instead, he’ll undermine them subtly, making them seem untrustworthy or unreliable. With a few choice words and that calm, knowing smirk, he’ll turn you against anyone he sees as a threat. And if they persist? Well, Kaeya has ways of handling obstacles. People have a habit of disappearing when they get too close to what’s his.

❥ Kaeya’s role as Cavalry Captain means he’s got a way with strategy and people alike. He’s the one who knows all the secrets in Mondstadt, and he’s not above using that knowledge to keep you in line. If he feels like you’re drifting, he’ll pull strings within the Knights to subtly restrict your freedom, making it seem like he’s the only one you can rely on. He’ll manipulate situations so that you find yourself leaning on him, needing him—and he’ll do it all with that infuriating, knowing smile.

❥ Kaeya has a genuine, albeit twisted, desire to keep you safe. He sees himself as the only one who can protect you, and he’ll go to extreme lengths to do just that. If anyone threatens you, he’ll deal with it personally, making sure they know exactly who they’re dealing with. The other Knights might suspect something, but Kaeya’s too clever to get caught—and as far as he’s concerned, the ends justify the fucking means.

❥ As a member of the Knights of Favonius, Kaeya knows how to play both sides—he can work within the system, but he’s never above bending the rules. He might even use his position to monitor your movements, subtly influencing the Knights’ patrols to ensure you’re never out of his sight for long. The other Knights may see him as a bit of a loose cannon, but they respect his skill, and he knows how to use that respect to his advantage. Nobody’s going to question Kaeya’s actions too closely, and that gives him all the freedom he needs to keep you close.

Yandere Diluc

❥ Diluc’s the kind of guy who feels like he has to protect everything he cares about—and when it comes to you, that instinct becomes overwhelmingly intense. He’ll want to shield you from every danger, but his version of “safety” means keeping you right under his watch. His love isn’t just protective; it’s possessive as hell. He doesn’t just want you safe; he wants you with him, always. And if you resist? He’s not above using his influence to make sure you’ve got nowhere else to go.

❥ As Mondstadt’s Darknight Hero, he’s used to working in the shadows, handling the city’s threats without anyone knowing. If you’re ever in danger, he’ll be the first one there, taking down threats with a quiet, ruthless efficiency. And the thing is? He likes that you don’t fully know what he’s capable of. It keeps you vulnerable, reliant on him, needing him to protect you. When he’s got you in his grasp, he won’t let go. Ever.

❥ Dawn Winery is his sanctuary, his fortress, and he’ll make damn sure it feels like a safe haven for you too—though maybe a bit too safe. He’ll ensure you’re comfortable, but there’s always a subtle pressure to stay within those walls. He wants you at the winery, close to him, where he can keep an eye on you. He’ll go so far as to make it seem like outside threats are too dangerous for you to handle alone. Dawn Winery becomes more than just a home; it’s a gilded cage.

❥ That brotherly relationship with Kaeya is complicated as hell, and the animosity between them adds a dark edge to Diluc’s possessiveness. If Kaeya even so much as looks your way, Diluc’s eyes turn cold, and he’ll waste no time reminding his brother that you’re his. There’s a deep-seated need to outshine Kaeya, to prove that he’s the one who deserves your loyalty and attention. If Kaeya tries to get close to you, Diluc won’t hesitate to confront him, warning him with that fiery intensity to back the hell off.

❥ Diluc’s got this obsessive side that won’t let him rest until he’s sure you’re safe and alone with him. He’ll check in on you, even if you’re out of sight for just a moment, tracking every move you make to make sure no one else has a claim on you. His attention to detail borders on terrifying, and nothing slips by him. He’s practically everywhere, and you start to feel like you’re always being watched.

[sixosix]

summary you take it upon yourself to make it up to lyney when he couldn’t perform on the night he looked forward to the most—and lyney falls a little harder.

or, sickfic, basically, but it’s more than that

warnings wc 3k, mentions of injuries and blood, fluff!!! and a bit of angst oops

A/N @hiraethsdesires wanted to get tagged so here u goo!!! hope u like reading it <3

“For the last time, Lyney,” you sigh, shoving one more macaron in the small, red box with the same shade as the accents of his hat, “I can’t attend your show.”

It’s a stroke of luck for him that you don’t have a line right now, or else you would’ve kicked him out the moment you saw him enter, fully expecting he doesn’t intend on leaving right away.

Lyney droops dramatically, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “Seriously? Not this week either?”

“Not this week either. Not ever, I’m pretty sure I told you.” You push the box against his chest, to which he responds eagerly by situating his free hand firmly over yours.

He keeps his grip firm when you try tugging your hands away. He bores his eyes into yours, too sincere and open for a performer such as himself—you feel a bit of your will chip away. “That night is special to me. Won’t you consider again?”

“Why is it special?”

Lyney’s lips curl into a smirk, striking right when you’ve faltered. “Because you will be coming to watch, of course.”

