La Vie En Rose

There’s A String Tied to My Lower Left Rib, Third From The Bottom

dick grayson x afab!reader

aka the professional boyfriend

warnings: she/her pronouns used, reader wears dresses, sexual content at the end (18+)

Dick Grayson is a vigilante. He’s a master martial artist and gymnast. He’s something of a playboy and a heavy flirt. But the claim he really takes pride in is that he’s basically a professional boyfriend. That he’s your professional boyfriend.

And pride really is the right word. He’s so proud that he gets to have this pretty girl on his arm and buy her pretty things even when you insist you have enough. He loves getting to help you take your makeup off when you’re too tired and make you laugh like it’s his job. He’s absolutely gratified that he gets to be your prodigal, sweet boyfriend that, despite your protests, insisted on carrying all five of your shopping bags for you.

You step over an uneven stretch in the sidewalk and lean slightly against Dick’s shoulder. “I’m worried the navy one is too…much.” You say, thinking back to how the blue cocktail dress fit on you, how it stopped barely below your ass.

He furrows his eyebrows with a pout, “Too much?”

You look over at him, matching his expression. “It’s really short. I mean it’s cute and I like it, but…I don’t know, this is kind of a fancy event isn’t it?” 

He puckers his lips, shaking his head. “Short’s good. I like short.” Yeah, you’d noticed with the way his eyes had been glued to the hem of your dress, willing it to slip up just a little more.

You laugh, “And I’m sure you and all the old businessmen will appreciate it greatly.”

His face drops at that, not thrilled at the prospect of those, usually very sleazy, old men getting to see so much of you. “The black one’s good too.”

You peer over into one of the bags, “Or there’s the red one with the—”

Dick shakes his head quickly, “Not red.”

You snicker at that, knowing full well what his problem is with it. “Then why did I get it?”

“Just for me.” He pauses, “Or for something my brother won’t be at.” He mumbles, scanning both sides of the street. He shuffles the bags in his right hand onto his forearm so he can take your hand in his as you step into the road. “No, the black one looked great on you. And we won’t have to go searching for a matching tie.” 

Once you reach the other side he lets go of your hand and he circles behind you, nudging you over to the inside of the sidewalk.

You glance down at the row of bags littering his arms and the red indents beginning to mark his skin. “Will you please let me hold some?” You frown.

“Will you please hold my hand?” He echoes, matching your serious tone with faux urgency of his own. You deadpan him but take his hand anyway. You don’t notice it, but he’s got a dedicated gaze focused on your fingers intertwined in his.

You continue on down the street, hand in hand, the warm sun shining on your necks. You pick up the pace a bit as you approach your apartment building, aiming to get the door for your boyfriend. You reach for the handle only for Dick to call out, “Don’t touch that!” followed by him clamoring like you’re about to touch a hot coal, rushing over to beat you to the punch.

“Oh my god..” you mumble to yourself, biting back a smile. The bags haphazardly fall further down his arms, no doubt uncomfortably as he pulls the door open for you, pretending to be far more eloquent than he actually was. He gestures you in and smiles sweetly at you when you give him a flat look. 

“What is wrong with you?” You ask, glancing over your shoulder at him with amusement glittering across your face as you dig for your keys.

“Not a thing.” He grins, watching with adoration as you open the apartment door. Frankly, you’re surprised he didn’t attempt to juggle the bags and unlock the door himself.

He kicks the door shut behind him as you help slide the bags off of his wrists, piling them on the counter. “When do we need to leave?”

“Uh…” he glances at the wall clock, “Not till seven.” He places his hands nicely on your waist, looking down at your lips. “You wanna get something to eat before we go?”

You muse, “This is the one with those mini stakes, isn’t it?” He nods. “No, I wanna get my fill on those. Oh, and the bruschettas! I love these caterers.”

His eyes flicker back up to meet yours, a sly smile playing on his lips. 

You break away from his gaze and turn to the counter, preparing to scoop the shopping bags up when you’re interrupted by his relentless fervor.

“Ah, ah.” He hooks a finger into the loop of your jeans, tugging you back to him. “Give me a kiss.” 

“Dick.”

“Just one.” Yeah, right. You oblige him though, pushing up on your toes to meet his lips. His thumb strokes your cheek as he kisses you deeply. You break the kiss after a moment only for him to chase your lips to follow it up with another. And then another. And another. He hums against your lips, smiling wide. “Thank you, baby.”

You pull back again and smile as you stop his chest with your hand when he follows. “Ah, I’m not new around here. I know where this’ll go if I let you.”

He nods complaisantly, “Then let me.” His eyes are focused on the small space between you, where his touch lingers along your ring finger. You lean up again and place a kiss on his forehead that has him getting hopeful, only to be met with disappointment when you back away from him, bags in hand. He throws his head back with a groan just to really hammer home the severity of his dismay.  

It doesn’t last too long though because the second you’re back in the room he’s trailing after you like a puppy, following you down to the couch. You roll your eyes at him when he opts to sit ridiculously close to you, though there’s a ghost of a smile on your lips that makes your act lose all credibility.   

He nestles his face into the crook of your neck and is clearly very pleased when you wrap your arms around his shoulders. You exhale contentedly, resting your cheek against his head. You lie idle like that for a few minutes, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and casting a daydreaming gaze out the window. And apparently, he was daydreaming too. 

“I wanna marry you.” He murmurs into your neck after a while. 

You laugh incredulously, “Have you been drinking when I have my back turned?”

“‘M serious.” He nudges you off him so he can look at you.

You hum, sweeping his hair back from his forehead. “You’re being very…” you scrunch up your mouth to the side, “…Ostentatious today.” 

He barks out a laugh, “Wow. Word-A-Day teach you that one?”

You shove at his forehead back with no real force, biting back a giggle. His eyes flicker back and forth between your mouth and the crinkle in your eyes as he grins. “I’m going to let that one go because you got me some really nice clothes today. As your repayment.” you say, running your finger over his lips. 

He takes your hand, pressing a firm kiss to it. “Let me marry you?” 

You sigh bashfully, “Dick—”

“Please?” He sticks his bottom lip out and gives you his puppy eyes, causing you to avert your gaze quickly. You’re not convinced he doesn’t have a superpower in that area.

You know he’s not really proposing right now, he’s too much of a romantic to do it like this. He’s just getting the idea in your head, getting you excited about it. It’s working.

“I’d be such a good husband to you.” He kisses your collarbone, “So good.” He murmurs against your skin, lips never departing. You struggle to keep your face neutral, making a point of closing your eyes in an attempt to increase your odds of success. He’s being nice though, you know. To let you play pretend right now when you know he could break your facade in a second if he really wanted to.  

“Mrs. Grayson…” he squeezes your hips, lips traveling further down. “Doesn’t that sound pretty?”

It really does. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about marrying him before. He’s nothing if not husband material and honestly you really really want to hear him call you his wife. Call him your husband.

Your hand moves to his hair, petting it softly as he goes on. “Buy you a nice ring. Pretty white dress ‘n a big party just for you.” He brushes your shirt up and trails open mouthed kisses down your stomach. Your chest feels warm and you can feel your pulse thrumming all throughout your body.

He slowly guides your underwear down your thighs, his lips following the hem close behind. “Come home to you every night, kiss these pretty thighs,” He scoops both of your hands up in one of his, pinning them to your stomach. “Kiss this pretty pussy.” He places a chaste kiss on your clit and looks up at you expectantly.

You’re not nearly as hesitant on this as you’re pretending to be, and you both know it. But he’s perfectly fine with begging a little while you pretend you’re not lightheaded at the idea of marrying him. “I’ll think about it…” 

He grins at you before going in on your core without mercy.

He’s trying real hard to land that promotion.

🩵 reblogging = supporting; likes don’t do the job

piercing | suo hayato x gn!reader

✧ "Did it hurt when you pierced your ears?" "Want to find out?"

✧ content: esrablished relationship, fluff, biting (there's one bite.)

✧ a/n: another suo drabble cause I can't get him out of my mind please help me. the overall layout of the drabble might be a bit too much, can't really edit it right now as I'm on vacation, but if it's too blocky I'll fix it once I'm back (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

He mentioned that they were antiques...

You're stricken with the same trivia Nirei had provided you of Suo's earrings whenever your fingers twirl against the numerous golden tassels hanging off the red orb. Careful to not use too much force when you manage to wrap one tassel around your finger in case it were to harm Suo.

The aforementioned man, you notice - is a very pliant lover. Maybe you've picked up on his habit of people watching and observing, but the longer you've been together, the more you notice the small habits he does around you.

Becoming incredibly pliant to your every move and gesture involving him was the biggest habit he's donned. Bending down slightly when he sees your hand reach further up than normal towards him, immediately intertwining your hands when he feels the slightest brush and a recent one you noticed.

