#apple blossom WC

[lemnnshark]

"Apple Blossom is an orange-and-white she-cat."

[letyachan]

81.Apple blossom

Daughter of Gooseberry and Yew tail

[rosemist50]

Gooseberry and her mate Yew Tail, and their kits Apple Blossom and Snail Shell from Thunderclan, Rocky from Windclan, and Flower. Dawn River is Fish Leap's mom, Owl Feather and Jagged Lightning are mates, their kits are Lapping Wave, Running Fox, and Strong Pounce. Hollow Tree and Stone Song are also mates. Then is a bunch of old cats, Misty Water, Silver Frost, Running Horse, Cloudy Sun, and Snow Hare. Broken Feather is dead, Twisted Branch is younger.

Originally posted on IG December 2021

[marmosetpaw]

[fidgetflip]

Apple Blossom

[exocynraku]

little trees

[rookflower]

[burntchar]

Design Notes

Everything symmetrical

[sweet-fading-summer-love]

If Only...

Pairing: Austin!Elvis x Reader, OR Elvis x Reader

Summary - When Elvis runs into you at a charity benefit, he can't control his resurgence of feelings, and he begins to wonder where it all went wrong? Why were you the one that got away?

Warnings - Mentioned nudity imagination in Elvis' memory, arguments, yelling, throwing things, swearing, written with you/your point of view but a name is assigned to "you" as June (I don't like using y/n, it makes more sense to me to put an actual name)

WC - 2.2K

Author's Note: This is a requested piece that I had an awfully good time writing, enjoyed it so much. Feel free to send in more requests!

"Elvis?"

The sound of your voice was a strangely familiar one. It had a bit of an unknown aspect to it, but he could hear the familiarity. Normally he might think it was a fan, but the way you said his name had been with such comfortability. Most fans can hardly keep their words together due to their tongue practically falling out of their mouth.

He turned his head away from the group of men gathered around the little bar at the event.

And there you were, June. Little Junie. His little Junebug. Well, not so little anymore as your baby fat dissipated from your sweet cheeks, though they were still supple and apple-like.

"Junebug?"

You smiled and put your arms out to hug him, and strangely enough, he, the man who always reeked of a suave and smooth nature, felt starstruck. No, you weren't some superstar to the world, but there was a time when you were the brightest star in his. You were his girl-next-door, well to be more realistic you were his girl-in-the-next-neighborhood. His suburban sweetheart.

His arms were hesitant at first to wrap around you, but as he smelled the familiar scent of the shampoo you often used, he relaxed into the hug. Pulling back to just stare at you incredulously, like you were a ghost.

Yes, many years had passed, and you both had your respective lives to live and dreams to chase, but as he looked you up and down as if he were measuring up how much taller you'd grown in the way he used to do every summer, he remembered those warm summer nights. He envisioned the mornings that followed and went without breath as he did so.

The way the morning summer sun filtered in through the window of your bedroom, sunlight dancing along your bare arms. Its warmth caressed your body with a softness that he had been using the night before. And when the summer breeze would drift into the room, and the covers didn't quite cover your chest, he noticed the way your nipples arose sensitively, just as they had the night before when it was he who sent chills up your spine.

You always were a looker, but on those summer mornings, he felt you were at your most beautiful. Sure your hair fell messily like hay due to the actions that took place the night before, but even that was beautiful.

At least to him.

"Elvis?"

Elvis focused back in on the sight of you, the you now. The you who looked up at him with calm eyes, much unlike those wide bright ones of the past that stared in admiration at the older boy who showed you attention. As strange as it was to say, although he had gone on to be one of the world's stars, the way you looked at him now was as if you two were on the same playing field. Even though you had to physically look up to him, he could tell that you no longer mentally looked up to him.

Your voice cut in again,

"It's nice seeing you"

He gave you one last up and down before sighing with a smile,

"It's good to see you too Junebug, you've really…"

He was at a loss for words on how to describe you, but you cut him off, referencing the obvious,

"Filled out? Yep, no more 'droopy drawers',"

Elvis couldn't help his smile at the nickname he used to call you when you two were kids and all the other girls were beginning to blossom, being the jerk of a boy he was, he would tease you for being a late bloomer, you'd gotten to an age where you were to start wearing a bra, it was poorly fitted and would droop because it had nothing to hold.

Elvis's smile remained small as he shook his head, his voice then came out soft and genuine,

"No, Junebug, I meant, you've grown to be a beautiful woman"

You returned his statement with a bit of a surprised smile. Elvis had always been playful and teasing, it was very rare you heard a genuine heartfelt compliment. It was sweet to hear, and it showed you that you had both grown in your own ways.

"Well thank you Elvis, and please, call me June," you laughed the last part, "We're not kids anymore, so I feel silly hearing that…"

Elvis' smile looked a little crestfallen at your words, but it remained. His next words fell from his mouth with a tenderness to them,

"But you'll always be my little Junebug"

After those words Elvis got a sense of deja vu, the tender tone of his words, his wording, it brought him back to the last time the two of you had seen each other.

It was a little after your graduation, at the time he'd been 19 years old, still a truck driver. To him, you had this nonsensical idea that you'd go off to college and keep in touch. He never wanted to leave Memphis, and he didn't want to leave his Mama and Daddy behind either, but he also couldn't do long-distance. So it came down to a matter of him making a choice.

That was an awful argument…

He remembered the ending, the two of you had been arguing for over an hour, it was right before you were about to go on a trip to tour a few colleges with your Daddy. He'd slammed his hand onto your dresser and yelled,

"Now Honey, I-I don't know why you're so insistent on this whole college thing, it-it's ridiculous!"

You stared at him with fury, and walked closer to him, saying as quietly as you could,

"Elvis Aaron Presley, I know you did not slam your fist on my dresser while my little brother is sleeping in the other room."

Elvis had practically grown up with you, and your mom was a woman he respected so he'd never usually do something so rude and disruptive in her house. But as you were packing your things to go tour colleges, the betrayal he felt made him think "To hell with it all".

"I did, and I'll do it again if I have to. You're not goin'."

"Yes I am! We can still send mail and telegrams, and have telephone calls-"

Elvis interrupted viciously,

"It's not about that!"

You sent him a glare and put your hands on your hips, questioning with thunder in your voice, "Oh really what is it about? You don't want me to get an education? Don't want me to be able to take care of myself?"

He bellowed,

"You shouldn't have to take care of yourself!! That's what the fuck I'm here for Baby! That's what these-"

He roughly grabbed your hand placing a finger on the promise ring he gave you and holding up his hand with his promise ring.

"-are for"

You stared at him with a foreign gaze for a moment, your voice was a whisper, but he heard you loud and clear, "But, I don't want that… I want to be part of making our future together, I don't want you to be the only one putting in the work… I don't want that at all" You closed your little suitcase as you spoke.

He licked his inner lip in unspoken anger and hummed lowly with a nod, coming to his own conclusions as he paced backward. He went from a whisper to a yell as he asked,

"Ya don't want that… Or do ya not want me?!!"

Your eyes went wide as he paced back over and picked your suitcase back up, throwing it somewhere behind him, but you hadn't locked the latch so as he did clothes flew out this way and that. As the suitcase crashed into your dresser, it caused the dresser to shake and a few little bits of glass decor to topple over, one falling off the dresser and shattering onto the floor.

With the shattering of that glass, you felt the shattering of your heart as you realized this wasn't the life you wanted.

You walked over to the glass that was sprawled along the wood floor, then you kneeled carefully in your little blue dress to caress your clothing that was now carelessly spread along the floor. As you felt tears build in your eyes and let out a sniffle you could hear his angry huffing begin to calm down.

As you assessed the damaged glass and the mess of clothes you began to hear his shoes click against the wood flooring, but before he got to you, likely to apologize, you dismissed him with a croaky voice,

"Leave Elvis."

"Junie, now, I'm-"

You turned your head only slightly, not wanting him to see the sad contortions of your face, just enough for him to see the corner of your cheek, you then repeated,

"Leave Elvis… Please…"

He stopped and stared at your form on the floor, you looked so small and crumpled, just as your clothes were. He sighed and shook his head, he felt himself get mad again from you not accepting his comfort, so before he stormed out, he grumbled,

"When ya come to your senses you know where to find me, and when ya finally do, I don't want to hear a word about this college nonsense."

Before he could leave he heard a clink-clink, and as he turned around he realized it was the sound of your promise ring hitting the door and landing on the floor. Your voice was eerily calm, much unlike the shrill screaming matches you had with him, ones that you often would kiss and make up for not even a day later.

"You don't have to worry about it, 'cause I'm not coming to find you, Elvis, not anymore. You can have your ring. I'm done."

He felt a pang of hurt in his chest at the sight of the ring and the sound of your words. He didn't fully believe you truthfully, but he humored your words, picking up the ring and rubbing it between his fingers.

"Fine, this is it then, but it's your fucking ring. I didn't buy it for myself."

He waited for you to turn around, and give him a rebuttal because you always had to have the last word. But you didn't. And that made him nervous. So in a final attempt to ease you, he spoke in a quiet tone,

"And if this is w-what you're really gonna choose, college over me, then maybe we're better off. But, you'll always be my Junebug…"

With those words he left, you were out of each other's lives. Until now.

"Elvis?"

This time it wasn't your voice that brought him back to reality, instead, it was the warmth of your palm on his cheek and the concern in your eyes.

"Honey, is something wrong? You keep losing focus"

He swallowed thickly at the nickname, and at the concern and care you've shown in that small gesture, it was as if you were the older one now.

You took your hand back with a laugh, "Ah, sorry, it's instinct these days" He quirked his head to the side, "These days?" You smiled, "Ah yes, I forgot, Tommy! Michael!"

Elvis followed where your eyes were as you called out the names and two kids appeared to be running toward the two of you from the desert table, one had chocolate smears all over his face, and you tsked at the sight, bending down slightly to lick your thumb and wipe it off.

Elvis stared blankly at the two kids who looked completely alike and looked to be no older than 5-years-old. He heard you mumble fondly as you cleaned one of the boys' faces, "Oh Tommy dear…"

After cleaning the boy up you put your left hand on Tommy's head and your right hand on Michael's head, then introduced,

"These are my boys, Tommy and Michael, they're twins. I've got a little girl too, Mary-Ann, she's only a few months old so I left her with the sitter tonight. Boys, this is Elvis, I knew him in high school"

'Knew', was enough to make Elvis' stomach churn. And the whole idea of you having kids, kids with another man, that had sent his stomach on a rollercoaster. But before you could go into further conversation, before Elvis could properly introduce himself, a man called your name, and as you heard it your head turned away from Elvis to the direction.

You clarified, "Ah, that's my husband, Richard…", you then looked down to the kids, "Boys, go tell Daddy I'll be there in a moment", and obediently the boys skipped off to wherever that voice was coming from.

Elvis was too busy processing it all to comment. Here you were with a husband and kids, seemingly happy, whereas Elvis had a couple of girlfriends on call and a group of guys who only had their best interests in mind.

Even though he was older, he felt as though you had outgrown him. He wanted to say so much, he wanted to catch up with you. But he knew if he did, he would just let all his feelings spill out. And you didn't need that, not when you're happy with the life you chose.

You smiled an almost bittersweet smile, your hands gestured behind you as you spoke, "Well, I gotta go now, Richard needs me, but, it was great seeing you, Elvis. I mean it."

You held his hand gently and as he held yours he could only mumble quietly, "Yeah, same to you Junebu-"

He corrected himself, but he didn't like the unfamiliarity and almost formality of the name,

"June."

With that, you smiled one last smile, and your hands slowly drifted out of his, and then you disappeared into the crowd.

And once again the two of you were out of each other's lives.