You jerk your hands out of his grip as he laughs. “Bold assumption,” you say, smiling a little when Lyney cries a ‘come onnnn’. “Lyney, I already said—”

“—That you have no one else to take care of the shop if you leave, I know, I know,” Lyney interrupts with clear disdain. “But don’t you think I deserve a bit of compensation? Surely you recognize my efforts in being this bakery’s most loyal customer. Most purchases and most compliments to the prettiest owner.”

You roll your eyes, but you do give it a bit of thought. Lyney has been the reason why your humble little shop tucked in some hidden corner of Fontaine’s city has been gaining attention. You’ve definitely increased in customers ever since Lyney took it upon himself to come over every day with a Rainbow Rose and a dream (and Mora).

“If I attend to one, will you promise it’ll be the last?”

Lyney’s expression shifts instantly. He beams, leaning close enough until your noses are touching. You swear you can see the sparkles in his eyes. “I can’t promise anything if you enjoy it so much you keep coming back for more.”

“Don’t push it,” you say.

“I won’t, I won’t,” Lyney murmurs, his smile turning softer. “You’re not joking around, right? That’s a yes?”

“It’s a yes, I guess.”

He kisses your hand three times, saying, “I’ll make it the best night of your life, I promise,” between them.

You look forward to it. You wouldn’t tell it to his face, but if he were to look closer and see the tremble of your hands to the smile on your face, he’d know anyway.

Lyney doesn’t come over the next day.

You will yourself not to feel too disappointed. You have no right to be. Every time he does visit, he’d just invite you to one of his shows under the guise of ordering whatever you tell him is the best seller of the day, and every time, you’d reject his offer. Yesterday was an exception—on a whim.

Maybe he got a revelation, thinking that he'll find it boring when he finally got you in his grasp.

It certainly doesn’t help that Lyney still hasn't come to visit the day after that, which happened to be the same day of the performance.

They canceled the show, you hear them say, from outside on the streets and even in the walls of your bakery. What a shame; I was looking forward to it.

So was I, you want to say through gritted teeth.

You knew their fame knew no bounds, but it was only then that embarrassment crept in when you realized that the show star, Lyney himself, frequented your small shop with a bouquet in hand to invite you personally. And you had the gall to reject him.

You also learn that the bakery feels much more empty without his blazing presence.

The moment you finish watching the customer exit the shop with two paper bags in their arms, you rush to fling your apron off and flip the sign to ‘CLOSED’.

You don’t often leave the bakery in fear of missing out on what could be busy days, but this is more important than that. You can’t handle working idly for another hour with guilt in your stomach urging you to do something.

You must look like a sight: speeding through the pathway with a bit of flour on your clothes and a determined glint in your eyes. Only when you spot a familiar house overhead do you pause to take a deep breath.

You can do this. You need to find out what happened.

“He got sick?”

Lynette nods, sighing in defeat. “Would you like to come in? I’ll explain as I make tea.”

You glance around unsurely, feeling a little out of place. You occasionally break the heart of the brother of this woman currently inviting you inside their home. You can only hope that Lyney hasn’t been lamenting his bakery troubles to his sister.

Lynette directs you to the loveseat of their small living room before padding over to the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable,” she says in her endearing ever-monotone voice.

“I’m okay, thank… you…” Your gaze catches on a picture frame on the desk beside the seat of Lyney, Lynette, and what you can only assume from stories he’s shared is Freminet. Lynette is far from the camera, staring into the distance and sipping tea. Freminet is smiling awkwardly with no teeth, and the one eye he has visible isn’t even staring at the camera. Then Lyney sits in the middle, holding the camera with two arms and a wide grin, eyes screwed shut and his face so open.

You feel as if you’ve just caught a glimpse of something so personal, and the thought of that twists your heart and pushes it to beat twice as fast as normal. You’ve never seen him smile like that before. (You briefly wonder what it would be like to see it happen personally.)

“I’ve never seen him get this high of a fever before,” Lynette says, rousing you from your trance. She hands you a cup of tea, steam emanating from the cup.

“How did he even get sick?”

“I’m not sure… It could be because of the thunderstorm yesterday—he was out at that time and came home like that. He seemed really excited for tonight, too. Lyney kept telling me that this one would be special.”

“Because you will be coming to watch, of course.”

You nearly choke in your first sip because of your own thoughts.

Lynette looks back up at you over the rim of her cup. “With the stress of not being able to perform tormenting him, I assume he wouldn’t be getting better in time for the show. Or at least, not tonight at all.”

“Ah,” you voice lamely. You can’t even imagine the look of pure distress on Lyney’s sweet face—it hurts to even think about it. He’s done so much for you and even promised a whole show, only to fall sick before he could make it come true.

Will he think he’s at fault for this?

With your fingernails digging crescents on your palms, you quietly ask, “…Can I come visit him? Or would that be too much?”

Lynette’s gaze sharpens a little. “Has my brother told you the truth of our identities?”

“Most of everyone found out after the trial,” you answer without missing a beat.

“And still, you choose to care for Lyney?”