"Did it hurt when you pierced your ears, Hayato?" you questioned, your lover opening his visible eye to glance towards you, head still angled while you kept toying with his earring.

He always tilted his head slightly to the side to give you more room to play with his earring, sitting completely still to let you do such for as long as you please.

Suo only straightened his head back up when he felt your fingers leave his ears, instead turning his body slightly to come closer to you. Not that you weren't close from before already, having the habit of sitting directly next to him with a hand between his legs to get as comfortably close as possible.

"Hmm, I got them pierced when I was relatively young so I don't remember. Why, you plan on getting your own pierced?" he mutters, raising his own hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear to look at your un-pierced lobes.

"It would be a bit of shame though to pierce your ears..." he whispers briefly to himself, absentmindedly brushing his thumb against your lobe, pressing slightly at the unscarred skin.

"Mm..!?"

Suo's eyes widen slightly at the surprised noise you make, whilst you yourself hurriedly grab onto the same ear he had just pressed - instinctively pulling yourself a bit further away from your boyfriend. Your lover however is quick with his hands, already having a secure hand behind your back to prevent you from jumping away further.

You don't like how his slightly widened eyes were also mixed with a hint of mirth. "It just tickled a bit, that's all." you hurriedly say in defense, Suo only humming in response which makes your already reddened cheeks deepen further.

"I'm pretty sure though.." he starts, effortlessly lifting you up from the floor to make you straddle his lap, his hands resting on your lower back whilst your hands grab his shoulders to stabilize yourself, "That whether or not it hurts, depends entirely on the person." he finishes, looking slightly up at you with a mischevious smile now that you're more elevated than him.

"Want to find out?" he asks in a whisper, and before you can process what he truly asked, you feel the slight tickle of his hair strands brush against your cheek, immediately followed by a slight exhale against your ear. But before you can ask what he's planning-

Chomp

"Hmn?!" you let out another surprised sound, nails digging into his silk shirt in surprise as you jump up. But Suo keeps a firm grip on you, settling you down back on his lap as you feel the tip of his tongue prod against your lobe before he blows against the area he had just bit. "H-Hayato?" you exclaim in surprise, trying to push yourself away to make eye contact.

You feel his whole body shake in restrained laughter before he finally eases his hold on your waist, leaning back a bit to instead cradle your cheek and give your lips a brief kiss. Separating just far enough to talk, but still close enough for his lips to occasionally make contact with yours if he were to speak. "So? Did it hurt?"

a better view for us

I entrust you my fate oh lucky golden potato 🙏

pet names | ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

᪥ vivi’s note: moar fluffy headcanons o(≧∇≦o) they just make me so happy to write!! and slightly delulu but we don’t talk about that okay

᪥ summary: what do they call you in a relationship? the answer may surprise you… or make your heart race — for them, it’s preferably both.

᪥ characters: sakura haruka, nirei akihiko, suo hayato, kiryu mitsuki, ren kaji, hajime umemiya

᪥ genre + format: fluff | sfw | headcanon

᪥ word count: 1.2k

᪥ content warnings: fem!reader, so many pet names, soft!boys, established relationships, pet names trope, fluff, maybe some extremely subtle suggestiveness? I feel there could be some but there may not be, but I am tagging it just in case, just good fluffy content!

SAKURA HARUKA isn’t the best with affection — both in terms of giving and receiving.

a romantic relationship is something that he’s never really entertained before; so he hadn’t ever really given much thought to what he would refer to a partner as.

so, just like with everything else sakura does in his life, he doesn’t force it — he allows it to flow to him naturally, under whatever circumstance it may come by, and it just so happens that the first ever pet name he referred to you by (and the one that stuck) was born from an act of teasing.

it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for you to join him on patrol — and it was just as common for you to complain about the sheer amount of walking it entailed; this particular thing didn’t genuinely bother or annoy sakura, but he liked to poke fun at it, just to see your lips pull into that cute pout. so, truthfully, he wasn’t really thinking about it when he jested playfully, “oh, put a sock in it, princess. we don’t have much longer to go.”

sakura was only teasing — but, oh, the way your cheeks lit up like a stoplight and you stumbled in your steps was a much better reaction than the pout that he loved so much.

and from that point forward, it just stuck; an endearment that both of you enjoyed the same amount but for different reasons.

NIREI AKIHIKO fumbled horribly the first time he referred to you by a pet name; he was so nervous about it he was nearly blue in the face, and his body trembled so badly you were certain he was having an attack of some sort — but before you could ask him if he was okay, he all but stutter-yelled, “g-good mor-morning, s-s-s-sunshine!”

nirei’s face had switched from blue to red so fast that you were genuinely concerned — but your heart was also fluttering in your chest because he was too damn cute; and of all the pet names he could have used, he chose one that was so fitting to his voice and personality.

nirei stuck fast to the pet name of “sunshine”, and with some time and reassurance, he was able to become confident with using it, to the point that he stuttered only once over the ‘s’ every so often; mostly when he used it in public or around other people. but the stutter didn’t dull the impact of it at all, and it always made you feel so warm and loved when it rolled off his tongue.

SUO HAYATO is someone who is hard to describe — mostly because there are simply too many words that can be used to do so. the adjective that comes to your mind immediately is most certainly suave; and it’s a word that he embodies in every way.

from the way he talks, walks, and interacts with the world around him, he’s simply suave. a complete contrast to yourself, slightly klutzy and more than a little shy, suo is able to say and do things that set your heart and body ablaze.

when he pulls a chair out, “come on, get comfortable, dove.”

when he places a hand on your lower back to softly guide you, “I’ve got you, darling. it’s just down this way.”

when he innately picks up on a shift in your demeanor, “are you alright, sweetheart?”

somehow, suo makes these words flow together in a way that makes him seem like some prince straight out of a fairytale; how someone can sound so elegant, charming and sultry all at once is beyond you — but suo is one who can defy all expectations, in every sense. and, if you’re being quite honest, it’s as overwhelming as it is lovely.

as perceptive as he is, suo knows how he affects you, how shy and bashful it makes you — but he will never stop placing you atop a pedestal like you deserve.

KIRYU MITSUKI has one goal in mind with his endearments — and that’s to drill into your very being the way he sees you until there’s absolutely zero chance you’ll ever forget or doubt it.

he will have you feeling absolutely gooey and warm all over, make your heart race so fast you sometimes fear you may have a stroke, and, at the exact same time, make you want to faint — it’s a cocktail of emotions and sensations brought forth by a simple sentence.

“you’re looking so good today, angel.”

“let me carry that for you, goddess.”

“do your feet hurt, treasure? do we need to stop for a bit?”

his voice is always soft and reverent when he speaks to you, but the way his endearments roll off of his tongue is almost too much to handle sometimes — despite the hundreds of times he’s done it, that you’ve heard them, they still affect you so viscerally; and kiryu is one hundred percent aware of it, and he loves it.

kiryu just wants you to feel like the absolute precious angel you are, and he displays this in everything he does.

REN KAJI is a creature of consistency as well as a man of few words; so, really, it’s no surprise that he has only a few endearments that he refers to you by.

for the most part, he uses the ones that are most common yet so effective, such as “babe”, “baby”, and “love.”

but kaji has an endearment that is personal, specific and special to you alone; one that is considered a sentiment meant for only the two of you, one that he never refers to you by in public but makes your heart race with in private —

“what are you in the mood for tonight, peach?”

he uses two iterations of this particular endearment depending on his mood and the atmosphere — you’ve grown used to hearing them both, but you’re rather impartial to the sound of his voice when he calls you “peaches” instead.

admittedly, you were a bit put-off and baffled by it the first few times he referred to you this way; but when kaji explained that you reminded him of his favorite fruit — “because you’re soft and sweet like them” — you all but fell in love with it; almost as in love with it as you were with kaji.

HAJIME UMEMIYA can and will give you whiplash from the sheer amount of pet names he coins you with. he can never settle for just one, and he’s consistently switching up which one he uses; he’s even got some in his arsenal that you are fairly certain you’ve never heard someone use to address their partner.

“are you feeling okay, sugarplum? you look a little pale.”

“hey, sweetcheeks, my hands are a little full at the moment — could you move that empty pot for me?”

“it’s okay, honeybunch — you can order whatever you want.”

any time umemiya refers to you by one of these unorthodox pet names you’re slapped with the strong urge to cringe — but this urge battles hard with the urge to swoon, too; because, as cringy as the endearments are, umemiya makes them sound so smooth and pleasant that you can’t find it in yourself to hate them or ask him to stop.

venlune? lunelyn? heilune? kumilune? i dont know, because atm my headcanon is that she likes aether one sidedly.. poor boys o<-<

if you ever get the chance to play an otome game like this, whose route would u pick? i cant choose tbh..

