#only rivaled by the flower bud baby

[swords-and-chaos]

Now hear me out….

why are they kind of gender? 🤨

[katsukiizmoon]

╰┈➤ ꒰🍓💌🥛 ┊boba time ┊Mama’s Harvest ꒱

『♡』 pregnancy

Your fingers fiddle with the little flower bud in your hands and you use the back of your hand to wipe sweat from your forehead. The sun is beginning to beat down on you, drenching your skin in rays.

“Almost done?” Katsuki startles you, leaning over from behind where you kneel.

You bounce, dropping the flower and turning around to give him a glare.

“Yeah, jus’ gotta finish pollinating the squash or it’ll produce less..” You remind, returning to the task at hand.

He chuckles, rolling his eyes and begins making his way through the garden with a basket in hand. Leaves rustle and the tell-tale sound of stuff flopping to the ground let’s you know he’s harvesting.

“Babe..” He calls and you glance over in his direction.

“Hmmm?” You wonder, nearly finished with your chores.

“How many peppers did you plant?” Katsuki inquires and you freeze.

“Uhhh..” Your mind races for an answer and you begin counting on your fingers. Whispering to yourself and naming off varieties.

“We’re gonna drown in peppers, holy shit.” He jokes, rounding one of the rows with a massive basket filled with different pepper varieties.

Katsuki rushes you inside, complaining that you shouldn’t be in the heat for too long and you pout. Still, you do as told and go inside to make lunch and relax.

There’s a lot of pros to your husband being a pro hero. One, you don’t need to work. You can if you want to but you don’t. Katsuki gives you all the money you want and more, no questions asked.

He doesn’t push unrealistic expectations on you, either. You had a career for years of your relationship and for the first two years of being married.

But when Katsuki came behind you with red cheeks and shy eyes, saying he wanted s little one, it was time for a change. Pregnancy is hard on the body and both of you thought it would be best to have you home for at least the first three years of the little melons life.

You aren’t far along, either. But your husband is persistent.

You watch from the kitchen window as he grabs another basket and scissors, only to come back with an abundance of herbs and fruits. Nothing in life rivals these moments.

You turn, grabbing s large knife and a cutting board to begin slicing a bunch of green onion. The knife hits the bamboo with a satisfying “knock knock knock” and you sigh in content.

Nausea bubbles in your throat and you push it down, thinking about all good things.

The door creaks open and Katsuki places the woven baskets on the table. You hear footsteps before his large hands are on your lower tummy. His head comes to rest on top of yours, where the places a kiss and sighs.

“So, when should we tell ma?” He ponders.

The cutting stops and you set down the metal utensil, turning to face him. Your arms wrap around his shoulders where they lay purchase, tugging your body closer to his own.

“Mmm.. not sure m’ love. Whadd’you think?” You mirror his mindset, unsure of what the best option would be.

“Well you’re the one growing the baby, so I thought you’d wanna do it a certain way- I dunno people get sentimental about this shit.” Katsuki’s damp lips come to rest on your forehead for a moment.

“Well I can’t hide it much longer- fuck it why don we just invite them over for dinner to get some of these peppers? We can tell em then!” You propose, shooting a look at all the excess fruit and vegetables.

“Yeah, we can do that, I’ll tell ‘em. What time?”

Katsuki’s breaking away, using his hip to bump you over so he can take over cooking. You smack his shoulder and he flinches. It stings even when he’s got a dark grey shirt on, no match for your mood.

You scowl and grab another cutting board and a bell pepper. He opens his mouth to say something but you cut him off.

“Baby I’m pregnant not dying. I’m cutting the damn bell pepper. And mm eight, we’ll do that.”

Before long, all the colorful foods are cut and turned into a large dinner. Sitting in front of you is chicken legs smothered in seasonings and drizzled in gravy over mashed potatoes. Your stomach grumbles and you nearly sigh in relief when his parents walk in.

The conversation continues as normal until you’re met with a wave of nausea. Your face scrunches and despite attempting to hide it- his mother notices. His father isn’t paying any mind, looking at the massive side salad you’ve prepared.

Her eyes narrow and her mouth opens.

“So, uh-“ Katsuki begins, cherry eyes flicking over to meet your own.

“I’m pregnant.” You reveal and his mother slaps the shit out of katsuki on instinct.

It isn’t malicious, she’s practically bouncing. A wide grin wipes across her face and she looks toward her husband with a giggle.

“Fucking FINALLY!” She yells and katsuki looks at her incredulously.

“Don’t look at me like that Katsuki! I’ve been wanting grand babies for years now!” His mother scolds, looking at you with a bright smile.

Katsuki takes a breath, nice and slow to steady himself, while your mother prods with questions. You’re eating, talking about the ins and outs of pregnancy while his father pitches in warmly.

He grumbles in the corner, telling his mom to shut up, and makes faces at some of the things he didn’t expect.

“Yunno, with this asshole, I really craved sweets. But the hardest part of being pregnant with him was probably the hemorrhoids and kicking. God- the kicking was horrible.” His mother explains, stuffing a last bite of mashed potato in her mouth.

You giggle at your husbands angry and confused face from the side. He seems almost offended that pregnancy could be so horrible.

“Why was the kicking so bad?” He pokes, much more gentle than usual.

“Ahh.. it feels like butterflies at first, yunno? But you moved a lot-“ she grabs a sip of water, tilting her head towards him, and places the glass back down.

“-that’s fine and all at first. But you got stronger and it hurt, at one point you had your foot pressed against my ribs for two hours! You’d just kick and it was a constant mild uncomfortable feeling..”

The blonde to your right furrows his brows and takes a sip of his own water. The metal fork he was once using placed on the side of his dish.

“Well, that… makes sense.” Katsuki thinks out loud and looks over towards you.

The dinner ends with kisses and hugs. His mother says she’s coming over in a few days with a couple pregnancy life savers and demands to have copies of the ultrasounds.

Katsuki takes his time that night while you bathe. He massages your shoulders and back, up your ankles and thighs and kisses your tummy. You catch him whispering for the little melon to be sweet to you and nearly coo at the man.

The next day, he brings in a large notebook and grabs a pen. “Baby Food” is messily written at the top and you smile.

A kiss is placed to the top of his head, then a kiss to your lower stomach, like it’s becoming routine.

There’s something fond, simple, and beautiful about the way he falls into fatherhood without question.

[euphoricfilter]

hii!! i saw that you take requests? i was wondering if i could get a taehyung fluff where they celebrate their birthday! my birthday is Dec 31 and since his is Dec 30th i wanted something along the lines of like celebrating together alone bc my bdays have always been shitty and this year was the same so i want all the fluff you can give me please <3 if your requests r closed then that’s totally fine!!! i also wanted to say ur an amazing writer and i luv ur content so much!!

𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦:

pairing: kim taehyung x f! reader

genre: fluff || non-idol au || best friends to lovers au

summary: it was no secret that you had never been fond of your birthday, and taehyung hated that you always seemed to celebrate alone— your birthdays won’t be the only celebration each year now that taehyung’s flower has finally bloomed.

word count: 3.6k

tags/ warnings: fluff, nothing crazy, mild birthday slander, reader is an over-thinker, he calls her baby way too many times, tearful confessions

notes: I FOOKIN FINISHED ON MY BIRTHDAY LETS GO! this is my gift to all of you, my lovely readers!!

✿ ✿ ✿

Taehyung’s feeling for you were akin to a flower.

The day the two of you met, planting the seed of his budding feelings. Where you acted as the sunlight he needed to grow; wherever you were, he would follow—growing in whichever direction you were. The first signs of his seedling pushing past the surface of the soil had been months into your friendship.

Minutes after midnight and you’d been stood at his front door, cheeks washed red from the bitter winter air, almost hunched over as you catch your breath; clearly having ran, even as the clock struck 12 and a new day began. You hadn’t wavered from your mission, silently hoping that Taehyung was still awake, because even if it technically wasn’t his birthday anymore, you refused to let the magic fizzle out just yet.

“These are for you” you’d thrusted the bouquet into his chest, pretty little white narcissuses and prickly holly wrapped up in brown paper, tied ever so delicately with a white satin ribbon, where the little red berries rivalled the colour of your cheeks. Perhaps just as round, temping enough that Taehyung had to stop himself from asking to sink his teeth into your supple looking flesh.

“I looked online and it’s your birth flower” you’d told him, standing up a little taller, a little more confident when you see his blooming smile.

“You did this for me?” he asks, bearing the brunt the frigid December cold as he pulls his door open wider, fingers gentle as they close around your wrist, tugging you into the warmth of his apartment.

You nod, hands cupping around your cheeks to try and warm your face up a little. Radiator in the hall sending waves of mellowed heat your way until you could feel the tips of your toes and fingers, nose no longer icy.

Taehyung couldn’t help but smile, and you couldn’t help but think he had the prettiest smile you’d ever seen.

Always so radiant, always so expressive, always so Taehyung, that you couldn’t help but think your efforts were worth it when he looked down at you like that. The miniscule pain of scouring the city for a flower shop willing to help you late into the night, and winds that had almost knocked you over, it didn’t matter because Taehyung was smiling at you like that. Pretty-pretty Taehyung and his pretty-pretty smile.

“Thank you” he’d laughed, “Thank you so much. How about some hot chocolate to warm you up?” he’d offered, and you’d agreed, how could you not?

The stem of Taehyung’s flower had grown fast, with every free weekend the two of you spent together, the little spark of developing love had burst into rapid flames.

Taehyung didn’t mind, revelled in the fact he felt something so raw about another person, never having felt anything like this before. He’d been unsure, fumbling over himself until he found his footing, worked out what you liked and what you didn’t. A little clumsy with his growing adoration until he sat back and realised the feelings he had for you were very real. A shadow in his mind weighing the consequences of acting on his emotions, because why would he fuck this up if he already had you? Maybe not in the exact way he wanted, but it was better than not having you in his life at all.

He wasn’t above dating, had milled around in high school, experimenting with whoever he pleased but nothing would ever be able to compare to what he had for you. An inexplainable warmth that blossomed throughout his body, where delicate vines weaved around his heart and the most beautiful flowers had started to bloom. Where the more Tae learnt about you, the faster he was falling.

He’d never been a fan of the term ‘falling in love’ something a little too melodramatic for his tastes, the very thought of falling for another person less romantic than it had been painted out to be. Because if his life were to be art, then he never wanted it to be the soppy kind, where you know the end is never good and the characters of the play seemed to always live in impending doom. Where only one will come out on top and get what they want while the rest suffer.  

He’d learnt falling didn’t have to be bad, falling—where you’re cushioned by clouds crafted with passion to break the fall. Where kisses taste sweeter and bare skin on skin felt electrifying. Where your mind bubbles over with thoughts of that person until you can’t help the smile that threatens to tug at your lips, and you want to make sure they’re stood by your side. Because as long as you were near, then that’s all he needed.

Taehyung’s favourite type of falling is when you work up the courage to look into his eyes. Always shying away from eye-contact, always a little fidgety when you notice him looking at you for longer than deemed proper for just a friend. He liked your eyes because you’d always been expressive, ever so easy to read, and ever so pretty.

Your outer beauty had only ever been a bonus to Taehyung, and if he had to compare your beauty to any of his favourite things, then surely, he would compare you to a freshly bloomed flower.

✿ ✿ ✿

It was no secret to Taehyung that you hated your birthday.

You’d always seemed to withdraw yourself from everyone the week before the big day, and he’d asked once, why you held so much disdain towards it, and you’d simply shrugged. Telling him you never understood the hype and never felt the need to make it a big event out of it. You never minded celebrating your friends’ birthdays, always going to family parties with well-thought-out gifts and a little skip in your step, but never held the same when it came to you.

“What are you doing here?” you open the door wider when you see its only him, fingers fiddling with handle out of nervous habit— and he watches as you rock back and forth on your heels. Clearly not expecting his arrival, and he would have called, if he didn’t already know you were home.

It’s a little out of character for him to show up to your apartment unannounced, knowing you preferred when he told you at least a few hours in advance that he was coming over, or he wanted to take you out. And as much as you hated the niggling habit of overthinking, it had never put him off, simply moulding his life around your needs as if they were his own.

Because as long as you were happy, so was Taehyung. Another strange side effect of being in love with someone he supposes.

“Can you come with me?” his hands fall out the pockets of his coat, corners of his lips tugging up into a soft smile.

You blink up at him, eyebrows furrowing, “Like— right now?”

“Yeah” he nods, feeble guilt itching under his skin. Like an invisible rash that he couldn’t get rid of, irritable in a way he wants to pull his hair out.

His palm lays flat against your door, pushing it open wider to let himself in. You don’t seem all that worried as you close the door behind him as he slips his shoes off, coat slung over the arm of your couch before he’s making himself comfortable, running a hand through his windswept hair.

He turns to you, “Go get ready, I’ll wait here”

“Where are we going?” you call over your shoulder as you wander into your bedroom, uncaring as you leave the door open.

“My place” he bends forward, trying to catch sight of you as you scuttle around your room. Always fascinated by the way you move, often painfully unaware of your surroundings. Though he doesn’t mind all that much, tips of his fingers tingling each time his hands fall over your shoulders or holding you by the waist has he help guide you, your hand held in his, so you won’t get lost in a crowd, or simply just for the sake of holding you. Your skin like a magnet, drawing him closer whenever he was near, your very existence fascinating to him that he can never seem to get enough.

“Huh?” you pause in the doorway, head tilting, and Taehyung can’t help the smile that stretches onto his face, fondness blossoming around his heart, “Why didn’t you just call me over then?”

“I have a surprise for you” he waves you off, watching as you nod, hesitant, but a small part of his heart swells at the fact you trust him enough to play into his plan even if he can see you itching to ask a million other questions. Questions he would be more than happy to answer, though he doesn’t push. Simply lets you stew in your own thoughts, trusting that you’ll kept your faith in him, stepping forward if you truly needed anything.

“But why?” you throw another sweater over your shoulder, “What should I wear?”

Taehyung pushes himself up off the couch, wandering towards your bedroom—more than equipped in knowing your home, often acting like it was his own.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with, baby”

You flinch, not having expected him to be there when you had turned around, “What are we doing?”

“I told you it’s a surprise” he croons, picking up the clothes strewn across the floor.

He folds them into neat piles at the end of your bed— ready for you to put away later as you continue your search for something to wear. Knowing that if he weren’t to do it, they would be left blanketing your floor until you worked up the motivation to finally clean up. At least this way he’d gotten your least favourite part out of the way.

“But what if I’m overdressed, worse, what if I’m underdressed?” you turn back to look at him, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt as Taehyung simply stares; never one to back away from prolonged eye-contact.

“Baby, I told you to wear whatever you’re comfortable with. We’re only going to my place, nowhere else if you don’t want to” he soothes, beckoning you over with a hand. And you follow, always so good for him.

You stand between his legs, looking down at Taehyung where he sits on the edge of your bed, “No matter what you wear, you’re pretty, yeah?”

Taking your hands into his own, fingers laced, Taehyung watches as your mouth opens at the gentle contact, closing abruptly when you can’t seem to find the right words to say. Mind whirring behind your eyes, and he worries he’d pushed you too far.

Hesitantly you nod, “Okay” you whisper, swallowing thickly as his thumb runs over the back of your hand.

“Well done” he squeezes your fingers before he’s nudging you back towards your closet.

He watches as you peek over your shoulder, not very subtle as you try and match what he’s wearing.

“How about we match today?” he suggests, watching the lingering anxiety leave your body as your shoulders deflate, eyes lighting up.

“Really?” you ask, grey sweatpants already held tightly in your hands and Taehyung smiles.

“Of course, baby”

✿ ✿ ✿

“Are your eyes still closed?” Taehyung asks, as he bends down, helping you slip your shoes off.

You hum, hands falling onto his shoulders to keep balance. And he suddenly becomes hyper aware of how close the two of you are, hands gentle as he holds onto your ankle, your warm skin under his fingertips electric as his heartrate picks up.

Your hands slide down his arms when he stands at full height, fingers loosely gripping onto his wrists as he pulls you further into his apartment; careful to tug you around the toys his dog had left strewn across the floor of the living room.

Your feet sink into Taehyung’s plush carpet, pitter patter of Yeontan running into the room at the sound of your giggles, warming Taehyung’s heart. Simple domesticity of the situation maybe something Taehyung had been craving; because when he had you like this, no semi high-end dining, no unobtainable expectations from the eyes of others. Simply you and him, where the world beyond his apartment meant nothing, because it didn’t matter where he was as long as he was with you.

“Here we go” Taehyung pulls his wrists from your hands, picking Tannie up, “Open your eyes, baby”

Taehyung watches as your eyes flutter open. You blink down at his coffee table, head tilting in confusion before you’re turning to him.

“What’s all this?” you ask, eyebrows furrowed.

It hadn’t been much, nothing like he would have truly planned if he didn’t know you had what could only be described as a weird hatred towards your birthday. He’d made sure to get your favourite cake, balloons taped to the walls, all those of your favourite colour—handpicked out of each pack. You eye the platter of sandwiches, and he has to hold onto Yeontan a little tighter as the dog spots whatever other of your favourite snacks he’s picked up that morning. All laid out in little bowls, where confetti had been scattered over the table like the petals of a rose.

“It’s your birthday” he urges, smile still tugging at his lips.

You nod, “I know that but, why—” you gesture to the cake, to the small giftbox, utterly overwhelmed by what you see, and Taehyung wonders briefly if he’d rocked your brain into overdrive.

“I thought we could celebrate together, I know you don’t really like your birthday, but I thought for once I’d do something for you, like you’ve done for me”

“You did all this, for me?”

And although this isn’t his best work, nice restaurant in the middle of the city ready to be called for a late reservation if you hadn’t liked what he’d prepared for you. Wallet tucked away in the pocket of his coat just in case he took you for a walk around the park where he would buy you all the treats your heart desired until your bellies were full, sleepy on the way home; and maybe he would offer to carry you.

“Of course” he nods, letting Yeontan hop onto the couch before he’s tugging you to sit at the coffee table. Knees pressed against one another as you sit adjacent to Taehyung.  

You peek into the cake box, “Shut up, you didn’t buy one of those really pretty lunchbox cakes” your look up at Taehyung, eyes wide and he only grins. You stare at it in awe, purple iced flowers climbing the sides of the cake, blooming in shades of lavender and violet in gradient. Where fondant leaves weaved through bunches of flowers like wild vines.

“This is for you” he pushes the wrapped box across the table towards you. Brown paper tied off with a pretty white ribbon—little white daisy pin stuck in the centre of the bow.

He watches as you shake it. Fingers delicate as you pull the ribbon apart, dropped in a small pile beside the box of your cake, and he only expects you plan to save it for later. Scraps of long forgotten art supplies hidden in the depths of your closet for when you really needed it. Always a little bit of a hoarder, though you like to blame it on sentiment.  

The tips of your fingers skim over the velvety box, a deep red with little golden stars embroidered into the fabric, “What is it?”

“Open it” his back falls against the couch, fingers thrumming across his thigh, anxious of your reaction.

You lift the lid of the box, bottom lip tucked between your teeth.

“It’s so pretty” you murmur, head lifting to meet Taehyung’s gaze.

You watch him lift his hand; matching ring sat snug on his finger. Your gaze flickers down towards the ring in the box, “They’re matching?”

“Yeah”

The corners of your lips tug up into a smile, “You’re cute” you giggle, gentle as you pull the ring out of the box, sliding it onto your finger, the same one Taehyung had his on.

“You think so?” he leans forwards, eyebrows raising in question, and he watches as you swallow thickly, “Come on, don’t be shy now” his smile is lazy, a little cocky and you can’t seem to help the heat that tickles your cheeks red.

He watches you debate whether to stay silent or not, “Yes” you breathe, tongue slipping past your lips to wet them.

“Yes what?” he urges, revelling in the way you fidget in your spot—fingers itching to pull you closer into him, moulding the two of you into one being until he doesn’t know where you end, and he starts.

“I think you’re cute”

“I think you’re cute too” he smiles, deft fingers tucking his hair behind his ear.

“You what?” you splutter, “That’s not funny, Tae”

“It wasn’t meant to be” you watch as he sits up straight, careful as he takes your hands into his own, “Why would you think I’d joke about that?”

His eyebrows crease as you let out a long sigh, “Because well, you’re—you’re you and I’m just me”

“There’s nothing wrong with you” he shakes his head.

“I’m not perfect like you, Tae” you try to pull your hands from his, no real force behind the gesture, fingers barely slipping from his grasp.

“I’m not perfect” he laughs, leaning forwards like he wanted to tell you a secret, “You are though”

You blink, “I’m not” he watches as tears glaze over your eyes.

“Come on, baby, why’re you crying” he coos, gentle as he pushes your hair out of your face.

“Because I really like you, and I feel stupid” you admit, one hand still held in Taehyung’s as the other comes to wipe your face of the tears that cascade down your cheeks.

“I really like you too” Taehyung stands, manoeuvring his way around the table, falling to his knees beside you.

“No—not that kind of like. I like like you” you cover your face with your hands.

“Hey” he calls, “listen to me”

You snivel, daring peek out from behind your hands, a new wave of fresh tears glazing your cheeks shiny as he smiles, always so soft, always so reassuring.

“I like like you too, my baby” he laughs, barely there, but the puff of breath deflates his chest, “Haven’t I made it obvious enough?”

You shake your head, “Now I feel really stupid” you cry.

“No no no” he shakes his head, cupping your cheeks, “I clearly didn’t realise either”

You hiccup, “I’m sorry”

“What for?” his eyes flit between your own.

You frown, “Crying”

“Don’t apologize for that” his eyebrows crease, fond smile pulling at the corners of his lips, “Can I kiss you?”

He watches as your eyes widen a fraction, “Yes”

His thumb brushes away a lone tear when you close your eyes, watching as a sliver of peace washes over your face. And he understands, of course he does. All the built-up tension, nights of wondering if your feelings were to ever be reciprocated, if this budding love was one sided, if it could be more than friendship—all that doubt had evaporated. Exasperated whispers of how this would never work out, suddenly silent, mind and heart free. Pure unadulterated love soaring the skies like a dove let out of a cage with no plan of ever returning, the feeling of freedom, the freedom to love you, too addicting.  

Taehyung feels you smile into the kiss as his lips press against your own. Ever so soft, neither of you rushing.

Your arms slink around his shoulders, pulling his body closer to you as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. Your lips part, gentle gasp dripping off your tongue, tacky and sweet as his hands skim down your body, pulling you in between his legs.

Albeit reluctant, Taehyung pulls away, chest heaving for air as his heart hammers against his ribcage. Your fingers skim over your bottom lip.

“One more” you whisper, hands falling from Taehyung’s shoulders to cup his cheeks like he had your own.

“Okay” he nods, hands still firmly holding onto your hips as you press your chests together, head tilting. Your thumb brushes over his jaw when your lips meet, both a little surer, a little more confident in yourselves, Taehyung teasing as his tongue prods the seam of your lips.

You grant him access, embarrassed whine following a moan as his tongue slips into your mouth—any qualms about you not sharing his feelings bubbling into a fizzy confidence.

“Does this mean you’ll say yes to being my girlfriend?” he smiles down at you, lips a little kiss swollen and shiny.

“If that’s okay with you” you nod, eyes falling onto the ring on his finger, your own glinting in the light of the setting sun that spills through the window.

Taehyung’s feelings for you were akin to a flower.

A flower that had been in the budding stage for years, love disguised as vibrance, hidden away from your eyes as to not scare you away, attracting you like a bee only hoping you’d be happy with that he had to offer. A flower that was now in bloom, because really what it was missing was you. Just wholly you who adores Taehyung as much as he does you. Two flowers blooming in the same flower field where your stems intertwine, growth from here on out together rather than alone. Because even if your petals were the same as the rest of the flowers that grew around you, what you had was special; something none of the other flowers had—each other.  

“Guess this means we have a reason to celebrate your birthday every year” he leans forward, soft kiss pressed to your forehead.

