#whas not expecting to enjoy it this much

[samson-the-whale]

Guess who started watching tf animated

(after finishing erthspark desided to start another series the fixation has not ended)

Honestly bee is my favorite and I relate to him a little to much lol

[mwphisto]

Sylus: Sweet Temptations

~ this started as a quick imagine, meant to end where the "read more" tab is currently located. And, well, it spiraled.

~ Warnings: smut with no plot, reader is female! Cunnilingus, Sy hits it raw per usual, evol use, creampies. Pretty tame lol

A note from Soul: Heyo idk how I got here. It really started to spiral lmfao I miss writing full length stories. Perhaps I'll try and give it a whirl with a previous Sylus idea I teased a few weeks back. Enjoy! WC: 2.3k

"You... can't wear that."

You freeze, eyes widening as you stare at Sylus. Fresh out of the shower, your hair still damp, and a fresh set of comfy clothes adorning your clean skin. "Wha-why not?" Glancing down, you can't figure out what is so scandalous about a t-shirt and shorts.

"Your shorts are... too short." There is an odd tremor in his voice, one that freezes your confusion as it barrels down the train tracks of pure spiraling. "My shorts are too short?" You start, a smile creeping onto your lips as you cross your arms. "Are you saying I'll tempt the twins by showing so much of my legs?" Your grin turns wicked.

"Your legs? Sweetie, look behind you." So you do, catching a glimpse of your back in the full length mirror. No, it's not just your legs. The shorts are hiked up a little, teasing the round curves of your ass cheeks just below the cotton surface. Oh. oh.

"I don't see anything wrong." You bat your lashes at him as you turn to face him again, hands reaching back and poking the plush of your ass. Something Sylus catches in the mirror reflection, something you notice makes his throat bob. "Sweetie..."

"I'll be fine." You stand firm, the teasing lit in your voice making him clench his jaw. "We promised the twins we'd watch that movie with them, can't back down no-hey!" Your legs are kept in place by the familiar black and red tendrils of Sylus' evol.

But, he's stalking forward, long strides closing the distance. You feel the need to back away, but your legs are cemented in place. Before you can ask what he's doing, he's squatting down in front of you.

"My kitten is being naughty." He states simply, hands hooking in the elastic waist of your cotton shorts and tugging them down.

"Sylus!" Your face flushes, heat radiating through your body as he reveals exactly what he expected to find. "No panties, Kitten? I thought we were just watching a movie with the twins... instead you're trying to tease me, huh? Shorts riding up that perfect ass, just to forgo underwear. Easy access for me, right? How considerate."

You wanted to melt into the floor, eyes frantically looking between his face and where it hovered inches next to your exposed cunt. "I-I just didn't bring underwear into the bathroom with me." But Sylus is laughing, shoulders shaking as his hands move to hold your hips.

"You parade naked around our bedroom all the time, kitten. That's a silly excuse and you know it." You feel the urge to defend yourself, but, dammit, he's right. "C'mon, pull my pants back up the twins are probably wait-ngh!" You flinch, struggling to stifle your noises as Sylus nudges your cunt with his nose.

"They can... wait. I'm craving a pre-movie snack."

You’re struggling to swallow, mouth feeling impossibly dry as his words ghost warm air along your center. “Sy…” but you’ve already lost the battle, lost the war, this isn’t what you wanted to happen anyways, no?

“Hush, kitten. Let me eat.”

You can't stop the strangled yelp that leaves your mouth, hands immediately flying down to tangle in the silky soft white strands of Sylus' head. His nose is settling on your pubic bone as his tongue prodded between your slick folds. You could tell by the look he shot you that he wasn't at all surprised at how quickly you got worked up.

"S-shit, Sy. C'mon... I'm gonna fall." You could feel your knees trembling, even with his hands and evol holding you up. Still, Sylus didn't stop. His warm tongue poking at the pulsating bud residing at the apex of your cunt. As if to drive his point home, he squeezed your hips as his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking until you squealed.

"S'too intense! C'mon!" But your lips were parted, fingers tugging on his hair so hard you were certain a few strands would come with you when you let go. But Sylus didn't stop, didn't even try to hide the obscene noises leaving his mouth as he slurped on your juices.

He was in his own form of heaven, face caged by your thighs, mouth glued to your cunt, your fingers yanking his hair so hard it sent delicious thrills of pain down his spine. Fuck, he could cum just like this and be satisfied. "S-shit I'm already gonna cum..!"

Your entire body trembled with pleasure, your cunt clenching around nothing but Sylus could feel the movement against his chin. Every nerve ending seemed to light on fire, to the point you wanted to tell him to ease up just to extend your pleasure.

But if there was one thing about Sylus, he loved to eat. And he certainly did not take well to any interruptions. That, and he always went back for seconds, thirds, hell even fourths and fifths and sixths and…

"Shit'm so close!" The tension in you cunt spread up to your gut, down your thighs, you had half the sense to realize his evol was the only thing keeping you upright at this very moment. Sylus hummed at your words, vibrating your now sensitive clit and making stars spark across your vision as his tongue flicked left and right.

Drool pooled in your mouth, damn near spilling out had you not swallowed to try and gain any sense of sanity. Sylus didn't relent, no, his eyes seemed to sparkle up at you as he started slurping again, suckling on your pulsating clit until he could see the tears brimming in your eyes. If his mouth wasn't so occupied, he'd tell you to cum.

"Boss man? Are you and Miss Hunter going to watch the movie with us?" Sylus didn't freeze, but you sure snapped out of your daze. You expected him to unlatch himself from your cunt, to gruffly answer Luke and then continue. Instead, he doubled down.

It was up to you to give a verbal response... that devil.

"Boss man?" Sylus merely sucked on your clit, you swore you could feel his lips curling into that goddamn smirk. "W-we'll be out in a minute. Sylus is j-just finishing up." What was he finishing exactly? You'd let Luke make his own assumptions. "Oh! Alright... we'll get it ready."

You could feel the confusion in Luke's words, but it didn't matter when your orgasm was teetering right on the edge. "Sylus please, oh fuck I'm so close to coming, please..."

He obliged just as you nearly hunched over, fingers spasming in his hair as you sought for some sort of grounding. The pleasure building up was far too much, and you knew your orgasm would absolutely destroy you. You just prayed you'd be able to keep your voice down.

Sylus' mouth was hot as he shook his head against your cunt, slurping and sucking as your eyes squeezed shut. Your release covered him, drenching his lips and chin as your pussy trembled and clenched all over his mouth.

Your ears rung, eyes swimming with tears and you tried to blink them away. Sylus barely relented, not until your hands tugged at his hair weakly. Then, with a soft kiss on your sensitive cunt, he pulled away.

"Sylus..." You weren't even sure what you were going to say, but he didn't give you a chance. No, there was something lingering in his gaze. Primal hunger, need, you knew you were in for it now. He wasn't done yet, the poor twins would be waiting forever.

"Sylus the twins are waiting-" but you were being scooped up in his arms, shorts still around your ankles as he walked you over to the bed. "They can start without us, I'm not satisfied yet." A dark gray patch had leaked across the front of Sylus' sweatpants. His cock visibly straining against the material. "Oh fuck..."

“Do you see what trouble this little stunt of yours has caused us, my naughty little kitten?” You pushed up on shaky arms, watching Sylus pull off the flimsy material of your shorts and toss them onto the bedroom floor.

“You’ll need to make it up to me, y’know. You can’t just go and dangle the sweetest of treats in front of me and expect me not to…” he sunk lower, crowding your space as his lips brush the shell of your ear. “…bite.”

An involuntary shiver racks your body, eyes dazed as your legs spread wider to accommodate him. “Then take your fill, Sylus. Devour me.” You swore you could see his self control snap in half, but his lips were crashing into yours with bruising force before you could process it.

Sylus took his time exploring your mouth, something he had done countless times, but it never quite got old. He didn't think it ever would. All the while, one hand reached down to yank his cock out of the confines of his sweatpants. He hadn't been wearing underwear either... but you didn't need to know.

You had been so lost in the feeling of his mouth that you didn't process anything else until it was a second too late. The dull head of his cock was pressing into your entrance, the pressure of the stretch making you whimper. Sylus soothed you by kissing you harder, drowning you in the feeling of his mouth.

"Good girl, take it." The whisper was enough to send a shrill of pleasure down your spine, walls quivering as inch after inch was buried in the warmth of your velvety walls. "Feel so good, baby. Such a good girl f'me. Taking me so well..." every praise was a whispered sin into your parted mouth, enough to have you gasping.

The pressure built, until your legs trembled as they crossed around his waist. "Sh-shit so big... so full..." He had bottomed out, a breathy laugh leaving his lips at your shameless praise.

"Don't inflate my ego too much, kitten."

You could only roll your hips in response, you didn't mind inflating his already large ego. "C'mon, Sy. We still have a movie to watch." His head fell forward at that, a reminder he wasn't all that willing to accept. "Quit rushing me, Kitten."

Your mouth opens to complain, but you can't manage to spit the words out. Not when he draws back half way just to push in again. "I want to take my time with you." he shifts, pushing you both further up the mattress so he can get better leverage.

"Only you, my love, would dare to order the leader of Onychinus around." And if you weren't grappling with your fraying sanity, you probably would have made a smart remark back to him. Instead, your nails dug into the material of his shirt, yanking it up his back in the process. You needed something to scratch.

Sylus found his rhythm easily - he always did - somehow knowing just how to fuck into you so you're seeing stars. If you thought he was ruining you, you should see the mess you were making of him. His shirt bunching at his neck, your nails digging into the muscled flesh, his sweat pants hanging around his thighs.

If anyone were to see the leader of Onychinus like this? It would be proper blackmail material. "S-shit Sylus! Just like that... fuck!"

It was incredible how quickly he could work you up. Your stomach was twisting, cunt fluttering around his size as it plunges in and out of your heated center. You could cum just from this, from the pap pap pap of his hips rutting into you, from his abdomen ghosting your sensitive clit. All of it had you forgetting to keep your voice down.

"Sy, m'gonna cum again..!" You pulled his face towards you, mushing your lips together in a sloppy kiss as his hips worked you senseless. "Cum for me, kitten. Make a mess." There was already a creamy ring of your arousal collecting at the base of his cock, it drove him wild.

His hand sunk lower, angling himself just right to begin rubbing eager circles on your twitching clit. "Feels so good, huh? Do I make you feel good, kitten? Ruining this pretty pussy cuz you wanted to be a brat? Wanted to get a rise out of me? You got it, fuck you got it."

You clamped down on him, walls suffocating him so harshly his hips stuttered in their steady pace. "Shit!" He almost came just from that.

You weren't faring much better, entire cunt spasming as your second orgasm hung just out of your reach. "C-cum with me, Sy. Please?" He was a devil? He'd beg to differ with that one. You were so effortlessly sin-incarnate. "Course, k-kitten." And you were falling apart, cunt gushing around him as his hips slammed into you one last time.

Hot ropes of cum poured into your cunt, filling you to the brim as a rumbling groan vibrated Sylus' chest. He was twitching, forehead pressing to yours as your uneven breathing mixed together.

"Pleased with yourself, Kitten?" A kiss lands on your nose, then your cheek, then your lips. You're struggling to keep your eyes open, a dopey grin on your lips as you try and calm down. "Very."

"Boss man... miss hunter?" This time, it was Kieran knocking at the bedroom door. "We can uh... reschedule the movie night. Or just uhm... Luke and I can just watch it together." A mortified shiver was creeping up your spine. How much had they heard?

Sylus sighed, a devilish look in his eyes as he called back. "Start watching, Miss Hunter and I will be out in a few minutes."

"C'mon Sylus!" But your lover only smirked down at you, "I thought you wanted to watch the movie, kitten. You were so eager to rush me every time I was looking to take my time."

This was his form of payback. "You're evil, Sy"

"...I know."

[honey-tongued-devil]

Got a request: Jinx x Piltover reader who comes to the undercity a lot to see some action and excitement with Jinx thinking they’re from there only to find out that they’re from topside.

[Arcane preference zaunites] with a s/o from Piltover (viktor, ekko, silco, vander, jinx, vi, sevika)

In less than a week, I’ve gained 500 followers and over 20 requests, so I’ll ask you right away to please be patient. English isn’t my first language, and I don’t think I’ll be able to post more than two or three headcanons a week (since I also draw). I’m sorry to keep you waiting, but I just ask for a little patience. In the meantime, if you’d like to support me, you can follow me HERE (bluesky) even though I haven’t started posting seriously yet, or you can leave a tip HERE. That said, enjoy!

Viktor:

- The most versatile on the subject. He’s the first one who is constantly around the people of Piltover, studying and having his room at the academy, which is even located in a wealthy area.

- Generally, he doesn’t pay much attention to someone’s origins, but as the relationship grows more serious, memories of his early academy years become more vivid.

- Viktor is a chill guy, until he’s no longer chill, (at least the original one).

- Most heated discussions are likely to revolve around politics or events in the city. But as long as you don’t call the people from the Undercity “beasts,” “creatures,” “monsters,” “beings,” or “animals,” his anger won’t be directed at you.

- At some point, he won’t remember anymore that you’re from “different neighborhoods,” and since he needs a hand carrying things to the academy, he’ll start asking you to accompany him to the Undercity when he needs to make purchases or pick up pre-ordered items.

- And although it might scare or intimidate you at first, it won’t take long for you to get used to it.

- Although sooner or later, you’ll learn to change your clothes before going down to Zaun.

Ekko:

- The first meeting with Ekko is straight out of a book: you get caught in a crossfire, and before you can even begin mentally writing your will, an arm grabs you around the torso and pulls you away at such a high speed that you feel like throwing up.

- He can’t take people directly to the hideout, but he can offer you assistance as soon as you’re somewhere safer.

- This is why, the second time he saves you, he can’t help but joke about how it almost seems like you put yourself in danger on purpose, and that you could ask him out in a less dramatic way.

- Of course, he’s just joking to break the tension, but when you actually propose it, even just as a way to repay him, it’s the beginning of the end.

- Between your outfit and the fact that, having run into you twice in a crossfire, you were in some pretty dangerous places, the last thing he expected was for you to ask him to meet up at the bridge and then show up dressed like a Piltie.

- Before his meeting with Cait and the one with Jayce, this would’ve been a breaking point; he wouldn’t have shown up and would’ve just gone back. But now, even if he’s not thrilled, he’ll at least come over to complain that you didn’t tell him you were from the upper city.

- He’s resigned to this fate, but he still remains a bit suspicious and on guard, not knowing your political stance, why you were down there, or how you see the people from his city.

- Even as you become closer, he’ll never stop teasing you about your background. You’re drinking, and you drop your cup? “What a strange way Pilties have of drinking.”

Vander:

- Going down to Zaun without stopping by the Last Drop is a waste, which is why you’re lucky enough to run into the Hound of the underground right away. Not only is he one of the most influential people, but also one with a lot of connections.

- At Vander’s suggestion, you stay at the counter, and he uses the opportunity to ask you a few questions, curious: for example, why is someone from Piltover down in Zaun alone at that hour? What do you study, if you study, or what do you do for work, if you work.

- Vander is extremely sociable, and since he handles negotiations, he doesn’t hold hostility toward upper-city residents, though it’s rare to see them in these parts.

- It’s not even about flirting; he just wants to keep chatting and make sure he won’t have you on his conscience. He asks you to wait until closing, checks in on the kids to make sure everything’s okay and says goodnight, then walks you to the bridge.

- The more regular your visits to Zaun become, the more the other regulars at the Last Drop start to recognize you and get used to you, making that place quite pleasant. And then there’s the deal with the bartender: if you offer him a good chat, he’ll treat you to a good pint of beer.

- The toughest part of getting close to Vander is learning that he’s a single father to four kids, and seeing the hostile and shocked reaction of the younger ones when they find out you’re not from their city.

- But hate is taught, and even if it takes some time, they slowly start to get used to you. Maybe they won’t jump into your arms, but if you decide to stay over, they’ll make room for you or bring you something to dry your face with, in strict silence.

Silco:

- This man, though he may not look like it, is the embodiment of patience.

- It’s his goons who bring you to his office, and the first time, all it takes is a quick glance for him to know you’re not a spy, a rival, a drug addict, or a threat.

- Silco kills, but generally not without reason. So, the first time you have a heart-pounding panic attack from being dragged there, you get off with a warning: if they catch you poking around his business again, it won’t go so well for you.

- But today, Janna’s on your side, and you’re safe.

- The issue is much simpler than it seems: if you live in the Undercity, you know which places to avoid and which gangs control which areas. But if you’re just a foolish Piltie who likes wandering outside your own city, the odds of ending up in one mess after another are high.

- That’s why, the second time they catch you near one of their shipments, his goons already have their weapons drawn.

- This time it’s not even Silco who spares you; instead, a firefight with the Firelights breaks out nearby, and you’re just lucky that bigger problems show up at the right moment.

- It happens repeatedly: either you run into his goons and instinctively wave like an idiot, or you end up in restricted areas, and one of them who’s taken a liking to you motions for you to leave, or you start frequenting the Last Drop and see them all more often.

- Gradually, this brings you more often—and with less dread—to the kingpin’s office, who, since even his daughter likes you, first makes sure to get you a map of the Lanes because “you’re obviously so clueless you must be from Piltover” to keep you from getting yourself killed.

- Then he realizes you’re pleasant enough to let you hang out in his office on weekends, when the noise downstairs is so loud that he couldn’t work anyway.

Jinx:

- You’re essentially the “dumb Piltie” stereotype that comes to mind when people in Zaun talk about those from the upper city.

- Deciding to venture into the alleys without any experience or knowledge of the area purely out of curiosity wasn’t your brightest idea, but at this point, it’s too late to turn back.

- That’s why, after hours spent looking for something interesting—colorful explosions that have been common recently near the docks, some chase scenes—you find nothing, give up, and throw yourself into a bar.

- If it were evening, you might hope for more than just a jukebox playing country music, four young guys playing pool in a corner, and a girl sitting at the bar who looks half-asleep while the bartender cleans glasses, but you still decide to sit down and order something local.

- Everyone’s eyes are on you, but the moment the girl with long blue braids lifts her head, the others snap back to what they were doing, and she looks at you, still drowsy and a bit confused.

- Meeting Jinx is the beginning of the end; she rambles on, is relaxed, and the moment she hears you wanted action, she jumps off her stool and drags you out before you can even sip your drink.

- She has no particular reason—it's just rare to find someone who wants to have fun, although you quickly realize that her idea of “fun” involves risking your neck.

- The first time ends like that; you don’t even exchange names. When it gets late, she vanishes, leaving you no choice but to return to the bar in the following weeks, where you meet her again and pick up on that fun “tour.”

- This “tour” brings you closer, even if you never talk about deeply personal things because there’s never time.

- It’s one night when you’re sitting together on a rooftop, watching the distant lights of Piltover, that she learns the hard truth: you’re from the other side of the river. This single piece of information seems to destroy everything you had built. Without a word, she runs off, and you don’t find her at the bar at the usual time anymore, but you don’t stop trying.

- The bartender probably tells her, or she sees you, who knows, because weeks later you meet again, and she almost looks sad to see you.

- She expected you to give up, not to keep coming back despite how difficult she’d made it, which is why when you pull her into a hug, she stiffens, taking a while to hug you back.

- The closer you get, the more she becomes like a ghost. You even find her at your place, but you never see her on the streets in Piltover. She rarely stays over, but you know it’s because of personal issues.

Vi:

- Vi isn’t for everyone: she’s for those with a “savior complex” or hotheads who can take a couple of punches to the face.

- The reason you’re in Zaun, dressed incognito, is because your colleagues told you there’s some interesting stuff in the underground city’s shops.

- What you didn’t expect was that the “interesting find” curled up behind an abandoned building would be a person.

- Nothing too serious, just a brawl gone wrong. She’d hidden to tend to her wounds in peace, probably in that vulnerable “cornered wolf showing its teeth” state.

- Cooperation isn’t her strong suit, and, not to rely on Undercity stereotypes, but you imagine it’s also rare for anyone to help strangers wounded on the street.

- She becomes more docile after you simply stand by, “covering her back”—basically just staying put and shielding her from view. 

- whenyou blurt out, “Forget gin; I need something stronger.” she starts to like you

- Once she recovers, she gestures for you to follow her, suddenly motivated by the urge to drink. Surprisingly, she takes you over the bridge to your own city, to a cozy pub that smells of wood.

- Drinking there becomes a habit; after a few drinks, you tell her you hate that the evening has to end, and she chuckles, flattered, before saying you can always do it again.

- And you do it again.

- You keep doing it until you end up kissing clumsily in the pub’s restroom, nearly knocking heads together, until she pins you to the wall and your brain signals a warning.

- You tell her you live nearby, suggesting you take things to your place, unknowingly revealing something you thought was obvious.

- She stares at you for a few confused seconds. “You didn’t tell me,” she says, but the truth is, Vi doesn’t hate upper-city people, so once the confusion passes, the alcohol and hormones work their magic, leaving that conversation as a problem for the next morning.

Sevika:

- Her only interactions with people from the upper city have been with Enforcers, but contrary to appearances, Sevika is a big, intimidating dog that’s actually quite tame.

- She doesn’t get her hands dirty unless necessary, so even though she has no fondness for Pilties, she’d never start a physical fight with one.

- You first see her in the Undercity, at the Last Drop, playing cards for a hefty sum of money against two shady types: one bald with a metal nose, and the other dressed like an out-of-place gentleman.

- It’s only when the game ends and she gets up to head to the bar that you clumsily manage to strike up a conversation, receiving nothing but a scrutinizing glance in return.

- She lets you buy her a drink despite the large sum she just pocketed, and when you compliment her on her play, she puffs up with pride and starts talking about how those two just cheated but still couldn’t win.

- For a moment—just a moment—she realizes she’s never seen you around here before, but then she goes back to talking and listening, fueled by the alcohol.

- Getting her out of your head becomes impossible, and if you catch her at the end of her shift, she’s even more relaxed. It doesn’t take many weeks before you find yourself with your knees over her shoulders in the Last Drop’s basement.

- Emotional or mental intimacy with Sevika comes at an incredibly slow pace, but she starts approaching you in the bar, and your “private encounters” become more and more frequent—until you try to make things more serious by inviting her up.

- Her reaction seems angry, but it’s more surprise; she hadn’t realized and didn’t expect it.

- She becomes a lot more guarded around you, until, in time, she learns to trust you again.

[kissitbttr]

flashing simon your titties in the middle of an argument

it’s the fourth time this week and he’s pretty much getting sick of your attitude.

whether it’s about the messy drawers, forgotten keys, not getting your fresh strawberries from the market and now, it’s about the new female recruit that seems to be enjoying flirting with your boyfriend and him not doing anything about it. of course you’re pissed! you’re allowed to.

“sweetheart” simon huffs out a sigh of annoyance, rubbing his hands all over his tired face. “for the fifth time… i wasn’t flirting with her”

a scoff escape your mouth. cocking one eyebrow while your arms are crossed over your chest. “i didn’t say you were. i said that bitch had her hands all over you and you didn’t do anything! she was batting her fake ass lashes at you too. jesus, her ass should got beat for that”

the sight of you getting pretty heated almost turned him on. almost. sure, you’re hot when you’re angry and usually he’d fuck you dumb to get that out of your system but this time? he’s far too exhausted.

“fuckin’ hell” he shakes his head in disbelief. “you know that’s not what happened. we were just talking.”

“i know what i saw-“

“don’t give me that!” simon exclaims, pointing his finger at you as he watches you give him a look of ‘oh you did not just do that’. “we were basically just talking, she was the new recruit. asking me about pointers.. and it was at the gala! what did you expect me to do?!”

you shrug casually, leaning against the kitchen counter. “poke her eyes with a fork”

“my god-“ he has to cut himself off before releasing a heavy sigh. eyes shutting briefly, head tilts to the back as he silently prays to whoever up there to give him enough strength to deal with you. “that would be illegal.”

“for you, maybe. i’d do it if you weren’t in my way.”

“that’s crazy” he answers, earning a look from you. “i didn’t say you are crazy! christ, woman!”

rolling your eyes, you huff. maybe you are overreacting but the thing is? you don’t want him to win. because in your head, you’re always right.

“so, what? you’re just going to let other female recruits feel you up too, huh? grab your biceps, twirl their hair when they look at you or maybe hey! you’d let them grab your dick too.”