🍊clementines.

synopsis. kiryu’s hiding something and suo knows what.

contains. fluff. all characters are 19. for some reason they’re all line cooks?? don’t ask.

note. this blog is 18+. mdni. my crush on him is getting real bad if im out here writing fluff for this idiot. UGH!

the tips of kiryu’s fingers smell of clementines in the morning.

it’s odd. unusual. suo points out that lately his blunt cut manicured fingernails are tinged in yellowed hues and all kiryu does in response is smile. sakura’s brows furrow. nirei’s mind wanders. however, the thought is fleeting, so as quickly as it comes, it leaves to make temporary space for another.

suo never forgets.

he notices more as the days trough on. some mornings kiryu comes to work with a sheen over his rosy mouth, haphazardly smudged away but still sparkling, dots of glitter pressed over the delicate folds of skin. other days it’s his hair that’s tousled, rumpled from more than just the wind, kiryu’s eyes blindingly bright though he retains his smooth demeanor.

it’s not until suo peeks bruise from beneath kiryu’s collar that the peculiarities are brought up again.

“have you been paying attention to me this entire time, suo?” kiryu’s tone is colored amused. suo, be he a weaker man would’ve blushed, but instead he keeps a charmed smile on his face, pretty brown eyes glimmering in intrigue.

“i’m an observant man.” he decides to say. “and you’re avoiding the question. is that a hickey, kiryu?”

kiryu smiles, licking at his canines. the quartet are sat behind the building of the restaurant on break. kiryu leans back, rosy knuckles dragging over his white apron. adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, pink hair slightly damp as it sticks to the sweat on his face.

“it could be.” he decides to say. the offending bruise in question stretches, peering over the top of his white t-shirt. “what if it is?”

“then my next question would be who gave you that hickey.” suo throws one leg over the other idly. “seems as if you’re keeping something from us.”

“or someone from us.” nirei’s eyes dart about as if he’s searching his mind. “come to think of it, there’s been a lot off about you lately. you smile more, you always leave our hangouts early and you’re always talking to someone in the background when we’re playing games together.”

“uh huh,” kiryu’s smile grows crooked. “have i now?”

sakura’s brows furrow. “you have.” he huffs. “and not to mention that ridiculous perfume you’ve started wearing. it’s so sweet, like pears or peaches or something.”

“you mean my girlfriend’s perfume?”

the three men freeze in their seats. the color drains from sakura’s face immediately, duotoned eyes wide as they stare back at kiryu.

“your…” he blinks.

“girlfriend?” nirei finishes.

kiryu’s smile turns dopey. “yup. my girlfriend.”

sakura colors red in an instant. nirei’s blinking rapidly, stuttering over words he doesn’t know to say.

“what- when- how did you- when did this- wait-“

“you had a girlfriend this entire time and didn’t tell anybody?!”

sakura’s outburst nearly makes kiryu laugh. instead, his eyes just light up the more.

“my bad. i thought you knew.”

suo chuckles, drawing the attention from kiryu to himself. the brunette shakes his head, pinkette tilting his head curiously.

“sakura, he wasn’t exactly trying to hide it either.”

sakura frowns deeply. “so you knew the entire time too?!”

“i had a feeling.” suo hums as he stands. “it was pretty obvious.”

“obvious?” nirei asks.

“i’m curious.” kiryu looks at suo, brows a little furrowed in wonder. “how so?”

suo smiles. “you don’t like clementines, kiryu-chan. yet you always smell like them.”

boyfriend.

yandere!female!riddle rosehearts x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, implied (cyber)stalking, cheating, dub-con, alcohol/intoxication, characters written as 18+ note - riddle seeks to prune the filthy weeds from your life, starting with your ill-mannered boyfriend. // inspired by dove cameron's boyfriend.

i. i can’t believe we’re finally alone. i can’t believe i almost went home. what are the chances? everyone’s dancing, and he’s not with you.

Riddle has never traveled to this part of the city before—the seedy, unsavory sliver overshadowed by towering skyscrapers, illicit, perilous secrets tucked away in every alley. It’s not as if she’s here under duress. Although if you were to frame it from her perspective, it would feel less like an active, consensual choice and more of a you’ve-forced-my-hand choice. It’s blatant rule-breaking all the same, a stain on her delicate character. Blight on her shiny social status as a golden child, forever marked as the obedient one.

She’s lived her rebellious streak, was punished swiftly and accordingly, and strived to be better in the aftermath. It was one thing to slip out during independent study, and that fun had been trampled upon by a cruel, heeled foot. That was a child’s error. A lesson learned. A valid reason to sever all distractions and improve academically, consequently maturing with sharp, sparkling intelligence and abysmal social skills. 

But Riddle is no longer that starry-eyed, impressionable child, and she does not make the same mistake twice.

Or so she’s always believed, but she’s willing to risk an unforgiving tongue-lashing and life imprisonment at the hands of her mother if it means she can fix things. No matter how she spins it, the truth remains the same: She’s fallen back on an old habit, sneaking out and keeping secrets. She’s an open book to Trey, though, who she’d taken care to message on the train ride into the city, her text mostly cryptic: Should anything happen, this is where I’ll be. It’s wrong to skirt around the truth, especially when it’s your closest friend. She knows this, but then she also knows Trey gives terribly good advice. The type of terribly good advice you often don’t want to hear.

Advice like: “You need to let her go.”

And Riddle can’t—won’t. 

So she steps into the digital footprints left by that brash, brutish party animal you lovingly call your boyfriend, and she follows the string of social media posts like a diligent detective, flicking through each with manicured fingernails. She commits them to memory so that they remain imprinted in her mind before they’ll eventually expire at the twenty-four hour mark.

In the days leading up to tonight, Cater had taken her out for their usual self-care makeover day, which was really just a day dedicated to dressing up and gossiping at the salon. It was a monthly arrangement, and it kept the both of them entertained and sane. The latter of those two was called into question when Riddle, wholly out of character, selected black nail polish for her mani-pedi, which left Cater looking on with brewing curiosity. She gazed at him, pouty lips upturned slyly, and said, “I thought I’d give red a temporary break.”

“Oh, but red is so your color!” he insisted, raising his phone to capture both of them in frame. 

Riddle smiled at the camera. “I know.”

It has always been her color, a staple in her closet. It’s a favorite she can never truly shake, hence why it stains her lips instead. Bright like arterial blood, a blossoming carnation, it stands out starkly on her pale countenance—the only splotch of color on her person. Cater took her shopping when he’d learned she was attempting to fit a new style into her wardrobe of prim, modest clothes. They ran up and down the racks, grinning at each other from across the store and holding up sweaters and skirts, weighing whether either would suit Riddle’s night out. In the end, she settled for the outfit she wears now: a red tube top, a cropped puffer jacket, a pencil skirt that doesn’t pass the fingertip test (not that she cares to follow that rule), tights, and knee-high heeled boots. To finish the look, she’s pulled her hair from its usual plaits, allowing it to cascade down her back like a crimson waterfall. Fingerless lace gloves adorn her hands, stitched with intricate patterns of roses and thorns.

Cater called it the Femme Fatale Friday fit. It’s a Saturday night, but it feels like Friday when she peers at her reflection in a pocket mirror, checking her makeup once more. 

She will not make the same mistake twice. She’s a paragon of perfection—Riddle Rosehearts, for seven’s sake! 

Stuffing the mirror into a matching handbag, she eyes the skyscraper looming before her, sleek with its metal framework and industrial glass. The bright cityscape reflects off of each window, dazzling with luminous specks of light. She considers the contents in her purse, reviews each with a critical eye, and inhales a steadying breath. 

This is necessary.

She’s an adult now, nearly finished with her graduate studies. She lives on her own in a quaint, pet-friendly apartment with her hedgehog, and she works part-time at the café down the street, putting forth her best effort as she weathers the woes of university. Despite all of this independence, she doesn’t feel like an adult. 

Not when she can hear her mother in the back of her head: You look ridiculous. Come home right now before you make a fool of yourself and sully my good name.

Riddle scowls at the concrete, curling her fingers into fists. 

She’s an adult now. She is not her mother’s doll.

Leaving all hostility and self-doubt at the door, she steps through the lobby and beelines for the lift. It carries her to her destination—one of the highest floors. A penthouse suite. 

And not just any penthouse suite. Floyd Leech’s penthouse suite.

Under normal circumstances, she would never willingly set foot in his territory. She survived four years of school with him, which was already a sickening amount, and in that time she watched him glide through his undergraduate with just barely passing grades. That wasn’t enough to stoke the red-hot embers of envy, though. It only made him seem even more like a cockroach, unable to be crushed by the weight of scholarly responsibilities, for he never took anything seriously.