🌱 feedback is always appreciated <3 and thank you for reading!

permanent tag list: @m1sss1mp @supernoonanyc

[littleladymab]

FebruarOC - Calanthe

My field researcher druid, Calanthe! She premiered in the prequel session we played for Sagas, "Dishonored Guests", which was my first time playing Pathfinder! And HEY, wow perFECT TIMING I SWEAR I DIDN'T PLAN THIS, you can now check out @sagasofthesunlessreach where you can find our brand new personalized podcast feed! There's a lot of excitement in this paragraph!!

Anyway. 

For the Sagas one-shot, she was part of a group tasked to investigate a location called Grandelodge where there are some suspicious Goings On. I'm not going to spoil it, because y'all should go listen to it, but she does end up starting her frog collection here. She works out of the major university as largely a research specialist instead of a professor/teacher and her specialty is: poisonous plants! She loves them. They are her babies. She has probably eaten nightshade, for science (shoutouts to Dianne, this one's for you). 

She adds poisonous frogs to the mix, but that's just a hobby not part of her actual research. 

She has a leshy familiar which is a strand of bougainvillea that twines around her arm. It's got a single bud, with bright pink bract and two little flowers that are its eyes, if you were to give it a face. His name is Reginald. 

When I get back to doing Mutiny project, the thing I want to do with her is use it as a chance to expand on granular world building in my own way. In game the crew only came across one noticeable plant (I was using bits from Tomb of Annihilation at that time because we were still in DND) and actually now that I think about it, Calanthe would love to get her hands on that flower... she'd just become another version of the scientist who developed the poison. The world truly isn't ready for her. But I digress. 

Mutiny (the world is called Assalia) is my favorite sandbox, as it is the world I have the grandest and clearest scope of that I have created. So, naturally, it would make sense that I can just go hog wild on world building details and create flora for all the different regions. Do I need to? Absolutely not. Do I want to? Hell fuckin yeah!! I blame Dianne! I'm just going to make it worse by also getting Calanthe a geologist rival. Does this mean I have to start learning things about science so i can properly utilize these characters? Hmmm.... consequences of my actions. 

As she was created for a one-shot, I don't have much figured out about who Calanthe is as a person just yet. The bulk of her character in this setting is just... researcher at the university. Who occasionally goes out into the world to cause problems (not on purpose) (okay sometimes maybe rarely on purpose but she has friends that are SO much better at that than she is i'm looking RIGHT AT YOU APRICUS "SET SEVERAL PEOPLE ON FIRE" THE LUMINARY). Whenever I sit down to write her field journal for Mutiny, I'll work on fleshing her out a lot more. Does anyone have any good solo journaling games that have to do with being a field botanist? No? Is that too specific a subject? Hmm. 

You can see the art that Buddy did for me! and the pin board I made to give Buddy inspo is here :) 

If you want to see what her character sheet looks like, it is over on my patreon!

[lovenona]

AVE MARIA.

contains: a crumb of explicit smut, praise, body worship, infidelity (reader cheats on her crusty husband), oral (f! receiving), mirror sex, italian renaissance au, catholicism, lots of sacrilegious themes, cisfem! reader, sweet and soft vibes ahead

based on this drabble.

––––

(florence, italy, the year of our lord 1485. the city sits at the center of the universe. with her dense, winding streets and her ethereal architecture and her aspiring masters loitering on every corner, florence is a city that does not listen, but speaks. she is where the sun rises and sets, where the gods find their inspiration.)

you presumed that florence would hold your heart, always. but when you first heard him refer to you and the blessed mother in the same sentence – that’s when you knew. 

and later, when he looked at you like you were a deity come down from the heavens to baptize him alone – you knew then too. 

you understood, instinctively, always, that you would follow nanami kento to the end of the world, no matter the price. 

you always considered yourself luckier than some. you hailed from a respected family; you married rich and powerful and strong. your own husband frequently sat at the table of lorenzo de medici and drank his wine and caressed his lovers. each morning you wore beautiful, fine fabrics, and at breakfast you browsed frantic letters from the esteemed jewelers of venice who begged you to wear their craft. better still, you played the darling hostess of one of the finest houses in florence, guiding mindless housewives through your flourishing courtyard with ease and grace and fertility. 

and on sundays – oh, sundays! you sat, poised and perfect, in the front pews of the florence cathedral, where all eyes watched you in envy: even god. 

perhaps you were luckier than some. and yet. 

and yet, still, when you studied yourself in the looking glass, you found you were empty inside, a hollow vessel, waiting in vain for something to fill you up and give you purpose and meaning. you were vapid and beautiful. you were not sure what you were supposed to be.

how could you? your husband never looked at you unless you were underneath him like a dog. your little circle of friends did not care an ounce about the literature and philosophy you read. and the strangers in rags carrying baskets and babies on the streets simply asked you to pray for them, to care for them, for you to put in a word to your husband about them. 

perhaps you were luckier than some. but luck did not mean substance, did not mean feeling. you knew this better than anyone. 

so you retreated into yourself, studied philosophy and gazed at florence’s greatest artwork and wondered what it would mean to be aphrodite or mary or zeus: what it would mean to matter to something. would it would mean to be seen. 

(but nanami saw you – every inch, every crevice, every pore. he saw through you with the sharp gaze of the artist who knows exactly what he is looking for.)

the name nanami kento was no stranger to you. it was a sacred name, a revered name, whispered in tandem with giotto and ghiberti and and donatello. an artist from across the sea, he was florence’s greatest celebrity, a shining beacon that reflected the essence of the renaissance, the essence of florence’s great and powerful mind. even before his arrival, rumors circulated that back in rome the pope had commissioned him a project so vast and detailed it had taken the first eight years of nanami’s career to complete it. 

so when nanami kento finally came to florence, the city was aflame. 

nanami sculpted marble; he coaxed life from dirt, turned stone into feeling. many remarked that they had wept openly at the feet of his tragic pieta, that they would be more than willing to sell their children and their horses and their homes for him to craft them but one piece of heaven. nanami kento, with the grace and easiness of earth and water, created life where there was none. nanami kento, for all his stoic demeanor, knew how to make his audience tremble.

nanami kento was a talented sculptor, yes: but he was more notorious, still, for refusing many of his desperate patrons. he did not need money, the rumors said, because the pope had paid him enough florins to last a hundred lifetimes or more. he did not need the excess money, the rumors said, because he was a man who would always feel he had enough. nanami kento was a sculptor in high demand. he could pick and choose at will, and he exercised this privilege freely.  

but your husband, proud man he was, fearlessly captured nanami in his silver-tongued claws. we need more artwork, he’d told you in bed one night, voice thick with drink and the orgasm he had coaxed from himself but not from you. our house looks too bare – that da vinci painting in the dining room just isn’t enough. imagine if we secured nanami, who turned down the medicis? we’d be the talk of florence. it enthralled him, then, the idea of being one of the few families in all of florence who could secure nanami’s trust, who could secure his godly talent like a bird in a cage.  

you never found out what your husband had told him. one morning you simply woke to find the servants preparing nanami a room in the south wing of the house, to find servants with heavy blocks of marble in tow, to find servants moving tables and supplies into what your husband proudly called the greatest art studio in florence.

(your husband was a patron to many famous artists, and never had he allowed them to work in his own home. you wondered just what it was that made nanami so different. you wondered just how much you cared to know.) 

and then, when he arrived, your axis shifted. 

nanami kento was, to put it simply, the most beautiful man in the universe: golden hair that mimicked sunlight, a sharp and solemn jaw, a steady demeanor, a pair of intimidating eyes. he walked through your halls with the ease of someone who understood himself, of someone did not question who he was or what he was meant to be. he was not hollow inside, but cool and contemplative and knowing. 

he reminded you of the stories your father used to tell about the construction of the florence cathedral. your father – younger, then, and leaner – used to stand below the cathedral, watching in awe as the men placed the bricks that formed the dome, waiting with baited breath for the dome to collapse on itself. and it never did, he told you, because the foundation was solid, because its architect, brunelleschi, had god’s own genius. 

nanami, too, carried the confidence of one who knew he would never collapse.

he did not laugh at your husband’s table. he did not smile at the jokes, at the meal, at you. he maintained a cold composure that mimicked the stone he worked with, spoke in clipped sentences that never wavered. nanami did not ask questions: he supplied only answers. you did not know if you liked him, then, but it was the aura of security enveloping his being that kept you asking for more. 

nanami kento was, bluntly, a block of marble, and you were desperate to discover what was underneath. 

so when he arrived the next morning, you shamelessly begged to watch him at work, claiming that you had unrealized artistic passions and that your health made it difficult to work. a lie, of course, but when you begged and begged and said your husband would not care, nanami kento let you in, dusty and slow. 

nanami explained, plainly, that your husband had commissioned a sculpture of judith slaying holofernes. to protect the house, perhaps, and to preserve the sanctity of florence. you listened with half an ear: your husband did not want another judith to proclaim his florentine patriotism. he only wanted to rival the medicis with their precious little donatello. 

(an ugly rendition of judith, if you did say so yourself.)

and of course, you didn’t care about the artistic process, not when sweat broke out in a glorious sheen across nanami’s forehead in the late afternoon heat. not when his biceps flexed beneath the light shirt he wore, when his nimble fingers dusted away the imperfections on the stone. certainly not when he bit his lip in intense concentration, hard and studious but never enough to draw blood. you never cared, not when he tilted his head back after you graciously handed him refreshments, adam’s apple bobbing in sway with your heartbeat. 

you could have watched him the rest of your life. you could have eternalized him in stone.

why don’t you become a painter? you asked him, once, as he studied the block of marble from across the room, still and stiff and confident and cold. 

painting is not sculpting, nanami had responded, crisply, steadily. he always came prepared with answers; he never paused to think. when you paint, you create. but when you sculpt, you coax forward a life that was already there, latent and waiting.

he looked in your eyes, then. and you knew. it was like he saw through you: like he knew you had treasure inside.

after four weeks of your incessant curiosities, four weeks of small talk and curious conversation, nanami began to arrive each morning with fresh loaves of bread for the kitchen staff and bouquets of flowers that he would place in a jar before he began his work. and as he sat alone in the studio during the early morning hours, even he began to pray, plainly, that you would arrive in the doorway, eyes glistening with sleep, begging to watch him sculpt. 

(he returned your gaze, now, studying with seeming indifference the way your dress shifted when you walked and the way your eyes crinkled when you asked him about rome.)

you danced around each other like clockwork, with the predictable grace of earth and stone. he pretended he did not care: you knew, hopelessly, that he did. 

nanami told your husband nothing about these swift developments. he told himself that he was a responsible man who would live and die alone. he told himself that he simply enjoyed the silence of your company. that he would, and could, defy his budding feelings towards you. 

and then, finally, on a still morning when from the marble judith’s head began to emerge, he told you that you had a face worth recreating. 

judith has a strong face, a face that displays vigor, conviction, confidence, nanami explained to you, cradling the smooth marble beneath his thumbs. judith may be a widow, but she has been gifted by god the strength to save her people from destruction. there is delicacy in that faith, a power in that action. there are not many women in florence with such a face. 

you complained, then, that he should not sell the women of florence so short. 

you have the face, he admitted simply, as if you should have known all along. you contain multitudes. 

and so you stepped closer, wanting. and nanami did not look away. for to create judith, a face with your face, it would have been in bad practice for an artist as careful as nanami not to memorize the curve of your cheeks, the shape of your nose, the taste of your eager lips. it would have been in bad practice not to learn you entirely, to take your aura and transcribe it onto the stars. 

(nanami kento took his jobs more seriously than religion or love or money. and he would not, could not, leave this one behind.)

and so it hung in the air, festering, like an open secret. every morning, nanami silently brought you flowers. you watched, all day, as judith face’s – now becoming your face – emerged from the stone. and in return, nanami watched you, with unwavering discipline, as you roamed your cold halls, took your husband’s criticism like a martyr, traveled to and from the cathedral on sundays with the hollow faith of a perfect ghost. 

and in the evening, when nanami returned to his own home, you waved him off with dutiful grace. and with every goodbye, nanami held your blooming knuckles to his lips for a moment longer. and with every delicate kiss, you became less hollow, and more real. 

so you circled each other, doves in the night, prayers whispered in shadow with the fear of no reply. 

until you caved and kissed him first, on a warm afternoon sickly sweet with the smell of cakes and lemons and tarts wafting from somewhere far within. and you knew then, too, that you would damn yourself to hell with invigorating enthusiasm if it meant you could kiss him again. 

nanami kento, unwavering, steady, kissed you back, and it was like finally coming home. 

nanami kento worked with unwavering precision. and to craft his judith in your image, he declared with finality that he needed to know your face like the back of his hand. and he said it with such seriousness, too, that you did not doubt that he planned to map every kiss to memory, that his tongue would not, could not, forget the curve of your mouth and the sharpness of your teeth. 

your face, nanami admitted, it contains multitudes. it reflects your soul – you are so much, so beautiful. to forget this face would be a crime.

he did not understand what it was your husband could not love. in a world of science and philosophy and understanding, as a man of considerable routine and clearheadedness, nanami did not see what it was your husband could not appreciate. did he not know? did he not see that your face was a forever-face? that your eyes made art just by blinking?

he doesn’t pay attention, you’d said, bitter and angry. he never knows me. you bit your lip when you confessed it, eyes scanning anywhere else in the room. 

beautiful, nanami repeated, losing composure, unwinding. you are immaculate. i would sculpt you forever. he did not doubt himself, so neither did you. because if nanami kento said you were whole and beautiful and seen, you would be a fool not to believe him. 

on sunny afternoons when your husband was away, nanami made love to you on his workbench with the delicacy of a humble believer bowing at the foot of the altar. stern and steady, with the overwhelming adoration of the devout, he placed a kiss on every part of your skin. your eyelids, for their clarity: your neck, for its fortitude: your stomach, for its strength: your fingers, for their delicacy. 

your husband’s uncaring touch scarred you, burned you; but nanami’s hands, like sculpting marble, coaxed you to life with the confidence of one who knows he will never falter. he worshipped the ground you walked on with faultless logic, drowning in faith.

nanami favored kissing your thighs, tracing the pattern of your hips, the swell of your breasts. he liked to hear you beg for him, too, in that silver voice of yours, sweet and precious like a choirs of angels. when you begged for him to fill you with those vulnerably glassy eyes, nanami became the center of the universe, and he could never deny you such pleasure. he could never, not once, say no.

he enjoyed, too, even more than the begging, the roses that bled from your eyes and the sugar in your heart when he praised you. he did not know, before, that there could be a sight as heavenly as your dilated, unfocused pupils and your messy smile when he told you how you were beautiful, my love. so good for me. he did not know there could be something so intimate, so profound, as your love when he loved you completely. 

(even more than your looks, he loved how you felt, clamping down with vigor while running nails down his back. it grounded him, and you. but he would never say it.) 

after eating his lunch, nanami would diligently eat you with a swift precision so terrifying that it brought you to the edge before you knew it had begun. he would place you on the table, push away your skirts, and dive in, as if you were a holy communion he could not afford to lose. he coaxed orgasms from you the way he coaxed masterpieces from marble: easily. 

and if the house staff heard your cries, you wouldn’t know, because to be with nanami kento, his nose shiny with you, made your blood pound in your ears. 

then, later, nanami would hang his rosary with hunger and piety around your neck before he pressed into you, claiming that you were the most blessed of the saints, that he was overjoyed to pray at your altar, that you had the face of god and a heart as pure. and he would watch, transfixed, as the crucifix bounced between your tits, as christ himself became voyeur to the party. 

you wondered, briefly, if during your weekly confessions the cathedral priests would simply know the way you had willingly called nanami god when he fucked you this well, the way nanami would make you lick your own slick off his fingers with docile obedience before pressing your quivering fingers to the rosary beads. but then nanami would go harder, deeper, grunting profanities into your ear, and you realized with bliss that you did not care. 

for how could this be wrong when it felt so immaculate? how could you deny yourself nanami’s love when it made you feel so whole? 

and when he felt strict, on days his sculpture annoyed him, nanami would ask you with his stern tongue to pray the hail mary while he viciously kissed your folds, knowing full well your sanity had already left you. he took pride in reprimanding you sharply on those days, a swift hand across your ass or your cunt when you could not remember the our father as he expertly located all of the sweetest places that made you scream most.

if anyone had asked, nanami would have told them he was a religious man: if, of course, the idol was you. 

look at you, blessed saint, he growled into your ear, once, peering over your shoulder, hands firm and bruising in your hair and on your hips. mary magdalene, whore for christ. he forced you, then, to watch yourself in the studio mirror propped against the wall as he thrust roughly from behind, as your face contorted in an unspeakable pleasure: or, as nanami would say, art in its purest form.

nanami kento took his job more seriously than god. a diligent worker, he was, and god be damned if he did not make your knees week and your brain tremble before the late afternoon sun. he would be damned if he did not make eternal artwork out of you, if he did not sculpt the shape of your moans or memorize the way your nails scratched scripture onto his bare skin. if he did not eternalize the fucked-out look in your eyes. if he did not let the universe know you were a sight to behold, a sight that could not be forgotten.

you didn’t bother apologizing to god for your behavior. not when god was tall and blonde and could fold your knees into your chest and fuck you until you saw heaven for yourself. you didn’t bother apologizing because nanami kento made you feel seen and real and meaningful: and that was not something you could regret. 

and so the judith stretched into incompletion. and so, nanami would explain to your husband, it is quite difficult to get the nose and eyes just right. it takes time to create the dynamism necessary for seven feet of judith slaying holofernes. you must understand. perhaps within the next year.

your husband was greedy for attention. of course he understood. 

and he never questioned it, not once, when judith would sit for days on end without completion. he would not question it, because he was never home when nanami fucked you with the rosary pressed against your throat, when nanami carved the shape and sensation of his being into your skin. your husband was never home when you opened the windows to air out the smell of sweat and sex, when you dressed yourself with a lazy disposition and a soft smile and a rose-covered glow. he did not see the way nanami spoke with you, the way nanami kento saw you as a person and not a thing. he did not know. he never would. 

and your husband learned not to ask when one month turned five and a year had passed and still, still, the finishing touches were not yet completed. 

a masterpiece takes time, nanami repeated. i spent eight years on one commission in the vatican city. 

your husband, grand and desperate to be better than lorenzo de medici, obliged. and so nanami took his time and yours, onwards and onwards. 

one night, then, as the judith commission truly came to a close, nanami told your husband over dinner, if you want more, i will give you more, as repentance for taking so long. a sculpture of the virgin mary, perhaps? 

nanami gazed at you in subtle adoration from across the table, already shaping you into eternity with his eyes, placing the veil over your head and the blessed christ in your arms. your husband agreed, of course, because he could only see victory. 

and the butterflies bloomed in your chest, a champagne knowledge that you would be seen, that nanami would see you, know you, memorize you. and when you returned his gaze, hungry, you knew, instinctively, always, that you would follow nanami kento to the end of the world, whatever the price. 

(and you did. and you do, still, in your many marble faces that catch the sun.) 

[10blue10]

More Toothcup Headcanons

Toothless learns various human courtship rituals to help him better interact with his mate. He starts with giving flowers and ends up figuring out how to do that romantic dip. Hiccup swoons every time he does it. 

Hiccup figured out a way for them to dance together to the tune of ‘For the Dancing and the Dreaming’, with lyrical changes of their own devising.

Toothless’ affectionate pet names for his mate include ‘little fish’, ‘sparrow’, ‘buttercup’, ‘firefly’, and ‘love’. He enjoys calling Hiccup ‘Hookup’ during sexy times because it makes his mate blush and look even more adorable.

Hiccup’s affectionate/teasing pet names for Toothless include ‘bud’, ‘big baby’, ‘scaly baby’, and ‘kitty’. He’s also fond of calling his mate things like ‘fearless’, ‘faultless’, ‘dauntless’ and ‘matchless’. If it ends in ‘less’ and has positive/worshipful connotations, Hiccup has used it to refer to his mate. This does absolutely no good for Toothless’ ego. Those in on the secret of their relationship tend to refer to the pair as Gratuitous and Shameless.

Toothless is very possessive and gets jealous when other people, be they dragon or human, try to get Hiccup’s attention. He manages to refrain from outright attacking his rivals so as not to upset his mate, but anyone too close is liable to find themselves with a face full of snarling Night Fury.

Hiccup often rewards Toothless for his patience dealing with their enemies and threats by giving him a private rubdown that inevitably leads to something more…intimate. Toothless tolerates a lot of things for the sake of getting to claim his mate and cover Hiccup with his scent afterwards.

Toothless often gnaws on Hiccup’s prosthetic because it’s the only part of Hiccup that he can chew and lick and bite down on like he would a dragon without hurting his fragile mate. He also likes to give Hiccup massages by putting various limbs in his mouth (with his teeth retracted) and purring.

Hiccup occasionally decides to try and invent a way for them to mate in midair like dragon couples can. These attempts usually end poorly, and with his mate having to remind him that mating on the ground is just fine.

Toothless wants Hiccup to find a way to give him a mating bite, or mark him in some way. The problem is that blunt human teeth won’t do, and Hiccup absolutely refuses to even consider something like a brand. In the meantime he makes Toothless a silver medallion to attach to his harness.

Hiccup goes from being extremely shy and ashamed about loving his dragon, to proudly owning it. When strangers accuse him of unsavoury sexual acts, he laughs and says “oh, you have absolutely no idea!”

[whirlybirdwhat]

crown the king (with bloody flowers) - chapter 37

Hanahaki au drabble series, in which Luffy is in love with the sea.

(Warning for Wano Spoilers before chapter 950!)

Kidd remembers Straw Hat. He had been a brat back then, at Sabaody all those years ago, not even coming up to Kidd’s shoulder and still having baby fat lining his cheeks. The youngest Supernova, the rumors had whispered, only fourteen. 

Kidd hadn’t cared about that back then. Why would he, when the rumors - when the entire world - knew that Straw Hat was a crazy bastard that had taken on the world government and won. What’s an age to a reputation like that? To a power like that? Then - then all Kidd cared about was seeing Straw Hat do some crazy shit. 

When Straw Hat crashed down the ceiling of that auction, not even breaking in his stride as he smashed his fist into the face of a celestial dragon twice his height, Kidd had gotten his wish.

And yet - he had seen, then, the way flower petals stuck in the brat’s lips as grinned. He had seen the way his lips were bloody without a hit on him, and the way he had spat onto the ground after, leaving an entire flower bud in his wake. The rumors hadn’t talked about that. 

Even after the war, with the image of Straw Hat holding his dead brother plastered about the world, petals in his wake, the rumors hadn’t talked about it.

Looking at him now, older but with lips still just as bloodied, Kidd wonders if they do now. It’s a surprise to see him here, in the midst of Wano’s prison camps, but then again - it’s Straw Hat. After two years of absence only to awake to challenge an emperor, Kidd shouldn’t be surprised at where the kid shows up. 

He’s still short. His robes sag a bit too big on him, smothering the muscle Kidd knows still must be underneath. His hands hang in front of him, bloody and scratched and sticky with petals as the sea stone drapes around them, and his feet are unsteady as he walks. Even from his cell, Kidd can see it - the gait that sways from side to side, the shakiness of his step,  the stumbling click-clack of his sandals and the clink of his chains as the guards pull him along - they’re making a spectacle of it.

Pathetic, Kidd thinks, and doesn’t quite know who he’s directing it at, bastards. 

And then - 

Then they throw Straw Hat into his fucking cell as they all cackle so loudly, and it’s all Kidd can do to not break their necks with his bare fists. Annoying bastards. He liked his solitary cell - and now he has Straw Hat to deal with? 

Hell-fucking-no - Kidd needs out of this dump not for Straw Hat to drag him down into another admiral-level mess. 

(His crew isn’t here, his crew is alone, and Killer is out there somewhere, captured just like him. His crew is strong, but they aren’t as strong as Kidd or Killer, and damn if he’ll let them get hurt because some straw hatted nuisance stirred up trouble.

(Or… at least more hurt than Kidd had let them get. What a shit captain he is, dragging them into an alliance like that.))