“you’re unbelievable”

“me?! you are—“

“no! okay, you know what?! doll, i love you... i do so please never doubt me, yeah? but you can’t keep doing this, alright?! it’s not healthy! and if you—w-wait, what are you doing? wha-“

you lift your shirt up to flash him your naked breasts so he can shut up. and it worked. obviously. now, his eyes aren’t even looking at you but at his second favorite thing—after you— your lips stretch into a smirk when you see him freeze. jaw hanging open slightly.

“a-and you c-can’t” he gulps, becoming a stuttering mess as he struggles to maintain an eye contact. “c-can’t—like—just—fuck! this is unfair! what was i saying?!”

oh yeah, now you’re taking the W

-

did this once with my ex and got fucked lol

[desperate-gay]

Love, Lust, and Face Wash

Alessia Russo x fem!reader

summary: a quiet night in, a reality show, and a very dramatic girlfriend. what could possibly go wrong?

a/n: i forced myself to write and i actually finished something! i hope you guys enjoy this!

“Babe, do we really have to watch this?” Alessia groans, flopping dramatically next to you with her arms sprawled across the bed and your lap.

You don’t even flinch as the mattress jolts beneath you from the dopey girl’s sudden weight. Instead, you calmly hold your bowl of kettle popcorn in the air to keep it from spilling, popping a kernel into your mouth like nothing happened.

“We have to watch your American Idol, so we’re watching my Love Island. Relationships are about sacrifice, my love.” You pat her cheek playfully a few times as she turns her head to look at you, scowling just slightly.

“I’m dating my bully.” The striker huffs dramatically, lifting her head before dropping it back down to cause another ripple in the bed.

“Yup. I expect your lunch money by tomorrow, nerd.” You say absentmindedly as the intro to your show echoes through the bedroom, signaling that a new episode is finally released.

“First of all, you’re the nerd between the two of us. Second of all, you don’t even need my lunch money because I always pay for you anyway.” Alessia scolds sassily, her elbows now resting against the soft surface of your comforter in order to direct her gaze at you.

Within only a few minutes of you watching the show, Alessia is dreading that all of your attention is on some trashy reality tv show that is mostly about making out and sex—something she wishes you two would be doing instead of the tv blaring.

And suddenly she has an idea. Sex. Who would say no to sex on a sunny, perfect weather day?

Her hand innocently rests on your leg before very slowly inching upward, so slow that you haven’t seem to notice the ulterior motives behind the touch. Glancing up, Alessia watches as you continue to stare right into the television while continually plucking popcorn into your mouth with no care in the world.

Finally, Alessia gets tired of your attention being completely off of her, so she trails her hand faster up your inner thigh which finally earns her a small glance from you.

“Less, what are you doing?” You ask suspiciously, most likely already knowing the answer as your girlfriend playfully walks her two fingers up your shorts to the hem of them.

“I just thought you and I could have a little… I don’t know, fun?” Alessia grins, menacingly, as she snaps the elasticated fabric against your skin, earning her a small jump from you.

Alessia doesn’t give you much time to answer before she’s crawling up to you and sitting face to face with you. So close that you can almost feel one another’s breath ricocheting off of the other’s. Alessia’s ring-covered hand reaches up, cupping your chin with a grip that can feel polite, yet demanding at the exact same time.

Within seconds, her lips are latching onto yours in a desperate and needy kiss. You almost immediately return her eagerness, forgetting about your show with every brush of her lips against yours, but once Alessia brushes her tongue along yours, you jolt back and push her away.

“Wha—”

“You almost got me, but I am watching my show. You just have to suffer like I do when you go over our games 24/7.” You remind her with a crooked eyebrow, making her roll her eyes in return.

“At least I’m watching something to benefit us. You’re just watching people yell and make out for an hour straight.” She complains as she sits up on her knees, throwing her hands in the air to solidify her point.

“Alessia. I am not making out with you right now.”

“I was hoping for something more sexy?”

You huff out a laugh, earning an offended look in return. “My love, I am not having sex with you either.”

The striker throws her head back with a loud groan before dramatically tumbling off the bed, now standing next to the nightstand with her arms crossed like a petulant child. When she realizes she’s not getting a reaction, she huffs and storms into the shared bathroom.

“Where are you going?” You call out, voice raised so she can hear you.

Alessia pokes her head out from the doorframe, unimpressed. “I’m doing self-care since someone else doesn’t care about me.”

You stifle a laugh, cuddling deeper into the bed as your attention returns to the show, waiting out your girlfriend’s tantrum.

Only a few minutes pass before you hear the familiar voiceover:

A new bombshell has entered the villa.

The camera pans over a toned body, and as it moves up the arms, your eyes squint at the tattoos. Then comes the voice. That voice you’ve heard countless times at Alessia’s family dinners. The voice that never misses a chance to tease you both.

Then, finally, you see his face.

Never in your life would you have expected to see someone you know—let alone your girlfriend’s brother—on Love Island.

Your eyes go wide as you basically lock eyes with Gio through the screen. It’s almost like you’re strapped in place, your body frozen in disbelief.

A beat passes. Then another. Finally, you find your voice.

“Less! Alessia, get in here right now!” You shriek from your place in bed.

In a flash, your clumsy girlfriend barrels in from the bathroom, face covered in soap and hair pushed back by a headband.

“What? What is it?” Alessia pants, suds clinging to her face and eyes wide with concern.

You don’t even look at her. Just raise your arm and point at the screen, where her shirtless brother stands in full HD glory.

Alessia turns toward the TV and immediately gasps.

“What in the bloody world is this?” She blurts, whipping her head between you and the image of Gio.

You give her a tight-lipped smile. “I guess this is why he said he couldn’t make it to the next few family dinners.”

Alessia stares in complete disbelief, fully forgetting about the face wash now trailing down her cheeks and directly into her eyes.

A sudden shriek jolts you upright.

“Ow ow ow! It stings! It stings and I’m blind!”

You stifle a laugh that wants to escape and hop onto your feet, guiding the dramatic striker into the bathroom to rinse her face properly. Alessia continues to complain about the pain as you gently help clean the sting from her eyes the best you can.

Once you’re finished, the taller girl sits in front of you—face bare, eyes slightly red, yet somehow even more striking as they bring out her blue hues. You look at her with a soft smile before leaning over and placing a few gentle kisses on her cheeks, nose, forehead, and finally, her lips.

“Maybe it was better being blind, so I didn’t have to watch that anymore.” Alessia mutters, breaking the silence with a huff.

“I just don’t understand how we didn’t know about this. When I saw your mom and Gio talking secretly two weeks ago, I thought nothing of it.” You shrug as you rub your hands up and down her arms, trying to soothe her post-meltdown.

But then you notice her face shift into something much more serious.

“Mother.”

With that, the striker hops up and basically runs out of the room, leaving you standing there in stunned confusion. Soon enough, you hear her pacing the bedroom, prompting you to wander back out and sit on the edge of the bed.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.” Alessia chants, not slowing her struts. “Ha! Mum, I need a word with you.”

You silently watch the conversation escalate, ignoring the buzzing from your phone on the nightstand and instead focusing on the domestic disaster unfolding in front of you.

“Yes, he did say that, but when someone says they’re going to be busy the next few weeks, it’s usually with work or family. Not because they’re going on a show where people just swallow each other’s faces whole!”

Alessia takes a few deep breaths to calm herself, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.

“No, Mum. I’m not raising my voice at you, but if Gio were here—”

Your phone buzzes again and again. You finally reach across the bed, scrolling through the notifications until you find the one that’s been going off nonstop.

“I just wish you would’ve told me. No—But— Yes. Y/N and I will see you then. I love you too.” Alessia sighs in defeat, finally ending the call and looking over at you, just in time to see the grin etched across your face.

“What are you smiling at?”

“Oh, nothing. The girls are quite funny though.”

“The girls found out?!” A horrified look crosses Alessia’s face.

“Yes.” You offer, smiling a little sheepishly. “The group chat is having a field day.”

[baldudiable]

Astrology observations

Pisces/12th house Suns often struggle with knowing who they are. These placements look outside to discover the true nature of their being. They adapt the same habits or interests as people they admire because they don’t know where theirs lie. Pisces & the 12th house are associated with Neptune, the planet that dissolves everything it touches. The Sun is the ego, or your self-belief. When these energies collide, it’s hard knowing who you are and what you want to do with your life. This can be both a blessing and a curse; it makes you open to all kinds of experiences, and allows you to be freed from the need to control outcomes. But it can also lead you to lose yourself and waste time that you could've applied to certain aspirations, and ending up not accomplishing anything worthwhile. if you have any of these placements, it's important that you do some soul searching and find out what it is that you want to do & become.

Gemini is ruled by Mercury, the planet of knowledge and communication. Leo is the Sun, constantly showering the world with its light. Natives endowed with these placements looove talking about themselves and their interests. Leo is fixed, meaning it’s more likely to go deep than a mutable & easily bored Gemini. Combine the two, and you get an expert in any kind of medium. These guys are real yappers; once they are comfortable and start talking, you cannot stop them.

Wha they say about Leo Venus is true. These people love showering their love interest with affection and admiration. They will let the whole world know how they feel for them. Their lovers are an extension of themselves in a way, which makes them super proud and showy. What is also true is that they expect the same in return. Like Libra Venus, they love being in love. So much so that they stay in unhealthy and unsatisfying dynamics because they need to feel love for someone, and desperately want that love given back to them.

Pisces placements are clumsy. This water, Neptune-ruled sign, is ungrounded. Obstacles seem to just appear out of nowhere for them. They often bump into walls or people, hold things too lightly, and drop them. Aries placements are also destructive in that sense. They break things without intending to. Which makes sense considering they are Mars-ruled.

Arians enjoy partaking in physical fights or at least watching other people fight. Many men with this placement enjoy sports like MMA or wrestling. Either they are actively engaged in their practice or are interested. Ruled by Mars, Aries natives possess an innate sense of violence. Fighting helps them release the destructive anger they feel inside. 

Virgo Suns are surprisingly forgetful. Since they’re given this collected and organized stereotype in astrology, you’d expect them to always remember important things. But these natives always seem to lose their belongings, postpone answering their texts forever, and forget about loved ones' birthdays. They are so focused on their work or responsibilities that they forget about the actually important stuff.

Libra placements are actually very self-centered. Yes, Libra is the sign of relationships. Yes, it is about balance. But it’s on the same polarity as Aries—the sign of the Self, meaning they share similarities. Libras have the potential to be as self-obsessed and selfish as their counterpart. In this lifetime, they are learning what it means to cooperate and include others. Likewise, Aries placements can be relationship-oriented and generous with their possessions. Their purpose involves learning to share the self without sacrificing it in favor of others.

Scorpio Mars' anger can be explosive and, honestly, quite surprising. Natives keep it under wraps for long until it's just too powerful to contain. As they grow, they learn to tame it, as they know how destructive it can be. They also hate not having control over their emotions because they believe not being in control equals being weak. Unlike Aries Mars, these natives believe fighting means you have lost power over yourself and handed it over to the other. 

Taurus Mars embodies the lazy stereotype more than any other Taurus placement. Mars is energy and movement. Taurus is slow and enjoys comfort. This detrimental Mars doesn't enjoy physical effort. Good luck trying to rush them or get them to go somewhere far. They might give in eventually, but you can be sure they will complain the whole time.

A lack of Earth in a chart makes it difficult for you to orient yourself. Even if you've been to a certain place countless times, it's still hard for you to know which directions you have to take to go there.

[desturns]

after being on the road, performing show after show, matt was going to enjoy his own show.

“fuck. . . feels good, sweetheart?” he asked in awe, just loud enough for you to hear over the sounds of some song playing in the background. he watched as your face scrunched up, your middle and ring finger deep inside yourself, pumping in and out on his bed.

god, he needed this. after over a month of being on the road, meeting countless fan girls after countless fan girls, phone sex just wasn't enough for him anymore. he loved hearing your moans and the way you'd describe what you were doing to yourself while he fisted himself, but he loved witnessing it in person even better. and now that he was home, and your schedule was free for the day, he was going to enjoy this.

“feels so good, baby,” you mewled softly, your eyes fluttering shut before you forced them open again. just as much as matt loves to watch you get yourself off, you relished in seeing him pump himself slowly, not allowing himself to feel too much if you weren't. “missed y’so much, y’have no idea.”

you curled your fingers, your fingertips rubbing against that one spot, your mind imagining it was matt's fingers instead. a moan escaped you as you continued to make yourself feel good—in extension, make matt feel good. his hand moved up and down his cock at the same speed your fingers were moving in and out of your already sopping pussy, his thumb occasionally grazing over his tip and rubbing over the slit, his pre-cum coating it generously.

he could tell by the look on your face and the way your arm adjusted that you were close, he himself teetering on the edge. he let himself go and reached down, grabbing you by your wrist and yanking your fingers out. “wha–baby, why'd you–”

he cut you off by grabbing his cock once again, this time running it through your folds, feeling just how wet you were. it was driving him wild. “y’gonna let me fuck you? show y’just how much i missed you?”

you nodded eagerly, a series of low whimpers and moans escaping you despite biting down on your lip. your eyes were focused on the way he dragged his dick back and forth against your clit, the anticipation torturous, but worth it. he didn't bite back his smile, but he didn't make an effort to slip into you, not yet.

he missed his girl. and he was going to drag out his show for as long as possible.

A/N expect something very time im in the mood. . . guys i have a problem

divider by @bernardsbendystraws !

[sl-ut]

the bottom

PART ONE | the line

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

description: joel’s new in jackson and tries to take his younger brother’s advice to fit in; keep your head low and work hard. however, while settling into his routine, he does exactly the opposite.

warnings: takes place between season one and two, unspecified age gap (joel is canon age/reader is mentioned to be mid-20s in beginning but the exact amount of time that’s passed is left to the imagination), reader has hair long enough to be braided, reader is a dv survivor, crazy exes, swearing, drinking, slight grumpy x sunshine but reader has layers she’s not just happy all the time, not a whole lot of joel x reader this chapter but it’s coming i swear.

words: 2.4K

date posted: 5/5/25

series masterlist | next part

Joel truly could not have asked for a better deal. He and Ellie were safe within the walls of Jackson, the Fireflies were gone and he’d made sure there was no one left in the hospital to follow them back, he’d found his brother after years apart, and he could finally sleep easy at night. He no longer had to worry about rolling onto his left side throughout the night (though, it was still a habit he’d failed to break when he settled out of survival mode), and he could actually prove to be useful to the community, something he hadn’t exactly shown much of in the past twenty-odd years aside from using brute force. Patrols kept him active, allowing him to maintain at least some of those survival instincts he’d relied on for so long, but it was the internal efforts that he surprisingly enjoyed the most. Plus, Tommy’s advice had seemed easy enough to follow; lay low and work hard. These people are welcoming, but you’ll still have to earn their respect. 

Tommy and a few other men had already been in the process of reinforcing the walls around Jackson when he and Ellie had returned from Salt Lake, and it seemed that they’d been in the process of figuring out some other larger renovations around the city that Tommy had yet to get around to. But now that they had a spare contractor, Joel was able to take over a few projects at a time and the city was being fixed up at twice the pace that they had initially expected and earning Joel that respect quicker than he’d hoped.

Laying low had been pretty easy, too. Joel had earned their respect, sure, but he’d also rather stick to himself whenever he could. He went to work every morning, was friendly enough with the others–but made sure to upkeep his reputation as the town’s resident grump, and spend his evenings either with Ellie, Tommy, or on his own. In the first three weeks since they’d arrived there, he’d made no effort to interact with many of the others outside of work or to trade and only learned the names of no more than two dozen people. 

Maria had finally taken a stand against this, insisting that Tommy and Joel each take the day off of their jobs so that Tommy could show his older brother around the city and properly introduce him to everyone. They’d made their rounds, bringing a list of errands made up by Maria to force them to go into a few places and interact with others, and Joel had been pleasantly surprised that he didn’t absolutely hate all of them–just a handful. 

“See, I told you that you’d get along just fine. Doesn’t matter who they were before they came inside these walls, they got two options; play by our rules or get the fuck out.” Tommy told him as they exited the bakery, each carrying a large brown paper bag in their hands with a selection of baked goods, “These are good people who live here–well, most of ‘em anyway. You gotta be shittin’ me.”

Tommy veered off to the right, headed down a side street at a quick pace. Joel followed behind, brow furrowed as he followed close behind, “Tommy, wha���”

“Hey Elias,” he called out, catching the attention of a tall, wiry man, his shoulder-length hair tied back in a bun at the base of his skull and body holding a slight tremor under the layers of clothing he wore; it all seemed to be nicer than what most wore, leading Joel to assume that he was some sort of higher-up around the place (despite the fact that Jackson had been built on the prospect of communism), “You need something in there, man? Thought you were supposed to be in the clinic today.”

The man turned and glared at Tommy, jaw set as if he had already been expecting the confrontation. He placed his hands on his hips, narrowing his eyes at the pair of brothers as he shifted one hand to point towards one of the buildings just off of the main street, “That’s my wife in there, Tommy. I’m sick and tired of you people telling me where I can and can’t go around here. It’s none of your goddamn business.”

Tommy rolled his own eyes, “Is she, though? Last I recall, she doesn’t wanna be married to you anymore. So if you’re going in there just to bug her after she, Maria, and myself have told you to stay away, I think it is my business.”

“I’m not fuckin’ buggin’ her, Tommy,” the man sneered, closing the distance between them to shove his finger into his face, “you stop me from goin’ to my fuckin’ house, schedulin’ me on these godawful shifts in the fuckin’ clinic, who the fuck do you think you are?”

Tommy turned his face away in disgust, “Yeah, from the stink of you it would seem you’ve been workin’ hard all day, huh? C’mon man, you smell like you’ve been bathing in booze. Let’s not make a scene here, make it easier on all of us.”

“Yeah, and what are you gonna do about it?” He turned his gaze down and spat at Tommy’s feet, “thought we were all a bunch of commies now, huh? All of us being equals and whatnot?”

“We’re all equal until one of us lays hands on their wife, Elias. You know that.”

Joel felt a surge of rage through him at this. Initially, he thought that the man had just been a drunk who’d skipped out of work to come and beg for his wife to come back to him, but now there was no denying the fact that the man was nothing more than a dirtbag wife beater. Truthfully, Joel was mostly shocked due to the fact that Tommy would even allow someone like him to even continue staying there. He couldn’t even count the amount of times that Tommy had gotten in trouble for picking a fight with men who even looked at women the wrong way; he could hardly imagine his brother having any sympathy towards a man who actually beat his wife, even if the punishment was an inadvertent death sentence by exiling him from the city. 

“It was none of your fuckin’ business to begin with. If that bitch hadn’t been running around on me then–”

“You and I both know that’s not true, man. She’s a good woman, and she’s made a whole lotta progress since she finally smartened up and left your ass.”

The man curled his lip in anger, but seemed to be backing down from the challenge, “Fuck this. That whore ain’t even worth it.”

He bumped both Tommy and Joel’s shoulders on his way past, but neither of the brothers made an effort to fight back against him, simply just glad that he had willingly left without forcing them to make a scene. Tommy stayed in his place for a moment, hands falling to his hips as he shook his head, finally turning back to his brother with an exasperated yet slightly sheepish expression.

“Do me a favour and keep this between you and me. Others know they’re split up but most don’t know why. I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

Joel scoffed, “You’re tellin’ me you’ve got good people here, and yet you’re harbourin’ a man who beats his wife.”

“Ex-wife,” Tommy corrected, “And it’s not like that. She left him, begged us to let him stay so long as he left her alone.” 

“I don’t know what sounds more fuckin’ stupid, that she wanted him to stay, or that you let him.”

Tommy shook his head, “It’s not just up to me. We’ve got a council, and unless I told ‘em exactly what happened, they’re not willing to give the boot to anyone for just bein’ an asshole, especially when he’s the only fuckin’ doctor we have.”

“Anyone can take the first aid training, Tommy.”

“No, Joel, he’s a surgeon. He was a resident before shit went south, and there’s been a few times where things woulda cost us a lot of good people if it weren’t for him. I can tell you right now that if she came clean about what he–” Tommy paused, taking a short breath to better compose himself, “We’d have a majority vote, and she knows that. If I had it my way, I wouldn’t have let him go that night.”

He watched his brother closely; his teeth gritted together, brow furrowed, and eyes wide and glassy. Tommy had clearly been affected by what had transpired between that man–Elias and his wife, so much that he couldn’t even seem to think about it without losing it. Joel grunted in response, nodding his head slowly. 

He couldn’t decide if he would have done the same thing in that situation, but then he thought back to Tommy’s words, I wouldn’t have let him go that night. Tommy had had his own hands on him, probably ready to kill him. Something about the situation made him sober up through the rage and make the decision to let the man go, to let him live. Joel knew he would not have had the same restraint if it had been him instead. 

Over the next few days, he repeatedly cursed himself for not demanding that his brother tell him the woman’s name. He spent the days that followed in a state of constant discomfort, always glancing over his shoulder in public to watch for Elias around town, taking note of where he went, who he spoke to, and to what anyone had to say about him. He’d begun taking on a leadership role around town, people flocked to him for help, following his orders on patrols, and looked to him for answers. He wasn’t the one to make those decisions on his own–hell, his opinions did nothing but occasionally influence the council, but people seemed to trust that he had the town’s best interest at heart. 

He’d been an official patrol captain for all of a week when Tommy met him in the stable early one morning, helping a young woman saddle up a dark chestnut coloured horse. She was bundled up in a thick wool sweater under a long green raincoat and a navy baseball cap over her neatly braided hair, ready to face whatever chill and rain early spring weather would throw their way. 

“Mornin’ old man,” Tommy grinned, turning to nod at the woman next to him, introducing her to his brother, “she’s gonna be joining you on patrol. You know this route by heart now, and she’s only been out a handful of times.”

Joel turned his gaze back over to her, taking in her features. He’d seen her around town before; she seemed to have taken on a new job every day and he could never anticipate when or where he might spot her. They had exchanged smiles and polite greetings as they passed by, just as everyone else did, though they had yet to interact any further. She was the kind of pretty that made him often struggle to pull his gaze away when he spotted her in a crowd, but she was also just young enough that made him feel guilty for it. She couldn’t be any older than her mid-twenties, but like everyone in Jackson, she looked like she had seen her fair share of loss and hardship. 

“Hi,” the woman beamed, holding her hand out to him eagerly, “I may be a rookie but I’m a pretty good shot so I think that makes up for it.” 

Joel shook her hand gingerly, “Yeah, hopefully you won’t gotta put that to use. This route’s usually pretty clear of infected.”

“Great,” she nodded, “because I was lying. I’m just okay.”

Joel scoffed, glancing over at his brother who seemed unfazed by the woman’s behaviour but amused at Joel’s reaction. She was exactly the type of person that Joel worked to avoid; far too peppy and a tendency to ramble. From the moment that they had mounted their horses until the moment that they returned from patrol almost three hours later, she hardly let more than a few moments of silence pass before she would be asking a dozen more questions. But for some odd reason, Joel didn’t hate it as much as he thought he would. 

It was sort of nice to have someone actually ask him about his day to day life without pressing too much into his past. He liked that she didn’t feel privy to his life before Jackson aside from asking where he was from and where he lived before Jackson. At some points, he was reminded of Ellie when they were travelling across the country in the way that she was able to come up with and ask such random questions off the top of his head, but it made patrol go by much faster than it usually did. And after, when she strutted off in the direction of the meal hall, he felt a flicker of regret for rejecting her invitation to join her. 

He felt an almost instantaneous connection to the younger woman, but he could not help but notice the line in the sand between developing feelings for the world and feeling like a disgusting older man preying on a younger woman; the line between denying himself of what could lead to happiness he hadn’t felt in decades and throwing himself head first into it. She was kind when she spoke to him, but Joel was not the sort of man to mistake kindness for flirting, but there was some sort of familiarity in her eyes when they met with his own–an understanding, leading to that already thin line growing even thinner. 

But what he hadn’t known at the time was that the moment they had set out on patrol that morning, he had started that dangerous walk along that narrow line, completely unsure of what side he was going to end up on.