For that reason, Riddle has never envied Floyd. But by the end of their third year, he had something Riddle didn’t. 

He had you. 

How he managed to settle into a relationship when all he did was slack off, party, and break the rules was beyond Riddle. He was a slippery delinquent, hardly deserving of your sweet affections, and yet you looked at him like he was the only one on the planet. Just where was the appeal? His manner of dress is sloppy. The way he carries himself is unpalatable and crude. The way he acts suggests his insipience is incurable. Even when he applies himself, he is still Floyd and that doesn’t clean his slate or shine his reputation. So in Riddle’s discerning eyes, he does not possess a scintilla of romantic appeal.

You don’t seem to agree with these sentiments, for you’ve been with Floyd for four long years. 

Love is blinding, but Riddle has never been in love before and so she doesn’t have adequate data to prove this point. It was forbidden in her home. She’s only allowed to love the men her mother handpicks, plucking each specimen like they’re ripened strawberries from a bush. In the beginning she found all manner of minor details to excuse them from her life, insisting upon a nonexistent list of impossibly high standards. He was too tall. He was too forward with his interest. He wore contrasting colors. He didn’t like tea. These reasons were far too critical and childish, and each man had been sent away in a huff. Her mother would scold her, halving her with a nasty glare: “Are you planning to die alone?”

Yes, Riddle realized by the twentieth admonishment, yet another man cast aside. If dying alone means romantic freedom in life, I’ll do just that.

The elevator spits her out into the hall, which isn’t as silent as she thought it’d be. Bass shakes through the walls, reverberating all the way through her ribs as if it intends to stir up her organs. She catches her reflection in the windows, noting the dark, monstrous scowl, and smooths her face into something courageous. She means business as she clicks down the hall, preparing herself for the whirlwind that undoubtedly waits behind the door. Riddle starts to wonder how Floyd’s neighbors have yet to file a noise complaint and then stops, her thoughts cutting off abruptly. It’s a challenge to make complaints when your father holds parts of the city’s underground in his palms.

He’s got it easy, that spoiled pest. 

Riddle’s gait slows to a halt and she reaches out to knock thrice. The door is thrown open before she can even bring her fist down. Soon she’s staring at a rosy-cheeked stranger, whose eyes trace her figure like he’s trying to paint her on his mental canvas. She’s prepared for the worst, having tucked the spray in her bag, its container disguised to look like lipstick. The strawberry keychain hanging from her purse is a self-defense alarm, ready to be pulled at a moment’s notice. His ogling does not frighten her, nor do his intentions, if he can even harbor any in that intoxicated brain of his. She’s braved scarier horrors. Like living out years of her life with her mother.

“Heyyy, you one of Floyd’s girls? Here for the party?”

Riddle suppresses the disgusted shiver threatening to crawl up her spine, swallowing bile. “Just the party.” 

She is no one’s girl. Definitely not Floyd’s. 

When she’s let inside and the stench of sweat and alcohol assault her nostrils, coupled with the too-loud party music, she considers retreating, her mother’s judgment echoing: You look ridiculous. Her fingers twitch towards her purse. One text and Trey would pick her up. One call and Cater would be on his way. But then she’d be forced to tell them the truth—would have to admit that she’s chasing the one person she can never have. 

She hardens her resolve, pushes through the throng of bodies in an effort to find refreshments, and there you are, her perfect, pretty wallflower in a perfect, pretty silver dress. The dim neon lighting casts you in a luscious pink haze, and she watches you scroll through your phone, your eyelids falling and opening. You’re so beautiful—the sweetest thing she’s ever seen, more saccharine than a truckload of strawberry tarts. Her hand slides away from her purse, and she tamps down a gleeful smile, stepping over to you with newfound confidence.

“(Name)?”

You turn your whole body towards her, your gaze unfocused. She can smell the liquor on you, can see the hickeys not quite covered by a velvet choker. Her gaze narrows. He’s all over you, isn’t he? From top to bottom, you are covered in traces of him. Her nose scrunches. Just what do you see in him?

It should be her teeth on your skin, tearing it open, bruising it, tasting slick copper on her tongue. It should have always been her, but it’s not. Why did you have to settle for less when you’re entitled to so much more?

You peer at her like she’s something in a museum, perplexing and abstract. And then it clicks. You gasp, your mouth falling open in awe, and your words come out horribly slurred. She fails to hide her wince when you throw your arms around her, hanging off of her like a tote on a shoulder.

“Riddle! You…seriously showed up… Can’t believe it’s really you. It feels like it’s been forever.” You pull away, swaying with the motion, and place your hands on her arms. “Your outfit is suuuper cute.”

She’s blushing. She knows she is because her face is burning with heat and suddenly it’s much too stifling in here. “Oh. Ah, um, t-thank you very much… You look very nice, too.”

Really? Is that the best thing I could say? ‘You look very nice’? Honestly, Riddle…

But you smile, and the sight steals her heart all over again. You can have it. By all means take her heart. Take it and love it to pieces. That way it will be fair when she takes yours. An even exchange in accordance with the rules of love. 

Or maybe it’s more so the rules of romantic warfare, carried out to the extreme on a chessboard. Or a croquet court. Something sporty and metaphorical, anyway.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” she asks, refusing to say his name lest she speak him into existence and tarnish her near-perfect evening.

Her question strikes a chord within you, and you heave an exaggerated sigh. You cross your arms over your chest, leaning against the wall for support. “Left me to go hang with the guys. S’not fair!” you whine, sliding further down until you’re sitting in a defeated heap. 

Riddle bends down to your height, her tone as soft and sympathetic as her expression. “Does he always do this?”

Hurt flashes across your face, but you don’t say anything. So he does. Why is she not surprised?

Who in the world leaves their partner at a party, vulnerable and alone? Riddle thinks, anger flaring up in her chest. Someone could take advantage of you. You’re in no state to be standing here by yourself. That fool… He doesn’t know how to treat a lady at all. How have you put up with him for four years? Your patience amazes me.

“It’s not like…” You shut your eyes and rest your head against the wall. “Not like an always-happening thing…”

Riddle isn’t going to sugarcoat it. She wants her words to cut deep, all the way to the heart you’ve allowed Floyd to bind. “Whether or not he does it often, the fact still stands that he left you intoxicated in the corner of this room. That’s careless and unsafe.” She tilts her head, admiring the way you’ve done your makeup, the way your plush lips jut out in a miserable pout. And it just rushes out, words she’s thought but never had the courage to say. At least, not to the sober you. “I wouldn’t do that to you. You deserve so much better.”

Like me, she almost adds, but that’s too direct. And she’s not even sure the admission will land when you’re so out of it.

“Appreciate it…” You scrub your face, groaning. “Ugh. I feel sick…”

“Would you like to get some fresh air?” 

You shake your head, stubborn to a fault. “Can’t. Gotta wait for Floyd.”

Riddle frowns. “I highly doubt he’s coming back anytime soon.” 

“Still.”

“At the very least, let’s get you some water.” She offers her hand, hoping and praying to the heavens above that you’ll take it.

You do. It’s a flawless fit. Her heart flutters, weightless and feathery, when her fingers close around yours. She wonders what moisturizer you use, what sort of lotions kiss your skin. Are they scented, or is that just your perfume? Or have you done away with perfume for tonight and is that a natural fragrance? Or maybe it’s the sweet scent of a fruity wine, printed on your tongue like a delicious tattoo. 

She wants to kiss you. 

“Just how much have you had to drink?” 

“Like a cup or two? I…dunno. Does it matter?”

You stumble when she helps you up, grabbing at her shoulder for support. Riddle almost falls back, but the wall braces her. You place your palm right by her head, and suddenly you’re leaning in, inadvertently pinning her to the wall. Her pupils nearly eclipse her blue-grey irises, and her breath sticks in her throat. Oh, you’re so close. You’re a drunken mess, pushing yourself up against her, your beauty enveloping her like a chrysalis. If this is a dream, she never wants to wake, for the world that awaits her beyond this is cold and colorless. 

Your head lowers to the dip between shoulder and neck, and she gazes heavenward. The ceiling is much nicer at this moment, if only so she can clear her own heady haze of impure thoughts. 

There are people about, she has to remind herself, shaking off the urge to close her fingers around your chin and tilt your head up to meet her mouth. And she has a boyfriend. Just because I can doesn’t mean I should.

But the chance is much too beguiling. You’re right here, quite literally within her reach, and Floyd’s nowhere in sight. It’s too perfect. She can’t quite wrap you in an affectionate embrace—though that is an irresistible urge she must fight off—so she settles to rub circles into your back instead, dutifully reflecting the role of a concerned friend. It’s not the part she wishes to play. Rather, she’d gladly take on the title of boyfriend if it meant you’d feel loved. Every day, at every hour, for the rest of your life. She’d do all the things Floyd ought to do: care for you, appreciate you, protect you, stay by your side through thick and thin. 