“DAMN YOU KAIDO!” Straw Hat screams, swears, and it’s muffled by the bandages wrapped around his face and a gurgling in his throat. “DAMN YOU!”  He stumbles to his feet, shoulders hunched, glare bright - the seas stone is dragging at his body, but even Kidd has to respect how the fire in his eye doesn’t seem to burn out even trapped like this.  “COME BACK AND FIGHT ME! BASTARDS!” 

Straw Hat’s chains clink against the prison cell. The wardens just laugh, waving him off, and suddenly, there is darkness again as they shut the cell door. 

Still, Straw Hat continues screaming, raging, an edge of desperation in his tone. He’s angry in a way Kidd has never seen him before - though, truth be told, he’s only seen him once. But if the anger he has now doesn’t top his anger when fighting a celestial dragon of all things - 

Kidd doesn’t know what could set him off.

(Or, perhaps, he does. That anger rides deep in his belly now, after all, days past when his crew was destroyed. Kidd is a pirate. Straw Hat is a pirate. 

Some things don’t change, between men like them.) 

Straw Hat smashes his cuffs against the iron bars - against the sea stone bars, Kidd’s tried to fight against them more than he would admit - but it does nothing but make more blood drip out of his robes and down his face. He starts screaming again but - 

“BASTA-ACK!” He coughs, wet and ragged in the middle of his words, and doesn’t stop. It’s a hacking cough, once that seems to drag at his throat, and he keeps coughing, over and over till it’s almost like he’s choking one it. Blood spills over his lips and onto the floor as his legs - those weak, trembling legs that Kidd already saw - give out from underneath him. He doesn’t stop coughing even then, his entire body hunched to the ground. 

He’s trying to brace himself, trying to hold his chest, but he can’t do both at once. 

Straw Hat wobbles.

Finally, Kidd finds the voice to speak. “Oi.”

Straw Hat keeps coughing.

“Oi!”

Straw Hat keeps coughing.

“OI!” Kidd snarls, and reaches a limb over to smack his back. 

Straw Hat chokes for one, horrible moment, and then blood splatters on the ground as flowers begin pouring out his mouth as ripped bandages dangle around. Beautiful ones, like marigolds and hyacinths and other flowers of all colors that Kidd will never know the name of. They stick to his bruised cheeks, his hands, the floor, his manacles, but - 

He’s finally, finally stopped coughing. 

The choking and the flowers stop too, eventually, leaving Straw Hat gasping for breath on the floor, looking small and huh - beneath the bandages, baby fat still clings to his cheeks.

He’s sixteen, Kidd recalls, a whole seven years younger than himself. 

Pathetic, he wants to think, but can’t quite make himself do so. Straw Hat walked here after all, with bandages choking his mouth and sea stone laid across his hands, and was still fierce enough that most of the guards backed off. Straw Hat has guts. 

And - Kidd realizes, surely and absolutely as Straw Hat drags himself up to sit on his heels - he’s got hanahaki. 

(He’s the first-person Kidd’s ever met that has the disease. He never quite thought it’d be like this.)

“Jaggy,” Straw hat murmurs out, the word scratching at his throat. “You’re here?”

“Tch.” Kidd snorts, not energized enough to snarl against the nickname, and settles back against the wall. “Obviously, brat.”

Straw Hat heaves out again, in and out. “… Thanks.” He murmurs again, voice still ragged. 

To this, Kidd shrugs. He didn’t - he didn’t do it to be kind. “The coughing was a bit annoying.” 

Straw Hat doesn’t say anything to that. He just keeps looking at the small window of light they have, back turned to Kidd and body still - stiller than Kidd had ever seen him. Even in his wanted posters the kid always seemed to be moving.  It unnerves him, ever so slightly.

But - whatever. Straw Hat is being quiet, not coughing, and they’ll be enough nuisances tomorrow. He can ignore the brat’s despondent look till tomorrow, and catch some sleep now.

He’s not in the mood to fight, or puff up his feathers like he would do for his rivals typically. He’s just… tired. And hurt. And he misses his crew.

(Straw Hat is alone now. He’s in the same boat.)

Kidd uses his one hand to pull his coat tighter to himself, and rests back against the wall, determinedly shutting out the world and Straw Hat’s to desperate gasps from the front of the cell. It’s… it’s fine. 

Fine.

Fine.

-

Whatever it is, it’s not fine because Kidd wakes up hours later to near-entire darkness in his cell and a shuffling, hacking in his corner. He has half a mind to lash out, because he’s alone in his cell, and noises in the dark have never meant anything good but - 

Then he remembers earlier today. He remembers Straw Hat being thrown in the cell. So, no lashing out but - 

“Damnit.” Straw Hat is whispering, cursing in his corner, and Kidd doesn’t think it’s out of any consideration for him but rather the hoarseness of his own voice. “Fuck.”

His voice cracks a bit. 

(He’s sixteen and he’s been in more wars and fought more emperors than Kidd can claim to. His own weakness burns at him.)

Kidd turns his head. There, struggling in the corner, is Straw Hat. The bandages have all been torn from his face and now lay in his hands, considerably more bloody than the last time Kidd saw them. Flowers lay scattered about Straw Hat’s entire body, and it seems he’s trying to do something with the bandages and his sea stone cuffs. 

Whatever it is, it’s not working because even in the dim moonlight Straw Hat’s eyes have lost some of their fire. Some of their rage. 

He looks… exhausted. 

(His eyes are rimmed red. Kidd doesn’t look too closely.)

He starts hacking again, not as harsh as earlier but seemingly because he doesn’t have the energy to do so harsher. The purple flowers from before - the spindly kind - fall from his lips and the sight of them makes Straw Hat grow - grow more something. Something like desperation and rage and grief but also not quite. It’s not a sight Kidd thinks he should be privy too, but prison does that to a man. It breaks down the barriers in all the wrong ways and it hurts. 

So, Kidd does something about it. 

“Oi.” He says again, like he did earlier, and yet this time Straw Hat’s response is immediate. His head snaps up, eyes flying wide, his entire body shifting into the defense. It’s easy to tell how the chains wear at him, how red his chest is from that scar, how he halfheartedly used his robes to wipe away the blood, when he’s like this. “The hell you doing, Straw Hat?”

Straw Hat just stares at him, reminiscent of a child caught doing something he shouldn’t. Kidd raises an eyebrow, and Luffy shrugs, stubbornly avoiding Kidd’s eyes as he puffs up his shoulders. “Trying to get the cuffs off.” 

Yeah, right. The brat’s a terrible liar even under the exhaustion. 

“With the bandages?” Kidd prompts, irritated, because he did not get woken up to get lied too. Luffy shrugs again, but this time holds out his hands, cuffs and bandages and all. His shoulders lilt with some unbidden weight. 

“I was trying to stuff the bandages under the cuffs so that it wouldn’t touch me.” Straw Hat says simply. “But I can’t do it like this.”

Huh. That’s… not a bad idea. If the sea stone isn’t touching him, Straw Hat can use his powers. It’s not a bad idea, yeah, except for the fact that the manacles are so skin tight it’s hard to get anything under them, and the fact that the sea-stone would be in such close proximity to the skin that even the tiniest shift would have you back where it started. 

Still, Kidd takes a look at what Straw Hat has done. It’s not much - his manacles are tighter than the others Kidd has seen around here, included his one-cuff manacles. Straw Hat’s are more like stockades, binding his wrists so close that they’re almost touching and giving him very little room to even move his elbows. He’s managed to get the tail end of a bloody bandage under his manacle, but nothing more than that.

It’s futile, and Kidd tells him as much. “It won’t work, brat. Too tight, and you’ll still feel the effects. Sides - they’ll switch ‘em out tomorrow morning with the chain ones so you can do their dirty work for them.” He dangles his own, singular chain and cuff as an example.

Straw Hat stares at him with wide, wide eyes, and then goes back to his hands. “That doesn’t matter. Chopper says I shouldn’t let Sea Stone touch me, or things will get worse. So I have to try or he’ll be mad at me. .”

Chopper - isn’t that his pet reindeer? The tiny guy? Kidd shakes his head, dispersing the thought. Who cares about that, when the brat is still trying to get the bandages under the manacles. He’s letting out noisy grunt as he does so, and it’s clear the manacles are pulling at his skin, leaving it bloody and raw with the skin peeled and everything. It doesn’t even deter the brat - he just keeps on going.

That doesn’t answer Kidd’s questions though. “What will get worse?”

(Sue him for sounding like he cares. He’s bored and Straw Hat is noisy, so obviously he has to do something.)

Straw Hat just gives him a dry look, and heaves into another coughing fit. There’s no blood this time, but it does leave Straw Hat looking even more worse for wear, tired and exhausted . He starts to lean against the wall of their little prison, his hands shaky and his head tilting gently as he still - still - goes to mess with the bandages.

Oh, Kidd realizes with a soft murmur. Oh. 

The hanahaki. The killing disease. The killing love. It gets worse with the sea stone? 

The rumors didn’t say anything about that - but then again, they didn’t talk about it at all when Straw Hat Luffy was the topic. 

Before Kidd knows it, the words are spilling out of his mouth. “Give me that, brat,”

“Wha - I’m not a brat!” Straw Hat says indignantly in that hoarse voice of his. “And no!”

“You just now noticed that I’ve been calling you a brat, brat?”

“Oi-“

“And get over yourself. The sooner you stop coughing the sooner I get to sleep, so get over here and give me that.” Kidd waits a beat. “Brat.”

Straw Hat fumes but its only for a moment before he’s scooting along the wall, too tired to get up properly, until he’s right next to Kidd. He holds out his hands and bandages petulantly, almost skeptically, his eyes piercing Kidd’s own.

Damn the brat has a glare. 

Kidd ignores this, ignores how he’s helping his rival, and grabs the brat’s tiny wrist. It isn’t gentle, isn’t kind, but it lets him see what the brat has been trying to do. Straw Hat doesn’t flinch. Just sits there, wide eyed and covered in blood and muck. 

(It’s harder to avoid the redness of his eyes this way, but Kidd forges on.) 

He’s careful as he starts using his hand to push the bandages through. The brat’s manacles make this act easier at least, a little looser than Kidd’s own cuffs, and Straw hat manages to hold still despite his trembling and shaky breaths. It takes a bit of maneuvering, a little bit of teeth, and more than a few trade backs of Stop moving, brat, and Shut it Jaggy, but eventually - eventually Straw Hat’s manacles aren’t touching his skin any more. He’s breathing easier, skin a little warmer, and there’s something Kidd doesn’t want to name in his eyes.

“That better, brat?!” Kidd bites out, trying to regain some of his image despite the way his hand is twisting the kid’s wrists around, double checking. 

“Shishishi!” Straw Hat laughs, the first real sign of whatever the fuck kind of joy is going on in his wanted poster showing its face. “Yep! Thanks Jaggy!” 

“Whatever.” Kidd settles back into the wall,  bringing a knee up and hugging it in lieu of crossing arms he doesn’t have. “Be quiet now - I want some fucking sleep in this hell hole.”

Straw Hat doesn’t respond. Kidd glances over.

That fucking asshole - he - 

He’s already sleeping on the ends of Kidd’s ratty coat, head nestled one the fabric and too-thin limbs splayed out in front of him.  Sleeping. On Kidd’s coat. The only one who was ballsy enough to do that before was - 

(An emperor, taking his crew away, a blue and white mask falling-)

-is still here, somewhere. 

Kidd has half a mind to shake him off, but - didn’t he say, all those years ago, that he wanted to see Straw Hat do something bat-shit insane? 

This has to count. He’s quiet now, at least. 

Kidd tucks his head down, and copies him, ignoring the blood staining his coat and the ground, and the ghosting flower petals stirred up by the wind. 

(The next day sees Kidd watching Luffy shake as his manacles are interchanged with cuffs that touch his skin. It has Kidd seeing Straw Hat tremble in his cell as Kidd helps him like he did this night, and days later - It seems the tiny reindeer give him a small, thankful nod as he inspects the bandages still wrapped around Straw Hats wrists. There’s an understanding there, a respect that Kidd can’t help but bristle at. 

He - He didn’t - whatever this was, it remains here, in Udon, because Kidd is a pirate and so is Straw Hat. The past remains there, and alliances are doomed to falter and fail. This wasn’t an alliance. Not even close. This was….

Whatever.

(And if there are still immortal flowers, purple and tall, stuck in the pockets of Kidd’s coat, then no one has to fucking know.)) 

[jimlingss]

Sugar and Coffee [17]

Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18

➜ Words: 4.6k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

Marriage seems to be the ultimate goal for many.    And you have to admit its appeal — cute invitations tucked onto tables by bouquet centerpieces, flowers blooming and budding all around the aisle and arch, long trains of wedding dresses, the tulle of the veil, the glowing smile of both bride and groom radiating happiness.   Love is in the air and it’s hard to hate it. It’s difficult to remain bitter.   For a brief moment in time, you forget about pushing the idea that romance is sickly — that the emotional dependency will cripple you when affections inevitably run out, that the imminent insecurity and jealousy will only act to lower self-esteem, that heartbreak is always impending.   Just for the slightest of seconds….you forget to hate love.   “Jungkook, Y/N! Get in here!”   Sejeong eagerly motions you over and you exchange an expression with the boy beside you before scattering over hesitantly. Yet, she fervently welcomes you, shuffling over and draping her arm around your shoulder. Jungkook stands beside you, smiling wide for the camera.   “One. Two. Three.” The wedding photographer snaps several pictures of all four of you.    “Is this okay?” you ask in a slight murmur in-between shots, still worried considering you didn’t really have a place in this wedding. The only people you know here are the two of them, Jungkook, and Chungha who was somewhere preparing to walk down the aisle.   “Of course, it is!” Namjoon zealously assures with a grin. “You guys are our official wedding cake makers. We can’t forget about you two.”   “Chungha requested that we take as many pictures as we can. She won’t mind, trust me.” Sejeong smiles, excited for her sister’s wedding, and she squeezes your shoulder. “It’ll be a great way to look back on the memories.”   There are a few more pictures taken and when the photographer gives the ‘okay’ sign, the married couple enthusiastically runs out of the frame. “Okay, now just our two interns!”   You and Jungkook awkwardly scoot together, but then the photographer raises his head and suggests you both to go even closer. And that’s enough for Jungkook to throw his arm around your shoulders, pull you close enough that you nearly stumble into his chest and he flashes a grin as the camera snaps while your expression is still stunned.   The next picture, you stand on the tips of your toes with the hopes of overcoming Jungkook’s height and teasing him later on for being short. But he quickly notices you and his grip on your shoulder tightens, attempting to pull you down for the following photograph.    “Hey, don’t try to push me down!”   You try to shove his hand off, but the effort is futile and Jungkook giggles. “You’ll never be taller than me, Y/N.”   “Psh.” You stay on the tips of your toes, putting your hand over your head like that’ll somehow create the illusion your height is greater than his. But then Jungkook goes on his toes as well, lifting up his chin. The two of you laugh, using one another to keep balance and stand as high as possible.   Namjoon and Sejeong grin at your banter and the photographer is smiling as well, continuing to take pictures at different angles and distances with no end in sight.   “You got something on your nose, Jeon,” you lie.   “What?” His heels touch the ground again and his hand lifts to his face. You steal the opportunity to jump straight up as high as you can, putting your hands on his shoulders.    The wedding photographer captures the picture, then one of Jungkook turning his head in shock as you’re still in the air. Then the one where you’re descending and he opens his arms, catching your fall. And the one where you turn to each other, smiling wide as you gaze at each other.   The photographer doesn’t say that these are the best candids he’s taken.   “My name is Jung Sowon and this is Stand By Me.” The woman with the sleek, long, black hair stands at the stage. The band begins to play behind her, drums and guitar crescendo. The wedding singer parts her mouth to sing the first note and the melodic song fills the venue. “When the night has come. And the land is dark. And the moon is the only light we'll see.”   You linger by, watching and swaying to the rhythm.    “Would you like some champagne, ma’am?”   A familiar voice beside you interrupts the music, but it’s a smooth timbre that you recognize.   You turn to find Jungkook, offering you a flute of bubbling champagne and you laugh, taking it.    “Thank you, good sir.”   Jungkook’s dressed in a classic suit — white shirt, black blazer and trousers, shoes and tie. It’s simple, but it makes him look good, hugging his form well. You can’t help musing that he cleans up well. But maybe that’s because you helped him do his hair. It’s combed down as usual, but with the bangs slightly curled in, a bit of his forehead peeking out. Jungkook was screeching this morning and whining like a baby, afraid your straightener would burn his skin, but you’re glad you held him down and did it.    You’re in a blue dress yourself, one that stops at the knees and is ruffled at the neckline. You didn’t think you looked particularly special, but by the way Jungkook was staring at you earlier, you’re not sure what to think anymore.   “The ceremony’s starting soon. We should go.”   You follow his lead, sipping on your champagne. “Hey. Don’t get drunk. It would be embarrassing.”   He scoffs, playfully eyeing you. “Who do you think I am?”   A grin spreads into your face. “I’m just saying.”   The two of you find your seats at the left, near the back. The parents of the groom and bride gather together too, taking their spots at the front rows and the other wedding guests begin trickling into the garden area.    You lean over to Jungkook, keeping your eyes straight ahead, but murmuring underneath your breath, “When do you think it’ll be over?”   “I don’t know. Half an hour to an hour? Why?”   “I’m kind of hungry.”   “Course you are,” he says back but then begins looking around. “Do you want me to ask one of the waiters to bring around those appetizers again?”   “No, I’m fine.” You giggle. “I was joking. I’ll be fine, Jungkook.”   But concern lingers in his eyes. “Are you sure?”   “I won’t starve,” you assure, not knowing he would take it so seriously. Jungkook is attentive to you these days and you’re not sure how to feel……   No. That’s not entirely true. You do know how you feel. But you won’t say it out loud.   Instead, you focus your attention on your surroundings.   The venue was absolutely lovely. It was still a part of the resort, but in a more secluded area that’s away from the prying eyes of tourists and resort guests. A few meters away was the ocean. The tide that was kissing against the shore, saltwater bubbling and fizzing every so often. It was the best of both worlds — the man-made garden inside the tent gorgeous and contrasting against the beach background outside. The floor is verdant grass, soft underneath your feet, and the flowers are in full bloom and wrapped around the ceiling and wedding arch.    The reception area you had peeked at earlier was even more incredible.    You can’t wait until the sun sets and the fairy lights turn on.    “This is actually so nice,” you sigh out, speechless. “You know, for the longest time, I wanted a garden wedding too. Like pink peonies would be one of the themes or focuses or whatever. They bloom during late spring, early summer, so that would be perfect since the weather would be good too.”   Jungkook glances at you. “Do you still want that?”   “I’d probably never get married, so it doesn’t really matter.” You shrug to him, snapping back to reality.    “Why not?”   “Love’s gross,” you mutter quietly as the last people take their seats. “Plus, no one wants me.”   “I want you.”   Jungkook says it forthrightly, without a beat of hesitation, instinctively. As if you asked him what his name was. You look at him, staring wide-eyed. Jungkook gazes back at you, unwavering.    Your heart stutters. And you quickly look away from him.   “You shouldn’t joke about that kind of thing.”   He sulks. “I’m not.”   But none of you are able to speak another word. The music interrupts when it begins. The classic wedding march plays and everyone turns around to watch the bridesmaids and groomsmen walk down the aisle with bright smiles. Sejeong and Namjoon wave at the two of you as well as they stride past.   And soon, Chungha is the one walking down with her arm hugging her father’s. She’s in a beautiful, white ball gown, practically glowing as the trail of her dress follows. The woman looks the happiest she’s ever been and as envious as you are, the joy is overwhelming.    Her soon-to-be husband is wiping at his eyes and when they meet, they hold one another’s hands, giggling.   "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”   The officiant addresses the couple, reading a long passage from his book for twenty minutes about what love and marriage means. Then there’s an exchange of vows and it becomes emotional as they read their professions of love to one another.    You feel the sting of your eyes that you try to dispel away.   You forgot love could be so innocent and comforting. For so long, you’ve demonized it in your mind, discredited the emotion as silly mistakes. But with the way the couple stare at one another underneath the arch — so genuinely in love — you realize you had forgotten love could be so sincere.   Not every love ends in heartbreak. Not every relationship ends in heartache.   You had forgotten.    And you find yourself stealing glances at Jungkook.   “Sometimes I wonder how it’s possible that I became so lucky. That I was there on that day. At the right time. And I met you,” the groom inhales a soft breath, staring at his soon-to-be wife. “Not everyone can marry their best friend, but I’m happy to be one of them. There’s no one I’d rather become a family with than you.”   The rings are exchanged as tears pool in eyes and then the pronouncement of marriage is made. After the kiss, the closing remarks are said and everyone stands up, cheering at the newly married pair.   Chungha is laughing, her husband grinning hard and they run down the aisle together.   Love is in the air and you’re glad that you’re experiencing it with Jungkook by your side.   //   Weddings are stressful when you’re the planner or the couple, but it’s fun as the guest. One of the perks that you and Jungkook especially have is being able to pig out at the table without having to mingle or interact with others. It’s not like you know anyone here, so the pair of you have resided by the snack area.   “The catering company didn’t do a bad job.” You lick off your fingers.    Jungkook hums and then turns to you with his arm extended. You look down, finding him holding a chocolate strawberry and immediately, your lips part. He feeds it to you and you taste it on your palette while shaking your head.   “Not as good as yours.”   “Of course.” Jungkook grins, relishing in your praise.   “Where’d you find that?”    “Don’t freak out.” He pauses, letting you suffer in suspense on purpose. “There’s a chocolate fondue fountain over there.”   Immediately you whirl around to where he’s indicating and an audible gasp tears from your throat. Jungkook’s eyes crinkle in mirth and he follows after you, chiding you not to run.   The milk chocolate is falling at three different tiers, grandly cascading downwards in a smooth liquid. You grab a plate and begin to stack skewered strawberries, marshmallows, banana slices, rice krispy squares and pretzels onto it. And the two of you end up crowding the fountain, dipping the food in one at a time to indulge.    “God, I love chocolate.” You could drop dead right now and ascend to the afterlife fulfilled.   Jungkook holds back a laugh. “Don’t eat too much. You’re going to ruin your appetite and get a stomach ache.”   “Doesn’t matter,” you dismiss quickly. “I’m living my best life here, Jeon. I could die happy right now.”   “You better not.” He smiles. “I still need you around to cover for me when I mess up.”   Jungkook has more of a sensitive sweet tooth than you do, so he slows down his chocolate consumption sooner than you even have plans of halting. But he enjoys watching you eat, filling your cheeks with chocolate-covered fruit and sweets. He feels satisfied somehow when he watches you consume to your heart’s content.   He eventually starts dipping what’s left on his plate to feed you, not allowing it to go to waste.   “Ah.”   Your lips part and he feeds you again, but this time, the chocolate accidentally drips onto Jungkook’s hand. He curses, pulling up his white sleeve to not get it stained, but before he can grab a napkin to wipe himself off, your hand clasps around his wrist.   Without thinking twice, you pull his hand to your mouth and you lick off the chocolate. Your warm tongue runs along his skin, cleaning the mess. It takes only three seconds. But in the meanwhile, your pupils flicker up to look into Jungkook’s. Directly. Boldly.   His Adam’s apple visibly bobs in his throat. Sweat begins to collect at his hairline but by then, you’ve already let go and turned away. You’re nonchalant. Your attention returns back to the chocolate fountain and you’re fucking humming, continuing to pig out.   Jungkook cusses in his mind.    You’re a vixen. A damn witch.   But there’s no time to react or linger. Not when you’ve obviously moved on and haven’t thought much about your action. Not when the married couple arrives at the reception area and everybody takes their seats again.    “Thank you everyone for taking the time to come here for us.” Everyone raises their glasses of champagne. “We really appreciate it.”   “I’d also like to thank my older sister, Sejeong, and Namjoon for making such a beautiful wedding cake.” Chungha grins. “It was a surprise, but it’s better than I could’ve ever imagined and it was one less thing to worry about, so thank you. I knew I could trust you.”   “Please,” Sejeong says aloud, “It’s my job.”   There’s shared laughter and the bride carries on, “And thank you to Jungkook and Y/N as well for helping out with my sister’s shop and making the cake. I’m sure it would’ve been a lot more stressful without your help.”   You’re bashful under the attention, but soon enough, the speeches and toasts move onto different people in the room. The maid of honour shares a long story about how the couple met and the best man wishes the pair a wonderful future.    Not long after, the food finally gets served as the wedding singer continues her performance.   You get mashed potatoes as an appetizer and steal part of Jungkook’s scallop dish. He feigns a glare, but then the two of you are splitting each other’s food family style to get a variety of tastes. The main course consists of filet mignon for Jungkook and pumpkin ravioli for you.   You enjoy the meal for the most part, only slightly uncomfortable by the old woman in a floral dress who keeps glancing at you and Jungkook with a smile. And right before dessert is served, the stranger across the table seems to crack.   “How do you two know the bride and groom?” her voice croaks as she nosily asks.   “Oh. We just helped make the wedding cake.”   “We’re the bride’s sister’s interns,” Jungkook adds.   “Nice to meet you.” Her dainty, wrinkled hand shakes your hand and Jungkook’s. “I’m the groom’s great aunt. Such a lovely wedding, isn’t it?”   “Yes, it is.”   “The food’s great too.”   The old woman's eyes glimmer of mirth. “So how long have you both been together?”   You choke on your ravioli — Jungkook wheezes mid-sip of his water, coughing and sputtering. He pounds his chest. The pair of you look at one another, eyes rounded and wide.   “Oh...we’re not...uh….”   “No need to be shy.” Her hand bats the air. “There’s no need to hide anything, don’t worry.”   “Umm...well, we’ve known each other for a while now,” Jungkook says and you give him a look. Technically, it’s not a lie.   “Are you both considering getting married any time soon?”   The proposition gives you whiplash, but after working in the food industry for so long, you’ve perfected maintaining a calm disposition. Even if the smile you offer is stiff. “Oh, no. We’re still very young, so I don’t think so. Not at all.”   “There’s nothing wrong with getting married when you’re young,” she tells. “Back in my day, kids got married at eighteen. Right out of school. Better early than never was always my motto. If you know you’re good for each other, there’s no point in waiting.”   “Uhhh….” You’re not sure what to say to that.   Luckily, Jungkook jumps in and easily uses his infamous Jeon charms. “If I propose too soon, she’ll get bored of me. I’d prefer to keep her on her toes a little while longer.”   The old lady laughs heartily. “That’s a dangerous game, boy. If you don’t put a ring on it soon, she might just run off with another boy and you’d surely regret it then.”   He shakes his head. “She wouldn’t. It may not look like it, but she’s head over heels for me. She’d come chasing me.”   That seems to poke the old lady’s funny bone, but your mouth has dropped open. “I would not.”   “Sure about that?” Jungkook smirks impishly. “I might just run off with another miss if you’re not nice enough to me, Y/N.”   “Psh. I’d like to see you try, Jeon Jungkook.”   “You two are just too cute.” The old lady sighs wistfully. “Reminds me of my late husband and I. I know love when I see it.”   The meal eventually ends and the old lady wobbles off to mingle at another table with people she’s more familiar with — but as she bids farewell, she chides Jungkook to marry you already. And when she’s gone, he shifts to wiggle his brows at you.   You tell him that if he gets down on one knee tonight, you’ll slap him.   Fortunately, Jungkook has no such plans. Instead, the pair of you spend your time watching the sunset on the beach. The sky is painted in tangerine and rosy hues, the ocean reflecting the horizon and once it becomes dark enough, all the fairy lights flicker on. The venue becomes illuminated by the dim and soft mosaic of colours.   You feel ticklish and pink inside — stomach full of food, alcohol making it easy to loosen up, the amorous atmosphere a hatchery for hopeless romantics. You watch the first dance, listening to the smooth voice of the wedding singer and the warm sounds of the band. “Wise men say only fools rush in. But I can't help falling in love with you.”   The bride moves in sync with the groom, her dress gliding across the floor. Their hands are clasped together, feet moving slowly, eyes staring at one another. It’s magical to be an observer and it makes you wonder what it’s like to be there, to know you can live the rest of your life with the person you’ve chosen.   When the others trickle onto the dance floor, you watch them too.   And Jungkook soon returns, having gone to the bathroom and then taking a quick walk around. He finds you enjoying yourself in a rare carefree state, simply swaying to the melody in your seat.   His smile becomes tender.   “Go dance.”   You scoff. “I’m not going to dance by myself.”   “Then dance with me.” Jungkook takes your hand, pulling you up on your feet. “Come on,” he convinces when he sees your reluctance. “This is the only time I’ll ever dance. Are you really going to give up on this chance?”   You let him pull you on the floor right as another song begins.    It’s an older song — another slow one — fuzzy sounds that melts all around you. The wedding singer’s voice is sweet, drums providing a steady beat. The staccato of the bass is resonant and velvety with the lithe sound of the piano. “Stars shining bright above you. Night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you’. Birds singing in the sycamore tree. Dream a little dream of me.”   But what should be romantic is terribly awkward.   Jungkook’s hands are placed tensely on your waist while yours are plopped on top of his shoulders. It’s as if you’ve been propelled back to the past — fifteen years old at a school dance with your crush, not sure where to look, how close to be, how to touch one another and be polite about it.    You wince when he steps on your foot.   “Ow.”   “Sorry.”   “I thought you danced, Jeon Jungkook.”   The boy’s brows knit together. “Who says?”   “I thought you could do everything,” you tease and this time, he’s the one lightly scoffing with a small smile tugging at his lips.   Soon, Jungkook steps on your foot again and you mutter cusses in his ear. It makes him laugh, but you swear the third time he steps on your toes, it’s intentional.   “Say ‘Night-ie night’ and kiss me. Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me. While I'm alone and blue as can be. Dream a little dream of me.”   The crowd on the dance floor is moving together — old married couples and the young ones holding each other securely to kids twirling with each other. Eventually, the music relaxes you enough that you melt into Jungkook’s arms and he falls into a rhythm, no longer stepping on any toes.    Your arms are looped around his neck, your fingers locked together. His hands are tenderly on the dips of your waist. The two of you sway with one another. There’s nowhere to look but directly into his eyes and you find his gaze fixed onto yours. As if your irises are the most interesting kaleidoscopes in the world.   Jungkook makes you nervous. He makes your palms sweaty, your steps unsure and seemingly unpracticed.   “Can you stop looking at me like that?” you murmur. In this party of people, only he can hear you above the music. It’s much too intimate.   “Like what?”   “Like you love me.”   “But I do love you.”   He tugs you closer and you search his eyes, brows furrowing unintentionally. You quietly scold him, “You can’t say that, Jungkook.”   “Why not?” he asks in a whisper.   “Because what does it mean for us?”   “Can’t friends love each other?”   “I—”   “I’m kidding.” Jungkook smiles gently, the corners of his mouth quirking. “Well, not really.”   The slow song encases you and Jungkook into a private bubble. The dim lights make his doe eyes sparkle even more than usual — like there are actual stars captured within them, like he’s snapped a picture of the night sky on a Summer night and kept them there. “Stars fading but I linger on, dear. Still craving your kiss. I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear. Just saying this.”   You never realized how much you love Jungkook’s eyes.   “Hey, can I ask you something?” he pipes up again in a gentle murmur as to not disturb the delicate moment between you two. “It’s not about me, but I have a friend who doesn’t really know what to do...”   “What is it?”   “He’s in love with his best friend who’s head over heels for some other guy and is still heartbroken over him even after so much time has passed. My friend really loves her, but he doesn’t want to ruin the friendship they have because it’s important to him.”   You hum a low note, corners of your mouth pulling. “Well, if this best friend is dancing with your friend, sharing the same bed together every night, and spending their days together, she’s probably not heartbroken after that guy anymore.”   Jungkook’s grip on you tightens, not too much that it hurts, but securely enough to keep you from floating away.    He swallows hard. “So you think he should go for it?”   “I think he should take it slow,” you hum. “Even if he values their friendship, once you’ve caught feelings, there’s not much you can do. I have personal experience on this topic, so I would know.”   “Would you now?” A boyish grin spreads into his cheeks, one that makes him look even younger.    “I think this friend of yours should take his chances.” You lean your head on his shoulder, relishing in his body heat. “Sounds like his best friend might just agree.”   Jungkook holds you close. The two of you sway together, enjoying the moment.   “Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you. Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you. But in your dreams, whatever they be. Dream a little dream of me.”   The fuzzy song fades as it ends. The last note holds the air. And with it, the spell breaks.   You pull yourself away from Jungkook’s arms, offering a small smile. It’s awkward, so you quickly turn away to return to your spot at the table. But then….   There’s a call of your name—   “Y/N.”   As you spin around, Jungkook tugs you in by your waist. Your lips meet his.   Your mouths collide together right as another song begins — one you don’t pay any attention to, where you can’t even discern the lyrics. Not when your heart rate is pounding in your eardrums.   It’s a soft brush of the surfaces of your lips, a timid touch, but soon, you’re eagerly deepening the kiss. You’re surrounded in Jungkook and everything that is him — the scent of fresh laundry and his cologne, giving into the velvet texture of his soft lips, reveling in the warmth of his skin that brings heat onto your cheeks.   Your hands slink to the back of his neck, sinking your fingers into the little hair there. Your eyes shut and Jungkook sneaks in a long peek at you, soaking in your pleasured expression before his own lids flutter closed. Your nose bumps together and he easily tilts his head, kissing you tenderly, but eagerly underneath the pretty lights.    Jungkook kisses you and kisses you, like it’s all he’s ever wanted to do. But really, he should’ve done this a long time ago — maybe that time underneath the mistletoe all those months ago.   So he makes up for the lost time, tasting your lipstick curiously, smearing it shamelessly, getting it all over his own mouth.    It’s hot, breathy, and when the pair of you pull apart, the thin thread of saliva between your mouths break. You stumble back on your heels, catching yourself on weak knees. You try to remember how to breathe properly.   Jungkook’s own chest is heaving and he shakes his head, wearing an infectious smile. He wipes his lips wet with your saliva haphazardly with the back of his hand.   “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that for.”   You laugh, grabbing his tie roughly. You tug your best friend closer. “Then shut up and do it again.”   The both of you are in the middle of the dance floor, underneath the lights, but none of you pay any mind.   This time when Jungkook kisses you, he’s grinning against your mouth and you can’t help but smile too.