[manmuncher777]

hihi love your work in filthy with dante! wondering if I could request a tattoo artist!dante x fem reader? no specific request other than pure filth :))

excited to see what you cook up!! >;)

Hello my love!!! Thank you so much im so glad you liked it, and of course I can!! When I tell you I had so much fun writing this. I hope you enjoy xxx

FIRST TIME

Dante Sparda x reader SMUT MDNI

You were already regretting wearing a short skirt.

The leather of the couch stuck to the back of your thighs as you shifted, trying to sit like a normal, composed adult while he leaned back behind the counter, spinning a pen between his fingers like he had all the time in the world.

Dante Sparda.

He wasn’t what you expected when you called the studio asking for an appointment. The rough, husky voice on the phone matched the image in your head—sure—but seeing him in person? Way worse. Or better. Depending on how many brain cells you had left to rub together.

Silver hair tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed. A cigarette behind one ear. Tattoos peeking out from the open collar of his black button-up. One ring on his thumb, one on his pinky, and a cocky smile that was probably illegal in several countries.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he said, voice like velvet-coated sin. “What are we thinkin’? Name? Flower? Something cute to match the lip gloss?”

You blinked, nearly choking on your spit. “Um—wha—no. Not a name. It’s… it’s just a little symbol. Something small. Meaningful.”

“Mysterious.” He grinned, sliding a notepad toward you, long fingers brushing yours. “Show me what you’re thinkin’.”

You handed him your shitty sketch, and he nodded like it wasn’t the most amateur thing he’d ever seen. His thumb dragged slowly along the edge of the paper, gaze flicking from the design to your bare thigh as you tried not to fidget.

“Inner thigh, huh?” he asked, like he already knew the answer. “Pretty bold placement for your first.”

You swallowed. “I wanted it… close. Private.”

“Mm.” His smile widened, eyes sharp beneath those lashes. “Let me guess—you like the thrill. Somethin’ that gets your heart racin’. Little danger, little pleasure.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out except a breathy “maybe.”

His chair creaked as he leaned forward, all inked arms and hungry eyes.

“Come in tomorrow night,” he said, tone lower now. “After hours. We’ll get it just right. Take our time.”

Your heart skipped. “After hours?”

“Sure. You’ll be my last of the day.” His eyes dropped to your legs, a glint in them you couldn’t ignore. “I like takin’ my time with pretty things.”

You left the studio twenty minutes later, heart pounding, thighs pressed tight, and your name scribbled in black ink on the studio calendar.

Friday, 8 PM. Dante—after hours.

You already knew this tattoo would ruin you.

The bell above the studio door jingled softly as you stepped inside, your sandals clicking against the worn hardwood. The place was dim, cozy—lit mostly by warm overhead lights and the glow of a neon devil sign hanging in the corner. The air smelled like clean leather and something smoky, something expensive.

“Evenin’, sweetheart.”

Dante’s voice floated from the back room before he even appeared. You barely had a second to prepare before he stepped out, stretching like he’d just woken up from a nap. His black tee clung to him like a second skin, revealing the sharp cut of his torso, and his silver hair was messy in the artfully fucked-up kind of way.

“Y-you’re here alone?” you asked, setting your bag down on the little couch in the corner.

He smirked, locking the door behind you with a loud click. “Course. Told you this was a private session. You nervous, princess?”

Your stomach flipped.

“A little,” you admitted, smoothing your hands over the hem of your skirt. It was too short. You knew that. But you also knew exactly what you were doing.

Dante’s gaze dropped for a second—slow, deliberate—before he turned and headed for his station. “That’s normal. I’ll take good care of you.”

You swallowed hard, watching him move around the space with lazy confidence, setting up the machine, pulling out fresh needles, arranging the ink caps. He whistled as he worked, glancing over at you every so often.

“You bring the design?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, stepping over and handing him the refined sketch he’d drawn up at the consultation. Your fingers brushed, just for a second, and his eyes caught yours with that same sharp, hungry glint.

“Perfect,” he murmured, lips curling. “Let’s get that stencil prepped.”

He took his time, dragging the design through transfer paper, swiping alcohol onto the inside of your thigh where the tattoo would go. His fingers were warm, gloved, but the touch was intimate—his thumb lingering longer than necessary as he looked up at you from his crouched position.

“This okay?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded, heartbeat rattling in your ears. “Yeah. Just… sensitive there.”

“Mm. Lucky me.” He smirked again, standing back up and tossing the stencil paper to the side. “Lay back when you’re ready. Won’t bite.”

You weren’t so sure about that.

As you climbed onto the chair, lying back with your leg bent open just enough for him to work, you caught his gaze flicking back to your mouth, your throat, your thighs.

And when he leaned in with the stencil, brushing it carefully onto your skin, he whispered, “Gotta keep real still for me now, sweetheart. Wouldn’t wanna mess up my art.”

The air crackled with tension. Every breath felt too loud. And you knew—deep down—you were already in so much trouble.

You laid back on the leather chair, thigh slightly turned to give him access, breath catching as Dante sat between your legs, gloves snapping on with a smirk that sent heat straight to your core.

“You okay, baby?” he asked, flipping the machine on. The low buzz filled the room, making your spine tighten.

“Y-Yeah,” you breathed, trying to look anywhere but at his face. His stupidly hot, sharp-jawed, half-lidded face.

“You’re doing good already, and I haven’t even touched you,” he chuckled, eyes dropping to your thigh. “This’ll sting at first, but I promise I’ll make it quick and clean.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. Your heart thudded, and not just from nerves. The position—the way his body brushed against your knee as he leaned in, how his breath ghosted over your skin, how close his hands were to everything dangerous—was making it impossible to breathe.

And then—

The needle pressed in.

Your fingers clenched the edges of the chair as the buzz crawled up your leg. It wasn’t unbearable. But it wasn’t nothing, either. Especially not with the way Dante was holding you still, his free hand firm on your thigh, palm wide and warm.

“There we go,” he said, voice lower now, something smooth sliding beneath it. “Takin’ it like a fuckin’ champ. Told you you’d be perfect for me.”

A whimper crawled up your throat—choked down fast.

The buzz continued, dancing over your skin in a steady rhythm. Every time he shifted, every time his arm brushed your leg, you felt it. The vibrations weren’t just in your thigh now. They traveled. Warm. Deep. Aching.

“You’re shivering,” he noted after a minute, tilting his head without pausing his work. “That nervous still?”

You opened your mouth—yes, that was the safe answer—but he cut you off with a quiet hum, like he already knew.

His fingers tightened just slightly on your skin.

“Feels kinda good though, doesn’t it?” he murmured, not looking up. “Little vibration. Little pain. You’re squeezin’ that seat like I’m doin’ something worse.”

Your face flamed. “I-I’m fine,” you lied, breath coming quick.

Dante smiled lazily, tongue grazing his teeth as he glanced up at you. “Mmm. Sure you are.”

The machine kept buzzing. His hands never stopped. But now he was watching you more than the stencil, gauging every flutter of your lashes, every sharp breath, every twitch of your thighs.

And beneath it all, that cocky, teasing glint stayed in his eyes—like he knew.

Like he knew exactly how wet you were getting from this.

The buzzing finally stopped, leaving the room in a heavy, weighted silence. Your pulse still throbbed in your thighs, heart hammering in your chest as Dante leaned back to admire his work, tongue pressed to his cheek in approval.

“You killed it, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick, like he’d just smoked you in.

You tried to nod, tried to offer a smile, but your brain was swimming. You could still feel the echo of the vibrations deep between your legs. Still feel the warmth of his hands. Still feel how close he’d gotten—how close he still was.

Dante set the machine down and reached for the wrap, leaning back in. His gloved fingers skimmed your inner thigh, brushing just a little too high on accident—or maybe not.

But it was enough.

You gasped. Sharp. Involuntary. A pathetic little moan bubbling out before you could swallow it.

And everything snapped.

Dante froze.

Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet yours. They were darker now. Hungrier. “…You moaned.”

Your lips parted, embarrassment flooding your face. “I didn’t—”

“Yeah you did,” he said, voice low, velvet-smooth and wicked. He stood, peeled off his gloves, and let them drop to the tray with a quiet snap. “You’ve been squirming in that chair for the past hour. I thought maybe you were just a little sensitive.”

He stepped closer.

“But now I know,” he murmured, hand coming to grip the edge of the chair beside your head as he leaned over you, “you’ve been dripping wet this whole time, haven’t you?”

You whimpered, back arching slightly.

His other hand trailed up your exposed thigh again, this time deliberate. Confident. Claiming.

“Jesus,” he hissed through his teeth when his fingers brushed the damp cotton between your legs. “You’re soaked.”

Your hands flew to his chest, but not to push him away. You tugged him closer, thighs parting instinctively.

“You gonna let me fuck you right here in this chair, baby?” he asked, nose brushing your cheek. “That what you’ve been wanting?”

You nodded fast—shameless, frantic.

Dante groaned, his mouth crashing to yours. His hands were rough now, hungry, pulling at the waistband of your skirt, yanking it down as you kicked your sneakers off the sides of the chair.

“Could’ve told me earlier,” he growled against your lips. “Would’ve had you sittin’ on my cock while I tattooed you.”

He dropped to his knees, dragged your panties down with his teeth, eyes locked on your soaked core. “Fuck. Pink little pussy—so pretty for me.”

Your fingers gripped the back of the chair, breath ragged. “Dante—”

He didn’t let you speak. He buried his face between your thighs, tongue working you over with such filthy, open-mouthed hunger that your head hit the leather with a loud thud. It was messy, wet, his stubble scraping your skin just right as his hands gripped your thighs like a man starved.

And when he finally stood again, licking his lips, undoing his belt?

You already knew you weren’t walking out of that shop without at least one more mark on your body—and it wasn’t going to be the tattoo.

The chair scraped behind you as Dante grabbed your waist and spun you around like you weighed nothing. Before you could catch your breath, he had you bent over the workbench—palms flat on the cold steel, tits pressing into scattered ink caps and a few loose sketch pages.

“Don’t move,” he said, voice a rasp just above a growl.

You didn’t even breathe. His hand slid up your spine, slow, rough, until he was fisting your hair and pulling your head back just enough to whisper in your ear.

“God, look at you… still twitchin’ from the tattoo and now I got you bent over my fuckin’ table like a goddamn reward.”

You moaned, clenching around nothing.

Your skirt was already gone. Your panties? Still hanging off one ankle like some pathetic afterthought. And Dante didn’t bother taking his jeans all the way off—just enough to free his cock, heavy and leaking as he dragged it between your folds with a low hiss.

“You feel that?” he muttered, rubbing the head right against your soaked entrance. “How fuckin’ needy you are for it?”

“Please,” you gasped, the word cracking on your tongue.

“Yeah, baby? You want it that bad?” He pressed in—just the tip—and then pulled back, just to make you wail. “Then beg for it.”

“Dante, I—I need it, I can’t—”

“You can,” he growled, slapping your ass so hard it echoed off the brick walls. “You’ve been dripping for me since I turned the machine on. You can take every inch.”

And then he slammed into you.

Your cry was ragged, face twisted against the steel as he buried himself to the hilt, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise while the other stayed tangled in your hair.

“Fuck, baby—tight little thing, grippin’ me like you own me.”

He started to move, and it was vicious. Deep, punishing thrusts that shoved the table an inch every time he bottomed out. The slap of skin was obscene. The sound of you whining his name? Even worse.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty bent over my bench like this,” Dante panted, hips snapping. “Makin’ a fuckin’ mess on my floor—gonna have to mop it up later.”

You sobbed, arching, body trembling from overstimulation and pleasure so intense it hurt.

And then his hand slid down. Fingers found your clit, rubbing fast, and you nearly collapsed.

“Yeah,” he hissed, “that’s it, baby. Come for me. All over my cock. Right here, where anyone could walk in and see you bein’ such a good little slut.”

You shattered.

Legs shaking, mouth open in a silent scream as you came around him, thighs soaked and body limp—but Dante didn’t stop. He chased his own release, slamming into you harder, filth pouring from his mouth.

“Gonna fuck you stupid—gonna ruin that new tattoo—god fuck, I’m close—”

And with a low growl, he came deep inside you, holding you down to the workbench as he pulsed, cock twitching, breath hot against your neck.

For a long second, there was nothing but the sound of heavy breathing and tattoo ink bottles rattling from the aftershocks.

Then his lips pressed to your ear.

“So… when you comin’ back for your second piece, sweetheart?”

[fairestwriting]

I was wondering if I can request a Savannaclaw with a reader who is feels very cold one day like they are just sitting there shivering because they think they are ok (sorry I’m bad at explaining stuff and I’m awkward :])

dw you explained this really well!! i hope you like it <3 post sponsored by It’s been slightly chilly where i live and ahhhhh hhh so freezing …..

𐙚 Leona Kingscholar

Leona was raised in the savannah, so yes, he doesn’t really get along with the cold. As soon as autumn starts, he’s grumbling about how awful the weather is that day. How glad he is that Savanaclaw stays at reasonable temperatures all year long, really, he doesn’t get how anyone could even enjoy this kind of weather—

”What’s so good about this damn snow, people look like stupid kids getting excited over it…” He’s ranting absentmindedly as you walk together when he glances at you, and sees how you’ve been shivering through every step. Leona’s look twists from mildly annoyed to actually kind of disturbed.

”Herbivore, did you forget your coat or something?” …Immediately, he pretty much forgets about his own complaints. Has he ever even seen anyone shaking this hard? And you expect him to just believe you’re fine? Did you freeze your brain off during this walk? He’s not having any of that, no way.

If you just keep insisting don’t even need an extra scarf, he’ll just decide that you know what, there’s no reason for either of you to be out in this hell weather— Keeping you closer to him than usual during the walk back to Savanaclaw. Where he, of course, will deny any claims of him getting worried over a small thing, and/or that he was cold himself and just wanted an excuse to go back to his room.

𐙚 Ruggie Bucchi

Like Leona, Ruggie also dislikes cold weather, he just expresses it differently. Less straight up cursing the general existence of winter, more laughing about how he’s freezing his ass off. He doesn’t comment on it as much either, because thinking about it just makes you feel even colder.

He does see a kind of aesthetic appeal in the snow, though. “I mean, who doesn’t? Leona-san doesn’t count, he just complains because he’s cranky about being cold.” He tells you when he’s explaining why he’s invited you to come to the courtyard with him to look at the first snowflakes to fall that year— Then he turns to you and you look like you’re straight up vibrating, and he’s actually horrified.

”Wha… What do you mean you’re fine? Are you crazy?” He’s even more wide eyed when you give him your response, are you seriously this stubborn? Isn’t this a hypothermia symptom? Ruggie scrambles to get his second jacket off himself and onto you. He’s freezing even before it’s no longer on his body, but that’s not his main concern right now. You’re getting dragged out of that courtyard.

…Ruggie has picked up on a few things from classmates who are familiar with snowy winters, yeah. And it just so happens that some of the stories might’ve been a little exaggerated. He insists you keep his jacket even after he calms down, then ends up getting a cold from the whole situation. Yeah, pretty embarrassing. Still better than risking you getting hypothermia, though, he’ll always say whenever you bring this story up.

𐙚 Jack Howl

The fact that you’re dating Jack itself prevents this scenario from taking place, honestly. Because if you’re together, then he has plans of introducing you to his family. And if he has those plans, he’ll make a point of gifting you a very nice, very warm winter coat for you to wear the day on the day of your trip.

That, and he’s actually knowledgeable on the dangers of cold weather and the signs of hypothermia. And the fact that he’s kind of built for colder weather in the first place means he’s actually pretty energetic during the winter. ”It’s getting colder soon, so don’t forget to bring your jacket to class.” That’s the text you wake up to, sent at five in the morning, the exact day before the winter solstice.

You also hear it often, it might not feel too cold now, but it will later, he explains as he reminds you once again. Even if you also come from a place with colder weather— So, if he meets you for lunch and you’re shivering in place, it’s either because your clothes aren’t keeping you warm enough, which Jack is constantly trying to prevent, or you could be sick.

And it’s not going to make him straight up freak out, but he already regularly fusses over you, so he’s just going to do it more. ”If you’re shivering like that, you can’t be fine. Were you feeling unwell earlier? You know it’s not a good idea to go out in the cold, if you do…” He’s already dragging you to a warmer area where he can get you a hot drink, asking you if you felt off at all today, and giving you his jacket — all three at once, and that drink is firmly in your hands very quickly too.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[yunniverse]

Can’t Get Rid of You

౨ৎ PAIRING— university student!jeong yunho x university student!reader

౨ৎ GENRE— academic rivals to lovers, angst, fluff, fem!reader

౨ৎ WARNINGS— angst, fluff, yunho is rude at times, but so is reader

౨ৎ WORD COUNT— 4.9k

౨ৎ SUMMARY— both you and yunho are chosen to attend the same conference, staying in a local hotel, only there’s only one room, and you both seemingly hate each other

౨ৎ A/N— it’s here!! i’m sorry it took so long for me to write, but i hope you all still enjoy it and it lives up to expectations!! thank you so much for your interest and lmk what you think <3

“Mind if I sit here?”

Looking up, you’re almost in disbelief at who you see.

“Wha-” you stutter, but he rolls his eyes, taking the seat anyway. “Excuse me-“

“Take it up with the flight attendant. This is my seat.” Yunho responds, a far too cheeky smirk on his face.

“And why do you have a seat right next to me?” you ask, frowning, as you move your stuff so he doesn’t kick it or sit on it.

“Because we’re from the same school and going to the same conference. I’m sure you know that the university paid for our tickets, unless you’re that dumb,” he responds, giving you a sideways look before putting in his AirPods.

“Are you going to the Tokyo conference?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Are you deaf or did you not hear when I just told you we’re going to the same conference?” Yunho replies, quirking an eyebrow at you.

“Wow, rude,” you roll your eyes, settling back into your seat, jamming your own earbuds in your ears, just as the plane starts to takeoff. This is going to be a long weekend.

Dragging your suitcase behind you, you begrudgingly follow Yunho into the fairly nice hotel the university had booked for you to stay in over the weekend. He leads the way to the front desk, where he gets the receptionist’s attention. “I have a booking from Seoul National University.”

She types on her keyboard, the keys clicking as she searches. “Names?”

“Jeong Yunho,” he responds, and, before you can say your own name, he adds. “And Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Are you both together?” the receptionist gestures to you and Yunho, making you glance at Yunho too.

“No,” you respond, shaking your head.

She frowns, “Are you both from the same university?”

“Yes…” Yunho replies hesitantly. “Is there an issue?”

“Seoul National University only booked one room,” the lady informs both of you, making your heart sink.

“Are you sure?” you ask, biting your lip.

“Positive. Would you still like to take the room or ask the university first?” she asks, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.

“We’ll take it,” Yunho sighs, making you look at him in shock, as the receptionist nods and types on the keyboard before passing Yunho the room key card. With a nod to her, he starts to move again, clearly expecting you to follow.

“Yunho!” you hiss, rushing to follow him as he heads to the elevator. “I am not sharing a room with you all weekend.”

“Or…” he turns sharply to look at you as you almost collide with his chest at the abrupt stop. He bends down a little to be at your height. “You could grow up and realize that the school will take all weekend just to fix the room error and you’re going to have to get used to the idea of living with me for a weekend because it’s the best we’re going to do unless you want to pay for your own expensive room.”

Your mouth snaps shut at his reprimand, even though you really want to fight back. You know it would be fruitless anyway.

“Good. Now, I’m exhausted, so let’s go find the room, yeah?” he raises his eyebrows, expecting you to agree.

“Whatever,” you grumble, hating that he’s right. You bite your tongue to keep from making an additional comment about his character.

“Good girl.”

Your head snaps up, your mouth dropping open slightly, but he’s already walking off toward the elevator again. With a sharp glare at the back of his head, you yank your suitcase along with you as you follow him.

After he unlocks the room, the lock making a clicking sound as the room key works, he pushes the door open, dragging his suitcase with him as he enters the room.

“So let’s get this straight,” you start, pulling your suitcase into the room before sitting on the edge of the bed. “You got chosen to come to the same conference?”

“It’s not that deep,” Yunho responds, already setting up some of his stuff. “If you’d read the flier for the conference, you’d have known that up to four could have been chosen from our university.”

“I read the flier, but why’d you choose this one?” you respond, exasperated.

“Why’d you choose it?” he snaps, looking up at you from his spot crouched in front of his suitcase on the floor.

“Because it made the most sense for my major and I didn’t want to wait until fall to meet potential employers,” you reply confidently.

“I chose it for the same reason,” he retaliates, setting his phone down on the bedside table and plugging it into the wall charger he brought. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, princess.”

“Don’t call me that,” you glare at him, squeezing the handle of your suitcase. “And you’re not even smart! You’re just naturally good.”

“Hit a nerve, did I?” Yunho chuckles before gesturing to your suitcase. “You better unpack soon or you’ll be awake all night. And you’re just jealous because I don’t have to work as hard as you to be good.”

“Whatever. And I’m getting to it,” you roll your eyes. “And besides, I’m leaving to get something to eat in a minute anyway.”

“So am I,” he replies making you sigh in annoyance. “Let’s just go together. It’ll be easier.”

“I don’t want to go with—”

“Does ramen work for you?” Yunho cuts you off, looking at his phone to see restaurants near the hotel.

“I just said that I—”

“Good!” he responds, his brown eyes meeting yours, daring you to argue further. “Be ready to leave in ten minutes.”

“Yunho!” you call after him as he enters the bathroom, closing the door in your face. With a frustrated huff, you sit back down on the bed, fully aware you’re being childish about the whole situation, but too invested in being annoyed to care.

Exactly ten minutes later, you’re sitting on the bed again, after having unpacked a little, scrolling on your phone.

Yunho exits the bathroom, looking fresher and having changed clothes.

“Did you shower in there?” you ask. “You know other people need the bathroom too.”

“I didn’t shower,” he rolls his eyes, running his fingers through his dark hair. “I just changed out of my airport clothes and washed my face.”

“Well you better be prepared to wait another ten minutes before leaving to get dinner because I need more time,” you retort, grabbing your own change of clothes and heading to the bathroom.

“Take your time then,” Yunho responds, plopping down onto the bed and grabbing his phone.

“Or you could just leave and I’ll get something myself,” you respond, a last ditch effort to get him to leave you alone.

“Nah, I’ll wait. I’m in no rush,” he replies, much to your dismay.

“Of course you aren’t,” you mumble under your breath as you close the bathroom door a little harder than necessary. Why’d Yunho have to be naturally smart enough to come to this conference? He doesn’t even try!

Roughly fifteen minutes later, you exit the bathroom, slipping into some shoes as you sit on the edge of the bed again.

“Took you long enough,” Yunho’s voice greets you as you sigh.

“I gave you fair warning,” you reply, grabbing your purse as Yunho slips his shoes back on.

“Let’s go then, slow poke,” he teases as you follow him out of the room.

It takes about ten minutes to get to the ramen place, following the GPS on Yunho’s phone. It’s a quaint little place that actually looks really cozy. The bell dings overhead as Yunho pushes the door open and you both walk in.

The employees greet you as you enter, Yunho quickly snagging one of the tables near the window. For a moment, you debate sitting somewhere else, but you see that the other tables are pretty full, so you sigh, sitting across from Yunho.

“Is it that much of a struggle for you to get along with me for one single weekend until the conference is over?” Yunho asks, his voice laced with mock sweetness.

“Well it isn’t easy, that’s for sure,” you grumble.

“Well, we’re representing our university at the conference tomorrow so get it together, okay? I’m sure I’m not the only one who doesn’t want to make a fool of myself tomorrow, hm?” Yunho responds, and you know that he’s right.

“Fine,” you reply through gritted teeth. “I’ll try, but only if you do too.”

“I already have been, princess,” he winks cheekily, knowing you already warned him about the domineering nickname earlier.

It takes all the restraint you have not to reach across the table and punch his perfect face.

About an hour later, you enter the hotel room again, exhausted and ready for a shower and sleep. “Dibs on the first shower,” you tell him, already grabbing your stuff.

“Be my guest,” Yunho shrugs, gesturing to the bathroom door as you walk through it, closing it and locking it behind you.

Deciding not to wash your hair tonight, you start the shower, still taking your time with cleaning yourself. When you finish, you shut the water off and hop out, slipping into your silk pajamas, brushing your teeth, and doing your skincare.

Yunho is waiting when you finally walk out, his head lifting as he hears you open the bathroom door. “Done?” he asks, to which you simply nod, allowing him to walk past you and into the bathroom.