[btskitten7]

Silent Grace Shorts: "Pillow-Talk"

Ship: Min Yoongi x Fem reader

au/genre: Mafia!au

rating: M

wc: 1.6k

Chapter warnings: Oral (f. receiving.), fingering, LOTS of sex talk, and neediness. MULTIPLE orgasms. Hidden breeding kink

summary: Oh we're getting nasty. This is the smuttiest we've gotten so far. Yoongi only has your pleasure on his mind.

tagss: @shadowyjellyfishfest @baechugff @maunosorioh @shelylamc @princess-sunshyn @scuzmunkie @wanceu @coldcoffee2121 @maunosorioh @massivelyfullenthusiast @bangtan-famiglia-net

After a long day of spending time with Yoongi’s mother, you were ready for a rest. 

You loved spending time with her but she is the literal definition of  ‘shop till you drop.’ 

You walked through the door of your bedroom where Yoongi was just setting down his jacket on the chair to the side. “You’re just getting home too?” You asked, setting the bags close to the closet for you to put away later. 

He turned to you with a warm smile and nodded. 

“Yeah, I had to listen to my father yap his life away. He just has so much to say nowadays.” Yoongi chuckled, loosening his tie before walking over to you and wrapping his arms around you. You lifted your arms around his neck with a sweet smile. 

“Well, maybe he just wants to teach you a few more things before you take over, baby.” You replied, causing him to playfully roll his eyes. 

“Trust me Blossom, there’s nothing else he could tell me.” 

You chuckled before lifting up and kissing his lips. Yoongi hummed before pulling you closer and deepening the kiss. His hand found the apple of your bottom and squeezed it tight as he pecked your lips over and over. 

“Take a shower with me, Blossom.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~

The warm water hit your body as you closed your eyes and let the steam relax you. Yoongi stood behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. He left sweet kisses along your shoulders and neck. A soft hum left your lips as his hands traveled up and down your navel, slowly as he continued to nip at your neck. 

He turned to grab the shampoo, squeezing a bit into his hands before running his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp. 

“Where did you and my mom end up?” he asked as he washed your hair. 

“We went to a lot of different places. She showed me the market she used to take you and your brother when you were younger. We ate at a few stalls there.” you replied “It was all very good.” 

Yoongi smiled, “I used to hate going to that place. My mom would make us carry everything she bought before we brought security around. My youngest brother never had to carry anything because he would drop it so, it was always Jihoon and I. It was only worth it if we got food after.” He chuckled. 

“You’ll have to carry my stuff too when we go” You teased. “As long as I get some food, I’ll carry you if I have to” Yoongi snorted making you laugh. 

He continued to wash your hair when you turned face him to rinse the soap from your hair. 

Yoongi studied your body. He looked over every crevasse. He admired you. You were the most beautiful thing in his entire life. He loved how you accepted him, for him. You’ve been incredibly understanding, and he couldn’t ask for more. You wiped the water from your eyes before turning back around.  

Yoongi wrapped his arms around your waist and pushed his hips into your ass and you could feel the heat off him, despite the water being hotter. "You're so beautiful, Blossom." His breath was hot against your ear as he spoke softly to you. A soft moan leaves your lips feeling his length behind you. 

"You're so beautiful too, Yoongi." You turned around and looked into his eyes. He was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. He was taken aback a bit.

No one has ever told him something like that nor was he looking for it. He was used to being called handsome, of course, but beautiful? He wasn’t used to that.  

Beautiful made him feel special and loved. 

"You're beautiful too, Yoongi." You said again, looking up at him. He smiled and leaned in to kiss you. The water dripped off your bodies as he held onto the back of your neck while his tongue played with yours.

You broke the kiss and looked into his eyes. "I love you, Yoongi." He smiled again as he pushed your hair out of your face before looking down at you with a serious look.

“I love you too, Blossom. More than life itself” He whispered, taking your lips once again. You moaned into his mouth as he nibbled on your bottom lip. He pulled away and looked at you, "I want to make love to you." You whispered to him, looking up at him. “I want you”

He didn’t hesitate. He pushed you against the wall and pulled your legs around his waist. His cock was throbbing as he felt it brush up against your wet core, hardening more with every second that passed by.

"I need you." He whispered as he looked into your eyes. You nodded and smiled at him before kissing his neck softly while grinding against his member with your cunt, moaning softly as his lips attached directly to your breast.

You were driving him up the wall. Feeling your cunt on his member drove him mad. You moaned as he sucked on your nipple. He groaned and lifted his head to look at you before holding you up with one hand while grabbing his member, guiding it across your clit.

You gasped as he pushed into you. He groaned and bit his lip, holding onto your waist tightly while slowly pushing in and out of you.

You moaned and held onto his shoulders as he continued to fuck you. "You feel so good, baby." He whispered into your ear. You whimpered out as he began to pound into you harder and faster.  “You’re doing so well for me Blossom. You’re taking me so well.”

He groaned out as he continued to fuck you. You moan and kiss his neck, "I love how good you feel inside of me." His eyes rolled back into the sockets when you said that. "Fuck!" He groaned out as he began to pound into you faster. You moaned and whimpered, holding onto his shoulders tightly while your pussy clenched around him tighter with every thrust of his cock inside of you. 

Yoongi was close but he wasn’t done. No. 

This was going to last all night. 

He groaned out as he pushed into you harder and faster. You gasped for air, feeling his cock throb inside of your pussy while the water continued to hit both of your bodies. "Fuck! I'm gonna cum, I-I’m going to cum” you whine scratching his back, only turning him on more. “Cum all you want...I’m not done with you” he smirked.

He continued to fuck you but his pace grew slower and deeper, his cock throbbing inside of you. That drove you over the edge "Fuck! I'm cumming!" You cried out as your pussy clenched around him tightly, feeling the waves of pleasure rush through your body. Yoongi’s pace slowed as he fucked his cum back into you. Not letting a single drop slip out. “More?” He looked into your eyes, full of desire. 

“Y-yes. Please..”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

He laid you down on the bed and looked at you. "I'm going to fuck you so good, baby." He whispered as he crawled up your body and kissed your lips softly.

He kissed your neck, down to the top of your breasts. You moaned as he continued kissing his way down towards your pussy and back up again. “P-please don’t tease me Yoongi.” You whined. 

Yoongi smirked with a devious grin as he looked up at you, kissing your core gently before licking it up with the tip of his tongue. Goosebumps coated your skin as he continued to eat you out. 

He licked you up with the tip of his tongue, making your hips buck against him. “Fuck…Yoongi” You cried out, gripping his hair tightly. He looked into your eyes as he continued to swirl his tongue inside of you. Yoongi began to suck on your clit gently while pushing two fingers inside of you slowly but firmly. 

Your pleasure was the only thing on Yoongi’s mind. 

Not the fact that you may be too loud.

Not the fact that all his employees can hear you.

Not the fact that he had an early flight he needed to catch. 

You were the only thing he was worried about. 

He groans and pulls away from your core, watching you make a mess of the bed and his fingers. That didn’t stop him. He continued to pump his fingers in and out of you until he felt you clench around his fingers only making you gasp from the sudden emptiness. 

Before you could even speak he crashed his lips into yours, biting your bottom lip and pulling you on top of him. You straddled his hips and began to grind on his member while you kissed his neck, leaving all types of marks on his pale skin. 

Yoongi didn’t contain his moans even if he wanted to. You push him back with a smile on your face. “My turn” You smirked pushing yourself directly on top of his member, letting a moan leave your lips. 

Yoongi moaned as he held on to your hips while you grinded against him, feeling him stretching your already sensitive core even more, you weren’t going to last long. He lifted his body and held you close to him, moving your hips against him while his moans flew out his mouth. 

“That’s it, pretty girl. That’s it. You’re doing so good for me, Blossom. T-take all of me.” He groaned into your ear. “Cum with me” 

You were at your wit's end. Moans were flying from both of your mouths as you held on to one another. A few moments more and you came first with Yoongi cumming shortly after. 

“I love you, Blossom” Yoongi said panting before laying back trying to catch his breath. You were exhausted but you felt great. You laid on his chest holding him close, half asleep already. 

“I love you too, Yoon.” You said softly before falling asleep. 

Yoongi chuckled softly before kissing your head and falling asleep with you in his arms. 

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GOJO x FEM READER

Gojo has had better ideas than putting all of your friends together in one house, but at least you have a pool. 

wc — 2k

tags — large friend group, set after cruel summer but can be read as a stand alone, summer vacation

It’s already evening by the time you arrive. The sun is still warming the sky, but it’s descending steadily. It’s a shame. You had wanted to be there earlier. 

The minute you step out of the car and onto the grass, verdant in a way it never is in Tokyo, a large shape comes hurtling across the grass to snatch you up. Gojo grabs you around the waist and hauls you up so you’re trapped, kicking uselessly as he spins you around. He’s always been too strong for you. You pound his shoulders with your fists uselessly, demanding to be put down. 

“Hi,” he says breathlessly when he finally does. “What took you so long? I was waiting for you.” 

That shouldn’t make you as pleased as you are, but it does. You allow yourself a small indulgence, gentle brushing one stray lock of hair out of his face. He nuzzles into your touch like an overgrown cat, so sure of himself and what he deserves. 

Ijichi clears his throat. He cowers when Gojo shoots him a nasty look. You press your hand over his face and shove him back, leaning into the car through the passenger seat window to talk to the poor man. 

“You sure you don’t want to come?”

He eyes Gojo. “Absolutely, ma’am.” 

“I’ve told you that you don’t have to call me that,” you say affectionately. “I’m only two years above you, you know. Have a safe trip back.” 

As soon as he’s determined you’re done with your conversation, Gojo pulls you back to his side. He’s too handsy in a way only he can be, the way he always has been. He slings an arm around your shoulder as he steers you towards the house. You can hear music coming from inside, the strains of some pop melody off the radio’s top 100. Over it, Getou’s voice croons the lyrics, sweet and cheerful. 

It’s a beautiful house. Utahime picked it out and Gojo paid for it. It’s a beautiful pale blue, even more faded from the constant wear and tear of salt spray so it matches the soft hues of a perfectly sunny sky. The white trim makes it look like it’s been pulled off a movie set. It’s an adorable little thing. Utahime did a good job. 

As soon as you step through the doors, you’re attacked again. Haibara crashes into your arms so forcefully you knock backwards into Gojo, feeling your breath being crushed out of your chest. You wheeze in response, but still bring a hand up to stroke the crown of his head. You can’t be mad at him for being so excited to see you. 

Gojo can.

“Hey,” he warns, peeling Haibara off you. “Gotta be more careful.” 

Sometimes it’s easy to forget that you, Gojo, Getou and Shoko are the oldest now. Utahime graduated this year. 

“Sorry,” Haibara whines. Then he jumps on Gojo, too. 

Gojo laughs and pats his back. “You saw me two minutes ago, man.” 

As Haibara clings on to Gojo like a suckerfish, testing how long Gojo can put up with him, Nanami gets up off the couch. “Here,” he says, a hand out for your bags. “Let me take your things.” 

You follow him into the kitchen, where Getou and Utahime are arguing furiously. Shoko, without a care in the world, sits by the sink with her headphones in. Her eyes are closed, hair ruffled by the breeze coming in through the window. It’s beautiful outside. The previous owner had planted an apple tree right by the window, and now pink blossoms press against the glass like kisses. 

Utahime lights up when she sees you, opening her arms to you immediately. She looks so domestic in her white, frilly apron and floral sundress. Some part of you wants to fall into her arms forever. She laughs as she peppers your head with kisses. “So spoiled,” she says, but you know she loves you. She wouldn’t baby you so much otherwise. 

Of your entire class, Utahime had met you first. You were her first underclassman. She’s always been softer towards you and Shoko, but you have a special place in her heart. 

Getou’s a little more patient than Gojo is. He waits his turn for Utahime to release you before he scoops you up in a hug as well. You’re still wondering when Gojo and Getou will stop growing. It’s getting a little uncomfortable to hug them at this point. Even standing on your tip toes can’t get your arms over their shoulders, so your feet lift off the ground when he hugs you back. 

Shoko moves over on her seat to make room for you as the only two competent chefs in the entire house go back to arguing. Utahime throws syrup and ice in a shaker as she talks, pouring it into a tall glass of some sparkling liquid.