Love is a dangerous, thorny thing, but it’s the encroaching jealousy that kills. 

Floyd doesn’t deserve you. If anything, he deserves a mouth full of soap to scrub every profanity he’s ever uttered. Just what does he tell you in bed? That you’re a good girl? That you’re soooo tight? That you can take it? Does he know which ways you like it? Does he know where to touch so you’ll unravel faster? Does he know how to get you properly, thoroughly worked up, so much so that it feels like your skin is aflame with potent want and desire? 

Does he even know your anatomy, or are you simply a body for his avaricious appetite? 

Like roses twining possessively around a trellis, Riddle holds you close in her arms, her hand sweeping across your lower back. Her glacial eyes scan the crowd, warding off anyone who may be curious with her most malevolent death stare. 

“Mm… I need to lie down. My head is…spinning…”

With that, the murderous, overprotective haze sticking to Riddle like a poisonous fog dissipates. A sickly sweet smile widens on ruby-red lips. “Let’s find someplace quiet.”

Together, the two of you stagger-walk out of the room, leaving the party and its inhabitants behind. Crossing through the attached kitchenette, Riddle pilfers a bottled water from the fridge.

Her mind is sharp as a cut diamond. Her skin prickles with anticipation.

Down the hall you go, with Riddle supporting you with what minimal physical strength she has. A door looms before the both of you, cast in a comfortable glow from a neighboring skyscraper, and you struggle to pull your heels off while she pushes the door open. It reveals a messy room, clothing and candy wrappers strewn about sloppily. 

Riddle feels like she’s on top of the world, and she is. Up in the clouds on the forty-third floor of this luxurious penthouse apartment. 

ii. i could be a better boyfriend than him. i could do the shit that he never did. up all night, i won’t quit. 

All throughout her undergraduate, Riddle pined. Hopelessly. Forlornly. Desperately.

Hungrily. 

It was unbecoming to want something to such an obsessive degree. She buried herself in her studies to do away with lustful delusions, each more distracting than the last. But then you would crop up in her life when she least expected it and soon the two of you were studying together. Soon you were visiting her dorm to watch movies during the times in which she allowed herself the break (and she only did so because it was you). Soon you were spending nights in her room, sleeping sprawled on the floor even though she offered her bed time and time again. You’d get ready in the mornings, debating what the breakfast menu would entail. She’d watch your reflection in the floor mirror as you pulled your shirt up and over your head, eyeing the way you slid seamlessly into a lacy black bra. And then she’d change out of her nightgown, and you’d comment on her undergarments. 

“We should go shopping sometime. You gotta get cuter stuff!”

“Why should I? No one’s going to see it,” she insisted with a flustered huff.

“I’ll see it the next time I sleep over,” you told her, smiling innocently as you stepped into a blue handkerchief skirt. “Besides, there are so many cute sets you could wear. You’d look so pretty in something red and frilly. You’re totally missing out.”

Riddle considered it back then. Your eager eyes had almost won her over, but she was firm in her decision. “I’m fine with what I have now.” 

And the conversation ended there. She really wishes you would have pushed it back then because just a little nudge in that direction and she would have given in, entirely at your mercy. 

Selfishly, she just yearned to be stuck in a changing stall with you. 

All throughout her undergraduate, Riddle fostered a special sort of friendship with you. You’d stop by her dorm during finals to insist she take a break, your offer too tempting. She’s always been weak to sweets. You were close enough to exchange intimate details with one another. She listened to all of your dating woes, and conversely you’d sit still and bear witness to her ramblings about fascinating law facts. Sometimes she’d rant about her mother. You always listened. “She sounds like she sucks,” you said once. “How are you even related to her? You’re so nice.”

It was a pleasant three years. If she deluded herself enough, she could have pretended you were her girlfriend and then she’d have something to tell her mother to put an end to the countless attempts at scoring her a husband. I will never marry any of your options, she would think, playing the confrontation out in her head. I have a partner now and we’re very happy together. Sometimes Riddle imagined her mother tossing darts at a board with photographs of men attached to it, disregarding compatibility altogether in favor of upholding traditional rules. But then Riddle realized she’d have to die before she could ever admit her own romantic freedoms to her mother, and so that conversation only ever came about in daydreams. 

I’d rather die alone than live life shackled in a loveless marriage. She wonders if her father thought the same.

Those three years had been a wonderful reality, filled with sugared, candy-coated love. A one-sided love, sure. But Riddle could settle for platonic affections, for that was just as sweet.

And then he arrived at the doorstep to Riddle’s fantasy cottage, kicking the walls down and sweeping you off your feet.

Floyd Leech has always been a nuisance. You were there to shoo him away every time he came knocking, all broad grins and vexatious jeers. He listened to you most days, a mutt without proper leashing, oddly loyal to you. As if you were his keeper of sorts. Riddle was amazed, befuddled, and worried all at once. Unlike her, you could keep your cool, could still smile so kindly even when Floyd was being an utter pain in the ass with his foolish nicknames. When he tried to pluck Riddle’s hairpin from out of her braids—a handmade gift you had given her for her birthday—she slapped him hard across the face and hissed, “Don’t ever put your filthy paws on me again.”

And maybe it was because you were there that she was able to recover shortly after the outburst. (Although she still meant that slap with every fiber of her being.) Maybe you were her collar. Maybe you were her keeper. Maybe she was meant to meet you so that you could color her world, lead her along into the friendship she’d been robbed of as a child. 

Looking back, Riddle realizes that was the catalyst. Because when Floyd cradled his bright-red cheek, giggling like a maniac, you asked him, “Don’t you have anything better to do? Can’t you bother someone else?”

And then you were made the prime target. 

What’s worse is that you reveled in it, adored every ounce of attention Floyd gave you like it was something holy, later admitting to Riddle during a movie marathon that you “wondered if Floyd was seeing anyone.” She wanted to retch. You, a seraph incarnate, with a devil like Floyd? Impossible. But your tone was so whimsical; you were dreaming of it. You liked him. 

She couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it.

By the end of her third year, just as finals gave way to summer, you threw your arms around Floyd’s neck while he pressed you up against the trunk of a flowering tree. Pink petals fluttered to the ground, and with the falling blossoms came Riddle’s hope, crashing and burning in a heartbroken heap. 

She won’t make the same mistake twice, which is precisely why, when you flop onto Floyd’s unmade bed, she turns the lock to keep all outside influences away. The party is but a mere muffle now, thrumming through the floorboards with reckless abandon.

Her nose wrinkles at the pile of dirty laundry. Slob, she thinks, brimming with hate. What does she see in you? You’re a mess, you’re definitely a criminal, you can’t keep a stable job, you throw obnoxious parties every other week, you leave your own girlfriend unattended… What part of that is appealing? She gazes at you next. You’re too good for him, (Name). You can do so much better. Raise your standards. Find someone respectable and attentive. Someone who’ll stay with you forever. Someone who won’t let you get stupidly drunk and then run off to Queen-knows-where.

“Someone like me,” she mutters.

You have to be coerced into drinking, and you’re so sleepy that the water dribbles down your chin. Riddle tuts at you, swiping the liquid away with her sleeve. 

“You’re a mess,” she says, affectionate despite the barb. 

You’re my mess.

She slides your heels off, casting them elsewhere. You look like a starfish when you lay sprawled, or maybe you’re more like a snow angel. Only rather than snow, you imprint yourself amongst wrinkled sheets. Riddle knows it’s wrong, but you’re right here. She’s waited so many years for a moment like this one.

It’s not fair. 

She unzips her boots, kicks them off, and stands at the edge of the bed, locked in a fierce debate. You should have thrown your arms around her that day. You should have kissed her, should have spent the last four years with her, should have stayed in her life like the permanent fixture you were destined to be. She’s never wanted anything more than this. Not even a surplus of strawberry tarts. Not even the dreams she’s working tirelessly towards achieving. She’s only ever wanted you. 

But Floyd took you away, and her world has never been the same since. 

The mattress dips under her weight; she’s made up her mind. 

“Do you remember the promise we made?” she whispers, running her hands up your legs. You lift your head to look at her, eyes glassy with inebriated exhaustion. “The one in which we’d live together after graduation? You said you’d want to live somewhere pet-friendly so we could get hedgehogs and name them Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”

You hum, your lashes fluttering. 

“We could still do that. Just you and me. Without your boyfriend.”

“What?”

Her fingers catch on the waistband of your panties. “Hm?” 