With a sigh, you sit down on the bed, grabbing your phone and checking your messages. About twenty minutes later, the bathroom door opens, a small amount of steam seeping out as Yunho emerges, shirtless, wearing grey sweatpants slung low on his hips.

You have to forcefully avert your eyes to keep from staring at his slightly defined abs for too long, even though you have to admit his pale skin is gorgeous. Shaking your head, you force your mind out of the gutter. He’s your rival!

Surprisingly, Yunho doesn’t call you out on your ogling, choosing instead to walk over to his suitcase, crouching down, as he searches for something. “You didn’t happen to see a grey hoodie over there, did you?” he asks, looking up at you.

You look down at the bed, spotting it under the blanket you’d thrown onto the bed. “This one?” you hold it up, watching as his face lights up and he nods.

“Yeah, thanks,” Yunho replies, offering you a small smile as he walks over, reaching out to grab it. Your eyes widen as he leans over you a little, his chest nearly directly in front of your face. You swallow, feeling heat creeping up your neck as Yunho finally grabs the hoodie, his fingers brushing against yours as you release the soft fabric from your grip.

Blinking as he pulls back, you snap yourself out of it. “No problem,” you respond, watching out of the corner of your eye as Yunho slips the hoodie over his head before plopping down on the bottom of the bed, phone in hand again.

“So, sleeping arrangement?” he asks after a few minutes of silence, setting his phone down and stretching, his hoodie riding up a little to reveal a sliver of skin.

“Uh, what?”

“How are we going to sleep tonight?” he repeats, slightly exasperated.

“Closing our eyes, I guess,” you shrug, setting your own phone down.

Yunho rolls his eyes, nudging your foot with his hand, making you pull it up closer to your body, wide eyed. “You know what I mean, dummy.”

“Well, obviously, I get the bed,” you respond. “I’m the girl.”

“Oh, and girls can’t sleep on couches?” Yunho asks, raising an eyebrow.

“We can, but it’s polite of the man to let the woman take the bed, is it not?”

“Maybe it’s polite of most men, but this man is too tall to sleep on that couch,” he points at the rather small and short couch that is pushed against the wall on the opposite side of the room.

“And this woman gets cramps if I sleep in a weird position,” you argue, crossing your arms.

“But my legs will hang off the end!” Yunho retorts.

“And my back will cramp and I won’t be able to walk tomorrow!”

“Fine, you know what? I’ll be the bigger person and sleep on the couch. It’s late and I’d rather not argue with you again,” Yunho sighs, standing up as he grabs one of the pillows and a blanket.

“Wait, no, I can be the bigger person and sleep on the couch,” you start to move, suddenly feeling a little bad for making him sleep there.

“No, I’m clearly the bigger person here,” Yunho chuckles, gesturing to his height. “And like I said, I don’t want to argue anymore. So let’s just sleep, yeah?”

“Fine,” you frown, reaching over to turn the light off, bathing the room in darkness, except for the moonlight filtering in through the hotel room window.

About an hour later, you’re still awake, tossing and turning, realizing suddenly that you’re actually worried about the conference tomorrow. What if the presentation you have prepared is horrible and they all laugh at you? Or what if Yunho’s is better and he gets all the recognition and job offers?

You glance over at the couch he’s sleeping on, seeing his legs hanging off the end just as he’d said, and you suddenly feel like a horrible human being for making him sleep like that all night when he’s probably equally as nervous about the conference. “Yunho?”

“Hm?” a sleepy hum greets you as you hear rustling.

“You awake?” you ask, whispering.

“Yeah, why?” he responds, his voice a little deeper, thick with exhaustion.

“Are you sure you don’t want the bed?” you ask, hoping he won’t react strongly to your offer.

“I said you could have it,” he sighs deeply, and you can practically hear the annoyance in his tone.

“I know, but I’m clearly more qualified to take the couch,” you respond softly, surprising even yourself with your gentle tone. Suddenly, you think of something. “Or we could… share the bed?”

“No,” he replies, turning over on the couch, facing away from you.

“But you’re clearly exhausted and so am I,” you frown. “I won’t try anything, I promise.”

“Why would I think you would?” Yunho replies, laughing a little.

“I dunno,” you blush, but at least he can’t see the color on your cheeks in the dark. “I’m just trying to reassure you-“

“You know what?” Yunho sits up a little. “I’ll take you up on the offer. This couch hurts.”

You watch as he stands up, stretching before making his way over to the bed, trying not to trip on your suitcase as he steps over it. “I’ll sleep on top of the sheets, though.”

“Deal,” you nod, moving over to let him onto the bed, laughing slightly at his relieved sigh as he lays down. “Just stay on your side, okay?”

“Noted,” he responds, and you can practically hear the grin on his face. “She doesn’t like cuddling.”

“Not with you at least,” you snort in response, rolling over to face away from him. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, princess.” This time, you don’t even feel the urge to correct him.

Your eyes slowly open as they adjust to the dim light filtering into the room. Feeling warmth to your left, you let your eyes drift closed again as you unconsciously shift closer to it, your face coming in contact with something hard and warm. With a start, your eyes open and you look up to see just grey fabric in your vision.

“Huh?” you pull away, seeing that it’s Yunho’s hoodie your face is pressed into. You quickly sit up, making sure he’s still asleep, his eyes closed and his face peaceful, before you look down, seeing you’re literally in the middle of the bed. How could you go against your own rule and not stay on your side of the bed?

All you can do is hope he was too deep in sleep to notice. You quietly and carefully slip out of the bed and grab your clothes for the day out of your suitcase, heading to the bathroom to take a quick shower.

By the time you get out, Yunho is awake and sipping some coffee. “‘Morning,” he greets you with a nod and a small smirk.

“Good morning,” you reply, acting as causal as you can as you go to your suitcase.

“‘No cuddles’, huh?”

You grit your teeth, having half expected this. “It won’t happen again.”

“If it does, I’ll know you lied,” Yunho responds, his tone teasing as he stands up, heading to the bathroom. But before he closes the door, he adds, “And for the record? I didn’t mind.”

His words leave you confused more than anything else as you shake your head, getting back to what you were doing, needing to go over your PowerPoint again before it’s time to present at the conference.

Hours later, when it’s finally your turn to present at the conference, you walk up to the stage, your never making your hands shake. As you start, your nerves slowly dissipate, until disaster strikes. You click the little remote, but the slideshow isn’t playing. Glancing around the room, you give them a nervous smile.

“One moment please…”

Frantically, you press the button, looking at the IT team for help just before the whole computer shuts down.

With a frown, you catch Yunho’s eyes, and he looks concerned. Mustering your courage, you try to salvage the presentation as best you can. “Where was I? Oh um… I think it would really help because… um…”

Your brain feels like it’s malfunctioning and your face is on fire as you try to piece together your thoughts, when you realize. The computer wasn’t doing this for anyone else all day.

Why’d it choose you? Your eyes meet Yunho’s again and it clicks in your head. He sabotaged it. This morning, you left your computer turned on while you went to shower and he must have done something to it.

Holding back tears, you rush off the stage, completely humiliated. You’re so hysterical that you don’t notice Yunho following you out.

You notice him as you turn the corner, hearing him following you as you rush out of the huge conference room, hurrying down the hallway, trying to hold back tears.

“Wait!” Yunho calls out, catching up to you as he grabs your arm, making you whip around on him.

“Why are you acting like you care?! I just spoiled all my chances of ever making it into an elite corporation!” you cry, tears pricking your vision as you move to lean against the wall.

Yunho frowns, taking a step closer to you, “I never said I don’t care. You said that. You’re the one keeping up this ‘rivalry’ like you think there’s something wrong with both of us being smart! You know, in freshman year, I saw how hard you worked and I actually wanted to be your friend! It’s true I don’t have to try as hard, but I still care!”

Your head snaps up as you look at him, really look at him, for what feels like the first time. Your voice is shaky as you ask, “What?”

He steps closer still, “You’re the one making a big thing out of both of us being the smartest at the university and getting into all the prestigious programs together. I’ve only ever wanted the best for you… I mean it. I’ve never wished you’d fail so I could succeed.”

You notice the way his voice softens as he speaks, his brown eyes flicking across your face, trying to gauge your reaction and emotions.

“So you didn’t sabotage my presentation?” you ask, sniffling as you look up at him.

He’s taken aback for a moment, seemingly shocked that you’d even think that before he gently places his hands on your elbows, his warm hands effectively getting you to look up at him, “No, I’d never do that to you. I know how hard you’ve worked because you’re just as good, if not better, than me. What happened today was purely a technical issue and then you clammed up out there when it didn’t go as planned.”

“So, you’re positive you didn’t tamper with it?”

“I didn’t.”

Silence follows as the two of you stand together, your eyes searching his, looking for a shred of proof that he could be lying.

Finding none, you release a shaky sigh before suddenly throwing your arms around his neck, standing on your tippy toes to bury your face in the crook of his neck, finally breaking completely as you sob quietly.

He freezes for a moment, taken aback, but he slowly returns the embrace, trying to comfort you as his hand gently moving to cradle the back of your head, his other resting on your back. “Shh,” he soothes, gently rubbing your back in a soothing motion. “It happens.”

“What? Clamming up completely in front of all my potential employers?” you let out a self deprecating laugh, sniffling.

“Well that’s part of it,” Yunho chuckles softly. “But I mean the computer freezing on you. You couldn’t control that, could you?”

“I could control how I reacted, though,” you frown, pulling away from the impromptu hug. “And I reacted horribly. I crumbled under pressure.”

“You’re young and inexperienced,” Yunho responds, reasoning with you. “I think they’ll take that into account when deciding who to hire. Do you not think it’s impressive enough that you’re in your junior year of college and already got accepted to come to this conference anyway? Do you not think they’ll take that into account too?”

Sighing, you realize he’s right. “Maybe?”

“You don’t sound convinced,” Yunho laughs softly, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. “I’m serious, Y/N. You’re smart, mature, and you’re pretty easy on the eyes if I do say so myself.”

You blush slightly, “You’re just saying that…”

“I’m not,” he shakes his head, squeezing your sides gently. “I’m completely serious.”

“Okay,” you respond softly. “I believe you… even though we’re supposed to hate each other.”

“You said that, not me,” Yunho laughs.

“I can’t believe I spent two of my years of college avoiding you like the plague because I thought you hated me,” you rub your nose, sighing.

He gives you a half smile, “We can make up for it now, though, can’t we?”

“I suppose.”

“And you know what?” Yunho starts, his smile growing.

“What?” you ask curiously.

“There’ll be other conferences, other chances to impress those tycoons,” he replies, bending down a little to look you in the eyes.

You gasp suddenly, your hand moving to cover your mouth, “Yunho! You’re missing your presentation! You’re supposed to be presenting in five minutes!”

“If you screwed yours up, so did I,” Yunho laughs. “Our university will just have to pass this time around, yeah?”

“Yunho…” your hands lift to grip his shoulders. “Please go present. Do it for me? Please?”

“Are you serious? You want me to?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowing. “But why?”

“Because you’ve been kind to me for almost this whole trip, and the times you weren’t were my fault. So please, you deserve this,” you beg him.

“We deserve this,” he responds, his hand slipping into yours, intertwining your fingers, making you look down at your hand clasped in his before looking back up at his smiling face. “We’ll do it together.”

“What?” you’re shocked, confused.

“You heard me,” Yunho starts tugging on your hand. “We’ll present together. You’ll make up for your mess up, and I’ll guide you, okay?”

“For real?” you ask, a small smile growing on your face as you let him guide you back toward the conference room.

“For real.”

The presentation ends with applause from everyone in the room, and you’re beaming, a smile you can’t get rid of on your face as you and Yunho exit the stage.

Different employers talk to you for a while before they finally let you both go, exhausted yet pleased with how you’d done.

As soon as you’re out of sight from the crowd, you throw your arms around Yunho again in a tight hug. “We did it!”

“We did,” he responds, grinning, as he returns your hug, burying his face in your hair.

“Thank you,” you whisper against his neck. “For letting me do that with you.”

“You deserved it,” Yunho responds. “And maybe I was being a little selfish too?”

“Selfish?” you pull back to look at him, confused.

“I wanted you to finally like me,” he replies sheepishly. “I—I’ve been trying to get you to like me ever since I met you. You just always pushed me away.”

“I only did that because I thought we were in an unspoken rivalry,” you sigh, looking down. “I see now how stupid I was to make something like that up you never even acted like it.”

“That’s not true,” Yunho responds softly. “I did act like it quite often just because of my pride. I didn’t want you to think it was one-sided if you were going to be all… competitive.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, before grabbing your hand in his again. “Ready to go back to the hotel?”

“Yeah,” you smile, letting him lead you out of the building.

As you walk out of the airport, back on the ground in South Korea at the end of the weekend, you’re actually sad to part with Yunho to go home.

“You know, I’m kinda sad that conference was at the end of the school year,” you muse, sighing, as you wait for your sister to come pick you up.

“Why’s that?” Yunho asks, looking down at you.

“Because now I have all summer before we go back to school,” you reply, biting your lip softly.

“Why would you want to go back to school?” Yunho asks, laughing a little at the absurdity of missing school that much.

“Because…” you trail off before look up at him, your voice growing softer. “I’ll miss everything.”

“What’s everything?” Yunho asks, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Well, the campus, classes, my friends…” you trail off before taking a deep breath. “You.”

“Me?” he asks, eyes widening. “You’ll miss me?”

“Of course I will,” you respond, a small smile growing on your face. “This weekend has taught me a lot about things, including you.”

“Has the princess grown up?” Yunho asks, a hint of his old teasing tone peeking through.

“I have,” you laugh softly. “Thanks to you.”

“Glad I could be of service,” he smiles, bumping his shoulder against yours playfully.

Just then, you see your sister’s car pulling up. “Well, that’s my ride I guess.”

“Yeah?” Yunho asks, standing up with you as you prepare to tell him goodbye.

“Yeah,” you breathe, grabbing the handle of your suitcase. “See you later?”

“Of course,” Yunho responds, smiling softly, his beautiful brown eyes sparkling.

“Bye,” you return his smile, starting to walk toward your sister’s car. Inside, you’re warring with yourself, debating back and forth. Should you do it?

Without a second thought about it, you let go of your suitcase handle, running back to Yunho and basically launching yourself into his arms as your lips collide with his. He freezes for only a moment before he grips your sides, returning the kiss. Your lips move against his for a moment before you pull back slowly, panting slightly.

“What was that for?” he asks, breathless, as he brushes his nose against yours.

“I like you too, Yunho,” you respond, a small smile on your face as you glance at his perfect, pink lips again. “I think I always have… I was just scared.”

He grins, joy radiating from his smile, “You like me?”

“I do,” you nod shyly.

Yunho leans in again, capturing your lips with his in another, much softer kiss. When he pulls away, his gaze meets yours. “I’m so happy we spent the weekend together.”

“So am I,” you smile, reluctantly pulling away. “Well, I should go meet my sister before she wonders what’s happening.”

“Yeah,” he nods, letting you go. “Can I give you my number and maybe we can meet up sometime this summer?”

“Please,” you nod, taking his phone from him to type on your number. With a mischievous smile, you make the contact name ‘Princess’ with a heart emoji. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” he responds, smiling when he sees the contact name. “I’ll text you soon.”

“Alright,” you smile, leaning in to give him one more hug before pulling away for real this time. “You know, I’m glad the university made a mistake with the rooms.”

“Me too,” Yunho smiles. “I got to see how much of a cuddle bug you really are.”

“Well, if you ask me out soon, you might get to see it again.”

“Is now too soon?” Yunho laughs, but you can tell he’s serious. “Will tomorrow work? I can come anywhere.”

“There’s a cafe in downtown Seoul. Would that work?” you suggest.

“Perfect,” he smiles, nodding. “I’ll text you the time I’ll pick you up once you send the address, alright?”

“I guess I was worried for nothing,” you laugh, shaking your head slightly.

“About what?” Yunho asks, tilting his head slightly in question.

“Missing you this summer.”

He winks as you move to go to your sister’s car, “You can’t get rid of me that easily, princess.”

“I think I’m slowly learning that fact.”

Taglist: @hongjoongspoetry, @originallyyn, @outlawinthisworld1117, @anxieteez, @touchme-teezme, @fixonateez8, @hum4n-e4ter, @cherriehaz, @eixila, @i-love-ateez, @gigikubolong29, @kyeos4ng, @annoyingretard, @grandlightcandy, @vanishingboots, @bkimrose, @hobarihope, @sunshiinmidnight, @yuyusuyu, @yunnierights, @sunkissedchocobeauty, @seonghwasprincess, @yunhowooyo, @bloomyroses, @hwalilac, @sheerfreesia007

if there’s a strike through your name, i couldn’t tag </3

[oppopotamus]

The other hashiras have been noticing that sanemi has been less agressive the past few days and they start to wonder not knowing that sanemi gets his stress fucked out of him whenever he's home by his hubby that was married assigned to him by kagaya 🙀😽

Can be a Req if you feel up to it!!

first time seeing bottom sanemi truthers out here

De-stress

omg this was so yummy thank youuu

Warning: NSFW, spanking ig?, rough-ish sex,

"Haven't you noticed?" Mitsuri whispers in Obanai's ear, they were eating lunch together, watching from afar as Sanemi was training.

"What do you mean?" Obanai asks, raising one of his eyebrows, Kaburamaru sitting lazily on his shoulder.

"Sanemi, of course! He's been so... normal," she says, sounding completely confused even at her own words.

Truthfully, Sanemi has been a lot more normal lately, or at least a lot nicer. He didn't yell or scream so much, unless somebody actually deserved it, which was pretty rare.

All the Hashira have noticed, it was extremely obvious since Sanemi was just so... polite.

Nobody knew why, except for Sanemi and his husband, of course.

Any time Sanemi was home, he enjoyed his time with his husband, he adored him so much... at first he didn't, considering Kagaya had practically forced them to get married, 'it would be good for you' is what Kagaya said to Sanemi, Sanemi disagreed at first but eventually gave in and accepted.

He quickly fell deeply in love with you, much to his, and your, surprise.

Now, he had just returned from a long mission, he had been gone for about two weeks until he was finally able to return home.

The second he walked inside, he let out a sigh of relief as he saw that his husband was already home from his own job.

"(Name)..." Sanemi muttered as he dropped his blade and kicked his shoes off before practically collapsing into your chest.

"Hello to you too," you said with a small chuckle, almost immediately wrapping your arms around Sanemi, placing a kiss on the top of his head. "Miss me?" you joked.

"Missed your dick, yeah..."

You let out a surprised laugh at Sanemi's vulgar words, not at all expecting them. "Wow, you really did miss me, huh?"

"Mhm," was all Sanemi mumbled, snuggling impossibly close to your chest, as if he were trying to melt into you.

"Okay, okay, come on," you said, holding Sanemi tightly as you walked him backwards to the couch. Sanemi fell back onto the couch and looked up at you.

For the rest of the night you two simply snuggled on the couch together, doing nothing more than relaxing and spending time together. It was completely peaceful until the next day when you woke up to Sanemi angrily yelling in the kitchen.

"What the hell going on right now?" you asked as you stepped into the kitchen, looking Sanemi up and down as he angrily shouted about something as he searched through the kitchen cabinets.

"What?" he snapped, spinning around to face you. "Oh, only the fact that I have another fucking Hashira meeting and I can't find my fucking sword!" he shouted, his own hands gripping his hair and tugging it in frustration.

You sighed and walked up to your husband before grabbing his waist and spinning him around, then bending him over the kitchen countertop.

"Wha- get the fuck off of me!" Sanemi shouted angrily, squirming in your grip in a weak attempt to break free. "Not a chance," you began, holding onto the back of his head with one hand, keeping him squashed against the kitchen countertop.

"You need to calm down, and don't you worry, I know exactly how to help you relax."

It wasn't much later when Sanemi was still bent over the kitchen counter, now naked with you pinning his hands behind his back as you fucked in and out of him, his moans and cries filling the room.

"Mm- ufgh... t-too- too m-much...!" he called out, his voice broken and needy as tears of ecstasy spilled down his cheeks, his eyes rolled back into his skull.

You huffed and tightened your grip on his wrists which were held down by your right hand, your other hand on Sanemi's shoulder, keeping him in place.

'U-Umph..! P-Please!!" he cried, his body being pushed back and forth against the countertop with each of your thrusts, the edge of the countertop pushed against his stomach uncomfortably, but he barely noticed it, his complete attention was on the rough, unforgiving thrusts as you pounded into his tight hole.

You let out a breathless laugh, your thrusts getting slightly sloppy as you got closer and closer to your climax. "Haah- you love it rough, dirty boy," you groaned and removed your hand from Sanemi's shoulder to spank his ass, watching the flesh jiggle.

"Ngh-!" he whined and his thighs trembled at the spank, it hurt, but he loved it, it was so hot to him whenever your hand came down on his ass.

"Mph- m' g-gonna come-" he whined, his fists clenching and unclenching with each thrust. "Yeah? Gonna come for me, baby doll?" you asked, earning a quick nod from Sanemi.

"P-Please... lemme... tell- tell me-" he began, getting cut off with a loud moan as you gave a particularly hard thrust, he couldn't even finish his sentences anymore.

You knew exactly what he wanted, or needed rather. "Come for me, baby," you ordered, giving him permission to come, to which he eagerly did, cum spurting from his cock and onto the kitchen counters. You followed not long after, finishing in his tight little hole, filling him up just how he liked.

Sanemi had finally calmed down once again.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

SO WHY DO GOOD GIRLS LIKE BAD GUYS ?! - the biker's route ☆ !

cashmoneyyysstuff's big 6K event!!

synopsis : leather jackets, motorcycles, a nasty attitude—and a smart ass mouth !! but it's just somethin' about him, y'know ??

an. route 3 is here after making yall wait !!! sorry yall exams r comin up but i hope yall enjoy this part >_<!! also i make a sneaky lil aphmau reference his here bc im very unfunny, enjoy!

when you wake up today, it takes you about 5 minutes to actually get up.

you look to your left and your right, half expecting to be met with another katsuki; maybe this one would be a merman or something?! and yet, nothing.

so you stare at your ceiling and wait. maybe this one will come blast through your bedroom wall like the dragon again..!

nothing, nothing and a whole lotta nothing.

so you finally decide to get up and start your day, things were actually back to normal today. you decide to ignore the slightest twinge of disappointment in your gut but you cheer up a bit when you remember the study date your boyfriend had not so graciously promised you.

you're just about done dressing up, about to tie your uniform tie when there's a knock on your door. katsuki is here to pick you up (despite saying he wouldn't anymore like two days ago, typical.) early and on time as usual, or maybe just a bit too early.

"coming !" you call out, pulling up your socks to line them up comfortably, hobbling towards the door to let your boyfriend in.

you swing the door open, already anticipating to be met with your boyfriend, "you're here ear..ly ?"

you stand corrected, it is him. no horns, no ears or tails..but still...a bit different.

first of all, he's not wearing his uniform, no book bag either. instead he's decked out in a black leather biker jacket, baggy black ripped jeans and silver jewellery around his neck, you catch some rings (and bandages) on his fingers when he reaches up to place a hand against his neck, groaning when it pops. and black combat boots. basically, the whole nine yards for a school day.

"oh." is all you can say, part impressed and partly, mostly, confused.

"thought you were gonna keep me waitin' forever." katsuki said, and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. he leans in, tugging you forward by your tie to finish tying it for you.

"wha—i—you just got here." you stuttered "and also, not that i mind, but shouldn't you get dressed for class ?"

your boyfriend looks you up and down, tightly pulling the knot of your tie up properly. you can't help but feel a bit shy at how he's so openly scanning over you.

"nah, fuck that." he shrugs.

okay, now this was strange.

your katsuki with the perfect grades, the stickler, the secret goodie two shoes with perfect attendance wants to skip class?? something was very wrong.

he stands back like nothing happened, shoving his hands in his pockets "anyway, you ready to get outta here or what ?"

"huh ? where are we going ?"

"wherever we wanna, you got anything in mind ?" and he's already turning around, grabbing you by the arm with a smirk.

huh ?

"...is something—"

you can't even finish your question before you hear your name being called loudly, by katsuki. your katsuki, ready for school, book bag and everything just on time to pick you up.

ah, you knew he'd gotten here too damn early.

"dude, this is so creepy."