“No drinking before the pool,” she tells you as she hands you her signature mocktail. “I don’t want anyone getting hurt.” 

Getou rolls his eyes. “What are you worried about? Gojo and I are there.” 

She shoves his shoulder to get to the stack of plates she’s prepared. “Just because you guys are special grace sorcerers, you think you’re lifeguards too?” 

“Come on,” you interrupt. “No fighting, please! We’re here to have fun.” 

Utahime pauses on her way to the plates. She sighs, turns around, and plants another kiss on your hair. “Alright, alright. Truce?”

“We were never fighting.” 

You and Shoko exchange a look. Out back, Gojo has the grill set up. Nanami had taken your things to your room, but Haibara was already in the pool swimming laps. 

“Finally,” Gojo says when he sees the four of you coming with plates of food. 

“Show some gratitude,” Getou tells him playfully. “Utahime and I put a lot of work into these, you know.” 

Gojo’s already adding skewers to the grill. “Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Thank you mom and dad, we’re so appreciative of everything you do for us.” 

“Brat,” Utahime says, coming to your side. “Isn’t he such a little jerk?” 

You laugh. 

“She loves me,” Gojo says confidently. “She’s on my side.” 

That’s when Getou gets a sneaky look in his eye. “Want me to take over the grill?” 

“Nah,” Gojo says. “I’m better than you so- whoa!”

Getou snags Gojo by the waist and drags him towards the pool. He, in turn, grabs your wrist and takes you with him. When Getou dumps him in, you take the plunge too. 

Underneath the water, you open your eyes. Gojo’s white hair has turned blue in this underwater light, a few shades lighter than his electric eyes. He’s watching you back, his lips curved into a smile. 

Then, he grabs you by the shoulders and pulls you up with him. Breaking the surface, you gasp for air. 

“Are you okay?” Utahime calls. 

Gojo gives her a thumbs up as he starts pushing your wet hair away from where it hangs in your face. His hands are as pretty as the rest of him, long and slim, but they feel almost rough as he works. Maybe it’s the friction of the water against your skin. 

His hands feel good. He’s just touching you normally, but even the slightest bit of contact has your stomach in knots. 

For a second, you think he’s going to kiss you again, like he did last summer, but he just affectionately bumps your cheek with his. 

“Are you happy?” He asks, treading water. 

You follow him, regardless of where he’s going. “I’m always happy when we’re together. All of us.” 

He smiles. “Then I’m happy too.” 

Having finally reached his destination, he grabs the water gun floating on the surface of the pool that Haibara had left in earlier. Just as Nanami steps outside, he aims. 

Bullseye. 

Nanami curses him out as Haibara, who was on his way to greet him, ducks and weaves, ditching his best friend. Sometimes there are casualties in war, and he knows how to cut his losses. 

“I’ll avenge you!” He vows, tears in his eyes as he goes for the second gun. His aim is terrible. Instead of hitting Gojo, he hits you. 

Just as Gojo aims, Utahime calls,” Food’s ready!” 

It gives you deja vu. From the look on Gojo’s face, he feels the same. He gets out of the pool first and offers you a hand. You use it to pull him back in and climb out yourself. 

“Brat,” he mutters, parodying Utahime’s words. 

You just giggle, leaning into his side as the two of you walk towards the candlelit table. Utahime really does look like a mother in this light, her soft black hair falling over her shoulder. It’s slightly frizzy from the salt of the ocean nearby, but it only makes her look more charming. She’s wearing a floral bandana to push back her hair as she bustles about arranging plates. 

Nanami, ever dutiful, gets up to help her. When he passes her, he mutters something in her ear that turns his pale cheeks red, but she only coos and calls him her good boy. That makes the blush even worse. 

Gojo gives you a knowing look that you meet readily. “Ten bucks on the end of the summer?”

“Fifteen before,” you retort. 

“Ah, but there’s Getou,” Shoko says, coming up behind you. She drapes one arm over each of your shoulders. You turn your head to press a light kiss to her wrist. 

“Who says she can’t have both?” Gojo says. 

That’s sort of the crux of the situation. Both, all. It doesn’t really matter to you how things shake out as long as you all stay together. There’s a faith in this, something larger than yourself. Your friends are a god of sorts to you. This thing that all of you share is unbreakable, holy. No matter in what form it comes, you will always love each other. 

“Oh dear,” Shoko says, watching Haibara struggle under a stack of plates he insisted he could carry. “I’ll be right back.” 

Gojo secures you two one of the loveseats around the table. When you sneeze, he grabs a towel from the stack Nanami set out earlier and wraps it around you. You lean into him, relishing his warmth as he wraps an arm around you. 

“Nanami,” he calls. 

“No.” 

“Do me a favor?”

“I’d rather die.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we all know about your emo taste in music. Can you wrap a blanket around us?” 

“Why can’t you do it yourself?” 

“But I want you to tuck me in, please?” 

Utahime’s watching him. He brings the blanket. 

“Good boy,” Gojo coos, and Nanami turns bright red again. He stalks off to help Getou cook the last of the food, his shoulders rigid. 

“You tease him too much,” you tell Gojo as he settles in. Utahime comes by with a plate she already prepared for the two of you. Gojo blows her a kiss when he notices she’s piled his favorites on. She scoffs, but she’s pleased. 

She knows your favorites too. You snag her wrist and press a kiss to her hand. She ruffles your hair affectionately. “Eat up,” she tells you. “We have plenty more.” 

Slowly, the seats around you fill up. Shoko, carrying half of Haibara’s now much lower stack of plates, settles in on your right. Getou sits with her, letting her sprawl across him. He should be the one asking for more room, being so much taller, but it gives him more joy to indulge her. He feeds her a skewer by hand. 

Nanami and Haibara surround Utahime on either side. She rests her head on Nanami’s shoulder, taking slow, small bites. She’s always been elegant like that. Haibara leans against her in turn, chowing down with relish. Nanami hands him a napkin when he inevitably gets messy. 

When you’re done cataloguing your friends, making sure they’re comfortable, you realize you’re being watched yourself. Gojo’s eyes are intent. 

“Are you happy?”

“Why do you keep asking me that?” You laugh. 

He pretends to bristle. “What, I can’t care about my friends?” 

You give him a look that says please be serious. 

“Hey! I’m a changed man, you know. I can think about other people.” 

You laugh and snuggle in closer to him, letting his body heat continue to warm you up. “I’m just teasing. I know you care about us.” 

“So?”

“I’m always happy when we’re all together.” 

“Okay,” Gojo says softly. He pulls the blanket over your heads for a minute. Before you can ask what he’s doing, he presses a light kiss to the corner of your lip. “I’ll make it happen then.” 

“Hey!” Getou kicks Gojo in the leg. “What are you guys doing under there? Hands where we can see them, mister!”

[suguwu]

mondstadt: terroir

“Don’t tease,” you chastise.

He tightens his grip on your ankle, his other hand tracing higher, dragging delicate over your calf. 

“Oh, darling,” he says. “I’ve barely even started.”

minors and ageless blogs dni!

pairing: pantalone x f!reader

notes: what's this? the first chapter of mr. worldwide almost a year after i released the masterlist? yeah. yeah. sorry about that. but i hope you enjoy!

tags: established relationship (married), reader is called "darling" and "wife", wine play, oral (f!receiving), reader has pubic hair.

wc: 2k

Mondstadt is as pretty as ever.

The burgeoning spring brings a verdant flush to the land, the high grasses swaying emerald in the endless wind of the nation, and the apple blossoms blooming pink on their branches, a soft spill of dawn caught in petals. New life abounds in every corner of the nation.

It’s so different from Snezhnaya.

The Dandelion Sea feels endless as you pass through it, the vast field of the treasured flowers stretching as far as the eye can see, kissing the bright blue of the mid-morning sky’s horizon. You watch a crimson fox scamper through the dandelions. Despite the Anemo energy keeping them whole in the playful breeze, a few delicate seeds catch in its coat, little white speckles like a flurry of snow.

“You seem pleased,” Pantalone says, without looking up from the ledger he’s been focusing on. 

“Do I?” you ask.

“Don’t play coy, darling,” he tells you.

He makes a note. It joins pages and pages of other notes, each a meticulous observation in a hard-earned elegant script. Each loop of his pen is a slow, familiar flourish. 

“I would never.”

He hums. “Of course not. How silly of me.”

“Yes, how silly of you.”

He glances up for a moment, one elegant brow raised. He contemplates you for an instant, a little smile on his lips, before he returns his attention to the ledger.

You pout.

“Do not give me that look,” he says, writing another note with an elegant flick of his wrist. 

“What look?”

He doesn’t look up. “The one on your pretty lips,” he says. “I do so hate to see you pout.”

“Then pay attention to me.”

“Soon, darling.”

“Now, darling.”

“Such a demanding little thing,” he says, but he’s putting down his pen, tucking it away with the ledger. You watch the way the tendons in his hands flex, how careful his long, strong fingers are. His rings catch the light, gleaming in the golden sunshine, and you think of how many times you’ve tasted the metal when he has sunk his fingers into your mouth. 

When you glance up, Pantalone’s lips have a knowing curve to them. 

You’re unperturbed; your husband knows your appetite for all things better than most. Your appetite for him most of all. 

Still, you say nothing, though an answering little smile blooms on your lips. You turn your gaze back out the window, watching the idyllic countryside roll by, the trees whispering in the breeze, the flowers dotting the grass like stars in the sky swaying. 

“I thought you wanted my attention, darling,” Pantalone says.

You sniff. “Perhaps you took too long.”

“I see,” he says, deeply fond. “A mistake I shan’t make again.”

“Good.”

He chuckles lowly, the sound rich and deep as it drips over you like honey. Before he can say anything, the carriage rounds a bend, and a manor comes into view.

“Oh!” you gasp, pleased to see it again. It’s striking no matter how many times you’ve ridden past it, a towering thing that almost seems to puncture the blue of the sky. Even from afar, you can scent the flowers of the garden, the soft sweetness carried to you by Mond’s ever-present winds. 

The carriage turns off towards the manor.

You furrow your brow; it’s the only thing down this particular road. It clicks in a second later and you turn to face your husband, who is idly looking out the window. 

“I thought you weren’t going to buy in Mond.” 

“Hmm?”

You slip your foot up Pantalone’s leg.

He glances at you, his eyes gleaming behind the half-moons of his glasses.

“You weren’t going to buy in Mond,” you remind him. 

He catches your ankle, wrapping his long, lean fingers around it. His thumb strokes idly against the bone. A tender, silken touch.

“It was too cheap to let go of,” he says.

With him, that just means somewhere under ten million mora. You decide you’re better off not knowing. 

It’s a wonderful property, the beautiful manor set into sweeping gardens lush with fragrant blossoms, the blooms spilling over in a froth of untamed color. Vines swirl up the sides of the house, whorls of greenery clinging to the sun-warmed stone, dotted with bright flowers. It rises high above the grounds, almost cradled by the sky. 

It apparently once belonged to one of the eldest clans of the fallen aristocracy—some of the stained glass still carries their crest, flooding the courtyard with their colors at the sun’s gentle touch—until it was sold off by the heir. 

When you peer at it through the carriage windows, you can’t understand how he could bear to let go of it. 

“You said you liked it,” Pantalone says as you lean back again. “Didn’t you?”

You should have known better. Of course he bought an entire manor because you’d mentioned in passing that it was pretty. 

“Or have you changed your mind?” he asks, his lips curling into something smug when you stare at him. 

You know that look.

“Don’t tease,” you chastise.

He tightens his grip on your ankle, his other hand tracing higher, dragging delicate over your calf. 

“Oh, darling,” he says. “I’ve barely even started.” 

—

The two of you stumble into the first bedroom you find. 

It’s lavish but not gaudy, the type of finery you’ve become used to over the long years with your husband, who insists on nothing but the best, particularly for you. It’s beautifully set up, with a wine and fruit basket on the nightstand, but you barely spare a thought for it, too busy trying to shrug out of your dress while batting away your husband’s roaming hands. 

“You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be,” you tell him as he palms your tit over your dress, his big hand holding the thin fabric in place. 