Is this a shovel talk? Are you experiencing a shovel talk right now?

“He makes it hard not to,” you say weakly; it’s the truth. You’re here because Lyney, throughout his little visits, has made you care so deeply for him that you started to look forward to each visit. “…Is that a no? Was that too much of a request?”

Lynette has a ghost of a smile on her face. “It’s perfect.”

The room is silent as you enter. You feel shame for visiting someone’s room without them knowing, even though you’ve been given complete permission by his own sister. Still, your face burns the closer you reach Lyney’s bed.

“Hey, Lyney,” you murmur as you kneel beside the bed. “I brought some of your favorites.”

He doesn’t respond, much to no one’s surprise. You wonder why you feel so disappointed that those lilac eyes aren’t looking at you, begging you, wooing you. Defeated, you place the bag of macarons on his bedside table, mostly an excuse to inspect his face closer.

His brows are furrowed, and a thin layer of sweat is on his forehead, even in his sleep. He looks nicer in casual clothes and his hair free from products.

A bowl of water is near his head, with a towel sitting in the bottom.

“You get really sick when you get it, huh?” you muse to no one in particular, gently wiping the sweat off his forehead. Then to his neck, where the warmth of his fever nearly burns you just by hovering close.

Lyney shifts a little. You pause with bated breath. Still, he doesn’t wake up.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper, taking the bowl in your hands.

His nose is really red. You shouldn’t be finding it cute—really, what’s wrong with you recently?

But your movement brushed against the blanket over his torso and, with it, came revealing the side of his waist. His stomach is wrapped with bandages, and a spot of dried blood is seeping in on the bandage on his side.

Your eyes widen in horror, nearly making a loud, indecipherable noise before you catch yourself.

You rush to the door, finding Lynette in the same spot of the loveseat where you left her. Her eyes flick up to you, brows arched in surprise.

“Lynette, he—”

She catches on quickly. “He’s alright,” Lynette says, though her ears are curled back in distress. “He’s been given help. We knew of someone affiliated with Hydro and its healing properties. He’s alright.”

Well. Of course, she knew; she’s his sister. You can’t bear the thought of Lyney in the middle of a thunderstorm, finding himself in front of Lynette, bleeding. You feel sick just thinking about it. You can’t possibly imagine what Lynette has been going through, having to take care of her brother by herself.

You hesitate. “Can I come back here tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Wait—really?”

Lynette pauses. “Should I have not said yes?”

“I just thought you’d be a little more stern with me because of… you know…”

“I respect those who put my brother in his place,” Lynette says, then: “And those who don’t run from us when they find out what our identities are,” and that’s that.

“You brought a flower,” is the first thing Lynette says as soon as she opens the door the following morning.

“He gives me one every visit,” you explain, and you’re not quite sure why it’s humiliating to do so. “So, I want to pay him back at least this once.”

“Rainbow Rose,” Lynette notes as she shuts the door softly. You follow her into Lyney’s room, but she halts before you two can reach the door at arm’s length. “Do you know what this one means?”

You look at the Rainbow Rose nestled in your palm. It's been well taken care of since he gave it to you—all of them had been. “No, I can’t say that I do…?”

“He’s given everyone else Lumidouce Bells because this flower is a little more special.”

Lynette reaches for your hand, gently pushing the Rainbow Rose until you’re holding it against your chest.

She looks into your eyes. “That flower is like him giving his heart to you. Please, take care of it some more. Don’t give it back, okay?”

And as you mull over her words, she leaves. And left you standing in front of Lyney’s room alone, with your entire face feeling as if it’s been burnt by the sun.

But this is no time for distractions, no matter the implications. Lyney still hasn’t woken up yet, and it’s time to pay him back. He deserves that much.

“You finally feel better?”

Lyney blinks. Or, at least, he tries to, but his eyes weigh heavier than usual. He lays back down and chooses to close them back again. “Ugh…” he rasps out, “Lynette. My side is still hurting a little, but it’s much more bearable than yesterday. I thought I was about to die!”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Lynette says, handing him a glass of water. “You already caused quite a scene.”

“Hmmm?” Lyney answers absentmindedly, finding himself ready to fall asleep again.

“You didn’t get injured yesterday. That was five days ago. And the bakery shop owner kept coming over every day.”

Lyney’s eyes definitely open at that. “What did you say?”

Lynette’s tail flicks. “The bakery has been closed for about four days now, and no one else but I know that it’s because the person responsible for it has been here in this room instead, taking care of you. It was even on The Steambird.”

Lyney’s finding it difficult to catch up. “Wait… wait. Are you saying…”

“You made Y/N, Freminet, and I worry so much, you know,” she chides.

Lyney’s heart shatters. “Does that mean—my wound—”

“I wasn’t the one changing your bandages,” Lynette says with a tiny smile as she watches her brother’s face explode in red. “Do you still feel tired?”