[stardancerluv]

When You Take Care of Each Other

Part 3c

Summary: Alot of intimacy between Roman and Reader

Warning: sex, cock warming, dom!Roman, Daddy!kink

You stopped right in front of him. You could feel as his eyes as they moved over you. Your heart picked up speed, it was making you breathless. Letting go of the doorframe he closed the short distance. The scent of his cologne and him mixed, he was intoxicating. You yearned to kiss a trail of kisses up his throat.

“I’m still hungry for you.” He reached out and you felt as his fingertips gently grazed your cheek. Tilting your head into them you let yourself melt into his touch. “I am sad about something.”

You treaded lightly. “Oh, what was that?” Gently, you dragged his hand to your mouth and you pressed a firm kiss to his palm. You met his turbulent eyes as you did so. It was his dominant hand, he had just been doing something to defend your honor, it turned you on. It further caused a soft beat of arousal to blossom deep inside of you.

“I never found out whether you kept your word and wore no panties under your dress.” Despite his tone being subdued, it had an edge. You felt that edge. You knew it came from the part of him that lingered from his bad day.

“Have I ever lied to you?” You asked gently.

“No.”

“If after bringing me to that darkened corner, and if you had let this hand,” He let you guide his hand from your mouth to your throat between your breasts, moving further down you brought his hand to your soft torso and stopped just above the apex between you legs. “drift under my dress you would have felt that I didn’t wear any.”

His hand moved, he grabbed you. It caused a moan to pour from you. “I should have.” He squeezed. “Would you have liked that?”

“Yes. I like it when you touch what’s yours to have.” Your voice shook, he was stealing your ability think strait.

“It belongs to me.” He rubbed you gently, pulling soft sounds from you. You reached out to him, grasping his upper arms. He had made your knees weak. “You belong to me.” His lips just barely missed yours, as he spoke.

“Yes, I do. You take care me,” You watched his eyes grow as you moved as demurely as possibly against his fingers. “You protect me and tonight, you showed a pair of goons what happens when they mess with me.” Your voice shook and cracked as he rubbed you firmed arousing you further.

“Mmm,” he made a sound from deep within him. “Do you like this?”

“You are rubbing me here in your office? Where you tell the rest of Gotham to fuck off?” You smiled. “I do.” Saying it made you wetter. You loved the fact that you belonged to him.

His smirk grew. “You have been quite the good girl in here haven’t you?”

You nodded, your mind wandered to other times; when he first took you on his desk or he had a conference call with two rivals and you sucked at him. That had been particularly fun. “I like being good for daddy.”

He pulled his fingers back. You couldn’t stop yourself from making a sound, a soft pout forming on your lips. You already missed his touch when you felt its absence.

“I got you good and ready but I need more.” He sighed.

Reaching, you gently undid the knot of the belt of his coat. “What can I do to make you feel better?” You looked at him from under your lashes.

His free hand grabbed your mouth, a soft whimper came you. You saw that his eyes were burned, he was still angry. “Yes daddy?” You managed to say.

His eyes burned as he looked at you, wished there was something you could do to make him feel good. Though you were not sure where to start.

“Come with me.” He grabbed your hand.

You held it back your worry as he brought you to very open sitting area of the penthouse. It was there sometimes, you would watch the news or movies with Roman, when he had a night off. It had a large sofa, and huge over stuff chairs that matched along with another private bar.

“Make daddy a drink.”

You smiled brightly. He let go of your hand

“You can make yourself one too, but you can’t have it till I say so.”

“Alright, daddy.”

Despite the limited lightning on. Mostly, moonlight and shadows filling the room, you felt very exposed. Anyone who would by accident take the elevator to the penthouse would see you completely naked. The walls had window of differently colored squares. Luckily, you were high enough that no one could peer in.

******

Perhaps it was the mix of his day, maybe it was the compromise he made by not cutting that fuckers hand off but he was still furious. The arousal you caused in him mixed with his anger. Slipping out of his coat, he took one of his knives and put it on one of the end tables.

With a contented sigh, he sat in the middle of the sofa. Glancing over, he caught the lovely curve of your body. His stomach tightened.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, baby.” You came over with his drink. He welcomed you onto his lap.

He wrapped in arm around your back, as he took his drink with his other free hand. “What if Zsasz comes up here to tell you something?”

“He is going to see me fucking you.” He took a sip from his drink, yours always tasted better. He watched your eyes grow. “Actually, I turned the elevator’s access to the penthouse off.”

You relaxed. “Thank you, daddy.” You said sweetly.

He smiled, his hand went to your hip and he squeezed. “You may be mine, but you are not a vessel to me nor will I ever treat you like one.”

You moved a little, and his smile grew larger, as he felt your hand sneak under his suit jacket while he felt your lips as you begun kissing his throat.

“Y/N.” Your name was more a sound then your name. “Y/N, look at me.” His voice had more of an edge but felt it was needed.

You pulled back, he could see the hurt. It actually broke through his anger. Which actually took a moment to register, this he wasn’t used to. You were the only one who had ever been able to rid his anger or bad days without making them worse.

Well, unless you were both having bad day and well sometimes he mused, those darker times could be alot of fun.

He took another sip and attempted to chose his words carefully. Another thing, he wasn’t used to.

“Growing up, I was a fucking object for my parents.” He rolled his eyes. “I was supposed to become best friends with Bruce. So they could get into such and such country club.” He said in a mimicking voice. He took another sip of his drink.

“When I was younger I continued that behavior. Other girls I saw I would have let Victor walk in on. Well, to be honest they never made it past the club. No one came up here.” He gave you a smile, looking into your eyes which he couldn’t read. “You’re the only one I trusted and wanted up here.”

“Oh Roman.” You wrapped your arms around him. You just held him, feeing your soft body and he enjoyed it.

A soft sound came from him when he felt your tongue, your kisses. “Let me make you feel good now.” Your breath was warm as you whispered that.

He stretched out his arms and let you. “Please, baby.” He whispered back as he watched and let do as you wished.

Your fingers easily opened and untucked his shirt from his slacks. He felt as you gently rocked against his growing hard on. “But don’t tease.” He met your eyes.

“Alright, not tonight.”

He smirked, damn you were just too good.

Your fingers made quick work of his belt and the zipper of his pants. He loved the intake of breath you always made you freed him from his pants. It always made him harder.

You scooted away for a moment, smiling he let you removed his pants. Straddling him once more, you looked at you and held you closer.

Your already wet warmth trembled against him, as he kissed you. He groaned as you continued to rub lushly over him. “Take me inside of you baby.”

You nodded but first you reached for his glass, he held it just out of reach, “I have an idea.”

“Oh?”

“First, I want to be nice and deep inside of you.”

You closed your eyes and made a soft sound. “Mm I want you to be as well.” You were breathless. You sat up and soon, with a moaned you lowered yourself onto him.

“Now don’t move.” You looked confused. “Be a good girl and don’t move.”

But you moved a little.

He smacked one of your ass cheeks which he realized felt really good.

“Daddy!” You yelped.

“I told you not to move.” He gently but firmly reminded you.

“Ok.”

“Good girls don’t move when daddy’s cock in them.” How quickly you sat a little straighter was not only endearing but was incredibly sexy. It also felt amazing. “Good girl.” He smiled.

Looking at you, he slowly finished his drink. “This was really good. Thank you.”

He noticed, when he spoke you would tighten and loosen around him. “You feel so good.” He added, before he took out the little sword that held the three olives, placed the glass down.

He grazed it against your lips.

“Would you like one of daddy’s olives?”

You nodded.

“Now just one.”

He swallowed as he watched you pull one to your mouth by your lips. Your breasts were so soft, and you were as tight as little flower buds; and just as sweet to look at. He gently grazed one bud, then the other one you wiggled on top of him but it felt so good, he wasn’t going to stop you.

He made a soft endearing sound. “Feel good baby?”

When the cool liquor trailed a path down your body, he didn’t stop you from wiggling then either.

“Yes.” You only wiggled a little. “I will never think of those olives the same way.” He did it again as you spoke I’m enjoying the sounds it caused.

Making sure you were watching, he ate them and tossed the sword. Bowing his head he licked at one of your luscious pink buds. He made a soft sound as he felt your fingers in his hair. He lingered a little longer as he heard you moaning more. He finally went on to the other little bud. When be pulled back he met your eyes. “That is the only kind of shot I want. You’re soft warm body and some liquor.”

“Please.” You whimpered.

He smoothed his hands up your thighs till he held your hips. “Ride daddy baby.” He move enough, so you had some room.

Together you moved, your moans mingled and became one. Sloppy, hungry kisses finally were exchanged. He continued to you hold and he moved with you. Damn, it felt so good. Your fingers moved through his hair, even tugging a little which only made everything feel better.

After, you came hard against you arching in your glowing moan that filled the entire penthouse, he held you as he finally came hard himself after continuing to move in and out of you.

Gently, he held you as you melted soft against him. He gently ran his fingers up and down your back. You still fell into a gentle sleep with him in you. Holding you, he let himself fall asleep too.

Leading into a Sunday, when he woke sometime later dawn was coming the sky was that particular shade of blue that fills the sky before the sun arrives. It made him chuckle softly. They had slept quite a while like a statue of lovers, who never wanted to part.

You gently stirred.

“Baby,” He whispered, let’s sleep more comfortably in bed. “Yes?”

You gently moved off of him and after shedding his shirts, leaving them there he scooped you up.

****

Still half asleep you curled up to him as he pulled the blankets up. Right now, that exactly what he wanted. Somewhere, in the recesses of his shadowy mind, he hoped it would it was enough to keep the nightmares away.

@spn-obsessed-dean @vintagemichelle91 @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @ewanfuckingmcgregor @zodiyack @angel98624 @frenchgirlinlondon @nebulastarr @emyliabernstein @thepeachreads @itsknife2meetu @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @nomnomnomnamja @poe-kadot26 @babydoll97 @hazel-nuss @vcat55 @feelthemadnessinside @brookisbi @peachthatdrinkslemonade @johallzy @foreverhockeytrash @frostypenguinoz @starwarsslytherin @proffesionalclown @chogisss @shantellorraine @xxinvisiblexx @mxdx8 @blondekel77 @saphic-susperia @drarrylov3r @i-cant-hear-you16 @deadlymistress24 @yesqueenofthelight @lemairepstuff @generallj

[cyndalyssa]

Oh, Look, Another Darkwing Drabble

This one’s a snippet of a bigger story in my head, based on the idea of Bushroot going massive mindless monstrosity. 

I dunno if I’ll ever write the rest of the story down, my life tends to get a little busy and I already have a lot of ideas I want to make in my free time, but I at least wanted to exercise the writing muscles. 

All was quiet at the Museum of Failed Experiments. The dark of night gave the appearance of rest to each polished display, even those that were still lit. Though dignified it looked, the place was home to quite a bit of failure, hence the name. Each wing, covering branches of science and engineering, was a hall of shame, showing off embarrassments, tragedies, and unfinished projects to the citizens of St. Canard.

It was at this scene that the night guards present had unfortunate encounters. A flower that sprayed sleeping gas, a stun gun, a joy buzzer that ended in instant knockout, being washed into a closet by water from the drinking fountain, and just getting hit by a mallet were their fates, and they were swiftly locked up by the intruders.  

The Fearsome Five then had the place to themselves. 

As they met up in the lobby, Megavolt couldn’t help but look up, in awe of the enormity of it. “Wowza, they really went all out on this place!” He glanced back at the corridor from whence he came and smiled. “They’ve got gizmos and gadgets aplenty!”

Quackerjack bounced to his side. “And whozits and whatzits galore!”

“They got thingamabobs?”

“Psht, at least twenty!”

Megavolt laughed. “I can’t believe they gave up on some of these! I oughta grab ‘em and show everyone how it’s done!” 

Quackerjack grinned. “Oh, I feel you, Sparky! In fact, I’m getting quite a bit of inspiration myself from doodads like the fruit-flavored fireworks! Ooh-hoo-hoo-hoo, can you just imagine a literal explosion of fruity goodness?”

Megavolt narrowed his eyes, his plug hat sparking and an irritated growl in his voice. “How many times have I told you not to call me Sparky?”

“Not like you can remember.”

Cutting between them, the Liquidator piped in, “Fruit-flavored fireworks? The phenomenon of the century, guaranteed to sweeten up your 4th of July celebrations! Comes in apple, cherry, grape, and blue raspberry.”

Bushroot scratched his head. “I’m just wondering how the inventor expected that to work. What kind of chemistry was involved?”

Negaduck rolled his eyes. “Blegh, of course you dweebs get hopped up on exploding fruit snacks. Now remember, children, we’re not here for the fireworks, we’re here for the portal gun that’s supposed to be displayed here… and I expect you to be looking for it!” 

The other four silently stared at him for a moment, glanced at each other, and then back to him. Then, Megavolt asked, “Well, what does it look like?”

“It’s red and vaguely gun-shaped, with a spinny thing at the end,” Negaduck answered in baby-talk. Then he snapped, “I’m sure you could figure it out from the display name! Now, get to searching!”

Negaduck stormed upstairs. Quackerjack and Megavolt rushed to the technology wing--partially running from Negaduck, partially rushing to see what kind of doodads they could see. Perhaps even take some and modify them for later mischief. 

Liquidator was about to flow down another hall when he noticed Bushroot at the directory. The plant duck glanced the direction of the hall that Quackerjack and Megavolt rushed down, and then up the stairs that Negaduck had descended. Then, almost sneakily, he went in the opposite direction and toward the natural science and chemistry wing. 