“If you weren’t so pretty, it wouldn’t be so hard to keep my hands off you.”

Your cheeks heat. “Shut up,” you say, swatting at his wrist. 

He lets go with a laugh that drips with desire, warm and full of teeth. Your dress slips to the floor, a silken pool; he helps you step out of it. 

He kisses you then, a hot, heavy press of his lips against yours, his tongue flitting across the seam of your lips until you open for him. He presses close as he licks into your mouth, one hand splayed across your back to hold you still for him. His other hand slides from your hip to cup your tit. He thumbs your nipple, a soft hint of pressure against the pebbling nub, and you gasp into his mouth. 

You can feel him hardening against your hip even through the fine material of his pants. 

He kisses you dizzy, steals your breath and makes it his own, and perhaps that is why you’re not sure how you find yourself on the bed. It’s downy soft beneath you, the sheets silken against your skin, and he pins you against them with ease. 

You arch into his next kiss, whining your complaint as he pulls away for breath. 

“Darling,” he says, annoyingly composed, “I want to drink from you.”

“Yes,” you say quickly, reaching for him to pull him back down to you, bracketing your thighs around his hips to feel the line of his hard cock against your cunt. You roll your hips and close your eyes, arching your back to feel more of him. “Hurry up.”

You yelp as liquid spills over you, eyes opening to see your husband set aside the bottle of wine that he’s just poured part of onto your chest. You catch a flash of the label and any admonishment you might have had fades away.

“Pantalone,” you say slowly, “that was one of the rarest vintages Dawn Winery has.”

The wine is pooling in the dip of your neck, a maroon bruise of liquid. It drips down your tits in languid rivulets. 

“Is it? Good.”

Before you can complain, he dips down to you, tracing the tip of his tongue over your skin, chasing a droplet of wine. He follows the meandering path, his tongue laving gently against you, a sharp line of heat that goes straight to your cunt. 

You bite down on a gasp as he flicks his tongue against the furled peak of your nipple, sparks skittering beneath your skin, before all you know is wet heat. You weave your hands into his ebony hair as he suckles at you, arching up into him as he palms at your other tit, pinching lightly at your nipple with clever fingers. 

You’re squirming beneath him by the time he pulls away, a string of saliva connecting his mouth to your breast. Some of the wine between your tits trickles down your sides to stain the sheets claret. 

“You’re wasting it,” he chides. You glare and he laughs before swooping down to follow the path of a droplet to where wine pools in your navel. He licks it up, drawing a long, hot line of his tongue from the dip of it to the start of the curls on your mound.

Pantalone curls his hands around your thighs, his fingers sinking into the meat of them, and spreads you wide for him. He lets go of one of your thighs to circle his thumb over your clit, smiling when your hips buck as an incandescent heat settles in your cunt, a bright burn of pleasure. 

“I thought you were going to drink from me,” you say. “So drink.”

His smile grows wider. “Of course, wife,” he says, and then he’s dipping down to lick a long stripe against your cunt, flattening his tongue against the heat of it. He hums and holds your hips down when you cry out. He laves at you, dragging his tongue through your folds until you’re almost trembling with it. 

He laps at your slick, tracing the tip of his tongue around your hole. You sink your hands into his hair and tug at the long locks, urging him to press closer. You can feel the way he smiles against your tender cunt before he obliges you, delving his tongue into you. He presses forward to push deeper and your legs close around his head as his nose nudges into your clit. 

White hot pleasure sears through you, sparking down your spine like a shooting star. Pantalone slips his hands under your ass to raise your hips higher against him, his tongue pushing deeper into your wet cunt. You gasp as he flicks his tongue inside of you. 

He feasts on you like a glutton, humming his content as you writhe, his strong hands holding you still for him, keeping your cunt pressed against his mouth. You tighten your grasp in his hair as you are wound tighter and tighter, the heat pooling in your stomach catching like kindling and spreading through you.

Your voice breaks on his name—his real name, one that is yours and yours alone—as the heat roars into a forest fire, setting your nerves aflame as you cum.

Pantalone presses little kisses to your cunt as you shudder your way through the aftershocks, tiny blissful jolts of lingering pleasure. When your thighs go lax around him, he pulls back. His smile is soft, but there’s smugness lining it. You scowl at him.

“Darling,” he says, wiping his gleaming mouth with the back of his hand, the uncouth gesture sending a frisson of heat lacing down your spine, “we really must finish the bottle.”

He leans up to press a sweet kiss against your lips; it turns wicked quickly, a heated claim. When he pulls away, his eyes are shining greedily. His smile has a wicked edge to it as he reaches for the wine bottle once more.

“I insist.” 

[multiwreckedmess]

February Filth Fest - Day 26

Pairing: Yeosang x fem!Reader Prompt: Vampire (omegaverse was the other option) WC: 3.3k Summary: Yeosang is a good vampire. He only hunts animals, he doesn’t meddle with humans, he’s tried to live an upstanding afterlife. Yeosang isn’t perfect, but he tries to be. Then you came along. A human, unaware of how delicious you smell. TW/CW: BLOOD (he’s a vampire), animal death, scent/tasting kink?, heavy “damnation” references, no protection mentioned. It’s a vampire au?

It was a fitting punishment for his sins, falling for a human girl. So delicate, so fragile, so vulnerable in comparison to a vampire no matter how malnourished. Every second with you tested him. Holding your hand felt like dousing himself in holy water and still he couldn’t help pressing his palm against your wrist to feel your heartbeat in his palm.

There were so many reasons he could not, should not, be involved in your life. He’d tried telling you starting with his inability to cook, his quiet personality, the way he could only hang out in person for short spurts. So many more that he couldn’t possibly tell you least of which was his occasional craving for the taste of blood. Especially your blood. Your blood which smells sweet and floral and crisp like apple blossom water was running in your veins instead of iron and oxygen.  

It was particularly bad during your weekly drama watch. Starting on opposite sides of the couch somehow you’d still end up with the side of your torso resting against his arm, hot and heavy, head tilted away from him exposing the underside of your chin. Still as a statue he forced himself to sit facing forward for fear he would be able to see your heartbeat pulsing in your artery and be unable to help himself. In those moments, when your eyes would flutter with a yawn, nestling into him, he felt most like the monster the storybooks made his kind out to. Fangs extending in his saliva filled mouth, lubricated and prepared to make precise incisions to feed from. He’d suck back the drool and make an excuse. Astigmatism- he couldn’t drive too late! Or an early morning so he had to leave immediately. Anything easily believable and difficult to fact check. 

It was an easy slip up. Yeosang had miscalculated the time between your drama catchup session and his next feeding by a few days. The short month of February had thrown him off, as it always did, but it had never been an issue until you. You who had a standing obligation with him. You who he craved so desperately. You who he was so sure he could fight off his natural instincts for that he ignored the itch of his tongue and went to your house. Your house that was filled with your scent, your sanctuary that he had tricked his way into. 

He knew he’d fucked up the second you opened the door. Legs and arms fully exposed you hugged him on sight, if he’d been less than fully covered the warmth of your bare skin surely would have set him ablaze. “Aren’t you warm, Sangie? It’s like 60 degrees!” Your bright smile, so trusting. It would be so easy to just grab you and-”no, It’s best to try to acclimate as warm as possible so the summer heat doesn’t get you.” “Well, come on in, we have two whole episodes plus they released an extended…” you rattled off as he stepped over the threshold. After the first time you’d invited him in he didn’t need to wait. The invitation was permanent unless reversed by a ritual. A ritual Yeosang doubted you were even aware of. Still he liked to wait for your permission, another invisible boundary he put up.

You’d already poured him his customary glass of dry red wine otherwise he’d have told you not to. His veins dry, the alcohol quickly swirled around and engulfed his body. You smelled so good. Maybe better than you’d ever smelled. “Did you do something with your hair? New shampoo?” Yeosang slurred as you relaxed back into him. “No, actually I forgot to shower today…so maybe the extra oil is making my hair longer?” Drool pooling in his cheeks, Yeosang sucked the saliva from his mouth, swallowing hard. So pliant already he wondered how the acidity of the wine might compliment the fruity sweetness he smelled on you. He tried to eat a few kernels of your popcorn as the first episode started to soak up what his body hadn’t already osmosed but the kernals stuck tacky in his mouth. He doesn’t even notice his fingers traveling the length of your arm to grip your wrist. Not until you stretch, hitting him with a fresh wave of your scent, heart rate accelerating in his grasp. You squeak as his hand tightens. Yeosang leaps away from you the second he realizes what he’s done, fangs long in his mouth he stammers. “Its late, sorry I have to- my eyes aren’t good at night and- well it’s late and we got started late.” He’s yanking his shoes on kneeled in the entryway looking like you’ve deeply offended him. “Yeosang we’re barely through the first episode, can’t you last 15 minutes?” He’s pinching his nose as he looks at you, eyes pleading, “I can’t be here a minute longer really I’m so sorry it’s not you-” Yeosang looks physically pained as his second shoe slides on, standing to face you. You can’t help yourself, reaching out to tenderly fix a lock of his hair.

Yeosang does it automatically despite having tempered the instinct for many years. Eyes narrowing he charms you as you touch him. For you it’s instantaneous, for Yeosang it’s a slow motion horror show as your eyes roll backwards, body starting to crumple to the floor. He catches you, cradling your limp body. His hair raises, stomach turning. He’s hungry, you’re available. You’re his friend. It would be so natural for him to just lean over and sink his teeth into the side of your neck, painless for you, he’d be done before you woke up. At worst you’d wake a little woozy and with a couple of small wounds on your neck, easily written off by your fall. “I can’t. I have to focus. I can’t.” Yeosang heaves your dead weight over his shoulder and carries you to your bed. The length of your hallways feel miles longer than they used to be. Your room is as wide as an ocean, swimming drenched in you, the air is so thick he can taste it. Softly collapsing onto your side on the mattress.  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He pants, gently arranging your limbs and fixing your hair.

Eyes bleary you see his mop of black hair and stark white skin. A pleasant mirage that your fingers search and grasp for. “Don’t leave. You can’t.” The vision fades to black, drifting back into a glorious dream. Floating. Yeosang. The sun is so hot. His kiss is a cool sip of water. You drink, lapping at dew drops unable to quench your thirst. The sun is so hot it warms you from the outside, baking your heart, setting fire to your veins. But he still feels so cold. You need the cold or you’ll turn to ash. You need him.

Each of your fingers interlacing with his damns him and your soft voice seals the writ. A predator held captive by his prey. The itch at the back of his mind, the hunger, almost felt like penance. The sting of cosmic retribution. Muscles stiffening he tries to readjust your hand in his, your heart fluttering wildly. “Sangie?” You call in a whispered pout. “I’m here. I’m not leaving.” It’s my fault. I should be the one to burn and be consumed by the consequences of each of my dumb decisions that led me here. Laying down next to you, face up stiff as a board, Yeosang stares at the ceiling. He tries to center himself. Tries to ignore the monster he is. Tries to sink into the guilty feeling and let it absorb the others around it. You inch your way across the gap, jolting him with your fiery touch. A smoldering ember pressed to his side, you sigh happily unaware of the scorching pit of damnation you’ve opened up below Yeosang. Sinking into him he’s like soft fresh linens, crisp and refreshing. The cool side of the pillow on a warm night, slowly absorbing your heat as you drift between conscious and unconscious.