“Not at all!” Lyney springs up from his bed, his grin wild and insane. His side will most definitely punish him for this, but that’s far in the back of his mind. “Ah, so Y/N does care. All my efforts weren’t in vain!”

Lynette sighs, but still stays to listen.

“And—bandaging my wounds? While I was out cold? How intimate… My heart is racing at the thought of it.” He clutches his chest, because it’s true despite his dramatics.

“I’ve never seen Y/N before; I’ve only heard of what you told me every time you came back from the bakery,” Lynette starts, urging him to lie back down. She presses a towel on his forehead, and he yelps because it feels ice-cold. “But you seem wrong about every assumption, Lyney. I know the face of someone who cares.”

Lyney falters, his expression softening impossibly. “Y/N’s not mad I missed out on the show I promised…?”

“Y/N was worried about the same thing, but in your shoes.”

Lyney hides his face with his hands, but that’s a fruitless attempt. Lynette has a clear view of his red ears. “I can’t tell if I’m elated or mortified,” he groans. “Both, perhaps?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Lynette says, getting up at the same time the door swings open.

“I’m sorry I’m late!” you exclaim, though hushedly. “Lynette, I brought food to eat. Here, help yourself. Has Lyney woken up yet?”

“Oh, he…” Lynette takes your handmade lunch and glances down at her brother, briefly surprised to see him with his eyes shut and his breathing as steady as it had been when he was sleeping. “Excuse me, I want to eat.”

“Wait, Lynette—” you start, but Lynette is already walking away and eventually shuts the door. She must be very excited to eat her food.

You turn to Lyney, and the world falls silent. Lyney doesn’t know why he’s terrified of you finding out he’s awake. Was it guilt? Shame for a promised night in ruin, or humiliation for seeing him at his lowest point? He grips the sheet under the blanket tighter. His heart racing seems like it’s neither of those.

“Hello again, Lyney,” you say in a low whisper, and all of a sudden, his grip loosens, and his shoulders lose tension. “You should wake up soon. I promised Lynette I’d bake your favorite dessert if you do.”

You're not expecting any reply, ceremoniously reaching for the towel on his bedside table, like you’ve lived here as much as he has been.

The steady beat of your heart calms him, and he wonders how you aren’t hearing how fast his is beating yet.

Lyney finds himself enjoying being under your tender care, until the warmth on his side disappears and he panics instantly. His eyes fly open just in time for him to see you leaning in to press a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Lyney slips, instinctively reaching out to hold your head in place.

You both freeze, staring at each other wide-eyed.

His thoughts race. Four days. You’ve closed the bakery shop you swore to him you wouldn’t ever abandon just for anyone—yet you did for him. You’ve been taking care of him. And kissing his cheek, for god’s sake. Four days you’ve been caring for him so sweetly, and he wasn’t awake enough to experience all of it himself.

“You’re—you’re awake!” you exclaim, your hands on both of his cheeks. “Lyney, oh, you’re— Wait, how long have you been—”

Lyney silences you with a kiss on the side of your mouth. He smiles at your dumbfounded expression. “You shouldn’t promise my dessert,” he says, and he winces when his voice doesn’t come out as smoothly as intended. “I don’t want any more promises to break.”

“You didn’t break any promise, Lyney,” you say softly, and he blinks when your eyes glisten. “You’re awake right now, aren’t you?”

“Then,” he straightens to sit up, grinning, “let me make it up to you. I promised you a night you would never forget, didn’t I?”

A/N not another lyney fic...

[sserasin]

girlfriend stealer

cw nsfw under cut, female reader, sunghoon watches, tribbing, voyeurism, exhibitonism, sunghoon is r’s bf, implied infidelity/previous wony x y/n relationship, degradation (wony to hoon), mommy kink, squirting

this is a fantasy ive been having for the last couple of weeks so i needed to write it

“right there,” wonyoung breathes out as she starts grinding her pussy down on yours. your hand clamps over your mouth to prevent them from hearing you whimper at the slick drag of your clits rubbing together. “a-ah, y— you learning, h—hoonie?” somehow, her voice is still condescending even as she’s clearly struggling to control her own moans.

the squelching sound fills the room, echoing in sunghoon’s ears as his eyes are switching back and forth from your face to your pussy being rubbed against wonyoung’s. he honestly has no clue how the two of you got here with wonyoung. all he knows is you were trying to stop wonyoung from talking to sunghoon before she dragged both of you in your room, and here he was. watching his girlfriend cum because of his mc partner.

his members have joked multiple times before that wonyoung would steal you from him, the two of you spending more time together than you with him. sometimes, he even regretted introducing you two to each other— before you two started dating so you would be able to meet her and not feel threatened by her like most would.

you, obviously, weren’t most. in fact, you liked wonyoung a little too much. and he knew he wasn’t imagining things when he caught her hand on your thigh. the times you two went to the restroom together under the guise of it being safer… how could he not know?