“Mm, no, nothing… You should get going. It’s late…” “Someone has to look after you.”

“Floyd can.”

She presses her thumbs into your hips and the tiniest gasp leaves your parted lips. “But Floyd’s not.”

“He will.”

“He won’t,” she snaps. Something flickers in your eyes, a flash of unrest. Riddle chews her lower lip. “He’s… (Name), what do you see in him? Honestly, truly, what is it? Please educate me. Please… What does he have that I don’t? What makes you stay?”

“Cuz he’s my boyfriend,” you mutter slowly, perplexed, “and I love him.”

“Do you?” 

“Riddle, why are you so…” The words fizzle out on your tongue when her touch strays too close to home. “Wait… We can’t… Not in here.”

“Why not? It’s just one more mess. He won’t even notice.”

“That’s not it… Riddle, wait. I… I don’t like you in that—”

She collapses, anchoring herself to you, her manicured nails digging deep into your arms. And then her mouth is on yours, clumsy and uncoordinated. She doesn’t want to hear it—can’t bear to hear it. She knows the truth. It’s haunted her from the day she met you, a shadow looming like a guillotine’s blade. You were fated to be forever out of reach. Just like those strawberry tarts in the bakery window. The kiss is filthy, all desire and zero skill. Her tongue flashes into your mouth. It’s nothing like the way they describe it in fiction or portray it in films. It’s obscene. Sinful. Libidinous. Her lipstick smears; she tastes the wine in your throat, licks your teeth and nibbles your lip, delicate and gruesome all at once. She tries her best, unyielding. 

The technique doesn’t matter. Not now, anyway. It’s just blind, unrequited passion. She’ll learn it eventually and when she does she’ll kiss you drunk. It’s just another thing she’ll master. And she will because that’s just who she is. Give her a textbook and she’ll have it memorized. Give her a kiss and she’ll return to practice it to perfection. 

She pulls away, panting, her lipstick in disarray. It’s all over you, smudging on the corners of your mouth. Running a hand through her hair, her figure outlined in the tantalizing glow from the city lights, she licks her lips. 

“Riddle…” 

Spoken soft like prayer, it’s a whisper she’ll treasure. Over and over, without end, repeat it like a mantra. 

“Riddle, please…”

“He doesn’t know anything about your preferences, does he?” Your dress is slid up next. She traces a heart into your bare stomach, capturing your navel in invisible lines. You shudder under her touch, grabbing at her wrist with a limp hand. She brings it up to her lips and presses a chaste kiss to the top of it. “I know you much better than he does. I always have.”

To prove it, she presses two fingers to your clothed pussy. You whine, reedy and high-pitched. “But…”

“I read it takes fourteen minutes for women to reach their end during partnered sex.” She levels you with a half-lidded stare, smirking. What she lacks in skill, she makes up for in raw confidence. “I’ll only need less than that, so you won’t have to feign anything for my sake. I know you well enough, my rose.”

A wide range of emotions waltzes across your countenance. Your arm falls over your face next. It’s defeat or hesitant acceptance, but to Riddle it’s love. 

“Ten minutes,” you whisper, conceding. “And then…you need to leave.”

She makes you cum in just five, covers you in lipstick prints, each kiss a sly cover-up. Floyd may be all over you, bites and bruises blooming new and old, but he’s not inside you, wringing you out like a sodden towel. You sob like you’re in heat when she sinks her fingers into your slick warmth, scissoring so slowly, until you’re begging her to make you cum again. Your fluids soak through the sheets. The scent of sex and sweat hangs heavy in the air. She’s alive, wildly untamed, a knight who’s just rescued the princess and slayed a bloodthirsty dragon. 

Her head is between your thighs next, her hands braced on either leg to keep them apart. You watch her with glazed eyes, soon throwing your head back when she slides your hood up to reveal your pretty, pert clit. Experimentally, she licks a teasing stripe up your slit. You shiver and dig your fingers into her scalp, imprisoning her there. It’s where she’s always wanted to be. 

“Tell me,” she murmurs, the words fanning across your pussy, “if he’s so good, why haven’t you proven it? Is this the most you’ve ever cum in a night? Does he please you or do you please him? If he’s everything you’ve ever wanted, why are you still so unsatisfied?” 

“Because… B-Because!”

Your protests are fragmented and spotted with gasps. That’s arguably more telling than a detailed response. 

Riddle smiles like a Cheshire, her eyes narrowed victoriously. Spidery digits creep along your thighs. Her thumbs dip into your pussy, spreading it wide for her viewing pleasure. “Don’t think of him. Tonight, it’s just you and me. I’ll give you what you’re owed. That and so much more.”

Like a fragile statue, you topple. Right into her, bucking against her mouth like the world is ending, and she’s there to steady you.

She always is.

iii. i’m gonna steal you from him. i could be such a gentleman. plus, you know my clothes would fit.

“Sooo… Gimme the goss. How was your night out?”

Riddle looks up from an assortment of nail polish colors, each one more red than the last, and says, “It was more enjoyable than I thought.”

“Yeah?” Cater prompts, brows raised. “Don’t be so vague! I wanna know all the juicy details. It’s rare for you to stay out so late. And to go to a party, of all things, in the city? Hello?! New Riddle, who’s this?” 

“I was only meeting an old friend.”

“That’s what they all say.”

The technician asks her to pick a color. “This one,” she says, pointing. “The one named Sanguine Sunrise.” 

“You’re totes keeping me in the dark!” Cater whines, dramatic. “At least give Cay-Cay some hints! Something! Anything! Spare change, please?”

Riddle smiles smugly. Pride drips from every syllable when she speaks next. “My friend will be spending this Valentine’s Day alone.”

“Bummer.”

“Not quite. She’ll have me and half-priced chocolates. A rather charming combination, no?”

Cater laughs. “GL. I’m rooting for you.”

You don’t need to, she thinks, tracing the love bite stamped into her skin, hidden under the soft fabric of her blouse. Because I’m already winning.

Her phone buzzes with a text: about last night… if i did anything weird, i’m so sorry. i was way too drunk. 

Riddle turns it over, dips her feet in the heated water, and settles into the massage chair, pleased as a peach. “It was one bad decision. Four years of bad decisions, but it’s forgiven. We all make silly mistakes when we’re lovestruck. Hopefully her silly mistake disappears for good and we never have to speak of him again.”

“You’re so scary, Riddle. Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

Another message arrives: i think we might’ve kissed last night. i’m really super sorry.

There’s a brief delay.

ok this is gonna sound weird coming from me but maybe we can do it again??? floyd’s kisses are sorta… :/ 

Her phone vibrates for the final time that afternoon.

actually i’m just gonna stop talking omg i’m crazy. i have a bf and everything. sorry riddle please ignore all of this kk tysm ttyl <3

wait one more text before i forget,, if you wanna meet up for tea i wouldn’t mind. we should definitely catch up when i’m not hungover. kk bye fr this time <3

A start is a start. You can’t grow a rose tree without first planting a seed.

AAAAA WINDBREAKER CONTENT I LOVE IT ( ✧Д✧) YES!!

##. MY HEART'S GOING LUB-DUB

♡ things he has said that flustered you.

♡ contents and warnings: established relationships, mentions of making out (nirei), mentions of marriage (sakura), reader’s ears are pierced in suou’s, mild, mild, possessiveness in suou's but not really 🐧

♡ characters: sakura haruka, nirei akihiko, suou hayato (x gn! reader)

Anyone who knows SAKURA HARUKA probably knows that contrary to the delinquent facade he puts up, he is actually quite innocent. A little naive, if you will, blushing at every show of romantic affection. And everyone in Boufuurin knows that’s why he’s become subject to Suou Hayato’s teasing when the brown haired boy needed a good chuckle. And of course, you, as his very lovely partner, had to also jump on the bandwagon of endearingly poking fun at your boyfriend. 

“Y’know, Haruka, you should stop me or else I’m gonna get carried away and keep teasing you even after we get married!” This was a sentence you often say for laughs after you had yet again successfully made Haruka agitated and his cheeks flushing a deep shade of red, all the way up to his ears. Granted, the first time he heard it he couldn’t look you in the eye for two whole days at the mention marriage (it’s not that he doesn’t like it, in fact it was because he likes it a little too much that he couldn’t even make eye contact without imagining you in fancy white attire). But now, he barely bats an eye at it now with how often you say it. But today, it’s evident that that particular sentence had poked at someone’s curiosity as you can sense someone staring at you as you banter with your boyfriend. 

“You know, Sakura-kun, I barely see you reacting to... that. You’re really planning to marry them in the future, huh?” Ah, it's Suou again. His soothing voice drips with mischief, the purpose of his question is obviously to tease his heterochromatic eyed peer yet again. Haruka’s features morph into one of confusion, brows furrowed as he turns to face his vice captain. 