Yeosang slips his phone out of his pocket. It’s been a minute since he’d last charmed another human but he doesn’t recall it lasting this long. Dangling his leg off the side of the bed he wiggles his foot, each second an eternity. Your pulse is slow and steady, like a metronome keeping the seconds of his captivity. The tug between letting his mind wander and keeping it penned in is intense. Letting his mind wander passes the time quickly. Letting his mind wander, it takes dangerous roads. Roads that lead between your thighs, another opportune place to bite. Soft tender flesh of the inner thigh, the apex of blood and sex. How sweet you must be there, how velvety, how delicious… Fuck, he can’t do this. He can’t do this. Yeosang doesn’t have to look hard for your keys, hung on a small hook just inside your door. He just needs a snack. Something small. Something easy. Something to get him through a couple more hours with you. A squirrel. A fat sluggish thing gorging itself on street trash. The catch is easy for him, unfairly easy. Unable to comprehend inescapable fate it has reached it fight and wriggles in Yeosangs palm. He’s merciless and efficient with it, snapping the neck quietly between his hands. Gulping and slurping sickly at the reddish fluid the circle of life continues from one gluttonous beast to the next. His stomach churns and works itself into knots as though the wrathful hands of god were grabbing and squeezing him like he had his meal. Tossing the corpse to the side he doubles over, coughing and gagging. Blood dribbles from the side of this mouth staining his skin a pale pink. Toes of his shoes dragging on the pavement he wills himself back to your side, sliding the door open quietly, hanging your keys back into place, and slipping next to you. It’s his fault. It’s all his fault. He has to deal with the consequences. It’s all his fault.

“Sangie?” “Had to use the bathroom,” he lies. “You smell like smoke and metal.” You sling your leg back over him, trapping him. Back to the inferno for him he swallows hard. “Are you feeling better?” “If I say I am, will you leave?” “Yes.” “I’m feeling horrible, please stay.” Yeosang’s laugh comes out more like a sob, diaphragm flinching and punching the air from his lungs. “You’re so difficult.” “Why do you want to leave so badly? Can you just tell me the truth for once. I don’t even mind that you lied so many times….” He’s been dreading this moment, somehow inevitable despite his continuous promises to someday disappear. Rooted to the spot he sighs. “Please Yeosang, I’ll drop it. I’ll never ask again.” “I want to eat you and I don’t know how much longer I can stop myself from doing so.”

It wasn’t like you hadn’t noticed something was weird with Yeosang. It was his charm. A cross between a victorian man and an otaku he was a man of quiet contradictions. Funny and smart but spacy and wistful. Always cool to the touch but never cold. Content to open doors and hold your hand but hesitant to loosen his strict rules. “Okay, how can I help?” Yeosangs eyes bulge in his head. “I can’t. I can’t ask that of you.” “How come you haven’t before? You’ve had chances.” “I messed up. My schedule is off. Tonight was supposed to be the night. You’re not in danger but…” he trails off. You squeeze him, “You’re hungry? A tear slips from the corner of his eye onto the pillow. “I’m your host. I shouldn't let my guest starve.” His fingers slip from your hand to your wrist. “Are you sure? I promise I can make it as painless as possible I can-I can-” he stutters, mouth coating itself in preparation. “I don’t care if it hurts, I want you to stay.”

Mentally he rips in two, ecstatic and frightened. “Oh-okay.” This is not how he expected you to answer. This isn’t how most humans answer. “Do you need to…from a specific place?” Wringing his hands is glances, raking over your body. “Neck, arm, thigh. Those three are the easiest. Neck and arm are more easily spotted. I can try to be as precise as possible but you’ll have…you’ll be marked. For a week or two at least. Thigh is…it has to be your inner thigh, quite high up.” His eyes catch on the bunched fabric of your shorts. “So then…thighs seem the best, I don’t mind if you don’t.” Trembling, he kneels at your feet, hands caressing your shins. Vibrating so quickly he could shake a bolt loose from the bedframe his fingers slowly travel up your inner thighs. It’s like every shameful fantasy he’s had while chin deep in a deer carcass. “Yeosang, that tickles!” He glares back at you, slapping your thigh lightly. “I’m trying to concentrate, it’s been a minute since I’ve done this with a human.” The closer his face gets the more potent you are, a dizzying perfume. Fangs fully descended, they glint in the night, pointed pearly white. “You know, you’re really hot when you look like you’re about to devour me.” “How do you know I won’t?” His fangs glint as he smiles, licking his lips. Slowly he lowers his mouth to your inner thigh, midway to your apex. Your heart rate jumps as you giggle. Slowly he presses open-mouthed kisses up your thigh, despite his heart not pumping blood for a century his chest still feels like it might explode. The thrumb of your artery grows closer, the sensitive skin of his lips honing in on the perfect spot. Tongue laid flat his slowly licks the patch of skin, sucking at it gently, teasing himself, prolonging the anticipation, letting your heart rate grow to a frenzy. His hand catches your opposite thigh as it threatens to clench around him, Fangs glancing your supple flesh you squirm and sigh. “Yeosang please!” You tug his locks gently, tilting his face up to look at you. “Please just do it.” “Prey that begs, that’s a new one,” he sucks a pretty purple bruise into you as you moan and wiggle.

With one swift move his fangs puncture the fragile skin right at the apex of your thigh. The holes are incredibly clean, blood flowing immediately. Mouth open in a silent scream, your back arches, the adrenaline numbs the shot of pain that travels the length of your nervous system. If Yeosang thought your scent was strong before it was suffocating now. The first taste of you lingers on his teeth pricking his tongue. Losing his reason almost entirely he laps at the wound, palms pressed to either side, encouraging blood to flow out. It sears him from the inside, white hot as it overflows into his mouth over his lips and tongue. He can hardly help his palm rubbing your clit indirectly, your pleasure adding a spice to your natural flavor. He sounds sinful as he feasts, lips smacking, slurping, growling and groaning. His hips grinding into the bed as he dips the tips of his fangs back into you, just slightly, just enough to keep you open. “You taste so fucking good,” Yeosang snarls, dropping to the floor at the side of the bed pulling your ass with him, thighs balanced on either side of his shoulders. The feed having renewed and emboldened him. “Do I? Fuck, Yeosang it feels so good.” Lips locking around the open wound he draws deeply, sending you squealing and writhing against the sheets. Gulping he follows the trail to its natural conclusion, slipping his tongue over your clothed slit. “Yeah babe, like apple pie. Can I take these off? Don’t want to get blood on your sheets or clothes.” You nod, hurriedly stripping. “We’re going to make your first time so good,” he says, slipping two fingers into your cunt with ease, tongue returning to the trickle of warm blood dripping down your thigh. “I’m not-” Yeosang gives you a withering look, “you’ve been bitten before?” “No but-” “-Then it’s your first time.” suckling the wound, he pumps his fingers in and out of your walls. He likes the tingles of pain that shoot down his spine as you tug his hair closer, encouraging him to continue. He loves how you quiver as he sucks harshly, heels pressing into his back to ground your aching legs.  Most of all he needs to ruin you for anyone else who tries to replace him.

Yeosang hardly notices that he’s stripped himself. Lost to the scratch of your fingertips twitching in his hair as you cum, he could’ve completed a marathon without knowing. Your walls fluttering he gently licks the clotting holes, savoring in the mixture of your release and your blood. Letting the flavors mix and meld on his tongue like a fine wine. Shakily he stands, fitting the head of his cock to your entrance. Finally able to appreciate his body he looks like the statue of David himself. Marble white and cut from the same stone he’s had time to craft the perfect image of a man. He pushes into you easily, walls eager to accept his length. Mouth dropping open and head falling back he looks possessed. Your cunt is like an iron brand enclosing and searing his cock. It had been so long since he’d felt another person on him so intimately he’d forgotten the depth of the heat that it could spring in his stomach. Hunching over you his forehead on yours he bears his teeth, using all of his strength to fuck into you like a ragdoll. Practically levitating from the vigor of his thrusts he scoops you from the bed, letting gravity aid in forcing him deeper into your walls.

“Yeosang!” Your voice bounces with each slap of skin on skin. “Isstoomuch!” Your core clenches down around him painfully. “Just a little more, you can handle just a little more can’t you? For me just a little more?” Yeosang begs, face pressed to your neck. Blood pressure spiking high his senses alert him that you physically can’t go much longer without passing out. The pressure is so intense you clamber in his arms, searching for relief, finally biting down on his shoulder as he chases his high blindly. Pulsing and clenching, fucking you feels like damnation, indulging in every sin on the way down to the pit. He chokes back a whine as he paints your walls white. The sudden heat pushes you over the edge with a groan, your release reopening your wounds, blood trickling down Yeosang’s abs, streaking his pelvis with blood and cum. The scent tickling his nostrils he stoops to tend to you immediately, dropping your back to the bed so you can ride through your high on his tongue and fingers. “Don’t leave! Don’t leave,” you chant and grapple at the sheets, hand seeking his to hold. He smiles tenderly, humans, such funny things. Willing to bleed out if it means being able to hold their lovers hand. “Will I- am I-” “Turning is a much more involved process. Don’t worry.” Yeosang collapses back on the bed, hand still in yours, feeling your pulse through your wrist. It’s almost quiet enough to hear the thudding of your heart in the night in between breaths. If each person has a monster at least he’s yours.

I”M SORRY I FELL OFF. I met Johnny Suh and Eric Nam irl and tbh since then i’ve had writers block pretty extensively.

That said, I wrote this one because I was excited about it and I plan on looping back to complete a slew of half written prompts so hopefully some of those got posted before this!!

As always thank you for all the likes and feedback, it still stuns me that people make it passed the first paragraph.

[necropathys]

A with Swad for the mini fic thing? :3

Fire, flames, or excessive heat.

swapdreammare flavored. wc: 862

"Let me look at you, darling." It wasn't a mere request; despite Nightmare's resistance, the magical chains pulled him closer to his captor with a single, compelling tug.

As his brother neared, the heat radiating from Dream stilled Nightmare's writhing and dissolved his struggle against the ethereal bonds. Fear transformed him into a trembling statue of stone, his SOUL pulsating in a rhythmic staccato within his chest, as if attempting to escape through his throat, rendering him breathless.

This was it, the moment he anticipated as his death knell. There seemed to be no other outcome.

All his futile struggling amounted to nothing. How pitiful.

He expected Dream's clawed hand to reach for his ribcage, to grasp the last Negative Apple, the final fruit Dream had been denied, and bring an end to Nightmare's existence.

Yet, he was blindsided when the hand instead caressed his face. Dream's fervor manifested in sharpened phalanges, leaving impossibly thin lines of violet in their wake, like delicate scars on porcelain.

The sting of the scratches paled in comparison to the burning heat radiating from the touch, akin to concentrated flame brushing against his cheekbones. The sensation prompted Nightmare to jerk away in an attempt to escape, but Dream was persistent.

"Hush, dear. It's alright," Dream's dulcet voice echoed in Nightmare's ears, a familiar attempt at consolation from times long past. "I just want to see you, brother." He soothed, while Nightmare hissed and struggled fruitlessly in his grasp. "It's been so long…" Dream's tone held a strange flatness, as if he couldn't decide on the emotion to convey.

Nightmare didn't understand.

Dream's proximity allowed him to feel the bite of incandescent feathers brushing against him. The texture of the long jacket enveloping Dream, accompanied by the burn of raw magic searing clothing and bones, left a vivid imprint. The scent of sulfur and an alluring sweetness invaded his senses, accompanied by the subtle sound of quiet cracking.

Long, elegant fingers traced the planes of his skull, leaving a tingling sensation somewhere between pleasure and pain. Initially frenzied, Dream's hands fell into a less hurried exploration, their touch indulgent and almost languid. The power held within those hands pulsed just beneath the surface, and being cradled by them felt strange and foreign. Nightmare couldn't recall the last time someone willingly touched him, and the urge to lean into the touch was difficult to suppress.

"You've gotten so handsome. You really did blossom from a duckling that followed my every step into a gorgeous swan," Dream cooed through Nightmare's heavy confusion. He didn't understand what was happening. Wasn't Dream supposed to kill him? To reclaim what Nightmare had stolen?

Why else would Dream pursue him so violently? Why else would he ensure that everyone hated Nightmare, spreading Positivity to the point where his existence was shunned if not despised?

"I've missed you so much, brother," Dream murmured, close enough for Nightmare to feel his hot breath. Trembling, a part of him wanted and ached—I miss you too, please I just want to go home—but the rest of him remained trapped in terror.

The feeling of danger never relented, even as his older brother appeared almost docile. He could still see the ruins of the city he had hidden in, the scent of dust and debris obscured by Dream's overpowering fragrance. The once-blue sky was awash in oranges and yellows.