"how'd this even happen ?!"

"i wonder what type of quirk did this...."

you can catch the beginning of midoriya starting up on his nerdy rambling before sighing. you try tuning your classmates out with a sigh and turn your music up louder in your earbuds.

your homeroom teacher, who had clearly had enough of the surge of bakugou's appearing before him, had allowed this new edgy katsuki (as denki called him, somehow it managed to stick) to attend class. he looked normal enough and didn't look like he'd cause too much trouble, as long as he was attended to, that attendant being you, of course.

"there's another one ?!" you hear mineta cry, surely still traumatised from his experience with the wolfish katsuki almost having him as his early morning snack. the thought makes you laugh. you turn to look at the crowd of your classmates gathered around the twin katsuki's.

kaminari is the first to try and cause mischief, taking his chances since your homeroom teacher was taking a while, and had started a "spot the real bakugou!" contest. the contest was a bit flawed since they were both convinced they were the real original, but you decide not to step in on their fun. (and you have to admit it was a bit entertaining.)

"okay, everyone quiet down please! let's get back on track! " kaminari bellowed, wrapping his hands around his mouth to project his voice.

"gentlemen, whoever can answer this next question will receive..." he sings, drumming his hands on his desk in anticipation, neither katsuki's seem very amused.

kaminari jumps up, dramatically revealing a snickers bar "ta-daaaaa!! a free snickers bar from yours truly! though it's been sitting in my bag for a couple days.." he mutters quietly.

"i don't want that shit." both katsuki's say at the same time.

your entire class errupts into laughter and chaos. you shake your head in amusement and decide to scoot a bit closer to keep listening.

"um..could i request a question ?" midoriya pipes up, raising a hand.

"mister midoriya wishes to request a question ! what do you say, kacchan ?" kaminari the announcer encourages.

"fuck off, nerd!" both katsuki's say again, it's really starting to look like some kind of circus act now. you can't help but laugh along with your classmates.

"midoriya, you have the floor." kaminari giggles, leaning his makeshift fist microphone to your green-haired friends lips.

"how do you feel about having a clone of you ? is it scary ? do you feel connected in a way ? is it—"

kaminari interrupts before midoriya can go full blown geek "please, keep the questions to a minimum, sir !" he energetically spins back around, his chair squeaking loudly as he turns back to your boyfriend and edgysuki. "well, your response ?"

your boyfriend pipes up first with a scoff "like i care, i'm not scared of shit, let alone this dickbag. and no, i don't feel connected to this creep—don't ask me these weird fuckin' questions !"

your boyfriend almost takes this like a real interview, yelling at his childhood friend but diligently staying close to kaminari's fist like it was an actual mic. edgy katsuki seems to think the most important part had been said and doesn't add anything else, although once he spots you in the 'crowd', he makes sure to keep his eyes fixed on you. you quickly look away, your ears burn when you hear him chuckle.

soon after his response your classmates pipe up with more and more questions "oh, oh me ! i have a question !" and "can i go next ?!"s sound inside your class. you're just about to request a random question when sero beats you to it. you kick your legs excitedly, knowing he was always the first one to mess with your boyfriend.

"my question's for both the baku's, actually." he drawls, smirking lazily. he leans back in his chair like he knows he's about to start some shit.

"out of the both of you; who do you think likes yn the most ?"

....

huh.

"wha.." you wheeze, the noise stays stuck in your throat . you feel your ears burn, and it's most definitely intensified by the chorus of "ooooo's" overtaking your class. your class rep tries to save the situation, stating it was surely against the rules to ask such an inappropriate question. you nod to him in appreciation.

"i checked the rule book and this type of question is totally fine actually !" kaminari says.

"what rulebook ?!" you pipe up, embarrassed.

he grins at you, pointing to himself "this rulebook."

fuck, you should've seen that one coming.

"now, an answer if you may..." kaminari snickered bouncing on his chair excitedly, barely able to keep his excitement in check.

your boyfriend's eyes flit to you, likely sensing your embarrassment, his ears turn pink and he scoffs. crossing his arms and readjusting in his chair he grumbles. "this is stupid. m'not answerin' that—"

"—i do, obviously."

....

silence. pure silence after the other katsuki speaks.

"i obviously like her more." he repeats, this time making sure he looks at you while he speaks. he's so sure of himself, arms crossed as well and leaned back so casually with a smirk panting his face.

"...hah?" your boyfriend growls in warning "the fuck you just say..?"

"you got a hearin' problem or somethin' ? quit making me repeat myself, dick cheese." the other katsuki sneers back.

"ya think you like my girl more than me, jackass ?!"

"i know i like my girl more than some extra, shit stain!"

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU CALLIN' AN EXTRA, YOU PIECE OF SHIT ?!"

"WHO ELSE WOULD I BE TALKIN' TO BUT YOU, YOU FUCKING MORON ?!"

it's chaos. shouting and howling and absolute chaos. but before things can break out into an all out fist fight, your homeroom teacher finally walks in. barely sparing any of you a glance and setting up his sleeping bag on the floor. until—

"you better all get in your seats by the time i'm finished or so help me..."

you have never moved faster in your life. you're sure you unlocked a hyper speed quirk with the way you zoomed back to your seat, head fixed down on your desk. your homeroom teacher sighs in exasperation, introducing the new katsuki you'd all managed to get very familiar in the span of a few minutes. he makes sure to warn you all with a "behave yourselves." kaminari gulps as he feels the teachers eyes very obviously fixed on him.

safe to say the lesson goes on without a hitch, everyone afraid to breath a little too loud.

you quietly scribbling in your notebook. you hope your teacher can't hear the way your heart hammers against your ribs.

you'd managed to survive your class day under the watchful eye of three people;

mister aizawa, who was already in a bad mood from your earlier predicament with your classmates.

your boyfriend who kept glancing back at you...

...probably because of the third hawk carefully watching you, bad boysuki,( or should you probably call him bullysuki) who was very subtle in chucking paper balls at you while the teachers were looking away. the entire day.

he was seated behind you in the back of the classroom, which gave him plenty of opportunities to kick the back of your chair and look oh, so innocent when you turned around to glare at him. during present mic's english class, he'd dropped his pencil inside the collar of your shirt and barely covered his snort when you shrieked in surprise.

truly, a fucking nuisance. too bad for him, you'd been dating said nuisance for more than a year now and this couldn't phase you in the least.

—before you can reach for your bag, you're brought out of your thoughts by katsuki, the all black one, snatching your bag and throwing it behind his shoulder casually. "you ready to blow this joint or what ?"

"i'm not blowing anything with you, jerk. m'starting to think being insufferable is how you breathe."

"aww. you mad at me, sweetheart ?" he coos, leaning down closer to you. you try not to show your surprise, curling your lip up and rolling your eyes at him. his eyes flit down to your mouth for a short moment. "m'just messin' with you a bit. s'all in good fun."

"it's not funny if you're the only one laughing." you counter. he rolls his eyes playfully. pulling you closer by your arm and leaning in way closer than he needed to.

"fine, s'my bad or whatever. how bout i make it up to you by takin' you out, hm ? got someplace in mind ?"

before you can speak, you're interrupted by your boyfriend snatching you back, causing a surprised noise to clog in your throat.

"she's not going anywhere with you, weirdo." katsuki readjusts his grip on your arm, his palms slightly sweaty. you can already feel he's whole body practically heating up.

bad boy katsuki's smirk is immediately replaced with a scowl, tilting his head back to mean mug your boyfriend. he has a few piercings in his ear too, you notice.

"hah?! s'far as i'm concerned, she hasn't said she was gonna go with anywhere with you."

"she doesn't need to tell you anything. besides, we already have plans. so, fuck. off." katsuki growls, putting extra strain on the fact you and him had a study session planned. the other katsuki doesn't seem to take the news well, cracking his bandages knuckles with a scowl.

"huh, that reminds me. we got interrupted before i got to kick your ass, huh?"

"if you wanna go all you gotta do is say when, pussy—"

before the both of them could start trading blows in the middle of your classroom, you stretch your arms, putting distance between the both of them and surprising them both.

"okay, boys. let's cut it out and use our big boy words okay ?" you sigh, irritated. "since, apparently, you're both toddlers, how about i call the shots here, yeah ?

i'm not going anywhere with either of you if you can't behave yourselves." you turn to look at edgysuki "i had a study date planned, so i unfortunately won't be going out with you. if you wanna come along, be my guest. i have a test coming up so if you test me, i will fuck your life up."

"and you," you turn back to your boyfriend, who's wide eyes are fixed on you "behave, okay ?" you warn, swatting at his chest. he jumps like the action snapped him out of his trance, and looks away with a scoff.

he grunts in agreement but grumbles about it, "should tell that other bastard that..."

that was more than enough for you. "alright, off we go." you usher the boys towards the hallway. your boyfriend moves with quickness, snatching your hand and pulling you away before the other katsuki can get a word in. while walking though, the other katsuki leans in to whisper hotly in your ear.

"that was hot as hell, sweets."

"be quiet." you whine.

"of course you'd get us kicked out of the library—of course of cou—how could i not have known ?!"

currently, you're trying your best to not lose your mind.

the difference between a half human hybrid katsuki and a shoujo bad boy male lead katsuki ? one was wild and untameable and it was definitely not the one you're thinking of.

you're honestly surprised the fucking wolf and dragon were easier to deal with than a biker jacket wearing delinquent.

it had started..okay ? maybe ? then again with any amount of katsuki's, going from 0 to 100 wasn't a hard task. you think maybe bad boysuki had started teasing you too much for your boyfriends liking. as protective as he was, and it sort of would've been flattering(you've always had a think for the delinquent type, okay ?!) if they hadn't started trying to have a showdown for your affection in the middle of a library.

and with the way they'd acted, it wouldn't be a big surprise if you were banned for life.

"i didn't even do shit but he—"

"he swung at me fi—"

"both of you shut the fuck up or so help me..." you groan, rubbing your temples. "i love both of you very much, unfortunately, but i'm only human and right now i'm having to hold back the very human urge of wringing your necks out like geese !" you shriek.

your boyfriend looks at the ground, kicking the toe of his shoe against some rocks, he never liked getting scolded after all. you'd almost feel bad, almost. (you still feel a little bad.)

"he—"

"quiet."

"yeah, quiet, loser." bad boy pipes up.

"you be quiet, too." you point, eyes wide. "you know what ? do whatever you want. fight to the death in the middle of the road like buffoons all you want, i do not care. do not come talk to me until you figure it out or...!" you splutter, trying to think of a fitting punishment "no smoochies for a month!"

your boyfriend's head shoots up, looking at you like you'd just admitted to torching his precious signed all might card "w-what the hell ?! that's basically only punishment for me!"

"figure. it. out." you conclude, turning your nose up and walking away and ignoring your boyfriends calling out for you. god, it was like dealing with two big baby's, and dealing with one was already more than enough!

but even if you are pissed off, your katsuki does have an extremely kissable face, and you don't know if you could hold up your end of the punishment.

you're sitting in your room now absentmindedly thinking about your predicament, study sheets splayed out around you. when you hear a knock at the door. you quickly get up, eager to leave your notes behind and stretch your legs. you're greeted with bad boy katsuki, looking down at the ground clutching something in his hand.

"you left this in the library..." he mutters, looking away and handing you your pencil case. you blink in surprise—you had no idea that you'd left it—but you manage to keep calm.

you clear your throat before responding "oh, thanks."

"should thank that other guy. he's the one that found it an' told me to bring it to you." he admits "even though i was gonna do it too, fuckin' bastard ordering me around..." he grits out, bitter.

your heart warms, your boyfriend was an idiot after all.

"where is katsuki anyway? well, my katsuki that is."

katsuki scoffs a laugh, finally looking back at you "m'right here, sweetheart."

wow, talk about déjà vu.

"but if you're looking for him he went off somewhere, said i should go see you first or whatever."

you sigh in relief "well, i'm glad you guys managed to get along."

"tch. i ain't getting along with that bastard. don't lump me in with him."

"kinda hard to do considering you are the same perso—."

"yeah, whatever—just—look." he steps closer, walking in your space and closing your door behind you. he backs you up until your knees hit the bed and you slump backwards with an "oof!". he has you where he wants you now. quickly shrugging off his jacket, revealing a tight short sleeved shirt (perfectly accentuating his muscles, mind you) his arms placing themselves on either side of your head. you lay there looking up at him speechless, wide eyed.

"it's stuffy in here. should open a window." he explains, eyes locking with yours.

"right..." you gulp.

"your room's a mess, too."

"okay, you can get it out if it bothers you." you snarked, squinting at him.

his eyes soften and he looks down at you seriously again. "look," he repeats"i don't—i'm not good at shit like this. but..." he looks off to the sound, grumbling. you catch how his ears bleed pink.

"i don't like you being mad..or whatever." he knocks his forehead to yours "...so stop it."

you snort "wow, so smooth." you chuckle when he shifts to shove his head into your shoulder with a quick "shut up."

his hands search and feel around until they get to yours, intertwining them. "don't..." the rest of his sentence is muffled into your shirt. "i can't hear you." you say curiously, he groans loudly.

"s-stop making me say embarrassing shit." he pulls his head out to look at you, your noses bump against each other. his lips oh, so close to yours.

"don't go...thinking that other guy likes you more than i do, got it..? and don't go liking him..more than me..." he trails off. eyes locked to yours, he waits for your response. you swallow harshly. you want to lick your lips, but he's so close you're worried they'll touch.

"well, i like the both of you just the same. so you don't need to worry about that." you say, managing to gather your thoughts you wrap your arms around him to pull him into a hug. he grunts, surprised, but melts into you quickly enough.

"guess that's good enough..." he whispers, pressing a kiss to your neck. he laughs when you squeal in surprise.

"i still like you more than him though."

and then, as soon as you blink, he was gone.

katsuki let's out a high pitched gasp when you surprise him in the common room kitchen, wrapping your arms around him.

"bwu—wh—what the hell?! don't just sneak up on me like that, dumbass !" he splutters, trying to make up from the cute little noise he let out. you giggle, squeezing his waist while he groans. he can't pull you off him as he's doing the dishes and that'd cause one big mess. (and since he's already on thin ice and doesn't wanna get his boyfriend privileges revoked, he'll stick this one out.)

he sighs, defeated "did that fucker fuck off yet ?" he asks.

"potty mouth," you laugh "and yeah, he's gone now. thanks for finding my pencil case for me, by the way."

he reaches to pinch you and you groan at the wet feeling on your skin, wiping your arm on his shirt. " keep having to pick up after your forgetful ass. should be more careful instead of having a hissy fit at me."

"don't start with me right now, katsuki."

he chuckles and shrugs, resigned. "you still mad ?"

"i wasn't anymore, but your little remark just made me re-mad at you."

your boyfriend stiffens and whips back to look at you, frowning. he squints, you squint back. after a heated stare down match he concedes and rolls his eyes.

"...sorry."

"meh. 2 points."

"what the hell?!" he groans, his hands splash around in the water causing soap bubbles to fly. you laugh and lean up to press a kiss to his lips. his mouth closes abruptly, surprise filling his features.

"well, i won't be taking away your smoochie privileges, at least."

"don't sneak up on me like that.." he scowls "and you better not. would've become your worst fuckin' nightmare till you gave in."

you snort "yeah, right. more like you'd become the whiniest baby."

"fuck off." he scoffs.

you giggle to yourself quietly. swaying lightly as your boyfriend silently does his job, the clinking of the dishes filling in the silence.

until katsuki decides to speak up. "hey."

"hm?"

"love ya."

your heart jumps, looking up at him as he keeps his back to you. your face heats and katsuki shows no sign of being bothered by your silence, if only the way he slows down just slightly in his washing.

smiling, you press a kiss to his back "i love you, too."

he stands straighter, almost electrocuted by your words. he huffs, shifting on his feet.

"hmph...i win, then."

curious, you look up at him again "what are you talking about ?"

he finally looks back at you, a feral grin forms on his face "that face stealing bastard can like ya all he wants, but i still love you more!" he snickers evilly.

your boyfriend was, truly, the biggest idiot.

taglist ! ( if your name is in bold i couldn't tag u :< )

@jastoo46 @cecelia77 @erenstitanweave @closehereyes @stoned-anime-babe @taxavoider @yannvi @sugurusmoon @allurearia @kaerotica @wonubby @cupidsblonde @catsoupki @ita606 @andysdrafts @omitea @lili-of-the-vally @serpent-hearted @ghostorchidd @shewki @pirana10 @witch-craft-works @kanvis @okkotsuus @dragonscribble @emmiesarchive @screaming-dough @napbatata @cacaandweewizzsstuff @redollface @meowsannie @katszumi @m-inluv @monchurie @the-hangry-otter @starlostlaiba @moonshuul @katsus-mistress @dondeh-zedonutqueen @liluvtojineteyam @aspiringwriter1111 @redvelvetstan1 @niktwazny303 @nemisimp @kit-katsukii @alphasage @milktea-academia @qyuin @bakugouswaif @themultifandomgirl @icey-wonders

[flowersforbucky]

higher than heaven

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 5.5k - my masterlist

summary: bucky's first time smoking 🍃 since the 40s. bucky finds you smoking alone one night, leading to two of you growing much closer.

warnings/tags: use of marijuana, language, brief use of alcohol, nightmares, ptsd, anxiety, pining and tension, heated kissing, friends to lovers, pretty fucking fluffy, no use of y/n, fem reader, 18+ only

author's note: no smut? gasp! everything else i've written for bucky has contained smut so bare with me, i just wanted to take a break for some fun and fluffy (but still tension-filled) toking.

a/n 2: bucky and reader smoke in this, but i wouldn't say that's the main focus of this fic, just something that brings them closer together. i tried not to focus too much on that aspect, and also tried not to give too vivid of descriptions of being stoned so hopefully readers who don't smoke 🍃 can still enjoy this fic for the fluff and feels. however, if this is a triggering topic for you in any way, please be careful and read at your own discretion 🖤

The Avenger's compound truly has everything you could ever need. A state of the art gymnasium and training center, indoor and outdoor pools, beautifully maintained grounds with walking trails and lake access.

And, one of your favorite things, no shortage of secluded smoking spots.

Tonight's choice? The roof directly above the living quarters. This is likely the spot that you frequent the most, out of sheer convenience.

You keep a couple of extra folding chairs stashed in the stairwell, for the rare occasions that you can convince Natasha or Wanda to relax enough to join you.

Tonight, like most nights, you're by yourself. You don't mind - you enjoy this alone time. You usually come up here after missions to unwind before passing out in your bed.

It’s a chilly night, with temperatures finally dropping down into the low fifties as the early days of fall approach. You're bundled up in an oversized hoodie, sipping on oolong tea to warm you from the inside. In your left hand you clutch the warm mug, and with your right you pinch the tail-end of a burning joint between your thumb and index finger.

You've been up here long enough to have already burnt through one joint, and you now take slow, heady hits of a second as you wait for the meteor shower that's expected to begin over the northeastern United States any minute.

The creaking of the large metal door that leads to the roof startles you, causing you to break your gaze away from the stars littered above you in the New York sky. All the times you've come up here to watch the sunsets over the lake, no one has stumbled upon you. You're surprised by who emerges from the doorway a second later.

Bucky freezes in his tracks when he notices you sitting just a few yards in front of him.

“Oh, sorry,” he pauses, seemingly glancing around the roof to see if there's anyone else here with you. “I didn't expect - I didn't think anyone would be up here right now,” he stutters out.

“You're good,” you smile at him over your shoulder before turning your attention back to the sky. “Trying to get a good view of the meteors?”

“Yes, actually,” he says, surprised. You hear his boots scratching the pavement of the roof as he walks closer to you. You look up at him when he comes to a stop right next to where you're sitting.

“Well, you've come to the right place.” You gesture towards the scenery in front of you - the endless inky sky overlooking the lake next to the compound. “There's some extra chairs stashed in the stairwell, if you'd like one.”

“I didn't know that you smoke,” he says curiously, eyeballing the blazing joint still clutched between your fingers. He visibly sniffs a couple times, as if to confirm that he is indeed smelling what he thinks he is. He doesn't acknowledge your offer of a chair, instead choosing to sit directly on the cement, criss-crossing his legs at the ankles.

“Are you going to tell on me?” You ask as if what you're doing isn't perfectly legal and your friends don't already know.

“Your secret is safe with me,” he smirks up at you, eyes flicking between you and the joint.

“Want a hit?” You offer, extending your hand towards him. He hesitates, uncertainty blooming across his features.

“I haven't smoked since the forties,” he starts with an awkward laugh. He reaches up, carefully taking the joint from you and pinching it between his own two fingers and inspecting it. “I still remember the last joint I smoked before finding out that I had been drafted. If I had known it was going to be my last, I would've appreciated it a lot more.” There's a hint of nostalgia in his words.

You picture it - baby-faced Bucky, in his early twenties, with glossy blue eyes and a lazy, content smile. The thought makes your cheeks warm, and a small, sad smile spreads across your own face. That was a literal lifetime ago, and you didn't know if he had felt as carefree since then.

“Well,” you begin after a sip of your tea. “You're no longer property of the United States Army, or HYDRA, or any organization. So if you want to smoke, then smoke. And if not, that's okay, too, but give me my joint back because you're burning perfectly good weed right now.”

He chuckles at your scolding before bringing the joint up to his own lips and taking a slow, long puff. There's a sharp inhale before he erupts into a coughing fit, smoke billowing out in a cloud in front of him. You give him a few awkward pats on the back while he works through the burn that he is undoubtedly feeling in his esophagus.

“Damn, I've missed that,” he sighs once he has regained his composure. He holds the dwindling joint back up to you.

You shake your head. “Finish it off,” you insist. “I've already had one tonight. It’s all yours.”

You expect him to argue but to your surprise, he takes a second hit. And a third, and fourth, while you sit next to him in an amicable, comfortable silence. Soon, there's nothing left but a small roach that he stubs out against the cement next to where he sits.

“How're you feeling?” You ask, knowing that his tolerance has to be in the negatives if he hasn't smoked in over seventy years.

“If twenty-two year old Bucky knew that I was this stoned off half a joint, he'd never let me hear the end of it,” he says with an amused smile, propping back on the palms of his hands to stare up at you.

“Well, I think one-hundred and six year old Bucky is doing just fine for himself,” you muse. “Twenty-first century weed has got to be more potent than whatever dirt weed you were smoking in the forties, so cut yourself some sla–”

“I did not smoke dirt–”

“Look!” you exclaim, cutting him off as you point up at the sky. He goes quiet, following your gaze.

You both watch in awed silence as flashes of bright white-blues and purples begin to dash across the sky above you. At first, there's a bolt here and a bolt there - but before you know it, there's dozens - too many meteors to count, here and then gone in the blink of an eye. Where one disappears, another takes its place.

You lose track of how long the two you sit there, on the roof, under the shower of the shooting stars - and it has nothing to do with being stoned. They are just that mesmerizing.

“I think we’re supposed to make a wish,” you murmur after a long while, remembering the old legend about shooting stars. You watch the last few meteors as they burn out, and then the sky goes dark once more. When he doesn't respond, you glance down at where he sits to find that his eyes are closed.

You smile to yourself - you didn't actually plan on making a wish, and you definitely didn't expect him to. You figure that he is just humoring you, but you can't help but think how adorable it is nonetheless. You can't stop yourself from snorting a laugh, causing his eyes to snap open and up at you.

“What? Did you make your wish?” he demands, his tone serious.

You hum. A familiar, glowing warmth grows from your lips and down to your toes despite the chilly night air as you stare at him. You tell yourself it’s a physical effect of the marijuana.

“I think I’m good, actually.”

••••••

Every year, a different member of the Avengers chooses a charity to hold a gala in honor of.

Sam's choice last year, Homes For Our Troops, build specially adapted, custom homes for severely injured veterans. Natasha's choice the year before that, Children of the Night, is a non-profit organization dedicated to rescuing and rehabilitating children who have been victims of prostitution.

Always funded by the Stark Relief Foundation, always held in the most high-profile and illustrious venues that money can buy, and always filled to the brim with every philanthropist and major news reporter in the state of New York.

This year, for the first time, it was your turn to select a charity. You decided on Women For Women International - a noble and worthy cause that you are proud to raise awareness and donations for. However, now that three hours into the gala, you are fucking burnt out. From the moment that you and your teammates arrived at the venue, guests and reporters began forming lines for their chance at interviewing you or getting their picture taken with you. You feel like you’ve talked to every person in the building, except for the one person that you truly wanted to. Add in a ten minute long speech addressing five hundred plus guests, you are drained. Physically, mentally, and socially drained.