Curious, Liquidator decided to follow him, and had caught up in a second. “One in ten customers would say that this portal gun is not in this wing, Bushroot.”

Bushroot flinched at the sudden voice, but quickly regained his composure. “Well, uh… when studying the map earlier, I recall that the storage room was somewhere in this direction. It could be in there.”

Liquidator raised a watery eyebrow. “You want an excuse to look around, huh?”

Bushroot glanced away. “Well… it couldn’t hurt. I mean, I’m curious and I don’t know when I’ll be able to have another opportunity for a museum visit.” He looked back to see Liquidator still staring like a disappointed parent. “But I do think storage is in this wing, honest!”

“Hm. Well, if it’s in this direction, why not treat yourself to this once-in-a-lifetime super private tour? Just don’t get too distracted, and it’ll be between you and me.”

“O-oh, that’s no problem. I’m a pretty fast reader.”

The two mutants wandered around the natural science and chemistry wing, looking for a door or hall or basement staircase that led to that storage room. However, Liquidator was doing most of the looking, sweeping around the rooms quickly, while Bushroot, though still looking at the walls in hopes of spotting the passage they were looking for, was circling displays in fascination. There were models and pictures of odd creatures or monstrosities, as well as deformed skeletons of unfortunate souls. He read about attempts to clone prehistoric plants and even animals, a tale of a man who accidentally fused himself with a fly, and the horror of radioactive moss. On occasion, he’d stumble on a display involving water, and invite Likki to take a look. 

Every so often, Liquidator would look to see what Bushroot was doing. There were moments that Bushroot seemed to be genuinely looking for that storage room--such as now, when walking along the wall of glass cases full of more experiments, he paused at a gap in the wall, looking at a door, but saw that it was an emergency exit and then moved on. Otherwise, the plant duck was more invested in the science that surrounded him, which Likki had a little trouble relating to. While some of the stuff involving water was interesting, he otherwise didn’t care for the biological stuff that Bushroot was so entranced by. 

Meanwhile, so far, the only doors they had found were emergency exits, but nothing leading to any storage or basement at some point. Liquidator was almost of the mind that Bushroot duped him, but Bushy wasn’t like that.

At some point, when Liquidator finally found a hallway that looked promising, Bushroot suddenly cried, “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!”

Alarmed, Likki splashed his way to where Bushroot stood, at a display in the corner about biological chemical disasters. The plant duck was looking quite offended, glaring at one particular shelf where a green substance, surrounded by plant models and photos of a strange machine, sat. Likki took a closer look at the label, which read:

Chloroplast Infusion Solution, Dr. Reginald Bushroot, Ph.D

Skimming over the description of the substance, what it was supposed to do, and how it backfired, Likki just glanced over to Bushroot, who held his head in his leafy hands. 

“How humiliating! I can’t believe I made it into the Hall of Shame!”

Likki patted him on the back. “Aw, Bushy, do not fret! After all, you’ve gotten an upgrade! Who needs a normal sad sap scientist when you can have a super plant that can grow a forest with just a thought?” 

A sharp glare arose from Bushroot’s palms. “I just wanted to alleviate world hunger… and, uh, maybe get a little respect…”

“Respect, huh?” Likki shook his head. “I’m sure with your power, you can easily command it.”

“There is a difference between respect and fear.”

“Hm. Well, as Bud Flud, I was just a salesman trying to keep my business afloat; but as the Liquidator, I became master of all liquids, one with the water, and a force to be reckoned with!” A sphere of water detached from Likki’s hand and revolved around it. “I know my power, and I revel in it.” 

He grabbed the sphere, reabsorbing it. “As for you… well, you’ve got potential, but you lack nerve. Someday, I’d like to see you cut loose, show them what Bushroot is really capable of.”

Bushroot glanced at him, pondering on whether he should remind Liquidator of Negaduck and their shared fear of him, but decided against it. He crossed his arms. “Fine, whatever you say.”

He went back to glaring at the display of his fateful project. “If those two ignoramuses had just minded their own business and not made me look bad in front of the dean, then I would’ve still had the funding to test on the lab rats instead of myself. You know, catch the kinks and find a way to iron them out. But… here I am now.”

“I’d say that career change was for the better.”

“But I liked being a scientist… sure, I hated my coworkers--except one--but I love science.”

Likki shrugged. “Life sucks and we just gotta roll with the punches.” He turned around and marched toward that one hallway. “Now, come on, there’s a storage room calling our names, and who knows when the purple menace will pop in.”

Bushroot sighed, taking one last look at his experiment’s exhibit. “All right, I’ll stop wasting ti--”

He stopped when he caught a name on the display right next to his. Eyes boggling, he grabbed the bottle from that shelf and shouted, “Goodness grapevines! He has one here too?”

Likki stopped and turned around. “Inquiring minds must know… who’s he?” 

Bushroot gestured to the name on the display, which, when Likki took a closer look, read ‘Dr. Arthur Bones’. “He was my rival back in college, and he was one of the meanest, most condescending jerks that I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing. I don’t know what I ever did to him, but sometimes it felt like it was his life’s mission just to convince me that everything I do is stupid and dangerous. Hmph, at least my buddy Andrew had my back.”

Liquidator rubbed his chin. “You just have a way of attracting bullies, don’t you? At the very least, you can take some joy that Dr. Bones is also in the Hall of Shame!”

“Yeah, I guess I could.” Bushroot looked at the label on the bottle, brow furrowed in confusion. “Although I do wonder what he was doing making fertilizer. Last I remember, he was into genetics--especially studies on mutations and defects.”

“For more information, check the description--it’s right there.”

Bushroot turned to the description and read aloud, “‘In 1990, a miracle growth formula invented by Dr. Bones took several western states by storm. With a natural sweet scent and potent power, it improved the lives of gardeners everywhere by making plants healthier, stronger, and sturdier against disease and pests, and helping them to grow faster than normal’.” He scratched his chin and nodded. “Well, now I’m tempted to bring it home with me and see what my plants think.”

Liquidator chuckled. “Oh, I bet they’d love it! The amazing miracle fertilizer, guaranteed to create a happy and hearty garden!”

“Ee-hee, it does sound great.” Bushroot’s smile fell into a frown as he turned back to the description. “But this is a Museum of Failed Experiments, so there is a catch here... ‘While at first it seemed to be a blessing, it soon proved to be dangerous for people, as proven with the Mallard High School Football Team during the fall of 1990. Reports of--’”

“I am the terror that flaps in the night!”

The sudden voice from nowhere made them jump. Bushroot even ended up tossing the bottle of fertilizer into the air. He didn’t even hear the second part of the introduction, too distracted by gravity smashing the bottle onto his head. The glass shattered, and fertilizer splashed everywhere on him and the floor, leaving him a dripping mess. His roots started lapping up the puddle that remained. 

“I am… Darkwing Duck!”

[lettrespromises]

#LettresPromises informs you : You have one notification.

──➤ Atsumu Miya sent you a letter, would you like to read it?

the author sent a letter : ❝dear reader, first and foremost, i’m terribly sorry for being inactive— university and entrance exams are choking me in the least kinky way possible. so, in order to make myself forgiven, i shall deliver you a sinful atsumu letter. sealed with a kiss, nikki. P.S: sending tons of love to @newfriendjen​ for taking some of her precious type to beta-read this letter, thank you so much once again, you’re an angel!❞

──➤ Prompt used : A letter inspired by the song “Maneater” by Nelly Furtado— as Atsumu comes back from a volleyball-related trip, he’s greeted by the most enticing sight : yourself, on the bed, wearing the set of lingerie he had specifically bought for you. Atsumu knows he has you all to himself, or so he thinks? A battle for dominance caught between two lovers with prideful hearts. ─➤ Genre : Smut. ➤ Warnings : MINORS DO NOT READ THIS, 18+ ONLY. Switch reader and switch Atsumu, sexual intercourse, cunnilingus, cursing, degradation (both reader and Atsumu), overstimulation, daddy kink, mistress kink, vaginal penetration. 

There are three rules to being a man-eater : make them spend hard, make them fall on their knees and make them fall real hard in love.

The first rule came natural, a flick of your hair accompanied by a sensually calculated flutter of your eyelashes was enough to make him bend under your charms, as if the requests leaving your lips had been laced with a spell rendering him unable to deny your demand. After all, Atsumu Miya would give you anything on a silver plate and more if it meant he could hear you say his name. He was particularly fond of the way you’d drag the last syllable of his name with the pad of your thumb gracing your lower lip, giving you the grandeur of a faux innocent façade, it was this meticulous marriage of faux innocence and lust that would, each time, sign his own end.

And yet again, he had dived head first into the abyss of your charms— not that he ever regretted it, the grin on your face and the gleam shining in the corner of your irises was the greatest reward he could have ever possibly asked for. 

Atsumu had come home from yet another trip, a volleyball-related trip that is. He had the thoughtful habit of sending you different kinds of presents while he was away, hoping that the presence of these gifts would make up for the lack of his own presence. There was always a note attached to each package, if it was lingerie he often wrote something along the lines of how he’d wish time would fly faster so he could bask in the glory of your body, take mental pictures of how the red of the lace embraced your body so divinely well that he was convinced you were a muse  taken from a renaissance painting who had come to life.

Whenever he’d come home, his first reflex was always to head straight to his room— because he was positive that he’d find you there either way.

And bingo. There you were, clothed in the latest set of lingerie he had sent you while he was abroad. Atsumu had an idea of how said set would look on you from the pictures he had seen online, but never did he once think that it would look that good. After all, you always exceeded his expectations. 

A set so sophisticated, he had picked a black set this time (surely because his subconscious associated the color to the color of the Black Jackals and it was enough to send a rush of blood downwards at the thought of it) and, much to his pleasure, it left so little to the imagination. The fabric covering your breasts was transparent if it wasn’t for the embroidered flowers right above your nipples. Unbeknownst to him, Atsumu’s gaze had been stuck on the way your buds were peaking through the fabric whilst the back of his mind already imagined scenarios where he’d let his mouth would latch onto your breast to earn some of the moans he knew all too well but could never get enough of.

His throat tightened a bit when his eyes went south— the panties matched the bra, albeit the presence of the flowers were missing this time, allowing him to drink in the sight of your core already glistening with lust. He hadn’t missed the way you were seated on the edge of his bed either, legs already spread apart like a silent invitation for him to let those thoughts that would make a demon blush be set free, or the way your back was paying homage to a crescent moon from how arched it was. Fuck. 

« You like what you see, baby? » The words left your lips in a suggestive tone.

He blinked once, then twice, to set himself free from the torment of his thoughts. « Is this all for me? » He questioned, taking a few steps forward to reduce the space between the both of you. 

Alas, he was stopped by the red sole of the heels (courtesy of the expertise of Louboutin) planted on his lower abs. « What do you think you’re doing? On your knees. »

« Wh-… On my knees? » The smirk plastered across his facial features had fallen low into a look of disbelief. 

« Didn’t you get in the first time? On your knees. Now. » You repeated, the imperative tone of your voice becoming clearer. 

The second rule to being a man-eater was to make them fall on their knees.

He sunk down to his knees as told, his eyesight facing directly your clothed core he so badly wanted to have a taste of. Your taste was like an addiction, not that he was interested in finding some kind of antidote anyways. Atsumu didn’t even notice the way his tongue was swiping across his lower lip in anticipation for the future sinful deeds he was bound to do.

Seeing he was stuck in a daze of lust, you just had to earn his attention back. How dare he not pay attention to you? With the help of your index and middle finger, you began to stroke your clothed core in vertical motions, a slow and methodic pattern to entice him even more and make him sink even more into an abyss of dark thoughts.

« Do you want it? Do you want to eat me out, mhm? » You half-questioned, already knowing the answer to your question was going to be positive.

Although he thought it was impossible, his throat tightened even more, the constriction of lust preventing him from forming any kind of a sentence, hence why he nodded instead of ridiculing himself with broken words.

« Cat’s got your tongue? » 

« Lemme’ eat you out, please. » He replied after gathering enough strength to form a ‘normal’ sentence.

« Please who? » You demanded, leaning forwards to cradle his jaw.

« Fuck… Please mistress. » The words sounded so bitter, the price to pay to reach nirvana.

The way you had leaned back, propped on your elbows to obtain some kind of leverage, was a silent way to invite him to get a taste of yourself. Both of his palms roamed on the plush flesh of your thighs caging him into the sweetest hold, until his fingers reached the bands on the side of the panties which had been lingering on his mind more than he’d ever admit. Controlled by his unquenchable thirst to let his tastebuds be blessed by the sweet taste of your juices, Atsumu used his strength for good measure by ripping the fabric apart— a distinct testimony of the hunger casting a dark cloud over his irises.

And at this very moment, right when the fabric of your panties fell into an abyss of oblivion, Atsumu knew that the gates of heaven had finally opened up to him— his orbs were frenetic, trying to catch a glimpse of each centimeter of your body awaiting to be cherished by his lips and worshipped by his tongue, and you could’ve sworn his pupils had dilated when his gaze landed on your core, glistening in all of its lustful glory.

« You like what you see, don’t you? » You teased, knowing damn well the answer was written all over his face.

« I love it, I fuckin’ love it, mistress. » Atsumu answered, the desire to get a taste of you almost burning him alive.

You couldn’t help but smile at his awful lack of self-control, but oh well, at least he had the benefit of having tried… But was trying ever really enough? Your palm fell flat on his cranium, digits tangling with his bleached blonde locks that could rival the brightest rays of sunshine. « Go ahead… You have my permission. »

Those were the words Atsumu had been waiting to hear ever since he stepped foot in his bedroom, the words that triggered another wave of hunger in the pit of his stomach— in fact, said words had triggered the beginning of the end for him. And worst of all, he was aware of his own fatalist fate.

In a flash, the not-so foreign sensation of Atsumu’s mouth paving a trail of forbidden kisses from your inner thighs to your core awakened chills that ran down your spine. And there it was— the absolute devotion of his body to yours. He knew this was no place for teasing, the word reigning supreme here was ‘pleasure’, and he couldn’t allow to break the rules and not give his mistress what she desired, correct?

Like a man starved who was bound to eat his very last meal on Earth, Atsumu jumped head-first into a pool of lust and flattened his tongue to draw a long and fat lick of your core that would, for sure, coat all of his tastebuds with your taste. Fuck, this was heaven on Earth. He used his index and middle finger to spread your folds, thus obtaining a better view of your core and a clearer path to execute away the ministrations that would make a demon blush.

Kitten licks collecting any bits of remaining juice, sucking motions on your oh so sweet bundle of nerves that would be the key to your future orgasms, shoving his tongue directly into your hole that was clenching each time the tip of his tongue graced your inside— wasn’t he being such a sweet boy?

But it seems Atsumu had pulled out a fifth ace out of his sleeve when the same two digits that were spreading your folds open had taken a dive south to meet your core. He was getting drunk on the sight of seeing his fingers disappearing, inch by inch, into your hole that was clenching around him, a testimony of pleasure that was as clear as day.

Your back arched once more like the curve of a moon shining amidst a constellation, an iron grip maintained Atsumu in place and, at times, moved him a bit around when he was hitting that sweet spot that would make you cry out in pleasure. « Fuck, Atsumu! Nghh, right here, oh fuck, here! » 

And so he did as told— he pumped his fingers in and out of your core and let his tongue flicker some more over your bundle of nerves with a newfound purpose, the most lustful yet most rewarding one of them all, making you come undone. 

It wasn’t your first shared rodeo, and after quite a handful of experiences, Atsumu had gained enough knowledge to know when your body was about to give in to the sins of pleasure. He analyzed everything, knowing like the back of his hand how your moans would gain a higher pitch, how your hold on his hair would tighten more and more and how your breathing was gradually becoming more irregular. « Fuck, fuck— ah, fuck! I’m gonna, ‘gonna c-cum! »

And before the words had fully left your mouth, you were hit with ceaseless waves of pleasure that washed all over you, sending you into a state of pure bliss where you could discern stars behind your closed lid, much to Atsumu’s greatest pleasure. The latter hadn’t missed a bit, and as soon as the first drops of the awaited elixir of pleasure had poured from your clenching core, his tongue was quick to lick your entire cunt clean— he wasn’t the one to waste your sweet cum, after all. 

Atsumu could’ve sworn that he could’ve come undone from the taste of your cum only, and the crimson shade of the tip of his cock, aching from an enticing marriage of pain and pleasure, seemed to prove this point even further. « Fuck, you taste so good. So, so good, mistress. »

The tip of his tongue had cleaned the last remaining bits of cum on the corners of his lips, tasting once more what he’d define as the sweetest poison on Earth whilst you were completely sent into a post-orgasm daze, eyes blurry from the pearls of tears that had threatened to fall earlier.

Your gaze was stuck on the ceiling, causing you to miss the ill-intentioned grin that had crept across Atsumu’s facial traits. « Are we going to play this game longer, huh? ‘Kinda tired of playing your personal slut. » He trailed off, his body now hovering over yours. « We all know for a fact that if there’s a slut here, it’s you, and you’re all fuckin’ mine. » He whispered right in the crook of your ear, having chosen to reduce the space between your ear and his lips to send chills down your spine. 

« Atsumu… » You breathed out, barely recognizing your own voice from how weak it sounded. 

« Two can play this little game of yours, ya’ know? But… We’re gonna play under my rules now. So start calling me by my name. » Words coated with lust fell straight into your eardrum. « My real name, doll. » He added, this time with a deeper tone.

It was the last warning he had given you before crashing his lips onto yours, tongue barely waiting half a second to force its way in your own mouth where your two tongues clashed in harmony. Despite your state, you still put up a fight against his pink muscle, well decided to win this fight for supremacy by tugging him closer by the neck. 

« Dirty little thing, you never know when to quit, do you, huh? » He breathed out against your lips, a trail of saliva connecting your mouths. 

« Fuck you, Atsumu. You wish I’d give you what you want! » You barked back, bringing him closer to shut him up with yet another kiss.

« Weren’t you just cumming on my mouth, like, two minutes ago? C’mon, I haven’t even fucked you stupid yet and you’re already losing your damn mind? » He seethed, deciding to shut you up on his own terms by planting his pearly whites into the yet untouched flesh of your neck where, later on, a bouquet of scarlet and plum love bites would bloom.

Atsumu created a path of open-mouthed kisses, intercut with repetitions of « mine » between each kiss, that led to the valley of your breasts. His hands were quick to set you free (quite the euphemism because he decided, much like your panties, to rip your bra apart) from the poor piece of fabric that was separating him from your breasts. 

There again, he wasted no time sending another urge of pleasure coursing through your veins as his mouth was quick to latch onto your breast— the hypnotic rolling motions of his tongue and the small bites left on your nipple caused a flow of moans to fall free from your mouth. « Make those sounds for me, c’mon, don’t go shy on me now, princess. » He mused before giving the same treatment to your other breast while he was pinching your other nipple with his fingers, rolling it until it hurt pleasurably to the touch.

The whines and moans falling like a cascade from your lips had always been something he will never get tired of, it was like the best of rewards, that and seeing your face contorted by pleasure. 

He knew damn well your core was still leaking from your previous orgasm, and prepping it once more would only please you too much, and now that the roles had reversed, he was not bound to give you what you wanted anymore.

His digits wrapped around his cock, throbbing in anticipation and the tip as red as ever and a trail of pre-cum was leaking down the side of his girth. Atsumu gave it a few experimental pumps, using his fingers to spread the pre-cum all over his cock although he knew that he didn’t need much of a lubricant given how soaked you were. « C’mon, Atsumu, don’t tease me! » You whined. 

« Huh? What did you just call me? » He asked, ceasing the pumping motions on his cock which let you know that if you were to call him by the wrong name again, he’d just leave you on your own. 

« Fuck you… Don’t tease me, please, Daddy. » You breathed out.

« See? Dirty sluts like you can turn into good girls. » He grinned at your obedience before resuming to his antics. 

The tip of his cock was teasing your core, letting the tip run over your folds and your clit to give you a taste of the pleasure you were going to go through. And then it hit, the gradual pleasure conquering each inch of your body as he slid inch by inch the length of his cock inside your throbbing hole that was already sucking him like a vice. « Fuck, fuck you’re tight. » 

The sudden stretch caused a moan to erupt from your lips in response to the sudden presence amongst your walls. The way your body responded to every experimental inch drilled within you earned a light groan out of him each time, that is until he managed to push his entire girth inside of you, you mutually reacted to the overwhelming sensation by a choked breath, as if every ounce of oxygen had been knocked out of your lungs. 

And then it was a crescendo— not only regarding the rhythm of his hypnotic thrusts which never failed to cause the sudden appearance of a soft sound of pleasure from bursting out of your lips, but also regarding the rising level of ecstasy and pure bliss in your lower belly : the forming knots became a bit tighter with each slap of his testicles against your derrière and the stars shining behind your closed lids became a bit clearer with each thrust, sending you straight into a daze where you failed to tell the difference between reality and lustful dreams. « D-Daddy, please, ahh! Fuck me so good, fuck me so good… » You breathed out between moans.

You couldn’t help but dig your nails into the flesh of his upper arm which provoked a groan out of him, crimson colored trails colored his skin and the red tone of pleasure married the tone of his skin so effortlessly, as if your marks had always belonged on his skin. 

« Who’s making you feel this fuckin’ good? Who does this wet cunt of yours belong to, slut? » Atsumu grunted, a trail of curses leaving his lips in the process. His perpetual quest of pleasure was ceaseless, never once stopping to fill his lungs with clear oxygen. Every thrust spoke volume, and said volume growing louder and louder with each passing second and each thrust given as an offering to the deities of lust. « Y-You, daddy! No one.. Fuuck, n-no one else! »

«Fuck, baby! ‘M gonna cum in that tight pussy of yours, better get every single drop for Daddy, fuck, fuck, fuck! » His lips were glued to yours, careless to allow you the right to breathe and that was all due to the lust that consumed him as he could already fill the welcoming breezes of his approaching climax against his skin. 

The tip of his girth was kissing the panel of nerves designed for pleasure, each thrust caressing your cervix was as addictive as the last one. It signed the end of you, sealed the fatalist fate where you were bound to unleash a second orgasm although your body had barely recovered from the first one. This crescendo of lust had drawn more pleasure that your body could possibly handle, forced more reactions that your mind could follow. 

Speaking of the latter, it was pitch black, and not even a beacon of hope had the chance to shine through the void of your thoughts, pierce through the darkness emanating from the open gates of your subconscious. Only unintelligible sounds that echoed to pleasure left your parted lips, head tilted to the side with a string of drool creating a humid stain on the pillow. 

And then it hit you, your body had manifested the overdose of ecstasy for a second time, draining the last bits of energy you ignored you had. A dragged moan of his name, his real name, had left your lips at the occasion whilst the hand settled on his forearm had slid down on the mattress, taken away by the sudden exhaustion.

Atsumu’s salute came in the form of one final slam of his hips against your cunt dripping with the marriage of your juices and, after having colored the blank canvas of your walls with the color of sin, his own. « Good girl, see? See how nice you are when you obey? ‘Made a real mess, didn’t’cha? » He swore to himself that he could have come undone a second time at the sight of the cum leaking from your hole, pathetically clenching around his girth as he was pulling away from your hole. 

Your breathing was everything but regular, oxygen seemed to fade away as soon as it entered your system and your brain fogged by this persistent daze of lust wasn’t helping much. Obey? The same word was kept on loop in your mind from the moment he had said it. « Atsumu, I thought you knew me better than that. » You breathed out, bowing your lips into an ill-intentioned grin at the idea that had just blossomed in your mind. Obey? Very well.

« What are you on about? » He interrogated, brow quirked up to emphasize his question.

With the leverage given by the support of your elbows, you managed (as efficiently as someone who’s had two orgasms in a row, that is) to get back on your knees, and before Atsumu knew it, you were sitting on your self-claimed throne in the middle of his lap, right where his erection was still poking your entrance. You had essentially caged him with your luscious thighs, the sweetest hold he could’ve asked for despite what his face may say. « ‘The hell are y’doin’? » He asked once more, growing impatient by the second.