"…Aren't you going to kill me?" Nightmare eventually asked, uncertain of what to make of any of this. Dream's words twisted around his mind, but he wasn't sure how to interpret them.

"Wherever did you get that idea?" Dream replied, sounding offended at the notion.

Nightmare opened and closed his mouth several times, torn between bewilderment and the sheer task of explaining the viciousness that Dream unleashed every time they clashed. Words failed him.

He shifted slightly, the crunch of broken glass beneath the well-worn soles of his boots. Dream's hands followed his movement, unerring in their task. Broken and shining eyes never strayed from their target.

"I only want you to stay with me, dear," Dream murmured sweetly, his voice smooth and seductive like dripping honey. A thumb traced the curve of Nightmare's mouth, even as Nightmare tried and failed to speak. "I need you with me. This game is amusing, but it grows tiring," he complained lightly.

"Is that what you think?" Despite his horror and astonishment, Nightmare's voice sounded exhausted. "That this is… a game?"

Dream stared at him, head tilting lightly to the side in puzzlement—a familiar gesture. One that Nightmare had seen him make time and time again when faced with something that didn't make sense. He was still smiling.

Nightmare wondered if Dream could even frown if he wanted to. If he was still capable of it. It wasn't an expression he had seen since Dream's ascension.

And then a laugh bubbled up from somewhere inside Dream. His grin stretched wider as he shook his head in mirth. The hands resting on his face drew lazy patterns on his cheeks.

"Well, of course! After all," he leaned close, voice lowering to a purr. "Why else would you run from me?"

[panicatthenightcourt]

Stealth

@sjmnextgenweek​​ Day Seven: Free Day

Pairing (mentioned): Feysand, Nessian, Gwynriel, Elucien

Summary: Nyx, Val, Indi and Griff decide to break some rules. Surprisingly, they get away with it....or so they think. 

Warnings: Implied underage alcohol use, implied alcohol use

wc: 840

a/n: Valentina is Gwynriel’s daughter, Indigo is Elucien’s daughter, Griffith is Nessian’s son and, of course, Nyx is Feysand’s son. They're all between the ages of 16 and 18. Also...yes, overgrown bat is my favorite insult and I will use it everywhere I can.

“My dad is gonna kill you,” Nyx hissed in a whisper. He was hovering very close behind her as she ventured further into the room.

Valentina flashed him a cocky grin. “Only if he catches me.”

She began rifling through the rows and rows of bottles of his dad’s wine cellar. His special wine cellar. The one for grand parties held in the House of Wind.

“Val, just grab something and get out,” Griffith piped in. He had popped his head into the doorframe.

Val felt Nyx tense behind her as she whipped her head towards Griffith. “Griff, shut up! You’re supposed to keep watch, don’t worry about me,” Val responded. She turned back to her task of choosing the fanciest wine they could all get rip roaring drunk off of.

Bottle after bottle, she scanned each one at length. A sweet berry wine from the Summer Court. One that claimed to taste of the salty sea breeze from Day. A wine infused with peach blossoms from Spring. Each one did not strike her fancy.

Until one did.

She let out an excited huff as she lunged for a sparkling bottle on the shelf above her head. Just as she wrapped her fingers around the shimmering wine, a spiced apple one from Autumn, Val heard a distinct crash from behind her.

Her heart began to hammer loudly. Beside her, Nyx’s face paled with anxiety. Val flung herself around to examine the cause.

Standing there, wet shards at her feet, was Indigo. Her big brown eyes were wide with fear.

“Indi…” Nyx gave a disappointed sigh. They were so screwed.

Flame flickered in Indi’s eyes. “It’s not like I meant to do that,” she threw back in a scathing whisper.

Griff came into the wine cellar, an action that Val knew meant that if they were going down then they'd go down together. They all waited with baited breath for their parents to come bounding down the steps to the cellar and rip them all a new one. They waited a minute. Two. Three.

A breath flew from Val’s lungs. A shit eating grin grew on Griff’s face. Nyx’s eyes twinkled with mischief. Indi’s chin was confidently high.  

They were gonna get away with this.

“Alright,” Val called, a wicked smile spreading on her lips. They turned their heads to her in answer. “To the training ring.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

She sat on the couch in the living room of the House of Wind with her feet tucked under her mate’s thigh. Lady Death swirled the wine in her glass, bringing it to her nose to sniff the sweet notes. Beside her sat her sister-in-arms, Gwyn, snuggled into Azriel’s side. Across them were her sisters, contently draped over their mate’s forms. The fire was roaring and the room was doused in comfortable silence.

Nesta broke it to say, “So we’re really going to let them do this?” Cassian huffed a laugh.

A smirk stretched onto Rhys’s features. “Oh absolutely not,” he told her. “We just have to wait until they crack the bottle open, feel like they really fooled us.”

“I’ve been practicing delivering my speech since they all went suspiciously quiet,” Lucien told them. The look in his eye was wickedly amused.

“Oh yes,” Gwyn supplied. “I’ve got mine well rehearsed.”

Chuckles resounded through the room. They began to settle again, content to wait and let their children stew in their victory. Nesta lifted her wine glass to her lips once more, poised for a sip.

A loud thump sounded.

“Mother’s tits!”

Cassian’s eyes met hers in an instant, an unimpressed look passed between them. That one’s our’s, their stare seemed to say.

“Shhhhh!”

“You come stub your pinky toe, Indi, and see how quiet you can be,” was Griffith’s hissed response.

“I wouldn’t stub my toe,” came Indi’s snap. “Because I’m not an uncoordinated toddler, you overgrown bat.”

Nesta spared a glance to Elain and Lucien. Elain’s lips were pursed in an attempt to hold back laughter, Lucien’s eyes were positively ablaze with mirth.

“Both of you shut your mouths, or I swear to the Mother I will throw you off the roof,” was Val’s response.

A glance to Gwyn and Az confirmed they, too, were keeping their snickering at bay.

Nyx’s thoroughly unimpressed drawl reached their ears when he said, “You all are already drunk without even touching the bottle if you think they haven’t heard us by now.”

Rhys couldn’t contain his snort of laughter. Feyre smacked his knee in reprimand.

Their loud footsteps and constant bickering followed all the way until the group reached the door accessing the rooftop training ring, taking them outside and out of earshot. The door slammed shut behind them loudly.

Howling laughter came from the mated pairs.

They laughed until their cheeks were tinged pink and a tear or two had escaped.

Once they had reeled themselves in, Feyre spoke. “I think our reprimands need to be short tonight,” she started. She faced Azriel as she continued. “Spymaster, how about an impromptu lesson on the art of stealth?”

[ranaiki]

Hallmark

Sanzu Haruchiyo x reader

summary: Christmas is your favorite holiday. You moved to the city a few years back in pursuit of a higher education and work, but the holiday spirit pales in comparison to your hometown. This year, you begin to realize just how much you miss it, and the people.

wc: 5.8k

warnings: DARK CONTENT. MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY. READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION. Stalking, obsessive behavior, yandere, toxic relationships? naive!reader, implied virgin/inexperienced!reader, drugs/drugging, date r!pe drugs, kidnapping sorta, manipulation/guilt tripping, like one mention of fatphobia.

a/n: I wrote this for a class recently and wanted to share it here as well. It’s a twist on the traditional Hallmark movies, you know, the ones with the same plots. I was considering writing a smutty part two to this that picks up where it leaves off, so let me know if you’d like to see that! Message me or comment idm, but if enough people want it I’ll definitely write it :)

Your lips burned, winter’s cold holding the same power that a fan might have during the heat of summer. Snowflakes drifted onto your eyelashes, clinging on the ends just where you could see, before dropping to rosy cheeks below, melting with the warmth and perfect shades of pink. There was nothing but the heat along your face, the warm hand brushing against your cheek with a featherlight touch, sucking you in...

Oh, how you longed to feel that.

Enraptured, you stared at the screen before you, popcorn practically falling from your mouth as you leaned forward. Heart of the Holidays. It had only just struck November 1st, but holiday festivities were well under way - for you, at least. The scenes of the first Christmas movie of the season danced along the screen of your television, crackling with static and accompanied by the thick scent of a peppermint candle.

Energy burst through your chest as you watched, a giddiness described only as childlike worming through you and sending sparks to your hands and feet. Your eyes never left the screen, not even for a second as you witnessed the final scenes of the film, watching as the girl wrapped herself into a passionate kiss with her old flame - the very same she had been waiting for for the entire length of the movie.

It couldn’t be helped. You squealed.

Your heart raced in your chest, warmth blossoming in the apples of your cheeks that was not from the half finished bottle of wine sitting on the coffee table. A fluffy, green and red blanket wrapped into your hands as you tucked it just a little closer to your chest, fingers woven tightly into the fabric amid schoolgirl excitement.

Your eyes were wide and sparkling as you watched the movie come to a close, basking in the glow of a satisfactory ending and a unique rendition of Jingle Bells blaring from the built-in speakers.

Wonder and excitement renewed with the beginning of each holiday season. Countless years prior became negligible as soon as the clock struck midnight on October 31st - no matter how bad the experiences. Vigor and vitality returned, and you reached your hands as far in front of you as they could go, grasping for those new opportunities, new experiences, new memories and new joys you craved so much.

“This year,” your words were whispered to the dark, empty air, silence filled only by the rolling credits of the movie. Your fingers picked at the little balls of lint collected on the soft fabric of the blanket. “This year will be amazing, I can feel it.”

Bubbling with the effects of the wine, you made your way to the bedroom adjacent, still wrapped in the throes of Christmas spirit, your mind full of snow, fuzzy gloves, fleeting touches and lips as soft as clouds as you flopped onto the mattress, and drifted off to sleep.

⠀

“Morning Yuzuha!”

“Oh. Hey Y/n.” Yuzuha sat behind her desk, nose buried in papers five minutes before the shift clock even started.

Past rows of plain, grey cubicles, you sat in a seat to the far right, opposite Yuzuha, and away from most other occupied spaces. Decorations smiled up at you - shiny tinsel glittering in the harsh fluorescents, tiny paper cutouts of gingerbread men and snow people dancing from one end to the other.

You held out a single finger as you settled into your chair, tapping the hand of the most unique gingerbread man amidst them all - one with long, blond hair that you had pasted on with a piece of double sided tape. Your cubicle was easily the most festive.

“How are you doing today, Hakkai?” You turned to face the man in the cubicle next to you.

He gave a hum, disinterested.

You smiled grimly, turning away from your lazy coworker and back to the computer screen before you. The monitor blinked and whirred as it came to life, a photograph from your childhood displayed as your home screen.

You sighed wistfully, leaning in and gazing at your face, young, naive, and sparkling - ready to take on the world. It was from a party right around your graduation, with all the neighbors in attendance. The Jacksons had been there, and the Wildes, as well as the Hammons, the Fischers, and even the Akashis - though by the time you had finally graduated, most of the Akashi siblings had long since left home.

Pink blossomed in the peaks of your cheeks, born from nostalgia and yearning.

The feeling was short-lived. The weight of reality came crashing down on you, and the brilliance that had emanated from your home screen dimmed with it.

Again, you sighed, though this time with a more somber, regretful air. Your gaze drifted towards the gingerbread man you had high-fived.

“At least I have you, blondie.” You stifled your giggle as the clock struck the top of the hour, and your focus returned to your computer and the pages of work you had lying in wait.

⠀

Knock knock knock.

Startled, you paused halfway through lifting your fork to your mouth, a couple of pieces of food falling back to the plate below. Your barstool scraped against the hardwood as you pushed it back, almost jumping out of your skin at another hard, loud, knock.

“Coming, sorry!” You called, rushing to pull the handle.

The locks clicked and door swung open to reveal an empty hallway beyond.

There wasn’t a soul in sight.

You poked your head from the entry curiously, looking up and down the endless hallway, but it was just as barren as you had left it hours earlier.

Uncomfortable, you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, pulling your arms around your core tightly.