“You did incredible with your speech,” a soft voice says from behind you. “All that worrying for nothing.”

You're exhaling a sigh of relief at the familiar voice before you've finished turning around to meet his dimpled grin and deep blue eyes. You think he might just be as ready as you are to get out of here with the way he's already loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his tux. His hair is tousled - though you haven't had a free moment to speak with him since the car ride over here with Sam and Steve, you have no doubt that he's ran his fingers through the short locks a few dozens times throughout the evening - a habit that flares up every time he's out of his element. With this being the first gala he's attended as an Avenger, and possibly the first gala he's ever attended, you're surprised he has any hair left.

“I wouldn't say for nothing,” you turn back to the bar in front of you and wave a singular finger to the bartender, signaling your desire for another drink. “I stuttered at least eight times, and lost my place on the page twice. I felt like I was going to puke shrimp cocktail and espresso martini all over the podium.”

You can see him grimace from your peripheral vision. He pulls out the barstool next to where you stand, and then takes a seat. You're pinned between the chair on the opposite side of you and his thigh, the cool silk of his pants tickling the bare skin of your leg where your dress cuts off just above mid-thigh. Close enough that you can feel warmth radiate from him and smell the essence of his piney aftershave. Subconsciously, you relax for the first time all evening.

“You are your own worst critic,” he reminds you, repeating the sentiment that he’s been saying to you for the last few weeks, anytime the gala or your speech would come up in conversation. “No one else noticed if you stuttered. They’re all too full of liquor, or too concerned with getting their photo op with Iron Man or The Hulk..” he trails off, glancing over his shoulder at where Tony and Bruce are both striking signature poses for some selfies with guests.

“And what about you? Have any of your fangirls begged you to take a picture with them?” You smirk at him as the bartender slides your martini across the countertop. You angle your body so that you’re now turned to face him, leaving practically no space between the two of you.

“More than I can count,” he exhales, and you force a laugh to not roll your eyes - not that you were surprised or that you could blame them for wanting their picture taken with him.

“Well, I’m glad that we were able to raise so much money,” you sigh into your drink. “But I would be lying if I said I’m also not glad that it’s over with. I’m ready to get these shoes off, submerge myself in a hot bath, and then sleep until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Always the introvert,” he murmurs, a sly grin appearing on his face. He carefully tugs the lapel of his jacket to the side and reaches his flesh hand inside, pulling out a tin of wintergreen Altoids. You look at him curiously as he gives the small container a shake. It makes no sound, seemingly empty of mints. You cock an eyebrow at him, about to ask him what the deal is, when a familiar, earthy scent wafts towards you.

“What’s in the tin, Buck?” you ask rhetorically, as if the odor isn’t a dead giveaway.

“Just a little something I’ve been saving for when I could finally get you alone tonight,” he shrugs, slipping the tin back inside the interior pocket of his jacket. Your heart skips a beat at the possibility that maybe he’d been wanting to talk to you, see you, spend time with you as much as you had him.

“I’m just happy to see that you finally have your own weed,” you tease, trying to polish off the remnants of your drink so that you can get the fuck out of here. “Now you can stop smoking all of mine.”

You’re just giving him a hard time, of course. You’d lost count of how many times the two of you have smoked together since the night of the meteor shower just two months ago, and you were more than happy to share your supply with him - he gives you a lopsided grin that tells you he knows you don’t actually mind.

“Hence why I have pre-rolled three joints just for you,” he quips back. “One for how much time and effort you put into this event, one for conquering your fear of public speaking, and one for how much of your weed you have let me smoke.”

Your cheeks warm at the thoughtful gesture. You swallow the last swig of the brown liquid and slide the glass back across the bar.

“What are we waiting for, then? Let’s go get a cab.”

Half an hour later, you and Bucky are in the backseat of the taxi that drives you away from bustling downtown Brooklyn and towards a park that Bucky had instructed the driver to take you to. You didn’t object, trusting that he knows this area of New York better than you do.

The driver comes to a stop next to a nearly desolate sidewalk that appears to lead to a waterfront walkway. Bucky hands the driver a handful of cash, tells him to keep the change, and hops out of the cab before extending a hand to you as you scoot across the seat to follow his exit. You mumble a quick thanks to the driver as he helps you onto the sidewalk and shuts the door behind you.

You pull your coat tighter around you, attempting to shield yourself from the chill of the November air. Fall is now in full swing in New York, and the short cocktail dress that you wore to the gala does little to protect you from the night air.

“Me and Steve used to come to this park all the time,” he tells you as he pulls the Altoids tin and a BIC lighter from his jacket. “I vividly remember having to break up a fight he got into just past that fountain when we were teenagers,” he motions towards a large granite fountain ahead of you, “when some asshole stole a kid's frisbee.”

You laugh as he passes you a joint and the lighter, able to picture the memory he describes clear as day. It's far from the first time he's told you about a time that he had to get pre-serum Steve out of trouble.

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” you mumble as you pinch the tail of the joint between your lips, inhaling as you hold the flame up to the opposite end. A wave of smoke instantly fills your esophagus and lungs with a familiar, comforting burn and you pass the blazing joint back to him. “He’d still do the exact same thing, too,” you add as you exhale the thick cloud of smoke that mixes with the cold air. “Only difference now is that he can handle any fight that he gets himself into.”

“Some things never change,” he says before bringing the paper up to his own lips. You follow as he guides you across a small grassy area and to the walkway that runs alongside the river. Truthfully, it’s too chilly to be on a park stroll at this hour in your current attire, but with Bucky’s body heat radiating from directly beside you and the buzz you feel from the weed, you’re surprisingly comfortable.

“One thing that has changed however,” he continues as you’re inhaling a second hit, “is how well I’ve started sleeping on the nights that we smoke together. On those nights, I don't wake up over a dozen times. Hardly ever even have nightmares anymore.”

Your skin tingles at his admission - a whole flight of butterflies erupting in the pit of your stomach that you push down. You know that he means this because of the weed, not because of you, but for some reason - maybe it's the way his arm keeps bumping against yours or the way the moonlight reflects in the pools of his blue eyes as he glances over at you - you let yourself believe, even for just a split second, that you're aiding in bringing him peace on those evenings spent together. On the roof above the living quarters right before bed, or at the edge of the lake's water when you stop after a late run to watch the sunset, or -

“I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm grateful that I found you up on the roof the night of the meteor shower,” he continues when you don't respond, his voice now possessing a nervous edge. Your mouth suddenly feels dry - the worst cotton-mouth you've ever had times ten. “For more reasons than one.”

You both gradually slow until you've come to a complete stop in front of a boat dock. Between the martini you had before leaving the gala, the effects of the marijuana, and the way he's looking at you while standing so close, you think it's a miracle that you haven't tripped in these ridiculous chunky heels and fallen into the East River. You clear your throat, hoping that you don't sound like a lovestruck teenager when you speak.

“I'm really glad too, Bucky.”

••••••

You stare down at the picture displayed on your phone screen as you and Natasha take the elevator up to the compound's living quarters.

Rolled and ready for you to be home reads the text attached to the picture of the joint pinched between the thumb and index finger of his flesh hand that Bucky had sent you ten hours ago, before your flight from Arizona to New York was supposed to depart.

Our flight has been delayed due to a thunderstorm. No current ETA your reply reads with a frowny face emoji at the end.

Now, at 2:16 in the morning, you are finally back home hours later than originally expected.

You were sure that Bucky was asleep by this point, and you didn't blame him. You wished you were asleep right now, too. Natasha slept the entire plane ride back to New York.

You, on the other hand, may or may not have spent the plane ride reading back over recent text messages between you and Bucky and zooming in on the picture he had sent you because for some reason you really like his hands. Both of them.

You were acting like a goddamn fifteen year old.

“What are you grinning at?” Natasha's voice snaps you out of your trance. You quickly shove your phone into the pocket of your duffel bag.

“I'm not grinning,” you lie, but it's Natasha - of course she sees right through you.

“You were grinning,” she shrugs with a knowing smirk. “But it's okay. We'll chalk it up to sleep deprivation.”

“I am sleep deprived, actually. Someone snored the entire flight back home.”

“For someone who wasn't grinning you sure are being defensive right now,” she retorts with a shit-eating grin as the elevator dings and the door slides open. You roll your eyes as you both step out into the hallway that leads to the living quarters. You turn to the left, towards your bedroom, and she takes a right but then comes to a sudden stop, calling your name. You freeze, turning to look at her with a raised brow.

“For what it's worth, I think you should go for it. It's obvious to everyone around you two.” She looks at you expectantly.

“Get some rest, Nat,” you huff a small laugh under your breath, and try not to smile. She doesn't press the subject any further.

Before reaching your bedroom, you pause at the door to Bucky's room. You don't knock, but wait to see if you hear any movement from inside. All that you hear is a loud static from his white noise machine.

Although you expected him to be asleep at this hour, you couldn't help but feel a small pang of disappointment that you hadn't been able to get back earlier. You knew you would see him tomorrow (well, technically later today), but you hadn't gone this long - a mere three days - without seeing Bucky since the two of you had become close months ago.

You quietly make your way into your bedroom and toss your duffel bag onto the end of the bed before stripping off the dirty, sweaty tactical suit that you'd been wearing since the early hours of the previous morning.

In your bathroom, you turn the faucet handle to the hottest setting and watch as the small room fills with steam before stepping under the showerhead.

You think about what Natasha said as you scrub your body clean and let the harsh but satisfying stream of water relax your aching shoulder muscles.

You wanted to go for it. Goddamn, you wanted to go for it. Every time you are alone with him - whether he's helping you train with target practice, or you're paired up together for re-con, or you're just simply eating breakfast together in the common area - you want to go for it.

All you have to do is stare at his stupid, pretty pink lips for a split-second too long and you're thinking about going for it.

But for so many reasons, you don't.

Though your heart wants more, you love your friendship with him, too. And you would be devastated if you tried for more and it didn't work out and you lost that friendship altogether.

You also don't know if Bucky wants more. Natasha says that everyone around you sees it, but he's never directly said it. You know there's an undeniable chemistry, but what if you're the only one experiencing it?

You watch the last few suds of your body wash go down the drain and turn the shower off, deciding that it's too late and you're far too tired to be thinking about this right now.

You speed through your post-shower routine, desperate to feel the silk of your bedsheets against your clean, freshly moisturized skin as you drift off to sleep.

You're rolling some deodorant under your arms when a deep, loud cry thunders from somewhere outside of your room causing you to let out a shocked gasp. You drop the object in your hand immediately and it falls to the floor as you rush out of your bedroom, wearing only thin cotton shorts and a matching tank top.

As soon as you step into the hallway, you are able to identify where the screams are coming from. Pained, booming yells originate from behind the door directly across from your own.

Bucky’s room.

You don't hesitate to twist the doorknob, letting yourself and shutting the door behind you.

The pale orange glow of a small table lamp in the far corner of his bedroom illuminates the room enough for you to make sense of what is happening. The sight before you makes your heart sink to the floorboards.

He's asleep - his eyes pinched shut and his brows furrowed together in obvious agony. He's shirtless, and his skin looks pale and clammy with thick beads of sweat littered from his forehead to his torso.

There's a meek voice in the back of your mind that tries to remind you that you don't know what you're walking into, as you've never encountered Bucky while he's having a nightmare before but he looks so fucking pitiful that your only concern is alleviating him from whatever prison of torment his mind is currently trapped in.

You rush over to the side of the bed, nearly tripping on the comforter that he's apparently through to the floor in his sleep. Both of his hands form tight fists, his knuckles strained pale. He lets out another guttural yell that causes you to instinctively flinch away.

“Bucky,” you say, attempting to keep your voice from breaking. “Wake up, Bucky. You're having a nightmare.”

He gives no indication that he can hear you, his head thrashing violently and fists slamming down against his mattress as he makes a pitiful whimper.

“Bucky,” you repeat, leaning down to perch on the few inches of free space on the side of the bed. You reach out to place your hand on the flesh of his bicep, about to attempt to gently stir him awake, when he shoots straight up in his bed. You flinch again, but don't move from your position next to him, firming your grasp on his bicep in an effort to ground him. His blue eyes are as wide as saucers and his chest heaves as he takes in his surroundings.

“You're okay,” you assure him in a soft, uncertain voice, rubbing your thumb in circles against the skin of his flesh arm. “It was just a bad dream. Everything is–”

“I could have hurt you,” he interrupts you, his voice faltering on the last word. “I could have–”

“You didn't hurt me,” you interrupt him back. “You're okay, and I'm okay, too.” He nods, and you can tell he's trying to convince himself that the words you say are true.

You quickly glance around his room until you find what you're looking for. Strewn on the floor next to his bedside table, you see a black t-shirt. You reach over, picking it up. You hesitate for a moment before slowly extending the fabric to Bucky's face, where you delicately wipe away the thin layer of sweat that glistens on his forehead. He relaxes into the movement, his eyes closing until you pull away.

“I'm sorry that I woke you up,” he murmurs after a moment of heavy silence.

“You didn't wake me up,” you assure him quickly. He watches you with something akin to guilt across his features. “I had just gotten out of the shower. We didn't get home until half an hour ago.”

He glances down, noticing your attire. You suddenly feel naked in only the thin gray shorts and tank top. You awkwardly clear your throat, reaching to place the t-shirt on his bedside table when something catches your eye. Bucky follows your gaze to the joint laying on his bedside table.

“I tried to wait up for you,” he exhales a soft laugh. “Ended up passing out around midnight.” Your whole body warms at his admission. The idea that he tried to force himself to stay awake just so he could see you when you got home makes you feel dizzy despite the fact that you're sitting down.

“Do you want to now? To help you sleep?” you ask, gesturing towards the joint. You don't even care that it's three in the morning and that you're borderline delirious from lack of sleep.

He takes one of your hands in between his own and brings it closer to him, giving it a tight squeeze as he shakes his head.

“No, I know you're tired. But could you just..” He trails off, bringing your hand clutched between his up to his mouth to rest his lips against the skin of the back of your hand. It's not quite a kiss, but it sends goosebumps across your flesh nonetheless. You're holding your breath without realizing it. “Could you just lay with me for a while?”

You nod your head in agreement without even thinking about it. “Yeah - yeah, of course,” you answer, hoping that you don't sound too eager while simultaneously knowing that your voice has risen several octaves.

You lean over once again, grabbing his comforter off of the floor as Bucky scoots towards the middle of the king sized bed to give you room to crawl in beside him. He extends his flesh arm away from his body, a clear indication that he wants you to lay in the space between his arm and his chest. You lay down, tucking your head under his chin so that your cheek rests against the mildly clammy but soft skin of his chest. He helps you tug the thick blanket across your bodies before bringing his arm around your abdomen, pinning you to him.

Luckily, you’re far too tired, and he’s far too warm for you to overthink it.

“You smell really good,” he murmurs into your hair and you hope that his preternatural abilities don’t pick up on the way your heart skips a beat. “I probably smell like sweat.”

You hum a laugh against his chest, sniffing the skin next to your nose without thinking about it.

“You don’t smell like sweat. You smell just as good as you always do, somehow,” you assure him, reveling in his unique scent of vetiver and something citrusy.

You’re both quiet for a moment, sleep threatening to overtake you at any moment when he brings two metal fingers to the underside of your chin and gently tilts your face to look up at him. Your breath is trapped in your chest at the close proximity of your lips and his.

“Remember the night of the gala, when I told you that I’d started sleeping better and having less nightmares since we’d started smoking together before bed?”

You nod, not trusting your voice to answer verbally. He’s so fucking close, you can smell the spearmint of his toothpaste from when he’d brushed his teeth hours ago.

“That was true,” he continues, looking down at you with an indiscernible expression. “But what I’m now realizing is that I don’t think it has anything to do with the weed,” he pauses, a small smile forming across his face. “It’s just you.”

You can’t stop the smile that blooms in return, just as you can’t stop what you do next.

Closing the distance between your lips and his own, you kiss him as you’ve thought about doing for months now. You’re hesitant at first, worrying that you’ve crossed that line that you can never go back over - but then he’s moving his mouth with your own in a synchronicity sweeter than you could have dreamed.

His arms dart under the comforter, wrapping around your body and pulling you even tighter against him. You bring one of your hands to cup his face as he sweeps his tongue along the swell of your bottom lip. You open up for him, letting him inside your mouth as you move your hand from his jaw to his hair - lacing your fingers through the short brown locks as he explores your mouth. Your thigh hooks around his, and it takes everything in you to hold back - to not swing yourself over him and lay the full weight of your body flush against his.

He’s just had a nightmare, and it’s late, and you’re tired, and you don’t want to move this sweet, special thing that you have too quickly.

He pulls away, and you fight against whimpering at the loss of the sensation of his soft lips.

“The night of the meteor shower,” he starts, his voice strained and his pupils dilated. “You told me to make a wish, and I did. Now that it’s come true, I can tell you what it was I wished for,” he pauses, running his metal thumb across your kiss-swollen bottom lip as you look at him expectantly, waiting for him to go on. “I wished for as many moments like that as I could possibly get with you.”

Your heart swells in your chest. You're convinced that you're asleep because this is something straight out of your dreams. You remove your hand from his hair, placing it directly above his heart to make yourself believe this is real.

“Speaking of meteor showers,” you start as you trail the tips of your fingers over the defined planes of his chest. “There's supposed to be a cool show at the planetarium in Manhattan this weekend. Do you want to go with me?”

His answer is a soft smile before attaching his lips to yours once more.

thanks so much for reading! as always reblogs and comments are extremely appreciated. i hope you enjoyed 🩷

other recent works by me: love language • delirium • it's nice to have a friend

[babysfirsthaze]

Frustrated...(Caitlyn Kiramman x Reader)

Synopsis: Your girlfriend is a commander of war. She' needs someone to be mean to, and you're willing and able.

Content: MEAN!Caitlyn, dubcon if you squint (yg have a safeword I promise.), dacro if you squint, degradation, sex referred to as 'bullying' one (1) time, reader compared to a dog one (1) time (not in dialogue), fem!reader, fingering, spanking, pussy spanking, aftercare, reader's bush is mentioned one (1) time

A/n: im gonna need you guys 2 be super nice 2 me ab this one okay. I'm 3 cones deep time of writing. Caitlyn I need you SOOOO BADD, this fic is very not normal proceed w caution

Caitlyn Kiramman is not a gentle woman. She never has been, not really; learned to shoot things down and dead when she was just a child, carried that sentiment with her to womanhood. And you've been her girlfriend for a few months, she's never really mean to you. Always treats you with the sort of respect she expects people she deems important be regarded with.

But – there's a war brewing. She's a commander. She's been a little stressed lately, of course she would be, and she needs to get that tension out somehow.

Which is how you ended up in this situation, folded over her lap as she spanks you. Hard.

"T-..ten," you manage, nails digging into your palms as you're made to count the harsh, unforgiving blows to your ass. Caitlyns fully clothed, you're stripped bare and dripping arousal all over her nice pants. You can't see her face, but her jaws still clenching, she's only getting madder.

"You like that, don't you? Always been a slut," she spits, her slender hand now grabbing roughly at the fat, kneading it under her palm. She tugs at the skin, spreading open your ass to expose your neglected pussy, making you whine. "So wet, and for what?"

Before you can respond she's spanking you again, affording a harsh slap to the skin where your ass meets your thigh. "Eleven," she supplies for you, her voice mocking, seething with an anger that's not directed at you. "If you can count that high."

You mewl incoherently, ass wiggling to try and get away from the pain. Cait doesn't like that. She grabs you again, and then, all of a sudden – you're being manhandled, shifted so you're more on your side, and she tugs your leg into the air.

"Wha–..?" No time to voice your confusion, because she's already delivering a harsh smack to your pussy, making you moan, loud. She groans appreciatively, her mouth twisting into a (sadistic) smile for the first time since she's been home.

"Pretty girl likes that, huh? Such a good whore."

She presses her hand into your pussy, the heel of her palm against your clit, her tough too rough, too much – she's hurting you, she's enjoying hurting you. It makes you so wet. She has her right hand absent-mindedly (and a little clumsily) stroking your hair, cupping your face – you just look so pretty when you cry, it's not her fault.

"C-caitt! 'S too much, please, too much.." you're sobbing, pussy already puffed up and overstimulated when she slips two fingers in, firmly pressing against your g-spot. And groans, eyes closing for a moment to collect herself. Her face is all flushed by now, and she's smiling, hard; she loves this, taking all her energy out on her pretty, slutty girlfriend. She stuffs her fingers into your hole, curling them up and fucking you so good.

"Fuck, princess, pussys so fuckin greedy...you love this, huh? Love being used like this?" You nod, your body all curled up so you can press your face into her side, muffling your whines. She strokes your hair distractedly, the way one would a fussy dog.

You're getting her top all wet with tears, her pants all wet with arousal. "So messy," she tuts, although her voice is far away, absent-minded. She's more focused on the filthy noises you and your pretty cunt make, on the way your hole swallows her now-wrinkled fingers up so, so greedily.

She lets go of your face for the first time to instead grope one of your tits. It's a simple act of cruelty, of degradation– and it just snaps something in you, your orgasm spilling out of you, all over your thighs, up her arm, getting everything wetter than it was. She moans out loud, just about cums from the sight herself. "Shit, baby, you're such a fucking slut, I love you," she's rambling, digging and rutting her fingers into you, bullying you through your orgasm. You hit her lightly a few times, she hardly notices. She fucks you through it, she's so mean, so unreasonably mean, it's the hardest you've cum in a long time.

Eventually she starts to kiss a line up and down your arm, hand slowing, then pulling out delicately. She cups the back of your head again, her now-free hand coming up to her face so she can suck your arousal off her fingers, one by one. By the time you open your fingers she's licking delicately up her palm, just wanting to taste as much of you she possibly can. You moan out loud again.

"Y'such a good girl, did so well f'me," she cooes, gently running a (wet) hand over your (wet) thigh, trying to soothe the muscle. Her mouth trails up your shoulder and to your face, gently catching your swollen lips in a kiss.

"Did I tell you how much I love you?" She asks, her head still reeling, stomach still swirling with the feeling. You cling to her, overwhelmed and confused and fucked out.

"I got you, baby, I got you...you're so fuckin pretty, yknow that? Made me feel so good, so much better, my good girl, yeah, fuck, baby.."

She nuzzles into your cheek, gently scooting you so you're layed down on the bed. The towel she put under you is completely soaked, seeped into some of the sheets. Oops. She lifts your legs up gently to pull it out from under you anyway, softly kissing on your thighs to distract you.

"Caitlyn," you sob, and she shushes you, shaking her head. "'M done, baby, 'm done. Gonna clean you up now, yeah? Stay awake f'me, baby," she mumbles, pressing her mouth to her hips before straightening up, dropping the towel in the hamper. She'll clean it up in the morning. She also strips off most of her clothes, they're soaked and smell like pussy anyway.

And she returns in panties and a singlet with a soft hand-towel, patting dry your thighs, pussy, bush. Once she's satisfied she moves up to kiss your face, wiping the tears off your cheeks, quietly shushing you.

"Such a messy girl," she cooes, nudging her nose against you affectionately. "You did soo well, baby."

Published on 16/2/25 by babysfirsthaze on tumblr

[odileeclipse]

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 19

<<<Previous Next>>>

You knew her well enough to know that was a lie. And for some reason, that made you uneasy. 

You narrowed your eyes. “No, seriously. What?” Chai Latte Cookie only sipped her tea, all too pleased with herself, but Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie had no such patience for theatrics.

 With an exasperated sigh, he pulled a small notebook from his pocket, flipping through the pages with practiced ease. “Alright,” he muttered, eyes scanning his own notes, “since you’re so curious, let’s see…” 

Your stomach twisted. “Oh, for the love of-....Hazelnut, you did not take notes” But he had. Of course, he had.

 With a smug expression, he slid the notebook across the table toward you. “Here. Read it yourself.” 

Chai Latte Cookie leaned in, grinning like a cat who had cornered a particularly amusing mouse. “Oh, I love when he does this.” You hesitated, then, with no small amount of trepidation, picked up the notebook. The notes were surprisingly neat, brief, to the point, and, unfortunately, accurate.