“you don’t want your boyfriend to hear you?” wonyoung stares down at you, noticing how you avoid her gaze. she’s quick to grab your jaw in her hand, forcing you to look at her. “hear how you sound when you’re actually being pleasured?” lowering her face down to be near yours, she turns your head along with hers to look at sunghoon, who is stuck on his computer chair with his hand awkwardly positioned on top of his crotch. which makes no difference, both of you can tell he has a boner. “go ahead and tell him. how he may have a pretty face and a big dick, but none of it’s any use if he doesn’t know how to use it.”

she reaches back and spreads open your folds a little before lowering herself back down, the new closeness making you moan loudly, forgetting about hiding it. her hips start to relentlessly rut against yours, a switch between grinding and quick circles on your clit. sunghoon’s mouth falls open, blinking rapidly at the switch of events as he feels his cock throb in his pants at wonyoung’s words.

your jaw slackens at how quickly you felt a tightening in your stomach as your legs began to tremble, high pitched ‘ah’ leaving your lips, “w—won—”

“that’s not what you call me,” wonyoung huffs out quickly. “say it.”

you don’t even bother arguing, “mommy, mommy please please let me cum—”

sunghoon doesn’t realize when he put his hand down his pants, stroking himself at the same pace as your pussies rubbing together. his mouth forms a small ‘o’ as he distantly realizes in the back of his head that you call her mommy— insinuating this has happened before— before dismissing it as he realizes you’re getting closer to coming. quicker than he’s ever made you cum.

one of wonyoung’s hands reach to pull your thigh up for your knees to touch your chest, holding your legs apart for a new angle. the pose leaves you feeling exposed, blinking back tears of pleasure. your hands grip for something to hold, falling to her thighs as you wildly buck your hips.

“you’re— still— holding— back,” wonyoung says through her moans, pressing harder on your leg and making your muscles burn. “don’t you wanna be a good girl for mommy?” her lips curve into a pretty smile as pants left her mouth, staring at you from under her eyelashes. “then come.”

a high pitched scream leaves your lips as yours walls clench around nothing. your skin was covered in a mixture of yours and wonyoung’s juices as yours squirt out of you. a half choked moan leaves sunghoon’s mouth as he comes with a weak thrust up into his hand, soiling the front of his pants.

your legs are painfully twitching as she slowly holds herself up off you, eyes flickering to sunghoon, “don’t you want to learn? come here.”

and he listens.

[altkys]

=͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝙉𝙤𝙬 𝙋𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜... 𝙏𝙤𝙭𝙞𝙘 𝙗𝙮 𝘽𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙣𝙚𝙮 𝙎𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨 [ 𝘼𝙪𝙙𝙞𝙤𝙨 ]

Multiple characters at once, woo. I might do a part 2 with 6reeze. I'll add what monsters for each person in the tags but try and guess which one for each. Anyways, here's what type of mythical creature the genshin zaddies would fall in love with because we deserve to be the monster they romance ♥♥ Let me know if I should do a smut/nsfw version

Notes: monarch of yapping over here, had no ideas for Zhongli and he ended up being the longest (that’s kind of just passive aggressive comments about how much he yaps though, can you tell I fucking hate him?) Sorry for not doing you justice Kaeya, you were first up and I was getting used to this. Someone please tell me if I this is nsfw or sfw

Warnings include: blood, blood drinking, cannibalism, biting/marking, murder, drinking, drugging, messing with human corpses, implied attempted murder + mentions of skinny dipping, alcohol, manipulation

❝ Too high, can't come down Losing my head, spinnin' 'round and 'round Do you feel me now? ❞

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♥ 𝙆𝙖𝙚𝙮𝙖 𝘼𝙡𝙗𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙝 - 𝙎𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙣

He's a charmer, one who uses flowery words and a bit of subtle, harmless manipulation that might utilise a few white lies. So of course, his significant other must be someone who can match his energy, right? Perhaps even give him a run for his money?

Kaeya finds himself drawn to a siren. You. Your kind isn't as depicted – instead of an entire fish tail, it's a few fins along your feet and webbed hands, with gills along your neck. Your skin is translucent, and glowing blue-purple veins can be seen if he squints. Additionally, you don't eat humans – thankfully.

He's persistent when getting to know you, almost desperately curious to. Though you don’t seem to reciprocate the feeling when he ice-bridges across your ocean cavern and freezes your fins– in his defence, you were the one singing first, it's only fair he defends himself. It’s alright, he promises to not bother you again.

Not a week later, he's back, with another claim of investigating the area under the orders of the Favonius Acting GrandMaster, and a small pouch of rare berries a water-dweller could never try. He snickers as you stare at the swinging brown sack hung on his belt. “See something you like?”

“I’ve no need for a human’s inadequate services.” You give him a tight smile, hiding the way your stomach growls at the smell of sugary berries drifting towards you in the salty sea’s breeze, but before you can let the thought linger, you find the blue gaze of the pirate captain again, an annoying smirk plastered on his face.

“Oh, this? They’re my snacks.” Kaeya drawls, turning to you fully as he took the pouch and swinging it in front of your face. “What, did you crave to try some? Well, I am a gracious knight, so I’ll share—”

You happily swim away with the snatched bag, ignoring his frozen figure.