“Hello?” Your call was timid, and you listened closely for a response that never came. The only sounds were the distant shouts of a football match from another room, and the electric hum of heaters and fluorescent lights. Stepping back over the threshold, you began to pull the door closed again, but paused just before it had time to latch into place.

A red envelope rested on your welcome mat, just past where you had stood moments before. It glared at you from its place, perfectly centered, as if it had been placed with the utmost care.

You bent down slowly, the paper stiff between your fingers. It was light, edges sharply creased. Your door locked behind you, bolts sliding into place as you made your way back to your kitchen, eyes never leaving the envelope.

Poinsettias had been engraved into the paper, the curves of the flowers creating dents that damaged the otherwise perfect and pristine envelope. Words were scrawled across the front in gold ink, cursive letters and numbers making up your name and address. The sender had been left blank, an oversight on their part, though how it passed through the mailing system you weren’t sure. Your attention slowly drifted to the top corner, where the stamp that had been pasted on sat pretty - a peace lily proudly showing off her flowers in the center image.

You traced the stamp for a second, admiring the beauty of the photographed green stems and white flowers, before flipping the envelope in your hands.

A stamp of gold wax sealed it, your family’s initials pressed into it. Detail and attention had been poured into the packaging. Love poured from the crisp paper and hardened wax.

You smiled to yourself, caressing the corners, almost reluctant to damage the packaging by pulling the seals apart. Your finger slipped beneath the flap, lifting it away from the envelope in one clean movement.

Enclosed was a Christmas card, one of the traditional ones families always send once the last month of the year began. You stared at the image on the front, captivated by your mother and father smiling back at you, decorated in their best Christmas attire, hand in hand, their faces just a little more weathered since the last time you had seen them.

Your gut sunk, sorrow bubbling up within you and spilling over into your stomach. You stared at the postcard longingly, wishing to hear your father’s laugh again and to feel your mother’s arms wrap around and console you after a long day.

Your fingers tightened on the paper as your throat clenched - what contents were written on the other side of the card? 

You almost didn’t want to know, wondering if the past should be left to settle.

Skin scraped against the card stock as you waited for your queasiness to quell, slowly flipping the postcard over with hesitant hands.

Your mother’s cursive scrawled over the back in green ink.

We miss you. The letters spelled, big and bold. Are you finding everything you want in the city? We’re sorry we haven’t contacted you in a while, we’ve been so busy, and didn’t know what to do after you left. If you’re free, we would love to see you for the holidays again - it’s been so long. We understand if you can’t come, just know we really do love you.

Your eyes swept the paper over and over again, smile broadening each time the words passed through your mind. You knew they hadn’t been ignoring you on purpose. You knew, deep down, that they hadn’t shunned you, despite how it had seemed, and now not only were they apologizing, but they wanted you to come down for the holidays.

Your smile began to falter.

Would you be able to go home this season?

You were given the day of Christmas off from work, and that was it. You wouldn’t have time to travel the several hours to the countryside and back between shifts. You clutched the letter close to your chest, your heart stuttering beneath your fingertips.

“It’s okay,” you said aloud, speaking your reassurances to the empty air. The paper bent beneath the pressure of your hands. “Maybe not this year, but I’ll get to go back eventually.”

⠀

“Did you see what the boss brought in?”

Murmurs circulated the office, filled with cheer and warmth that had been absent just weeks before - a result of the rapidly encroaching holidays. Your coworkers buzzed about the office, some of them donning thick Christmas sweaters, others wearing menorah earrings. You peered over the top of your computer curiously, watching as Hakkai sat and chatted idly with Yuzuha about whatever had the workplace in such a tizzy - something about a gift from the boss.

A stream of people went to and from the break room, each returning a little more spirited than they had been on the way in.

“What’s going on?” Your call was largely ignored, aside from a few spared glances in your direction. The conversations continued, unbroken. Pushing off the unwelcome feeling of dejection, you stood and went to investigate for yourself.

The smell of seasonal spices filled the break room, aromatic and pleasing to the nose. Boxes full of traditional Christmas and holiday desserts lay splayed upon the table in the center, already half eaten. From what you could tell, there was every dessert imaginable - from peppermint bark and crinkle cookies, to Russian tea cakes and Danish kringles.

Your heart skipped with delight.

A perfect, untouched fruitcake sat at the edge of the table upon a plate of silver. You gravitated towards it, mouth watering. A childhood favorite of yours, fruitcake was often an ignored Christmas tradition, or disliked, at the very least. The moist, fruity flavor and hefty undertones of brandy had your tongue itching for a taste.

You proudly sauntered back to your seat with a generous slice of the cake, ignoring the odd looks cast in your direction, and the disgusted glances from those that didn’t quite appreciate the nuances of a good fruitcake.

The cake crumbled in your mouth upon the first bite, the woody flavor of brandy soaked fruit lacking as the dessert turned to ash.

A bitter aftertaste lingered on your tongue as you swallowed it down, nose crinkling with displeasure.

What a disaster of a fruitcake.

It lacked all the traits of your family’s recipe that made it so desirable - the moist base and strong aroma of fruit and alcohol, the way it melted on the tongue and brought with it the very essence of the spirit of Christmas.

City bakeries, as you were learning, were entirely disappointing. 

There was nothing that could compare to the taste of a homemade, slightly imperfect dessert.

⠀

“Y/n. Y/n.”

You startled, spine stiffening. You leaned straight back against your seat, sitting upright. Your eyes blurred and unblurred, struggling to focus on a pissed face and folded arms blocking anything else within your field of view.

Your boss stood above you, staring down at you with narrowed eyes and an icy glare capable of leveling a city.

“Senju-san!” You squeaked, head still spinning. “I’m so sorry, I-”

She cut you off with a slice of her hand. “I don’t want to hear it. I know the holidays are almost here, but you have been getting much too lackadaisical as of late.” You shrunk in your chair, trying to ignore the snickers that rose from the seats around you. “Coming in to work late, looking unkempt and tired all the time, barely managing to get your quota filled, and now sleeping on the job?”

You had half a mind to retaliate, to defend yourself and explain that you didn’t know why you’d been so exhausted recently. You just couldn’t keep your toes from dragging along the floor, or your limbs from filling with sand.

But you stayed silent, shrinking further and further down as the berating continued.

“You have one more chance, Y/n.” Senju finished, straightening again to glare down the bridge of her nose. “You’ve been a good employee until recently. Hopefully you can bring that girl back.”

She disappeared. The snickers only grew louder, Hakkai and Yuzuha leaning in close to one another to swap hisses beneath their breath, slitted pupils drifting your way every few seconds.

You snapped your head back to your computer, away from your snickering coworkers. The bar for your password sat empty, a blurred image of your home screen just barely peeking past. You sighed a little, dragging your hands down your face in a feeble attempt at pulling yourself from the void of zombification. 

Your forehead hit the desk with a soft thunk, another sigh blowing into your arms.

“Must be all that fruitcake she’s been eating.” Subtlety wasn’t a word your coworkers were well acquainted with, but their snide remarks this time around seemed a little over the top. “She’s getting fat and lazy.”

It was impossible to ignore them, but you did your best to tune out the brunt of the rude comments that began to circulate around you.

“Ugh,” you mumbled, lips pursed, head tilting to the side to gaze at the little paper gingerbread men, the blond one standing and waving at you from his perch on the wall.

What was going on with you? The last couple of weeks were a blur, a monotonous series of sleep, work, and sleep again. Whatever happened in between, if there even was anything, had been lost, disappearing in wisps of smoke as soon as they happened. The days crept into one another, moulding and blending, until more than 14 had passed without you even realizing.

The top of your computer screen read the date out - December 22nd.

 Already?

⠀

Your mind spun as you trudged the city streets, water murky and thick running from snow pileups lining the gutters and curbs. Everything that had been white, festive, and beautiful was turned to sludge, marred by pollution and litter.

You stuffed your hands into your pockets, chasing any warmth you could find as bitter winds brushed past, carrying with them the stench of bodily odors and exhaust. Cars flew past as you walked, splashing through puddles and slush, headlights illuminating the slick roadways. Your thoughts lingered on the hours earlier, on your work, and the city festivities that lacked the magic deserving of a mere few days before Christmas. 

Memories of waking the day after Thanksgiving to your mother bustling about at the crack of dawn, stuffing the nice dining ware back into boxes and pulling out the totes of Christmas decor from storage. You recalled the way you and your parents would spend the next three days decorating together, a holiday all its own as you enjoyed music and meals prepped in the spirit of the holidays - the very first of the season. Walking the streets from then on, you would be cast in red and green glows, and never once would there be an instance where you weren’t greeted with the heart and warmth of Christmas cheer.

In comparison, the city was nothing more than brown, grey, and dull. You ran your hands through your hair, dragging it away from your face with grated teeth.

There had been many a time when you wondered if coming here was a good idea, where you doubted your decisions. But never had you regretted it, at least, not until now.

A wave of cold rushed over you.

You froze mid step as icy water and chunks of frozen slush dripped from every inch of your body, soaked into your hair, jacket, and bag. The sludge and mud from the street clung to your skin, and you could feel sand between your teeth as soon as you closed your mouth.

A car door slammed.

“Are you okay?” A voice was yelling, deep and gravelly, strained around the edges in unusual places. You slowly turned to face them, watching as they ran from the side of the road and through the snow, the hazards of their car flashing orangish-yellow hues in the surrounding area.

They were shrouded in darkness. With each flash of the hazard lights, you could see just a little bit more of him. You could see the business suit he wore, and the slicked back hair in shades of purple and black, reaching his shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” they were saying again, words shallow and coming from the throat. “I didn’t see you.”

Shock plastered you still, cold drops of water sliding down the back of your shirt and down your spine, sending shivers and goosebumps flooding down the length of your body.

“It’s okay…” You mumbled, words slow and forced between chattering teeth.

The man stood awkwardly close, his hands stuffed away in the pockets of his pants. You stared at him, watching the orange glow burst along the side of his face for a moment before disappearing just as quickly. He was gazing at you vacantly, as if looking for something that wasn’t there.

Blink. 

Blink. 

Blink.

His face was blank as he stared down at you, lacking the emotions his voice expressed. It was silent between you for a moment or two longer, before the man finally began to move away.

“Glad you’re okay.” He said, before slipping back into his car, and the light of the hazards disappeared.

Frozen, you slowly began to make your way back to your apartment, mud pooling in the heel of your shoe, your hair freezing into dirty clumps. You ignored the gasps as you entered the complex, the man behind the front desk staring after you with wide eyed bewilderment. It was silent as you were lifted to your floor and as you shuffled down the hallway, tiny droplets of water falling to the carpet with quiet plop, plop, plops.

Your hand dove into your purse in search of your keys as you stopped in front of your door, items in the bag rattling with your movements. Your fingertips dragged all along the bottom, through the corners and into the inner pockets, searching the nooks and crannies and gaps.

Panic set in.

Your keys weren’t there. You flipped the bag upside down, emptying the contents onto the floor, dropping to your knees to rummage through it all.

They were gone.

They weren’t there.

Not your keys, nor your wallet, or your cash, or your ID.

“No, no no no no.” Desperately, you searched through it all a second, third, fourth time.

Chapstick, deodorant. A hairbrush and hairties. Bobby pins and a postcard, but no keys.

No wallet.

No cash.

No ID.

Nothing.

You collapsed backwards in defeat, staring down at the pile of your least important possessions, dirtied by the grime of the city.

“What the fuck,” You whispered in disbelief, chilled to the bone and stuck just beyond the threshold to your apartment. “I hate it here. I hate the city.”

This would never happen at home.

The postcard fluttered at your knees.

You found your fingers wrapping around the paper, and you pulled it up to look at. Upon it was the picture of a smiling couple, complete with the custom handwriting in the back in green ink. The corner was dented from being held for weeks by a magnet.

You stared down at the card, at your parents' faces smiling back at you.

How did you end up with this?

You flipped the card over, scrawling cursive talking about how much you were loved, how much you were missed.

Home.