Earl Grey, the ever-dutiful guardian, intercepts before Chai can go too far. Protective streak? Expected.

Subject (that’s you, genius) responds with visible embarrassment. Likely unsure how to process attention.

Sage of Truth remains silent but watching. Keyword: Watching.

Tension noted. Sage’s hands flexed once but did not act. (Self-restraint?)

Chai enjoying this far too much. Further study needed.

You groaned, letting the notebook fall flat onto the table. “This is ridiculous.” 

“Is it?” Chai Latte Cookie asked sweetly. “Yes!” 

You pointed at Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie. “This isn’t scientific”

 He scoffed. “It’s observational.”

 “And biased.” Earl Grey Cookie, who had been sipping his tea in relative silence, finally sighed, setting his cup down with quiet finality. 

“Enough,” he murmured, reaching out and perhaps mercifully flipping the notebook shut. His gaze, steady and refined as always, settled on you with something gentler than scrutiny, yet no less perceptive. “You don’t have to entertain them if you don’t want to.” 

You exhaled sharply. “Thank you.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie merely leaned his chin into his palm, watching the exchange with interest. “So you’re not denying the tension?”

 Earl Grey Cookie shot him a look that could have curdled fresh cream. “You are insufferable.” 

Chai Latte Cookie giggled, tucking her hands beneath her chin. “But we’re right, aren’t we?” 

Earl Grey Cookie sighed through his nose, rubbing his temple. “You’re never satisfied until you’ve exhausted every possible avenue of speculation.”

 You slumped forward, head in your hands. “This is the worst dinner I’ve ever had.”

 Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie hummed. “And yet, you still haven’t denied it.” 

Chai Latte Cookie clapped her hands together, delighted. “Fascinating!” You groaned. Earl Grey Cookie, resigned, simply picked up his tea again. 

Earl Grey Cookie had, for the most part, played the role of the patient observer offering you small mercies when the others got too carried away. But even he, ever composed, was not entirely above a well-placed jab. With an air of nonchalance, he reached for Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie’s notebook, flipping it open with a deliberate slowness that sent a shiver of unease down your spine. 

You watched as his sharp eyes scanned the notes, his fingers smoothing the edges of the pages. “Hmm.” He tilted his head slightly, considering. Then, to your horror, he pulled out his own pen.

 “Oh, come on!” you groaned. Earl Grey Cookie said nothing as he made a single, measured annotation beneath Hazelnut’s last point. Then he slid the notebook back with a satisfied nod, lifting his teacup once more. Chai Latte Cookie immediately leaned in to read what he had written, and when she did, her laughter rang through the dining hall like a chime of pure amusement. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie’s brows lifted in surprise, and even he let out a small huff of amusement. Dreading what fresh humiliation awaited you, you snatched the notebook back. Your eyes darted to Earl Grey’s addition.

Earl Grey, the ever-dutiful guardian, intercepts before Chai can go too far. Protective streak? Expected.

Subject (that’s you, genius) responds with visible embarrassment. Likely unsure how to process attention.

Sage of Truth remains silent but watching. Keyword: Watching. (Not needed)

Tension noted. Sage’s hands flexed once but did not act. (Self-restraint?) (Biased)

Chai enjoying this far too much. Further study needed.

(New entry:) Subject is either alarmingly oblivious or in deep denial. Either way, outcome remains the same: fascinatingly easy to fluster.

Your face burned. “Earl Grey!” Earl Grey Cookie merely sipped his tea, entirely unbothered. “Merely an observation.”

 Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled, tapping his pen against the table. “Not bad, not bad. I might have to start letting you proofread my work. Though next time consult with me before desecrating my work” 

Chai Latte Cookie, still giggling, nudged you playfully. “Oh, come on, don’t pout. It’s not wrong, you know.” 

You huffed, slamming the notebook shut. “I’m finding new friends.”

 “No, you’re not,” Chai Latte Cookie said sweetly, resting her chin on your shoulder. “You love us.” You did. Unfortunately. 

Earl Grey Cookie set down his teacup with quiet precision. “Regardless, we should move on before our subject becomes too agitated,” he mused, though there was the faintest trace of amusement in his voice. 

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie hummed in agreement, slipping the notebook back into his coat. “For now,” he said. “But this is definitely going in the next round of observations.” 

Chai Latte Cookie eventually let the teasing slip away, resting her chin in her palm as she studied you with something softer in her gaze. The laughter had settled, leaving only the quiet murmur of the dining hall and the rhythmic clinking of teacups around you.

 “But,” she mused, her voice carrying a thoughtful lilt, “how would it even work?” You blinked, mid-sip of your drink. 

“How would what work?” She gave you a knowing look, as if you’d walked straight into a trap. “You and him.” Heat bloomed at the back of your neck, and Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a low chuckle.

 “They didn’t even deny it,” he noted. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shot back quickly, perhaps too quickly. But Chai Latte Cookie didn’t press the obvious. Instead, she tapped a thoughtful finger against her cup, eyes drifting elsewhere.

 “He’s immortal, right?” she asked. “Soul Jams grant that kind of longevity. And everyone knows Shadow Milk Cookie has one.” 

Earl Grey Cookie, who had been watching in silence, finally spoke, his tone measured. “Yes. It is well-documented that Soul Jams bestow great power and for those like the Sage of Truth, an existence that far surpasses our own.”

 He exhaled quietly, setting his cup down. “But that kind of longevity is not one easily shared.” The weight of his words settled heavily over the table.

Chai Latte Cookie, for all her playfulness, was not immune to solemnity. She lowered her gaze slightly, tracing the rim of her cup. “I just wonder what would happen,” she murmured. “If you did…I mean, hypothetically.” 

You swallowed thickly, unsure how to answer. Because you hadn’t thought about it…hadn’t let yourself think about it. Shadow Milk Cookie existed in a different span of time. He had seen years stretch before him like an ever-expanding horizon, where you… You were a fleeting thing in comparison. 

“Some truths,” Earl Grey Cookie said quietly, “are better left unspoken.” For once, Chai Latte Cookie didn’t challenge him. And for once, you weren’t sure if you wanted to know the answer. 

You tilted your head, a thoughtful hum escaping your lips. “You two do think alike,” you admitted, tapping your fingers against the table. 

“But honestly? I prefer bantering with you.” Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, raised a brow. “Oh?” 

You leaned forward slightly, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Because you always let me win.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a low chuckle, while Chai Latte Cookie pressed a hand to her chest in mock shock.

 “Unbelievable,” she gasped. “The great Earl Grey Cookie, yielding? What a scandal.”

 Earl Grey Cookie sighed, swirling his tea with a practiced elegance. “Yielding implies defeat. I simply find it… inefficient to argue a matter that does not require my full effort.”

 “That’s just a fancy way of saying you let me win,” you shot back, grinning. He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “I give you the illusion of victory.”

Chai Latte Cookie snickered. “See, that’s the difference,” she mused, tapping a finger against her chin. “The Sage of Truth would never do that. He’d just dismantle you with a smile and call it a learning experience.”

 You groaned, slumping against the table. “Exactly! Shadow Milk never lets me win. Ever. He just…he just smiles while I struggle and then nudges me toward the answer like I’m a lost little duckling.” 

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “And yet, you keep going back.” You shot him a glare, but he only shrugged, jotting something down in his notes.

 Chai Latte Cookie’s gaze flickered between you and the paper, her lips curling in amusement. “Ohhh, now I have to see what you’re writing.” 

Earl Grey Cookie, watching it all unfold, allowed himself the smallest smirk. “So, to summarize,” he mused, setting his cup down with deliberate precision, “you favor our exchanges because I provide you with a comfortable illusion of victory?” 

You pointed at him. “Exactly.” 

“And yet,” he continued smoothly, “you return to the Sage of Truth, knowing full well he will never afford you the same courtesy?” You hesitated, your mouth opening then closing. 

Chai Latte Cookie, ever the voice of mischief and reason, leaned forward, propping her chin on her palm. “Alright, alright, let’s get one thing very clear,” she said, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Earl Grey and the Sage of Truth? Completely different. The only real similarity is how they talk formal, refined, like they were both born with a teacup in one hand and a philosophy book in the other.” 

Earl Grey Cookie scoffed, adjusting his glasses. “I should hope my conversational skills amount to more than mere formalities.”

Chai Latte Cookie waved him off. “No, no, you both have that way of speaking where it sounds like you’re always making some grand declaration. But personality-wise?” She gestured between you and Earl Grey Cookie. “You like this one because he lets you win. He likes debates, but if things get too drawn out, he gets bored and moves on to something else-” 

Earl Grey Cookie exhaled sharply. “That is a mischaracterization.” 

“It’s true!” Chai Latte shot back, grinning. “You have opinions, and you like having them. The Sage? He doesn’t really do opinions just truths. He presents facts, lets people try to prove him wrong, then gently shatters their arguments like he’s doing them a favor.” 

You winced. “That… sounds about right.”

 “Exactly! Meanwhile, Earl Grey loves having a stance. He argues because it’s fun for him, not because he thinks it’s his solemn duty to educate the world. The Sage of Truth? He’s like, Oh, you poor thing, let me help you see the light, and you can’t even be mad because he’s so polite about it.”

 Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded sagely. “One debates for the thrill, the other debates because he must.”

 You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “Why does this all sound so accurate?” 

“Because it is accurate,” Chai Latte Cookie said with a smug smile. “Face it you don’t like them for the same reasons. You like this one” she jabbed a finger at Earl Grey Cookie, “because he’s fun, sociable, and knows when to give up the fight. You like him” she made a vague gesture toward where Shadow Milk Cookie wasn’t, “because he never gives up.”

There was a beat of silence. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie tapped his pen against his notes. “Interesting.” 

Earl Grey Cookie let out a tired sigh. “I do not appreciate being reduced to a mere source of entertainment.” 

“Oh, lighten up, you are entertaining,” Chai Latte Cookie teased, taking a sip of her drink. “But you also have an actual sense of humor, which definitely sets you apart. The Sage of Truth is many things, but he’s not cracking jokes over tea.”

Earl Grey Cookie gave her a look, unimpressed. “I do not ‘crack jokes over tea.’”

Chai Latte Cookie smirked. “See? You just did. He wouldn’t.” 

You sighed, shaking your head. “So what you’re saying is…?” 

Chai Latte Cookie grinned. “That you have very different reasons for keeping both of them around.”

 You huffed, crossing your arms. “Great. Love that for me.” 

Earl Grey Cookie, ever refined, simply took a measured sip of his tea. “I, however, am deeply honored by the distinction.”

 Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled under his breath. “Sure you are.” 

Earl Grey Cookie, ever the informed one, casually refilled his tea as he spoke, his voice smooth but undeniably engaged. “Have you guys heard about the Spire of Knowledge?” he asked, glancing at you over the rim of his cup.

 You blinked at him, caught off guard. “The… what?” “The Spire of Knowledge,” he repeated, setting his cup down with a soft clink. “A research facility being constructed on Beast-Yeast. Once completed, it will allow the Sage of Truth to teach and conduct research on a far grander scale than the Academy can provide.” 

You stared at him, brain stalling. “Wait what?”

 Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie hummed, flipping through his notes. “You really haven’t heard? The Sage’s title is changing at the end of the semester. He’ll still go by Sage of Truth, but formally, he’ll be the Fount of Knowledge moving forward.” 

You opened your mouth, closed it, then turned a slow, incredulous stare back to Earl Grey Cookie. “And you just knew this?”

Earl Grey Cookie smirked, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Of course.” 

“I-how? When? Why?” You gestured wildly. With practiced ease, Earl Grey Cookie reached into his satchel and produced a neatly folded newspaper. He slid it across the table to you, and sure enough, right on the front page:

THE SPIRE OF KNOWLEDGE: A New Era of Scholarship In honor of the Sage of Truth’s contributions to academia, the Spire of Knowledge is currently under construction on Beast-Yeast. The facility will serve as a pinnacle of research, allowing the soon-to-be titled Fount of Knowledge to continue his teachings beyond the limits of Blueberry Yogurt Academy…

You skimmed the article in disbelief.

“The Academy is great,” Earl Grey Cookie said smoothly, watching as your eyes darted over the text, “but even it has its limits. This new facility will allow him to spread his knowledge even further research, lectures, possibly even intercontinental academic exchange.”

 Your fingers tightened around the paper as something unsettled curled in your chest. “So… he’s leaving?” 

Earl Grey Cookie raised an eyebrow. “Not exactly. He’ll still be here when needed, but his focus will shift. His influence will reach much farther.”

 Chai Latte Cookie, unusually quiet, studied your expression. Then, with a too-knowing lilt, she murmured, “You look troubled.” 

You hastily shook your head. “No, I just didn't know. I didn’t expect this.”

 Earl Grey Cookie leaned back, regarding you thoughtfully. “I suppose it is quite the shift. You’re used to seeing him here, contained within these walls. Now he’ll be something… more.” 

Something more. Something beyond reach. You swallowed. “I just thought… he was always going to be here.”

 Earl Grey Cookie exhaled, slow and measured. “I suppose some truths really are best left unspoken.” 

You weren’t sure if he was talking about the Sage of Truth’s departure… or something else entirely. You stared down at the article, your grip on the paper tightening slightly. Shouldn’t he have told me? The thought sat heavy in your mind, pressing uncomfortably against the edges of your understanding. Would this mean no more tutoring next semester? No more long-winded explanations spoken with infinite patience, no more sharp, guiding questions meant to lead you toward the truth?

You looked up at Earl Grey Cookie, searching for some kind of answer. “But… wouldn’t he have told me?” you asked, voice quieter than intended. 

Chai Latte Cookie tilted her head, considering you. “Maybe,” she said, thoughtful. “But maybe not. You know how he is, he doesn't see knowledge as something owned. He might not have realized you didn’t already know.” 

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded, flipping to another page of his notes. “To be fair, this has been talked about for months. It’s not exactly a secret.”

 “But it’s not our fault you don’t keep up with the papers,” Chai Latte Cookie added, resting her chin on her hand. “If you’d read them, you’d have known sooner.” 

You sighed, rubbing your temples. It wasn’t their fault, no but it wasn’t his fault either, was it? And yet, there was a nagging, irrational sting in your chest. It wasn’t that he owed you an explanation, but… Your fingers curled slightly against the newspaper. Earl Grey Cookie watched you for a long moment, his usual smirk tempered into something quieter. “You’re wondering if this means no more tutoring next semester,” he observed. 

Your breath caught slightly. You hadn’t said it aloud, but of course he knew. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. Chai Latte Cookie’s expression softened. “We don’t really know what’s going to happen. He might still be around for some lectures, but full-time tutoring? Maybe not.” Maybe not.

It was a small thing, in the grand scheme of everything the Sage of Truth, or rather, the Fount of Knowledge, was expanding his reach beyond the Academy. It was an honor. It was a step forward for academia itself. And yet, for reasons you couldn’t quite put into words, it didn’t feel like a victory. 

You forced a smile, setting the paper down with what you hoped was nonchalance. “It’s cool,” you said, waving a hand. “I mean, it’s just tutoring for this semester. It’s not like it was anything grand. He only started tutoring me because of chance, anyway.” You knew this.

 You knew this. There was no reason for the feeling pressing at your ribs, no reason for the slight weight in your stomach. It wasn’t like he chose to guide you from the start he had simply been there, in the right moment, with the right words. Earl Grey Cookie regarded you carefully, his eyes sharp in a way that made you feel just a bit too exposed. He hummed, setting his teacup down with a quiet clink. “You shouldn’t worry about it too much,” he said at last, his voice measured. “He’s still the same person to you. I doubt this would change anything.” 

You blinked at him. “You doubt?”

 “I don’t deal in absolutes,” he said smoothly, smirking just a little. “That’s more his thing, don’t you think?”

 Chai Latte Cookie let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “He has a point.”

 Earl Grey Cookie gestured toward the paper. “Take a closer look. It’s not just him moving over students will get a chance to conduct research at the Spire. And quite a few professors will be relocating to teach there.” 

That gave you pause. You reached for the paper again, scanning further down the article. Sure enough, nestled among the lofty praises and grand declarations about the Sage, no, the Fount of Knowledge was a section detailing student opportunities.

 “Wait…” You frowned, eyes narrowing as you read. “So… some students will be going?”

 “Not just some,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie noted, peering over your shoulder. “It says applications will open for research positions. Sounds like they want promising scholars to join the expansion.” 

Chai Latte Cookie tapped a finger against the table, considering. “It is a big deal. It means more resources, more opportunities… and, well, it means he’s not disappearing off the face of the earth.” 

She tilted her head, eyes flickering toward you knowingly. “Unless, you know, you thought he was?”

 You stiffened. “What? No. Obviously not.”

 “Obviously,” she echoed, amused. You refused to meet her gaze, focusing instead on the text before you. The Spire of Knowledge. A place for learning, for discovery a place where the Sage of Truth would no longer just be a mentor to a handful of students, but a guide to countless scholars across the land.

A place where he would be needed. A place where he would be far. You swallowed, smoothing the paper out with steady hands. “Well,” you said lightly, “it’s not like I was planning on being his student forever anyway.” 

Earl Grey Cookie chuckled, but there was something softer in his expression, something almost unreadable. “No,” he murmured, “I suppose not.” 

Your fingers tightened slightly on the paper as you glanced between them. “How long have you guys known about this?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie shrugged, ever casual. “Months.” 

You narrowed your eyes. “Months?” 

Earl Grey Cookie nodded, picking up his teacup again. “Months.” 

“That could mean anything.” You exhaled, shaking your head. “Two months? Six months?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “Somewhere in that range.” You groaned, leaning back in your chair. “Unbelievable. And you just what? Never thought to bring it up?” 

Chai Latte Cookie nudged your arm with her elbow, smiling just a little. “To be fair, it’s been in the papers for a while now. It’s not like they were hiding it.”

 “That doesn’t mean they weren’t withholding it.” You shot a look at Earl Grey Cookie, who merely raised an eyebrow. “Would you have preferred I announced it dramatically over afternoon tea?” he asked dryly. “Perhaps sent a formal letter? Dearest friend, I regret to inform you that the Sage of Truth will be moving on to a grander stage-” 

You groaned again, burying your face in your hands as Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snickered. “Come on, you had to have known something was up,” he said. “The Academy’s been buzzing about it for weeks.” 

“Yeah, well, excuse me for not keeping up with every bit of news.” You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I just… figured if it was important, he would have said something.” Chai Latte Cookie gave you a look, something caught between sympathy and amusement. “He might not have known you didn’t know,” she pointed out. “And it’s not his fault or ours, really.”

You bit your lip, looking down at the article again. You supposed that was fair. You weren’t exactly the most up-to-date person when it came to campus news. But still… “He could have mentioned it,” you muttered. Earl Grey Cookie regarded you over the rim of his cup. “Maybe he didn’t think it would change anything,” he said simply. You stilled, your fingers curling slightly around the edges of the paper. Maybe.

But somehow, that didn’t make it feel any less strange. You poked at your food, appetite dwindling despite the warmth of the meal in front of you. The conversation had moved on Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie and Earl Grey Cookie now caught in some debate over a research paper, their voices a steady hum in the background but you remained quiet, thoughts tangled like ink-stained pages left out in the rain. The Sage of Truth no, the Fount of Knowledge was leaving.

 Not in the way most professors left, retiring or moving to another institution, but stepping into something grander, something beyond the Academy’s familiar walls. A whole spire dedicated to him, to his teachings, to the pursuit of truth itself. You should have expected something like this. A scholar of his caliber was always meant for something greater. So why did it feel like something was slipping through your fingers? A sharp pinch at your cheek snapped you out of your thoughts. “Ow-hey!” 

You jerked back, swatting at Chai Latte Cookie’s hand as she grinned at you. “You’re pouting,” she teased, propping her chin on her palm. “It’s cute, but tragic.” 

“I am not pouting.” 

“Mm, sure,” she hummed, clearly unconvinced. You frowned, rubbing your cheek. “What was that for?”

 Chai Latte Cookie’s expression softened, just a touch. “Because you looked like you were about to disappear into your own head forever,” she said, voice quieter now. “And because” she reached over again, but this time, just to gently pat your arm, “he’s done a lot for you, you know.” 

You swallowed, staring down at your plate. “I know.”

 “Do you?” She tilted her head. “Or are you just saying that so I’ll stop bothering you?” You sighed, shoving a bite of food into your mouth to buy yourself time. But she waited, patient and knowing, watching you with that same fondness she always had.

He had done a lot for you. Far more than just answering your questions and guiding you through lessons you barely grasped. He had been patient when others would have given up. He had given you knowledge, yes, but more than that he had given you his time. And soon, that time would run out. “…I know,” you said again, quieter this time. “I just didn’t think it would be over so soon.” 

Chai Latte Cookie didn’t tease this time. Instead, she smiled, warm and understanding. “Then maybe,” she said, nudging your arm, “you should tell him that.” You didn’t answer her not with words, anyway. Instead, you let out a quiet breath and leaned against her, resting your head on her shoulder. Chai Latte Cookie blinked in surprise before letting out a soft laugh, wrapping a warm, familiar arm around you.

 “Oh? No witty remark? No ‘Chai, you’re being ridiculous’?” she teased, though her voice held nothing but fondness. “Guess I must’ve really gotten to you this time.”

 You sighed, not bothering to respond, and instead let yourself sink into the comfort of her embrace. It was a feeling long ingrained in you, something that brought back memories of late nights spent whispering under shared blankets, of sneaking sweets from the kitchen and giggling over secrets too silly to be called secrets. She had always been like this warm, reassuring, a presence that could soften even the worst of days. She hummed, gently running her fingers through your hair like she used to when you were younger, back when the world seemed just a little simpler. 

"You always do this when you don’t wanna talk about something," she murmured. "You’ll pretend it’s fine, keep it all in, and then let me be the one to carry it for a while." You swallowed, but didn’t pull away.

"That’s alright," she said, squeezing your shoulder. "You don’t have to say anything. Not yet." You felt her chin rest lightly against your head, her embrace firm but gentle. The quiet hum of the dining hall faded into the background, replaced by the steady, familiar rhythm of her breathing. For now, you let yourself stay there, safe in the warmth of her presence.

The warmth of Chai Latte Cookie’s presence did little to stop the gnawing thoughts at the back of your mind. You wanted to freeze this moment, to let it stretch endlessly, to bask in the easy comfort of friendship where nothing had to be said, where you could pretend for just a little while longer that things were unchanged. But reality had a cruel way of creeping back in. A sudden jolt of realization shot through you, a sharp pang of dread cutting through the haze of your thoughts. Your notebook. 

You sat up abruptly, nearly knocking Chai Latte Cookie’s arm away in your haste. “Oh no.” Chai Latte Cookie blinked at you, surprised. “What?”

 “My notebook.” You patted your pockets, as if it would somehow magically appear. “I-I forgot my notebook. I don’t have it. I don’t have it.” 

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie looked up from his conversation with Earl Grey Cookie, raising an eyebrow. “Again?” Earl Grey Cookie let out a low hum of amusement. “Perhaps we should start attaching it to you with a charm.” You barely spared them a glare as you pushed back from the table. “I need to go get it.” Chai Latte Cookie sat up as well, concern flickering across her face. “Wait, you mean from his office?”

Your stomach twisted. “Where else?” She hesitated, clearly debating whether to stop you. But then she simply sighed, her expression shifting into something more knowing. “You want me to come with you?”

 You shook your head, already stepping away from the table. “No, I’ll be fine. I just, I just need to grab it.” 

You left the dining hall in a rush, barely hearing Chai Latte Cookie’s call of, “Try not to get too lost in your own head!” behind you. 

Your feet carried you quickly through the Academy halls, weaving past the lingering students still milling about after dinner, your mind solely focused on one thing. Your notebook. Of course, of course, you had forgotten it. With everything else weighing on your mind, the thought of gathering all your notes before leaving his office had completely slipped past you. Now, you’d have to march right back there, face whatever knowing look he would surely give you, and retrieve it like an absentminded fool. The halls of the Scholar’s Wing were quieter now, the air cooler as night settled over the Academy. The glow of enchanted sconces flickered along the walls, casting long shadows against the towering shelves. Your steps slowed the closer you got to his office, the light beneath his door unmistakable. He was still inside. You hesitated just a moment before knocking. A brief pause, then “Enter.” You pushed open the door, stepping into the warm, dimly lit space. His office was much the same as it always was papers stacked in meticulous disarray, scrolls floating idly at his side, the scent of parchment and candle wax lingering in the air. Shadow Milk Cookie sat at his desk, quill in hand, his golden eyes flicking toward you as you entered. “You knocked.” 