Secretly, under the guise of ignoring you for stealing, Kaeya watches your delighted expression at something so foreign. It’s a uniquely cute side of someone so manipulative. 

He’s there to visit the next day. And two days after that. Then four days after that. 

Diluc was perplexed at the lack of a significant annoyance in his bar and Rosaria misses her drinking buddy. Jean and Lisa share whispered confusion at how Kaeya is suddenly proactive, volunteering for missions and investigations. Albedo gently consoles Klee as he and Sucrose rejoice over the lack of flirting in their lab. 

Swapping ‘persuasion’ tactics whenever he visits your underwater cave. You share a few verses (in spoken poetry, so as to not charm him), and he tells stories of how he sidestepped work to visit you. You’re dangerous. He, of anyone, knows just how powerful words can be. It’s a terrifyingly enthralling poison.

When it’s high tide, you’ll go on walks by the beach, letting the waves wash over you so you don’t dry out. If he’s feeling playful, he’ll show off a few ice tricks and bridge his way across the water as you swim beside him. He’s gone swimming with you once. Fortunately, a cryo vision can protect his body heat, but the wet clothes after – especially his fur accessory – isn’t worth the effort.

Maybe the next time he swims, he’ll go without clothes. He hopes you’ll reciprocate the gesture.

When he visits, he’ll show you a bit of something from Mond. You don’t care for human knicknacks, not one for voluntary pollution, so he brings you snacks. A few rare berries imported from all over Teyvat, his own specialty dish of Fruity Skewers – and his very favourite, a few bottles of dandelion wine and sparkling, white wine as you both try to replicate his sacred Death After Noon.

“You again.” You say, staring at the basket of wine he had brought with him. Kaeya's eye roves over your laying figure in the sand, staring up at him with unimpressed eyes, yet curious of the basket’s contents. “What’d you bring?”

“Not even a hello, love?” He coos, kneeling down in the sand beside you. “It’s not very nice, y’know.” 

You sigh and bring yourself up, tugging him down by the collar with a playful grin as you leave claw marks in his shirt. “Hello, Kaeya.”

He doesn’t fight you, allowing himself to fall into the sand beside you. He’s used to your antics by now, though it doesn’t make them any less of a headache to deal with. Not that he minds.

“You look nice on the sand,” he mutters, his arms resting on either side of your body as he hovered on top of you, touch gentle yet firm. “Very lovely.”

"Really?" You coo, sharp nails tracing over his lips as you arch your back into him until your chests touch.

He swallows harshly and lets a wolfish smirk stretch his lips. "Yeah, rea- Hey!"

You giggle as you dive back into the waves and appear behind him, snatching the basket as he tackles you into the sand once more, grin buried in your bare stomach. 

It's terrifying to be wrapped around your finger, and even moreso: he didn’t even care.

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♥ 𝘿𝙞𝙡𝙪𝙘 𝙍𝙖𝙜𝙣𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙧

The tavern was always open, and with Charles' increasingly old age, Diluc had been working more than ever. Mondstadt's Darknight Hero was out of business.

And yet, mysteriously, Mondstadt remained untouched during its night. The unknown reason weighed heavy of the bartender's mind – he didn't trust the Knights of Favonius. So what was it?

The answer came in his tavern that same nice, though he doesn't realise. No one was there despite the relatively early evening, all too concerned with their duties of preparing for Windblume. Perhaps Diluc could finally go home that night...

You squashed that hope as you stopped at the bartop, tapping a nail against the wood as you stare up at him with pupils too thin and too deep to be natural.

“Good evening.” You drawl, cutting off his greeting. A smile plays at your lips as you rock your digit on the counter. “I do hope I’m not disturbing you tonight.”

"Not at all," Diluc replies coolly, setting down the glass he'd been polishing with a towel. He's tall, staring down at you as you lean on the counter. "How can I assist you this evening?"

“A glass of wine.” You order, but the way your eyes roved him hungrily tells him a different story. Despite his poker face, he can’t help but hold your stare, the presence you hold is too powerful not to. "Red."

He isn’t blind to the hunger in your gaze. It's unsettling, but despite himself, he finds himself intrigued by your presence and the allure you possess.

With movements smooth and practiced, he reaches for a bottle of wine. He grabs a glass and a bottle of Dawn Winery's finest. The liquid swirls inside. "Of course."

"Anything else?" He asks. You answer no. He inquires as to why you drink alone, only once, in a tavern far from the city's entrance.

"Because of hunger." You respond.

Your voice is more quiet, more smooth. Hypnotising. Like the wine you hold in the glass. It makes him sleepy, he's always been a lightweight – though Diluc doesn't know as to why, because you're the one drinking wine.

"Why are you at a bar, and not a restaurant?" He manages to make his mouth move. You straighten up, your figure ominous and looming - not because of physicality. His vision is darker now, and fire isn't lighting anything up.