It sounded so good right now. Where your parents waited for you, where you could walk the streets without fear of losing your keys or being doused with dirty water. Where you felt safe and comfortable and happy and where Christmas was a warm blanket that never left your side.

You rushed back out into the streets, past the concierge, past the revolving doors, and into the cold of the outdoors. You walked down the sidewalks, bag in hand, in the direction of your home. Your real home.

You had no way to leave, nothing to get a ticket with. No car or bike, only your feet. But they would do.

You would get back home no matter what it took.

⠀

“Mom! Dad?” you knocked at the door to your home, shivering on the front porch. Dirt was caked onto you, hair almost completely dry after a long night of travel. You turned around, waving to the truck that stalled at the curb.

“Thank you, Mikey!” You called to the man, a smile on your face. “I can take it from here.”

The man, Mikey, nodded and drove off, towards his own destination just a town over. How lucky you had been to find someone going the same direction and willing to give you a ride. Walking the hundred miles here would have taken you ages, and Mikey had been good company too.

After watching him take off, you turned back towards the door, and knocked again. “Mom!” You called a little louder. You stood on your toes, peering through the glass windows and into the house beyond. It was dark and barren, like nobody had been home for a while. You dropped back down again, frowning.

Where were they?

“Y/n?” A voice cooed from behind you. You whirled around, coming face to face with a rather familiar looking stranger. His hair was no longer blond, instead a dyed shade of pink, but his green eyes remained the same, and the scars that marred his face had yet to fade.

There was no mistaking him.

It was Sanzu. Sanzu Haruchiyo. Your neighbor and childhood friend, and the first boy you had ever liked. Of course, nothing ever came of it. In fact, you were sure he didn’t even know of your highschool puppy crush, but to see him again, like this, had your heart bursting into fluttering fits.

“Haru?” Your jaw dropped, cheeks pink. You rushed to cover yourself with your arms, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that you was covered in city grime, and likely smelled of it too. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m house sitting for your parents.” He said, taking a step upwards. “But I should really be asking you why you’re here. Since when were you home?”

“Since just a few minutes ago.” You breathed shyly.

“What happened? Did you get splashed or something? You look horrible.”

You turned the same shade as an overripe tomato, turning away from him quickly and wiping your face with your hands in an effort to remove the dirt. “Where are my parents?” You asked quickly, hiding yourself from Sanzu’s penetrating gaze.

Sanzu was chuckling to himself, finishing ascending the steps to rest a heavy hand on your shoulder. “I didn’t mean it.” He assured, but you didn’t have the courage to look at him, fearful of his judgement. “Your parents are on a cruise in the tropics until late January.”

Your face fell, and you stared at the ground in front of you. Since when did they leave for the holidays? And after asking you to visit too? Your heart squirmed uncomfortably, clenching in your chest. “Oh.” Was all you were able to muster.

Sanzu gave a gentle tug on your shoulder, leading you away from the front door. “It’s freezing outside. Come back to my place. You can get cleaned up, and we can catch up on everything that has happened since we last saw each other.”

You cast one last glance at your home, before nodding slowly. “Alright,” you agreed, following Sanzu down the steps and to his car waiting in the driveway.

⠀

Something sweet and fruity filled the air as you stepped from the shower at Sanzu’s house, hair wrapped in a towel and fresh, clean clothes warming your figure. You poked your head from the guest room, staring down the long hallway and towards the kitchen, where the scent drifted from. 

“What are you making?” Your voice was soft as you padded into the space, watching as Sanzu bent over the oven, peering inside. An apron was tied around his figure, cinched at the waist and accentuating the curve of his body.

“It’s a fruitcake.” He answered, and your eyes widened in surprise. “Tis the season, after all. And I know it's your favorite.”

“You remembered that?” You asked, the floorboards creaking beneath your weight as you moved to settle at the island bar stools. Sanzu lifted his head from the oven, turning to look at you with a bright smile and pink cheeks.

“How could I forget?” He asked, letting the oven mitt he had been wearing fall to the countertop between you. “Your family made it every year. You used to yell about how good they were, how nothing could compare and how the other family’s fruitcakes were horrible in comparison.”

You flushed with embarrassment. “It wasn’t that extreme…” You mumbled, but even you knew that what Sanzu described was nothing short of the truth.

Sanzu was turned around again, shuffling through the fridge. “I’m glad you’re home. We’ve all missed you.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, leaning your chin into your waiting palms. You body flushed with a heady warmth, filling you from the toes up. “I missed you guys too.”

⠀

The woes of the past were long forgotten. You spent the day enjoying Sanzu’s company and the fruitcake he had specially made for you, relishing in the warm, gooey flavors and the way each bite melted into your mouth so perfectly. You all but forgot the sad excuse for a fruitcake your boss had provided.

The pair of you talked well into the next morning, laughing over glasses of spiked eggnog by the fireplace, sharing stories of things you had experienced in the years since your graduation, and since he’d flown the nest.

Sanzu had become a successful businessman. He traveled often for work, to beautiful places all over the country. He described them all to you in detail, all about the beautiful people he met and the new things he got to try.

You asked him about why he left so young, where he went and what he had done. He told you that he’s only so successful now because he started from such a young age, and that while leaving so early was hard for him, it was a necessary evil.

“The hardest thing was not getting to graduate with you, Y/n.” He’d said, and it had taken your all not to squeal right then and there. “I didn’t want to leave you, but I knew we’d meet again.”

You recounted your days working in the city, omitting the parts where your coworkers didn’t like you, and the days were all the same. You described instead how busy the city is, how there is always something going on - never a bored moment.

The day before Christmas, you and Sanzu went for a walk around the neighborhood to look at the Christmas lights.

“I’ve missed this!” You exclaimed, pausing to look at each house for ten minutes at least, but Sanzu waited patiently with a smile on his face each time, enjoying your wonder and amazement just as much as you did. Warmth spread through you as you walked the streets of your hometown, reminiscing over the past seasons you spent together.

“Remember that time we sledded down the street, and Takeomi crashed into the mailbox?” You asked, relishing in Sanzu’s laughter as he too recalled the moment.

“He rolled the rest of the way down and reached the bottom covered in snow!”

You walked side by side, arms brushing against each other every once in a while. Sanzu radiated warmth and comfort, the touch of his arm against your own sending sparks down your spine.

There couldn’t possibly be a better Christmas than this.

“What’s all this?” Your voice carried into the large office from your spot in the doorway. You stared over at Sanzu, who sat behind a mahogany desk covered in papers. He glanced up from his work, a pen in hand, before smiling and waving you over.

“Some paperwork I have to finish.” He said, finger tapping against the wood surface. “Nothing too important.”

You leaned against it, peering at the papers. There were files and manila folders, individual paperwork full of fine print. There was even a section dedicated to elaborate mailing supplies, stocked with parchment and several rolls of stamps, different kinds of envelopes arranged by color, and special sealing supplies.

Sanzu leaned back in his chair, the furniture creaking.

“It’s a lovely room,” you complimented. “A little messy though.”

Sanzu grinned at you with a shrug. “What can I say?”

Your gaze drifted through the office, observing the bookshelves, disorderly and full, the pictures hanging on the walls, and the decorations placed perfectly all around. You landed on an item on the ground by Sanzu’s desk.

“Oh!” You cried, crouching before it and stroking the soft, perfect leaves with your fingertips. “A peace lily, how pretty.”

Sanzu nodded, leaning forward to watch you as you cupped one of the pristine white flowers and took a deep breath, enjoying the light fragrance that wafted forth.

“They’re my favorite.” He said, and you smiled to yourself.

“Good choice.”

⠀

“Come on Haru, I have to get to the train station before it closes!”

You had to admit. The idea of leaving so soon after getting back to your hometown, of leaving Sanzu after spending some of the best days of your life with him, was less than pleasing.

Sanzu shuffled out the door after you, his hands tucked away in the pockets of a puffer jacket. His keys rattled as he pulled them from his pocket.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked, pausing just before locking the door to glance back at you. You were rubbing your hands together, blowing into them periodically to keep them warm, breath rising into the air in white, puffy clouds.

“Yes,” you said, with much more certainty and confidence than you’d been expecting. Sanzu nodded solemnly, lock sliding into place and clicking closed. You caught a glimpse of his keys as they jingled again.

“Jeez, so many keys,” you giggled. “Do you have a bunch of secret doors or something?”

Sanzu turned towards you like a deer caught in the headlights. You were taken aback by his reaction, and you waved your hands in front of yourself quickly.

“I was joking.” You could see Sanzu’s little breath of relief, the tension in his shoulders melting away just as quickly as it came. “You ready to go?”

Sanzu nodded again, leading you down the path towards his car. He paused as someone drove past, giving them a quick, friendly wave. You glanced after them.

“Who was that?” You asked curiously, slipping into the leather passenger seat.

“A friend.” Sanzu said, the car revving as he turned the ignition. “A neighbor.”

“Oh! Which one?”

“He moved in after you left,” he explained. “His name is Mikey.”

⠀

Your cheeks were warm, rose tinting your skin like light shining through stained glass. “I have to go.” You breathed, tugging on Sanzu’s hands as they wrapped into your own - tighter, tighter.

“Why?” His eyes were wide, pleading.

He was begging you to stay.

“I have to go back.” You stopped pulling on his hands for a heartbeat. “I left so suddenly, people will wonder where I’ve gone. I can’t just leave everything upended like that.”

There was a flash of something behind Sanzu’s eyes, but it was gone too soon, hidden by his wide pupils and that little sheen that made you think he might be about to cry.

“You can start over again here,” he persuaded, though his words were beginning to fall on deaf ears, and you adamantly pulled back. Sanzu followed you, taking a single step forward each time you took one back. “You could move back home, get a job here, see your parents. We missed you, you know.”

You shook your head again, trying to slip your fingers away as the horn of the train blew once. “The train is going to leave soon.” You said, turning towards the fogged windows and quickly filling cars. “I’ll come back, I promise. I just need to get everything sorted out at work.”

Sanzu was staring at you with an intensity you were sure you had never experienced before.

Something cold, and soft like powder landed upon your cheek, melting against your warm skin and disappearing into thin air.

You glanced up, watching as soft petals of white drifted down from the grey sky, bringing with them the promise of chills and holiday magic.

As your chin tilted back down towards Sanzu, something large and warm caressed your cheek.

Your heart skipped a beat.

This was it.

Your stomach exploded with hoards of butterflies, their wings beating violently within you, fluttering and tickling your insides. Your heart pounded against your ribcage as soft lips pressed up close to your own, radiating heat and sweetness, before it fell silent in your chest. Your lips brushed against his just slightly, zaps of electricity rushing down your spine.

A bitter flavor filled your mouth - sour and ashy as Sanzu’s lips met your own, and pressed in tight.

Instinctively, you tried to pull away, running from the taste of decay and bad omens.

The hand along your cheek shifted towards the back of your neck, holding you in close, as the flavor washed from your tongue, down to your throat.

The minutes stretched as Sanzu held you close, and finally, mercifully, he let you go. You stumbled with the sudden departure of his physical support, and he stood, panting, red faced, staring down at you and the crease between your eyebrows.

You wiped your tongue with your sleeve, fighting the despair pooling in your gut.

Feet unsteady and body heavy, you met Sanzu’s wide green eyes, watched his cheeks lift with the tiniest of smiles as your limbs filled with sand.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” Your vision began to tunnel, everything swirling together.

Your knees wobbled, your eyelids drooped.

“You have to understand.”

Sanzu lunged, his hands catching you by the armpit before you slipped and fell to the cold, wet ground. A horn sounded again, and the train began to screech along the railroad tracks.

“You were gonna leave.” He explained, desperate and smiling so dotingly you might have mistaken it for something sweet and sincere. “I’ve waited so long for you. I love you, you know. You’ll understand. You have to.”

His words blurred. Your body pulled towards the ground, despite your desperation to fight against it. The blackness of your vision encroached, slipping you into a comfortable darkness where the only things you could perceive were the flavors on your tongue - the taste of ash, and a lingering bitterness that Sanzu left behind.