You faltered. “…Yeah?” His lips curled slightly. “Interesting.” 

You rubbed the back of your neck, suddenly feeling a little foolish. “I, uh, forgot my notebook.” 

Without a word, he reached to the side of his desk and plucked it from a neatly stacked pile of parchment, setting it before him. Your stomach twisted at the sight of it; he had kept it within reach. You stepped forward quickly, reaching for it, but his fingers lingered against the cover, holding it in place for just a second longer than necessary. 

Then, softly "Are you troubled?" 

You swallowed, gripping the notebook tighter. “Well…” Your voice caught, uncertain. You had rushed here with the sole intent of retrieving your notes, of brushing past whatever lingering thoughts had been following you all evening.

And yet, standing here, with his gaze steady on you, the words tumbled from your lips before you could stop them. “Are you really leaving so soon?”

 Shadow Milk Cookie’s expression remained unreadable. “You have read the articles.” 

You nodded. “So… you are.” 

“Change is inevitable.” Your fingers tightened around your notebook. “That’s not an answer.” He tilted his head slightly, amused. “It is an accurate answer.”

 You huffed. “Then tell me the truth.” 

His gaze flickered with something unreadable. “That is my nature, is it not?” 

You frowned, exhaling sharply. “Then tell me…why didn’t you say anything?”

 There was a pause. Then, finally, he answered. “I assumed you knew. And if you hadn’t known I did it because you were not ready to hear it.” Your breath hitched. “You already knew it would happen,” he continued, voice even. “You knew from the start that my time as your tutor was temporary. And yet, when confronted with the reality of it, you hesitate.” He studied you carefully. “And so, I waited.”

Your heart twisted at his words. You had known, hadn’t you? You had always known. From the moment you sat in this very office for the first time, from the first lesson, the first debate, the first time his voice unraveled the tangled mess of your thoughts with nothing but patience and sharp intellect. You knew that his time here, with you, was always meant to be fleeting. But knowing didn’t make it any easier. “…It’s just tutoring,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. “It’s not like it was anything grand.”

 Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled, a soft, knowing sound. “Is that what you believe?” You hesitated. He was watching you again, his gaze unwavering. The weight of his attention was suffocating in its gentleness, in the way he allowed you the space to say what you would but refused to let you lie to yourself. Then, his voice softened. “You have never been a mere student to me.” Your heart stopped. Your grip on your notebook tightened, knuckles white. Your breath stalled in your throat as his words settled between you, heavy with meaning you couldn’t name, couldn’t process, couldn’t even begin to understand. You looked at him, and he held your gaze, steady and certain, unflinching. And in that moment, the truth whatever it was felt closer than it ever had before.

Your fingers curled against the worn spine of your notebook, grounding you against the weight pressing on your chest. You had come back under the guise of retrieving it, but now that you were here, standing before him, you knew that wasn’t the only thing you needed. Shadow Milk Cookie watched you carefully from behind his desk, eyes steady, waiting. He always waited.

 You swallowed. “What are we?” His expression did not change, but the silence between you did. His fingers tapped against the wood of his desk once, a slow, deliberate movement. “You tell me,” he said, voice even, unreadable. Your throat tightened. “That’s not fair.” 

“It is the fairest question I can ask,” he countered smoothly. You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “You always do this.” His brow arched slightly. “Do what?” 

“Turn my own questions back on me.” You took a step closer, gripping your notebook tightly. “But I’m not playing this game with you right now. I just-” You hesitated, breath unsteady. “I need to know.” 

He tilted his head ever so slightly, gaze unwavering. “Then ask plainly.” 

Your fingers tightened. “What are we?” A beat. Shadow Milk Cookie leaned forward slightly, resting his hands atop his desk. 

The glow of the enchanted lanterns cast long shadows across his features, making him seem even more untouchable than he already was. “Bound by intellect,” he mused, “shaped by shared time. You challenge me. I challenge you. And yet, you are here, asking a question you already know the answer to.” 

Your heart pounded against your ribs. “I don’t know the answer.” A flicker of something unreadable passed through his expression. “Then perhaps you are not ready to hear it.” 

You inhaled sharply, frustration bubbling beneath your skin. “You always do this,” you muttered, shaking your head. “You never just say things. It’s always about whether or not I can figure it out myself.”

Shadow Milk Cookie did not deny it. You pressed forward before your own fear could stop you. “Would you really make me wait a century?” His expression remained composed, but something in his gaze shifted. His fingers stilled against the desk. “You are asking a question I cannot answer.” 

“Why?”

 “Because the truth is not always something we are meant to face.” 

Your throat tightened. “Then lie to me.”

 A soft exhale. “You would not believe a lie from me.” 

You swallowed hard, feeling like you were standing on the edge of something. “So what are we, then?”

 Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you carefully, his gaze unwavering. “What would you like us to be?” Your breath hitched.

 A part of you had expected him to brush you off, to redirect the conversation, to keep you at arm’s length like he always did. But this, this was an answer that left the weight of choice in your hands. It terrified you. Your fingers curled against the fabric of your sleeves. “…I don’t know.” 

He exhaled, slow and measured, but he did not press you. “You do,” he said quietly, “but you are not ready to say it.”

You let out a quiet, breathless laugh, something caught between exasperation and resignation. “And you’re not ready to hear it.”

 Shadow Milk Cookie was silent for a long moment before murmuring, “Perhaps.” The air between you felt heavy, thick with things left unsaid. 

You took a slow step back, heart still hammering in your chest. “I should go.”

 He did not stop you. As you turned toward the door, his voice reached you softer, quieter. “Goodnight, scholar.” You hesitated, gripping your notebook tightly, before replying, “Goodnight, Shadow Milk.” 

And then you left, the weight of his words and your own following you into the dimly lit halls. The night stretched long and quiet, the distant hum of the Academy muffled by the walls of your dorm. You sat on the edge of your bed, your fingers resting lightly against your notebook. You had returned for it, exchanged words that danced around the truth, yet neither of you had dared to name it.

What are we? You had asked. And Shadow Milk Cookie, the Sage of Truth, the Fount of Knowledge had not given you an answer. Not because he didn’t know. But because, for once, the truth was something he feared. 

You could see it now, in the way his eyes flickered when your words lingered too long, when your questions pressed too close to something neither of you were ready to unravel. He was waiting, but he was also hesitant, as if what lay beyond your next words was a truth he wasn’t certain he could bear.

 You exhaled, shutting your eyes. He is immortal. You are not. That was the truth neither of you had spoken, the one that lingered between you like ink yet to dry. If you said it aloud, if you placed that truth before him, then what? Would he deny it? Would he let you believe that the weight of time wouldn’t shift between you? Would he let himself just this once be selfish? You swallowed against the tightness in your throat. I’ll ask again tomorrow. Because tomorrow, you would be brave enough. Brave enough to ask, and brave enough to listen. Even if you weren’t sure you were ready for the answer.

The next day came sooner than anticipated. You had barely closed your eyes before the morning light spilled through your dorm window, tearing you from restless dreams that blurred with half-formed thoughts you weren’t yet ready to face. Still, you moved through the motions dressing, gathering your things, forcing yourself into the familiar rhythm of the morning as if it could steady you. Chai Latte Cookie was already waiting in the dining hall when you arrived, her sharp eyes flicking up from her tea the moment she caught sight of you. “You look like you barely slept,” she noted, tilting her head as she studied you. You huffed, grabbing a tray and scanning the options. “Didn’t feel like it either.” Her gaze lingered, but she didn’t push. Instead, she watched as you reached for something light and quick simple toast, a bit of fruit, and tea that was far too bitter for your liking. No honey-drizzled waffles again. A shame. You sighed, nudging the tray forward. “It’s a tragedy, really.” 

Chai Latte Cookie let out a soft laugh. “You say that every time they’re not here.”

 “Because I suffer every time they’re not here.” You settled into the seat across from her, though your appetite was nonexistent. Chai Latte Cookie sipped at her tea, watching you with something unreadable in her eyes before setting her cup down with a quiet clink.

 “So?” she prompted. 

You blinked. “So what?” 

Her brows lifted, unimpressed. “You really think I’m going to let you dodge this?” You exhaled, poking at your toast with disinterest. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

 “Oh, please.” Chai Latte Cookie leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. “You went back for your notebook last night, didn’t you?”

 Your fingers curled slightly against the table. “…Yeah.” 

“And?” You hesitated. And what? That was the problem, wasn’t it? There had been no dramatic resolution, no grand declaration. Just lingering silence and words that neither of you could quite say. You swallowed, shaking your head. “Nothing. We talked.” 

Chai Latte Cookie’s lips quirked. “Just talked?” You shot her a glare. “Yes.” She hummed thoughtfully. “And?”

 “And nothing.” You took a sip of your tea, grimacing at the bitterness. “I just” You exhaled sharply, setting the cup down. 

“I asked him what we were.” That caught her attention. Her eyes sharpened, the teasing edge of her smile fading ever so slightly. 

“And?” 

Your stomach twisted. “And he didn’t answer.” Chai Latte Cookie blinked once. Then twice. “…Oh.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “Yeah. Oh.”

A beat of silence passed between you. “Do you think he knows?” she asked, voice careful. 

You hesitated. “Of course, he knows. He’s him.” Chai Latte Cookie studied you for a long moment before leaning back, her expression unreadable. 

“Then maybe the real question is… does he want to?” Your breath stilled. She didn’t elaborate, didn’t press further, but the words hung heavy between you. You had no answer. So instead, you took another sip of your awful tea, swallowing the bitterness down with it. You exhaled, staring into the depths of your tea as if it could give you some sort of answer. It didn’t. Nothing could, really not until you finally faced it. And for the first time, you weren’t going to run from it. 

“I’m ready,” you murmured, voice steadier than you expected. Chai Latte Cookie blinked, her cup hovering just before her lips. “Ready?”

 You nodded, gripping your tea a little tighter. “To face it. To face him.” 

Just as the words left your mouth, a new voice cut through the moment. “Ready for what?” You tensed slightly, glancing up just in time to see Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie and Earl Grey Cookie sliding into their seats, their gazes flickering between you and Chai Latte Cookie with interest. 

Earl Grey Cookie arched a brow, clearly intrigued. “Are we interrupting something?”

 “Yes,” you muttered. “No,” Chai Latte Cookie said at the same time, grinning. “You’re just in time.” 

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie leaned forward, smirking. “Oh, this has to be good.” You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Do I have to?” 

Chai Latte Cookie gave you a pointed look. “You just said you were ready to face it.” 

“That was for him.” 

Earl Grey Cookie hummed, adjusting his glasses. “Interesting. Him, you say.”

 Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie whistled, grinning. “Yeah, alright. Spill.”

You inhaled deeply, willing yourself to push past the embarrassment creeping up your spine. “Fine. But don’t say anything until I’m finished, alright?”

 No promises. You sighed, looking down at your tea before setting it aside. “I went back to his office last night.”

 Earl Grey Cookie let out a quiet hum of acknowledgment, but otherwise, they all waited for you to continue. “I told him I forgot my notebook which I did, by the way but we ended up talking.” 

You hesitated before correcting yourself. “Or… I asked questions, and he answered just enough to drive me insane.”

 Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled. “Sounds about right.” You shot him a glare before continuing. “I asked if he really meant what he said that whole thing about waiting a century.” 

“And?” Chai Latte Cookie prompted, leaning forward. You exhaled sharply. “And he wouldn’t answer.” 

Earl Grey Cookie tilted his head. “Not at all?” 

You shook your head. “He avoided it. Kept twisting my words back at me, like he always does. I asked what we were, and he just…he didn’t answer.”

 Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a low whistle. “Oof. That’s rough, buddy.” You slumped back in your chair. “Yeah. Tell me about it.” 

Chai Latte Cookie drummed her fingers against the table, watching you carefully. “And what do you think?” You hesitated. “I think…” You swallowed. “I think he knows. I think he wants to know. But maybe he’s just as” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “No. Maybe he’s more afraid of hearing the answer than I am.”

Silence settled over the table. Earl Grey Cookie regarded you with something softer in his gaze than before. “Because he’s immortal,” he said simply. You nodded. “And I’m not.” 

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a low sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well. That’s… complicated.” 

Understatement of the century. Chai Latte Cookie reached across the table, squeezing your hand. “And what are you going to do?” You tightened your grip around hers. “I’m going to face it.” 

Earl Grey Cookie studied you, then slowly, a knowing smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “Then,” he mused, “this is going to be very interesting.” You exhaled, staring at the table, fingers curling against the smooth wood. The weight in your chest hadn’t eased not even after finally saying everything aloud. If anything, it had only settled deeper.

 “I’m afraid,” you admitted quietly, the words tasting foreign on your tongue. You weren’t used to saying them, weren’t used to exposing yourself so plainly. Chai Latte Cookie squeezed your hand gently, her warmth grounding. “That’s okay,” she murmured. “You don’t have to do this alone.” You hesitated before looking up at them at your friends, at the ones who had been there for you through every stumble, every late-night study session, every impossible theorem you swore you’d never understand but somehow did.

“Will you come with me?” you asked, voice softer now. “Not inside or anything, just… drop me off. Like the first time.” 

Chai Latte Cookie’s eyes softened, and she squeezed your hand again. “Of course.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a low chuckle, tilting his head. “You say that like we weren’t already planning on it.” 

Earl Grey Cookie took a deliberate sip of his tea, then set the cup down with a quiet clink. “Consider it done.” His gaze flickered toward you, and for once, there was no teasing, no amusement just quiet understanding. “We’ll get you there.” 

A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding escaped. “Thanks,” you murmured. Chai Latte Cookie grinned, tugging you up by the hand. “Come on, then. No time like the present.” 

Your stomach twisted as you stood, but you didn’t protest. You had made your decision. Now, all that was left was to face it. You cleared your throat, shifting on your feet as you grabbed your bag. “Actually,” you started, glancing toward the hall, “we have Professor Almond Custard’s lecture first.” 

Chai Latte Cookie raised a brow. “You’re using class as an excuse?”

 Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “Coward.” You scowled at him. “I am not a coward. I just have” You gestured vaguely, grasping for something solid. “academic obligations.”

 Earl Grey Cookie exhaled, setting his cup down with a quiet clink. “Right. Because you’ve always been so devoted to Almond Custard’s lectures.” 

Chai Latte Cookie snorted, nudging your arm. “If you need more time, just say that.” You shook your head quickly. “I don’t. I just… we have class.” 

You waved your hands, gesturing at all of them. “It’s a valid reason to wait.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie leaned back, arms crossed. “Sure, sure. Let’s just ignore the fact that half the time, you’re doodling in your notes instead of actually listening.”

 Earl Grey Cookie hummed, amused. “A very scholarly approach.” You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Look, I just want to get through this lecture first, alright? Let me at least pretend I have my priorities in order.”

 Chai Latte Cookie laughed but relented, linking her arm through yours as the four of you made your way toward the lecture hall. “Fine, fine. Lecture first. Then we drop you off.” 

The halls were buzzing with the usual morning chatter, students shuffling to their classes, some still clutching half-eaten breakfasts as they hurried along. You kept your head down, focusing on the rhythm of your steps, trying to quiet the nerves bubbling under the surface. Your friends weren’t fooled. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie walked beside you, hands tucked into his pockets, ever the casual observer. “You’re just stalling.” 

“I’m not,” you lied. Chai Latte Cookie hummed knowingly. “You totally are.” 

You tightened your grip on your bag. “Can we not do this right now?” 

Earl Grey Cookie chuckled. “Oh, but this is such a rare sight. You, nervous? Afraid? It’s almost endearing.”

 You shot him a glare. “You could just not be the worst.” He smiled.

“Unlikely.” The classroom was already half-filled by the time you arrived. Students settled into their seats, the air thick with that particular kind of morning sluggishness that even the strongest tea couldn’t quite fix. Professor Almond Custard stood at the front, already sifting through a mountain of notes. You exhaled, slipping into your usual seat, Chai Latte Cookie right beside you, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie settling in behind, and Earl Grey Cookie composed as always taking his time before sitting down with a practiced ease. 

You stared at the empty desk in front of you, fingers drumming lightly against the wood. Just get through the lecture. Then deal with everything else. It was a flimsy plan, but it was all you had. A beat of silence stretched between you and your friends before Chai Latte Cookie leaned in, whispering just loud enough for only you to hear. “You are afraid.” Your throat tightened, but you didn’t look at her. “…Yeah,” you admitted quietly.

 She didn’t tease. Didn’t push. Just reached over, fingers squeezing your wrist gently before letting go. Then Professor Almond Custard cleared his throat, and the lecture began. The lecture moved faster than you wanted. Professor Almond Custard’s voice droned on, his chalk tapping against the blackboard in steady, practiced strokes. Normally, his lectures felt endless dragging on in a way that made your mind wander, your notes fill with half-sketched diagrams and stray thoughts unrelated to the subject at hand. But today, the words blurred together, slipping past you like water through cupped hands.

 Equations, theories, principles you barely caught them, barely processed the information as the professor’s steady cadence filled the hall. Students around you scribbled diligently, nodding at key points, but your own pen hovered uselessly above the page. You weren’t ready for this to end. You weren’t ready for the moment class would be over, when the weight of your own decision would press against you, demanding you follow through. Your knee bounced under the desk, fingers tapping absently against the wood. You tried to focus, to latch onto something but the words slipped too easily from the professor’s lips, the minutes folding into each other, accelerating at a pace that felt unnatural. You glanced at your friends, searching for some kind of grounding. 

Chai Latte Cookie scribbled away in her notebook, occasionally tilting her head like she was piecing together some complex puzzle. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, ever the casual learner, leaned back in his seat, twirling his pen between his fingers. Earl Grey Cookie sat with his usual air of composed attentiveness, chin resting against his knuckles, nodding at something the professor had just said. It felt normal. It felt routine. And yet, the second hand on the lecture hall’s grand clock kept ticking forward, dragging you toward the inevitable. Before you knew it, the chalk made its final stroke against the board. “Alright,” Professor Almond Custard declared, brushing the dust from his hands. “That’s all for today. Review the readings, and be prepared to discuss them next time.”

Chairs scraped against the floor as students shifted, gathering their belongings. Papers shuffled, the murmuring of conversation already beginning as people moved toward the exits. You gripped the edges of your notebook, staring down at the half-written notes half-finished thoughts that mirrored the way your own mind felt. Too soon. It was over too soon. You exhaled, steadying yourself. Then, before hesitation could sink its claws in deeper, you turned to your friends.

 “…Let’s go.” Your friends walked with you through the winding halls of the Academy, their voices a steady hum around you familiar, grounding, and just distracting enough to keep you from sinking too deep into your own thoughts. 

Chai Latte Cookie looped her arm through yours, practically dragging you along. “Alright,” she started, tone light but firm, “we need to go over strategy. What’s the plan?”

 “The plan?” You blinked.

 Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked, hands tucked into his pockets. “You do have a plan, don’t you?” 

You opened your mouth then hesitated. “I mean… I was just going to say it?” 

Earl Grey Cookie exhaled, adjusting his cuffs. “Just going to say it,” he echoed dryly. “How bold.” 

Chai Latte Cookie grinned. “I like it. Direct, no room for avoidance.” 

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snickered. “Yeah, that sounds like you.”

 “Hey-” 

“No, no, I mean it in a good way.” He waved a hand. “You are direct. That’s why it’s entertaining when you get all flustered.” You groaned, throwing your head back.

 “You’re so helpful, really.” Chai Latte Cookie patted your shoulder. “Ignore him. What’s important is that you’re doing this, and we are here to make sure you don’t chicken out.”

 “I wasn’t going to” 

“Uh-huh.” Earl Grey Cookie let out a soft hum. “Regardless,” he said smoothly, “you’re already halfway there. You’ve accepted it. You’ve decided to face it.” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “Now all that’s left is to follow through.” The weight of his words settled over you. Right. You were doing this. You had to do this.

As you approached the Scholar’s Wing, your stomach twisted, but Chai Latte Cookie gave your arm another squeeze. “You’ve got this,” she whispered. 

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie gave you a light shove toward the door. “Go get ‘em.” 

Earl Grey Cookie smirked slightly, but there was something softer behind his eyes. “And remember, if all else fails-”

 “-run away and pretend this never happened?”

 “No,” he sighed. “Face it properly.” 

You inhaled deeply. The door to his office loomed ahead. Your fingers twitched at your sides. Chai Latte Cookie stepped back, motioning grandly. “Alright. Moment of truth. Go in there and be brave.” 

You swallowed. Your heart pounded. And then, before you could change your mind, you stepped forward, raised a hand and pushed the door open. Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t look up immediately. The quill in his hand moved with steady precision, ink tracing careful strokes across parchment, his posture poised, controlled. It was only after a breath slow, measured that he acknowledged your presence, eyes flickering up from his work. 

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight in your chest tightened. “I’m early,” you said, voice quieter than you intended. 

His gaze didn’t waver. “So you are.” The room felt heavier than usual, thick with something unspoken, something fragile. You stepped forward, closing the door behind you, your fingers curling at your sides. 

“I” You swallowed, forcing yourself to steady. “I wanted to talk.” 

His expression remained unreadable. “I had a feeling.” Of course, he did. You exhaled sharply, moving to stand near his desk, staring at the ink-stained parchment, the neatly arranged notes. Every part of his world was meticulous, deliberate. So why did this feel so uncertain? Your fingers twitched at your sides. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.” 

His gaze remained steady. “I suspected as much.” 

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “You suspect a lot of things.”

 “I do.” Your stomach twisted. You had to say it. You had come all this way you had made this decision, and you couldn’t back down now. So you met his gaze, standing as tall as you could manage.

 “Would you really make me wait a century?”

 The room fell silent. His expression flickered not much, not enough for anyone else to catch, but you caught it. The way his fingers hesitated against the parchment. The slight tension in his jaw. The careful way he inhaled. “…Would you wait that long?” he asked, voice quieter than before. Your breath hitched. That wasn’t an answer. That wasn’t fair.

But you had no room to argue, because you wouldn’t. You couldn’t. You swallowed hard. “No.” 

Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze softened just slightly, though his face remained composed. “Then why would I ask you to?” 

Your chest felt tight. “Then why didn’t you just say that last night?”

 A pause. Then, with a kind of honesty that left no room for doubt, he said, “Because I was afraid of what you would say in return.” 

You inhaled sharply. His fingers brushed against the parchment, slow, thoughtful. “I do not fear the truth. I never have.” He exhaled, measured and composed. “But some truths weigh heavier than others.” 

Your hands curled into fists. “Then say it.” His gaze didn’t waver. “And if I do?” 

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “Then at least I’ll know.” A silence stretched between you. Shadow Milk Cookie studied you, as if committing this moment to memory, as if weighing something deeper than just words. 

And then, in a voice softer than you had ever heard from him, he asked “What are we, then?” You froze. The breath left your lungs all at once, your heart stuttering. He had turned your question back on you again but this time, it wasn’t a deflection. This time, he was asking. Really asking. 

You stared at him, your fingers trembling at your sides. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I-I thought you’d tell me.” 

Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled slowly, tilting his head just slightly. “You are my student.”

 Your stomach twisted. “I know that.” 

“You are-” He hesitated, his voice quieter, more careful now. “You are my friend.” 

You swallowed. “And?” 

He didn’t speak immediately. Instead, he lifted his hand, rubbing a thumb across the ink-stained edge of his quill. Then, finally, he said, “And I do not know what comes after that.” 

Your heart ached. “Would you want to?”

 His gaze held yours, steady, unwavering. “…Yes.” Your breath hitched. That was all you needed to hear. 

The tension in your chest didn’t ease entirely there was still so much left unspoken, so much uncertainty, so much that neither of you knew how to name. But the truth of it this fragile, trembling truth was there, laid bare between you.

A/N Wow, I can't believe one more chapter of this back and fourth...or is it? Well they'll definitely kiss the plan hasn't changed. I really liked writing this chapter I really like my character's personality. took a walk to the beach this morning and the sunrise was just gorgeous!!!!

1 more chapter till they kiss I hope everyone's excited

Anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

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