« Raising your voice at me? » You mused, sarcasm lacing your every word. « Very well, then. » You added, shoving your index and middle finger in his mouth to prevent him from spilling any more absurdities— you were not one bit surprised to see Atsumu quickly warming up to the not-so foreign presence of your fingers in his mouth, his pink muscle coating your digits with his saliva. « Good boy. See how nice you are when you obey? » Atsumu’s pupils dilated even more under the spell of lust when he realized you had twisted his own words in your favor.

Atsumu wanted to scoff, to shove you off and regain the monopoly of control once more but the way you were enticing him into a game of back-and-forth, a constant fight for supremacy, made him crave you even more. He hated it, and loved it at the same time.

How convenient that the tip of cock, still reddened by pleasure and coated with a veil of sinful cum, was grazing the curve of your derrière. One could say that this position was almost… Strategic, mhm? However, just sinking down on his girth in a heartbeat would be giving Atsumu what he wanted on a silver plate, with a supplement of moans and whines on top of it. 

« If you like control so much… » You trailed off, leaning to the side just a bit to reach the night stand right next to his bed where, of course, he’d hide his precious collection of toys devoted to pleasure. Your orbs scanned a bit, hands swimming through the myriad of strap-ons and others cock-rings with flashing colors, only to find the holy Graal in the form of metal-like handcuffs.

« You’re gonna love this, then. » You said, dangling from left to right the object of his torture, Atsumu’s eyes followed each motion of the handcuffs in a hypnotic manner, ready to be sent into a substate of delirium. 

« Hands. » You demanded, the imperative tone coloring your words provoked a whimper of anticipation out of him. « Good boy. » you praised, taking one hand after the other and locking each of them to the bedding, tugging just a bit on his wrists to see if the material would resist just in case Atsumu would put up a fight— but he’s such a good and obedient boy, he would never dare cross the limits you have drawn yourself.

« Who’s my good boy? » Words filled with such sweetness hidden behind a mirage of lust, like a poisoned apple of some sorts, fell straight into his eardrums. Atsumu’s mouth was set agape, believing for one second that he had forgotten how to talk properly. « ’S me, I’m your good boy, mistress. » So sweet, you couldn’t resist letting your hand envelope his cheek in a caring manner.

« Mh, what do you want mistress to do to you, my pretty boy? » More enchanting words lingered in the air, echoing like the fallen promises of the sirens to lure martyrs into the depth of lust. « I want… » He began, pupils dilating further upon observing your hands caressing all over his chest and abdomen region, feeling each bump created by his muscles. « I want mistress to fuck me, fuck me so hard ‘till she milks me dry. » He breathed out.

« And why do you want that? » You cooed, reducing dangerously the space between your lips and his own, your breasts pressed against the muscles of his chest. « … ‘Cause I’m your good boy, a-and your dirty slut. » He looked at you almost hesitantly, wondering if he had chosen the right wording.

The ill-intentioned grin painted across your face seemed to be the confirmation that, yes, Atsumu had said the magic words that had been housed inside the deepest, darkest parts of your subconscious. « That’s right, my dirty little slut. » 

You retreated your hips backwards, your gaze never once daring to leave his face and how his facial traits were already torn with pleasure. His hips had buckled at the degradation falling from your lips, sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through his veins in a heartbeat— he was so receptive to your words and touch, it was almost pathetic. « You’re so impatient, aren’t you? But good sluts deserved so be fucked so well, too. ‘Want me to ride your cock until you can’t take it anymore, mh? ‘Want me to make you cum? » You mocked as the pad of your thumb was brushing in circular motions the tip of his cock, you’d continue this torture until the sacred words would fall from his lips with pity drooling from every syllable. « P-Please… Fuck, mistress, milk me dry… Fuck me like there’s no tomorrow. My cock’s— Ahh, shit, shit, shit! My c-cock’s yours, mistress. » 

He had begged so well, his pleas were on a loop like a broken record on your mind, getting drunk on the feeling of pity exuding his every pore shamelessly. You laid both of your hands flat on his lower abdomen to obtain some leverage, enough to tease him by gliding the angry scarlet shade of his cock in vertical motions against your folds. « Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, please! » He pleaded once more, and as the words had died on his tongue like a secret prayer, you sank your hips down in a swift motion without warning. 

Atsumu felt like every ounce of oxygen had left his lungs, as if his brain had ceased to function for a moment because he was secretly persuaded that he had seen a glimpse of heaven as your derrière ascended onto his cock begging to be used for good measure, begging to have its flow of cum be leaked into the tight grip of your walls, begging to feel resurgences of pleasure over and over again until his mind couldn’t keep up anymore and until becoming a whining, stuttering, drooling mess fucked stupid.

And then it began again, the ascension to heaven— a path he knew all too well, a path adorned with your name written in the finest gold lettering infused with the most sinful essence, a path illuminated by your face contorted in pleasure. The mere thought of it alone was enough to send him in overdrive.

The repetition of your hips gliding the girth of his cock was enough to make his tongue peak through the corner of his lips, not that he could muster enough force to shut his mouth anyways. But it was fine, so fine, because you were at the center of the echoes of his moans. 

« C’mon, baby! Be my good boy, ah fuck, fuck! Good little slut! » You breathed out, neck tilted to face the ceiling in ecstasy. Atsumu wasn’t following much, the sight of you riding him alongside your breasts bouncing frenetically to the rhythm of your vertical motions was the greatest of gifts.

And on the other one hand, the greatest of gifts, for you, was being able to see him so weak and vulnerable, unable to put enough strength into his thrusts which led you to completely take control, unable to refrain any sound of pleasure from leaving the frontiers of his lips. « Ahh, fuck! Fuck me…! Fuck me! Nghh! » And there you were, drinking his enticing pleas. 

Your fingertips left hot crimson trails on the skin of his abdomen, true testimonies of the pure essence of ecstasy coursing through your veins. Your breaths were growing more erratic, oftentimes they were cut with your own moans too. « Wanna’ cum, pretty boy? W-Wanna cum for your Mistress? »

« Please, please! P-Please just lemme’ fuckin’ cum in you! Lemme’... Fill your pretty cunt! » He breathed out in response.

Those were the sole little words you needed to quicken the pace of your ascensions, the latter caused Atsumu’s moans to grow more high-pitched. Although you couldn’t see it, you were entirely convinced that the tip of his cock had never been more rouge, he was breathing out pleas but ignored why on the long run, fully sent into a state of overstimulation. 

« A-Atsumu! Cum with me! » And the magic of performative language happened, the familiar feeling of the warmth of his white shots of cum invaded in the sweetest way your velvety walls, coating them with sins and passion. 

An elongated whimper fell free from your lips as it announced your own end, your own orgasm had been triggered with the one last fatal pump that untied all the metaphorical knots in your lower abdomen. Such a blissful sensation that never grew old, especially when Atsumu was the reason behind it all. 

But alas, as soon as you had touched Nirvana with your fingertips, fatality hit you in the back— you found yourself deprived of your energy, feeling as if all the oxygen had been knocked off of your lungs, and your mind was caught in a daze which projected nothing but a white veil.

« Baby… You did so good, so, so good... » Your words fell like hot whispers against his chest, your sudden lack of energy had caused you to fall limp onto his chest while you were still cockwarming him. 

Atsumu blinked once, then twice, only to realize that the pleasure that had enveloped him was very much real— and so were you. « Fuck that was good… » He whispered in response, not daring to move one bit because he knew his muscles would never forgive him for doing so. « You’re an angel, y’know that? » His gaze fell on you, the softest hint of a grin adorned his facial features.

You couldn’t help but release a hush giggle at his answer « How dare you calling me an angel after all of that, hm? »

This time, it was his time to mimic you by giving life to his own giggle, « Hey, the devil was the most beautiful angel once… Or something like that, ‘dunno. » He grinned, keeping the groans of pain locked in his throat as he managed to lay his palm against your cheek— his touch was so familiar, leaning into his palm came natural.  « But I didn’t know the devil came in sexy lingerie though. »

Oh, to you, dear victim of a maneater : you know you would do anything to keep them by your side, because when they say they love you, they love you long time.

[oracle-of-the-wastelands]

Regicide!

A/N: Holy shit, I wrote enough of something original to post?  Well then.  This will update (or not) as time permits, but since we’re all quarantined... may it bring you some joy.

Standard disclosures: I make no money off of this, but it IS an original setting that uses base D&D as its origin.  

Part 1: Wasteland, Baby

“Gods, what a wasteland, right?”  

That  was the first thing out of Aram’s mouth when they’d landed - roughly - on the then-abandoned, sandy shores of the Unknown Lands.  The young prince’s words filled the awkward silence that had descended on the ship and its crew and were carried away on the sharp seabreeze, only to be replaced by the sounds of the tides and seabirds.

There was a feeling of palpable shock among the crew.  They'd left in a hurry as nobles, picked up the mariner's life as they went, and had spent months at sea staring at little more than blue skies, blue seas, and storms.  Several had been lost along the way.  And now, they'd...landed?  Unbelievable.  

Wet mottled sand, black and yellow, stretched snakelike in front of them.  The beach was cut by rivulets of water, the fingers of a vast delta whose waters flowed through glossy green grasses and shrubby trees.  In the distance, the frondlike tops of a deep green forest waved back and forth in the humid air.  It was absolutely nothing like the Capital.  A long creak - the ship settling further into the sand - broke the quiet, and reminded Phineas to speak.

“Heh.  Right… terrible,” he agreed, though uncertainty weighed heavy in his voice. What did one say in a situation like this?  

His mind - still stunned by the very idea that their idea had worked much less that he’d survived the ordeal - went back to the start.  Lara’s Honor had set off from port in the Spring.  The day she’d launched, the first red buds had burst out of the dogwoods in the royal garden, and the sun shone blue and cold upon the still-snowy royal grounds.

There had been a meeting that day of the Royal Archaeology Society, led by the Lady Lara herself - their ship’s namesake, and Phineas’ mother.  The young mage rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, remembering how awkward that meeting had been.  He hadn’t told her his plan, and he’d ignored every spell and attempt to communicate between now and then.  He’d remember later that he was struck at that exact moment with the enormity of what he’d done. Aram didn’t seem to notice his discomfort.  

Then again, he didn’t notice a lot.

Phineas wasn’t entirely sure where they were, other than ‘further south’, but this place smelled of kelp and surf, not perfumed gardens.  The sky overhead was brighter, bluer, and streaked with iridescent white clouds.  His grip tightened against the wooden rail as panic rose in his stomach.  His parents were back up North; his home, his friends.  His study and mentor were there, and what had seemed like a brilliant lark two months ago was now-  

Aram clapped the half-elf suddenly on the back and gave a merry laugh, which again rang into the silence and surf.  Phineas managed not to throw up over the edge, but only barely.

“It’s a beautiful wasteland, though!  Think of the possibilities.”  He thrust his hands out and spread his fingers wide.  “Imagine a castle that overlooks the beach, Phin.  Right… there.”  He pointed to a limestone outcropping to their right that jutted out.  His timing was impeccable; as Phineas turned his head, a wave crashed against it and released an impressive mass of seaspray.

“We’ll tame the jungle and make a garden to rival Drake’s, but filled with southern flowers and vines and fruits they’ll have never heard of.  Trust me.  They’ll fall all over themselves to get a taste of this.  We’ll have the entirely of the Southern oceans, from the Golden Isles and down through the Ivenines to do trade with.”  His shining face seemed to forget the stress of the last several months.  It was replaced by excitement and pride.

“Phin?” he asked, when the other man didn’t respond.  “Can you imagine?”

Phineas’ nausea chose that exact moment to rear his head, and he whipped around and emptied the contents of his stomach into the ocean.. That  seemed to deflate the young price somewhat.  

“Well…” he added after a silent, skipped beat.  “Our mutiny had best get on.  We’re here - there’s no turning back now!”

The crew of former nobles didn’t exactly groan.  A respite from the sea before starting a literal new civilization didn’t seem like it was in the stars, though.

[winding-gulch-blog]

Feisty Flower Bud (A Smile For Me Fanfic)

Putunia Mollar is the town’s greatest hero (self-proclaimed). She throws hands with big bad villains in the name of JUSTICE! But when the evil in her life is a bit too close to home, she finds sympathy at the side of a highly punchable, highly bonkers, and highly soft green menace.

(It happens once in a blue moon. A video game strikes just the right chord in me to write some fanfic. Smile For Me is one such blue moon creation. Take my bubbling found family angst and fluff before I explode beyond my ruptured appendix five years ago.) (Highly recommend you look at the wiki page for Putunia before reading. I’m expanding with my own headcanon into her family life for the purpose of this story.)

—

“KA-POW!”

“KA-KICK!”

It wasn’t as exciting to fight a pillow back home. But with the Habitat closed down, Putunia had no other place to train for her inevitable upcoming battles with all the world’s superest of supervillains.

“KA-WHOOSH!”

“KA-PUNCH!”

“KA-BOOOOM!”

“SHUT THE HELL UP!” A female voice that rivaled hers in volume interrupted her. She sealed her lips immediately, going rigid. Luckily, there was no sound of footsteps on stairs. Spared an earful, or more.

“Ka-blaaam,” she whispered, knocking the pillow with her gloveless fist gently. She held it there, and ran her tongue across her teeth, feeling the space where a tooth once was.

She was lucky, in hindsight—it was a baby tooth, and she could feel the little spike of the permanent one already poking out. And she knew it wasn’t intentional. It was just late, and her mom was exhausted from another long day of work, and hadn’t expected to be playfully pounced by the eager child at the top of the stairwell. Still, the following shove and tumble down the stairs was painful. Even the way her mom picked her up, apologizing profusely in a rare hushed tone, felt as hollow as the space in her gums.  

This happened often. A thrown glass, or three. A brief yank of her hair. A raised hand. A small bruise or scrape she could claim as her battle scar from fighting baddies. A “CLEAN UP THE SODA CAN MESS YOU MADE DOWN HERE!” Or “KEEP YOUR DAMN HANDS TO YOURSELF.”

Followed by:

“Hecks, I’m sorry, Putunia. Long day.”

Putunia didn’t mind noise anymore. In fact, she’d adopted the powerful ability to project her own vocals. But it wasn’t always nice to be spoken to like that from bigger people—especially those with a fiery, paper-thin temper like her mom. 

She didn’t ever expect things to change. She just missed going to the Habitat to have a break from the shouting and other things.

Which is why it was so unusual when she heard a knock on her door while her mom was working the weekend shift.

She pushed a chair up to the door, and climbed up to peak out. 

She recognized her comrade immediately.  

“HEY FLOWER POWER!” She opened up the door with a big smile. Flower Kid smiled back; their teeth were extraordinary white, almost to the point of looking fake or like they were replacing what was there before. But that didn’t make their smile any less warm and inviting as its always been when they come and visit her.

“WADDUP?” Putunia asked. She remembered they didn’t talk. “COME TO SEE ME?”

A nod.

“WANNA COME IN?”

A shake of the head.

“WANT ME TO GO WITH YA?”

A nod.

“KAY!” Putunia almost darted out before pausing. “WAIT. MY DUTY IS TO STAY HOME. I HAVE TO COOK FOR MOM TONIGHT.”

Flower Kid dropped the smile and shook their head.

“WHAT?”

Flower Kid just held out their hand. Putunia tentatively took it.

The rest of the day happened quickly. Something about an investigation, based on information her floral friend had gleaned from Putunia’s home life in their visits, and having to stay at Flower Kid’s family house for a while as she had no immediate relatives. Putunia didn’t mind, it was like having a sleepover every night with plenty of superhero movies to watch, but she was confused what was happening.

But she was even more confused the day she and her short-term guardian went to the town park, and began approaching a villain.

A big, verdant, smiley one.

“GREEN MENACE!” Putunia put up her fists in time with Flower Kid grabbing her shoulder and pulling her back. “SO WE MEET FOR OUR FATED BATTLE!”

Habit lost his smile for a moment. “No punching, plez.”

That was like telling a fish not to swim. But Flower Kid was persistent in holding Putunia still.

“DID YOU FIGHT HIM ALREADY?”

A nod.

“DID YOU BEAT HIM UP?”

No response before a shake of the head.

“SO I SHOULD BEAT HIM UP FOR YA!”

A shake of the head again and gentle but firm tug.

Putunia looked between them.

“WHY IS THE ENEMY HERE, FLOWER POWER?!”

“I’m here to halp out!” Habit explained brightly. “Flower Child has asked me to sit on you, because your a babey. I will watch u while they’re off being a busy-bee making everyone happy, happy!”

“I WILL NOT FORM AN ALLIANCE WITH A VILLAIN!”

But it was no use. Her loyal floral comrade gave her a light pat on the head before ushering her over and leaving her alone on the field of battle.

Habit smiled again at the tiny person, thinking of ways he might entertain her. He recalled Putunia being full of spunk during the time she spent at his Habitat. How she managed to figure out he was…somewhat unsavory at the time was a mystery. But he was better now. Flower Kid leaving this smaller kid with him proved that he had earned their trust. “Lots of time for fun-funsies together! We culd…go splishy splash in the lake, or go pet the horsies at the farm. Or make sock puppets!”

Putunia stood up on tiptoe and pouted, trying to look intimidating.

“YOUSE A BADDIE!” She declared after a moment of searching his face. “BIG GREEN BADDIE! I DON’T PLAY WITH BADDIES! I FIGHT BADDIES! WE’RE GONNA FIGHT IN A DESTINED BATTLE! BUT…NOT WITHOUT MY HERO GEAR!”

And Putunia was immediately bolting through the park.

“Oh dear. :-(” Habit helplessly watched her vanish into distant bushes. Being a babysitter sure was harder than it sounded, and it definitely didn’t involve sitting. Flower Kid would be very upset if he lost her. But he was unsure how to keep her still. It was much harder to make people do what he wanted out of his Habitat, in a much bigger world that wasn’t his own to rule. Even if Flower Kid had coached him on not always getting what he wanted, it didn’t make it any easier.

Luckily, Putunia hadn’t gone too far. He found her rummaging around in a pile of dead leaves.

And then, a great idea struck him, as they always did. Habit may have been ‘eccentric’ in his thought processes, but he was very clever.

He crouched next to her in the leaf pile.

“Lemme halp you,” he offered. “What r we looking for?”

Putunia leapt away a moment, narrowing her eyes at him warily. He smiled in what he hoped was an inviting, not creepy way. 

“…MASK,” she finally told him. “AND A CAPE. AND A PUNCHING GLOVE.”

“Punching iz mean. :-/”

“PUNCHING IS HOW YOU BEAT BADDIES!”

Habit entertained her by searching with her through the leaf pile. The search was fruitless after a few minutes, so she sprung up and headed off to another part of the park, Habit doing his best to keep up.

She didn’t seem to have much luck in finding her items, no matter how far and wide she searched. Another idea struck Habit. He was full of good ones today!

As she dug around in a sand pit, he carefully removed the cloth around his neck and placed it on her shoulders. “Is that cape-ish enuff?”

“HM…I ACCEPT IT!” Putunia concluded after a moment, doing a little twirl to test its movement in motion. “BUT I STILL NEED MY OTHER THINGS.”

The search took them past a park vending machine. Putunia insisted they stop and get sodas, even when Habit told her it was “bad for teef” and that he “didn’t like the bubbly tummy feeling”. But he gave in and got them; she was so eager, and he wanted her to smile.

They eventually found an old paper bag to work as a mask, smelling faintly of apples. Not perfect, but with eyeholes punched out, it was better than nothing.

“TA-DA!” Putunia stood up proudly on the park bench they were resting on. “I AM THE MASKED DRIVER JR! I AM AMAZING!”

“U are! :-)” Habit encouraged, giving a polite clap.

“THE BADDIES TREMBLE IN MY PRESENCE!” 

Habit tilted his head. “Putunia?”

“YES, MENACE?”

“Fiting the baddies makes you habby, right?”

“YES!” She plopped back down and slid off the bench to admire the park in her heroic glory.

“What makes a baddie a baddie?”

“OH! UH. WELL, A BADDIE IS SOMEONE WHO HURTS PEOPLE! AND SCARES PEOPLE!”

“I sea…” Habit looked down at his empty soda can a moment. Two things he had done before, even if he wanted to do it for the greater good in his mind.

Putunia went on in her tirade of justice.

“THEY LOOK SCARY! AND THEY TELL YOU TO GO TO BED ON TIME! AND THEY YELL AT YOU! AND BREAK GLASSES! AND PUSH YOU DOWN STAIRS! AND—“ Putunia stopped herself immediately.

No, that couldn’t be right.

Her mom was her family. Her only family. Family weren’t baddies. Family weren’t baddies, right? Family weren’t baddies…

She thought about everything that happened, and Flower Child taking her away, and her missing tooth, and felt sick to her stomach.

Habit noticed her distress (and rather troubling examples of what baddies do—he is sure he never did those things, because his office had an elevator, not stairs, and he gave the kid Habiticians plastic cutlery to prevent breakage) and frowned. “R u okay…?”

Putunia nodded in fierce denial. “Y-YEAH! I AM! BECAUSE…B-BECAUSE...” She pointed at him defiantly. “BECAUSE THE ONLY BADDIE HERE IS YOU! GREEN MENACE! YOU HURT FLOWER POWER. YOU MAKE PEOPLE SAD. YOU HAVE A BADDIE ACCENT AND YOU HAVE SCARY TEETH. I DON’T GOTTA FACE ANYONE ELSE BUT YOU! L-LET’S FIGHT…!!”

And so began their fated battle.

She went in bare-fisted (a true heroic feat) and launched an impressive flurry of tiny punches into the green menace’s…knees? Ankles? He was so tall it was hard to tell. 

Habit did nothing to stop her. He just carefully pulled the paper bag off her head so she could see better, and stared down at her.

Her efforts became slower as her frustration increased, and finally she dropped both of her fists, panting heavily. Tears welled up in her eyes.

“N-NO...” She managed a strangely loud whisper, voice hoarse, inhaling sharply to stop anything dribbly and gross from coming out of her nose. “I-I DON’T WANNA…”

Putunia was sad. Habit had another idea. It was something Flower Kid had taught him to do. A kinder method to scrub away frowning faces.

The green man got off the bench and crouched, and wrapped his arms around her. But it wasn’t a violent constriction or attempt to yank her away, like she was used to. Just a gentle hug, as if she was as delicate as a flower, while she sniffled into his coat.

Her voice got the quietest it’s ever been. 

“I don’t wanna hurt anymore.”

“I know. Me neether.”

Putunia sobbed for a while. Habit didn’t talk, just lightly touched her hair or rubbed her back or did whatever he could remember Flower Kid doing for him on bad days. 

As she calmed down, Habit took his coat sleeve and wiped away her tears.

“Kno wut Flower Child taught me?”

“W-WHAT…?”

“Sometimes frownies and tears are o-kay. They can just mean that u are asking for halp from people who love u.”

“I’M NOT CRYING,” Putunia said adamantly, wiping her eyes. “I AM TOUGH.”

“Your tough,” Habit agreed softly. “You are the toughest.”

Putunia stared at the ground. Did she win the fight? She wasn’t sure. 

Habit spoke up for her.

“Ur right. I’m…not that good. Flower Child, now they’re good. They’re sweet. I am not so sweet. I have bean so very sour. I have been a big baddie, a mena-ce. But, I’m trying to du better. I learned people aren’t meant to be cracked like eggs. The only cracking they should be doing is cracking smiles.”

He stood carefully, and lifted her up onto the bench with him. He let his speech flow a bit more like the others in town. It didn’t come naturally to him, and he still struggled with it, but he tried his best. “I never got to be happy when I grew up. I want you to grow and be happy and smile like I never could. If that means being a hero, u should be a hero. And if that means punching bad people, maybe u should. But you should sometimes give them something nice, too, if they seem rlly sad.”

Putunia looked up at him. “IS…IS MOM SAD? WOULD…WOULD MOM NOT BE MEAN IF I GAVE HER SOMETHING NICE?”