“Hah? What are you talking about?” Haruka inquires like suou’s question is the most ridiculous question in the world. If you didn’t know any better you would have thought suou was asking him if he believed pigs could fly, or if the earth was actually a hexagon. 

(Of course, you can’t lie, suou’s question made you nervous despite how lighthearted he said it. Your self consciousness has already prepared itself for a heartbreak trip as you await your boyfriend to continue his response.)

“Why would I date someone I don’t intend on marrying?” 

Ah, now it’s your cheeks that are heating up. 

“Are you done?” The only answer SUOU HAYATO offers to your inquiry is a focused hum. His hand fumbles with the earring, his earring, as he tries to carefully slide the hook into the small hole on your right earlobe. Though, you have to say, you have nothing particular to complain about as you wait for your boyfriend to put the earring on you. After all, you’re getting the privilege of being in the front seat staring at Suou Hayato’s face as he carefully tries to put the earring on you. Lips pursed and eyes squinted a little, he looks extra handsome when he’s focused, you note. 

“Just need to secure them with the back. And... done!” he heaves out a breath as triumph takes over his features, pulling back slightly to admire his (hardly) hard work. His lips stretch into a smile, satisfied at how the red and yellow of his earring highlights your features more. 

“How does it look?” you feel quite nervous as you wait for his reply, shyly peering at him through your eyelashes. Being so close, you have the advantage of watching closely for any twitch of his features that might indicate satisfaction, dissatisfaction, anything that can indicate what kind of reaction he’s going to emit. 

You twitch slightly at the sensation of his pointer finger and middle finger grazing your chin, touch gentle as he settles them there. You swear you see something flashing in his usually gentle ruby eyes. Something akin to satisfaction, or, even, possessiveness. But you don't comment on it. He moves your head from your side to side as if to examine you thoroughly. (he quietly notes how cute you are for compliantly moving your head.) It’s only when you feel the earring faintly brushing against your right shoulder that you become hyper aware of how empty your left ear feels without an earring weighing it down. You also become hyper aware of the fact that the earring’s pair is still dangling from his left ear, eyes instinctively flitting to it. Your cheeks begin to heat up. Oh, it’s almost as if you’re wearing a couple ite-

He interrupts your thought before you can finish it.

“I quite like it, it’s pretty on you,” his voice breaks your train of thought. His smile is quite literally dripping with mischief, and now you can clearly see it. The tint of greed in his eyes is back as he moves his fingers that were formerly resting on your chin to stroke at the earring on your ear. His composed facade would have fooled you if it weren’t for the words he utters next.

“It gives off the feeling that you’re mine.” 

Oh he likes it, alright. Too much, maybe.

“Sorry. D’you need a break?” NIREI AKIHIKO’s voice is devoid of any teasing lilt, instead dripping with concern as he gazes at you through his eyelashes, eyes half lidded and cheeks flushed with a pretty tint of pink. 

It’s not the words by themselves. It’s the fact that he’s saying those words in this kind of situation. By this kind of situation, you mean with you perched up on his lap, legs splayed on either side of his thighs as he lay seated on a couch beneath you. He had uttered those exact words after what felt like 10 minutes straight of kissing

(it hadn’t even been 5 minutes, but you could barely think with how clouded your mind is). 

His question was thoroughly leaking with worry, caramel orbs boring through you as he awaits your reply. You wanted to say yes, hell, your lungs were begging you to say yes as they heaved desperately yes. You have to give your boyfriend credit, though. Sweet like always, he had noticed he had gone a little too far when he felt your lips part with breathless whines on his, and had asked if you needed a time out. Though, you don’t think he’s aware of how his voice shakes with want, or how his fingers that are resting on your hips squeezed hard like he was trying to ground himself, or how his eyes are swirling with something akin to need.

(or how he barely sounded apologetic when he apologized, and you suspect it’s because his pride soars with the knowledge that he’s the one making you breathless.)

“No,” you’re surprised at how hoarse your voice sounds, though, that is to be expected after you quite literally just had your breath taken away. Your thumb reaches out to swipe at his quivering bottom lip, gleaming with saliva and a little swollen from pressing against yours repeatedly. He leans into your touch, and you gulp away the feeling of your tugging heartstrings. “Keep kissing me, lover boy.” 

And as he lurches forward to clash your lips together again, the last thought that etches on your mind was that he really should put this on his resume: Nirei Akihiko, 16, not good at fighting (yet), hella good at kissing. 

*ೃ༄ DOWN FOR THE COUNT!

ft. Sakura Haruka, Suo Hayato, Umemiya Hajime, Hiragi Toma, and Kaji Ren

… moments in which they realized they’re utterly whipped for you (2.6k wc)

Cw) gn!reader, uhh umemiya’s bit is corny but he’s lowkey a corny guy, tbh i got stumped with suo’s part sorry if that’s evident, profanity in kaji’s part, spar my head i haven’t written in a minute

SAKURA

“It’s getting late… I think I should get going before it’s dark.”

You had spent the day off with a few of the Furin first years, which included Nirei, Suo, and your boyfriend, Sakura. You didn’t realize how much fun you were having until you checked the time, almost reading past your curfew. 

Sakura frowned, and Suo was quick to notice. He shamelessly pushed him closer towards you with his signature smile, making Nirei tilt his head a bit.

“Now now, no need to get so sorrow. You’ll see each other again soon!” 

You quirked a brow at the one-eyed boy’s antics, wondering what he was up to this time. From the corner of your eye, you could see Sakura’s face growing redder and redder, something you’ve grown used to overtime. 

“Yeah, I’m seeing him tomorrow or the day after,” you informed, a skeptical tone lacing your voice. “What are you getting at this time, Suo?” 

He merely stood still and smiled as uttered the sentence that was bound to break Sakura.

“Don’t lovers bid each other farewell with a goodbye kiss?” 

Ah, so that’s what that was.

Steam emitted from Sakura’s ears. On the other hand, you seemed unphased. He had a point, wasn’t that an unspoken rule? It wasn’t like you and Sakura hadn't kissed before, but whenever you did, it was always in private. 

However, Suo seemed eager to know whether or not Sakura had the balls to kiss you in public, more eager than you for whatever reason. 

“I mean, I don’t have a problem with it,” you replied shyly. “Do you, Sakura?”

It took all he had to form a coherent sentence. “No—! But why do you guys have to be here?!” he yelled. 

“Well we wanna say bye too. Right, Nirei?” 

The blonde nodded his head hastily. He always saw you as a friend too, and not just an extension of Sakura. Although, he felt bad for Sakura’s flustered state right now. 

“Well then, I’ll see you guys later,” you waved at the two before turning to your boyfriend. “And you…”

If his cheeks could get any redder, they would. As you slowly leaned in for a kiss, he could see Suo’s sly smirk from the corner of his eye, as well as Nirei’s baffled face. Your face was getting closer and closer, eyes closed and lips parted, and all he could do was…

“Woah! There you go, Sakura,” Suo cheered. 

His body acted faster than his mind, and before he knew it he was cupping your face gently as his lips moved against yours. There was no telling what came over him— he just went for it. 

You pulled away, both breathless and flabbergasted. “I… I didn’t think you’d be so into it,” you stammered. 

He looked away in embarrassment. “You wanted a kiss, right? So that’s what I gave…”

Everyone, including you, looked at him with cheeky grins. 

“…you,” he finished, brows furrowing at the realization he’s the center of attention. “What’s everyone’s problem?!” 

“Oh nothing,” Suo smiled. “It just seems you’re head over heels, that’s all.”

He didn’t reply, only watching as you waved everyone goodbye and headed home. After all, there was no point in denying something that was true.

HIRAGI

“Here, take this.”

”But it’s the last one?”

”I can always buy more, y’know?” Hiragi insisted, still holding the last of his stomach medicine out to you. “Besides, all you're gonna do is complain about how much it hurts till you get home.”

You hesitantly took the small box from your boyfriend’s hand, looking back up at him with a concerned glance. “You sure?”

”I’m positive,” he assured.

Reluctantly, you took the last dissolvable pill, throwing the now empty box into a nearby recycling bin. It worked as fast as Hiragi said it would. In an instant, your stomach stopped twisting and turning, and you no longer felt like you were being torn apart from the inside. 

Hiragi watched from beside you, noticing your pained expression shifting into one of relief. He couldn’t help but let a small smile creep upon his lips. He knew better than anyone how bothersome stomach pains could be, so when you expressed how much yours ached, he felt the need to give up the last of his medicine— something he probably wouldn’t do so easily for anyone else.

“Thanks, Toma,” you said gratefully, hands tucked away in your pockets anxiously. It was until then you realized you’ve been forgetting something.