"Why would I need to be, when my meal is right here?"

Diluc wakes and he's weak and in his bedroom. There's a very obvious stinging in his neck, and Adelinde delivers a letter that claims Charles is calling out of work yet again. It's less than a week to Windblume, and people's spirits are high. He's not so cold as to dampen them.

He slaps on a bandage and tugs his collar high. But a certain nun notices and the Cavalry Captain teases the possibility of a new lover. Diluc ignores them both, but at the end of his shift, a bottle of prune juice is opened with a peacock eye playfully carved into the cork.

You're there suddenly, nodding approvingly at his choice of drink, at his hard work as a food source, but your blood bag is smart and a claymore is pressed to your neck. The truth behind Mondstadt's safety comes to life and Diluc hesitates for just a second and with a short apology, you're gone.

Then you're everywhere. In his tavern sharing drinks and swapping stories, his vineyards on walks that consist of carefully avoiding the sun and hiding under his leather coat, his bedroom and his dreams. Each meet-up, Diluc ends up looking forward to the next. Enjoying them even.

Maybe too much when you tackle him onto his sheets, filled with a hunger that isn't satiated by mere blood anymore. It's a date you find yourselves on a little too often.

"I do believe the last time your Moon City had this celebration, we didn't know each other." You chuckle as Diluc leads you through the crowd, holding an umbrella over you with a carefulness unrivalled by even the most paranoid man.

"Windblume." Diluc nods. He's polite, not the most welcoming, and certainly not enthusiastic, but its a silent sort of fondness and comfortability that would be awkwardness in anyone else's company.

You're led into a pretty dance you've done one time too many. It's somehow more enjoyable with a handsome redhead by your side, who knew?

Its fast and upbeat, but none of the clapping outside meets your ears as you spin him, or when he holds you close, or when your faces are one centimetre too close together and neither of you know when you move, but Diluc's newest romance venture is confirmed in the form of a long, not-so-chaste kiss.

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♥ 𝘾𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙚 - 𝙂𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙠𝙪𝙧𝙤

Childe was known by the Fatui as an unexpectedly nice harbinger. One of the youngest in history to reach the rank. But it's common to brush over the trail of blood and bodies it took to reach that point, and even moreso how the fighter enjoys it.

When you first meet, Childe is beaten up and bloody. He's staring up at you, surrounded with the bodies of a couple dozen victims. Some deserved, some not. It's neither of your jobs to judge. Kill and clean up.

You're huge, easily over 10 metres. All bones and chattering teeth that has his ears ringing and his form cloaked in shadow. It excites him, gives him a surge of adrenaline that clears his vision just slightly enough to overcome your attempt on his life and swipe at you with duo-wielded hydro daggers.

It's all he can do to not be skewered. The giant sweeping forearm is fast, hitting his stomach and knocking the wind out of him, and now, in his moment of vulnerability, he's at your mercy.

He tries to make his way onto his knees to get up, but his body won't listen. Each movement he makes is painful; every breath he takes short and sharp at your looming figure. Every bit of energy leaves his body just from standing.

But Childe falls, obviously, trips over the bodies blocking his way – for once in front rather than behind – and falls into very soft, very human arms.

You're not a giant skeleton. Not completely anyways. Just a normal human with an arrow lodged into your skull and blood drenching the left side of your clothes. But you're cold, lifeless despite the very clearly conscious movements of moving him to lie down, and the bone-puppet you control is too busy cleaning up his mess to eat him.

“Dear soldier,” you say, voice echoing with a hollow lack of life. “I’ll see you at your next battle.”

You're there every time. It's a good motivator to not fight until passing out forever, just so he can see you. This hauntingly breathtaking shadow of death that follows him to his dreams. Something he gladly welcomes.

It's a different scenario every time, sometimes he'll kill you. Others, you'll kill him. The latter has him waking up, excited in more than a few ways.

With every hundred kills, Childe learns something new. Your puppet is made of skeletons of people who died in war or of starvation. You feed on humans – at 2 AM exactly. And most importantly, Celestia hate you. Forces you to survive on the scraps of a battlefield. So you seek him out often, as does he when he wants to get stronger.

Sometimes, he'll torch the bodies with his delusion and shape it up real nice, drain the blood for you to drink and not your puppet as he kneels by your side and begs for a fight. Those dates are memories he's fond of.

“Hey, it’s you again.” Childe greets as a familiar shadow falls over him and jogs over. He’s gotten remarkably good at avoiding the bodies as he stops just before you; short enough to talk, long enough to shoot. “Took you long enough.”

You don’t respond, rarely do except for the few sentences every impromptu meet up, but he doesn’t mind. Doesn’t even bat an eye as your skeleton puppet moves to devour the bodies behind him and suddenly paints the land in a sea of blood.

“Ne, let’s fight.” He proposes, eyes sparkling as he lines up his aim to shoot. 

“You’ll die. And then I’ll starve.” You shoot him down as he tries to shoot you down. Not a sweat is broken — not that you can, you are undead after all — as you dodge and block and catch the arrows he sends, ignoring the hearts carved into the spine.