Habit thought about his parents. He held her a little tighter. “Sometimes…sometimes baddies are the ppl that are supposed to love you. And maybe they’re sad, but…little ones aren’t supposed to be hurt becuz of it.”

“WHAT SHOULD I DO…?”

“Let grown-ups handle it. You’ll be safe and snug and sound no matter what. And if your dream is to be a hero, you’ll be the greatest hero there ever wuz.” It was the best answer he had. He didn’t know what the future held for little Putunia. But if he had any say at all, he wouldn’t let history repeat itself and make a tiny, punchy, sad villain out of the kid in his lap. 

Putunia was unusually quiet for a few moments. And then:

“…GREEN MENACE?”

“Hm-hm?”

“MAYBE YOU’RE NOT A MENACE NO MORE.” She considered her words. “DO YOU WANNA BE CALLED SOMETHING ELSE?”

“Oh! Like…Dr. Habit?” Habit wasn’t a dentist anymore but didn’t really have any other names for himself, outside of his first name, which just made him think about mean people making fun of him anyways.

“NO. LIKE…GREEN HERO!” 

“Hero?! Wowzie…! Am I worthee?” Truthfully, he always wanted to be a hero. Everyone’s hero. But Flower Kid got that title. They sure made people happier than he did. He used to hate them for it, but nowadays, he understood. They were really great.

“YOU ARE TO ME!”

Her energy was vibrant and blue and sparkly. Habit smiled with all his teeth showing, from genuine joy. 

Putunia didn’t even notice. She just gave a little yawn. 

“Feeling woozish? Is it beddy-bye time for Putunia?”

“MMMMmmm…no…I aM aWAKE…” Putunia protested, although her desire to rest after feeling all those emotions was catching up fast. Habit retrieved the ‘cape’ from her shoulders to put back around his neck, and pulled his coat around her like a blanket.

“Have naps. Flower Child will be bac soonish.”

And they were. They never truly left, and kept an eye on everything from afar—to say they were proud of Habit was a vast understatement. The sight of the two on the bench made their heart feel very warm indeed.

“Look, Flower Child!” Habit said with much pride of his own as they approached. “I successfully sat on the babey!”

Flower Kid gave an encouraging nod, and held out their arms to take Putunia from him.

Habit looked down at the sleeping girl. She was a tiny, bright, eager flower, just like his lily. He wanted her to grow big and strong and happy. He smiled, kissed her forehead, and carefully handed her off to Flower Kid.

“Take gud care of her?”

Flower Kid nodded with a warm smile. 

Putunia shifted in her sleep and joined the two in smiles, prepared to bring her blazing spirit to wherever she ended up, and whomever she ended up with.

In the meantime, she was happy to be surrounded by her heroes.

END

[writing-in-winter]

dream catcher (prologue)

three things that didn’t make sense until they did.

characters: tony stark x gifted!reader

word count: 2k

trigger warnings: depression, suicide

summary: you wanted a fresh start. you have it. but then the avengers find you, insisting that a life, which you have no recollection of, is yours.

a/n: i am finally posting a series, holy shit. i understand the prologue makes absolutely no sense, but hopefully, with the upcoming updates (i am finishing high school in two weeks hooray!) things start to become clear. in the prologue, y/n does not know she is gifted, because her memories has been locked away. also, i am blatantly ignoring canon *cough* especially iw and endgame *cough* (i’m too lazy to thoroughly proofread this because i have a paper to sit for tomorrow so feel free to slide into my inbox if you catch any mistakes. love y’all for reading!)

one—it is true when they say ‘what if’s haunt you forever.

you couldn’t remember the reason you were looking for tony, but you wished you hadn’t. it only reopened doors that you worked so hard to shut a long time ago. what despairs you the most is that it only took a short second to unwind the effort you had put in, for the insecurity and doubt to pour out of the tiny crack.

and then the emptiness you thought you had left behind for good comes rushing in all at once without a warning. it hits when you were crunching on cereals alone at the oversized island, which was meant to fit ten people comfortably.

most of the avengers are either away on a mission or had breakfast earlier that morning, and tony is… you look down at the cereal floating around in milk, frowning. you didn’t know where he is. when did that start?

you relish in the silence – it meant you need not bother with putting on a front and shrouding your unexplainable sadness from anyone – but after a while, it became deafening.

sliding into his audi, you draw your hand over the steering wheel, recalling the last time you drove this car. it was another aimless drive, but with tony in the passenger seat and you stepping on the gas on a lesser used road.

now, in his place is your bulky coat instead. it’s an complicated feeling. to hate the constant supervision, but wanting him with you. just the two of you alone, with no worries or fears for your safety or your unborn child’s.

for miles in the distance, all you can see is the white snow collecting on the dirty brown earth. finally, the car whirs to a stop at an abandoned park.

you just cannot resist the pull of it and the calm nature brings you, especially when you are alone.

the world lulls to a quiet hum as you drew the thick brown fabric closer to your body and wrapped your arms around your belly. your child. she wouldn’t be here if tony hadn’t insisted on keeping the accidental pregnancy. but as the months flew by, your love for your unborn daughter grew in size until it is rivaled only by your love for your fiance.

early winter is soft, though still a stark difference against the colors of spring. white blankets the ground, the arching tree branches, and everything in your vision. oh, how peaceful it is, to be away from any human and an extremely smart ai.

the silent supervision is suffocating at times, sending someone to assist you with the slightest of things when tony isn’t around. courtesy of him, no doubt. you had protested against the protocol, though you eventually relented, knowing that it gives tony some peace of mind when he isn’t near you.

how perfect would it be, if you could go back to the woman you were, free to roam the end of earth without anything or anyone holding you back? seemingly impossible, given the lengths of your love for tony, that you would leave him behind. but just for a moment, you imagine if you had never met him. perhaps you will still be the lone traveller, doing what you love in person.

you close your eyes, resting at the metal bench. just a minute, you told yourself. just a minute.

the steady beep emanating from the device beside you sends you gasping awake. the bright lights in the ceiling are blinding to your unfocused eyes, making you wince and twist away from it. wait, ceiling?

it is white all around, but for a minute you couldn’t get your eyesight straight. you curse at the contact lens which probably slid when you were asleep. heavy breaths run through your lungs, working, pushing, to make sure you stay alive. tony appears in the clear vision in your right eye, eyes lined with worry and rubbing your back in a soothing manner.

“i think the left contact lens slipped to the back.” you blink, slightly panicked at the sure ache at the back of your eye. your fingers make to force the lens out, but he grips your hand and tells you to lie down as he calls for a nurse. ah, so the compound med bay then.

shortly after the contact lens issue is resolved and the doctor on duty successfully convinced tony for the hundredth time that ‘no, sir, ms (y/n) is not experiencing frostbite’, you move back to your quarters.

apparently, instead of a minute, you had fallen asleep at the park, for two whole hours. you feel guilty for being a constant worry on his mind, promising to check in with him whenever you left the compound. you just didn’t realise the extent of the damage done until vision phases into the garage as you unlock a car.

he is a terrible actor. you knew FRIDAY sent him, but still, you listen as he asks to accompany you to wherever you are going because he needed to get something from the grocery store. you lie that you are simply retrieving your belongings left in the car.

that is when you knew you wouldn’t be leaving the building without supervision anytime soon. it shouldn’t suffocate you as much as it does.

two—it is true when they say family hurts you the most.

his lab is locked. again. FRIDAY confirms that tony is in there, but she isn’t allowed to let you enter the workspace.

you would ask her to connect you to tony, but he had been snappy lately. the sadness was gaining too, and normally you would be outside, soaking in the vastness of nature. you had long since gave up trying to sneak out the building by yourself. it is annoying and embarrassing for FRIDAY to keep sending people to find you. once, steve caught you as you were descending the emergency staircase with your pajamas on underneath the winter coat. with FRIDAY watching, you don’t even know why you are trying at all.

talking to tony about his protocols is a dead end. the last time you attempted to sweet talk him into lifting his most recently added protocol, it ended with him giving you the silent treatment for two days straight.

too tired to argue with anyone, even FRIDAY, you made to leave. you decided an early dinner with yourself would be nice. maybe some wine.

the kitchen is eerily silent without your playlists humming in the background. ironically, it brings you some peace. what a horrible resonance, reflecting your state of mind. when will this end?

you hobble around the wide kitchen for a little bit, bringing out the pot and the utensils you needed to make soup. loud clicks that must have came from stiletto heels make you look up from your chopping board.

you break into a smile at the sight of your best friend waving the bouquet of tulips at you. she wraps you into a tight hug, exclaiming her wonder at how far along you were in your pregnancy. pulling back to actually look at you after kissing your cheek, she frowns.

“i’m bloated, i know” you laugh for the first time in forever, accepting the bouquet from her.

caressing the indigo petals, and just relishing in the beauty of the tulips, you thank her. it has been so long since you have set foot outside that you miss the feelings of fresh morning dew on grass under your feet so badly.

you place the tulips on the countertop, careful not to squish any of the buds. it is a little hard to bend with the large baby bump, but you manage alright to bend and open the lower cupboard where you stored your vases.

your favorite china vase with tiny red buds dotted along the blue vines is missing. a frown sets itself on your brows as you purse your lips and straighten your back with a hand supporting your lower back. you begin to rummage through the rest of the cupboard.

“are you looking for this one?” she passes you the vase you are looking for.

you huff good-naturedly but exasperatedly. “tony loves misplacing my things.”

“oh, it isn’t his fault, i bought a new vase for the flowers he got the other day and i had no idea where to keep this one here.” she leans over you standing at the sink and fills the vase with water.

you are still standing there stunned by her seemingly offhand comment. “when?”

“like last last week? i can’t remember.”

“oh.” the smile is forced this time around. you pretend as if everything was alright. as if you are not bitter about tony blowing you off for someone else. everything is fine.

“friday, can you ask tony if he is joining us for lunch?”

you pray she hadn’t replied in a heartbeat before friday could respond. “he’s going out.” was she in there while i am locked out?

the ground is ripped from under you in an instant. you are drowning, struggling for air, but everything is fine.

three—it is true when they say truth kills.

he had been tip-toeing around you for two months now. and he doesn’t look at you the same. maybe it’s been awhile, but you only started to notice after your best friend paid you a visit that day.

to be so familiar with your kitchen, you gather, she had to have been over frequently. more frequent than you know of anyway.

it hurts. it physically hurts. to see him look at her with even a fraction of that glint that was once reserved for you. and only you.

you should have known better. you should have trusted that pit of darkness rolling in your belly. no man can be trusted. and yet, you maintain the facade.

the torture of knowing and seeing the man you love fall for another when he has promised you forever was an unending agony. death may be your only reprieve, but even then, would he allow you to be free?

would you allow yourself to be free of him?

pretending feels like the only way you seem in control of your life.

so you pretend. you pretend you didn’t mind when he said he is taking her sightseeing around New York City. you pretend you didn’t see him taking her out to the most expensive restaurant on the magazine cover. you pretend you didn’t see his hand on her thigh during dinner. you pretend and pretend and pretend.

and when you saw him kissing her on the driveway, you pretend.

as if every single day, every waking moment, even in your sleep, every breath you take, fire isn’t burning you alive. as if you aren’t hollowed out by the lies you are both making. as if the cursed image isn’t burned into the back of your eyelids, haunting you whenever you close your eyes.

it is a burning hell with no end in sight. no peace to be had. and you just wanted it to end. you wanted to start over. and maybe, just maybe, you can run away and never look back before this drives you insane.

but the only way you will be able to truly leave is through death. because he will never let you leave.

so you wait. you play by his suffocating protocols until you forgot what it felt like to be free. you smile and nod until your love turned to resentment and finally, acceptance. you lie and say you dreamt of him dying when all you see when you close your eyes is him kissing her and fucking her like his life depended on it. you smile through the pain and the rot of your former self until you can no longer tell the difference between hallucination and reality.

you pretend everything is fine when nothing is.

everything will be alright. you hug steve, who accompanied you on your daily walk. then, with his back facing you, looking for your phone that you dropped on purpose, a real smile graces your tired face for the first time in months.

you plunge down the cliff laughing.

reblog previous chapter to be automatically tagged in next chapter. (you will be tagged in one if you reblogged prologue, and two if you reblogged one, etc.) i do not keep a taglist.

[serenzippity]

Black King

Words: 2,848 Member: I.M/Changkyun Genre: Smut, Alternative Universe Warning(s): Smut, very dom!Changkyun, spanking, bondage, dirty talk, slight degradation, language. Just pretty filthy and I’m not sorry. 

When King Shi-dae split his kingdom into seven, he gave each of his sons a portion to rule over as their own sovereigns. In a self-imposed exile, the king declared that the brother who proved his worth would inherit more upon their father’s death. They would inherit their father’s vast fortune and the right to call themselves ‘High King.’

Of the seven sons, he was the most mysterious.

King Changkyun was known as the ‘Black King.’ His perchance to stay out of the public eye earned him the moniker. The King preferred to spend his days in the royal library or in his rooms learning all that he could about the mystic arts. If he wasn’t learning, he was training his body to master fighting techniques that were long forgotten. The man was an enigma, and he was as dark as the scripted pages he clung to.

His kingdom thrived under him. His people dwelled in the mountains and their preference of solitude reflected the attitude of their king. They were a learned and spiritual people who relied on ancient knowledge rather than modern fixtures of living. Mining was their economic trade, and when King Changkyun gave them the foundations to master the mystic arts they grew into a force to be reckoned with. Their way of life was unorthodox and often ridiculed by other peoples within the kingdoms, but they were content with life. The black eyes of his people held magic and wisdom that was beyond the planes of this world.

-x-

As the youngest of the seven the chances of inheriting his father’s legacy grew smaller each day. When King Hyunwoo announced his intent to marry, the door to his glory practically disappeared before his dark eyes.

The desire to show his worth vanished at the exchanging of his eldest brother’s vows, and with that, the desire was quickly replaced with fury. He didn’t necessarily care about the title and gold, he just wanted to prove that he could be everything his brothers were and more. He wanted to prove that he was smarter, stronger, more deserving.

He wanted to show that he was just as strong as Hyunwoo. He wanted to show that he was just as smart as Hyungwon. He wanted to show that he was just as giving as Minhyuk. He just wanted to show in this room crowded to the brim with fools.

The royal reception was filled with clinking glasses and the tittering of social climbers. Everyone was dressed in their regalias as the bride sat with her new husband above them on the dais. Changkyun took in the party with fiery eyes, his dark demeanor bleeding into the shadows in the far corner of the room. His older brother, King Hoseok, had already tried to get him to revel in the party but he gave up after multiple rejections and the threat to burn his blonde hair off.

King Changkyun was there for one reason only: he couldn’t be the only sibling to not show up for his eldest brother’s wedding. His father was there and the want to prove outweighed his disdain for his war-mongering elder.

He missed the gloomy weather of his kingdom. The shining sun that was a staple of Hyunwoo’s kingdom irritated him, and the red detailing of his palace gave him a headache. Everything here was too rough and too bright for him. He wanted to return to the darkness that blanketed him in comfort. He wanted to return to you.  

The party continued on. The bedding ceremony was completed, the wine was drunk, and his father gave the marriage his blessing. It felt like days before Changkyun was granted sweet release by his father, and he couldn’t get out of their fast enough. Mustering up the magic that coursed through his veins he disappeared from the crowded room in a wind of grey smoke.

Reappearing in his chambers, Changkyun let out a breath that he didn’t even realize he was holding in. Relief took over his body as he moved deeper into the vast room, taking off his finery as he went. The clanking of silver metal and the rush of black silk were the only sounds in the room until he stood before his bed in only his black trousers, anger still flowing through his nerves.

Waving his hand, he removed the shade spell that hid you from any prying eyes. Your glowing form appeared, contrasting against the dark sheets of the bed. You were completely nude, save for a dark velvet choker around your throat that was a symbol of his hold over you. The silver light that radiated off of you was the only kind of brightness that he craved. You reminded Changkyun of the full moon and he wanted to show that you were his.

You lay there before him, asleep and beautiful in your nakedness, and he couldn’t help but reach out to you. He traced the curve of your thighs, ghosting his fingers up your skin. The dip of your waist and the plushness of your breasts had him shifting in his pants, completely intoxicated.

It was wrong, he knew as much. He was supposed to marry some rich, foreign princess like his brother. He was supposed to be with someone who would help his kingdom prosper. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love with one of his magical apprentices. Perhaps it was your silky hair or your soft skin. Perhaps it was the way your eyes changed to a deep black when you mastered your magic. Perhaps it was the fact that you could rival anyone in your abilities.

He chalked it up to the fact that you were as enticing as the mystic arts.

As he drunk you in, his desire grew and he wanted to mark you deeply. He wanted to make you scream his name as he forgot how he was constantly overlooked by his father and brothers. His fury turned to unadulterated lust that had him practically vibrating with want.

His fingers continued to brush over your skin, causing goosebumps to form in their wake. He leaned over you and began to place delicate kisses and nips on the mounds of your breast. Taking one of your nipples in his teeth, he rolled it between his lips which caused you to stir and wake up at the slight tinge of pain. A low moan escaped you as you blinked and got accumulated to your surroundings. The heat of his body hovering over you filled your senses and once your mind woke up you threaded your fingers through his black hair, tugging on the soft strands.

“Baby,” you moaned into the quiet room, sleep still lacing your voice and making it husky. The sound had Changkyun reaching up to fondle your other breast, painfully straining against his trousers. Every yank of his hair had him reeling, the pain mixing beautifully with his angry passion.

He left blooming purple and red flowers on your chest and began to leave them in a consecutive line trailing from your sternum down to the skin above your dripping core. Every kiss, nip, and suck had you softly crying out. Your hands continued to thread through his hair, pushing him further to where you needed him desperately.

As much as he loved when you pulled his hair, he was getting fed up with you feeling like you had any sense of control. He wasn’t in control of his own fate, and he wouldn’t let you control him at this moment. He was angry, and he needed a release, your body being the outlet of his choice.

With a growl and snap of his fingers, your hands were pushed up and above your head as the headboard seemed to come alive. The metal detailing reached out with cold fingers and held your wrists tightly, limiting your movement to where you could only squirm with need. The baseboard molded around your ankles, opening you up for him without barriers. The position gave you a sense of fear and excitement, the knowledge that you were in for a long night making you even wetter.

Settling between your open legs, Changkyun’s breath ghosted over your core sending shivers up and down your spine. He nipped at the sensitive skin of your thighs, leaving more bruises that were exact mirrors of those on your abdomen. He trailed another line from the side of your knee, up to the curve where your womanhood met your thigh. Each bite elicited a sharp cry or hiss from your clenched teeth, unable to do anything except bite your lip as your body ached for him. Repeating the action on the other side, he leaned back to admire his work. It was more beautiful than any jeweled necklace in the world.

“Do you remember your safe word?” he asked, dark eyes swimming with desire at the sight of you being completely subservient to him. All you could do was nod, too riled up to form a coherent thought.

“Good. You’re going to need it.” He smirked before diving down and making you scream out his name as his tongue pressed into your bundle of nerves, alighting you into a fiery inferno.

You were completely at his mercy. His earlier ministrations had you so wound up that the moment his mouth came into contact with your mound you almost came right then and there. The relief of knowing that his teasing was over was almost too much for you to handle. Your face was contorted in pleasure and you bit your lip so hard you tasted the bitterness of blood. Peering down at him was the most erotic sight in the world, and you seared it into your memory.

He lapped at your clit like it was the most delicious meal in the world and he was starving for days. He ate your core with a skill that was acquired after so many nights with you. Changkyun perceived how you liked it, and he was giving you everything he knew. Your king loved to ravish you like this, your wet heat dripping down his chin.

With a skillful tongue, he circled your clit before bringing it between his lips and sucking harshly. The occasional nip at your bud sent shocks of beautiful pain through your nerves, stroking your internal fire and making you cry out his name like a prayer. The heat that pooled in your lower belly started boiling. You started to squirm against his mouth and the restraints as you peered over the precipice that would envelop you in ecstasy. The jump was seconds away, and your heart started to thud against your ribcage in anticipation.

But before you could fall over the edge he abruptly pulled away. You wined at the loss of him, your body arching off the bed in frustration. He smirked at your red, tingling body as he licked your wetness from around his mouth. The flavor of you on his tongue was more delicious than all of the foods in the world. He could taste you all day, but he was still overly angry and he needed relief. He needed it now.

With a wave of his hand, the bonds around your ankles disappeared and the magic flipped you over. Your bound hands were lifted, bringing you to your knees and forcing you to grip the headboard in excitement.

Completely exposed to him Changkyun’s fingers ghosted over your ass as he came to kneel behind you, pushing your legs further out in preparation of what was to come. You felt his fingers leave goosebumps before his hand came down and left a harsh slap on the sensitive skin. Crying out in both pain and pleasure, you didn’t have time to comprehend what was happening until he came down again on the other cheek. He left multiple spanks on your cheeks, reddening them beautifully.

His rough handling of you was rare, but when he got worked up you loved every minute. He was not only your king but he was the love of your life and you’d do anything for him, including letting him dominate you in such a gratifying way.

Your core was dripping with the need to have him inside of you. You were breathing heavily as everything felt electrified, and if you didn’t get what you wanted you felt like you’d lose consciousness.

“Are you ready for me you little slut?” The growl from behind you had you shaking your head frantically in affirmation. You were so ready for him, ready to take in everything that he had to offer you. The rustle of his trousers was deafening as he released his hard cock from the confines. He teased your sopping slit, running the tip up and down repeatedly until you were squirming. You tried to push back into him, but the bonds on your wrist were too tight and you could barely move.

“So eager for me,” he said, chuckling darkly behind you. With slow and calculated movements, he began to push into you. Your head was thrown back at the sensation of him finally giving you that stretch that you craved. Both of you moaned at the intrusion as you took him greedily. When he bottomed out you felt like you could breathe again and you stared down into that dark abyss of pleasure once more.

Changkyun almost came when your tight walls took him wholly. His angry emotions were still coursing through his veins, and he let them take over his actions. He pulled out with an almost inhuman speed and then slammed back in, causing you to lurch forward with a scream. He pumped in and out of you at a pace that was relentless on your body. Every thrust was met with a sharp cry or moan from you that began to replace his anger with ecstasy. He believed that your sounds of pure passion were sweeter than any musical composition in the world. The ability to bring them from your mouth was his favorite past-time.

“Yes, my king. Yes!” He felt himself get impossibly heated when you used his formal title.

He knew you well, but you knew him better. You knew that he was turned on at the idea of having complete control over you, and when you called him by his title whilst in the midst of a tryst you knew he’d go crazy. He began to thrust harder into you, using his magic to keep him from going over the edge. You, however, were seeing stars as that sweet release came closer and closer.

He reached under your body and pinched your sensitive nerves with sharp hands. Rolling it between the pads of his fingers, the stars behind your eyes began to swim with fervor. The high was coming, and you were so ready to welcome it with open arms. The fluttering of your walls signaled to him that you were so close, and he began to rub you harder and pump in and out faster. The pace was violent, and you loved every second of it.

Within seconds you were crying out for him into the expansive room. Your voice seemed to echo off the dark walls, and the candles that were burning nearby glowed brighter. The release that you felt was beautiful and addictive as everything snapped apart and then back together. Nothing felt better than coming around him.

The tightening of your walls made Changkyun break his concentration. He wanted to come inside of you so badly and release all of his pent up furies. Releasing his magical hold on himself, he was only able to manage a few deep thrusts before he spilled himself inside of you. His hot release mixed with your wet warmth and he groaned deeply at the feeling. You velvety walls felt so beautiful as he came down from his high, languidly riding you both through your orgasms with slow thrusts.

When you both hit the bottom of that pleasurable abyss, he stopped moving behind you in an attempt to catch his breath and calm his racing heart. You trembled below, and he released the magical hold on your wrists. You would have fallen forward had it not been for the arms that wrapped around your waist. He silently pulled out of you, missing the warmth of you instantly, and laid you both down onto the mussed bed. His chest was flush against your back and you could feel his heart thumping against his rib cage.