“Oh shit,” you muttered. “I forgot about these…”

You pulled out another pack of Hiragi’s stomach medicine. It was still wrapped, telling him you recently bought it. “I meant to give this to you earlier, but I was in so much pain that it slipped my mind.”

He examined the small box you held out to him, eyes wider than usual and mouth agape. 

“You really didn’t have to, y’know?”

You scratched the back of your head. “Well, you told me yesterday you were running low. So when I saw it in stock, I figured I’d get it for you just in case. And, well, it’s a good thing I did, huh?”

He felt something flutter in his stomach, something he’s still not used to feeling around you. He gently took the medicine from your hands and unwrapped it immediately. 

“Already!?” you yelped, watching as your boyfriend gulped down two of the dissolvable pills. 

He chuckled sheepishly. Despite the aid to his stomach, the feeling wouldn’t go away. He knew now that they were butterflies, and no amount of stomach relief could kill them. At least, not while you’re around.

“What am I going to do with you…” he sighed. 

Who knew that the tough, hardheaded Hiragi could be taken down by a couple of butterflies?

UMEMIYA

You could still recall the surprise you felt when you entered Umemiya’s room for the first time. It wasn’t its neatness— no. You figured Umemiya kept his room clean out of respect for his caretakers in the orphanage. It also wasn’t the wall full of photos that held memories of him, his friends, and even you.

No, none of that was a surprise to you.

It was the overflowing bookshelf against the widest wall that caught you off guard.

”I knew you were fond of a good book here and there,” you started as your widened eyes scanned the various titles that peeped out the shelf. “But this… this looks like it came straight from a library, Hajime.” you said in awe.

He gave you the go ahead to check it out, even pointing to the ladder tucked away in the corner of the room in case you wanted to reach the very top shelf— which even he couldn’t reach without an extra step. You gave him a small thanks as he flopped down onto his bed, turning his head to admire your moving frame.

”Oh?” you muttered, catching sight of a familiar spine. “Woah, you even have my favorite book,” you spoke, a hint of excitement lacing your tone.

”Hm?” he hummed, sitting up to catch a better glimpse of the book you held.

”This one! It’s my favorite, have you read it yet?” you inquired, wanting to ask if he’s read every book on that shelf for that matter. You were too fixated on rereading the synopsis on the back cover to notice your boyfriend was now standing beside you.

His eyes scanned the synopsis, not finding it familiar. “I think this is one of the one’s I’ve been meaning to read…” he said quietly, both speaking to you and himself.

You turned to face him, smiling at the focussed look plastered across his face. God, if only he knew how pretty he looked in the warm lighting of his room, you thought.

”Why don’t we read it?”

”But there’s only one copy…?”

”I meant together.”

Your words replayed in his head. You wanted to read the book with him… together… at the same time. ‘How would that go?’ he thought. He assumed you’d either be next to him, you’d hold one half of the book open while he held the other. He’d turn the page once you were both finished reading it, and maybe you’d lean your head on his shoulder and…

His face turned beet red as his mind conjured up all sorts of scenarios. No matter how he imagined it, it was always so… innocently intimate. You always looked adorable in his peripheral vision, and your presence alone warmed him more than the thick comforter you both sat under.

He didn’t realize he was staring until you waved your hand in front of his face.

”Earth to Hajime? Helloooo~?”

He stumbled back a bit in surprise, before eventually coming back to his senses. “Sorry! Sorry! I was just…”

”Staring at me for a minute straight?”

“Yes! No! Kinda?” he stumbled over his words, something you thought was a little unusual for him. “It’s just…”

You quirked a brow, both curious and nervous for what he has to say. It couldn’t be bad— considering how red in the face he was right now. Of course, that didn’t stop your stomach from doing backflips.

”I love you,” he blurted.

“I love you too,” you tilted your head, was that it? It was sweet, but it wasn’t like he never said it; what made him so nervous to say it this time?

“No, I don’t just love you…” his voice trailed off, and he took both your hands in his. The book you were previously holding hit the ground with a quiet ‘thud,’ and your lips parted in surprise.

”I’m in love with you, Y/n.” he confessed. “I would do anything you asked me to— anything. And if you wanna read this book together, then that’s what we’ll do.”

It was safe to say reading together became a regular thing for you two after that.

SUO

“You always sleep like that.”

Suo peered up at you with a quirked brow. “Hm? Like what?” 

“Like that,” you gestured to his figure. He laid on his back, arms resting over his stomach and hands placed atop each other as if he were ready to be placed in a casket. “Are you sure you’re not a vampire?”

“Oh? Are you questioning my humanity now?” he teased, sitting up from the mattress to better engage in conversation.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his comment and thinking back to your original train of thought. 

Suo’s never cuddled with you.

The first time you shared a bed with the boy, you thought he was just stiff, not wanting to push any boundaries you may have had. Instead of questioning it, you opted to snuggle into his side for the night. Though you were a little disappointed to find him in the same state he fell asleep in when the sun rose, you never mentioned it.

That was until it happened again, and again, and again… 

“Do you hate cuddling?” 

His tired eye widened a bit in surprise, “What?”

“You sleep the same way every night… and you never cuddle. Are those two things related at all?”

Your words would’ve sounded harsh if it weren’t for your soft tone. You weren’t mad at him, only curious. What reason did he have for not wrapping an arm around you when you were lying right next to him? Don’t most couples do that when they sleep in the same bed, no matter how they sleep?

“I sleep like this out of habit. I’m sorry, love.” he spoke, voice soft and apologetic. “If you wanna cuddle tonight, I can try.”

“Please?” 

He hummed, patting the spot next to him for you to scoot over, which you gladly did. You both laid back down, arms loosely wrapping around each other as you buried your face into his chest. 

His scent was stronger this close up, something that soothed you greatly. You could tell he wasn’t used to this, and a small part of you felt bad for making ditch something he was adjusted to. 

“Sorry for—“

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he reassured. “I should be the one saying sorry. I didn’t realize how selfish I was being.”

You pulled away from his chest to look up at him, “Selfish?” you laughed. “You weren’t selfish, you were just used to something else.”

“Mmm, I suppose,” he whispered, gently pushing your head back on his chest. “But I could definitely get used to this.”

You thought he planted your head back on his chest for the comforting feeling, which was true to a degree. But his main motive for keeping you from seeing his face was so you couldn’t see the blush that crept up to his cheeks. 

Yeah, he wouldn’t mind getting used to anything else as long as it were with you. 

KAJI

Kaji was never fond of having his possessions tampered with. 

For example, his precious headphones. They were a gift from Hiragi to keep him tamed when needed. Since the day he’s received them, he’s been incredibly selective with who can lay a finger on them. 

In all fairness, he had a right to do so. For one, they were a gift. Second, he actually needs them. To those who don’t know him, he may come off as possessive. But in reality, he’s just being protective.

His clothes on the other hand… yeah, those were a different story.

Having so little clothes, he’s careful to keep them all organized throughout the week. So when he notices one of his hoodies is missing…

“Where the hell did it go?” he grumbled under his breath, scouring through his wardrobe in search of his missing hoodie.

It was nowhere to be found. Not on the hangers, not on the shelves, not misplaced under a pair of pants, nowhere. His brows furrowed tightly in annoyance, he could’ve sworn it was there yesterday…

“Kaji? You okay over there?” your voice called from his bedroom doorway. 

Ah, he thought. In the midst of his dilemma, he forgot that you were supposed to be coming over today. He took a deep breath and closed his closet, turning around to face you. 

“One of my hoodies went missing, have you seen it any…” he went quiet, eyeing you up and down. 

So that’s where it went.

“You mean this one?” you said, gesturing to the soft hoodie that clung to your torso.

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“My bad…” 

If he was being honest, he thought he’d be pissed if he found out you were the one who took it. That’s how he’d react if it were anyone else, right? But as he stared at his hoodie that you were wearing, he couldn’t feel an ounce of anger in him.

His cheeks turned red before he could notice, and he was too awestruck to utter another word. Seriously, shouldn’t he be mad? He thought he should be, but he couldn’t. 

You noticed his dumbfounded face from across the room, unsure of what he was trying to express. “Sorry, Kaji. Did you want it back?” 

“No—! You can…” his voice trailed off, finding his own thoughts to be unbelievable.

“Keep it,” he finished. 

“Really?” you beamed.

“Yes really… Now hurry up and pick another before I change my mind.”

You rushed over to him gleefully, embracing him in a tight hug. “You’re the best!”

He hugged back, burying his reddened face into the crook of your neck. You let him go to search through his closet, looking for an extra hoodie to take for keeping. As he watched you sort through each one, only one thought crossed his mind.

‘Who let this happen to me…?’ 

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