“That’s ok!” He insists with a pout, giving up and throwing the arrows instead. The bow is tossed aside as he uses his strength, good enough to blow a hole through your stomach. You gather the leaking brown blood and draw numbers on different limbs as a gory game of darts as your body heals. An arrow bursts your skull just as you finish. “We can fight in Celestia!”

Childe skips over with a soft, dangerously adoring smile and catches your body before it can fall limp as he observes the fascinating way your brain regenerates. He licks at a bit of blood leaking, enjoying the stale, iron taste. “I’ll find you in every life until one of us dies for good.”

Your apathetic expression is slowly weaved as the undead cells regenerate, but your nose isn’t even fully formed as your lips move to whisper a raspy, “that sounds like a promise.”

“Oh, it is, comrade. It is.” 

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♥ 𝙕𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙡𝙞

As the geo archon, as... immature as he was in his youth, Zhongli had some degree of resistance to the element. Paired with his shield and form as a sovereign dragon, geo wasn't exactly a weak point. Or any element, at that.

You're a small merchant, wheeling around a cart around the outskirts of Liyue with products straight from your garden. It's safe to say Zhongli is immediately interested in your house-made Osmanthus wine and small garden statues. It's a stone he vaguely remembers from his shameful younger years, but was too ignorant to learn.

Ever the gentleman and enjoyer of talk, Zhongli strikes up conversation as he samples your wine.

It's good. Really good. And he lets you know in quite the unnecessary, long winded way as he inquires as to the cloth wrapped around your head. Apparently it's a custom from Sumeru, perhaps times have changed, but he's curious as he takes sample after sample until the entire bottle is gone.

“… I apologise.” He coughs into his fist, a rare shade of pink fogging his ears. How embarrassing, he hasn’t had such a lack of self control in a few dozen centuries. “It was merely too—”

“Good?” You jump in before he can monologue again, a stella customer service smile plastered on. “I thank you for your lengthy verbal support, Mr Zhongli, truly. You’re too kind.”

“I merely state the truth.” He chuckled, gloved hands slowly patting himself down. “Not to worry, I will pay for the bott-…”

He falls silent when he realised each pocket he had check is empty, and hitches his twitching smile back on. It's then he realises why bad habits should not go unchecked, for making a bad impression is something he wants far too little for a stranger. “Ahaha. I do apologise.”

A part of him wilts inside as you stare, unimpressed.

“… I travel around Qingxu Pool tomorrow.” You say slowly, holding out a hand for him to shake. He does, and meets your intense gaze as you add, “I shall see you there?”

“You shall.” He says happily. Perhaps he should ask the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour director for a loan in order to buy another few bottles. “Then I will meet you then.”

It takes a while to notice, but somehow, someway, he's meeting with you everyday. You don't mind – why would you, when such an esteemed, good looking gentleman is enamoured with you. But it's a while before Zhongli takes notice of the curse you've striked him with.

Not that he minds. A mere wave of his hand is enough to stop the foreign stone slowly encasing his body, creeping up from his fingertips to everywhere else. But he doesn't confront you, nor does he condemn your actions. The want to be closer, for whatever reason, drives him to remain ignorant.

You often tour your gardens – walking through the osmanthus trees as you explain the origin stories behind the statues, unaware he knows that you're perplexed as to why he isn't frozen among them. Tea olive flowers are plucked every few seconds and woven into the cloth covering your head, and when you sit and enjoy a cup of wine, Zhongli shifts ever so slightly closer every time.

“I believe your wine tastes better each time I visit,” Zhongli smiles, taking a break from his sermon to compliment you as you pour another glass.

"Are you sure it's not just your taste for me?" you jest, swirling your chalice as you chuckle. “Perhaps it's the company, Mr Zhongli.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees easily. Always does in your presence as you rest your head on his shoulder. “Though I do wish you’d address me more casually. It’s a bit formal for friends, don’t you think?”

You tilt your head, your expression curious and slightly teasing. A bit too smug for someone playing clueless. "Friends, you say," you muse. "Is that all I've been thus far, though?"

His grip on the wine glass tightens. Perhaps it was just him, but the osmanthus flowers seemed to smell a lot more enticing on you. Or perhaps it was something else. He can't quite say. All he knows is that you're getting him entranced, as though a drug. He’s always been weak to you, and you know it. You know how much he wants to grab you — ravish you for days on end. The only thing stopping him; your relentless teases.

“It’s rather hot out here,” You say as you stand, unravelling the hair scarf. And suddenly a dozen snakes are staring at him. “Let’s relax inside, Mr Zhongli. And if you prefer I call you by a different name… I’m sure you can convince me somehow. I am a very practical learner.”

... ah.

Big thanks to the following for suggestions and support:

@cinnamol, @aroundsometimes, @eggsnbackn, @lilbabypanda-blog2 @aetherandlight and that one anon who submitted a suggestion privately!!