No words had to be said at this moment. You knew that Changkyun wouldn’t express what was bothering him, but you’d offer your assistance in any way. Whether he wanted your body as a distraction or he wanted to focus on your training, you’d be there for him.

He left feather-light kisses on your shoulder and neck, slowly lulling you into a relaxed sleep. That was what you loved the most about your king. He could be full of hatred and anger, fueling his need to take you. However when you were both done, even if he was still angry, he’d care for you like you were the most beautiful jewel in his mines.  

You let sleep claim you as his lips caressed your skin and his heart sang you a lullaby. He held onto your sleeping form, comforted by the warmth of your body and drifted off a few minutes later. All the negative thoughts of the day were forgotten as he melted into you and slept through the night.

[jimlingss]

Sugar and Coffee [14]

Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 14.5 OR Chapter 15

➜ Words: 4.7k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

“After we’ve rolled our gum paste and cut it, we want to pinch the ends while tucking and rolling all the edges to thin it out and distort the shape. Peonies aren’t perfect after all.”   You follow closely after her, taking the ball tool to make press it into the sugar petal and roughening the ridges. Sejeong continues to explain, “It’s a back and forth motion. Just trace the edge. Like that. When you’re happy with it, just add it to the covered center. Slide it up, like so, and then fold them up and make it tight. Overlap them and there we go! We have our bud. Repeat it for the other layers and watch that alignment. When it’s dry, you can colour it with petal dust.”    When the older woman finally looks over, she’s stunned. “That’s lovely, Y/N!”   “Really?” You turn your head up, eyes burning after concentrating so hard while trying to follow along.    “Yes, you’re a very fast learner. I thought I would have to show you at least a few more times, but it looks like you’re on the right track. See? Isn’t this a lot more fun than just piping flowers?”   “It’s more realistic.” You smile. “Thanks for showing me.”   “It’s not a problem. I’ll be right back, so keep on going.” She pats your shoulder and leaves for the front where her husband should be, probably in consultation with a couple.   You continue, folding the petals up so the flower looks like it’s blooming. But then your focus is shattered by a frustrated grunt from across the island.   “How are you doing this?” Jungkook’s eyes bore holes into the flowers you’ve completed.    You grin at him and stick it into the styrofoam. Brushing your hands off, you walk over to see his attempt of a flower. It appears more like a squashed bug. “Are you adding the glue? Your petals are too thin, Jungkook. That’s why they’re breaking apart. Not too thin, but not too thick. Here, watch.” You demonstrate despite how Sejeong already helped him individually for the past half hour. You take another rolled piece of sugar paste, cut the pattern out and pinch lightly. “See? Try it.”   You hand it off and watch diligently over his shoulder as he uses the ball tool. “Like this?”   “You can put a bit more pressure than that.” Your hand gingerly wraps around his wrist, guiding his motion.   Jungkook’s eyes flicker to you in the meanwhile, staring. He’s noticed it for a while now — it’s hard not to when his eyes constantly stray to you. But it’s clear you’re falling in love with making wedding cakes. That you’ve found a passion within this industry. It makes him glad to see you like this.   It's hard though. Since it makes you that much more attractive.   “Jungkook?”   He puts down the tool and knocks his head back with a long, loud sigh. “Ugh. I can’t do it.”   “Psh. Quit whining, baby. You can do it.”   Jungkook looks at you, suddenly quiet.    He leans in, doe eyes searching your expression. There might be something on your face, but he doesn’t say anything. You start to lean back when he gets too close yet the boy hovers over you, an inch away. You can feel his breath on your skin as the heat rises onto your cheeks.    Jungkook’s lips part. “Can’t you do it for me?”   You snort, pushing him away with a hand on his chest. “Yeah, right. You wish. You’re never going to learn how to do it if I do it for you.”   Jungkook sulks as you return to your station. “I’m not even a fan of flowers. They always die.”   “Well lucky for you, these don’t die or wilt. We just eat them,” you chirp mischievously before barking, “Hurry up, we have to learn how to use royal icing and pipe lace!”   Jungkook scoffs lightly and tries to continue.   Even if he’s a complete amateur, it’s cute to see him so concentrated.   The daily routine has fallen into place. The pair of you have learned what you need to do and it’s easy to fall into a rhythm when it’s a consistent cycle of consultations and wedding cake making, practicing techniques and cleaning. And it’s not just you two who are in and out of the kitchen. Yuna comes often to help out every other day, usually flanking Jungkook’s side much to his dismay or being amazed at your piping and sugar decorating.   “How’d you do that?” She looks at you inquisitively.   “How’d I do what?”   “Make those flowers,” Yuna asks, mesmerized at your piping. “Mine looks so…”   “Here.” You smile softly to the younger girl. “I’ll help you. When you squeeze the cream out of the bag….”   You enjoy the work — it’s fulfilling to see satisfied couples on their beautiful day enjoying a slice of what you’ve created. The cakes are breathtaking when they’re complete too and you can’t believe that you’ve actually done it. That you played a big part in making a day they’ll remember forever.   Jungkook seems to like it as well — maybe not as much as you, but at least when he has some time with Namjoon and the two of them work on chocolate. They always discuss things you don’t understand and often turn the kitchen’s temperature all the way down to keep the chocolate from melting. It always makes the rest of you run away to seek warmth.   “Have you ever tried sculpting chocolate, son? Made any chocolate showpieces?”   “I tried to make a building once but it didn’t really end up working out.”   “It collapsed on you?”   “It ended up being a mess.”   “Ah, I know how that feels. The first sculpture I ever tried was a phoenix and it was a disaster. But don’t worry. You’re in good hands now.” Namjoon laughs heartily. “You’re talking to the master of masters here, self-proclaimed, of course.”   Jungkook grins and when asked what he would like to make first, his thoughts automatically stray to you. He hears your muffled voice filter from the front entrance, laughing with Sejeong. “Is it….possible to make flowers? Like a bouquet and a vase or something?”   “Yes, great idea actually! It’s simple enough to build the rest of our foundation on.” They start to pull out bowls and saucepans. “Chocolate sculptures basically break down into three types….”   You’re glad to be here, even when there were so many rumours that wedding cake internships were the hardest. Somehow, you always feel satisfied at the end of the day. Especially with Jungkook by your side.

“Well, you should congratulate them afterwards”   “Why? Just do it after you ask for their names.”   “But then you have to do it afterwards anyway and that gets repetitive.”   “It’s not repetition to congratulate them on their engagement,” you argue. “It’s called good customer service.”   Jungkook scoffs. “I bet they’re tired of hearing it all the time. It’s just unnecessary, and what happens if they’re not happy about it?”   Your brow cocks. “They’re not happy to be getting married?”   “You never know the situation of these couples.” The little shit shrugs, simply playing devil’s advocate to fuel the banter and relish in how easy it is to make you argumentative. “Maybe it’s a marriage of convenience or an arranged marriage or they’re doing it to get a visa.”   “I highly doubt that, Jeon.”   “I’m just saying it’s not impossible, so it’s better to be safe than sorry.”   “And only congratulate them once?”   “Exactly.”   “You’re fun at parties.”   His arm wraps around your waist and he flashes the biggest smile. “The funnest.”   Before you can utter a single word, the bell at the front rings and Jungkook’s warmth is gone from an instant. He takes a step to the side like he never showed you physical affection in the first place. “Welcome to Kim’s Wedding Catering Company. Do you have an appointment?”   The woman, with long blonde hair draped down her backside, pushes her sunglasses up her head. She tugs her expensive pea coat that’s keeping her warm over her dress and leggings. She looks familiar somehow, but you can’t quite pinpoint what it is.   “Yes, I do.”   “Congratulations on your engagement!” you quickly interject, much to Jungkook’s dismay. You grin at him and he has to repress his smile, simply shaking his head to show his disapproval.   The woman smiles. “Thank you. My name should be under Kim Chungha.”   Jungkook flips open the book, but your brows furrow. Your brain searches. You’ve heard that name somewhere before.   Wait a minute…   “There she is!” Sejeong emerges from her office with a wide grin. She opens the gate to waltz to the woman and engulf her in an embrace. “I almost thought you weren’t coming!”   “Sorry, I was running late.”   Jungkook leans over to you. “Who is she?”   “It’s Sejeong’s sister,” you say and he nods, enlightened.   “These were the two interns I was telling you about, Y/N and Jungkook. Y/N and Jungkook, this is my dearest, younger sister, Chungha.”   “Nice to meet you.” She comes over to shake your hand and Jungkook’s. Chungha turns to her sister, expression endeared. “They’re so cute.”   “Yeah, the young ones always are. Full of that hard-working spirit,” she muses. “How long are you staying here for?”   Chungha glances at her wrist watch. “I have twenty minutes give or take.”   “Perfect. I’ll let these two give you a cake tasting and then you can be on your way.”   “Are you sure you don’t want me to look at the design or anything?” Chungha asks, voice moving up a few pitches. “You don’t want me to decide the tiers or look or the flowers or the decorations? I read online that the cake should match the theme of the wedding.”   “Aren’t you stressed enough with all your other wedding arrangements? At least let one thing at your wedding be a surprise.” Sejeong scoffs, hands placed on her hips. “If you can’t even trust Namjoon and I, then who can you trust?”   “Alright, alright.” Chungha concedes and Sejeong allows the pair of you to take over, not wanting to influence her sister’s opinion too much. She leaves and you follow the usual protocol, taking out the decorated slices of cake on the long plate for her to try.    “How long have you guys worked here for?” she asks as she tastes the first one.   “For several weeks now.” You quirk your head to the side. “Two? Three?”   “I think three,” Jungkook agrees.   “I know they were pretty swamped ever since Soohyun went on maternity leave, so I’m glad that they have two more sets of hands here helping out. But do you guys enjoy working here?” The older woman’s eyes are curious. “You can be honest, it’s okay. I won’t tell. I know my sister can be tough.”   “I actually really like it. I don’t know about him.” You laugh while hitching a thumb to the person beside you, throwing Jungkook under the bus completely.    He’s stunned and Chungha takes the opportunity you’ve set up to tease him too. “Ooh, so you’re the slacker, huh?”   “No. That’s not it,” he defends. “I just wouldn’t say I’m passionate about making sugar flowers and piping and stacking cakes.”   “Which is half the job,” you chime.   “I like the chocolate work and the people I work with,” Jungkook says with a cheeky smirk, outright staring at you.   Your face heats like a furnace and you divert your vision elsewhere, mustering a half-hearted scoff and retort.   Chungha notices the exchange and smiles to herself. She tries the next slice, and suddenly hums. “I really like this one. Is it chocolate?”   “It’s chocolate with ganache.”   “Well I guess, I finally found the one!”   Sejeong’s younger sister is pleasant. She’s kind compared to the many bridezillas you encounter on a daily basis that request a gluten free, vegan friendly, and dairy-free cake in the shape of a heart with a large, customized slice for Uncle Joe.   Chungha even compliments you both as great workers and leaves praise to both Namjoon and Sejeong that you appreciate. You find out that she’s getting married in three weeks — a destination wedding in French Polynesia right by the beach. Apparently the whole venue is ready and the last step was the cake that her own sister was going to make.    With the way she describes it, it sounds lovely. You wish you could come see it for yourself.   “We’re not taking any bookings since we’re going to have to close up shop for the wedding,” Namjoon mentions passingly.   “Oh, how long will you guys be gone for?”   “We’ll probably be gone for about a week,” Sejeong says. “We need to get there at least three to four days before Chungha’s wedding to prepare the cake and then maybe two or three days afterwards just to enjoy ourselves. It’s not often we’re in a resort in French Polynesia.”   You exchange a discreet look with Jungkook. A week off doesn’t sound so bad. Kind of nice actually.   But then Namjoon exclaims—   “So you two better start packing!”   “What?” You whirl your head over.   Jungkook is a deer in headlights. “We’re coming?”   “Of course you two are coming.” Namjoon laughs exuberantly. “We’re going to need all the help we can get! The flight and room is counted as business expenses, so you guys don’t need to worry about anything. Think of it as a business trip slash vacation privilege that you get in this internship.”   “Weren’t you supposed to tell them about this on their first day?” Sejeong frowns, mouth dropping open. “Did you forget?”   “Was I?” Her husband chuckles tensely much to his wife’s exasperation.   “Can I come?!” Yuna interjects herself, standing on the tips of her toes, excited by the proposition. “School is done for me then!”   “This is Sejeong’s side of the family and I’m sure she already has all her guests already planned. It’s rude to crash someone’s wedding.” Namjoon lolls his head to the side, waiting to see how his niece will argue.   The young girl pouts. “Yeah, but Chungha knows me. Plus, I’m not just a guest. I’d be helping with the wedding cake.”   “Okay.” Namjoon seems to contemplate it and the girl is hopeful until he smiles, revealing the other trick he has up his sleeve. “But what about your summer school?”   “I…” Yuna opens her mouth and then closes it. “I can always skip or...catch up later.”   “I don’t think so, missy. Your dad’s going to have a word with me if you fail math again and then you wouldn’t be able to work here at all.”   The high schooler pouts, stamping her foot. “This sucks.”   “We’ll come back sooner than you expect,” Jungkook says and she looks up at him. The boy smiles gingerly like an older brother to a younger sister. “We’ll get you a souvenir.”   “Really?”   “Yeah, sure.”   That seems enough to placate her and Yuna hums underneath her breath as she continues on. It’s cute to see their interaction.    You and Jungkook buzzing with excitement too. You’ve never been to French Polynesia and traveling while working is a win-win. It couldn’t get better than this.   //   “What a coincidence — I may or may not have been shopping online late last night again and impulsively got myself a sun hat. Now I can put it to good use. I should probably buy a new dress or two or maybe sandals,” you sing-song.    Jungkook is amused at how you’re throwing all your money away practically in a fire pit — but you like to argue it’s money well spent. Better than him buying video games, anime figurines, and more IU merch.    “Should I get a bathing suit?”   “Be careful. You might just blind everyone on the beach.”   “Okay, fuck off, Jeon.”   “I’m just kidding.” He laughs cheekily and when he passes by you, he taps your nose lightly. You blink and Jungkook boyishly smiles. “You could go topless if you wanted and I wouldn’t mind. Trust me.”   “Gross.” Your expression blanches and he cackles, moving away. “I will if you wear a speedo.”   “Yeah and I might be the one to get arrested when my goods spill.”   Your eyes roll. “Not if we go to a nude beach.”   “Is that a proposition?” Jungkook’s irises sparkle in the light.   You flick flour towards him. “You wish.”   It’s another one of those late nights. The both of you are off work but are still willingly here. The shop is closed, Namjoon and Sejeong gone, but you’re still using their kitchen to practice what you’ve learnt. They’re happy to let you use their space as long as you keep it tidy and clean.   Some of Jungkook’s music is playing softly in the background and you’re tapping your foot to the rhythm. You’re working on a sugar rose that’s abundant in petals, dusting the tips with a light pink.   There’s a long silence as you concentrate, the jazzy melody keeping the kitchen from being solely white noise. And right when you’re about to finish, Jungkook’s arm slings over your shoulder.   He presses to your side and leans over to look. “Woah. Did you do that?”   “Who else would’ve, dumbass—” Giggles bubble out of your throat when he starts to tickle you. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean it! Jungkook!”   He lets up, but is still sulking. “Show me any more attitude and I’m going to hold you down for a tickle torture, brat.” You’re rendered speechless at his dominance, but he pays no mind, too busy looking at the sugar flower. “I was going to say that it’s amazing. It looks real, Y/N. Better than real actually.”   “Thanks.”   “How’d you get so good so fast?”   “I don’t know.” You can’t help being bashful. Jungkook’s stare is intense and you clear your throat obnoxiously, getting a grip. “Maybe cause I don’t suck.”   His brow twitches.   You jump out of the way before another tickle attack can ensue.   You laugh as he starts to chase after you. “Jungkook! We’re not supposed to run in the kitchen! It’s a safety hazard, don’t you remember bakery safety and sanitation?!”   “Then stop running, Y/N.” He’s on the other side of the island as you round a corner. Every direction you walk, he mirrors you.   “No, you first!”   “You started it.”   There’s no way you can win against his muscle pig-ness, so your eyes flicker to the door and with a breath held, you book it to the doorway. Unfortunately for you, Jungkook already detected your plan the minute your eyes strayed away from him. And with two strides, he has his arms around your waist.   He pulls you up in the air as you giggle and squeal.   “Caught you.” Jungkook grins. “I win.”   “Okay, okay!”   He puts you down in front of his station. There are metal sheet trays on the counter with something rather special on them. “Is this what you’ve been working on with Namjoon?”   “Not exactly.” Jungkook smiles. “We had some leftover strawberries that no one was using so I made my infamous chocolate-covered strawberry cupcakes.”   “They look too pretty to eat.” He did a good job with the piping. The frosting is a light colour of taffy, swirled on top with the chocolate strawberry. “This was what Taehyung was raving about, right?”   “Yep.” He picks one up, holding it in front of you. You’re about to take the cupcake from his hands, but he clicks his tongue in annoyance and retracts his arm. “Nuh-uh.”   You pout at him, but give in anyhow. Your hand wraps around his wrist so he can’t play any games and you allow him to feed you.   You bite into the cupcake and immediately, the moist chocolate is gooey in your mouth. The frost is overwhelming with the fresh taste of strawberry, the texture rather silky. Your eyes widen as you chew, the taste developing, and he watches your reaction with a pleased smile.   Jungkook takes the strawberry on top that’s dipped in dark chocolate and drizzled with white chocolate. He urges you to part your lips and you bite down. The chocolate is tempered, falling apart into pieces. But it melts on your palate. The flavour is sweet but the fruit is refreshing, chocolate smooth.    It’s an explosion. You almost cream your pants.   “Oh my god.” You swallow it reluctantly, wanting to keep the taste forever on your tongue. “Taehyung was right. I think I almost creamed my pants.”   His nose wrinkles. “All of you guys are so disgusting. But it’s good, right?”   “It’s fucking amazing. Jungkook, you could open up a business just selling these.”   You secure your hands on his shoulder, shaking him to his senses. You can’t believe that he’s never thought of this. That he’s never done anything with such an incredible recipe.   Jungkook laughs boyishly. You let go, looking at the tray that’s appearing more like a gold mine. “H-Holy shit!”   “If I had to make these all day, I think I would be bored to death.” He throws the rest of the cupcake into his own mouth, chewing in his cheek.   “Can you give me the recipe then?” Your eyes are glimmering. This is big. If he doesn’t want to make a profit from it, then you can.    This and Yoongi and Taehyung’s lemon meringue pie, you’ll be swimming in bills in no time.   Jungkook flicks your forehead and your fantasy shatters. “I don’t think so. I might like you, but not enough to sell my secrets.”   You pout at him, rubbing the spot he flicked that doesn’t even hurt that much. If he won’t give you the recipe, then you want to at least eat one more. “Can I have another one?”   “You can have all of them,” Jungkook says nonchalantly with a grin.   Your expression lights up like a lamp. “Really?”   “Yes, really. I made them for you.”   You wonder if you can reverse engineer this somehow and figure out the recipe. But knowing you, you’ll probably end up burning saucepans trying to get the chocolate right and knowing Jungkook, he most likely threw in a secret ingredient that no one would ever think of.   “I’ll pack them up for you.” He grabs a paper box. “If you eat all of them without having dinner first, you’ll have a stomach ache. Dessert’s always last for a reason.”   You watch him and it hits you in a delayed manner that Jungkook stayed late when he didn’t need to. He wasn’t working on anything. He just stayed to make these.   “Where do you want to eat?”   “How about Alberto’s?”   “Sure.”   Jungkook finishes packing and helps you clean up. He opts to wash the dishes and tells you to go sweep instead.    As the boy scrubs the plates and utensils, he sings along to the music and you listen quietly.   When all is done, the lights are turned off and the door to the shop is closed up and locked.   Your steps and his fall into a rhythm.   “Oh, you know that movie you wanted to watch? When Spring Meets Autumn? It’s playing tonight. We can go after dinner and I’ll pay since I have a two for one deal coupon anyway. The reviews aren’t great, but it shouldn’t be too bad.”   “What are you doing?” You suddenly stop in the middle of the empty sidewalk, underneath the street lamp that warmly illuminates both of your figures in the crisp, cool night of the city.   Jungkook halts with you. The light softly glows on his skin. He tilts his head to the side, doe eyes gazing into yours. “What do you mean?”   “I mean this. Us. What is this?” You gesture between your bodies, conflicted to no end as the realization sinks into you. “Going out to eat, going to the movies together…”   “We’ve done these things before.”   “Yeah, but it's...different.”   You can feel it. It’s not like two friends going to grab a bite together or going to the theater to purposely catch a bad movie and shit on it afterwards. There’s something there. You don’t know what it is or even how to explain why the dynamic between the two of you has shifted so drastically.   “How so?” Jungkook questions. Maybe he’s egging you on, trying to get you to utter a coherent response. There’s no way he doesn’t feel this too.   “Like….this.” You lift your bag that has the box full of chocolate-covered strawberry cupcakes. “Baking things for me. Staying with me after work. Waiting for me in the morning. Washing my dishes. Buying me lunch. Getting breakfast prepared. Putting your arm around me. Tapping my nose….just...things….like that.”   Slowly the corners of his mouth curl. Jungkook casually digs his hands in his hoodie pocket. “I’m courting you, Y/N.”   “What?”   You’re absolutely stunned.   “This is what people do when they like someone.” Jungkook keeps walking and when he realizes you aren’t following, he spins back around. “It isn’t complicated. I want to spend more time with you, so I am.”   Jungkook continues moving, and you snap back to reality. Your body is in motion, trying to catch up to his side. But you’re still dazed, not knowing what to say. But there’s no need for you to utter a word. The topic casually changes like he had been previously discussing the weather.   You feel unsettled, not sure what this means.    It’s almost been half a year since Seokjin broke up with you. You’re not sure if you’re ready.   And it scares you even more that Jungkook makes you want to be ready.

You’re feeling it frequently these days—   A panicked sensation brewing in the pit of your stomach.    As if you have an inkling of what’s to come and your intuition is preparing yourself. Like seconds before you spill milk, or a glass cup is about to hit the hard floor. Moments before catastrophe that the tickle in your tummy ignites. You can’t move or react quick enough, but your brain knows it’s going to happen either way.    You’re quite confident this discomfort is dread, a sense of foreboding. Either that or it’s the feeling is butterflies. Maybe it’s both.    You haven’t decided.   But you feel it most strongly when you look at Jeon Jungkook.    Him and that stupid, big nose of his and those sparkly eyes as if his mom inhaled a tube of glitter before he was born.    It’s just awful the way he doesn’t even notice. It’s awful when he scrunches those brows of his, when his eyes are darkened in concentration, and his pouted lips are downturned. It’s awful when he rolls sleeves up to his elbows and his veins are popping from his forearms. It’s awful when his fingers and knuckles are kneading into dough and he’s panting, out of breath and breaking a sweat. It’s awful when he’s focusing hard on his work and trying his best.   God. It’s just stressful looking at Jungkook. It’s distracting.   You try not to look at him. As if he were the sun and too blinding for you to face. But he’s always in your peripheral. He’s always the person you pick out first in a crowd. No matter what he does, you always seem to pick it up.    It’s appalling.   “Are you okay, Y/N?”   Sejeong’s question brings you back down to the ground, crashing the train of thoughts that should’ve been stopped long ago. “Hmm? Oh yeah, I’m fine. Just spaced out a little.”    You stiffly laugh and she nods.   “All ready for the trip?”   “Yup! I’m all packed.”   “Good. I’m giving you a fair warning that it’s going to be hot, so dress appropriately. Wouldn’t want any of my interns getting heat strokes.”   You bob your head and quickly steal another glance into the kitchen area. “Hey, Sejeong. Do you know what Namjoon and Jungkook are working on?”   The older woman smiles, stealing a brief glimpse. “Last I heard, they were trying to make a bouquet of flowers.”   Flowers?    You thought Jungkook hated them.